Here's my latest story, it is a bit sad in places but it has a happy ending for our two main characters- Sasori and Deidara! I love this pairing, so I could never let anything too terrible happen to them! Also, when they meet in the story they are both eighteen. I own nothing but the storyline, and the teacher, Miss Onyx Kurosei, who is an OC.

The Worst Beginnings Lead To The Best Endings

Some teenagers complain about their parents; about how they never give them enough money for their allowance or how they want to "ruin their life" by telling them to do their homework or to clean their room. Deidara wished he had that luxury. You see, Deidara Iwa's life was what quite a few people would call cruel and they would pity the boy, but not many people would actually do anything to help him in his situation, if anyone actually knew that is.

Things were never good for Deidara from the day he was born; his mother died during his birth and his father blamed Deidara for it. He would call the long-haired blond a demon, a wretch who killed his wife so that he could live; a selfish being.

Deidara grew up knowing nothing but these names that his father called him, among some worse language. Deidara was a good student, he got straight A's in order to impress his father, but the man either didn't notice, or didn't care what happened to his only son.

The first mistake that Deidara ever made was when he was barely five years old. He was in the living room of his father's apartment; they had been evicted from their house when he was born as his father didn't work and couldn't afford to pay the bills for an expensive house. Deidara was on the hard wood floor, drawing a picture of a bird on a scrap piece of paper. Deidara had always been fascinated by birds, but more so, he envied them for the fact that they were free to live the life they wanted.

He finished his drawing and smiled broadly at it, his right eye shining along with the left hidden under his waist long, canary-yellow hair. He stood up and ran into the kitchen part of the apartment where his father was drinking beer from a can, with at least 5 others littering the floor where he tripped on one of said cans on the floor and bumped into his father, who in turn spilled the foul-smelling alcohol all over himself.

Now, any other parent would smile and laugh it off, or just pull a face and scold the child a bit before forgiving them. Deidara's dad however, did nothing of the sort. His face turned an ugly shade of crimson and he immediately stood up and grabbed his son by his neck and lifted him three feet in the air. He shook the boy like a rag doll for about a minute, while the boy's hands clawed at his own in order to loosen his grip, then threw him to the floor, where the young boy proceeded to cough and splutter to get air into his starved lungs. "That ought to teach you to keep to yourself, you little brat!" The man bellowed.

Deidara, being only a child and not very understanding, nodded his head as he continued to breathe shallowly in short breaks between coughs. He didn't know that in the following years, this would be a near-daily occurrence.

When Deidara started school, his "father" realised he would have to hurt his child in a place where adults couldn't see, therefore no one would come and ask him any… Unnecessary questions, so he screamed at Deidara that no one was to know what happened to him at home, or it would become one-hundred times worse for him when it came to his punishments. Deidara, eyes wide and body shaking like a leaf slowly nodded his head.

In the following years Deidara grew up without friends. His father told him that friends meant questions, and questions about his life were better to go unanswered. The teachers all tried to talk to him, but he simply smiled a fake smile and told them he was fine, he just wanted to be on his own.

Eventually Deidara grew up and went to high school; the only way for his tuition to be paid was that now his father had started gambling and winning. If he didn't go people would start wondering what his home life was like, and his guardian didn't need that hassle.

During high school he discovered he had a love for art, more specifically, explosions. He saw art to be fleeting; there one minute and gone the next. Those that had missed it were to be pitied. His favourite medium was clay- it was easy to place a miniature bomb in a piece while sculpting, then detonating once complete.

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