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About Varied / Hobbyist AnnieFemale/United States Recent Activity
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Awesome ARTwork!

deviantID

YHinne
Annie
Artist | Hobbyist | Varied
United States
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Activity


Starry mornings like these
...This was supposed to be animated, but I'm too tired (maybe later)
Whatever, the point is I ship them, and will forever.



Art is mine
Blaze and Shadow belong to SEGA 
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Diar




Name| Diarmuid
"Deer-mid" (Irish; "without enemy")

Clan-name| Gelidpaw/Gelidbreath

Gender|Male
Sexuality|Straight

Breed| Chocolate Birman-cross
Build| Slim, but wiry
Pelt| Long
Eyes| Ice blue
Scars| not available
Special extras|A knitted pink collar


Personality

Diarmuid is awkward. Excluding the time spent with his mother and siblings (which was very short), Diarmuid isn't used to being around other cats. Like so, he isn't used to having conversations (or rather, starting them) either. His Old Lady did the most chatting, the most conversation-starting. Ignoring the fact that he couldn't possibly respond to her, Diarmuid always only listened, and that was enough for him. He has been working on this and has actually improved, though he still tends to stutter - something he absolutely hates about himself.  

Regardless, Diarmuid is as blunt as they come-- to everybody and anybody. He claims he can't help it. But he can, and he knows he can. He's just mean. Diarmuid doesn't hesitate to point something out and as such, he generally has a straight-forward, matter-of-fact approach and doesn't let emotion distract him. He has a strong sense of self; his motivations govern his actions, and he is not so effortlessly moved by the ideas of others. That said, Diarmuid is also a coward - but he's a smart coward. He doesn't like to and won't take risks that will possibly harm him. He has all the bad-case scenarios written and imprinted in his brain and will do everything to avoid even the smallest doom. But despite his somewhat unpleasant demeanor, Diarmuid is still a compassionate tom - though he tries to hide this from everyone so that they won't take him for a soft cat. This goes hand-in-hand with his being secretly poetic/romantic - something Diarmuid will never admit to, although at times, it slips.

Additional|

(1) Hates thunder and loud noise; he’ll jump. He is also sort of easily spooked. And clumsy.   

(2) Diarmuid isn't cold, isn't sinister. There's just something about being… friendly, that's… mushy, and lovey-dovey, and sappy and gushy, and no!

(3) Hates being teased or joked about. Hates it.



Diarmuid was born in a scanty litter (he and his two sisters, Tetra and Hecta) in a little Greenhouse on a small Twoleg lot. His dear mother Jayla, a wild cat, had broken into the warm glass house pursuing a safe place to raise and nest her kits. Unfortunately, this was a faulty spot- for shortly after, the strange and long creature who owned the greenhouse had found them. She was an elderly old thing - with thin, flimsy alabaster hair all knitted up atop her mostly fur-less head. With long rags, and furry pink paws (he had later discovered these "pink paws" to be slippers). At once, she was a terrifying creature - one he had never seen before. How could such a strange... thing exist? Why was it so different from he and his family? Why was it here? Where was it going to take him? Diarmuid was a blubbering, sobbing mess when she had stolen him; brought him to a different and new home, albeit a warmer one. His mother could not hear his cries - his soul was trapped in this new existence. 

    The house was more... old-fashioned, and the walls seemed weighted with history. Obviously it was a withering, lamentable complex. But the Old Lady had been to work, crafting ornate house accessories from rubbish and rubble. Despite the given circumstances, she had never failed to feed him over the course of months. With such little resources, he'd often wondered where she had been getting it from - until she'd taken him to what was called a "market". She - this withered, wrinkled, beautiful and kind old creature - even went out of her way to knit him a collar, albeit, a pink one. It was for a while however, that he lived with her and gradually came to love her as a foster mother. It was stupid. It was stupid at first.

"I always was fond of Irish names.." She had said once."..Particularly the name Diarmuid. How about that, kitty? Diarmuid?"
(Diarmuid is pronounced as “Deer-mid”)

She had told him that the name meant "without enemy". So “Diarmuid” became his new title. It sounded stupid at first, but it had a ring after a little while.

--

He always hated the cursed radio. With that erratic, idiosyncratic, agitating buzzing noise it'd always made. It was a dusty old thing, with long silver sticks poking out from atop its head. Sometimes it'd work - the static melodies, and incoherent chit-chatting would crack off of the decaying walls... It was this strange box that his old lady seemed to've liked.

"The older ones are the best ones.." She'd say gleefully sometimes as she lay idly in her bed, listening to the senseless thing.

But Diarmuid despised the stupid contraption by itself; if he had been created with thumbs - like her - he'd silence it forever. But his foster mother loved the thing. Diarmuid probably would have hated it a little less if he could actually hear the music over the white noise.

--

It wasn't a stretch to surmise she'd certainly take care of him. And she did, bless her. She'd upkept their home around him and his needs, rejuvenated the wallpaper, preserved the delicate lives of the melange of posies in the back. She had brought entity to a sullen, decaying building in a silent, crumbling vicinity. Diarmuid had thought that their world would carry on this way forever, embedded in a place that no one else could reach. This shared peace would be their kind, new euphoria.

...His old lady hadn't outlasted the sound existence. Nor had the radio.

The carpet of the last summer bluebells, the long, graceful stems of the glads, the occasional pink ladies slippers and the clutches of wizen wildlife; the leaf taint - grayed just as she had.




Diarmuid is mine.

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Games at Dark
Tenten: No fair! You've played this longer than I have!
Sasuke: Get good.


Headcanon: Young Sasuke sneaks Tenten (who is an orphan child and needless to say, living at an orphanage), into his home and they play video games all night - starting with Super Smash Bros. Melee!
Itachi knows, because Itachi knows everything (Itachi's a knower) but instead of saying anything about it, he pretends he doesn't know because at least Sasuke'll have her when he can't play with him. And because they're cute. 

Just something small I sketched and colored.
And, y'know, I ship them.

Toodles.




Tenten and Sasuke belong to Kishimoto.
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Comments


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:iconm1tchi3du5k:
m1tchi3Du5k Featured By Owner Aug 12, 2017  Hobbyist General Artist
:eyes: 
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:iconindustrial-surgery:
INDUSTRIAL-SURGERY Featured By Owner Jun 17, 2017  Hobbyist Digital Artist
Yo! Thank you so much for the watch! I'm very grateful to have your support! qwq <3
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:iconbramblebees:
BrambleBees Featured By Owner May 5, 2017
Thank you so much for the watch <3 your art is super neat ;u;
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:iconyhinne:
YHinne Featured By Owner May 6, 2017  Hobbyist General Artist


Thank you!
So is yours!!
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:iconwoifsnarls:
woIfsnarls Featured By Owner Apr 16, 2017
WOW! I remember your account from ages ago on one of my old ones, I think we had a conversation once or twice but goodness! Your art was amazing then but now it's just breathtaking! 
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:iconzakstorm:
ZakStorm Featured By Owner Dec 17, 2016  Student Traditional Artist
Boop
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:iconyhinne:
YHinne Featured By Owner Dec 17, 2016  Hobbyist General Artist
BOOP!
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:iconzakstorm:
ZakStorm Featured By Owner Dec 17, 2016  Student Traditional Artist
Bleep
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:iconkinshio:
Kinshio Featured By Owner Aug 16, 2016  Hobbyist Filmographer
yoo two, saw you visiting my page, how you been my friend :').
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:iconfyrae:
Fyrae Featured By Owner Aug 1, 2016  Student Digital Artist
Thanks for the watch!
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