A/N: Hello, everyone! This story is going to be ALLLLL about our favorite baddies: The Akatsuki! I think it'd be nice to look at the Akatsuki members as just normal people with normal hobbies, like everyone else!

Disclaimer: I own nothing relating to Naruto! ...Unfortunately. *sighs*

WARNINGS: This is Hidan, so there is some bad language, as well as mentions of child abuse.

Hidan

It was something his mother had taught him when he was a kid, before she was murdered by his drunk, bastard father.

In reality, it was almost comical. He was a terrifying Akatsuki member, true immortal, and Jashin zealot, and yet he enjoyed fucking flower pressing.

While he did his best to repress any memories of that shitty village, especially during his equally shitty childhood, there were a few things he'd allow himself to remember. He remembered his mother as being kind and warm, with an interest in the prettier things of life. He remembered her long silver hair, similar to his own, swaying in the breeze as they trekked through the steam of the springs to the small meadow on the outskirts of the village. She kneeled down next to all the bright colors, choosing a few before placing them in her little wicker basket. She would let him choose one for himself, beaming with pride as he'd place his little flower in the basket beside hers.

Prizes obtained, he remembered his mother's soft hand encasing his protectively as they walked back to their house. Once they got there, his mother would grab their book (the one they kept hidden from him) where they would check on how the others were progressing. These times with his mother were some of the only he ever felt at peace.

Once the sperm donor found out about their hobby, he beat his mother within an inch of her life for teaching it to him before he beat him for participating in such a 'sissy' thing.

He smiled to himself. Out of all the murders he committed in his life, his father's was still his favorite. He liked to think his mother was proud of him for it.

He cast violet eyes down to his book, the same one his mother used so many years ago. Pulling the pressing paper from the back, he gently set the little purple flower he had just picked between the pages. Once it was secured, he wedged it between the next available pages before shutting it with a decisive snap. That same sense of peace came over him, and he closed his eyes to relish the feeling. Satisfied, he pulled out a scroll, sealing his book away until he found another flower that caught his interest during his roaming.

He sighed. He prayed to Jashin fucking Kakuzu never found out about this. He still hadn't figured out how to kill that bastard, and he had too long a life to be fucked with about his weird-ass hobbies.