Tag: writing

Shikako / Sasuke – canonDOS – 3) things you said too quietly

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Down Every Road (four: hunter and nukenin, the remix),
3) things you said too quietly

He couldn’t have stopped her.

He never could stop her from doing what she thought needed to be done. Never thought he would need to stop her, because as far as they’ve known each other–for as long as they’ve worked together, fought together, been together–she was always right about what needed to be done.

Or, at least, that’s what he had always thought.

“Shikako Nara attacked the Hokage,” says acting Hokage Councilor Shimura, “She is guilty of high treason and must be brought to justice.”

Behind him, Komachi and Towa make no noise, ANBU stealth and stoicism combined. Sasuke struggles to make Hawk do the same.

“Hunt her down,” Councilor Shimura continues, voice apathetic and so hateful to Sasuke’s ears, “Terminate her,” he finishes, eyeing Hawk specifically.

The three ANBU bow: dutiful, respectful, silent. If ANBU Hawk’s bow is a little belated, a little too shallow, then who is to say?

—

Red Team–short one member, of course, and now he wonders how long it will take Komachi and Towa to connect the dots, wonders at the wisdom and cruelty both of Councilor Shimura to send them on this mission, if the latter had been so important to him as to outweigh the former–has barely spent a minute at HQ before another bird masked ANBU approaches them.

“I have been temporarily assigned to Red Team to aid you on your current mission. I am codenamed Crow.“ 

Behind his own mask, Sasuke blinks, perplexed. He knows this is Sai. He just doesn’t know what the play is here. More cruelty, perhaps. He knows Sai is one of Councilor Shimura’s, so this could be extra insurance that Red Team does their job. But he also knows that, beyond all reason, Shikako trusted him anyway. That Sai had gone above and beyond to save Shikako from Councilor Shimura, to break her out from her own mind when no one else could.

Sasuke is looking at either a spy or a saboteur.

He’s not sure which he would prefer.

—

Red Team with Crow in tow depart from the village as soon as possible. Standard protocol for hunting missions.

Red Team isn’t designed for this–Red Team shouldn’t even be on this mission, for logistical and obvious, possible emotional compromising reasons–but that doesn’t mean they won’t at the very least appear to be completing their mission to the best of their abilities.

Everyone knows that the first seventy two hours are the most critical when it comes to hunting nukenin.

Hawk doesn’t have a moment of privacy to create a shadow clone and send it back until four hours later, and so by the time Sasuke is able to ask around the news has already been twisted around into rumors.

Shikako Nara has cracked under the pressure. Accelerated promotions getting to her, unable to handle her rank.

Shikako Nara has been turned. A sleeper agent from another country, she’s always been suspiciously friendly to foreign nin.

Shikako Nara is just like that snake. Didn’t you know? They encountered each other during the chunin exams.

Shikako Nara isn’t the villain here–it’s the jounin commander using his daughter, trying and failing to enact a coup.

None of it is right. All of it is useless.

The only pieces he finds to be true are that Shikako really did attack Tsunade-sama, who is even now still in the hospital, Shikaku-san is in T&I custody, and Councilor Shimura is acting Hokage.

But he already knew that.

—

He thinks maybe the worst part about all of this is that he doesn’t even know what the worst part is.

The first awful part of it is that he can’t figure out why. Why would Shikako attack Tsunade-sama?

Then there’s the terrible part in which he’s being sent to on a mission to kill her–which is both cruel and doesn’t make any sense to him, either.

And then there’s the whole disastrous situation with Sai and whether or not he’ll help or harm the mission… and whether or not Sasuke can convince the rest of Red Team to not fulfill their mission.

No, that’s a lie. He knows what the worst part is.

—

They catch up to Shikako in Land of Rivers.

No, Shikako lets them catch up to her.

Sasuke knows how easily it would be for her to stay ahead of them. Or to stay hidden from them. Or even to fight them, knock them out, and continue on her way.

She did this on purpose.

“Go home, Red Team” Shikako says, and if, somehow, Komachi and Towa didn’t already know the identity of Bat, then they know it now. “Tsunade-sama will need her best to protect her.”

“Protect her from what?” Komachi snipes back, quick temper flaring, “You’re the one who she needs protection from.”

Shikako shrugs, posture loose and casual and an utter lie. Then, bizarrely, she sticks her tongue out at them. No, at Crow. 

“Beware the strangling roots,” she says to them all, before melting into shadows. Red Team tries to pursue, but there is no further trail to follow.

—

The worst part is, she didn’t even ask him to go with her.

~

A/N: Belated fill is very belated and doesn’t really match the prompt, but hope you still enjoy, anon!

I know it says canonDoS, but my brain just really wanted to do a swapped roles version of Down Every Road two: hunter and nukenin, but obviously instead of Shikako being the hunter and Sasuke being the nukenin it’s the other way around. So it’s sort of canon compliant in an AU divergence kind of way? Or, like, I mean. It’s not been jossed yet so it’s not NOT canon? Uh…

Maybe I’ll go further down this road? I dunno, I have an idea for what probably happened, but since this is Sasuke’s POV I figure it’d be more in line if he just could not figure out what the hell was going on because… well… Sasuke.

“Our existence is a horror story told from the monsters perspective”

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Ode to 11010201 AU ficlet (2018-11-12)

A/N: Continues from here.

—

“We destroy that which threatens our existence,” the stranger says, after she pulls Zim and, belatedly, Kevin to their feet. She is far more reluctant in healing Kevin, or perhaps the curse had dug itself into him more thoroughly, the uprooting all the more hollowing for it, because he hardly speaks on their long trudge back to Doc Kaiza’s clinic.

“What does that have to do with–”

“But that’s so subjective, don’t you think, octant?” the stranger interrupts Zim, easily guiding them through the trees towards civilization, almost familiar with the forest trails, though he’s sure he’s never seen her in town before. “Our existence as in our lives or our lifestyles? Threatens as in physical danger or mental stress or even financial threat? All this subjectivity, and yet never do we interpret destroy as anything but kill.”

Zim doesn’t understand, stays nearly as quiet as Kevin whose arm is warm and pliant over his shoulders, footsteps stumbling in Zim’s own.

The stranger looks at him, at them–Zim and Kevin, stumbling and covered in dirt and leaves–with a smile on her face. “You nearly killed yourself today, octant. Over some normal human.”

At those words, Zim can feel irritation flare, his grip on Kevin tightening, protective. “Kevin’s not just some normal human, he’s my best friend! I had to save him. I had to!”

Her smile grows wider, “He has no magic. He’s as normal a human can get,” she says, “But I’m not criticizing you, octant. It’s good that you went so far to save him. It’s good that you found a way to purge the curse without killing your friend…”

His temper cools, though he still keeps his grip on Kevin’s arm steady.

“It’s good that my sister raised you away from the clan,” she concludes, before shrugging and walking ahead, trees giving way to the roads on the outskirts of town, ignoring the informational bomb she dropped behind her.

“Y-your sister?” Zim asks with barely concealed hope, rushing to catch up to her and dragging Kevin along with him.

The stranger–or, perhaps something, someone else–glances back at him before turning ahead once more. If there is emotion in her voice, he can’t hear it, but maybe there is something to be read in the line of her shoulders, her stance, her pace. “Yes,” the stranger says, a sigh and a pause, “Your mother.”

~

A/N: Very belated and very short response to what might be a misinterpretation of your prompt, @wildtabbykat. Sorry!

But I am going to try to get back to writing because goodness knows I’ve not been in practice. I did write a script for the Bindlestiff’s Valentine’s show, but I’ve not heard anything back so it’s likely it wasn’t chosen. Which is… disappointing but not surprising as I didn’t really think it was my best work anyway :/

Anyway, I STILL have three remaining prompts from the ask box things you said event (which has been going on for LITERAL MONTHS) which I will hopefully fill and then do a different ask box event or soooomething so as to get that good good writing exercise.

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Three in the morning.
And I am incandescent,
For a few brief seconds.

They say I am naive,
Over-sensitive,
Quick to react but slow to consider.
You never change,
But I always trick myself into thinking you will.
Hoping that for once this won’t make me tear down another photo,
Replace it with a brick inside my chest.
I am ever turned towards you,
Needle to your true north,
When all I want is the vast horizon, drifting in an endless sunrise, unmoored.

You are not two-faced.
That would be a compliment.
You are ever yourself, ever the star, ever the underdog, ever the altruist, ever the expert.
And yet my frustration confuses you.

You are wild not because the entropy of the universe lives within you,
No beauty of nature reflected in you.
You do not heed consequences—
Why should you when I take the brunt of them?—
And so you are free to play and piss and pose as you please.
A creator of stories by default, a repeating track of your own follies gussied up and redistributed.
Why bother with your B-sides?

I breathe and try to sleep,
Try to tamp down the fires of my discontent.
Cool girl, pretty girl, ambitious girl, glimmer.
Your sparkle is but dust in my eye.
I care not out of love, but out of habit.

jacksgreyson, Untitled 2018-09-02

Ode to 11010201 AU ficlet (2018-08-04)

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A/N: Continues from here

~

Zim wakes up on the ground, aching and stiff and what he imagines having a hangover is like, but he wakes up and that’s all that matters. He breathes and regrets it, feels like he’s burned his lungs. Feels like he’s burned everything really, even air seems to scrape against his raw nerves.

He struggles to turn, spots Kevin and painstakingly crawls that way. His fingers shake checking on his best friend–what if Zim was too late? What if the curse had hooked itself too deeply? What if taking the curse from Kevin killed him anyway?–but there is warm skin and a steady pulse and all that there is room for in his heart is relief.

“Impressive, octant,” says a voice Zim doesn’t recognize. He turns toward the sound even though his muscles screech in protest, he is tired from even that minimal effort, panting, pressing his cheek into the ground.

There are an unfamiliar pair of shoes not even a yard away, “Risky as fuck and terribly inefficient, but impressive nonetheless,” says the person attached to the unfamiliar shoes.

The unfamiliar legs bend, lowering an unfamiliar body and an unfamiliar head with an unfamiliar face attached so that Zim can see the stranger.

Unsurprisingly, Zim asks, “Who are you?” Voice rasping out from his damaged throat.

The stranger shrugs, dismisses his question, asks one of her own, “What made you think you could survive the curse, octant?”

This time, Zim shrugs. Or tries to. More of an attempt to twitch his shoulder, leading into a full body flinch, which causes him to groan in pain into the dirt.

The stranger sighs as if Zim were purposely avoiding her question. As if this were all a ploy to get out of it.

She presses a to his forehead, mutters something too low, too quick for him to parse, and a cool wave washes over him. No more pain.

“Better?” The stranger asks, and Zim nods, too surprised to be anything but truthful. “Now if you don’t mind, octant, answer my question.”

That’s the third time the stranger has called him that, but he keeps that confusion to himself.

“I didn’t,” he croaks. At her confused furrowed brow, he elaborates, “I didn’t think.”

Rather than look skeptical, as the doc might, or irritated, like Belinda, or even horrified, as Kevin will be when Zim tells him what happened, the stranger huffs a quick, soft laugh. A smile curves her mouth, almost fond, “Yeah, why am I not surprised?”

Zim thinks that’s something he would like to know, too, actually, but the stranger continues–both answering and confusing him further.

“Oh, octant, you’re just like your mother.”

Ode to 11010201 AU ficlet (2018-07-30)

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The curse is spreading through Kevin’s body–poison coursing through his veins–and the only counter Zim and the doc have managed to find is death of the host. That’s one shitty cure.

But Zim’s been able to burn it away, use the hosts’ hearts as foundation, turn his penchant for literal fire into a more figurative, ethereal fire. He has an idea, a desperate, foolish hope, but if he can’t save Kevin then what’s the point of doing all that work? All that research? What’s the point of being magic if he can’t protect the people he cares about?

Doc Kaiza isn’t here to stop him–she’s back at the clinic, more research and calling on her contacts, too slow for what matters–and so it’s just Zim and Kevin and the eldritch entity steadily, thoroughly, working its way through Kevin’s being.

If Zim can’t stop it here and now–before Kaiza makes the call, the final decision to sacrifice the one for the whole of humanity–then Kevin will die. One way or another.

One way or another, Zim is going to prevent that.

“You can’t make fun of me for this,” Zim says to whatever is left of Kevin in Kevin’s body, “For at least two weeks, okay?”

Kevin doesn’t say anything, because the eldritch entity has already taken control of that part of him–an hour ago it made a horrifying screech which shook the town–but his nose crinkles in a familiar tic of confusion, and that’s good. That’s great. That’s all Zim needed.

So he darts forward, shoves a hand over Kevin’s nose–because that at least, in part, is still his, still human, even as the rest of his him lashes out with more power and wrongness than should be possible–and waits for the body to open its mouth. Either to breathe, if it still has to, or to screech once more, defending its terrible existence.

When it does, Zim seals his mouth over it. Less like a kiss and more like he’s trying to literally eat Kevin’s face, a giant bite intended to swallow down more than the chili cheese fries from the Tommy’s Burgers on Orchard Street.

The entity shrieks and it travels directly into Zim, down his throat and into his lungs, the force of it rattling and ominous. But Zim doesn’t stop. He inhales, he pulls, from Kevin into himself, curse drawn within bronchioles to capillaries to heart where his internal fire lives.

Kevin’s body drops to the ground, and Zim would check on him but it’s not done yet. The fight’s still going.

The curse is no longer in Kevin. That’s good, that’s the best thing that could happen. Now Kevin won’t have to die.

Now the curse is in Zim.

He doesn’t scream. Doesn’t have the extra energy to scream. Has to focus on damming the flow, shoring up his very being because the eldritch entity is hungry and not one for mercy.

Zim’s magic manifests itself as fire. Zim can use the hearts of hosts to burn away the curse. Zim’s magic lives in his heart.

He will burn the curse out of himself.

Survival is secondary.

~

A/N: I have a few more ask box things you said prompts in my ask box and I swear I will get to them, but considering my really bad writing habits lately I figured something unrelated to the ask box event was better than nothing?

This isn’t “canon” Ode to 11010201–if anything can be considered canon for that WIP original ‘verse–but I have an idea and needed to write it, but I didn’t even get to the scene that I wanted to but I needed to stop here because it’s nearly four in the morning and I have work in a few hours so hopefully I’ll still remember what I wanted to get to after I sleep and do stuff later today.

Also, maybe don’t get your hopes up about my writing schedule resuming normal levels because I was cast in an upcoming Bindlestiff show even though I was only supposed to design lights so I will be busy again.

Ahhhhhhhhhh.

Stars Also Dream, Santa, Things you said in the spur of the moment

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Stars Also Dream, 56) things you said in the spur of the moment

“One day, I’m gonna fly,” he says, full of conviction, eyes trained upwards at a flock of birds soaring through the sky. He’s not there yet, but he will be.

Kyougi throws a piece of rubble at him, Santa yelps in over exaggerated pain. “Your feet are on the ground, which is where your eyes should be too. The faster we get this done, the better.”

Chinatsu, far more dutiful, gives a soft chuckle at her teammates’ antics nonetheless. The disapproving tongue click that their sensei gives is less fond.

Properly scolded, Santa turns his gaze downward, resuming his share of their D-rank. “One day, I’m gonna rescue a princess,” Santa mutters, as he sorts through the debris. If he can keep him and his team distracted maybe they won’t have to think about what they’re doing. He knows it’s not something he should be complaining about–rebuilding in the weeks after the Kyuubi Attack is important, sure, that doesn’t mean he can’t wish for a more exciting mission.

Or at least one that isn’t so depressing.

“As if,” Kyougi says, rolling her eyes, but still playing along, “We’re going to be stuck with smugglers or farmers all through our career.”

“Hey! Don’t besmirch farmers! Your clan head’s wife is a farmer!” he points out.

“No, Yoshino-sama is a shinobi. Her parents were farmers. As are a good percentage of all of our clans,” Kyougi argues, logically and methodically.

“Yeah! Exactly!” Santa agrees, before pausing, thinking, then, “Wait, what?”

“There aren’t a lot of princesses to be rescued,” Kyougi continues, “And I doubt we’ll ever be chosen to go on a mission to do the rescuing.”

“Not with that attitude,” Santa snipes back.

Tokumei-sensei clicks his tongue again, before pointing at a fallen wall, aiming them wordlessly as if they were simple beasts of burden. Still, he and Kyougi fall silent once more as they and Chinatsu head in that direction.

Chinatsu lifts up the wall while he and Kyougi reach underneath. Grimly, they pull the body out, another black ringed scroll to be sorted through later and returned to any next of kin.

They’re quiet for a while after. Miserable and quiet, which is probably what their sensei prefers.

Chinatsu is the one to break the silence, “I’d like to fly someday, too.“ 

~

A/N: A bit of a prologue to Stars Also Dream in which these three genin have no idea what’s in store for them. The spreadsheet of DoS timeline and OCs was very helpful–and given how long it took me to address this prompt even with such a short fill, I really needed as much help as I could get! O_O

Kyougi Nara is an SQ original. Chinatsu Akimichi is dona’s. And their awful Hyuuga sensei is Pepperdoken’s. 

Jiraiya and Naruto, #47, any AU

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Remember to Sleep, 47) things you said in a hotel room

Jiraiya’s at the hotel bar–and, yeah, maybe it’s a little early in the day for a drink or three, but who’s checking?–when he sees it: the briefest glimpse of all too familiar blonde hair.

He shakes his head, mutters to himself, “Don’t get your hopes up,” and goes back to his drink. It’s impossible, what he’s thinking, and besides, there’s a pair of beautiful young ladies who look like they might appreciate some excellent company.

He signals for the bartender to send over some complimentary drinks (mimosas, apparently, not like the princess who would appreciate harder liquor) and gets ready to put on some moves.

Fifteen minutes and a double dousing of socially acceptable daytime drinks in his face later, he spots it again: bright and messy, even through the champagne and orange juice in his eyes. This is a sign, no doubt, destiny telling him to follow–why else would those lovely ladies reject his advances?

The bartender, unimpressed but dutiful, passes Jiraiya a towel to wipe his face. Taking the opportunity, he asks, “What’s going on in the ballroom?”

The bartender shrugs, “Some kind of science convention. Not too sure. I’m hoping it’s medical–doctors really know how to drink.”

Jiraiya rolls his eyes, “You’re telling me.” But that’s a sob story for a different bartender, maybe, and he’s got an entirely different blonde to chase down.

According to the signs, it is indeed ‘some kind of science convention’. More specifically, one for cybernetic augmentations and enhancements. It is, unfortunately, hauntingly familiar stomping grounds for him.

Most of the names listed for panels are old or uninteresting–one of the main reasons he’s stopped coming to these things, even if they do offer all expenses paid. How this is supposed to be about innovations when it’s the same people rehashing the same tech is beyond him–except one of the smaller rooms, practically in fine print at the bottom of the itinerary, has a name he’s never seen before.

Not new to him entirely (Nara is common enough, almost a household name given the reach of their pharmaceuticals and the fact that practically everyone is medicated these days) but definitely new to this particular arena. Cautious branching out, maybe? That would explain why they have a small room instead of space in the main ballroom.

Except when Jiraiya gets to the room listed, it’s packed. Overflowing, practically. If he weren’t who he was, and the staff at the door hadn’t recognized him, he might not have gotten in–as is, it’s a tight squeeze. Which he wouldn’t mind if it were a crowd of buxom beauties, but, alas, he is surrounded by sweaty nerds. But why is such a popular panel in such a tiny room?

Or, maybe, he should be wondering: why is this Nara panel so popular?

Except once he gets to the front–“it’s such an honor that you’re here, sir, and also a surprise. We weren’t told you’d be here, but of course you’re more than welcome. Such an honor, please, there’s VIP seating,”–even that question flees from his mind.

Because sitting just next to that (surprisingly young and pretty, nothing like that stony-faced punk Shikaku) newcomer Nara is Minato…

… but not.

That’s definitely Minato’s god-awful hair, and damned too blue eyes, but it’s in a face more like Kushina’s. That’s definitely her smile on that brat’s face, aimed with laser accuracy at the Nara girl beside him.

“What the hell is going on?”

Never Lookin’ To Come Back, shikako/kiba, 34) things you said in your sleep

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Never Lookin’ To Come Back, 34) things you said in your sleep

Kiba doesn’t dream. Not in the literal sense, at least.

He’s heard other people talk about their dreams–their unconscious adventures or whatever–but he’s never been able to do the same. Usually he’s just out like a light. Maybe he wakes up in a mood, emotions filtering through as he sleeps, but nothing concrete or detailed enough to count as a dream.

He doesn’t think it’s much of a loss, really. What’s the point in having adventures in your sleep when you can have them in reality?

And, well, no dreams no nightmares.

Given what he’s seen, ain’t he lucky?

Too bad the same can’t be said for the captain.

—

They’re on a job–an easy delivery to some barely named pebble of a moon turned into a whole production. A miserly bastard exploiting a bunch of honest people who just needed a little help from the Shuumatsu’s ragtag team of heroes in order to find courage to stand up for themselves… the usual, really.

If he were one for business cards, Kiba would probably change his to say Big Damn Hero.

Right now it’s the evening before the final showdown. They’re taking turns on watch, because this isn’t their first rodeo that’s for sure–he wouldn’t be all that surprised if the bastard sent some muscle their way in the middle of the night–but they’re not all that worried. Kiba and Akamaru have this.

The captain murmurs in her sleep and Kiba, ears always tuned in to what she says, listens.

“… retreat… prince…”

Just those two words are enough to place when Shikako is in her mind, but the last is what makes Kiba’s blood chill.

“… Sai…”

—

Kiba doesn’t dream in the literal sense. Not so much in the figurative sense, either. Not anymore. He’s content with living on the bucket of bolts that is the Shuumatsu, making sure the captain has back up for her crazy schemes.

Because having a dream means getting your hopes up. Means getting invested. Means making your soft spots out in the open.

Having a dream means that you can be betrayed.

And failing your dream means reality becomes a nightmare.

Gambling Away the Past, 12!

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Gambling Away The Past (part 10/?), 12) things you said when you thought I was asleep

Today is their last in the relative safety of Sangaku Outpost and, by unspoken agreement, all of Team Kakashi have decided to spend the day on separate ventures. Soon enough it’ll be back to being just their squad–best to get their fill of other company while they can.

Not that other company necessarily equates to better company, of course, especially given the way some of those stationed at the outpost still look at Kakashi with barbed, pointed glares, but there are a few people Shikako, at least, wouldn’t mind meeting with again in the future and she knows her teammates feel the same. At the very least, Kakashi certainly doesn’t mind the opportunity to summon his ninken in a more peaceful situation than he’d get to once they’re back on duty.

And so the team spends their last day at the outpost apart, helping out where they can or getting in some last minute training, before returning to their tent for the evening. They’ll leave at dawn, back to the camp that Ikoma-san runs and which Minato-san generally considers home base, before being sent out on their next mission.

And so Shikako isn’t surprised about being the first one back to the tent, late afternoon, nor does she feel at all bad about flopping onto her bedroll and immediately passing out. Exhausted after one last grueling training session for her and Wakakusa beneath Heijomaru’s steely hooves, Sembei-obaasan making less than helpful comments from the side.

A few hours later, she surfaces from the depths of unconsciousness at the proximity of other chakra signatures, but decides not to fully wake up when she recognizes her teammates. Still, their conversation filters down to her in her dozing state, words hushed but no less heated.

“–can’t believe you still think that! After everything she’s done?” Obito’s voice, the magma of his volcano bubbling ominously.

“Sensei thinks so, too,” Kakashi’s voice, a weak defense, barely any crackle in the ozone, “He said to watch her.”

“Because he thinks she’s some kind of secret fuinjutsu prodigy, not because she’s a spy!” retorts Obito.

Rin, as always, tries to break the tension, “Ikoma-san wouldn’t put her on our team if she were, and Minato-sensei approved it. He wouldn’t do that to us,” she reasons.

There is a moment of silence, Kakashi acknowledging and accepting her point, before he says, “Her story is inconsistent–what little of it she does tell us, anyway. How’d she end up near where our mission was? What happened to her previous team?”

The silence that follows this time is much longer.

Not because the answer is hard to think of, but because one particular answer comes to mind too quickly. Shikako can almost pinpoint the moment when each of her teammates stumble upon it: Obito’s volcano going dormant once more, temper doused immediately. Rin’s breath hitching, dual fire and water flickering and rippling in distress. Kakashi’s electricity flattening out the way it does when he knows he’s said something awful, but can’t apologize for it.

They are at war. There is one simple explanation for how a shinobi could end up all alone in enemy territory without any back up.

It’s morbid to think of as such, but how lucky for her that they’ve all come to the obvious, but wrong conclusion.

~

A/N: It takes significantly less time to break a good practice than to stop a bad one and that is no excuse. I’ll have to reform my daily writing behavior from scratch it seems :/

Sorry for the delay, @to-someplace-else!