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by David Sirbiladze
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Left Hand of Pierre de Wissant, c. 1885, by Auguste Rodin (1840-1917)
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samedt
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Giovanni Strazza (1818-1875) - Ismaele abbandonato nel deserto, 1850
psst, Akatsuki peeps tell me something your muse would do n I’ll draw it!
🔥 (can be an au!)
highschool au
He’d only brought him out here because he felt bad for the young redhead. He could sense there was a cloud of doubt that weighed over him. Gaara often kept to himself, so Deidara thought he would do him a favor and ask him to hang out. Everyone around the fire was drinking and mingling, having a good time and making fools of themselves, but not Gaara. The blond paused his conversation with Kisame and worked his way over to the redhead.
It wasn’t every day that Deidara would invite someone from outside his group to hang out, so he didn’t understand why the boy wasn’t making more of an effort to hang out with everyone. “Hey you!” he snuck up behind Gaara “stop feeling so bad for yourself and hang out with us.”
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“Can’t I get to know my new partner?” Hiruko’s head tilted with a creak of wood. His staring eyes bored into Deidara’s face. A part of him just wanted to attack and really see his mettle – ah, but he was on a timer. There’d been a sighting of the Rokubi recently and they were supposed to go investigate. Fighting and killing Deidara would put him behind schedule, and that wasn’t even accounting for the potential damage to his puppets.
“Come to think of it, you didn’t get much of a chance to show it off, did you? Itachi moved quick.” Hiruko’s pincer waved in front of his face for a little longer before slowly settling down in a smooth arc around them. “I thought it was a waste of time, going out of our way to pick up some brat from Iwa. But then again, it’s not often I meet someone who can appreciate the artistic value in what we do. Even if it’s… that.”
Brat? The word echoed inside his mind and left a bad taste in his mouth. There was an undesirable amount of tension that filled the air. Deidara understood how his stubbornness often got him in trouble, but he wasn’t going to change. Deidara felt alone with his interests, no one seemed to take interest or care about the beauty in destruction. The way he could get people to cower in fear when presenting one of his masterpieces. Eyes squinted at the large scorpion creature before him. “--What do you know about art? hm?”
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Apollo Chigi (detail)
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Recommendations for RP blogs?
To my followers who are still active!
After unfollowing a bunch of inactive blogs, it’s come to my attention that I follow an absurdly small amount of people. I’m trying to be more active, but have very few active partners!
Please comment or IM me with RP blog recommendations. They do not have to be Naruto-verse. In fact, I’m very interested in branching out and continuing to write in AUs. Thanks!
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Send 🔥 to sit around a campfire with my muse!
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downtime
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vewy tiny
Deidara flew over the village of Iwagakure, behind him was the dark night sky. Little specks of light below him shined like candles floating in a calm lake. Never in his life did he imagine he would be visiting this town on a whim like this, but he had too. There was something very important that he needed to get and it was in the hands of someone he didn’t want to remember. He shook his head in attempts to focus his attention back down on the city beneath him. It was quiet, and he was wearing his old uniform. It was too small on him, and it made him uncomfortable.
After doing a bit of research he was sure he had the correct coordinates. His heart was racing as he approached closer to his destination. It was very important that no one saw him, he didn’t want any casualties-- not today. His palms started to become sweaty, his arms began to lock up. He didn’t understand what was happening to him, he never felt this strange overwhelming sensation before. What could it be?
He had to keep going, he was too close. He couldn’t back out now. He climbed up to the window, hoping-- praying, he wouldn’t find someone on the other side of the pane. He knew she wouldn’t hurt him, but god-- the guilt, the shame.
He would do anything to avoid it.
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Send 🐤 for my muse to make a tweet about yours
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