snakes in love™

65 ICONS - MULTIFANDOM - WORKSAFE

Sun, 18 Jan 2009 03:38:58 GMT

1-17 KILL BILL VOL 1 [screencaps via teh_indy]
18-36 MARIMOON
37-43 HEY GIRL [meimei]
44-52 NARUTO [tayuya]
53-65 J-FASHION; GOTHIC & LOLITA BIBLE [baby the stars shine bright]
TEASERS:

01	02	03	04	05

06	07	08	09	10

11	12	13	14	15

16	17	18	19	20

21	22	23	24	25

26	27	28	29	30

31	32	33	34	35

36	37	38	39	40

41	42	43	44	45

46	47	48	49	50

51	52	53	54	55

56	57	58	59	60

61	62	63	64	65

[SALE]

Thu, 18 Dec 2008 03:05:02 GMT

sales temporarily closed.

HOW IT WORKS

Want something? Comment with what you have in mind, as well as your location. I live in the US, so domestic shipping will be relatively inexpensive, but international can get bad. I take PayPal. Most prices can be pretty negotiable if you're a serious buyer, but there's a point when it gets too low. I will do trades based on equal price amounts, though I'm really looking more to sell right now. All purchases and trades are nonrefundable. If you want more information or more pictures of a product, I'll do what I can to provide you with it.

My paypal and general sales email is bubblepopxxxx@gmail.com.

(I usually ship with Media Mail, Bound Printed Matter, or Flat Rate. If you want a specific method, please inform me, though it will probably affect the price of your shipping quote. My shipping days are usually Friday or Saturday.)

FEEDBACK GOES HERE. (also have gsj threads here and here) (+9, ~0, -0)
Also have +3 on the LoligothDBS under antisaints

[SALE]

Sun, 14 Dec 2008 17:02:23 GMT

Trying to get rid of some stuff and make a little money!

MANGA, MOVIES, MAGAZINE, DOUJINSHI, ANIME, CONCERT DVD! EVERYTHING HAS GOTTA GO.

ALL PICTURES ARE SOMEWHAT BLURRY. I have shaky hands :(

Doujinshi

Sample Pages

Fandom: Naruto
Pair: Kakashi x Sasuke
Genre: Gag/Porn
Rating: Hard R
Pages: 32
Language: Japanese
Condition: Very lightly used! Read a few times, stored for safe keeping. Pretty much perfect condition.
Price (without shipping): $10 SOLD

Manga

Card holder slip Card still inside Sample pages

Death Note vol. 13
Language: English
Condition: Perfect, save for the card slip which was cut open semi-carefully so as to look at the card. (Pictures above) Only read it once.
Price (without shipping): $7 SOLD

Foldout inside Sample Pages Back

Naruto, Volume 30
Language: Chinese
Condition: Mint
Price (without shipping): $5

Sample Pages Back

Naruto, Volume 31
Language: Chinese
Condition: Mint
Price (without shipping): $5

Movies

Inside

Cello
Genre: Horror
Rating (in my opinion): PG13
Language: Korean with optional English subs
Runtime: 94 minutes
Director: Lee Woo Cheoul
Starring: Seong Hyeon-ah, Park Da-an, Jeong Ho-bin
Condition: Used; Disk is fine, a few bumps on the case
Price (without shipping): $8

~~Inside~~

Ju-Rei (The Uncanny)
Genre: Horror
Rating (in my opinion): PG13
Language: Japanese with optional English subs
Runtime: 76 minutes
Director: Koji Shiraishi
Starring: Chinatsu Wakatsuki
Condition: Used; Disk is fine, a few bumps on the case
Price (without shipping): $8 SOLD

Inside

Koma
Genre: Horror
Rating (in my opinion): PG13
Language: Cantonese with optional English subs
Runtime: 88 minutes
Director: Law Chi-leung
Starring: Karena Lam, Angelica Lee, Andy Hui
Condition: Used; Disk is fine, a few bumps on the case
Price (without shipping): $8

Inside

Mail
Genre: Horror
Rating (in my opinion): PG13
Language: Japanese with optional English subs
Runtime: 150 minutes
Director: Iwao Takahashi
Starring: Chiaki Kuriyama and Takamasa Suga
Condition: Used; Disk is fine, a few bumps on the case.
Price (without shipping): $8

Inside

Sabu
Genre: Action/Period piece
Rating (in my opinion): PG13
Language: Japanese with optional English subs
Runtime: 122 minutes
Director: Takashi Miike
Starring: Tatsuya Fujiwara & Satoshi Tsumabuki
Condition: Used; Disk is fine, a few bumps on the case
Price (without shipping): $8

Inside

Sodom the Killer
Genre: Horror/Spoof (sort of the Japanese equivalent of the Scary Movie films)
Rating (in my opinion): PG13
Language: Japanese with optional English subs
Runtime: 104 minutes
Director: Hiroshi Takahashi
Starring: Takashi Urai & Rena Komine
Condition: Used; Disk is fine, a few bumps on the case
Price (without shipping): $8 SOLD

Inside

Sympathy for Mr. Vengeance
Genre: Action/Revenge/Horror
Rating (in my opinion): R
Language: Korean with optional English subs
Runtime: 129 minutes
Director: Park Chan-wook
Starring: Song Kang-ho, Shin Ha-kyun, and Bae Doona
Condition: Used; Disk is fine, a few bumps on the case
Price (without shipping): $8 SOLD

Music

Inside

Marilyn Manson: Guns, God, and Government World Tour
Language: English
Number of songs: 17
Special Features: 'The Death Parade': A 30 minute short film of the band's last trip around the world
Runtime: 107 minutes
Condition: Near-perfect
Price (without shipping): $12 SOLD

Magazines

Sample Page Cut-out poster Cut-out poster

Purple Sky (Spring '07)
Language: English!
Pages: 115
Condition: Small tear in the corner of the front page, otherwise fine.
Features: LM.C, Black Horn, Go!Go!7199, Dir en Grey, and loads of others.
Price (without shipping): $7

Anime

Inside, with discs

Death Note Three Disk Set
Language: Japanese with optional English subs
Discs: 3
Episodes: 1-11
Condition: Watched once, nearly perfect
Packaging: Steel case is steeeel.
Price (without shipping): $15 SOLD

Inside

FLCL Vol 1
Language: English or Japanese with English subtitles
Discs: 1
Episodes: 1-2
Condition: Lightly used
Price (without shipping): $8 SOLD

Inside

FLCL Vol 3
Language: English or Japanese with English subtitles
Discs: 1
Episodes: 5-6
Condition: Almost brand new, only watched once
Price (without shipping): $8 SOLD

Inside 1 Inside 2 (discs)Back

Naruto Uncut Box-Set Volume 1
Language: English or Japanese with English subtitles
Discs: 3
Episodes: 1-13
Condition: Disks are in perfect condition; packaging is less than desirable. Orange casing is missing. Packaging is just like in the pictures.
Price (without shipping): $12 SOLD

ALL PRICES NEGOTIABLE!

Comment here with your zipcode, if from USA, or your international location, and I'll quote you the shipping. SALE CLOSED. NEW SALE HERE. FEEDBACK GOES HERE.

ICON POST - MULTIFANDOM - 42 - WS

Mon, 20 Oct 2008 02:27:47 GMT

1-13 STOCK [Cake, candy, holiday stuff]
14-35 NARUTO FANART BY LILY [Deidara, DeiIta, SasuIta, Sasori]
36-42 NARUTO FANART BY 10-RANKAI [Naruto, Sasuke, Sakura, NaruSasu]

TEASERS:

01	02	03	04	05

06	07	08	09	10

11	12	13	14	15

16	17	18	19	20

21	22	23	24	25

26	27	28	29	30

31	32	33	34	35

36	37	38	39	40

41	42	N/A	N/A	N/A

ICON POST - MULTIFANDOM - 44 - WS

Mon, 15 Sep 2008 04:14:50 GMT

[8] Ruki of the GazettE
[7] Hayley Williams of Paramore
[12] A Tale of Two Sisters
[9] Linetrap
[8] Audrey Kitching

Preview:

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001

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008

Created with angelamaria's Icon Table Generator @ Bauble

ICON POST - MULTIFANDOM - 56 - WS

Mon, 08 Sep 2008 00:05:03 GMT

[8] Linetrap
[10] Nao of Alice Nine
[7] Ryutaro of Plastic Tree
[14] Ringu 0/Yukie Nakama
[12] Audition
[5] Goong/Song ji Hyo

Preview:

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005

Created with angelamaria's Icon Table Generator @ Bauble

icons50 ; tayuya

Sun, 29 Jun 2008 10:00:20 GMT

icons50

Name of subject: i.e. Naruto: Tayuya
Icon count: 50/50
Resources: Lots of fanart found in the Photobucket search engine used. I do NOT have the source for almost any of them, but I do have the full-sized pics for most, if you'd like to have them.

Teasers:

01	02	03	04	05

06	07	08	09	10

11	12	13	14	15

16	17	18	19	20

21	22	23	24	25

26	27	28	29	30

31	32	33	34	35

36	37	38	39	40

41	42	43	44	45

46	47	48	49	50

Variations:

04	05	14	14	37

50	50	50	xx	xx

**48/49 were deleted by photobucket, cuz photobucket is a picky-choosy little bastard. and doesn't like tayuya porn. godfuckingknowswhy.

FANFIC ; NARUTO ; SASOITA

Fri, 27 Jun 2008 04:36:34 GMT

TITLE: Rag Doll
FANDOM: Naruto
CHARACTERS/PAIRING: Sasori/Itachi
AUTHOR: Me and ivorylips
SUMMARY: Sasori won't let beautiful things die. He will torture and tear apart and fuck them into a coma, but he won't let them die.
RATING: NC17 for sex and EXTREMELY GRAPHIC TORTURE & MAIMING.
NOTES: When I say graphic? I fuckin' mean it. NOT for the weak stomach'd, at ALL. This is 4500 words of sexsexsex and don't forget the VIOLENCE, baby. And lots of violence and gore and just-- It's one step up from necro, I swear :|

(Sasori is a violent being. Always has been, always will be, and he picks apart whoever he deems to have the right Type until they're absolutely torn to pieces and the skin is gone and the organs are gone and it's all replaced and recreated. Nobody but probably Deidara, at best, knows this. But Deidara is dead, and so it doesn't matter. Deidara has been dead for some time.) Itachi is different, though. Itachi is here. Breathing, but Sasori knows that everything hurts him, he can't escape the pain because Sasori won't let him. Sasori, who injected Itachi will all sorts of drugs to make sure he could feel everything and not be able to escape it, because that is one of the greatest rewards.

To feel.

(Sasori's nerves are so shot from his self-testing at this point that he either feels so much at once it kills him or he feels nothing whatsoever, and there is no middle ground between these things. Not ever.) Drills, plugged into walls, set carefully on wheeled tables which carry his supplies - Sasori does not have any remorse, not at all, and he never will. (Itachi, who he has nailed into the operating table. Stigmata through Itachi's hands and feet, nailed well into the table- if Itachi wanted to tear himself away from them, he would likely lose about half of his feet and his full hands, and Sasori knows Itachi is far too narcissistic for such a thing, far too much so.)

Itachi is bleeding.

(Itachi is bleeding a lot, but it is a precise amount in Sasori's mind, because he knows when the clotting will begin, the exact moment coinciding with the drugs- Sasori knows. Not because he is brilliant - though, of course, he so blatantly is - but because he's tested and tested, waiting and ready for this. Sasori tests everything time and time to make sure flaws don't exist. It is how he is.) Sitting on Itachi's groin, latex gloves wrapped tightly around his hands, surgical mask on his face, doctor's uniform covering his skin, and Itachi is naked because it is easier to operate in such a fashion, always has been. He reaches forward, with both hands, at each ear and stroking down until they come together and move further, down to where he sits.

"Y-Shaped incision."

(Itachi can't see him smiling, underneath the mask.) "Depending on how much I learn from you says whether or not the autopsy is given after you are dead." (Smiling, like a maniac, god Sasori is a maniac.) "But you should have been able to deduce this. I think highly of what exists within your skull."

Itachi, who has been there for exactly twenty-three minutes and forty-five seconds (this was all done voluntarily. Everything. Itachi had even helped Sasori in tightening the shackles that keeps his wrists painfully squeezed by sharp metal scratchingscratching at his flesh. And compared to things that have been done and will be done and that is currently being done to him, the scratchingscratching is just like a very sharp piece of flimsy plastic that is being drawn back and forth by some snot-nosed brat.) bites the inside of his bottom lip enough to make it bleed as if he's not bleeding enough. (The curious nature in Uchiha Itachi is his fascination with his own pain. To feel absolutely anything and everything there is to feel.

Pain turns to pleasure.

Pleasure turns into pain.

Rinse and repeat.)

Morbidly obsessed with this game that Sasori has played for monthsandmonths, Itachi has not gotten used to this drug and this pain simply because he does not want to and never will. (No doubt, Sasori's drugs are most of what causes this- tightening his nerve cells just enough so that everything he does is amplified and not to a degree that he would pass out from.) He is so like the embodied Uchiha clan. Narcissistic enough to stare up into the reflection of his own eyes- black and empty (SasukeisgoneSasukeisGoneGoneGone)- and get aroused by the slightest trickle of blood running down from his hands and his lips and anywhere Sasori touches. (Because Sasori is a sadistic god who knows how Itachi ticks unlike Shisui knew how Itachi ticked. Sasori knows where to hurt him and where to apply that beautiful pressure that makes Itachi scream and moan like a whore.)

The beauty is in the blood.

Sasori grins.

(Shifts himself backwards, positions, and Itachi can't see much of him besides his eyes, which are amber and without any amount of emotion, interest, but his smile. Sasori always smiles around Itachi, has been for several months, ever since he thought it best to take him away. The Uchiha family are dead. Sasori broke Itachi out of prison. Sasuke killed himself. Madara is gone. Everything eventually found itself going out of plan, out of sync and Sasori has no empathy or regret about it because those were all Itachi's plans. Itachi's plans, which are ruined, and he loved it - laps it up like a fucking harlot, because Sasori is an entity of pain. The greatest delivery that could ever be given.) Sasori, who has aged many years but looks far younger than Itachi does, and always will.

(Sasori's cells can't grow. Everything is stunted. Everything is stunted, and it makes him so impossible, as a concept. Because that is what he must be. Sasori is too fantastic to be real. Too horribly fake and prosthetic and perfect in every fashion, it can't be real. Not at all.) Pushes himself down, onto Itachi's cock (-the Uchiha had been up ever since Sasori walked in the room, so trained at this point, so recessive to the pain. That was Sasori's purpose. To torture Itachi forever. This room is Hell, in and of itself, and Itachi is always taken from it when Sasori is done bleeding him out, opening his chest and readjusting whatever is inside, sewing him back up - and when Itachi is brought back in, all of the blood from the floors is gone. Nothing is stained.

Everything is a canvas, ready to begin anew.)

Sasori's nerves are on fire, right now. (One or the other. Aphrodisiac or numbness.) Pushes Itachi all the way inside of him, deeply deeply, but he makes no noise because he isn't that type. He never has been. Waits until the burn is great, until his nerves are even more inflamed and everything is even more so than it was before he moves up and slams back down, on him, almost restlessly. (Itachi has no scars. Sasori removes them all, because Itachi must be a clean canvas every single time. Itachi has no scars, but he has been cut thousands of times because Sasori is a sadistic thing that exists to destroy.)

Sits on hum, burrowing his cock deeper into himself before he takes the tray of instruments closer to himself, inspecting things. (It all has to do with what hurts the most. What Sasori will learn, understand further. (This has very little to do with Itachi. And everything to do with himself.)

So in essence, their symbiosis would be Mutualism and Parasitism but never Commensalism. (Because commensalism requires one of the party gaining something and the other not being affected at all, or very little. Instead, they both gain something, and one of the party members is harming the host, taking away from nutrients. The Mutual Parasites, if it was to be a band-name. But they do not find it strange, that both benefit and one is harmed.

After all, this is what Sasori wants and this is what Itachi wants and so who gives a fuck if Itachi is bleeding in a constant stream, crimson lies running down the metal; it doesn't ever run in a straight line but it's not as thin as water to run ridiculously curvy.) After Sasuke died, there was no point anymore. No point to kill himself and no point to keep living. The Sickness would eventually kill him in some run-down pub bathroom while staring into a broken mirror and no one would care. The only recognition there would ever be would (maybe) be an obituary stating that he was the last of the Uchiha clan. (After Sasuke died, Itachi spiraled. That's how he got the reason to make gashes all over his prettypretty body. That's how he got the reason to drown in pain- because he couldn't concentrate on anything besides the pain if he made it hurt as bad as he meant it to. Was almost about to go for lye after a bath and then stand in the shower until he could hear himself screaming. And Itachi had never screamed before Sasori.

Sasori.
His deliverer.
His savior.

If Itachi wasn't so hell-bent on destroying all idols of religion, he would have thought Sasori was an angel sent down from wherever. He gave his body up in exchange for the intensity of pain so excruciating and blood so thick that he had no control over whether or not he was going to scream. It was already apparent. Screamingscreaming inside his head. He could hear it so loudly. But Sasori was never the one for screamers, and Itachi had never screamed audibly. So it was and always had been a win-win situation. Sasori gets his research and Itachi has his salvation.)

Eyes flutter back into the mirror above him as he watches in his morbidocity that is Sasori Fucking Him While He Is BleedingBleedingBleeding. Swallows his own. (It tastes like copper. Itachi has never been the one to taste blood and like it.) Smirks just so he can hope to amuse himself with his own PainPleasure and he lets Sasori ride him because he is absolutely in love with this pain Sasori brings with him every time they do this. (Itachi has been there for five months, fourteen days, seven hours, thirty-two minutes, and sixteen seconds. And has loved-

Every
Lasting
Moment.)

Sasori clenches down, tightly, on Itachi's cock, moves himself up and moves himself back down, and thus the entire time is he watching his nonreactance in the reflection of the scalpel which is held cleanly in his surgeon's hands, watching his eyes not-contort and his throat not-contract. (His skin not-sweat, but Sasori absolutely never sweats because his body's fluid reserve has been contorted to the fashion in which he wants it to be. Perfect hydration, at all times. Everything is extremely controlled, every part of him under his own lock and key. The ultimate prosthetic, and so many have died for him to be like this. So many will continue to.)

Moves himself back up, and-

(Positions the blade as he clamps his muscles down around Itachi, again.) Positions it at a point at his shoulder and digs it in deep, without warning, grinding himself down onto Itachi (deeply, onto his prostate- He almost could have gasped a little that time. Almost.) and dragging it harshly and slowly across, horizontal line from one shoulder to the next, and there it all is. (All of it, which does not hesitate and create tiny little bubbles of collected blood between immediate clots like Sasuke's hesitation cuts did, nothing like those- it all spills without warning, with plenty of warning, because Itachi's heart is still beating, and if the blood is not coagulated, it will always spill something terrible when the skin is severed. The body is an elaborate thing, and Sasori knows all of its secrets, all of its details.)

Drags the blade deeply back through the wound, ripping through nerves and muscles both carefully and ruthlessly before stopping dead center, dragging the blade down again for another cut, vertical and as far down as it can go before Sasori's body is in the way. (His young, childish figure, will always be wonderfully young and will never have to age because he will never have to age.) The first step to Eternal life is that you have to die. (Sasori knows that well. He kills himself often, kills himself repeatedly, rids himself of everything he loves so that he may be reborn again and again. All of his art, all of his destructees- New Years he will leave here too, and will both have never existed and exist forever. The remains of all he's ever done will be here, but not him.

New life.
Eternal life.)

He grinds down. (Fingers the wounds, a T shaped incision, one very helpful in post mortems, but Sasori isn't going to kill Itachi, not today. He just so desperately wants to-) clenches (-look inside, again.)

Sex with Itachi is not sex with Deidara, who is wild and screams. Sex with Sasori is not like sex with Shisui, who's skin glows in the moonlight. (Itachi has never seen Sasori outside of this chamber without any clothes on, and certainly hasn't seen Sasori's skin in the glow of the fucking moon of all things. There has alwaysalways been florescent lights on and a scalpel cutting Itachi up.) But the feeling of the blade running from shoulder to shoulder feels like a very clean paper-cut- so it stings just a little bit. It's when Sasori starts screwing with him that brings out more blood than the initial cut. (He's bleeding all over the place- all over the fucking place.

Itachi watches every bit of it from that mirror that is permanently bolted onto the ceiling.)

They don't kiss. They never have kissed. There is no reason, no gain from kissing. (Things deemed useless should be thrown away or burned, if even that.) And Itachi has never been re-born. Only re-scarred. Itachi will only die once when Sasori dies every day. Though it is undetermined whether or not Sasori will allow Itachi to die on his own accord (his own Sickness) or by his own hand, it has not been determined though Itachi's drugged mind- drugged senses.

(Throws his head back and pretends to make the sound that never emits-) Itachi cannot trust anything that he hears or sees anymore. So it can never be known what he hears is real or fake. The only thing he can ever be sure of is this pain. (-while the blade is draggeddragged to the bottom of his belly. Blood spills over the sides of his body and for a minute he looses himself in this imaginary sea of red. Being fucked by Sasori and cut up by him too. There has to be blood getting on his cock and there has to be some sort of Fucking With Blood! going on. Just because it turns Itachi on like nothing else.)

Deidara once asked why Sasori so very much intended to make Deidara suffer so much.

(Sasori was on his back at the time, watching Deidara out of apathetic eyes while the younger of them moved fastfastfast, pushed him in deepdeepdeep, threw his head back and was wild, so blatant in the way he enjoyed it, so much, and Sasori would only enjoy it when he got to the point wherein he'd get to take a limb from Deidara, feed it to Zetsu, and then replace what he'd taken with prosthetic parts. Sasori's answer to Deidara's question was simple, made so much sense to him and in his own demented mind that it honestly made Deidara uncomfortable, not for the content of the answer, but because he was so genuinely sure-)

Grinds down on him, clenchclenchclench- Itachi has never seen Sasori with all of his clothes off, and it doesn't matter. (Sasori has seen all of Itachi. Every vessel, every cell, every bone- Sasori has seen every bit of it the way Shisui used to know every bit of it, but Shisui is dead. Itachi is responsible for this.) Brushes his latex covered fingers across the wounds before, without warning, pressing into them, pulling them apart wider and letting the blood gush, because Itachi won't die- Sasori has his body just as controlled as he has his own. (Pulls the skin, rips the nerves, tearteartears it apart, just because he wants to, just because he can.)

Moves up and down, faster now, deeper, tearing open the vertical incision with just tiny bits of his strength, because if he wanted Itachi to bleed more, he could do so. (He could rip open Itachi's chest cavity with his bare hands and tear out everything inside, if he so pleased, but he doesn't. Itachi is of more use alive than he ever will be dead.)

Uchiha skin will always look better with blood splattered all over their prettypretty bodies. It's just natural for them. To bleed. To die. (Mirror mirror on the wall, who's the prettiest of them all?) Itachi is rolling his hips into Sasori's motions, matching everything perfectly and it causes the blood to flow in different directions and puddling on the flesh of his abdomen, being pulled by the magnetic properties of the liquid. But he doesn't arch to where Sasori- (Shisui, Sasuke, what's the difference by now in names? They all begin with the letter 'S' and every single one of them has three characters in their name.)- is fucking him. He arches to the will of the blade and to the will of Sasori's magic-fingers.
(BloodbloodbloodUchihabloodbloodblood.)

He's ripped apart from the inside just as Sasori is being ripped apart from the inside. And there are too many nerve cells to just touch one at a time. So synapses are passed from cell to cell, passing on this chemical message of, 'Holy fuck, we're being screwed and hurt at the same time!' Screamingscreaming and what does Itachi do?

He (pretends to) moans.
He (pretends to) screams.

Hurtmehurtmehurtmefuckme.

Sasori is Itachi's savior in more than one ways.

Sasori, who jerks his body up, rolls his hips in deeply when he jerks back down, holding his scalpel in his fist as he tears the wounds open violently with his fingers, apartapartapart, slashes all over, all through them, digs the blade in and rips through nerves, though everything, moving his hips up and down as he goes, upanddown. (Grabs Itachi's throat, abruptly, moves his grip up to his mouth and opens it more, much more, leaning himself forward to where he's almost laying on him and he's close enough to see inside of him, his tongue and teeth and roof of the mouth, and he smiles wildly underneath the surgical mask, wildwild because Sasori is so crazy-)

Twists the scalpel in his hand to where it's clamped vertically and stabs it through Itachi's bottom gum, stabs it through to the other side and raggedly rips to the left, pushing up the blade to force Itachi's teeth out of his skull from the root. (Through all the nerves and all the joints and ripsripsrips, tears a few out with his fingers, tears them from the strings of nerve and flesh and pockets them, calmly, but he's not calm- Sasori has never been more aroused in his life, not ever. Not even when he killed Deidara.) Saws through Itachi's gums with the tiny, delicate little blade, and he could have used something more appropriate but instead (-rips them out, two or three at a time, ruthless ruthless, but Sasori will give them back to Itachi eventually, reattach them and maybe restore some of their functions, if he's in a good mood, but for now he watches the blood gurgle, boiling in Itachi's mouth like a fucking-)

Sasori can't stop smiling.

(Drives the blade through the top of Itachi's tongue, straight through, and digs it into the jaw beneath, deepdeepdeep until he rips it out and sits back up and-)

Grinds down.

Thrusts up.

(This isn't the first time Sasori has done this. He has taken everything physically possible away from Itachi and re-attached it all back together. Itachi is the Mr. Potato Head of Sasori's Demented Toy-Box of Pain and Pleasure©®. And every waking moment is spent in this.) Itachi loved this. He lives for it and he dies for this. Every waking moment. Every dying moment. Every second of pain and blood and falls out of Itachi's mouth because he's swallowed too much of it and he is thrusting like crazy because he is so turned on. So he moans from beneath the bubbling blood that mixes with the metallic taste of Sasori's scalpel (blood doesn't taste like sanitized metal does.)

Painpainpain. (Itachi cannot possibly concentrate on anything but the feeling of being ripped to literal pieces and it's mixed with-) Sexsexsex. (-Sasori's body that he's forced Itachi to bury himself in. He does not argue against it and he loves this feeling no matter what, constantly thinking of-) Nothingnothingnothing in the world could get him off of this self-induced intoxication by accepting (-blood. Pain. Being ripped from the inside out. Everything is real and concrete and amplified by Sasori's drugs and Sasori's body that Sasori fucks him with.) his own hurt and turning it into something that causes his brain-wires to freak the fuck out.

Sasori knows this.
Because Itachi knows this.

And Itachi doesn't know anything at this point.
But Sasori knows absolutely everything physically and mentally capable of knowing.

(Sasori does not function on hate.
Itachi does not function on anything but what Sasori allows him to focus on.)

The world is turned to mush and no one gives a flying fuck because as far as Itachi is concerned, there is no world outside of these four walls. His world is his twisted games of blood and pain that he encases around himself so much that it no longer hurts. His pain breaths and there's a name to it. (SasukeShisuiSasukeSasukeSasori) So he adores every inch of it and every lasting second of it and does not give a flying fuck about that world out there. That is not his world.

This is.

(Thrusts up. He's close.)

And then there it is.

(The noise. Sasori's been waiting for this moment, the climax of the torture, and Itachi gets to watch it from the mirror that has been installed into the ceiling, above them. Itachi can see everything, all of it, all the time, no matter where he looks- there are mirrors everywhere, different angles and reflections because the Uchiha eyesight has always been the pride of the family, but not for Itachi. It was a curse for Itachi, and Sasori knows this.) The noise, which is a whirr of spinning metal, electricity powering it from where it's plugged into the opposing wall, and Sasori, instead of leaning forward, simply grabs Itachi's hair, yanks him forward against the nails, face to face enough for him to continue fucking himself on Itachi's cock as he -

(The drill is screaming.)

- into his left eye. (Does it slowly, at first, lets it tear through the tissues at the surfaces, tear through the precious eyes of his until it becomes far too much for Sasori to bear, seeing such pain and so much blood that he drills it in harder, deeper, the noise of the metal tearing through the gelatin of Itachi's beautiful eye, reducing it to bits and pieces and there's not much left as he moves it around, changes the position of the tool to point to the left and into bone before twisting to the right and into Itachi's nose, straight through it, and the only reason Sasori leaves the right one entirely in-tact is so that Itachi can see it.

All of it.)

Sasori will repair Itachi's left eye.
Create a duplicate with indentical physical features.

(-rides him hard, and he's close too, close enough to almost gasp, but of course-) It all more or less depends on Sasori's mood as to whether he'll repair it into the next-to-destroyed nerve systems. (Finishes, hard, without noise, and the only way you could have known he even did would be the way his body clenched tighttighttootight before he relaxed, very minutely, and lifts himself off of Itachi, sitting further on his stomach, which is covered in Itachi's blood, Itachi's everything, because Sasori is so cruel.) Stares into Itachi's mangled eye, moving the drill from his face to his hand, into his (ringfinger. How appropriate) and drilling though it until the jeering rejection of the metal table beneath it clanks an annoyingly painful sound and Itachi is focusing on two things at once. (So close so close fuck the pain.

later on when he's not-) moaning. His entire body feels alive and his heart pumps blood faster and faster because of his Itachi fucks the pain away until he finally comes, mixing his orgasm with the wonderfulwonderful feeling of his ringfinger getting torn to shreds. His face is covered in blood and he sees nothing but red and what he can see underneath red is his reflection getting mutilated by Sasori. He enjoys every second of it and finds himself feeling lucky that he has the opportunity to watch his own torture. But that thought comes muchmuch adrenaline run. So everything gushes out into a solid-color mess that has Itachi writhing on the operation table. (Psychopath.)

Pain pleasure pain pleasure SasukeSasukeShisuiSasuke Everything is frantic and mad so nothing exists anymore and nothing will ever continue to exist ever again These are Itachi's Thoughts as he would try to remember them but they are not anything but garbled frantic screaming and moaning ShisuiShisuiSasukeShisui Everything is nothing except these moments where he is torn apart by Sasori's Hand that he would love to just stick inside him and pull out his heart and squeeze it as hard as he liked Itachi wanted pain Itachi wanted his pain because there was a distinct feel to it that reminded him of Sasuke-Shisui and Shisui-Sasuke so much that it made him go crazy everytime he imagined pain being them Because in his mind they were and always will be until the day he dies.

(Itachi goes crazy with feeling.)
SasukeILoveYou.

Sasori chuckles.

(Lets his hand move behind him from where Itachi's cum soaked his cock, touching it to make precisely sure it is there and-) "I needed this." Takes a small beaker from the tray and drags it along his cock, gathering what was there. "For what will be." Turns and pushes himself off of Itachi and lands gracefully on his feet, like a cat, screwing the beaker shut and pocketing it along with the eight of Itachi's teeth he'd ripped out.

(The first step to Eternal life is that you have to die.

The second step to Eternal life is that you have to create.

And - inevitably - destroy.)

"Use can always be made of great things, even at its most pathetic state."

ICON POST - MULTIFANDOM - 39 - NWS

Mon, 16 Jun 2008 09:45:47 GMT

Well, it's official. Due to my sickness and general not feelings good, I didn't at all finish uchihacest_week :( I suck. Hard. Nngh. In return, I have icons, fifteen of which are Uchihacest~ :D ~~I have been bored out of my mind lately argh.~~

[4] Lee So Yeon
[6] Lee Ji Ah
[10] Bae Seul Gi
[15] Naruto
- madara x itachi [art by lily] [some not work safe]
[3] Goong
- song ji hyo
[1] Suicide Girls

TEASERS:

LEE SO YEON

LEE JI AH

Created with angelamaria's Icon Table Generator @ Bauble

BAE SUEL GI

BAE SEUL GI

Created with angelamaria's Icon Table Generator @ Bauble

MADAITA

Created with angelamaria's Icon Table Generator @ Bauble

SONG JI HYO

SUICIDE GIRLS

Created with angelamaria's Icon Table Generator @ Bauble

PS: I don't know who green hair girl is, but DAMN she is hot. Do want. Anyone know her name?

FANFIC ; NARUTO ; SHIITA ; uchihacest_week

Thu, 12 Jun 2008 05:00:53 GMT

TITLE: Rewind
FANDOM: Naruto
CHARACTERS/PAIRING: Shisui/Itachi
AUTHOR: Me
SUMMARY: With birth was all the age and all of the knowledge he would ever have, and as his body aged did he regress with his knowledge and wisdom, and that was how it was all supposed to happen, in Shisui's mind. Itachi was beautiful in that sense.
RATING: R
NOTES: For uchihacest_week, day three. Done VERY fast. Sorry it sucks D:

TRACK 5

Itachi had been that kind of entity that existed in a rewinding motion, and so time did not move forward for him, but instead in rewind with occasional scratches and skips. With birth was all the age and all of the knowledge he would ever have, and as his body aged did he regress with his knowledge and wisdom, and that was how it was all supposed to happen, in Shisui's mind. Itachi would grow less and less mature and more and more beautiful with every passing day, and he expected it because Itachi's eyes bled when he was born and that was how the founder of the Uchiha clan was rumoured to have been born. Shisui's eyes had not bled because Shisui was not born as a bomb ticking time away was.

That was Itachi's greatest and most genuine form of beauty.

Itachi's current most genuine form of beauty was Shisui's body, which quivered beneath his own like a dying animal. Shisui was not still, not dying in a tragic fashion that made Itachi scream or his eyes bleed again - Shisui's body simply convulsed and his throat was crushed in and his stomach gaped open, and the blood was everywhere, all over Itachi and himself and Madara, who sat some amount of feet away and watched the escapade with interest. It was Itachi who told Shisui to come to the river with him and it was Shisui who went because he knew what was going to happen and was mildly eager and interested, in his own way.

Shisui never wanted to die. He did, however, find the prospect of Itachi's bare hands ripping through his abdomen and powerful jutsus crushing his throat to be quite the entertaining notion, and so he had arrived with a bounce in his step, the last sip of tea he'd consumed before leaving his room in the compound lingering on his tongue. The thirteen year old Itachi had wanted to merely drown Shisui, but both of them knew that was not enough if Itachi was to still be loyal to his Mentor. It had to be a bloody, relentless death, one that lasted longer than it should have as all deaths do.

And so Shisui jerked, beneath him, because he could not breathe, which was a mixture of feelings that made him quite aware people had near death experiences every day in their consciousness and every night in their dreams, because it felt not at all unlike both finishing a juice box - wherein the vacuum of your mouth would finally meet the vacuum of the box and you sort of choked, combined with the feeling of falling while still asleep.Shisui choked and shuddered and gasped, and Itachi could not end his suffering because he was too infatuated with Shisui's dying face. Perhaps that was because Itachi had no morals, but it was far more likely that it had nothing to do with morals and everything to do with the fact that this was the last thing he'd see Shisui doing.

When Shisui did die, Itachi didn't realize it for many hours. Madara watched the ordeal, in silence, the whole time, observing his nephew's reaction, and eventually Itachi began to scream and stab Shisui's corpse in the throat. It was endearing, at best - it was clear to him that every time Itachi looked at Shisui's body, it was Madara who he saw, and he stabbed the corpse in the throat until he eventually fell unconscious. Madara preformed a Post-Mortem healing Jutsu and put the body in the river. Then he cleaned Itachi up and they went back to the compound. That was the absolute last time Shisui was ever spoken of between the two of them.

TRACK 4

"Itachi-kun. The more time you waste, the colder your tea will become."

There was a Chesire Cat look about him, a wide, mischievous grin implanted on his face, and he drank every sip with a kind of amused and loving vigor, the empty room present with Itachi's being, in an absent sort of way. He was changing, of course - having already showered and attempted to scrub the acrid smell of Enemy blood out from under his nails, and it was behind a door that he did so, thin and paper, which Shisui could've perhaps seen through if he wanted to, but of course, he could just as easily walk in without hesitation.

Shisui has never hesitated.

The door slid partially open and Itachi shut it with equal care behind him to take his seat across from Shisui, and they both stared at each other for some time before taking a drink. Shisui didn't expect anything out of him besides the look of half-remorse carved onto his features. Itachi didn't expect anything at all because he was quick to let his guard down when no one but Shisui was looking. It had always been like that, and it would always be that way. They both knew that. "I know you watched."

Itachi's words were sharp, and Shisui chuckled, fondly.

"And I know that you know that I watched." And he took a sip of his tea, thoughtfully. "You have no idea how interesting a killer you are."

Shisui didn't mention he watched what Itachi did after he finished burning the corpse. Itachi didn't mention that Shisui didn't mention it. Instead, Shisui simply stood up, took Itachi by the arm, and pulled him into his room, and he fucked Itachi long into the next morning. Shisui did not - of course - have any particular reason for doing it, because he did not love Itachi and he didn't particularly desire the undeveloped body of a thirteen year old at his own age, but he did. He did in the kind of way that left Itachi extremely confused when they were done, but he never asked anyone his questions because he was quite aware from the way Shisui touched him that they weren't supposed to be doing it.

TRACK 3

Itachi was seven when he graduated from the Ninja Academy.

All of his family attended, save for Shisui, who was busy doing a mission, and Itachi didn't care very much about it because when Shisui came home he threw the two of them a party. It was a small party, but it was filled with Itachi's laughter because he was growing just young enough to do that, at that point, and Shisui smiled brilliantly because he was truly quite proud of his cousin, in a strange sort of way. He wasn't proud of him for being innately intelligent - not at all, but far more because Itachi had slapped a lot of people in the face with his early graduation, and the twelve year old Shisui highly approved of such things.

Itachi was eight when he obtained the Sharingan Eye. All of his family were very proud of him - Mikoto made a dinner of all of his favorite meals and told him to invite anyone he wanted to come, and so Shisui did not attend. Shisui, in fact, left the compound for a little over twenty four hours, and when he returned he simply told the Elders he became very, very lost. After talking his way out of punishment did Shisui both not throw Itachi a party or even make a point to see him for a good further three days. Eventually, when Itachi did find him, Shisui told him, flatly:

"-You're going to go blind, Itachi-kun."

Itachi shook his head. "No I'm not."

"Who told you that?"

"Madara-sensei."

Shisui shook his head. "It is unwise to consort with Ouji-san now, Itachi-kun. He is too dangerous for you."

Itachi didn't say anything.

Shisui kissed him.

TRACK 2

"Shisui-kun, I want you to be kind to him. He's your little cousin and he.. Just be kind to him, alright?"

His mother's eyes were mildly crazed, and Shisui glanced at the child that sat calmly aside the river, before he nodded to Su Moon and turned to make his regards. Shisui was not the type to care what his mother's wishes were - not because she was his mother in particular but because she was a Person, and Shisui didn't entirely understand the concept of being completely disciplined. He had existed too many times before in past lives for the words of others to be of importance, and so he walked with a kind of un-reluctant ease to the form whose tiny fist curled into the rocks.

Itachi was six.

Shisui was eleven.

Neither of them said anything when he sat down.

This was Uchiha Itachi and Uchiha Shisui's play time for a good three times a week for almost a month. Neither of them would speak, neither of them would really acknowledge each other - they would skip rocks on occasion or Shisui would swim in his clothes if he was hot. Itachi would watch from the bank, and Shisui never asked why he never swam and Itachi would have never had an answer even if he did. It was entirely suiting for this to have been their first twelve interactions before, quite abruptly,Itachi told Shisui he was pretty. Shisui only laughed and informed him that he wasn't a girl. Itachi shrugged. "Neither am I."

And Shisui chuckled further. "That's what's funny about it, Itachi-kun. You are so naive."

TRACK 1

Shisui stared at the child torn fresh from Mikoto's womb, young eyes wide with a kind of morbid disbelief as both Fugaku and his mother held Mikoto and tried to relax her long enough to tell her the child had survived the birthing. There had been a lot of blood - more blood than there should have been under just about any circumstance, and it was Itachi's eyes and Itachi's brain that were filled with it. It had taken a surgery and several very strong medical jutsu, of course, and Shisui had been in the back of the room for the entire ordeal, watching curiously as medic-nins attempted to save a life with no conscious.

"Doctor?"

"Yes?"

Shisui's face wrinkled in disgust. "It's just.. he's so.. old."

".. What?"

DRABBLE REQUESTS ; OPEN TO ALL

Wed, 11 Jun 2008 08:21:41 GMT

DRABBLE REQUEST TIME

♫ USERNAME:
♫ FANDOM:
♫ PAIRING:
♫ RATING:
♫ WORD OR PHRASE PROMPT:

♫♫ My main fandoms are Naruto, J-Rock, and Goong. If you want a drabble outside of these fandoms, go ahead and request it, and I might be able to scoop something up. If I can't, I'll just tell you. I don't read a lot of Manga anymore, however, so if it's anime related, the chances learn towards me having never seen it.

♫♫♫ Request away~ It might take me a few days, but I think I'll finish it, unless I simply really don't like the request. >>; Three requests max, please.

♫♫♫♫ Comments are screened. Drabbles will be posted in batches and I will alert and link you when they're done.

FANFIC ; NARUTO ; MADAITA ; uchihacest_week

Wed, 11 Jun 2008 02:45:45 GMT

TITLE: Think Faster
FANDOM: Naruto
CHARACTERS/PAIRING: Madara/Itachi
AUTHOR[S]: Me & tothe_slaughter
SUMMARY: The world has an omniscient narrator in Madara (all-seeing, all-knowing, immortalized Madara), and Madara has the perfect little harbinger in Itachi, and Itachi has nowhere to run and no way to run there. And so things are all coming together exactly as planned. [AU with lots of canon elements]
RATING: NC-17 for violent rape, incest, references to underage sex, and references to mass murder.
NOTES: This is for uchihacest_week. Barely made the deadline on this. And it's unbeta'd. And it's in the k_correctional verse sometime before the RP started, but no knowledge of the RP is needed to understand the fic.

Itachi's mind is as blank as the walls when Madara enters the room, and that is because he has prepared and braced himself as he always does. He has sewn his mind shut very carefully (as carefully as the sanatorium walls have been suicide-proofed, plushed-down and fortified to support a whole different type of life form; as carefully as his arms are buckled and strapped to his thighs). He is carefully going over and over his murdering of one of his younger cousins in his typical way - his memory is perfectly eidetic and so he can go through every single moment as if it is on film. He can slow it down to forty-times, and go over every small and terrible detail of her body and her face.

Madara knows this.

But only because Madara knows everything.

(The way Itachi so desperately belongs here. He knows that well. 341 murders, all done by a thirteen year old some 12:33 am through 3:52 am, and the fact that he managed to plow through the Uchiha compound over such a prolonged period of time and quietly kill every occupant of every room is astounding, to this day. Uchiha Madara knows this, and appreciates the beauty of the situation. Thus is why he is here.) "Do you know what they've diagnosed you with?" - voice deep, in his question, walking into the room, and Itachi does not react to the question in the way Madara absolutely expects him not to.

"It's cute, really. They think you're suffering from Dementia on top of Schizophrenia, Obsessive Compulsive disorder, and Narcissistic Personality Disorder, along with the possibility of a Shared-Psychotic disorder." (Madara grins a little at the latter bit.) "At the very least, they seem to think you're complex enough to have two personality disorders at once. They must think quite highly of you."

But everyone thinks highly of Itachi.

Even in death, in hatred, in agony, all who have paid witness or homage to the Massacre the world over think highly of Itachi. Itachi, his darling little nephew, the one who likes to play mindgames and who is hated by more people than would acknowledge hating Adolf Hitler, who undoubtedly killed more people in his time, and more callously than Itachi did. (Whether or not Itachi's value for life - his opinion that it is a gift, coupled with his belief that stealing is fundamentally wrong - will be a problem to him has yet to be seen. Either way, it can be said that the Prodigy killed them silently, politely, affectionately. As a cousin, a nephew, a son, a grandson, a blood relative with too cold and large a heart to be a proper murderer, or even properly insane.)

Itachi says nothing.

Does not even pay him attention.

Because Itachi is not suffering from Dementia, Schizophrenia, OCD, Narcissistic Personality Disorder, Shared-Psychotic Disorder, or any strange combination of the three.

And Madara knows it.

(His silence is nothing.

It is only Itachi trying to shut him out.

Hormonal, teenaged behavior.)

And Madara expects it. (He has learned to expect very much the same things out of Itachi he had expected when he was younger. It had not and had never been Itachi's idea to kill the clan, and he had been horrified at the prospect when Madara proposed but, but not soon a fifteen minutes of speech was Itachi convinced, without hesitation. Madara is the God of manipulations - one must understand that to full understand both him and Itachi as human beings and not Gods nor psychopathic criminals.) "You're so impressive." His words are almost thoughtful, in tone, but his face is twisted horribly, jagged smile curving on his lips and eyes far too narrowed for anything good to come of him.

"You've been imprisoned here for life and haven't received a formal education since you were thirteen, and yet, you're still as smart as if you were reading every day. You truly are perfect, sometimes." Madara's smile widens, and he crouches down to Itachi's level. "But you should know that."

Itachi's nostrils flare softly, subtly.

And Madara sees all.

Sees his pupils dilate and - Itachi never fears, but how, then, does he remain so paranoid...? - perhaps into his head, but Itachi has made his face into a bird cage, and his mind into a bird incapable of singing. (The metaphor. He'd given her a doll for Christmas, and she'd never touched it for it's perfection; he almost envied it in that way, wished the same could be said for humans, but even as he removed its arm from the plastic socket and walked to her bedside he could feel his uncle's hands all over him. Feel his-)

Itachi is as still as death, is chained down by sedative medications and in a straightjacket, and still Madara can see the whir and click of gears and levers in his robotic-machinery brain.

(-inside of him.)

Everything.

(Every muscle, bone, nerve, tendon, ligament, artery- Every individual cell, and Madara can see them. Maybe he has X-Ray vision, or maybe Itachi is simply a language that one must learn, but upon learning it does one never have to think twice about understanding. Madara has grown up, understanding Itachi's secret words and understandings. And so he can see.) So he can feel Itachi's thinned face, his cheek underneath his fingers and chin resting beneath his thumb, and Itachi is both non-reactant and absolutely enraged to be touched, but Madara has never cared about such things. (You were always-) And strokes the skin which holds tightly against Itachi's lovely little skull, which encases a mind that could almost be as intense as his own.

(Almost.)

Madara's skin is not Itachi's skin, and Madara's lips are not Itachi's lips. (But his hands might as well be Itachi's hands, because Madara always knows what Itachi feels and who Itachi touches. He always, always knows, and that suits both of them well enough.) Words are taunting. (And so Madara often uses them, but for Itachi's mouth he only occupies with his own, a ruthless type of kiss with a very minor gentle somewhere on a backburner. The thirteen year old of Itachi will always be there, and so the caring of Madara will always be somewhere behind a curtain as well.) Far behind.

But there.

So painfully there, even when the two of them are so ill-adjusted to feeling pain that they tend to interpret it as lust instead. (As existent as Sasuke, and when Madara passes his final judgment does Itachi still steadfastly refuse, and they understand one another in that way.

The difference is that Madara overcame his misgivings to achieve what he knew he could,

and Itachi never bothered with knowing anything at all, so strong was his desire, his need to protect his younger brother, the one who is now in Korea and outside of Madara's sphere of influence.

Itachi is not relieved.

He still has the presence of mind to know that his beloved Sasuke has not escaped Madara's cruel, strangling fingers yet.

Just as Shisui could not escape his.)

Itachi's brain stops.

Blanks.

Painfully.

(Brittle.)

And Madara is victorious again.

As always.

The hissed, "I'll kill you," that is so easily ignored. Overlooked. Overturned with fingers in all the wrong-right places. (Brittle.)

"You won't."

Madara's words are dark, his eyes wild in an Uchiha kind of way - but of course, he changed his surname a very, very long time ago, and so nobody but Itachi really remembers who he is. (Madara does not want the name Uchiha because he does not want to be one of the Tragic Survivors. The fact that there was only one makes the story all the more dramatic, and Itachi all the more hated, because unlike Adolf Hitler, Itachi had no reason. Itachi had no followers. He worked alone, killing infants and children to able bodied adults. And Sasuke is gone. But of course, he will come back one day, and Itachi knows that, and when he does return, he must kill him because under any other circumstance will he too fall into Madara's hands.) "Not because you can't, but because you won't."

Kisses him again, and it's slow, relatively painful in nature, because in the same way Madara has every problem in the world with damaging Itachi does he love to strip him to pieces. (Because Madara exists in plans. Itachi is a plan of his gone very, very right, and Sasuke will be too, because Madara's eyes see far into the future, and he knows what is to happen. He knows. Everything that made the Uchihas famous before death was intelligence and genetics. That will be, in the end, what the remaining alive are famous for as well.) And Itachi's skin ripples beneath his fingers as he strokes his skin, supporting his chin with a steadily tighter and more vicious grip. (Madara is always in control.)

Always.

The same way he has control over this environment as it's highest executive he has control over everything and everyone therein. The lawyers, the inmates, the orderlies, and most likely the judge that presides over the court. He has control and with every piece on his chess piece does he make a move that will serve him better.

It is because he knows everything.

For example, he knows that even if Itachi's hands were free, and even if the boy were truly resolved in killing him (Madara does not believe he is, most likely because he isn't) he would not and that is because their minds are too alike. Even at their moment of greatest disruption, of greatest contrast in relativity to one another, they are more alike than oil and water are. They are alike enough to very nearly merge and procreate when they are too close.

And if Itachi were a girl and swollen with Madara's child, Madara would tell him to kill it.

And after fifteen minutes Itachi would, without question.

Itachi will not kill him because Itachi is too curious, even still. He is too curious; he wants to know whose tool he is now, what purpose he is serving where he is, bound in a tiny, windowless room like this. Bound in such a way that his arms are losing their hard-gained muscle (Madara watches them when Itachi is walked like some sort of Manson around the courtyard of the prison, his arms held behind him in manacle that sheathe the full of his forearms so that he cannot move them at all. Itachi builds muscle slowly and so Madara would find it a great pity if he were capable of pitying things and if it weren't exactly what he wanted). Itachi's fingers and hands have become the focal point of the art deco that is his body, and Madara knows that even if they were free, were gripping his throat, Itachi would never be able to overcome himself.

The same way Itachi will not kill Sasuke, he will not kill Madara. Itachi is still too stuck on his petty ideas of life as something valuable, of life as a gift neither he nor any other person is truly allowed to take from anyone. Itachi is still too trapped by the glass window panes of his memory and his hatred and his resolve.

His legs are the only thing he can use to defend himself, and so he simultaneously attempts to twist his head away and knee him in the side. And Madara sees all, knows all, sees it all coming and smiles and deflects the blow. And Itachi bucks and fights him exactly the way he always does.

Madara can feel him choke.

(-And in that does it make everything better. He retreats, of course - he doesn't want to kill Itachi, not yet, at any rate, and so he licks the tip of Itachi's tongue as he moves away, because he knows Itachi is going to say something, and he probably knows what it is at the same time. Madara knows just about all of it, and in that way does he put his hands hard on Itachi's legs to hold him still, to keep him constricted, and it isn't surprising to him at all he can fight this much on top of all of the anti-psychotics and sedatives. It isn't surprising because it's Itachi, who will never stop.

Not even trapped in a place such as this.)

That fire can reach such blinded eyes will never surprise him.

"I'll destroy so much of you that you will not have the strength or sense to die."

"You won't. And that's because without me, Sasuke will fall apart in every fashion you wished him not to. Your life depends on mine. His life depends on your death. If you wish to destroy me, then you will probably kill yourself and - inevitably - your brother along the way."

Madara pauses, narrowing his eyes, and his strike is extremely hard against Itachi's cheek, and he feels no guilt for it because Itachi's cheeks are already far too pale and the color flatters his face, to a degree. Everything flatters Itachi because he is absolutely gorgeous in every way possible. "Or, of course, I could alter my own agenda and kill him myself. Things can be changed, and he could be useful post-mortem."

Itachi makes the strangled, agonized sound Madara knew he would make (wherever he found himself when it happened), and he catches his nephew's foot by the ankle as it swings again at his solar plexus.

"You won't touch him."

Madara smiles. (He can be so cruel sometimes, and that is what makes him the perfect mentor for Itachi. That is what makes him so suitable, because Itachi is so talented in every way, and so manipulatable in only one way. In one way, and Madara knows it back to front, because Itachi is everything to him, and all he could have ever pieced together with careful hands. Itachi is his Test Subject. Sasuke will be the real product. That has been the plan since he learned Sasuke was significantly less talented than Itachi was, and that Itachi was in love with-)

"That's right. On agreeable terms, I will not." (Presses his hands onto the straight jacket's material.) "And my terms are as they have always been." (Because Madara does not change much, and that is what makes himself and Itachi identical entities.)

Itachi's hands are clenched and shaking with rage.

And it delights him.

(Because Madara's hands are not Shisui's hands - he was not the one with his fingers pressed too gently against this once-thirteen-year-old's cheek, even though he watched it all through the rain like some sort of sentient being. Watched the way Itachi's eyes closed, feathery lashes sticking together under the eaves, as Shisui kissed him once, twice, gently. Madara knows cruelty when he sees it, because he is used to being in rooms filled with metaphorical mirrors.)

And to this day, Madara knows that the moment wherein Itachi remembers the way he killed his best friend will be the moment wherein he breaks completely, and then Sasuke will be completely his, and Itachi

will be completely broken.

(The mind is a strange and complex thing.)

His smile widens.

(I could love you sometimes.)

- And kisses Itachi's cheek. (But I'll tear you apart someday.) Stands up and unzips his pants, and the noise is slow and expected, stringing Itachi's shorter hair as he takes it out, and there's something horribly - "Now." (-wicked about him, but if it were to be analyzed, this is not at all much different from when he had sex with Itachi prior to conviction. Itachi, then, was just significantly more eager to pleasure him. Things come and go in that way.) Tightens his fingers and rips Itachi's head forward.

Sheathes himself inside Itachi's perfectperfect little ivory mouth.

Feels twenty out of thirty two perfectperfect little ivory teeth (every tooth that can reach) grip him with a tearing pressure - he forms the rhythm himself so that his nephew cannot keep proper purchase on him, cannot get enough of a grip to cause him real damage. He forces Itachi's head up and down, forces himself in further than he would usually get if this darling little nephew of his was willing, plunges deeply into Itachi's perfectperfect little ivory throat and plunders him for everything he is worth. (Scrapes memories from his mind with a chisel. There are so many that most people would forfeit all hope of every getting rid of all of them, but Madara finally has Itachi backed into a corner where the only thing the boy can do is run backwards. And eventually - eventually, and Madara is more than patient enough - he will run out of space to run. He will be out of memories to hide in. And then Itachi will be his completely.

Even though most would say that Itachi is already his completely.) Itachi bites him hard at the base; Itachi is trying to be all teeth even when the back of his throat is supple and clenching around the head of Madara's cock. Even when the back of his throat reveals the same thing that Itachi's clothing did six years ago. (A thirteen-year-old that since eleven had been learning to make his body speak for him, that, without even understanding the full ramifications of the danger he was in, had lain splayed and naked at Madara's nonexistent mercy. A thirteen-year-old that could say with his limbs "fuck me, fuck me" even when from his mouth, no such words would ever be uttered. Madara knows that Itachi will never like sex. Has never liked sex. Would've gone his whole life without it if it wasn't for him. And Madara knows what a tragedy that would be. Because Itachi's whole body is tight and flexible and perfectperfectperfect.)

And Madara groans deeply as Itachi attempts to tear him apart, but he is pushed far too deeply down his throat for the barely present amounts of pain to be of any notice to him because Itachi's tonsils clench around him, and the tremors of him almost-gagging are just as they were before, if maybe a little less intense since then because his mouth is larger and he has grown. (Forces him up and down and it's rough and it's violent because Madara does not believe in regret and has many things yet for Itachi to understand. Because even now will Itachi listen to Madara speak and let himself be manipulated, because if one were to give him ten minutes, he could easily convince his nephew to escape from the sanatorium. Itachi would find a way out if Madara told him it was imperative for him to do so.)

Itachi's rage is vibrant and absolutely sane around his cock.

(Every flame. Everything. Every scrape of the tooth and clench of the muscles and swelling of the tonsils - Itachi has not changed because Madara has not changed. They have only spent the time locked away to think about what can be done and what can be erased. Madara has erased much of Itachi, in that time, but Itachi has erased a great deal more. Time and memory does not exist when it ceases to have point or meaning.) In, and out. (Ruthless. Rage. So, so cruel.)

The thing that so many people (his own little brother) would say about Itachi and in a way they are correct but in so many other ways they are wrong wrong wrong, because only the part of Itachi that is one with Madara is cruel. Everything else is simply sick and dying. Everything else is perfectperfectperfect.

Itachi is not a child.

He is a criminal.

And Madara has leashed him here for his own very sane and very cruel means.

(People have always feared God to be a wrathful entity, and expected him to punish to souls of sinners and demand that others repent. People fear God far more than love him, and it is Itachi who sits somewhere in between those lines, because the God who controls his existence is unforgivingly wrathful and terribly loving. Madara is a person of many souls, of course. Itachi is one of them, just as Shisui was one of them, just as Sasuke will soon be. Madara, the eternal manipulator, who has not aged in body since he was twenty but ages in mind with every day's passing.) Itachi's hair is tearing beneath his fingers, easily removed from malnutrition and deterioration of the hair follicles from within his scalp, and it is like (-"You're so young, Madara-kun. Why do you ask those questions?" "I have never been young.") - nothing.

Everything.

(In and out. Grits his teeth and continues to pull Itachi forward and backward by his hair until he abruptly holds him forward, hard, as deep as he can go within his throat before letting his release into him. Madara is so cruel, and Itachi cannot fight him for it because he sold his soul to him too long ago for a revoked contract.)

Itachi cannot fight him and so instead he chokes, his face shaking with the amount of effort he has to exert to not let his eyes close. He has not closed them yet, he has not ever trusted Madara the way he once trusted Shisui. He has never broken eye contact.

(Even though he listened to Madara and did not,

"You mustn't be near him, Itachi-kun."

listen to Shisui.

"Madara-oji is too dangerous for you to deal with, now.")

He does not swallow it. He refuses.

Itachi's pride is steadfastly sewn onto the back of his brain stem and Madara has never been able to rip it away. Itachi is a Prodigy and will never have humility, will never allow himself to be so disgraced as to swallow Madara's cum, will never allow himself to break eye contact, even as his face is being fucked who-knows-how-many-times.

His eyes do not close.

His gaze does not break.

Madara retracts, allowing Itachi to spit out what hadn't already made it down the back of his throat with a fairly amused expression (-because Madara does not glut in sex. He does not find it to be the most pleasurable of acts, but he knows it's terribly degrading, and the more there is, the more whomever he's taking the time to tear apart at the time will become his entirely. He'd started with Shisui, of course, but then Itachi began to show the genius brewing in his lovelylovely skull, and so he's fucked the skin covering that lovelylovely skull so many times at this point that he knows that-) Everything. (Madara knows everything. There isn't anything in specific about it. He knows. Everything. He needs to know. Always.)

Picks up Itachi's hips and jerks him onto his stomach.

(Open your eyes, someday.)

But if a person is blind, what does it matter if their eyes are open or not?

(Madara knows how far Itachi's illness has progressed because he is the one who performs all the tests. Itachi knows how far his illness has progressed because of how hard he must fight just to see anything nowadays - not even discernible shapes, but such simple things as color, or light.)

Fight, fight, fight.

Itachi twists, cannot use his arms and so instead uses his whole body so that it collides with bony vengeance; his own bones press against him, a thin and brittle pressure, and he grunts softly, frustratedy. He is so agonized in his very existence, his uncle torments him and so he is tormented.

Itachi haunts himself.

Knees Madara in the side hard as he's moved.

(And he grunts, loudly, the sharp pain traveling quickly about his hips, and it is both of his hands that lace together and come down, hard, at a point in Itachi's spine. The spine is a weak element of the Human Body by nature, and the fact that it's laced entirely with nerves rectifies the fact that is not something meant to be damaged, and so the pain is a hot one that shoots up Itachi's back as Madara pulls his legs apart, propping him up on his knees and working easily with the material, as Itachi is not even permitted to wear drawstrings, and the elastic is too loose to cause any kind of strangulation without excessive force. The whole of Itachi's existence has been proofed to make sure his existence is not there.)

Itachi's body is thin and relatively fragile, though his legs have more remaining muscle than anywhere else.

(And Madara spends only a second or two sucking on a couple of his fingers before pressing them both in, ruthlessly, at once. Madara has always had a lot of patience, but in the same way he has so much of that does he rarely let it last.)

Madara has been waiting for Itachi for a long time.

(Itachi, who strangles himself again, visibly, surging forward, craning his neck to bite deep and hard into the flesh of his uncle's throat where it hangs so hauntingly above his head and so Madara works deep enough, thrusts deep enough to feel Itachi's jaw go slack when his body spasms. Itachi, who chokes and clenches around him deliciously, unwillingly, fighting him still, trying to both draw him in and force him out, and Madara can see into his mind, can see the only voice Itachi truly possesses screaming at him through those eyes.

GetoutgetoutgetoutofmegetoutofmeI'llkillyou-)

Madara can hear it.

(Madara has always been able to hear Itachi's voice. Madara was the only person who listened to Itachi with keen interest during the boy's silence, and that is why Madara knows. He is not a mind reader or anything of that notion, but just an extremely good listener, and he is so very much not blind as the rest of the Uchiha clan has grown to be that with time-) Stretches his fingers, pressing hard into the spot that every time it is brushed Itachi loses his voice entirely and stops being able to think at all, and in that notion is everything as it should be. Stretches him and pushes back and forth into the spot until Itachi's screams are far too loud and far too violently desperate (killyou) that he removes them, raising Itachi's hips further and dipping his head slightly between his legs, tongue flicking at the stretched muscle slightly and hands working up and down his- (I love you sometimes.) -cock with relative familiarity and gentleness. (It'll always be there.) Madara's tongue swirls around the area, patiently, opposing hand returning to it and pressing back inside along with his tongue, and he twists and fingers him until he's entirely satisfied with how much Itachi cannot stop shaking. Itachi can find no purchase against the floor and so he is rocked uncontrollably - he cannot help but find himself in whatever position Madara wants him in.

(But eventually, you know, I'll tear you apart.)

Madara knows everything, most of all that the tongue is a muscle and relatively short in comparison to his own deceptively long fingers - but he cannot fit his tongue around them and so they have been jerked out so that he can fill the space as he sees fit. Itachi writhes beneath him, so much out of disgust but that perfect little sliver of glass Madara is driving into his stomach will be the fatal one. Itachi is fighting his eyes, is fighting his own body now, and Madara knows (everything) that that will be enough for him to come out victorious. Itachi knows it too - knows that if he focuses on anything but fighting Madara his uncle will win - and inevitably-

He knocks Itachi's legs wider apart, twists his tongue delicately and feels the nineteen-year-old sieze; feels Itachi's body strangle itself, racked with pleasure and nausea, feels as Itachi's restrained arms, perfectly cut nails tear desperately into his thighs, making perfect little crescents in the skin. (Milk. Ivory. The palest snow, not even vibrant enough to reflect sunlight. Itachi is a marble statue. A beautiful work of art.) Feels him tremble as he nearly bites through his lower lip; Madara is flat against him, his tongue buried as deep as it can be, his mouth open against Itachi's perfect artwork body, his teeth just as perfect, his heat mindbending.

(The risk that might break you - you have no idea what you're dealing with.)

Itachi, who is making no sound, and is still screaming.

Itachi, who is fighting a battle he has already lost, just like every time before.

There are so many reasons there are no cameras installed in this room.

And so it is entirely abrupt that Madara pulls away from him, sitting up more and positioning himself a bit more cleanly, and he knows that Itachi will be difficult to penetrate because he always has been (and they don't ever change), and so he lowers Itachi's hips just slightly, to his own level, and forces himself in hard, and it Itachi's (eyes that are screaming. Madara cannot see his mouth, but Itachi's lips are most likely clenched horribly together, trying with all of his power to constrain any noise and any relative weakness, but that is impossible in the same way Itachi killing Madara is impossible.) - body the jerks, hard, clenches, a strangled noise that comes out either way, and Madara's fingers dig into his hips are he adjusts himself for a few seconds before pulling himself out and just as roughly pushing himself back inside, and there is no kindness or gentle anymore because Madara came for one reason, and it was not to have sex with Itachi.

(No cameras. Not a single one. There is a large one-way window on the opposite wall, but when authorized officials like Madara are in the room personally, Itachi is not under anyone else's surveillance through it. It is rather funny, to Madara, that this is the case, considering Itachi is considered a highly dangerous and criminally insane patient, but the medical field will usually do all that they can to do nothing, especially when dealing with the more annoying of their workload. Especially with a killer who's become as infamous as Uchiha Itachi.)

But then, Madara finds it funny and encourages it at the same time. (If he is inside of this room, he is to be inside of it alone, without eyes on his back. The window was installed to torture. He knows the way Itachi is paranoid, knows the way his nephew so loathes being watched, most especially by instruments of Madara's device.

If he is inside of Itachi, he is not to be disturbed.)

And Madara is always somehow inside of Itachi.

It is how he knows that Itachi will always bend to him.

(Because Madara can make him bend.)

Because Madara can make him do anything.

(That is his greatest gift.)

He holds Itachi's hips steadily, though his grip is tight and Itachi is tight - Itachi's body is godly and it spasms and tightens around Madara just beautifully, and so Madara is entirely still for a moment, savoring the delicious body beneath him and Itachi's blatant agony - savors it as if it were something holy, and after a few moments of appreciating Itachi for all of his beauty does Madara return to his almost animalistic sadism, stroking in and out of his younger nephew with a kind of violently demented look about him, because Madara can have anything he so desires, and Itachi is just one of the many offerings. (Sasuke is a far more elusive desire, at this point, but Madara is not thinking of Sasuke but only Itachi because it is Itachi's body that is wrapped so tightly around his cock and Itachi's body that will, in the end, give him everything he wants.)

It is not Madara's immortality that makes him so ferocious.

It is that because he is immortal, so is his mind.

(Itachi is not - Itachi will only be this young for so long and that is the one thing Madara truly cannot stand about him whatsoever. The largest and most consequential tragedy in the world is that Itachi's beauty cannot last forever. It is proof that Madara might be Itachi's God, but there is another out there, who would damn Madara to never truly getting everything he ever wanted. There is another who has given Itachi a disease so that he might be forever preserved in what will be his premature death.)

This boy beneath him will die and so avenge his parents, his grandparents, his lover, and his precious Sasuke. This boy who is Madara's perfect little harbinger, his nephew by his brother's oldest son, Fugaku, whose body they never found. (Fugaku, who was the only person in the Uchiha family Itachi just might've killed himself, if left to his own devices. Fugaku, who so inspired his brilliant oldest son to withdraw so far into himself that he took a step backwards, and there was Madara, waiting to drag him so deeply into the water that he would never escape.)

Itachi is a powerful swimmer.

But he is drowning in his own mind, now.

(Drowning and roiling and twisting but so, so deathly still, except for the obscene rock-forward, followed by the obscene rock-back. Madara is moving for him and his legs are shaking and there is a pressure at the back of his throat that makes him think that he might be about to vomit. The idea is so disgusting to him that he clenches down even harder and he feels Madara's dick twitch inside of him as he does so, and the sensation is scathing. This is so incredibly degrading, the way his knees and the left side of his face are pushed into the floor; the joints are sick with noise, with an ache, and his cheek is sticking slightly, as it slides back and forth, and he vaguely wonders if either will be rubbed raw. He doesn't know.

Itachi is not Madara.

GETOUTOFME. GETOUTOFMEYOUSICKSONOVABITCHI'LLKILLYOU. I'LLKILLYOU.)

But you won't. That's your worst flaw.)

And Madara can absolutely taste Itachi's disgust, his antipleasure and his hatred and absolutely anything and everything he can do to make Itachi loath this more because loathing is what makes anything and everything happen. Manipulation helps, of course, but for any event in the world to occur there has to be some amount of pure and irrefutable hatred behind it. It will always be Madara's words that quietly told Sasuke that he must hate Itachi with all of his being. Madara's words out of Itachi's perfect, pretty-) gasping (-mouth.) Can't breathe. (It's too deep.)

Grabs Itachi's hips and pulls him forward, forcing all of himself completely inside of him - as much as he can before letting the pressure go and pulling back outwards. (Over and over. Madara did not come here to rape Itachi and they both know that, but all lessons must be learned. Madara will always be Itachi's teacher, if nothing else.) And slams back in. (You won't kill me no matter how many times you scream it.)

Madara could beat Itachi to death and never shame him as much as this.

("You'll never grow as a warrior if you cannot first defeat your ego, and bring an end to pride's mastery over you.")

The point is to grind him down until he is nothing except a pure element; to dissect him until only his perfect body and flawless mind remain; to take him apart all at once and then sew him back without his reservations or his opinions or his personality in tact. (Never all at once - everything is a slow process. But Madara has the time to do it. Madara has the time and Itachi does not, even though Itachi's internal clock is still intact, constantly ticking away the effervescent minutes that encompass his internment here.)

The point is to humble him so completely that he cannot help but feel as the threads attaching his pride to the back of his brain as they loosen and deteriorate. He cannot help but feel his mind and body as they go through the steps of dying.

(It is the yakuza policy of removing the pinky finger when one has made so terrible a mistake as-)

Itachi's jaw is clenched so tightly that it begins to hurt him and his breath is keeping the tempo of Madara's thrusts. (Madara can feel it through his back.) When the elder of them is completely inside, Itachi is simultaneously being completed and torn viciously apart.

(He cannot defend himself.

Or his pride.)

Because Madara is far too cruel on far too many levels.

(Itachi was built to fall apart in someone's hands. Far better his than Shisui's. Madara's hands are larger and better equipped to catch the doll parts and force them back together just the way he wants it. Itachi is absolutely famous for being able to take anything and make a weapon out of it. Madara, however, is not famous for what he can do concerning Itachi, and that's to say, absolutely everything.) Out, and in, and he groans because Itachi feels so good it's almost painful. (-Madara knows Itachi's head. Every thought, every feeling, and every cell developed - Madara knows it all because he has programmed Itachi to think very much like himself. So cruel.)

Madara knows that Itachi is right on the verge of cumming because of how tight his muscles are clenching, because of how much almost-unintended resistance is presented him as he entered. Itachi is smart enough to conserve his effort and try to force Madara out only when he is inside when he is beneath him like this, so long as he is in control, so it is evident that he is losing control when it is just as hard to enter him every single time. It is evident in the way his thighs shake.

(Execution.)

A perfect ten.

Because Madara is exactly right.

Two strokes in and Itachi cums, almost dry, shaking with rage and more emotion than the most insightful psychiatrist could ever elicit from him. Itachi cums gaspingly, his heartbeat pausing for the explosion, the detonation of his mind, and his pretorn lip splits cleanly.

Blood spills onto his chin and onto the floor.

(And Madara's is exactly 3/40th of an hour after Itachi's, which is really only a few minutes, violently into Itachi's body until he is entirely done and pulls out of him with ease. Madara, who has absolutely no problem at all with doing such a thing to him because it means Itachi will continue to grow. Itachi is of very little use to him dead, while Sasuke is an entirely different story, and that was half of Madara's reasoning for Itachi to kill the clan. For a point, he needed the child to get rid of them, and for the less obvious other, he needed Itachi in a place where he couldn't be allowed to die, and so it is he personally who supervises Itachi's care in the sanatorium. Mikoto and Fugaku's children both have their own uses carved out for them.)

Replaces his pants, and speaks calmly, speaks terribly and without true voice.

"About fourty-five minutes ago, your brother's flight in from Korea landed. He is going to obtain a gun shortly after departing from the airport and intends to come here and kill you. I've arranged for the lighter security to be in hold today so he can get through. Doing to him what I just did to you will substantially increase his chances of hitting you one of the four times he will fire the gun in your direction. Killing you will save his life and, more importantly, his mind, but the likelihood nonetheless is that after killing you he'll probably turn the gun on himself. You have four minutes and thirty five seconds to think before he is finished being patted down by security."

Itachi's breath hitches and Sasuke's steps echo cleanly as he scares birds from the pavement. (The older shudders. The younger clenches his fists.)

"Madara-"

A cruel smile

that is the words

Think

faster.

109 ICONS - MULTIFANDOM - NWS

Tue, 10 Jun 2008 22:45:13 GMT

ICONS

[24] NARUTO - NOT WORK SAFE
- tayuya in the doujin ninja dependence 2
[10] NIGHTMARE
- sakito (somewhat photoshopped)
[8] D
- asagi
[8] MARILYN MANSON
[15] LIZ VICIOUS - NOT WORK SAFE
[10] SUG
- takeru
[23] LINETRAP - NOT WORK SAFE
[11] YUKIE NAKAMA

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I should have my submission for uchihacest_week up by tonight too, if I finish it. D: I hope I do.

FANFIC ; NARUTO ; ITASASU ; uchihacest_week

Mon, 09 Jun 2008 21:43:06 GMT

TITLE: Reinvention
FANDOM: Naruto
CHARACTERS/PAIRING: Itachi/Sasuke, minor references to Shisui/Itachi
AUTHOR: Me :|
SUMMARY: There are not a lot of things that Itachi cannot do.
RATING: NC-17 for sex, snuff, incest, and cannibalism.
NOTES: This is for uchihacest_week. 6 more to go XD And uh. Yeah. Totally did NOT plan this shit to come out this way. And unbeta'd. Unless you personally want to correct all of my mistakes, don't tell me about them. I don't care :|

There are not a lot of things that Itachi cannot do.

(In the same way there were not a lot of things Itachi couldn't do. Things are specified by tenses - dramatized and recreated by the absolutely and completely indiscreet fact that everything of the past has led up to all of what happens now. Now, which sits on a throne like a god, and both Itachi and Sasuke worship it as such. This is their cancer. Their presence and their inevitable destruction is the fact that time does not stop for anyone. Not even an Uchiha. And not even a-) "God-" (-which breathes fire and sees into the future as is everything Sasuke ever could have hated into one being. One entity which crushes his shoulders underneath his grip, which destroys him between sweat and the utter and absolute disgust for this they both share.)

- is not here.

(God.)

Is not here.

(And Sasuke is filled to the brim. Sasuke is the glass that is not half empty or half full at all, but one carefully poured to the exact amount of fluid before exploding over the edge. One tiny movement and it will all spill, and then the glass may be somewhere around half empty. Sasuke is filled completely with twenty nails, twenty two internal organs, three external organs, thirty two teeth, two hundred and six bones, six quarts of blood, over six-hundred muscles, over five million hairs, over a billion nerves, about one hundred trillion cells, and a million other things hidden underneath his skin, but the two he cannot distinguish the difference between are-) Itachi's eyes.

(His eyes.)

Itachi's cock.

(His cock.

Everything hurts, and in that regard does he want more in the worst kind of way, because he knows that this cannot possibly be any kind of real. Itachi has had one lover in his entire life - all else who were present were either figures who moved as indistinguishable shapes or those attempting to use Itachi. But of course, Itachi cannot truly be used either way-) "Fuck-" (-because he exists with reasons for everything. He is the ultimate manipulator, in that regard. Madara did so well.) And Sasuke is absolutely everything. (Every cloud - which is not really a cloud but a collection of evaporated water, and every blade of grass - which is not really grass but only the product of heat and fluid and seeds, and every-) Product of a product.

Recreation.

Reinvention.

Sasuke cannot feel Itachi's hands in his hair, cannot feel that his shoulders are most likely out of place, and cannot feel the blood. (The blood. It is absolutely everywhere, and the only reason he knows it is there is because the taste sits somewhere at the back of his tongue, mixing in a little with the remaining flavor of Itachi's cum.) It hurts. (-And he does not speak, he does not think - everything is a shade of red, and he does not care because he knows that such a thing must mean he's under-) Groans, and it's deep and desperate and agonized, coming from somewhere terribly deep within him and it's absolutely killing him. (-It's not wrong because he knows it isn't real. It is not at all unlike his dreams - once upon a time he would dream about getting fucked by Shisui the way Itachi did, but that was a very long time ago, back when he still admired Itachi, to a degree. Even after the slaughter, it was hard to get over.

Old habits die hard.) Too much. (I'm gonna die.) Too much. (You're gonna- And it is barely felt when Itachi's fist comes down on the back of his head, fucking him raw and abusing him as violently as it could be, and Sasuke's teeth almost drive straight through his tongue. The muscle would, of course, repair with time, because time does not stop for anyone, but the blood gushes quickly, without hesitation, all into his mouth like an orgasm of its own. (He swallows. A person can swallow a pint of blood before he or she becomes sick. Sasuke's made it to three before.) And it's everywhere, everywhere red, everywhere and absolutely surreal because something so intense cannot exist in a mind as fragile as his own. Even Sasuke knows that.)

Thrust.

(Oh god it hurts, oh god don't speak to me I won't be able to answer you-)

Thrust.

(And in this is Sasuke still-)

But Itachi is not speaking, and Sasuke is not speaking, and neither can probably feel anything. (To feel means one must have active nerves. If a person is attacked with Tsukiyomi too many times, the nerves begin to deteriorate. The system in the spine begins to stop wiring signals, and so at this point, both Itachi and Sasuke are very numb to most things, and so concepts replace actual pain. Madara is a concept. Madara is a God. But of course, a God requires a scripture, and a scripture requires both writers and believers. Who is to say-) But speaking has never been a part of a scripture, and everyone knows that.

***

"Fugaku."

"What is it?"

"I'm pregnant again."

"Kill it."

"What?!"

"The secondborn is always the one who suffers."

***

When it ends, the red doesn't fade. Sasuke's orgasm is hard and Itachi's follows a minute or so later, and he pulls out and pushes him away. (Sasuke doesn't feel it. He only half-realizes he's lost his balance long enough for his arm to come out and sort of break his fall.) And Itachi is not there to him, only an entity of red which makes him a fleeting but horrible blind. (But all Uchihas are born to eventually become blind. All of them will live short lives and all will die without warning. That is why the clan will never be re-established. It will die with Sasuke, the same way all hope for redemption died with Shisui.)

But Sasuke does not say anything, merely gropes in the air, finding Itachi's face, somewhere above where he's sitting. Gropes around until he can feel Itachi's eyelashes beneath his fingertips, and it is a swift movement in that he crushes his fingers into Itachi's skull, blindly - like a child searching for sweets, and rips away all that he can scoop out with his nails. Nothing about them is gelatinous, but hard and extremely cold, and Sasuke digs Itachi's eyesockets empty before stuffing the remains into his mouth.

Itachi never twitches.

(Chews. Swallows.)

Itachi never flinches.

(Chews. Swallows.)

Itachi has been dead for the last three hours.

(And Madara is a God.

And so if time cannot stop for him, then it will indeed set itself on repeat.)

[DRABBLE] TAYUITA - DISTRICT_CURIA

Tue, 20 May 2008 13:28:00 GMT

TITLE: Salt
AUTHOR(S): Me :D
FANDOM: Naruto, verse of district_curia
PAIRING: TayuIta
GENRE: Tragedy/Post-Mortem
WARNINGS: Character death, sexual references.
SUMMARY: She never learned to swim.

Things come in waves.

(They always have, and they absolutely, absolutely always will. She is the type of person who has - however - generally neither been able to recognize it nor wanted to, because she does not appreciate that kind of Paradigm. She enjoys the irrefutable act that no matter how hard anyone tries, things will never change - and completely disregards the fact that this philosophy is entirely untrue in a variety of interesting ways.) Maybe she's always come off crazy, in that sort of way. (But at some point, you either know it or you don't. You either understand it or you refuse to admit it, but at another point will that black and white stanza of being have to change too, the way things come in waves.)

Waves that smash into her body from where she stands in front of the ocean.

(Tayuya never learned how to swim. Curia is an enclosed city, and growing up in Cena did no one think it too important for her to make use of the swimming pools regularly home to corpses and other illegal like. Tayuya never wanted to swim either. She does not remember a lot about her parents - even her father, whom could have been burned into her memory - but there's an emotion attached to every memory that exists in every mind, even if it is latent. People are animals in the way certain scenes and images are forever to be burned in the mind for a specific reason. People are superior - in the kind of so not superior way it hurts - in that they can attach feelings to memories unconciously to force upon the point of memory even more so. Tayuya never learned to swim, mostly because every time she passed a body of water did she feel incredibly sick.)

And yet she's here.

(Standing. Eyes wide and stomach lurching in disgust, the way it did the first time she swallowed cum and then thought it would be a good idea to wash it down with an energy drink. The two didn't piece together well, and her legs are shaking in a kind of post-orgasm esque way, if not so romanticized.) Dead. (Itachi, are you-) Dead? (Well FUCK YOU.) Stomach lurches, and the sandy, salty water makes her toes curl beneath themselves in discomfort, as she takes a few steps forward. (It's summer, and the water is kind of warm. Kind of not. She really doesn't care.) "Bastard." (Behind her, holding him - if you fuck him up I swear to God I will kill you.) "You couldn't even-- Fuck."

Sasuke breathes.

Tayuya breathes.

(Itachi, you bastard-)

And so she walks.

FANFIC ; JROCK ; MIYARUKI for the_lady_lamb

Wed, 09 Apr 2008 01:04:27 GMT

Title: Choke.
Fandom: the GazettE (ガゼット), and Miyavi.
Characters: Miyavi, Ruki, mentions of Kai, Reita, Uruha, and Aoi.
Summary: "I told you not to do that."
Words: Over nine~~thousand~~hundred.
Rating: NC-17, oh fuck yes.

Ruki was never the type to hold back anything either way, so to him, this is absolutely nothing, even in its finest hour.

(Which this probably is.)

"You're bucking your hips."

Miyavi's head raises, lips sleek and reflective, wetted down even further with a swipe of his tongue, and it is Ruki's (eyes. Black eyes. They should be blue. He looks good enough with blond hair for them to be blue.) that resume their focus, as if he were a blind person, but he's not. (Miyavi is-) "I told you not to do that." (-sucking him off, Jesus fucking Christ.) - and he groans, angrily, painfully, the slight, pierced grin on (God, he's so hot, Godgodfuckhe'ssohot) - tattoos everywhere, ink all over him, smiles and energy and it radiates like hot air on a hot day - Miyavi could be God with a mouth like that.

(But a person with a job like God has needs to be more melancholy.

Ruki, however-)

"I'msorryI'msorryfuck-"

Miyavi's grinning.

(Like a madman. Like he's working up a crowd the way he can because he's that damn attractive either way. Ruki can do it too, but not to that degree.) "Are you?" (Right on his cock, breathing all over it from where it's clasped hard in his left hand-Ruki can barely take it.) Brushes his lips across the skin, lightly, scraping the metal across wherein the precum is seeping out, and Ruki could cum right there if he didn't know that Miyavi would be disappointed in him if he did. (He has some amount of selflessness; Ruki finds himself painfully aware of the way Miyavi reacts to things, especially-)

"Yesyesyes, I'm sorry, please-- Fuck-"

(Takes him in entirely, licks him all the way down and brings himself up, sucking hard, sucking all of Ruki out of him and easily leaving behind a dazed shell, and it pleases Miyavi more than fucking nothing to know he can do that.) Trembling. (He's shaking so hard, and it takes everything he's got not to grabMiyavi's head and force him up and down as fast as he fucking can, it takes everything he has to not cum in his mouth because he knows that the other would be so disappointed-) He raises up enough to speak. "You can do it." (And goes back down within that second.)

The words (Miyavi's singing voice and his speaking voice are both so different from this voice that it aches.) are what make him cum, not the accompanying touch. (He can feelMiyavi almost gag from how far down he forces himself to go, feels the spasm of his throat recover as he comes up again, sucking away at anything there with the feeling of an amused and accomplished smile on his lips. (Ruki can recognize it, at this point.)

Panting.

"Spread your legs, Ruki."

(Miyavi could have given him a gun and told him to kill himself and he would have done it out of dazed obedience.)

Ruki lays back on the floor, the cold linoleum of the tour bus bathroom making his bare back sting softly, and he parts his thighs without question, watchingMiyavi with (black, should be blue. Should be blue.) his only half-present eyes, watching him as he rolls the lubricated condom onto himself and pushesRuki's legs back farther onto the floor, straining his muscles only enough to make him aware of what was going on. (He doesn't use his fingers. He doesn't need to.Miyavi never needs to do anything; he only does what he wants and rates it on the degree of how much he had wanted it, not how good it was. That is his way of thinking, among a thousand other universally deranged fashions.) "I'm putting it in."

(Closes his eyes and bucks up hard when Miyavi's cock is pushed completely inside of him, and they both moan like desperate whores, though Miyavi's is more deep throated, black fingernails jabbing hard into hips and the burning feeling of the lubricant from somewhere deep inside of Ruki could never make him more-) "Oh God, you're so good." (Miyavi can't breathe. It's too tight on him and he doesn't want to move because the way Ruki presses down on him and tightens up with every slight adjustment is just-) "God fuck-"

Ruki's noise is strangled when he grabs Miyavi's hips and pushes him in deeper.

(Strangled, having no real or discernable ring to it, only something between a great amount of pain and a somewhat blinding amount of pleasure.) AndMiyavi holds that depth for a second before pulling back, slowly, trying with an unbearable amount of self control to not snap him in half the way he's done with (Uruha. Reita. Kai. He hasn't touched Aoi yet, but he will. He always does.) And pushes back in, hard, watching (He's not a sadist. Miyavi could never be considered a sadist, but-) Ruki's eyes are wide, his voice gone, hand slack against the floor, and he's choking (-he loves it when they do that. To get fucked to the point when you're entirely senseless, and he's only made two strokes.) on nothing at all, on the intensity that makes him want to explode entirely, andMiyavi-

(Isn't smiling.

Isn't smirking.

You couldn't put a word for the look on his face.)

[DRABBLE REQUESTS] HAPPY VALENTINE'S

Fri, 15 Feb 2008 00:27:21 GMT

FIC REQUEST.

NAME:
LJ:
PAIRING/CHARACTERS:
FANDOM: (Preferably Naruto, Goong, or Death Note.)
LENGTH: (500 words max.)
RATING:

NO MOAR THAN 3 REQUESTS PER PERSON PLEASE? D:

[GIFT FIC] Flex -- DeiNaru

Mon, 24 Dec 2007 15:26:12 GMT

Title: Flex
Fandom: Naruto
Characters: Deidara, Naruto, Sasori
Requester: the_lady_lamb
Summary: The beginning of the end. (In his lips.) In his hands.
Rating: NC-17 >D

Deidara is gazing at him. (Not staring. Fucking gazing. How womanly is that?) But it's the end of it, and they both have long since realized that. (So the both of them can suppose it's okay.) Okay because, in the end, the very (very. End.) it's all okay. Any action is justified. Any action in the whole world, and Deidara has his hands wrapped around all of them. (His scarred hands. Twists, erratic and vicious, of scar tissue that he has never thought to fix because he cares so little about his body and so much less about perfection that it's ridiculous. That, perhaps, is what sets him apart from Sasori more than anything. This difference between them.) Deidara is gazing at him, and Naruto is requiting it, because there's a home-made bomb in the left of Deidara's (scarred. And torn. Sasori slashed it and stitched it wide open. A hole. An orifice. A mouth. Naruto would have fucked it if Deidara's real mouth wasn't so alluring. Naruto would have fucked it if-) hands, and there's a gun in his right.

(You've got a gun to my head.)

This is the devil if the devil were a place. (Because if the devil were a place, it would most certainly not be hell. It's too unoriginal. Christianity as a religion is far too literal, and that's its most fatal flaws. Naruto knows this, because it is one of the many things Deidara has taught him. Deidara knows this, because Deidara is smart.) This place of theirs, overlooking a city untouched by Deidara's hands, and Naruto is staring at him (jagged, blonde hair. Cut roughly with a pair of scissors, and Deidara had lightly snipped at Naruto's ear on accident, causing a bloody mess and an array of over-exaggerated screaming. Eventually, he got a doctor to stitch it up, and Naruto hides it with a Gage. Not like he would have been ashamed of it if he hadn't. (This place of theirs, untouched and unflawed as of now. As of absolutely and incoherently-

right now.

Deidara is going to corrupt it.)

"I feel like destroying something beautiful, yeah."

Naruto isn't scared.

(Of course.)

He'd been expecting this for a while.

(And so he lets Deidara kiss him hard on the lips before dropping down to his knees, unbuttoning the other blonde's pants slowly while the other blond fiddled with a lighter, letting his tongue do it's thing across the head of Deidara's cock. Naruto has rehearsed this final act of adoration many times before, because in all of the times he and Deidara have had sex and almost died, orgasm with flames and erratic screaming in the background has never been quite so sweet. It's the feeling embodied. It's Deidara.) Alive. (And writhing.) And snapping the lighter to spark while the gas butane rushed through the small radius of air.

He groans.

(Naruto's head is pushed completely down on him, and he can feel his throat contracting in a silent gag. It's sexy.

In a completely not sexy way.)

And strokes the top of Naruto's head.

"I hate you sometimes."

(Hates Naruto all the time. Hates Naruto the way he used to hate Sasori. The way he did when he'd fuck his ass until the stoic little bitch screamed beneath him. Deidara is a violently dominant and even more violently insane person, and it is to Naruto's detriment that he was so easily wooed by a handjob and some easy words on a street. Naruto falls in love hard and fast, and Deidara is unique to all the others he has ever loved if only because he fell in love with him and stayed in love with him with a disturbingly perfect ease. Perfect ease in all of the ways absolutely nothing about their royally fucked little relationship is.)

And groans.

"Curia is over, yeah."

Naruto pushes his head forward and back once more before retreating away, mouth somewhat dry, licking his lips with more saliva only once before going right back to what he was doing, and in between these gestures does he say, in the most irrefutably dead voice he's ever spoken without ever in "I love you, too." (I love you so much.) Because he does. (Because Naruto's insane and so stupid in that regard. Because Deidara is every one and every thing he has ever been repelled and attracted to in his life, and that makes being around him like being on a pheromone. Built in. Impossible.)

And Deidara doesn't waver.

(Falling with a passion.
Falling with an everything.

It falls down into the city below from the roof that they stand on, and Naruto's sucking Deidara's cock through the very end of their worlds. Naruto is content in it in the absolute worst kind of way, as well, and Deidara fingers through his hair with his cracked, broken hands, their scars everything in the world against Naruto's scalp. In his erratic streaks of highlighted blond. It falls in slow motion, and neither of them hear the wizzing of broken air as it is penetrated by death itself. By the soon to be Bang that will be the last thing and one of the few things the nearly deaf Deidara will ever hear. Deidara does not know Naruto said he loved him because he hadn't been able to read his lips. Deidara will never know.

Ever.)

And he doesn't cum before the bomb goes off and the entirety of Cena and Celo is completely.

And utterly.

Eradicated.

End

HAPPY CHRISTMAS LOVE.

[ICONS] KarinSasu Log Quotes

Sat, 11 Aug 2007 03:50:17 GMT

Yes, I am a ho :|

14 quote icons from a certain log at a certain rp mostly made by a certain stalker. They are epic icons, with or without reading the log ♥

001

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007

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009

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011

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013

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Created with angelamaria's Icon Table Generator @ Bauble

Moar requested by yukari_rin & disbelieves

001	002	003


004	005	006

Created with angelamaria's Icon Table Generator @ Bauble

IF THERE ARE ANY QUOTES FROM THE LOG YOU WOULD LIKE ME TO MAKE ICONS OF THAT I HAVE NOT DONE SO YET, PLEASE FEEL FREE TO ASK ♥

[GIFT FIC] Rupture -- SasoShika

Tue, 12 Jun 2007 19:45:02 GMT

Title: Rupture
Fandom: Naruto
Characters: Sasori, Shikamaru
Requester: ahoushi
Summary: The deeper the wound, he's inside him.
Rating: Hard R >_>

Sasori knows a little about everything. (It’s not conceitment that drives him to this fact, but only fact himself, and it is not by choice that he knows this, but by unabridged observation and the like of that. Of the way people look when they are frightened, the way the heart speeds up right before his eyes, and he has come to the conclusion that it is not difficult to know so much. It is all written out before him, like a body on a table, and Sasori is enraptured with this knowledge. People, as much as he detests them, are fascinating.)

And it is only to be explained a little further when the body in front of him is strapped down, against a metal he can only assume is cold (a feeling forgotten in time) – and the boy is nameless, just a number in his mind as he pulls back the sheet draped over the body. (He’s not dead. Sasori just doesn’t care. Sasori never particularly cares about the well-being of others, and the sheathes at the table’s left side only go to show for it. He has not a name, but that woman certainly seemed angry to see him-)

(When Sasori was a child, he had little to no reason for his coexistance. In the Akatsuki not much has changed, and there is a disgusting amount of contentedness with this fact. Sasori does not like change. The stationary and predictable is what he is close to whatever Liking something is, and at the same time, he revolts against his own beliefs and changes himself every single day.

Not out of masochism, never out of masochism.

That is not his way.)

The recorder clicks on.

(Sasori smiles.)

“The subject has been thoroughly photographed and sketched in his original state, found awake and cooking dead fish over the fire of his campsite when I struck him unconscious from the back. His clothing were noted to be formal Chuunin clothing: a set of black pants, shoes, and long-sleeved undershirt along with a green vest. The headband he was wearing suggests he is a Konohagakure ninja. He was found armed and prepared to fight. The residue from the body suggested he had been in the woods for some three or four days, no flakes of other materials were found, and an ultraviolet light test suggested recent sexual activity. A nail was removed from both feet and both hands, and a sample of hair was taken for further examination post-autopsy.”

He presses the light on, beaming it over the boy’s body as he pulls on a set of gloves and slides the breathing mask over his face. (It is nothing he hasn’t done a million times before, and Sasori finds a sick fascination in it. Especially when-)

“The subject is a teenage male, 175.1 centimeters long and 57.1 kilograms. The body was cleaned approximately one hour ago. The hair color and eye color are both a dark brown. There is visible bruising on the back of his neck caused from my attack, and no other visible exterior injuries. Now wounds. No scratches. Trace amounts of a drug will be found in his blood stream upon internal examination.”

Slipping from under the light, he pulls the cart of tools to his side, the body block beneath the man’s back propping up his chest and causing the neck to loll backwards. (Sasori knows everything about the body. He knows it too well, and it is frightening in the sense that the many missing Suna nins all faced the same fate. He is sick, and Sasori, sweet Sasori, can always do a little bit of something. In the way he can cut so perfectly, the way he cut his beautiful mother open and explored her insides before fucking her corpse and making her perfect forever. He is sick, but Sasori, in the end, is damnably beautiful.)

The sheathes pull a noise together, blades dragging across one another and the boy is stirring somewhat, and Sasori only smiles, brushing the long brunette hair out of the boy’s face and turning to be at his left side. “The subject’s relaxant should be wearing off by now, however, he will most likely bleed to death before he has to control to move. Incision Y being made now.”

The first cut slits at the left side of his neck, and it slices deeply through his skin, the sudden seperation of flesh being unregistered for a second before a thick line of red begins to show through, and Sasori drags the blade downwards at a right line, cutting into a straight angle at the best bone and dragging through body parts and the like until hitting the Pubic bone. The second cut, made at the right side of the neck, stops at the best bone, and Sasori stops to stare, setting down his sheathes as the eyes flutter open and the blood begins to sleep into the table’s tray, draining into the buckets at either side. It is (really goddamn Pretty) disgusting in every right, and he places a gloved hand over the boy’s eyes, letting the fluorescent light glare over him as the blood drains from his body.

The flesh peels back with a squelch, and Sasori’s latex gloves go red.

“The chest cavity is now open. The ribcage is intact, suggesting no internal injuries of that regard. Now removing the ribcage.”

(Shikamaru doesn’t die of bloodloss, but of a snap in the spinal chord when Sasori cuts out his ribcage. He loses almost all of his blood directly prior to that when Sasori tears open the Pericardial Sac in his heart to examine it, and the inferior vena cava, pulmonary veins, aorta, superior vena cava, and pulmonary arteries are cut to remove and weigh the heart. The rest of his organs are removed systematically, and Sasori is both unfazed and enraptured.)

[FIC] Fragile - ItaMiko

Thu, 07 Jun 2007 17:46:18 GMT

Authors: Me and shinybluestuff
Title: Fragile
Fandom: Naruto
Pairing: Uchiha Itachi x Uchiha Mikoto
Comm: 10_whores
Theme: 03 - Ballroom Dancing
Warnings: Mentions of dirty stuff, incest, poetic thought process
Words: 3363
Summary: Mikoto is a kind woman. [AU, set in 18th century France]

Mikoto is a kind woman.

(There are things about her damagingly complex, like the way she holds her two sons with such grace and care that not even Fugaku can interrupt her, and even in her fragility does she hold a strength when she tells her husband to not lay one more finger on Sasuke’s head, or else-) But in the eyes of the French Queen, she is not a kind woman. She is simply a woman, bound and tied in a corset crafting her frame the right way and a ball gown sweeping the floor like a broom in the way she enjoys cleaning what she can get to. (But she is an Uchiha, and Fugaku insists-)

The waltz is slow and steady, between herself and a man whose age shows in the constant weather-beaten glare on his face, and it is her youth (betrothed at half his age, and Mikoto does not love him the way that any well mannered wife would. But Mikoto is neither well mannered nor weather-beaten as he.) The sting of Perfume sprayed too close to her eyes has long since faded, but she can tell the man is glutting in the scent, in the One-Two-Three to the symphony playing in the dip of the ballroom, positioned perfectly aside the foods set a buffet down the line of those brave enough to mingle and not be Perfected for the hosts.

(Such hosts as these, of course, Mikoto is always perfected. It is the Uchiha way.)

She (never) doesn’t say a word, amidst laced fingers and solemn expressions, only lofting about the dance floor in a well-trained rhythm all too reminiscent of a funeral march from the time she lost her mother. (But women in France are born and raised to accept a quick loss. They are born and raised to-) But Mikoto deviates that. (She is a kind woman.)

Itachi is not kind, not like his mother.

There is no kindness as he rebuffs the blondes with their glittering blue eyes and swirling red ball gowns, the redheads with their jaded gazes as they watch him move through the throng of dancing figurines. He doesn’t acknowledge that which has already enough attention to feed off of even itself. He doesn’t acknowledge that which will inevitably waste what precious time he has left. (And Uchiha Itachi is not the most empathetic of people, but he counts his seconds like grains of gold.)

When a young woman cuts his path off, her bright smile a sharp contrast to his dark demeanor, Itachi does not immediately react. Her hair is strawberry-blonde and her eyes are vivid green gems, but they reflect something so obviously naïve that he cannot help the scowl. She is pretty, but she is dense, unaware of what Itachi thrives on, what he must acquire to obtain any form of peace. She is unaware because while their ages even out, she is so far behind him, years out of his reach. Where he has been forced to age faster than the seasons can gather up their leaves and melt the snow from atop mansion rooftops, she still sets out a tray of Christmas cookies every night before she curls up in bed.

Itachi doesn’t get much sleep. (He has no time for that anymore, between taking care of little Sasuke and proving to his father that the reason the extent and faultlessness of his grace exceeds farther than that which any of them had ever anticipated is not his doing. That he should not take that burden unto himself, because he does not deserve the praise he knows mother sparingly affords him.)

He sidesteps the pretty girl, and that brings his eyes to train on the slender form of his mother dancing elegantly in the arms of his father. Thoughts already off the deep end, as he is feeling particularly vindictive tonight, Itachi makes his way over to the pair, and politely moves to cut in. There is no “May I?” or “Would you care to?” or anything of that sort, because he sees no reason why either of them would need an explanation he’d never be ready (or willing) to offer.

Fugaku regards his son with distrust.

(It’s an expression that remains heavy in his eyes as of late, something that Mikoto can’t wear away, no matter how many times she tries through soft spoken talks, the catching of the shoulder, or the distraction of making love to someone she doesn’t love. But that is-) And Mikoto isn’t surprised. (But she is saddened. Because Itachi is one of her precious sons, and long before the day he was torn from the wastes of her womb she had promised to love him unconditionally. Because she is-)

And Mikoto only smiles softly, placing a delicate hand (It’s okay.) on her husband’s shoulder before parting space with him, bowing her head out of polite before taking the cold left hand of her first son. (Itachi’s hands haven’t always been cold. And his expression hasn’t always been dark. And the memories of a time before Itachi was brilliant and therefore, free of pressure, are fresh in her mind every time she kisses the boy’s brow or holds him in her arms. Because she will always be his mother and nothing more or less.) Never-

(Always.)

Her husband stands apart from her for a few moments before her confident stare leads him away, and the tune of the band (and yet the same, One Two Three) changes into a new song, the lacing of cold and warm fingers automatic as she stares with (naïve, but not naïve, Mikoto’s eyes are-) innocent (-but she is hardly such, and her life is one with a thriving and unchangeable-) brown eyes into a pair so very changed since she’d first seen them.

(Itachi’s eyes used to be black.)

It’s a push and pull sort of relationship, in a way.

Not twisted, because such a derogatory use for something so pure in all sense of the word is sacrilege. Not perfect, but Itachi can pretend, moving close to his mother’s warmth, one place where he never once feels inapt, unnecessary. Nothing. A void for all of the emotions his father so unwittingly places upon his shoulders like badges of honor. (If only he could see his oldest son’s real badges of honor, but never, he never will.) Being here sucks the tension from his body and the razorblade edge of his disdain all but dissipates in favor of actually breathing, of actually living. And that is what thrills him, like a sharp chill through his body, almost as much as the skin brushing the soft in-betweens of his fingers, almost as much as the warmth pressing lightly against the pale center of his palm.

(Don’t you know what you’re doing, boy?)

Itachi draws in a slow inhalation of the cold air, much too cold for the atmosphere that a celebration such as this should have, but there is nothing he can do about it. Instead, his unoccupied hand moves to gently rest against the curve of his mother’s hip, like a quiet presence, hardly there but advertently present nonetheless. A ghost. (God knows how many of those he has.)

He is still shorter in height, and in any other circumstance, this would have dissuaded him from his current situation, but Itachi’s resolute determination is unfaltering and not even this negligible challenge will deter him. Maybe it’s for the countless young and flighty eyes that watch him lead his mother in familiar, patterned steps, but they brush it off as though this is tradition. A young man dancing with his beautiful, caring and kind mother. It’s traditional, it’s sweet, it’s pure.

Itachi fights down the urge to glance in his father’s direction. (Could you ever charm them like this, father?) But as soon as the insistence takes him it is gone, and he is left to his own thoughts, his own directions.

Maybe this is for you, father. (And god knows you deserve it.)

Mikoto loves Itachi (and Sasuke) more than she loves anyone else. (Fugaku will never add up to her sons, and a small part of everyone in their unstable home knows this, in the way she holds them and takes so much joy in doing the small, motherly things she is supposed to be doing, and would be doing on a regular basis if she weren’t in such a wealthy, diplomatic family. When Mikoto was a child, she was a beautiful little girl, and couldn’t wait to be a mother to take care of twin girls named Asami and Ayami. That changed when she matured and understood how life was to work, but she clutches onto both Sasuke and Itachi with an adoration painfully rare in the Uchiha family.

Possibly Itachi can identify with it.)

The dance is slow, chaste, a series of steps between Itachi, dressed in a black outfit to contrast with his colorless skintone, like the snow Mikoto used to play in during the cold months when the frost would bite at her nose and a flush would always tint her cheeks. And she is draped in white, the snow itself, expensive petticoats and laces attracting unwanted attention to her as she works her way across the ballroom with him, and she holds him with an all too bearable need, a motherly I Will Never Let You Be Hurt So Long As I Can Help It, because she loves Itachi so very much, and doesn’t mind the possibility that such might not be requited. (But she knows that it is.) But she knows that he’s-

(Dead.

And waiting.)

A twirl, and a lock of her hair escapes from the tight bun the maids had fretted over for several hours, skimming down her back to her full length of hair until reaching it’s end at her waist. And she doesn’t mind it. (Because, oh because-) Only letting it hang, gracefully the way her skirt does and the way Itachi’s own pretty hair does down his own grace(less)ful back. (She loves him so.) And with a slight pick-up in tempo from the Orchestra does she move a little faster, though with the same perfection, with the same of what is wired in with their family. (The blood.)

The Uchiha clan is already dead. (Mikoto may have been one of the few survivors.) And her smile is gentle. (And her smile is genuine. Like a spring day, and the flowers she brings in to Itachi or Sasuke’s room on occasion, not expecting them to notice, but simply positioning them in a vase and letting them sleep the morning in. Her smile is like-) But he isn’t here. (And she knows Itachi wants him to be.)

He’s watching, intently, as his mother changes position every so often, as she shifts every moment or two. It’s all entirely too fascinating, admittedly, and watching up close is so much more intense than watching from a distance. Hooked and fastened, Itachi’s grip tightens into a comfortable, still slightly slackened pressure upon her hip. Assurance, or something much like it.

There is calm and serenity in his mind, smoothing over his frayed nerves in a way tobacco was never capable of. He is old enough to remember things, old enough to grasp what a memory truly is in its purest form. (There it is, that word around. Pure.) He remembers the leather armchair, his father’s anxious, exhausted, strained face, the smell of smoke from a pipe of elegantly carved wood, dark. He remembers the dark. Remembers how the vapor curled towards the ceiling, reaching higher and higher with upraised claws, fighting to get free, out into the air and higher still until there’s no air left to climb upon, until the universe is elevated and everything else no longer has meaning or purpose or anything.

Itachi had been born with one sole purpose. Survival. In a world with the bleak outset of perpetual suffering, there needed to be strength. Itachi was born from the promise of a better future, a better generation. And he was born with the mind of the devil.

And, if he is Satan, then his mother is the Angel that told God of his misdoings, the Angel that had him banished to hell with not so much as a gentle kiss to the brow. (But he loves his mother with the suffering heart of all the people of this godforsaken world, just as he is sure Lucifer loved the angels with which he conspired, the angels he admired.)

He grip tightens because, in some part of his mind, Itachi is not stable. And Mikoto, she grounds him like no one else, reminds him the meaning of living, the one who first granted him the gift of life like no god could have ever done him. Yes, she is his creator. She is the essence that makes him, that defines him. No one else, never anyone else.

And so they dance.

(It is a simple thing. Just the movement of steps. Mikoto does not fit perfectly in her son’s arms, not remotely so, the height difference is awkward, but it is fine enough for them all the same. It is fine enough to make Fugaku’s eyes turn into slits from where he stands, and Sasuke shuffle away from him, and things unnoticed by anyone else because it is just anyone else. It is just the queen’s court around them, people twisting the way they do with the same perfection, the same constrictions, the same women wearing the same gowns and the same men wearing the same tuxedos. Itachi and Mikoto are no different from anyone else in that regard.)

And yet, and yet. (Mikoto is not an Angel. And maybe Itachi is delusional to think so, but she would be certain he was if she knew what he thought of himself. For in her sad, innocent brown eyes, Itachi will always be the sweet little boy looking after his baby brother and at the same time, taking care of his family the way they were supposed to be taking care of him. In Mikoto’s eyes, he will never be the prodigy of the Uchiha Family, and she can barely pull herself together long enough to be proud of him, in that regard. Because she loves him enough to want him by her side always, and in technicality, he will be.

But a devil’s mind is never completely there.) And Itachi is no devil. (Because she is always there to kiss his brow, gently, not the way he prod’s Sasuke’s forehead or the way she holds either of her sons, or even the way she makes love to Fugaku- Mikoto is always gentle, but she is frayed and worn around her edges at thirty five, and yet still clinging on so selfishly to him. To them. She is no angel, no Madonna, simply, oh so simply-) But that can’t be right. (Mikoto is only a mother.)

Mikoto is only Itachi and Sasuke’s mother.

(And even then, they are so far away.)

And so she holds him, almost romantically, the way Fugaku’s eyes harden suggesting such a fact to hold true, keeping his hand at her waist and keeping her fingers tight around him, enough so until he is no longer cold, until Itachi belongs to her again the way he did when she would rock him to sleep with soft song, even in her tears. (Because even in the innocence of her eyes, the Uchiha clan is steadily killing her too.) – Breathing in whatever he was bathed with and resting her chin over his shoulder as the space is closed by the bodies and it’s a Romeo and Juliet Masquerade without the ability to hide under porcelain and pretty words.

But a masquerade is not what this is. Here, everything is out in the open and no one can escape the prodding eyes and the suffocating hint of near-desperation that hangs in the air as thickly as the smoke his father used to breathe out every minute of every day back at the mansion, up in his study. (Itachi almost hates that place more than he hates that man. Almost.) The grains of gold are wasted for him, the father of the Uchiha family, only a symbolic practicality that kept them going even through endless pragmatics of teeth and nail. Not even when summer turned to winter and the heat shriveled into cold did Uchiha Fugaku understand the concept of surrender.

His ethics would pass to his oldest, most idealistic son, even if by force. (And through such, Itachi learned the talent of indifference. Mikoto must have been beside herself to know that Itachi could no longer feel the cold that froze his body in harsh, grating rushes. He didn’t know, never understood, not when he was too young to comprehend what was happening to him, what would happen to Sasuke.)

Itachi likes to entertain the thought that he loves no one, that he can love no one, and that he will never love anyone. But even he must acknowledge that this is not true. That out of everyone he knows and everyone he ever had the happenstance of knowing, there are those that he cannot let go from his vice-like grasp on reality. Mikoto being one of them. Sasuke, another.

His grip tightens just a bit more, but it is nearly unnoticeable.

Fugaku is watching now, father is watching, through narrowed and suspicious eyes, and Itachi has never felt more judged in his entire life. Like kneeling at the altar before the god he knew would fate him to an eternity in hell, Itachi cannot escape. (Once he thought he could, but that was before Sasuke crawled into bed with him in the middle of a winter’s eve, curled up and sobbing.)

There is fire in his eyes when he tears his leveled gaze from his father’s admonishing one, and as he settles on watches his beautiful mother’s body move as if on an ethereal beck and call of the angel he still and will always imagine her as, Itachi’s soul melts. His mind is still an icy center, frozen forever until his nerves crack and shatter at last, a gasp away from death. (But he can’t find himself caring, at least not right now.)

With her back turned to Fugaku, Itachi can see her halo, like a gold ring fashioned of all the time his father wasted, shaping itself into something unearthly, something beautiful. He almost wants to see if he can find her wings, but instead Itachi finds himself on tip-toe, pressing his lips up against his mother’s own scarlet mouth, and the action is chaste and intimate all at once. One eye slips over his mother’s shoulder to catch sight of Fugaku, and when his father realizes that they have yet to pull away, he seems to be shifting uncomfortably, taking on the stance of someone half a second away from lunging forward and ripping their own son’s throat out. The hand lightly touching Mikoto’s slender waist slips a little farther back, and he can’t help it. Doesn’t think he wants to help it.

Maybe Mikoto can’t either.

They break before anything unspeakable happens, and it’s enough to pass as just a respectful and kind show of affection, while Fugaku seethes, and the song so soon pulls to a close, the symphony reaching a mournful end and the tunes breaking apart for polite clapping about the ball. And Itachi and Mikoto part, her gentle smile in place as she holds his chin and kisses his brow, a “Thank you for this dance.” Being spoken softly before she returns to the side of her husband, and a week later she and Itachi make love while a French rain pounds out the door of Mikoto’s moans.

(The night Itachi slaughters the clan, Mikoto begs for Sasuke’s life, and Itachi gives her that much with a kiss on the lips before the well crafted sword beheads her for a heaven she would fit so much better in.)

The halo never went away.

(The world did.)

[FIC] Opal

Wed, 06 Jun 2007 22:40:17 GMT

Title: Opal
Fandom: Naruto
Pairing: Mikoto x Shisui, minor Itachi x Shisui (Uchihacest)
Length: Less than 1k
Rating: PG13
Summary: The walls are white. (AU)

The walls are white.

(It is a color neither registered nor rejected by him, simply a fact that is as it is, and Shisui is painfully used to that fact, like the way the moon is red and the people beyond his door never stop knocking. How they never can fucking stop knocking for him, expecting an answer he so refuses to give, and he’s always, oh how he’s always-) The walls are very, very white. (It is all he has to stare at. Every day, all the time, and such he has grown used to, like the knocking and the rhythmic screaming in his head that those who hold him close stare at his in curiosity when he tells of.

But they aren’t here.) Of course not.

“Mou, Itachi-kun.”

His fingernails crunch as another piece of paint meshes beneath them, the nail splitting from the bed in two pieces and a pale pink before the red begins to seep through the creases within, and he picks the paint away and sucks at his finger until he stops bleeding. (But he can’t feel it.) And it never really stops. (You never really, oh how you never. Little Itachi, sweet Itachi, can’t you see the white. Can’t you see it staring?) His tone is soft as he picks at the wall, the gaping hole from where he lip-ring used to be as he sucks at flaring up. (In an epitome. In his own, but that is nothing new, of course not-) He closes his eye contentedly. (The other is open. The other is-) “Today a pretty girl came to visit me.”

He sighs, smiling genuinely as the light glares down at him and the loose white clothes, tied onto him with elastic material from within the fabric, reflect the light, back into the camera in the left corner glaring down at him from the opposite side of the room. (No experience could ever match the way Shisui is escaping from-) “She was tall and had black hair and eyes-” (Like stars. Like one two three and Shisui’s disordered self, and at the same time so utterly different, for, oh for-) “-that were always closed.” (Open.)

(Tea tastes like poison.

Shisui is calm when he drinks it, across from his cousin with a pleasant smile on his pretty face, and Mikoto enters the room calmly, a tray of food in her hand and a pleasant smile on her face.

“Ano, Itachi. Shisui. I have cookies for you-”)

Itachi doesn’t reply.

(Itachi never replies.

Itachi is not-)

“Do you know Miss Mikoto?”

A sigh.

(It’s almost fretful. It’s almost a lot of things. And Shisui sits on the floor, quietly, etching away the white paint and letting his fingers take it until the nails split apart and there’s nothing left but Red. Nothing but what has always been and what will always be, and he, oh he-) “Itachi-kun… Don’t be so quiet.”

(Itachi is never there.)

Mikoto comes in at six pm to give Shisui his Schizophrenia medications, and the next day he hasn’t met her before all over again.

“Itachi-kun…”

The walls are white.

[FIC] Aphrodite ; TayuIta

Tue, 08 May 2007 00:50:54 GMT

Title: Aphrodite
Fandom: Naruto
Pairings: ItaTayu, OroTayu, OroIta, ItaSaso
Genre: Romance/Drama
Summary: Tayuya and Itachi hated everything
Aprox. Word Count: Over 2000
Notes: A bit of a clash between district_curia and oshima_high universes. Involves lots of non-con. Very fun to write, and strangely quick. I know there are probably some mistakes in there, don't bug me about them. I'm lazy.

“Be careful Itachi-chan, the woods have snakes.”

Mikoto’s words are fading from his mind when the four year old Itachi ambles gracefully (paradoxical, and yet suiting for him) through his spacious backyard, and the Uchiha manor disappears out of his eyesight (as extensive as it is, even as a toddler) as his small feet tread the soft ground, the smell of dead animal unrecognizable just yet in the scent he passes naively as Nasty. (Because even Itachi was once naïve,) – and the dirt is sickeningly, sweetly soft as it takes his awkward weight, one step before the next and a small, cheerful grin on his face.

(He has yet to be corrupted.)

And he says “I’ll be alright mother.” Before he lets her kiss his forehead, and from there he had stumbled out of the traditional style manor, one not kept up with the times as a business family moves across it dressed in Yukata and Kimono. (He knows not of how strange it is just yet.) And the material of his own, a brown and red that compliments an eye color he will soon have and an essence he always carries with him, an Aka moon that only he and his cousin Shisui can see just yet. (“What color is the-“) but Itachi is still innocent as he treads into the base of the woods, such ones his mother always warns him about, even when he is only going outside to read under the dead Sakura trees, and they are so proud of him when he does that.

“Good job son.”

(“Itachi, you’re going to be a be a big brother soon.”)

The trees tower above him like the city’s streetlamps casting lights across his form, and those lights are various hues and colors, blues, reds, and whites that make him different shades of himself under each of them, and maybe that is why Mikoto keeps him out of the city. Maybe that is why Fugaku insists to drag him in. And those same trees cast leaf shaped shadows across his colorless cheeks, for even as a child there is nothing to Itachi except the prettiness and the politeness drilled into him too early. (Much too early. And they will pay.)

He steps into the dense woods, searching for a place to set himself down and the textbook he’d taken from his father’s study is in his small left hand, and a tall oak beckons him quietly in all of his innocence and yet distrust. (Paradoxes make so much sense to Itachi.) And there’s a cavern of area from where the tree had been torn from the ground during a storm or whatnot that he sits down in, back resting a bit painfully against the ridges of the bark, and he balances the anatomy text on his knees and folds it open.

A soft sigh (-and Tayuya closes her eyes, pressing her lips around her flute and her fingers against the appropriate holes, the noise echoing about the dance hall for her teacher a pleasant and beautiful one that is created from hours of training and dedicated practice. Her hair isn’t long yet, and it’s all tied back except for the stray lock that falls on the bridge of her nose as it always does, and the Leotard that clings tightly to her five year old form suggests the youth that she has locked away under her instruments and thighs bruised from rape.

The other girls giggle as she plays with an intensity that none of them are mature of them to match, and her nose crinkles in anger, her only restriction from ripping the instrument from her mouth and jabbing it into one of their pretty blue eyes the fact that this is the Flue he gave her, and she would never taint that flute, because it is precious to her and she can’t afford to let it rot. (And that is what it would do. It would rot in the presence of ugly bodies and blood and the million other nasty things that humans have, and she doesn’t exclude herself from this. At five years old, Tayuya is tainted.) And she finishes the piece obediently, bowing her head for the polite applause and rude giggling from the other little girls sitting down on the wooden floor.

“A good job, Tayuya-kun.”

She blinks and stares at her teacher.

“Thank you, Orochimaru-sensei.”

The ride home he gives her as he does every day is melancholy, for when she opens the car door and steps out, her black leotard still on, though her pantyhose harboring a distracting run, she can only nod before she jogs lightly through her front door, all the more prepared to get beaten by her mother and touched by her father as she does every night, and Orochimaru does not have sympathy (he never does) – but something like distant sadness for his best flutist in the class. (Her language grows more and more colorful every day, but she respects him enough to not use the words she learns from her parents around him, and that is something reserved only for him.)

But what is a five-year-old’s opinion?

And when her mother is done hitting her until her nose finally breaks again and she begins to bleed and scream and Tayuya runs out the backdoor into the woods, she doesn’t care what she’s wearing or how stupid or pathetic she looks (though she usually does) – only swearing and grabbing her towel from a tree branch in he front of the density, already stained with blood from the last night and the night before, and all through the night, before her sick father slips fingers inside of her and whispers “Don’t say a word, baby girl” she’s dodging the-) snakes Itachi has to dissect the first day of his advanced Biology class of ninth grade, and Orochimaru-sensei smiles at him, putting an arm at his shoulder and congratulating him too closely for doing so well. But Itachi is used to it at this point, from different teachers and the cousin he drowned in the manor pool at thirteen. (I love you Shisui.) But he doesn’t want to be so any more than the next.

The organs are lined up neatly, charted and diagrammed with an artist’s hand he had been blessed with from the time Mikoto gave him a pack of crayons and told him he could draw on anything. He didn’t do any intelligible scribbling as most children do, though his works weren’t masterpieces, but the talent followed him to the art’s High School he was entered into on an island away from the mainland. (Away from the lights.) The heart, the brain, the liver, everything so perfectly removed that his partner, a student with a full-body tattoo that smelled like the sea, had not to do anything.

But Itachi doesn’t care.

(He works better alone anyways.)

The classroom files empty when the three-toned bell rings the end of the period, and he slips away from his teacher, pressing his lips together and keeping his eyes (red) forwarded towards the back of the red of the person in front of him. (I am not a-) She utters a curse when another boy walks into her, and Orochimaru is distracted by the beginning of what could be a fight when he slips out into the hallway. Sasori is waiting for him silently, and Itachi greets him with no words or comments, the vile scent clinging to the redhead of blood and the sand not from the island’s beaches. (Another sand that he cannot place.) And Itachi is not obsessed with that scent, or the way that Sasori’s tongue works or the way he’s apathetic to everything and sees everything.

Itachi is not obsessed. (He doesn’t have enough emotion to be obsessed, but the boy interests him enough to hold his attention when he’s fucking him against the Janitor’s closet wall.)

“Itachi-kun.”

Itachi freezes and turns as the girl and the boy walk out, and he turns to his teacher, eyes blank and Sasori is already walking away. (Apathy. Itachi does not need to tell him when to go and when to stay, or anything, because they are too much alike to be together anyways and he knows it will end soon enough. And maybe Orochimaru knows it too.) “Yes, sensei?” And the words come bitter, like the taste of the blood in his veins that seems so very different from the way Shisui’s tasted. (His was like Metal. Itachi’s is like cum.) Orochimaru’s grin would sicken anyone else, but Itachi does not allow himself to feel such things, and that is what is trademark to him.

(He envies Sasori. Unlike Sasori, Itachi can only pretend he doesn’t feel.)

“We need to discuss your work.”

On his table, the (-snake is alive in Tayuya’s hands, working up her arms in her fascination as she toys with it, for at sixteen, Tayuya has few true things she finds interest in, and fewer that are beautiful. But such is. And Orochimaru smiles at her as he walks through the door, his “Be careful now” slurred with an accent from a country she cannot place, but one that is suiting to him and foreign to anyone who attempts to imitate it. (She beats them up anyways.) And she replaces Manda into his cage, the large Python seeming oddly disappointed to no longer be held when she closes the top of the case.

“You wanted to see me, sensei?” She asks, and the formality in her tone is reserved only for him, because nobody else matters enough to her besides him. And he only smiles and nods to her, beckoning her to him with a finger, and she comes to him without question, because he was the one who stabbed her father to death when she was seven instead of her It was he that saved her from what he was doing, and in effect stopped her mother dead in her tracks, so Tayuya owes him everything and she knows it.

“Yes, Tayuya-kun, I wanted to ask a favor of you.”

And an hour later she is ambling out of the classroom, and she isn’t crying because she is repeating to herself how he didn’t rape her at all, and that it wasn’t exactly the same situation she had had with her father. Because Tayuya is a very talented girl, and a very talented liar, and her apartment is a string of curses an-d sour notes through the rest of the night, the smell of sex still on him the next morning when he greets her with a smile and a “Good morning Tayuya-kun.”

(But of course it wasn’t rape.)

And she knows that no one can notice it the way no one noticed what her father did to her. Because history repeats itself like the bruises on her inner thighs she hides with tall stockings for a body curved in time and attractive to the majority of the boys in her class she hadn’t already scared off by fighting them. (Most of them.) And they examine the best student in the class’s work, an example set for everyone else who failed to see how the smart kids do it.

She glares coldly at-) the snakelike smile Itachi receives upon his entrance into Orochimaru’s classroom, and a girl is already waiting there, resting against a chair and feet propped up on a desk. And he doesn’t make any conversation, only doing the same, waiting for Orochimaru’s hands the way he knows precisely this girl is, and it makes him furious in a way he cannot quite describe. And perhaps it makes him furious because he hates women and he hates Orochimaru and soon enough he will hate everything, the way he hates the Uchiha he’d slain during a school week he took on sick leave for a lack of self-control. (Because Itachi is sick.)

“Itachi-kun, this is-” (-“Itachi-kun, and I want you to-”) and Tayuya obediently takes off her clothes, while Itachi only stares at his teacher in disgust while Tayuya fights the urge to let herself (-go wild.

A week later she shoves her flute through Orochimaru’s left eye and takes a flight home, and upon arrival does-) he amble through the woods, feet so much bigger than they used to be as he gracefully avoids tripping over anything (-the violent tangles of roots over what had once been flat trail confuses her slightly, but she makes it back to-) the tree with the gaping hole where he’d read his father’s textbooks (-over and over again she’d venture to, digging through the rotting dead oak to play games and be-) the smartest in the class as he’d always been.

When they arrive the hole is filled with snakes and Tayuya and Itachi can only stare.

He fucks her against the other side, and she loves it.

GIFT LAYOUT - mujakinotsubasa - KandaAllen: Crucify

Sat, 31 Mar 2007 15:23:23 GMT

Style: S1 Generator
Website: Required
Custom Colors: NONE
Default Icon: Can be visible or hidden
Browser(s) Compatible: IE and FF
Extra: BEST WITHOUT NAVIGATION STRIP. Just plain shitty with Sponsored+
Preview: dgraytest

How to install.

Credit is already in the layout, please don't take it out :(

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<a href="%%urlread%%">%%messagecount%% Bled to Death</a> ♥ <a href="%%urlpost%%">Crucify Myself</a>
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Hope you like it?

Graphics post :D

Thu, 22 Mar 2007 14:30:04 GMT

Mothafuckin icons.

16 Naruto (All from opener)
- 9 Naruto
- 2 Sakura
- 4 Sasuke
- 1 Akatsuki

6 Miyavi

12 Dir En Grey
- 5 Kaoru x Toshiya
- 1 Kaoru x Shinya
- 4 Die x Shinya
- 2 Die x Kaoru (SORRY KYO T_T;)

22 the GazettE (Blot!series.)

- 6 Aoi
- 16 Uruha

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Jesus Christ >_O; That's a lot. The usual, comment, credit, etc. I did a lot of experimental coloring in this batch, especially with the Diru and Gazette icons. Hope they aren't awful. (Depending on the darkness of your computer, the Aoi ones might be too dark to even see >_>;)

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21	22	23	24	25

26	27	28	29	30

31	32	33	34	35

36	37	38	39	40

41	42	43	44	45

46	47	48	49	50

51	52	53	54	55

56	57	58	59	60

61	62	63	64	65

01	02	03	04	05

06	07	08	09	10

11	12	13	14	15

16	17	18	19	20

21	22	23	24	25

26	27	28	29	30

31	32	33	34	35

36	37	38	39	40

41	42	N/A	N/A	N/A

01	02	03	04	05

06	07	08	09	10

11	12	13	14	15

16	17	18	19	20

21	22	23	24	25

26	27	28	29	30

31	32	33	34	35

36	37	38	39	40

41	42	43	44	45

46	47	48	49	50

001	002	003


004	005	006


007	008	009


010	011	012


013	014	015


016	017	018


019	020	021


022	023	024

001	002	003


004	005	006


007	008	009


010	011	012


013	014	015


016	017	018


019	020	021


022	023

001	002	003


004	005	006


007	008	009


010	011	012


013	014	015


016	017	018


019	020	021


022	023	024

01	02	03	04	05

06	07	08	09	10

11	12	13	14	15

16	17	18	19	20

21	22	23	24	25

26	27	28	29	30

31	32	33	34	35

36	37	38	39	40

41	42	43	44	45

46	47	48	49	50

51	52	53	54	55

56	57	58	59	60

61	62	63	64	65

01	02	03	04	05

06	07	08	09	10

11	12	13	14	15

16	17	18	19	20

21	22	23	24	25

26	27	28	29	30

31	32	33	34	35

36	37	38	39	40

41	42	N/A	N/A	N/A

01	02	03	04	05

06	07	08	09	10

11	12	13	14	15

16	17	18	19	20

21	22	23	24	25

26	27	28	29	30

31	32	33	34	35

36	37	38	39	40

41	42	43	44	45

46	47	48	49	50

001	002	003


004	005	006


007	008	009


010	011	012


013	014	015


016	017	018


019	020	021


022	023	024

001	002	003


004	005	006


007	008	009


010	011	012


013	014	015


016	017	018


019	020	021


022	023

001	002	003


004	005	006


007	008	009


010	011	012


013	014	015


016	017	018


019	020	021


022	023	024