#* 💥 . ⊹ 𝐷𝐸𝐼𝐷𝐴𝑅𝐴. › 𝐢𝐜.

[raytm]

“we could do it, you know? take off. live in the woods.” (dany ♥️)

the old, faded pews felt scarcely the consecrated hall worthy of whispered reverence and the evocative dissemination of their elusive, yet deific sovereign DIO. deidara reveled in the way the retainers recoiled or fled as if his passing the threshold into their gilded cage was in itself blasphemous. there was a petulant middle finger bestowed in greeting and even from the shadows their features distorted in revulsion. they had made it blatant that he wasn’t one of them, wasn’t someone who devoted their life to a man whose face they did not know, whose influence was so ancient it was suffused with dust and mildew. he had been sent on a mission after being debriefed in conspicuity and how those who sought them were to be dispatched with discretion. he pretended to listen, their faces held a similar loathing. he strode in like the sanctity was held in his disfigured hands, with no intention to prostrate himself before a holy entity and behest good fortune. If there was one thing he had retained from his youth; sinking his fingers into power and prosperity, was that no old, sandy bastard was going to rise from the earth and bestow upon you his favour; in spite of what the attendants gossiped.

the assassination in question had gone off without a hitch. the helicopter disguised as a wealthy merchant’s, traveling to a villa for vacation, had been scoped out and destroyed in accordance with the thoroughly devised albeit thoroughly boring, plan. however, the way the man’s shriveled face had contorted in terror rang through him as a pleasant hum and the way his throat had contracted desperately as deidara thrusted his fingers and clay into his mouth embossed itself in his mind’s eye in euphoria. it had ossified in his throat, depriving him of the air he so desperately tried to inhale, particles filling his lungs, nestling in his apertures until the explosion that distended his stomach and filled his bulging corpse with blood and torn viscera went off. he kicked his heels up on the pew infront of him, his mouth smug, toying with the badge he’d stolen off the man’s SPEEDWAGON FOUNDATION jacket. he couldn’t read it, but presumed it was his name. he was less human in deidara’s eyes and more corpse, his eyes dilating, blood trickling from his ears and nose. he had been chastised last time he was assigned because apparently the foundation had a proclivity for sticking its nose where it wasn’t supposed to and being flagrant with his executions earned him a serial killer’s epithet. that wasn’t condoned by the higher ups so he was sanctioned with three weeks of tedious lurking without so much as a single man to kill.

he had anticipated her footfalls as she too stepped into the colossal cage for DIO’s worshippers and, with himself included, his less than appreciators. “ i’m back.” he flicked the badge in the air, it glinted in a subtle shaft of light cast in from one of the shattered and barred windows and caught it effortlessly. it was a sing-song drawl and it accompanied a more sincere grin. dany leant over him, long strands of her hair cascading past his shoulders, lustrous in the arid, afternoon glow, her smile akin to his. listlessly he raised a single hand, the last evidence of that man’s existence tucked away in his pocket, she was far more interesting, resting it gently against her jaw. “ isn’t the father’s illustrious scheme living up to your expectations.” deidara tilts his head back to look at her, resting on the pew behind him, a precarious balance. “ but i wouldn’t be against it, this place is a fucking hole.” he somehow doubted the eminent DIO would want to be resurrected in the sort of place that harbored the scent of sweat and decay; wasn’t he meant to be someone important.  “ i’ll go if you go.” he says and means it, for his tether was to her, never to DIO, one of the many reasons his followers found him detestable. he wouldn’t have been bothered if this place erupted into an inferno, a resplendent replication of the helicopter as his diminutive, arachnid shaped bombs had exploded inside the engine. “ did you have a particular woods in mind ?"

[raytm]

ire  wrung  him  from  the  solace  of  his  art,  how dare itachi ; rendering  him  docile  and  diffident  beneath  the  mantle  of  his  omnipotent  gaze.   deidara  had  always  considered  himself  an  anarchic  revolt  on  the  tepid  morals  of  the  old  and  haggard,  stiff  and  uninspired,  so  the  way  he  fell  captivated,  a  mural  of  reverence  made  him  nauseous.  he  could  not  seize  the  iniquitous  influence  and  severe  himself  from  it,  feeling  the  same  despised  acquiescence  prickle  at  his  skin.   yet,  the  haunting  apparition  of  those  crimson  eyes  and  the  sorrow  of  an  otherwise  reticent  expression  imprinted  something  upon  him  he  dare  not  unravel,  that  drove  him  to  the  periphery  of  madness  should  he  grace  it  with  acknowledgement.   “ — who  said  i  was  staring  at  you.”   he  spat,  an  affronted  cat  filled  with  spite  and  malice.  he  thought  about  cleaving  that  solemn  visage  asunder,  of  tearing  out  his  tongue  for  preservation  of  his  own  sanity.   “  your  face  is  annoying.”  he  sounded  petulant,  he  hates  that  too,  this  chid-like  frustration  that  heaves  him  to  attention,   that  has  his  fierce ,  raging  blue  eyes  distressingly  affixed  to  him.   “  i  want  to  get  this  mission  over  with  so  i  never  have  to  look  at  it  again.”  

“ stop staring. ” his eyes are closed, but he can still feel deidara's on him — what did @raytm want? maybe he was still upset over getting tricked. it wasn't itachi's fault that he fell into their genjutsu all that time ago! THAT WAS SURELY WHAT HE WAS STILL UPSET OVER. he hadn't done anything else to upset him in such a way since then. they're never afforded the opportunity to. “ what is it this time, deidara? ”

[raytm]

@lovesigned continued.

thirteen; immutable  is  the  world  that  tortures  and  relishes  it.   he  had  seen  it  in  the  passing  faces  of  strangers,  in  the  repugnant  lilt  of  insults  and  animus  he  had  yet  to  earn.   in  his  world,  within  those  constant  nights  punctuated  by  incessant  hunger  and  oppressive  fear  he  had  taught  himself  to  steal;   taking  was  the  one  way  he  could  retaliate  against  them  and  could  carve  a  way  forwards  for  himself. Is  that  how  he  looked  to  her  ?  malnourished  and  vindictive,   boyish  and  outcast.   he  doesn’t  know  what  he  sees  in  her,  if  he  looks  long  and  hard  he  is  convinced  he  witnesses  someone  older,   someone  who  holds  firm  to  responsibility,   taller  and  lithe  but  more  than  anything  else,   commanding.   these  are  stolen  glances,  a reprieve  between  encounters  with  death  and  its  harbingers  and  perhaps  he  was  naïve  as  to  have  not  suspected  her,   but  his  features  remain  obscure  in  the  glow  cast  by  fire.  the  fog  yields  to  her,   undulates  somnolently  as  if  shepherded.  is  it  a  pang  of  betrayal  that  wedges  between  his  lungs, or  is  it  awe,  the  sort  that  has  his  mouth  pursed  and  his  gaze  trained  to  her  hands.   “  you’re  one  of  them ." an  epiphany,  but  it  holds  no  agitation,   is  not  whetted  in  aggrieved  revelations.  it’s  like  gazing  long  and  steadily  at  something  ethereal,   captivating  in  the  subtle  flicker  of  light.  is  it  foolish  to  reach  for  her,  to  accept  the  hand  she  extends  as  a  passage  to  salvation,  to  avenge  his  weak  self  and  find  rebirth  at  the  steep  incline  of  rolling  dunes.   he  would  laugh  at  how  strange  it  all  is,  at  how  she  is  both  precisely  as  he  saw  her  and  something  so  much  more  than  that.  but  he’s  silent,  the still  blue  waters  of  his  gaze  lingering  upon  her  outstretched  hand.  “  i  cannot  believe  it ,   you  had  me  entirely  convinced.”   this  anchor,   this  sentiment  of  acceptance  he  had  never  sought ,  nor  found  anywhere  else.  the  boy  allows  his  hand  to  slip  into  hers,  fitting  in  some  predetermined  way,   small  and  willowy,  sullied  by  sand  and  ash.   “ ... take  me  with  you. ”  he  says,   and  he  means  it.