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The Brothers and The Heiress 1"Itachi?"
Itachi followed the direction his little brother's finger was pointing to. When he came to the end, he just stared.
"Sasuke, that would be a girl. A Hyuuga girl, to be specific. And it's rather rude to point."
Sasuke's finger dropped, but his inquiry didn't. "Why is she staring at us?" The five year old shivered, instinctively reaching up for Itachi's shirt. Itachi didn't mind. "Don't tell me she's going to follow me everywhere like the other girls?" Sasuke scrunched up his face in distaste; Itachi smiled slightly. While he knew just how...devious girls could be, he knew for a fact that the little Hyuuga Sasuke had pointed to would not be a problem. In fact, just thinking about her being a fangirl widened his smile a fraction, but just a fraction - Uchiha men aren't made to smile often.
"Why don't you talk to her, Sasuke?"
The boy shook his head and clutched his brother's shirt tighter. Itachi removed his hands and then started towards the spot w
TW RawThe first time she met her grandmother she smiled.
Not an hour later, she was crying.
The last time she saw her grandmother she had tears streaming down her cheeks, and a smile so big it could engulf the universe. If it hadn't been for the woman cradled in the earth's soil, she would have never been so strong.
She looks at the mop of curls that match his so perfectly and wonders, Does he know? Has he figured it out? Is he going to ever forgive me? She looks at the twins and her "youngest" and looks back guiltily at the solitary figure. Is her silence really necessary?
When he finally turns ten, after a grueling argument with his father, he turns to her, and without a hint of malice in his voice, whispers to them both, "Dad, stop hurting Mom. Her silence is already killing her."
After that, she looks at his curls with a lot more fondness.
She used to stay over Kiyoshi's house to avoid going home.
His father was more proud of her accomplishments than most of her family.
And he cer
Society, IdentityWhat kind of look would you have on your face,
if I told you my real emotions, and spilled all my secrets?
Would you look at me like the freak I really am?
Or would you comfort me, and tell me I'm fine the way I am?
I'd really like to know, because putting up this front,
is slowly withering my happiness, and showing me what I'm not made of.
Is my identity really mine, mine alone, I'm left to think?
Or does society get to warp it, and make it their own thing.
Do I decide who I am, what I am, who I'll be?
Or does none of that matter, in the black and white eyes of society?
Gender queer as hell, with a weird gait and weirder twang,
the hazel eyes, the freckles, the pale skin and fragile hands,
is that what they'll remember, when everything ends?
Will it be the crude humor, the breathy laugh, the tears, the words,
what reminders will be left, when the body disappears?
Will the identity of just one person matter then?
In the grand scheme of it all, I don't think it even matters now.
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Bluefley has a gallery filled with artwork that whisks you off in to a Sci-fi daydream, and keeps you captivated for hours. Marc has been a member of our community for over a decade and has achieved nothing but success with his astounding commitment to interacting with the community, sharing a prolific amount of video tutorials and generally being an all round rockstar deviant. It is no joke that we are absolutely delighted to award the Deviousness Award for April 2014 to ... Read More