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It had all started with an argument, JUST an argument, a stupid argument really, between Rukia and her fool boy, something about Rukia's inferiority complex, or as that idiot called it her "nutty suicide mission" just the thought made Byakuya growl, and now here was Rukia, home and nearly in tears, he sighed, as much as he dispised the fool boy ... he would admit that Rukia had been happier lately, therefor, for the sake of his preciouse baby sister, he would just have to suck it up, nocking on Rukia's door, he waited for a reply, "C-Come in," she choked, he slid the door open and saw her eyes widen, "B-B-Brother!" she started to wipe away her tears, "S-S-Sorry, I no, crying is weak," she mumbeled, he held back another sigh, 'My sister is a soldier who fights for the Soul Society ... she is also a girl, a teenager in fact, who is having boy trouble, Hisanna... WHY did I have to find her in her TEENAGE years?!' the older Kuchiki thought, "It is not weak," he muttered, earnin
Dance Thousand Cherry BlossomsDance, Thousand Cherry Blossoms
"Your beauty cascaded on me,
In this white night fantasy "
Nightwish, Ever Dream
Downy snowflakes whirled down on nighttime Seireitei, as the lonely form of a man, head slightly bowed, stood motionlessly next to a bare sakura tree. The branches, covered with thick layers of snow, formed an intricate white structure against the night sky. The man's light, silk scarf and white haori billowed in the cold wind as the kenseikan, silvery in the diffuse light reflected by the snow, restrained his flowing black hair. His almond, anthracite eyes were fixed on the petite silhouette in shinigami attire on the training grounds below, the black of her kimono starkly contrasting with the virgin snow surrounding her. Her face was turned away from him.
For a moment, the man closed his eyes against the sharp wind. Then, as the snow stopped falling and the thick clouds parted slightly, h
Blue Eyes in FlamesWhen the prince sees the flower bloom from the palm of her hand, he orders her arrest.
She is only seven years old.
He takes the flower from her and keeps it, even though he knows he shouldn't. He puts it a vase, or, rather, his servant does that for him. The flower doesn't ever die, even years later.
It's dawn of a December morning, and he's cold. But still, he stands next to his father dutifully and looks at the little girl with blue eyes that are now black from seven nights sleeping on a cold, dungeon floor behind bars. They cut off her dark brown hair during that time. She's tied to the pyre, and there are seven guards around her, holding sharper swords than normal, not that she could get away. There's one man dressed in black holding an unlit torch, with a mask over his face to prevent his death. His father raises his arm, and the torch is lit.
She locks her gaze to his, and he blinks at her. It's like she expects him to prevent it. He couldn't, though, he can't. She scares him, w
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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