Thanks! I’m not entirely sure where the story is headed, but I like the journey so far. 😄
Untitled (2016-04-24) [2]
The temple worshippers have done their best to raise him, and he is grateful to them for that. But he doesn’t want this life–or, at least, he wants to see more and know more before he chooses it. Isn’t faith and enlightenment and worship more potent when it is chosen not forced?
He tries to explain it, stumbles over his words in excitement, ends up shoving his hands into his sleeves which stretches the fabric horribly but which helps him stay calm.
The head worshipper only listens, says nothing as he fails to articulate his emotions. The woman and the other boy, in their own complementary but distinct outfits, watch in silence as well, and he can feel his face flushing once more as he runs out of air and words.
But at the end of his ramble, the head worshipper smiles–the kind, graceful curve he has only ever seen twice before–before gently pulling his hands out of his sleeves.
“You will always be welcome here,” the head worshipper says, before squeezing his hands and nodding at the woman. She steps forward as the head worshipper steps back, letting him go.
The woman’s smile is wide and sharp, teeth and wrinkles at the corner of her eyes. Fierce, but welcoming. “Our ship leaves tomorrow morning, but it would be best if you packed your things now and stayed with us tonight.”
Suddenly, his excitement sours into anxiety, everything moving too quickly. He doesn’t even really know these people–it’s one thing to leave the temple, but to go off somewhere with strangers? He shoves his hands back into his sleeves.
His hesitation feels obvious, and it must be, for the woman’s smile falters. But the other boy still has a grin on his face and he blithely steps in between them and introduces himself. “I’m Consalvo of Redfall Island and the ship Horizon Chaser. This is my teacher, Melvina, also from Redfall and the Chaser. And you?” Consalvo asks, which is a little silly, considering both of them came here specifically looking for him.
But it helps: at least with names they aren’t entirely unknown, “I’m Aljun,” he says, then after a pause adds, “Of the Northern Temple.” It’s a strange thing, to introduce himself–he’s lived in the same place his entire life with the same people, all of whom knew him before he could even speak; there was never really any need to introduce himself.
Consalvo pulls his hands out of his sleeves, much the same way the head worshipper had, but different somehow. He worries the heat between their hands will cause his palms to sweat, but it’s a nice sensation.
“And tomorrow, you will be Aljun of the Northern Temple and the ship Horizon Chaser.”
—
He doesn’t really have much to pack. While there is a practice against materialism that the worshippers heed, they never forced it onto him. But he grew up amongst them, and so their minimal lifestyle became is own.
It’s a boon, apparently, because living on a ship means having even less space than his room in the temple dorms.
“If anything, we might have to buy you some things,” Melvina says, looking at the small pack which contains all of his personal posessions.
“Definitely some clothes,” Consalvo adds, plucking casually at the grey fabric of his uniform.
“Is this bad?” he asks, looking down at his own outfit. He doesn’t have much of a frame of reference to know. Doesn’t know what might look good or bad; fashion is not exactly a high priority in the temple.
“Well…” Consalvo stalls, stretching the word out like the sticky candy the worshipper in charge of meals sometimes lets him have.
“We wouldn’t want anyone to think we’ve kidnapped a worshipper,” the brightness in Melvina’s tone letting him know she’s joking, “and colors and patterns might as well be our uniform on the Chaser.”
It sounds nice, he thinks, except, “I don’t have any money.” He never needed any before.
Melvina and Consalvo share a look between them, a short conversation without words crafted after years of knowing each other.
“Don’t worry about it,” Consalvo says, before slinging an arm around his shoulders.
Melvina nods in agreement, taking the pack out of his hands even though it’s not that heavy, "We’ll take care of you, Aljun.“
~
A/N: Continuation from today’s earlier post because I had double missed posts and also because well… I don’t quite know where this is going but I kinda like it. Also, the characters finally have names, but I should probably think of a series name if I’m going to continue…
Untitled (2016-04-24) [1]
He is a stained glass boy, longing for places outside the temple he can never leave.
The older worshippers say he was a gift, a babe left on the steps for them to take in and raise in the ways of their religion. But all he can hear is that someone had left him behind, and in fifteen years had never come back for him. Consigned to a life sentence in a prison of walls and holy commandments he doesn’t really believe in.
He used to dream about leaving, about going into the world beyond the stained glass windows. But just as each piece is held rigidly in place with cold iron, he too is trapped.
He is sweeping–standing in the center of a beam of light painted red and blue and green and yellow–when the doors to the temple open and his fate changes.
—
The woman is too young to be his mother, their features too different for such a relation anyway, but still the hope lodges in his throat when she asks for him by name.
The head worshipper seems to recognize the woman, or perhaps what she represents, because she is quickly guided to the confession room where, even through the thick walls, he can hear them discuss his future. Loudly.
His broom has stilled, his fingers around the handle tight with nerves and a thrilling, hopeful confusion for the future. Maybe there is something else for him. Somewhere else.
“Can I get something to drink? I’m rather thirsty.”
He is so focussed on the door of the confession room, the muffled words escaping from it, that he startles at the voice. He lets go of the broom, and it clatters against the stone floor, echoing harshly.
The speaker is a boy around his age, dressed in a similar foreign-looking outfit as the woman–though, to be fair, anything that isn’t the grey worshipper uniform would look foreign to him–the fabric as colorful as the windows of the temple. He wonders if it feels soft to the touch.
“Anything? Water’d be nice,” the boy continues, an eyebrow rising in curiosity.
He startles again at the reminder of his own rudeness.
“Yes, sorry, I–” he steps forward, as if to guide the other boy to a seat, then away to fetch some water as requested, then back again to pick up his fallen broom. A strange, flustered dance which makes the other boy smile and himself flush in embarrassment, “Water. Yes, of course.”
There is a kitchen in the building behind the temple where he and all of the worshippers live, but it seems like such a long way to go, and an unnecessary delay for someone who has already stated they’re thirsty. Especially when there’s a fountain right in the very center of the temple.
The shallow wooden drinking bowl is used in ceremonies, for the temple worshippers to bestow enlightenment and spiritual healing upon those seeking it. But he is not really a worshipper, and without the ritual words and actions, the bowl is just a bowl and the fountain water just water.
He drinks from both enough to know.
Still, when he carries the bowl to the other boy, walking slowly so as not to spill, there is something charged about the moment:
Perhaps it is the sudden silence, the fact that they are the only two in room. Or the way the other boy walks forward to meet him in the middle, waiting for the bowl rather than taking it out of his hands. The way light streams in through the stained glass windows, turning even his uniform into a riot of colors.
He is shorter than the other boy, his arms already trembling, the water beginning to ripple and lap at the rim of the bowl. But still the other boy does not take it. Instead, he kneels, just like the pilgrims seeking spiritual renewal.
When he brings the bowl to the other boy’s lips, he has to remind himself that he is no worshipper–the bowl is just a bowl, the water just water, and he is just a boy.
~
A/N: … um… i think this may turn into a series…
edit: continued here. should probably come up with a title since it actually is a series…
Missed Post (2016-04-23)
Not surprised, but still disappointed. 😦
I’ll try to do either multiple today or something hella good?
Missed Post (2016-04-22)
I was a lot busier today than I thought I would because it’s almost midnight and I’m nowhere near home. Tomorrow I know I will be hella busy, though, and so I’m pretty sure it will also be a missed post.
for the deer anon, there’s actually a really adorable little scene at the end of chapter 108 (third chapter of the intelligence division arc) with this really rambunctious little deer that Shikako summons. so cute. there’s also mention of a doe with extensive knowledge on histories of the worlds? honestly, i’d really love to get to know more about the deers, their home, and history with the Naras. they’re really interesting, and a whole new blank canvas for SilverQueen(& fans) to get crazy with.
Oh, right! I forgot about that scene…
Hm… I guess, deer anon (pun intended), my hesitance kind of has to do with the fact that the deer summons are (mostly) such blank canvases. Except for Heijomaru (and Gemmei the scholarly doe, and Nagaoka the excitable fawn) anything I come up with would be just that–me coming up with it. And I… I don’t quite know how to articulate it but it’s almost as if–at least with recursive fanfiction–I want to interpret and modify and analyze more than I want to create.
Like, my recursive fanfiction and brainstorms are discussions about DoS in story form. In Dreaming of S(omething) is “how would a GaaraxShikako relationship work?” and figuring out the practicalities–they are from different villages? well, just make her the ambassador–and the emotions–how do they show affection, how do they fight, what do they even like about each other–and apparently, a lot of Kankurou.
Contrast with Down Every Road (though I only have installment of that so far) and even Hail To The Queen. The former being “how would a Shikasuke relationship work?” and the latter “how would Shikako be Hokage?” So far, neither of these things have happened–I certainly can’t say where Silver Queen may lead–and so those ficlets are discussion on how could they have happened. A tiny canon divergence that is arguably in character but which has far-reaching consequences.
If I were to write a deer summon ficlet as of now? I’d probably try to do something about Heijomaru and Sembei-obaasan when they were both younger (which… I mean… I do have Gambling Away The Past…) but I’d still hesitate because they are still such unknowns.
And I know this sounds odd because, hey, I’ve written a NetsuixShikako ficlet and we know nearly nothing about Netsui and we’ll likely never see her again (though I hope to, because even without shipping goggles, Shikako having a self-proclaimed nemesis from Kumo sounds hilarious) but even that wasn’t so much a Netsui-character story as much as it was a “how would a Kumo nin and a Konoha nin possibly get together? would they have to hide their feelings for each other? when would they even have the opportunity to see each other much less fall in love?”
So I guess, deer anon, what I’m trying to say is, I’ll see if I can put some deer summoning shenanigans in Gambling Away The Past since it is entirely AU (or, rather, Alternate Timeline) and it wouldn’t necessarily contradict with anything Silver Queen might be planning to do. And hopefully when we get more content something will spring forth from my mind.
Although, I mean, that’s not to say I haven’t already come up with at least three different deer summons OCs and a vague sense of their personalities and abilities (here’s a hint: one of them is a pyromaniac. yes, that’s right, a pyromaniacal deer). I just. I dunno what I would have them do? Maybe I need a brainstorm partner for this? This feels like at least a two person job, deer anon.
Word Prompts (X1): X
At three in the morning, Emily climbs through his bedroom window and drips on his carpet shamelessly. A few seconds later her sister does the same, but Quinn at least looks a little bit sheepish.
They remain silent, as if not to bother him, even though they know he’s already awake.
He sighs, “I’ll get some towels,” he decides before dragging himself out of bed towards the linen closet in the hallway.
“Thank you,” Quinn’s voice follows after him and, after a second and no doubt an elbow to the ribs, Emily voices a grudging, “Thanks.”
On his way to the linen closet, he knocks on the apartment’s other bedroom door. “The twins are here, and they’re dripping on my carpet,” he complains. He doesn’t hear a response, but he knows Maroon is awake and heard him. She’ll be by to ask for their report.
Back in his own bedroom, he tosses the twins a towel each and rummages through his drawers for some dry clothes they can change into. By the time he decides he wouldn’t mind losing his old charity marathon shirts and some basketball shorts to the terror twins, Maroon has slipped into his room with the first aid kit and has begun carefully inspecting them for injuries.
“Nothing too bad,” Emily says, “No need for all this fuss,” though the way she leans into Maroon’s hand tells another story.
Quinn, having no desire to save face, blandly presents her forearm. There is a giant angry burn surrounded by painful looking blisters.
“What happened?” Maroon asks, beginning to treat the wound with ointment and bandages.
“Ah, well, you know…” Emily demurs, shrugging with a false nonchalance, “Thunderbolt.”
Quinn’s lips purse, partially because of her arm, mostly because of the memory. He can sort of understand: if his childhood friend were on the opposite side of the law and they had to fight each other, he’d be conflicted, too. Or… upset? Pissed off?
He’s not sure, Quinn’s expressions are hard to read.
“Stay here for the night,” Maroon directs.
“Or what’s left of it,” he interjects, giving each twin a bundle of clothes. They change immediately, as if he and Maroon weren’t right in front of them.
“Take my bed,” Maroon nods in the direction of her room, “I’ll share with Xander.”
~
A/N: A little bit connected to this ficlet. I’m posting this sort of preemptively for tomorrow since I know I’ll be very busy but also because today’s The Queen’s Council spin-off was kind of short.
Hail To The Queen: Or, Some Ways Shikako Never Became The Hokage, 2/? (2016-04-19)
(two: she who ousts the traitor)
The three things any Konoha nin fears: an angry Aburame, a focused Inuzuka, and a motivated Nara. She may not be an Aburame or an Inuzuka, but she is plenty angry and focused, which maybe makes her a Nara to be triply feared.
—
She wakes up from the Tsukuyomi changed, yes. Traumatized? Definitely. Older and wiser? Perhaps. But mostly? She wakes up furious. It’s a driving, righteous anger that pushes her in a single direction: destroy those who have done this to her, who have violated her like this, who have twisted her home into something where an entire clan being killed is even considered much less enacted.
There are four people on that list, but three of them are in different countries entirely and S-rank Uchiha, besides. Danzo may be S-rank, too, may have the benefit of multiple stolen Sharingan and Mokuton cells and decades of experience fighting in wars, but his ultimate power is not in battle–it’s in politics.
Shikako has medical leave until she fully recovers from the Tsukuyomi, but she does not spend that time idly resting.
—
There is only one Uchiha in Konoha and as of his graduation from the Academy, he is a full-fledge adult, meaning Sasuke is technically the head of the Uchiha clan. For all that it is a clan of one, it is still one of Konoha’s founding clans and that means something.
“Sasuke,” she says, hand curled tight around his wrist. He doesn’t shake it away, though he probably could. Just like she doesn’t hiss at him ‘you owe me,’ “I need you to trust me,” she says instead.
“Of course I trust you,” he replies, unheedingly, but it will have to be enough.
“There is something rotten in Konoha,” she says, “And it is something that we have to get rid of before Tsunade-sama becomes the Hokage.”
“What is it?” He asks, on edge, as if enemies will spring out of nowhere to attack them both.
Shikako shakes her head, “I can’t tell you yet, but I need you to trust me,” she repeats.
Sasuke stares at her for a moment, the silence stretching taught and dangerous. “I trust you,” he doesn’t know the truth, she can’t tell him yet, but when he answers this time he really means it.
—
Convincing her father to believe her is far less difficult than stopping Shikamaru from trying to get involved.
Where one of the alliance goes, the other two clans follow. Inoichi and Chouza stand by her father not only because they’ve done so for most of their lives, but also because they know what she says about Danzo is true.
Ino is curious, but willing to watch and wait; Chouji is silently, patiently supportive.
This is the easy part.
—
She doesn’t know much about the Aburame clan–being friendly but not that close with Shino–but if anyone can understand the dangers of Danzo it would be them. Shibi lost a son to the man, and that is something no clan should ever forgive.
Shibi may not be clan head or even heir to the Aburame matriarch, but he is still her son and his daughter her heiress.
After a serious but amicable discussion, Shikako knows that she can depend on the Aburame.
—
There are no Inuzuka in ROOT because Danzo knows better than to poach recruits from the clan whose top two virtues are loyalty and honesty.
That’s good. It makes Tsume all the more appreciative of Shikako’s candor.
—
Although members of the Aburame, Inuzuka, and Hyuuga are frequently put together on teams, the clans themselves don’t have the same relationship to each other as the Ino-Shika-Cho do. It doesn’t matter if Shikako has convinced both the Aburame and Inuzuka matriarchs to her side, Hiashi Hyuuga is not beholden to an alliance that doesn’t exist.
The Hyuuga clan is the last amongst the Noble Clans that she has yet to talk to, and the most powerful besides. They are not as numerous as the Akimichi, but the Byakugan is the last true bloodline of Konoha given the Sharingan’s scarcity.
Perhaps that’s what she needs to play on. For if Danzo had wiped out the Uchiha for their Sharingan, what’s to say he won’t eventually turn on the other clan with a doujutsu. And she knows how strongly the Hyuuga feels about bloodline theft.
It’s an outrageous claim, or it would be if it weren’t both true and provable. No Hyuuga has ever had reason to activate their Byakugan near Danzo–but cloth and bandages are hardly barriers to their sight.
Multiple eyes in one arm and a face growing out of the other? Regardless of Danzo’s lack of intentions toward the Hyuuga clan, no such abomination should be allowed to exist.
—
There is only one Senju in Konoha and as of her return to Konoha, she is the best candidate for Godaime. But that does not make her Hokage yet and before that, for all that it is a clan of one, she is still technically the head of the Senju clan. Both roles are important in this situation.
“Tsunade-sama,” she says, bowing as much and as respectfully as she can from her seat in the chair. Tsunade has commandeered an examination room with attached office as her own from the Konoha Hospital, her base of operations for overhauling the entire healthcare system as she waits for her coronation.
Shikako pauses, uncertain. Not of her knowledge, or her quest, but in how best to phrase this to the woman. She’s glad that privacy seals are a matter of practice in such rooms as these, to protect medic-patient confidentiality.
“What is it girl? Spit it out. I know it’s not to do with that Tsukuyomi, gods know you haven’t been resting as ordered,” Tsunade says impatiently. If she doesn’t appreciate even that minor amount of subterfuge Shikako used to get an appointment with her then half of Shikako’s work has been done for her–she’ll hate what Danzo’s been up to.
“No, this isn’t about the Tsukuyomi. And, no, I haven’t been resting as ordered,” Shikako agrees because the end is in sight and that’s how she feels–agreeable, “This is about the future of Konoha.”
—
Shikako watches, satisfied, as the clans of Konoha band together and rip every trace of Danzo out from the village. Most members of ROOT have been imprisoned–to be rehabilitated back into the general forces if possible, or into society if not–and both the hospital and T&I (who do an awful lot less torture than their name would imply) have their work cut out for them. The Council members, those who had been under Danzo’s Mangekyo Sharingan thrall for years are highly encouraged to retire from their positions as advisors.
As for Danzo? He is utterly destroyed: Executed. His wealth used towards his primary victims, the brainwashed members of ROOT. And his reputation now and forever tarnished as the toxic, delusional sociopath he really was.
It doesn’t make everything right–not with three rogue S-class Uchiha on the loose in the world–but it is enough to make her rage abate.
This is the kind of Konoha she wants to live in. This is the kind of Konoha she wants Tsunade and, one day, Naruto to inherit.
Yes, she is satisfied.
—
Except that’s not how it goes.
Oh, the utter destruction of Danzo and his legacy happened, of course. But it’s not Tsunade who inherits the village, and it’s not Naruto either.
The first time all of the clans of Konoha banded together to do something, the village was created following Hashirama Senju’s lead, and so he became Shodaime.
It only makes sense that the second time has similar results.
~
A/N: I don’t actually know if Shino is clan heir… But I guess my brain figured they’d probably style their clan after insect colonies? So even if Shibi is the son of the Aburame matriarch I figured he wouldn’t be the next head after her since it’s a matrilineal role but if Shibi were her only son then Chiyako, as her granddaughter, would be next in line? So he and Shino are still, you know, an obvious part of that line.
Also… Danzo is the worst. THE WORST!
The Queen’s Council, (2016-04-20)
There’s a cacophony of voices, not against Naruto, per se–for most of these people do understand that to be the jinchuuriki is a sacrifice, that he is providing a valuable service–but because the Uzumaki becoming an official clan of Konoha will decrease their own power. This is a new branch of government, one that they are unfamiliar with, but beginning to figure out. If each clan head gets a vote, then more clans mean each individual vote counts for less.
But Shikako is Hokage still, and she will not stand for this selfishness, never mind this injustice.
“Kakashi-sensei,” she directs to the man constantly by her side, ever so worried about one of his precious students becoming the Hokage. The last time someone he cared about was the Hokage, they ended up dead not long afterwards.
The Copy Cat Nin stands at attention.
“Turn around,” she says, there is steel in her voice, fire in her eyes. A shinobi turning their back on multiple angry shinobi? It is not a small thing to ask; but this is not a request, it is an order.
Kakashi turns around.
The clan heads don’t understand, confused as to why she would do such a thing. Is it just an expression of her power? To show off that she can order an elite jounin to do something against his instincts?
“What is on the back of the Konoha flak jacket?” Shikako asks the clan heads, the way Iruka would ask his children what are kunai.
Tsunade, understanding, laughs, “That’s the symbol of Uzushio, my grandmother’s country.”
Some of the clan heads look ashamed, but others do not–the lives of ninja are short, but their memories even shorter, and that is a sad thing indeed.
Shikako stands, and it is not her height that impresses, but rather the movement of it. The implication of it; she will not sit idly when there is work to be done. She speaks:
“We wear the Konoha leaf when we become genin, but the Uzushio spiral when we become chuunin. We carry the legacy of our lost ally on our backs the moment we are deemed strong enough to deserve it.
I do not yet have that honor, but there is another way we can amend our disgraceful erasure of them in our history.
Do they not deserve to finally regain their voice?”
When the Godaime Hokage calls again for a vote on the matter of instating the Uzumaki as an official clan of Konoha–thereby giving the clan head a seat on the senate–the results are unanimous.
Naruto spends the entirety of the next senate session fidgeting in his seat, but he takes his duty seriously.
~
A/N: Just a tiny spin off. I kinda wanted to address the whole “being Hokage is Naruto’s dream, and yet I didn’t even mention him in the ficlet at all” but I kind of sidestepped it again. I mean, not entirely but… that’s some mighty fine footwork.
Uh, so, probably how it works: Shikako can’t straight up make Konoha no longer a military dictatorship but she does want it to be less opaque. So no more tiny councils of three people making decisions for the entire village. Whenever the Hokage wants to make a new law/change the senators get to vote on it. They don’t get to introduce any laws/changes yet (but maybe the next Hokage will make such a proposal…). Also, Shikako is trying to figure out how to go about adding representative(s) for non-clan shinobi.
It’s two in the morning, I should probably be sleeping…
Personal Announcement – Housing
I don’t suppose anyone is/will be looking for a roommate/tenant in the Bay Area (of Northern California)? Specifically–East Bay–but anywhere in the Bay Area would be good, too.
Maybe some university students in the area will be moving off-campus soon?
If anyone’s even vaguely interested, just message me 🙂
I just read your fairy story with the iron in the blood and I thought it was pretty neat. (Actually thinks most/all your writing is pretty cool and is pretty much binge-reading right now, only skipping some fandoms I’m not really into and the like)
OMG, anon! (ノ*゜▽゜*)
I’m so happy you like my writing! And even my fairy story which isn’t related to a fandom at all 🙂 Like, don’t get me wrong, I’m also glad when people like my fanfiction but the original fiction are always so much closer to my heart.
I made this blog as a way to practice my writing every day so I’m glad that other people are getting something out of it.
JackSGreyson Says 