3 Answers2026-07-13 00:51:06
I think Kisame's whole deal is more nuanced than just being a loyal foot soldier. He's built this philosophy around Shinobi being tools, but then he keeps running into people who challenge that idea. Itachi constantly makes him doubt, and then Naruto and Bee confront him with this raw, unashamed passion he doesn't get. He tries so hard to be the perfect weapon for Obito's 'Moon's Eye Plan' because it offers a clean, emotionless world that matches his cynicism.
He betrays his village and kills his comrades because he saw the ugly, treacherous side of being a shinobi, and decided the only way to live with that was to fully embrace the tool identity. But his death scene says it all. Choosing to be eaten by his own sharks to protect intel? That's the ultimate 'tool' move. Yet, his final, quiet admission to Itachi that maybe he wished things were different shows he was never fully convinced by his own act. The man was a walking contradiction, which makes him way more interesting than just the 'monster of the Hidden Mist.'
5 Answers2026-07-13 05:23:27
Kisame's loyalty is one of the more fascinating threads in the series for me, precisely because it's so different from someone like Itachi's. Itachi had this profound, tragic, clan-level ideology. Kisame's motivations feel more grounded in a warrior's ethos. He found a group, or more specifically, a person, who validated his entire worldview. He wasn't just a monster with a sword there; he was a trusted companion and a crucial part of a grand, world-altering plan.
His bond with Itachi is central. Think about it: the Akatsuki worked in pairs, but not all pairs had that depth. Kisame respected Itachi's strength and his calm, unshakeable resolve. Itachi saw Kisame not as a beast, but as a capable and intelligent shinobi. In a world that had only ever used him as a living weapon, that recognition was probably everything. His loyalty to the Akatsuki's dream of a 'true world' feels like an extension of his loyalty to the one person who treated him as a whole person.
In the end, he chose to die by his own hand to protect the group's secrets, a truly samurai-esque act. It wasn't blind fanaticism; it was the final affirmation of his chosen path and his partnership. That sense of belonging to something bigger than himself, especially after the disillusionment with his village, is what fueled him right to the very last panel.
5 Answers2026-02-10 15:27:33
Deidara's entrance into the Akatsuki feels like one of those wild character arcs that just clicks. At first glance, he’s this brash, explosive artist with a god complex about his 'art,' but dig deeper, and his motivations get fascinating. After his defeat by Itachi’s genjutsu, he’s forced into the organization—but here’s the kicker: he stays. Why? Because the Akatsuki gave him a stage. Their missions were grand, destructive canvases for his explosions, and the group’s philosophy aligned with his own nihilistic flair. Plus, the rivalry with Sasori? Pure gold. Deidara’s ego craved proving his art’s superiority, and the Akatsuki’s chaos fed that hunger. In a way, they didn’t just recruit him; they weaponized his passion.
What seals it for me is how his arc mirrors real artistic rebellion. He’s not just a villain; he’s a twisted creative force, and the Akatsuki was the gallery that embraced his madness. That final 'art is a bang' moment? Classic Deidara—always doubling down on his ideals, even in self-destruction.
3 Answers2026-02-08 00:42:37
Hidan's inclusion in the Akatsuki always struck me as one of those twisted fits that make you go, 'Yeah, that tracks.' The guy's a complete lunatic, but in a way that aligns perfectly with the organization's vibe. He's not just violent—he's religiously violent, which adds this eerie layer to his character. The Akatsuki needed people who could instill fear and carry out missions without hesitation, and Hidan’s immortality via Jashin’s curse made him a literal unkillable weapon. His fanaticism also meant he didn’t question orders as long as they involved killing, which is basically the Akatsuki’s whole deal.
What’s fascinating is how his personality contrasts with others like Itachi or Kisame. While they have deeper motives or loyalties, Hidan’s just there for the bloodshed. It’s almost poetic in a dark way—the Akatsuki used him, but he didn’t care because it fed his obsession. Plus, pairing him with Kakuzu was genius; their dynamic of grudging tolerance and mutual annoyance added some dark humor to the group. Hidan didn’t join for power or revenge—he just wanted a platform to preach his death cult, and the Akatsuki gave him that.
1 Answers2026-03-05 18:24:22
I’ve always been fascinated by how fanworks dive into the unexplored layers of Kisame and Itachi’s partnership, especially in 'Naruto'. Their dynamic is already rich in canon—two of Akatsuki’s most formidable members, bound by duty and mutual respect. But fanfiction takes it further, peeling back the stoic exteriors to reveal something achingly human. Writers often frame their relationship as a quiet understanding, where words are sparse but trust runs deep. Kisame’s loyalty isn’t just to the organization; it’s personal, a devotion to Itachi that borders on reverence. Itachi, in turn, is portrayed as subtly protective, his calculated demeanor softening in moments when Kisame’s brute strength isn’t enough to shield him from his own demons.
Some of the most compelling fics explore the idea of shared loneliness. Itachi carries the weight of his clan’s massacre, while Kisame grapples with being a weapon turned rogue. Stories like 'Shark and Crow' or 'Beneath the Same Moon' depict them as mirrors—each reflecting the other’s isolation, yet finding solace in their并肩 (side-by-side) existence. The emotional depth comes from small gestures: Kisame remembering Itachi’s preference for bitter tea, or Itachi sparing a rare, genuine smile during a mission. Romantic interpretations are nuanced, often avoiding grand declarations for something quieter—a touch lingering too long, a shared glance that says everything. The beauty lies in how fanworks honor their canon personalities while weaving in vulnerabilities canon never had time to explore.
3 Answers2026-02-10 04:40:45
Deidara's entry into the Akatsuki is one of those moments in 'Naruto' that perfectly blends backstory with personality quirks. Initially, he was an explosives expert from Iwagakure, obsessed with his art—literally viewing it as fleeting beauty. After losing to Itachi in a fight (and being utterly infuriated by the Sharingan’s dominance), he was essentially strong-armed into joining. It wasn’t just about power, though; the Akatsuki gave him a platform to showcase his 'art' on a grander scale. Their missions often involved high-profile targets, which aligned with his desire to leave a lasting impact—ironic, given his philosophy of transient beauty.
What fascinates me is how his dynamic with Sasori later became this weird mentor-student bond, despite their clashing ideologies. Deidara’s ego couldn’t stand being lesser, yet he grudgingly respected Sasori’s craftsmanship. That tension made their partnership one of the most entertaining in the series. Plus, his eventual vendetta against Itachi—and later Sasuke—shows how pride drove him more than any loyalty to the organization. He was there for the explosions and the rivalry, not some grand world-ending scheme.
2 Answers2026-07-13 14:50:44
That blue shark-faced dude's loyalty is honestly the most underrated thing about the whole organization. Everyone talks about Itachi's double-agent gig or Pain's god complex, but Kisame's commitment is what made him the backbone of the field teams. He wasn't there because of some grand revenge scheme or a philosophical revolution—he joined because he believed in Obito's vision of a world without lies, and he stuck with his partners through everything. Remember how he stayed with Itachi even when things got weird? That wasn't just professional courtesy; it was genuine loyalty to the person, not just the mission. His reliability meant the Akatsuki could function as a unit. You never saw Kisame questioning orders from Pain or bickering over petty stuff like Deidara and Sasori did. He was the ultimate enforcer, the one who made sure the job got done without drama. Honestly, without that kind of unwavering dedication, the whole operation would've fractured way sooner. It's kinda tragic when you think about it—his loyalty was so absolute it led him to summon sharks on himself to protect intel. That's a level of commitment none of the other members had, not even close.
What I find really interesting is how his loyalty contrasts with the others. Kakuzu was in it for the money, Hidan for his god, Deidara for his art... but Kisame's loyalty was to the idea of the Akatsuki itself. It gave a guy who'd been used and discarded by his own village something solid to believe in. That's why he wasn't just a brute; he was the organizational glue. He kept pairs functional, mediated tensions by just being a steady presence, and his death basically marked the point where the Akatsuki stopped being a coherent group and just became a collection of individual villains.
3 Answers2025-11-25 06:23:31
Imagine a version of 'Naruto' where he chooses the most dangerous, counterintuitive route: joining the Akatsuki not out of malice, but as a long-game infiltration to stop them from inside. I'd pitch his motive as a strategic, almost militaristic decision—he sees the Akatsuki as the single greatest structural threat to the ninja world, and the only way to neutralize that threat without endless open war is to learn their plans, gain their trust, and dismantle their network from within.
On a more emotional level, that choice could be driven by a desperate calculus. If someone he loves—say Sakura, Sasuke, or even the village itself—faces extinction, Naruto could rationalize that assuming the role of a villain temporarily is an acceptable cost. It mirrors the painful sacrifices we've seen in 'Naruto' before: people doing terrible things with what they believe are noble intentions. He could also be motivated by wanting direct access to the tailed beasts and their captors, believing that if he controls or frees them on his terms, he can end the cycle of people being used as weapons.
Narratively, this opens savage, bittersweet territory. Friends would call him traitor, elders would condemn him, and Naruto would carry unbearable secrecy. The arc would let us explore what happens to a hero who takes moral responsibility for dirty work—how does he rebuild trust? Can the village forgive a man who looked like a villain but never stopped being one in his heart? I’d love to see the tension between heroic intent and villainous methods play out; it’d be messy, heartbreaking, and oddly hopeful in the end.