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“You won’t be satisfied until your dead.”
“No, I won’t!”
What was the point of being subtle about it anymore? What was te point of lying about it anymore?
“I’m working towards mty ultimate art, you know? And that will be me. I just haven’t found the right person to appreciate it yet.”
POST WAR HIDADEI!
He’s the last person Deidara expects to find in this place and he’s the last person Deidara thought he’d see broken and pieced back together so haphazardly.
( Not that he’s any better; he’s an artist without any fire, he’s a bomb with the fuse torn loose and ragged. )
You couldn’t call them close, but Deidara trusts Hidan more than any ninja that wears the Konoha symbol, more than any ninja that sports any symbol proudly on their brow and swears allegiance to any village he had forsaken at the ripe old age of fifteen.
Hidan brushes rough fingers over black stitches holding his elbow together and mutters “These still look like shit.” with all the force of a firecracker dud and the laugh that it pulls out of Deidara is the first genuine noise to leave him since he stumbled into Konohagakure with his pride smothered beneath the heel of the Uchiha Clan once more.
He isn’t at ease around Hidan, who was oh so dangerous and the opposite of everything Deidara believed in, but what could he say? He had always felt a pull to other forms of beauty, and immortality held an allure over him already. To add blood and gore to it simply made it better, returned Deidara to his roots ( his eyes had SHINED when he saw the aftermath of his first bomb, had seen the blown apart limbs and viscera and called it ART and deemed he would be his own last victim. )
Settling at Hidan’s side and listening to the other curse life makes him laugh and joke and not want to die for the first time in months.
@hidamned.
just as the strong garnered Madara’s attentions, so to did the strange.
dark brows arched in surprise & curiosity as he folded his arms over his chest to simply observe the strange man for a moment. after several seconds, he spoke up, his tone flat despite his expression.
“ what ARE you doing, exactly? “
"That wasn’t for you!”
[txt; psycho] You 100% need to invest in a scarf.[txt; psycho] Free advice.[txt; psycho] How the hell did you get this number?
Ellipsism
obscure feelings. ( accepting. )
ellipsism: a sadness that you’ll never be able to know how history will turn out.
it’s only here, laying on the broken remains of a battlefield in a war that is a century after his time & started in his name that he feels his chest begin to ache.
his heart no longer beats, strangled in vines & thorns named bitterness & hate, but there’s a throbbing pain deep in the space of his ribs that he can’t put a name to.
it isn’t grief because he drained that so very long ago -- gave it a name (izunaizunaizuna) & wore it away from his mind. it’s a longing ache, one that scratches over his ribs until the clawing becomes a whisper.
regret.
he wonders, vainly perhaps, how the village will remember him. the old stories of him speak of a man who tried to destroy the first hokage’s dream on the word of a cursed clan’s writings. now he was someone who had dragged every innocent he could dig his claws into down into the same spiral of bitterness that he fell down.
he sighs, though his chest protests the movement. he may be dead, but his body remembers its pains. his face doesn’t twist in discomfort, however. he was birthed on a battlefield, so it seemed fit to die on one as well.
he hears voices, young & bold, before a small smile takes over his face. perhaps the world was left in better hands than his in the end. who knew?
not he.
💋
morality meme. ( accepting. )
💋: How easily are they tempted?
it depends on the situation.
situations that offer him money or power? it comes down to how free he can be with his abilities; one of the conditions he joined the akatsuki with was that he could do what wanted without them stifling his muse.
situations revolving around the bedroom? he’s more likely to get flustered since he is fairly young.
█ ┊ @hidamned | starter call
▐ ░░ ღ ♥♥ ღ ░░▐►
❝ you still haven’t told me yet, you know. ❞
languid gaze sweeps over the slow cut of the meadow, cool grass against tender flesh as she rests her head in hand. the hot afternoon sun coaxes a sleepy yawn from otherwise engaged features, eyes pulled low in pleasant languor. she’s half convinced to sleep through the day, though her question has gone unanswered, && her companion will certainly get no rest from her until he does.
❝ you know, ❞ she prompts after a moment’s pause. ❝ how come we don’t see other jashinists? or their churches? or ... you know, anything about it? ❞
