Tag: writing

Ooo~ Count me intrigued. Is Sweeper a name, a nickname, a title? I feel there’s an implication of extra-normal skills–my mind leaps immediately to the supernatural, but I could also see it being simply very high competencies. And it sounds like there’s an antagonism between “you” and the sister–is she your boss, or only that guy’s? I’m SO CURIOUS

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Thanks! Uh…. actually this was meant to be more of a one-shot sort of thing, but since you expressed interest I suppose I could get into it a little more… I definitely did dream up the further world even though I only wrote this little snapshot so…

Enjoy!

~

You stand and feel the weight of yourself, your exhaustion, in your joints. Knees stiff and near to creaking, echoing up your nerves. Your calf itches. Slowly, so as not to move more than necessary, you lift your opposite foot to scratch at it. Quietly, you put your foot back down.

The man standing guard outside the door glances at you, then away, dismissive. Your weight resettles along the soles of your feet. You are so tired. Your sister is cruel.

Would it hurt anyone to give you a chair? It’s been almost two hours since you were ambushed on the train. What a hypocrite. You cannot keep her waiting, but your time, apparently, is worthless.

You tamp down the anger, will your heartbeat to slow, you do not have the luxury of anger here, not in your sister’s stronghold. The man standing guard, as if sensing your disloyalty to his boss, glances your way once more. This time his gaze lingers, his mouth twitches, but he stays silent and looks away again.

He wears a suit, well tailored, or so you think, you are not an expert in mens formalwear. So like your sister to multitask, make her employees protection and eye candy both.

You are not self-conscious about your own appearance, rumpled and casual it may be. You were on a train that smelled of piss, heading home after a day of cleaning more and other bodily fluids. If your sister wanted you gussied up just to wait two hours in her chair-less waiting room, she should have let you go home and shower.

Your knees start to buckle. You have no idea who you’re trying to impress. The guard? Your sister? Clearly you’ve already failed on the former, and the latter has never been impressed with you. You allow your knees to bend, let gravity pull you down further. You might as well sit even if there are no chairs.

You feel much better. From this new angle, seated cross-legged on the floor, you notice the scuff marks on the guard’s shoes. Your exhaustion pulses. You let your eyes droop. You could nap, maybe, just a quick one to shore yourself up before seeing your sister.

A beep sounds from the guard’s wrist. He glances at his watch, at you, at the door, before reaching for the handle. “Sweeper,” says the guard, “Boss will see you now.”

For a moment you are filled with hate before you tamp that down, too. As it recedes, you imagine saying something witty, something cutting, but you let it ebb further into apathy. This is your sister’s stronghold.

You get to your feet.

Untitled (2018-03-20)

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You’re on the train, night gone dark outside, lights streaming smears across the windows. Your eyes blink slowly, heavier each time, behind your sunglasses. You know you look like a massive tool, but the fluorescent lights of the train are so bright and also you can’t accidentally make eye contact with another passenger.

You blink again, slower, lingering longer closed.

One headphone in your ear because at least one means occupied but both reduces your awareness and that just cannot be done. You are sitting alone, but you are not looking for company. The train car you’re in smells mildly of piss, but better than the vomit of the first car. And plus, everything in the city smells mildly of piss.

You blink once more, the voices of strangers making jokes in one ear, and when you open your eyes fully you are not alone. You don’t startle, only because you are too lethargic to startle, but you do tense. Slowly shift away.

After two stops, after your seat mate hasn’t said anything, you begin to gradually relax. Another two stops and you’ll be disembarking. No worries.

As the next stop approaches, your seat mate stands, and you relax even further, relief washing over you.

Except then your seat mate looks back at you. Makes eye contact with you–somehow, despite the sunglasses–and says, “Well, come on. Don’t want to keep your sister waiting. Boss has a job for you, Sweeper.”

You tense all over again, caught, but stiffly and swiftly make your way to your feet. Adrenaline has replaced the lethargy in your blood.

Your sister is not one for patience. You shudder to think what she’s done that requires your services.

~

A/N: It feels like forever since I’ve written, so here’s a small thing to exercise that part of my brain again.

22 days until this show!

oh mmyyyyyyy gooooodddddddneeeesssss. that latest shikako snippet? whoa! just whoa!! i’m a mess????

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donapoetrypassion:

jacksgreysays:

😀 Yay! That’s what I was going for, anon.

it was an idea that snowballed–I went literal with the heart matter, then @donapoetrypassion added some spirituality to it (along with prompting the They Call It (Soulless) ficlet), so then I figured since we were escalating I might as well raise to divinity (or, rather, lower to devilry?)

One night -many years and many midnight bargains later- the man at the crossroads is Shikamaru Nara.

“You have a child,” what’s left of his sister says, frowning. “Why are you doing this?” Her voice is too flat. Her face is too young. It’s been that way for quite awhile.

He still loves her. Even the her she is without a heart.

And he does have a child. A little boy, Shikadai. Baby-powder sweet and gummy-smiled.

But this is about responsibility as much as love. Shikamaru’s little boy will grow up in this world. Shikamaru can’t let it be a worse one than his was, growing up.

(It’s about love, too. He’d looked in the photo albums, and found what he thought was Shikadai, giving another gummy smile while holding the hand of someone just out of the picture. But the picture was too old, and Shikamaru had never smiled like that as an infant. He’d looked at the picture of his sister, his baby boy’s aunt who shared his smile, and realized what he lost. What they all had.)

It was Temari, really, who gave him the idea. The notion that a siblings’ heart was something he could get back. It was Kankuro who gave him the stories of puppeteers losing too much of thrmselves, or just enough.

There’s risk in this. Maybe too much. But he did at least have the sense to talk this decision over with his wife, and she approved of him trying. (He’s glad he married Temari. He can’t imagine anyone else really… understanding. What it means to love someone who might not be in a place to return that. What it means to hope.)

Shikamaru Nara has to give up something. He has to give up something real, to even have a chance at his sister back.

But he won’t make his sister’s mistake. He won’t give up too much.

…This will work.

“I’m not giving up my heart, or my soul, or my life,” Shikamaru Nara says calmly. “I’m giving up my other arm.”

(Shikako cries. When she gets back. When they stagger home. When her parents hug her. When a wide-eyed teenage Kino treats her gently. She hates crying, but does it like she’s pouring out all the things she didn’t get to feel for years.

She is.

As for the grief, and self blame- and shameful gratitude- of Shikamaru getting her soul back (at the cost of his other arm, his last one, no, please, no)… she feels so much she doesn’t know what to do with it.

She comes back to a world where the war is over. Where her friends are figuring out how to be not just adults but parents, and she’s figuring out how not to be the Shikabane-hime.

No one says much, about her having a soul now. It’s not exactly public knowledge that she didn’t.

They notice that she ages properly now, for a given value of properly. Growing taller, face growing thinner, and one day, nearly a year later, Shikako notices a white streak in her hair. Tsunade tells her that her strange stop-start aging was likely a side-effect of losing all that life energy as a child. Her life span might be a decade shorter. Not more. (It won’t be longer. Not as long as she had feared. Shikako goes home and cries in relief, in her bed where no one else can see her. Then she gets up and goes back to her life).

AHHHHHHH! SHIKAMARU TAKING ON A DEVIL TO GET HIS SISTER BACK! And, like, why wouldn’t he? He already took on a god. (Never mind they were both sort of his sister also)

Heart and Soul (the crossroads remix), (2018-03-14)

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A human without a heart–without a soul–is no longer human. Without that integral piece they are, at best, empty husks.

(At worst, they are monsters.)

But she stopped being human before she gave away her heart:

What do you call a god without a soul?

—

After, Shikako is different.

That is not so surprising. Inoichi was expecting a much more drastic change in Shikamaru, after all, and so having one twin be more noticeably affected by the… incident… only makes sense.

Shikako is different, After. Inoichi keeps an eye out for the twins, both personally–they are nearly as dear to him as Ino–and professionally.

She is harsher, more ruthless. On missions, it is not so easy to tell: it could be attributed to the rising international tensions, or the stress of her undeniably eventful career catching up, or even just growing up. The name Shikabane-hime spreads–it is no longer a silly joke, even inside the village.

She hardly smiles anymore.

Inoichi notices something in Shikako, but he doesn’t know enough for the truth.

—

The Shinigami works in trade: a life given as payment, a life taken in exchange.

Phrased that way, it almost seems balanced.

But it is not death for life; death only begets more death.

—

Be careful what you wish for: even if you get what you want to the letter, you might not get what you need in spirit. And even then, beware your intentions; strength of will is not just an expression.

There is power in determination, in desperation. But there is also weakness.

In that battle that nearly destroyed them, Shikako wished for two things. She made the mistake of intrinsically linking them together: she wanted to save her brother, and so she needed to be stronger.

She gave her heart as payment.

What was taken in exchange?

—

There were thousands of people in Land of Hot Springs.

They did not go to Jashin.

Death only begets more death.

Shikabane has some catching up to do.

—

There is a man kneeling at an intersection, hands pushing dirt into a hole in the ground that contains a box. The box contains several items which physically have little worth–a picture, more dirt, a small bone, a small cluster of flowers soon to die–but they have value combined, intangibly, unnaturally.

The man wants something–power or time or wealth or knowledge–it matters not. He’ll get it, the box he’s just buried guarantees it, but he’ll regret it.

He looks up, dirt under his fingernails, still on his knees, to see a figure that had not been present just moments ago.

It is small, in the shape of a young girl with mostly nondescript features. It has dark eyes–not the way a human might–like ink and shadow and the utter absence of that which is human.

For a moment, he considers backing down: there is a fate in those eyes that he is not sure he wants to meet. But then the figure speaks, offers him that which drove him out here in the middle of the night, blinks away the ink and shadow.

He makes the deal; his heart’s desire for his soul.

(Just as well, it was already too late for him)

—

A human without a heart–without a soul–is no longer human.

A would-have-been-god without a soul? You know what they’re called.

~

A/N: A sort of… remix fic response to @donapoetrypassion’s follow-up fic for this ficlet that I wrote as a response to dona’s prompt… so… yeah…

~tiny and vague demon!Shikako concept~

Heart and Soul

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donapoetrypassion:

A few months ago, Jacksgreyson wrote a really awesome ficlet
in response to a prompt of mine. 

This is the follow-up thank-you fic I‘ve been meaning to write
for ages.

Heart and Soul

“Put your heart, mind, and soul, into even your smallest
acts. This is the secret of success.” -Swami Sivanada

“This is just one of
me, but in different places.”- Shikako Nara to her father. Dreaming of
Sunshine, Chapter 88

“I wouldn’t recommend
using it. But that’s a decision you’ll have to make in the field, based on the
information you have at the time.” –Shikaku Nara to his daughter. Dreaming
of Sunshine, Chapter 89.

___________________________________________________________________________

When the twins came back from the front, Shikako had a
perfect circle of scarred skin and healed fractures tracing itself across her
lungs, her spine, her ribs. Her recently regrown heart fit exactly in the
center.

Shikamaru had his sister’s heart.

The Konoha transplant program is very advanced.

They’ve done kidneys, liver, lungs, pancreas, intestine, and
thymus. They’ve done bones, tendons, corneae, skin, nerves and veins. They’ve
done hands, arms, legs, and feet.

They don’t transplant hearts. (Sasori had, after all, been able to function as a puppet with only his
heart remaining.) Commonly held wisdom is that a heart transplant would be
about as useless to the transplant recipient as transplanting a brain.

Common wisdom is wrong.

At least, in the case of the Nara twins.

Tsunade was cursing her most unpredictable special jounin
even as she stabilized both twins.

The boy’s case was especially difficult. But since his
chakra system wasn’t being poisoned or overwritten by his new eighth gate -and his
new eighth gate wasn’t destabilizing into oblivion- Tsunade counted her
blessings.

Both brats even managed to briefly wake up and answer basic
questions about missions she had assigned Team Ten or Team Seven, which Tsunade
considered a flat-out miracle.

Still. Best to confirm things
before sharing the good news with her Jounin Commander.

Inoichi did not despair when he was briefed on the
circumstances surrounding the upcoming mindscan on his teammate’s son, because
he was an optimist with some experience in the success rate of desperate Nara.

He was confident that Shikako would have been able to save
(at least something of) her brother.

Even so, at best
he had expected Shikamaru Nara to be as confused and shaken and fundamentally changed as Ino had been, at her most
vulnerable. (At best.)

Inoichi had been prepared to
offer Shikaku platitudes of his son finding a new normal, support for Shikako
as she adjusted to her changed sibling.

He was not prepared to find an
only slightly shaken (and only from the memories of his injury), only slightly
confused (and only from slipping in and out of consciousness), and otherwise completely
unchanged Shikamaru Nara.

He was not prepared to find no
trace of Shikako Nara in her brother’s mind.

(He’d have to look more closely
next time.)

“Shadow Split,” Shikaku cursed, when he was briefed. A heart
was not a soulless thing, to be traded away like any other organ.

Once you’ve accepted the necessity of trading away (a piece
of) your soul, what choices are left? Giving away as little as possible. Or as
little-missed as possible. And protecting that which was precious enough to
trade (a piece of) your soul for.

But what piece, exactly, had his daughter given away?

“Is this even a mind-scan?” Shikamaru asked, on the fifth
session. He slouched in his (probably imaginary) body, picking at the (probably
imaginary) grass, looking at the (not imaginary but definitely not physically
present) figure of his honorary uncle.

Inoichi gave him a reassuring smile. “Not a traditional one.
But some of the …lighter variants of mental contact can be more useful for certain
check-ups.”

Shikamaru didn’t have a problem with Inochi-oiji’s visits.
He practiced with Ino often enough that he wasn’t uncomfortable with mental
techniques. And he knew Inochi was trying to help- even if he was being
frustratingly close-lipped about how
he was helping. But this was the fifth session in almost four weeks, and it was
getting annoying.

“Have you found what you’re looking for yet?” Shikamaru
grumped.

“I think I have a
lead, now,” Inoichi said calmly, with another annoyingly reassuring smile.
“Would you mind showing me to the village? I’d like to check the Hokage Tower
first.”

Shikamaru showed him to the (probably imaginary) village,
which was creepily empty of both people and animals. Then he gestured at the
(probably imaginary) Hokage Tower. “Is that where we’re heading?”

But Inoichi wasn’t looking at the Hokage Tower. He was
looking at the swing by the Academy.

It was empty, of course.

It was also moving.

“That’s… odd.” Shikamaru managed.

Inoichi glanced at him. “It’s a lead. And it’s something we
have to look into, because I suspect this is something you need to know. But
it’s also nothing to be afraid of, Shikamaru.”

Shikamaru nodded.

Shikamaru followed Inoichi past the empty swing, into the
empty hallways of the Tower, into the classroom. The same classroom
Iruka-sensei had taught them all, for years.

Inoichi sighed when he entered it.

“Why are we here?” Shikamaru asked.

“The human mind is a place that demands honesty,” Inoichi
said, but he didn’t seem to be speaking to Shikamaru. “I was always going to
find this place eventually.”

Inoichi was looking at the far wall as he spoke, and he
walked straight toward the back. Where Shikamaru had used to sit, beside
Shikako and Chouji.

“Come up, please,” Inoichi asked, looking at something just
past one of the last desks. His tone was gentle. But also tired, exasperated.
Not expecting his order to be followed.

Inoichi tried again. “Nara techniques require self-knowledge.
If you keep hiding, Shikamaru is never going to be able to safely use any kind
of Shadow technique again.”

A little crumped up ball of paper hit Inoichi’s face.
Another almost got caught in his blonde hair before falling to the floor.

Shikamaru slowly made his own way to the back of the room.

Inoichi sighed at the thing Shikamaru still couldn’t yet
see. He reached down underneath the desk and pulled up a seven-year-old
Shikako. She was glaring with her most sullen expression.

But this was Shikamaru’s mind. Why would- what was-

Shikamaru sat down and tried to
breathe.

It was imaginary air, it wasn’t
real- nothing here was real except him and Inoichi and his too-small-sister-
but the breaths helped calm him. Steady him.

Shikamaru came out of his panic attack to find that he was
still sitting on top of one of the desks, looking at his sister’s soul. Or a
piece of it, anyway.

“Shikamaru needed a new heart. And a new eighth chakra gate.
But you knew a human heart without a soul attached wouldn’t have a working eighth gate. So you found
another solution.” There was no judgement in Inoichi’s voice. Neither
condemnation or approval. He seemed to be examining Shikako’s face carefully.

Inoichi’s voice gentled. “Do you understand what happened?
Where you are?”

Shikako rolled her eyes. “Yes. Obviously. I was trying
not to interfere.” She crossed her
arms defiantly. Her mulish expression flickered into uncertainty as she glanced
at Shikamaru. Just for an instant.

“Why are you seven?” Shikamaru asked.

Shikako stilled. When she answered, she seemed to be
choosing her words carefully. “I’m seven because… because this is the age I was
when I made an important decision. I made another important decision when you
needed a new heart. The decisions …in some ways were similar.”

“And did you make the right choice?” Inoichi asked.

“Yes,” Shikako
hissed. But she glanced uncertainly at Shikamaru again.

“My body can regenerate,” she rallied. “And I’m not a part
of Shikako that- well. Shikako doesn’t like to remember being me, so it’s not
like being here is going to make a big difference personality-wise. Giving you
my heart was definitely the right
decision.”

Something sad flickered across her face. “And I can’t say I
regret making the other one. It’s not like the result was unexpected.” There
was something flat about her voice, like she was suppressing some strong
emotion.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath before opening
them again. “I don’t know why you came,” she told Inoichi, and there was real
pain underneath the hostility in her voice. “I just want Shikamaru to be okay.
I want him to be himself.”

“Do you think I can just leave
you here?” Shikamaru rasped. “Do you think I can let you be alone?” He reached out a hand-

Inoichi caught it with a warning glance. Shikamaru resisted
the urge to dodge, to continue forward until Shikako was tucked up against his
chest.

She was small and
she was hurting and she was- she
would never have an existence besides the space inside of his mind. The rest of
his sister might, but not this part.  

“I can teach you two how to interact safely, though that
might take a little time,” Inoichi said to both of them. Then he turned to
Shikako. “I understand that you don’t want to hurt him accidentally. It’s good
that you’re careful. But this isn’t an answer, either.”

Shikako swallowed. “Okay.”

“I hope it’s all right with both of you if we start
tomorrow,” Inoichi said. It wasn’t really a question.

Still. “Why tomorrow?” Shikamaru managed to get out. It was
difficult to keep his tone from edging towards tense impatience.

“Believe it or not, this meeting has been a pretty big
strain on both of you. I’ve eased things, somewhat. But two sets of spiritual
energies interacting within the same body is something best carefully monitored
until the two of you reach a balance. Giving Shikamaru all sensory input from
and the control over the body is still a type of balance, Shikako,” Inoichi added,
in response to Shikako’s scowl.

He stood up.

He hesitated a moment. “If you can- is there anything you
can tell me about the Shikako outside that might be different now?”

For a moment, Shikako looked terrible insecure. And then the
moment was gone as if it had never been. “She still loves Shikamaru. A lot. She wouldn’t like, let a bunch of
Konoha babies die if just sitting there doing nothing meant Shikamaru was going
to be safer. But- Shikamaru wouldn’t want that anyway. And the Shikako outside
would still do- almost anything for him. Just not absolutely everything.” She looked away from Inoichi. Towards Shikamaru.
“You know we both- we both-“ Her eyes were wet and so, so wide.

“I know,” Shikamaru said softly. He wished this was a real
place. He wished- he wished he could hold her.
That he didn’t have to wait until Inoichi ‘taught them how to interact
safely.’ His sister had torn out her heart and ripped apart her soul to keep
him alive, and she was trying to tell him both parts loved him. As if he didn’t
know. “I’ve always known”

“How are you feeling?” Dad asked, as Shikamaru blinked into
awareness.

Like my heart is breaking, Shikamaru didn’t answer.

As much as the discovery had been painful, Shikamaru was now
well on the path to recovery. But the success didn’t ease Inoichi’s mind much
at all, and he was quiet as he walked home.

Inside-Shikako had so easily Split from the rest of herself
because she had remained unacknowledged and hidden even within Shikako, likely
for quite some time. What had she said? That the rest of Shikako didn’t like to
remember being her.

And she’d distinguished the other Shikako from herself by
implying that Shikako would do less for Shikamaru. That Shikako would not let
Konoha babies die, even if doing nothing made Shikamaru safer. Implying that
inside-Shikako might.

…That was not the kind of self-knowledge that came in
advance of action.

Worst of all, inside-Shikako looked …seven, at most. And she
acted like a seven-year-old Shikako,
albeit a terrified and angry version. Almost as if that piece of Shikako Nara
had had never been accepted or understood or integrated into the whole.

Inside-Shikako was clearly an aspect of personality that had
crystalized in some single, terrible moment. And aspect Shikako hated and
feared- but needed. Because the moment might happen again. Because that moment
had so marked her that it had frozen a piece of her forever, and plunged the
rest into desperate denial.

No, Inoichi would not be sleeping well tonight.

AHHHH!!! Follow up fic from dona! (✿ ♥‿♥)

(I love your Inoichi voice so much!)

Outside POVs and consequences for this fic

Hey there. Would you ever write a story where Shikako has to travel to the Land of HotSprings and see the damage she’s caused and the amount of lives she helped took? cause, ya know, I like when Shikako is in despair lol. I love Shikako but it can be argued, she has done more bad than good, for, uh, existing. However, I won’t change anything about Shikako, flaws and all.

jacksgreysonLeave a comment

@hbkmzk says: Hey! Thanks for the response. I’m anything but a writer but I’ll try. I have to admit, I’m curious with the idea of Shikako being a god. Maybe her shadow contained a God of vengeance and after her first shadow-split, the god has slowly been trying to take over her? I choose god of vengeance because since after her first shadow-split her, Shikako has been more vengeful? Example, Shikamaru’s arm incident or the logistic sealing scroll nightmare. That being said, you are correct. I don’t really see her returning to the land of Hot Springs or having a mission at that area. However, what if her shadow controlled by this God of Vengeance flea to The Land of Hot Springs the next time she shadow-split. This will force Shikako to travel to the land of Hot Springs. The god of vengeance probably went to the land of Hot Springs because it wanted to see the damage done to the monk for what they did to Aoba.
I tried, lol. I don’t know how helpful this is. Hopefully it makes sense to you

~

Imagine a bird, young and not yet able to fly, feathers soft and downy.

Imagine this bird is part of a mighty flock, the youngest and smallest and least of its members, but still part of it nonetheless.

Now imagine that flock is decimated–struck down nearly to its entirety–all for that young, flightless, useless baby bird…

… and the one that killed the rest.

In the wild, the baby bird would do its best to avoid that which had orphaned it. Would fear the beating of wings and the sharp cries of fellow birds.

That baby bird would certainly never devote the rest of its life to growing strong enough to kill that which had destroyed its flock.

Vengeance is such a human concept.

~

Shikako dreams.

In the rare moments she allows herself to sleep–mind too frazzled and paranoid and weighed down to do more than quick dozes–she dreams.

She dreams of the void, that which calls to every Nara. She dreams of the forest, her friends and the village. She dreams of the sun, Naruto so far away and the future drawing ever closer.

Sometimes she dreams of gray skies, razed ground, ash swirling on the wind.

She wakes to the taste of blood on her tongue.

~

Gelel is a young god comprised mainly of starlight, human ingenuity, and sacrifice. But even young gods can make their mark on the earth, life springing where once there was only death.

Imagine, then, what an old god might do.

~

I would kill anyone who hurts you, Shikako thinks, even as the silence stretches long and tense, I have killed those who have hurt you.

But that is not what Shikamaru wants to hear from her.

She doesn’t know how else to express her love.

~

The Cult of Jashin is old–older than the villages, older than the Sage of Six Paths, older even than the Empire of Gelel now ancient history, dust under the feet of the Elemental Nations.

But the cult itself is young, barely an eye blink, compared to the entity they revere, for Jashin is timeless. An elder god, ageless and unknowable.

But not undefeatable.

The blast radius where the Land of Hot Springs once was is a perfectly flat circle, there are no objects for the weakly filtered sunlight to cast shadows. And yet, at the center, where not even the bravest of shinobi have dared to tread, a shadow writhes and grows.

~

She couldn’t save Aoba, but at least she could do one thing for him.

~

Naruto is so forgiving. Too forgiving, she thinks sometimes, his ideals too impractical and too impossible.

But somehow he turns his enemies, those who would harm him, into allies–into friends–and so for him revenge is not only unwanted but also unnecessary.

Meanwhile Kakashi’s pain has always been a part of him, but the convoluted tangle of blame leaves no target for her.

Sasuke, though, is an entirely different story:

She interfered with his life not to stop him–she is more than happy to help him seek revenge–she just wants to make sure he does so carefully, correctly, and completely.

~

Nemesis, the inescapable. Goddess of revenge. She who enacts retribution against those guilty of hubris.

~

Vengeance is a very human concept and humans, in the grand scheme of things, are a new presence in the universe.

But gods transcend time.

Chaos and destruction and suffering may be older, but vengeance is more potent, more powerful…

… and she grows stronger with every victory.

~

jacksgreysays:

Yes… maybe? Well…

My immediate thought was to make it related to this ficlet aka, post-canon Kankurou and Shikako hanging out and trying to be less traumatized together.

And like, it would be sort of… Shikako goes to hang out in Sand ostensibly to research the Gelel phenom (and blow up shit in the desert and make a glass canyon) and Kankurou hangs around and is a Theatre Nerd and then when she finally is more at peace with herself, the two of them go back to Konoha and stop by Land of Hot Springs on the way…

Except then I checked the Naruto world map and that makes no geographic sense for Kankurou and Shikako to stop by Land of Hot Springs on their way back from Sand because it is on the opposite side of Land of Fire so…

I mean, I guess they could just be traveling around together for funsies? Like… she’s also been researching other places and Kankurou probably produced an international hit and there’s some pyrotechnics in his show which he might as well have Sparky do anyway…

But that’s kinda… I mean, don’t get me wrong. A lot of my favorite DoS ficlets are the canon-ish semi-compliant chapter responses / future speculation but I think what I just described above is more about Shikako getting closure from the whole shinobi lifestyle as opposed to specifically the Land of Hot Springs (although that is, in its way, the first unstoppable horror).

So I think for something more Land of Hot Springs centric… OH!

So you brought up how Shikako’s existence has done more harm than good in the world and combined with just the whole celestial back and forth of Jashin vs little god that occurred during that arc and also the whole vibe of this asx box event, especially yesterday’s post about mobius stories, I guess what I’m leading into is:

What if Shikako were Jashin?

Or, maybe, not Jashin specifically, but a god of chaos/destruction/suffering. (Although, the thought of little baby Shikako being born with the mark of Jashin on her forehead and it fading as she grows such that she doesn’t know about it, is pretty fun. Because then there’s the cool opportunity of Shikaku RECOGNIZING the symbol when Tsunade brings him in on the situation and it’s kind of this balance in which Shikaku the father and Shikaku the jounin commander are at odds. I mean, of course his father side is going to win–but still. Internal conflict and outside POV for unknowing literal god Shikako is GREAT)

The main problem with Shikako returning to Land of Hot Springs is that I’m pretty certain that everyone with even the slightest inkling of her mission and the aftermath take great pains to ensure that she NEVER HAS TO GO BACK THERE. So either she’s going behind everyone’s back to do so which… hm… canon Shikako would not want to any time soon, but perhaps literal-god-of-chaos-destruction-and-suffering!Shikako feels compelled to do so (either as a Jashin version, to go with that mobius vibe, in which she returns to the beginning and the end or as a non-Jashin version in which the god within her surveys the place of her victory against an older god and also one of her “greatest” acts) or this is, again, a post-canon future fic where people aren’t guarding her against herself as much.

I… would very much like to write this, hbkmzk, but I think I need. Hm… if you’re interested in this ‘verse, please send in a follow up prompt of maybe three or four other outside POVs or maybe a few details you’d like to add to this ‘verse or even a cool title/quote? Or, like, just ask me a few questions about this ‘verse and me coming up with the answers should be able to do the same. It’s like… this fic is almost there but I just need a few more pieces for that final push.

~

Help me out with this ficlet/check out the Ask Box Would You Ever!

A/N: Not quite what you want, but hopefully I’ve captured the vibe. Thanks for playing along with me 🙂

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Untitled (2018-02-22)

jacksgreysonLeave a comment

The doorbell chimes and Jane, closest to the front entrance, calls out, “I’ll get it!”

She can hear Will’s acknowledgement in response over the carols on the radio, the sound of her brothers arguing about the tree and Bran’s amused laughter.

It’s been years since all of them have been together like this; she is so glad they managed to make it work this time.

Jane opens the door, curling away from the gust of cold wind blowing in, instinctively, she draws her cardigan closer though it is only thin cotton and not much protection.

The woman at the door is equally poorly dressed for the weather–not even a scarf!–but unlike Jane, she hardly seems to mind. As if she were immune to the cold, aware but uncaring of the weather.

For a moment they stare at each other.

“Hello?” Jane asks, which seems to shake the woman out of her stupor.

“My apologies,” the woman says, accent flat and abrupt. American, then, how unusual. “Is Will Stanton available?”

Jane blinks before flushing, embarrassed. Of course. This is Will’s place, after all, of course someone ringing the doorbell would be looking for him at his own flat. And then, she flushes harder.

“Please, come in. Yes, he’s–I’ll just go get him, but please, come in. It’s cold out. Sorry, I’ve been terribly rude, I should have invited you in sooner.”

“Thank you,” the woman murmurs, before stepping inside. Jane shuts the door, grateful to bask in the warmth. The woman does not do the same, as if outside and inside were indistinguishable.

“Jane?” says Will, heading their way before she can go fetch him, “Who’s at the–ah,” he cuts himself off upon seeing the woman.

Something about the air changes, and it has nothing to do with the temperature.

“Maybe you should head over to the others,” Will says to Jane without taking his eyes off the woman, “Barney and Simon were one ornament away from a tussle and we both know Bran certainly isn’t going to stop them.”

Jane, confused and a little relieved, just nods and goes.

She looks back though; it almost looks like, instead of just one stranger and her childhood friend, there were two.

///

“My apologies for intruding on the festivities, Old One,” the woman who is not just a woman says to Will. Then she stops Time.

He straightens reflexively, ready for an attack.

None come.

“It must be important,” he responds. Everything about his life as an Old One is important.

The woman nods, “Important, yes, but not urgent.” Then she seems to change, diminish almost, as she adds, sheepishly, “Unfortunately, I have a flight in three hours and have been busy at a conference up until now.”

The Will who is not an Old One understands–academia is not known for excellent time management, either.

The woman reverts to her inhuman demeanor, “It was also harder to find you, earlier, without the other four Light ones.”

Will can feel a glare form on his face, mouth tight, brows furrowing, “They’re human.”

“And yet,” the woman says simply. After a beat, she shrugs. “A warning, though this is not what I am here for. For all that they are human, they… emanate Light. I do not know if you Old Ones still have enemies about, but they will be able to find your friends easily enough if you do not give them better protection.” She reaches into her bag and pulls out a small book which she hands over to him. “A gift, for the holiday, and to foster amity between us.”

He senses power, but nothing Dark, and so he takes it: a book of wards. Nothing like the Book of Gramarye, of course, but useful in its own way.

“The one who opened the door might be able to use it,” the woman suggests as he tucks it away for now.

The idea of putting Jane–or any of his friends–in danger makes him brusque, “What is it that you are here for? You are not of the Dark, nor are you an Old One. What are you?”

This time it is the woman’s turn to furrow her brows, “I was human once, too,” she says, nearly offended. “I don’t know if what I am has a name, but I have been called the Mountain Who Speaks.”

A little bit of destiny rings in the title. Will nods and understands it as truth.

“You are far from your land, Mountain.”

“That is what I am here for,” says the Mountain Who Speaks, “Something will happen in my land years–decades, maybe even centuries–from now.”

Important, but not urgent.

“And you come seeking an alliance,” Will finishes.

“Yes,” agrees the Mountain Who Speaks, “It will not be the grand battle that you had, for in my land there is no Light and Dark, but there will be trouble, and I would appreciate aid in keeping it contained.”

The first part is confusing, but the last is what alarms him, “You foresee it spreading?”

The Mountain’s expression becomes one of unimpressed skepticism, “I Speak,” she says bluntly, “I don’t See.”

It is Will’s turn to be sheepish. “Ah, of course.” Even amongst Old Ones, Sight was not a common power.

After a moment of understanding, the Mountain says, finally, “I will let you return to your party. Again, my apologies for interrupting. This was merely a courtesy call. I will leave you to make your decision, but I hope to speak with you more in the future.”

She unstops Time, the sounds of his friends–safe and happy and completely unaware of the otherworldly, supernatural alliance being brokered in the cramped entryway of Will’s flat.

Will opens the door so she can leave, neither of them flinching at the cold air that hits them. “Safe travels,” he says, not as an Old One but as regular Will Stanton.

“Merry Christmas,” she says back, not as the Mountain Who Speaks, but as the human she once was.

Which reminds him: “What is your name?” he asks belatedly and with no small amount of embarrassment.

The Mountain smiles, “I am Ellen Kaiza.”

~

A/N: As I said, I’ve been reading a lot of Dark is Rising fic, and a lot of them are set at Christmas. So even though it’s February, here’s… this thing.

And I guess sort of a response to this anon’s prompt for more of Doctor Ellen Kaiza’s backstory? I mean, I’m not saying this is canon for her, but given Will Stanton is also a wise, magical immortal being it resonates pretty nicely.

This is after she’s become immortal, and definitely after meeting Leanne, but still fairly early in her immortality. Within the lifetime of what a normal human Ellen Kaiza would live, basically. 

I don’t know where her title came from, but I quite like it. It’s one of her earliest titles. I’m thinking she got it from the werewolf packs, maybe.

(… hrm, should I make a character tag for her? edit: okay, i made one for her “ellen tsukiko kaiza”)

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Well, I was sort of thinking of the Kyber Crystal and the sword as sort of, well, there’s a semi-tradition of seeing them as almost alive, in-and-of-themselves, of seeing sailing ships, for example, as having personhood. I guess, if I were to narrow it down more, the question would be better worded like so: Would you ever write a story from a very non-human perspective?

jacksgreysonLeave a comment

Ooooh, okay. So it’s not a human reborn as a non-human thing, I think that’s where I got confused.

It’s definitely a fascinating concept, anon. I like the idea of sentience not necessarily meaning sapience and how there are perspectives in the world beyond human.

Hm… I think if I were to ever write such a story it’d probably be from the POV of a tree, a space ship, or a place–though the last one is specifically fanfiction and more specifically Konoha from Naruto or Vulcan from Star Trek–someplace that gets energy from the people that live there. Either that or a cool family heirloom–a weapon maybe?–that follows its owners down the bloodline/succession.

But I don’t think any of them would be very long. Or, rather, they’d be only a part of another story that is primarily human–or sapient, if we’re talking sci-fi/fantasy.

Hm… here’s something?

~

Watch. Wait. Ever present, eternal.

Today I am created, but I have always existed.

I am infinite and reaching.

The one who will wield me does not yet live. She is the one who designed me.

I will wait. I am already with her.

///

The woman who makes me does not truly understand what it is she is creating.

She has seen me before, but does not know the power that lies within. She thinks me only as metal and glass.

My face is shining, my hands are steady. The gears within my body run smoothly.

I am well crafted. Were I able to speak, I would tell her so. But I cannot.

The woman who makes me will not wield me, but she is skilled and her hands are sure.

My wielder will have the same sure hands.

///

There is a chain.

There is a box lined with velvet.

There is a cold, locked room deep underground.

Silence.

I need not be patient.

She will come for me soon.

///

The woman who made me brings with her a boy. Her child.

Neither of them are my wielders.

But they come to the cold, locked room deep underground.

They open the box line with velvet.

They look upon me and the chain that binds me.

The woman who made me tells her son that I am a secret.

A legacy.

To be passed down until the time is right.

If I could laugh, I would.

///

Generations pass.

The line of the woman who made me visit only to show me to their children, onward and onward.

None of them are my wielder.

Soon.

///

Once, a group of masked thieves enter the locked room deep underground.

They begin to open the other boxes, Empty riches into their bags.

Useless material things.

They are stopped before they reach me.

My wielder is there. She glances my way.

I do not skip a beat.

She looks away.

No need. I am already with her.

///

A woman brings her son to see me.

This boy will die. Not in the way that all of their line die–as a simple matter of age and time. This boy will be killed.

My wielder will be the one to kill him.

Soon.

///

The boy who will be killed by my wielder has grown into a man. He brings with him his own child, a daughter.

My wielder.

But not yet.

The man will die. My wielder will come for me. Then she will kill him.

It is too early.

///

I have already told you what I am.

~

A/N: Surprise! It’s Leanne Peridot’s pocket watch from Counterclockwise.

… so I realize now that trying to do the POV of an inanimate object is probably not helped when said object is capable of time travel/is the concept of infinite time. Whoops.

But it was an interesting little exercise, anon, so maybe I’ll try to incorporate more non-sapient perspectives in my work from now on 🙂

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Would u ever write yoshino and sasuke interacting? Weather its canon dos or an au his ever so slow intergation into the nara fam is smth about alot

jacksgreysonLeave a comment

Yeeeeees. Yes I would.

I think really the only hesitation is that I’m not sure, as you mentioned, which ‘verse it should be in?

They have/would have a very interesting dynamic given that Sasuke deliberately curated his existence around his clan (or lack thereof) while Yoshino is a non-clan kunoichi married into one. It’s very different backgrounds. But they are united in their love/concern for Shikako which I imagine helps cross that bridge. And I think because of that, Yoshino helps Sasuke be himself as a person and not just the heir to a clan of madness and murder.

Which–that boy very much needs any help he can get.

That being said, here’s some small ficlets in various ‘verses because… funsies.

~

(DoS canon compliant)

Yoshino watches the boy, watches as he tries–so hesitant, so clumsy–to play along with her daughter’s whimsical mood. It is a bittersweet feeling, more bitter than sweet to be fair, that burbles up within her.

She smiles and tries to make sure there is no sadness on her face.

A part of her is ashamed. The Last Uchiha is not a person: the Last Uchiha is a symbol, an ideal, a risk in the making. The Last Uchiha certainly isn’t a child who doesn’t remember what it’s like to have family dinners. The Last Uchiha isn’t a younger brother who never learned to stand up for himself. The Last Uchiha couldn’t be this boy in her house so broken and scared but trying, trying so hard, in need of just one person to look beyond that title and see the truth.

There was no Last Uchiha, there was only Sasuke, struggling under the burden of his name.

Yoshino draws closer, places a hand on Shikako’s shoulder–a close yet not close enough proxy for the comforting hug she wants to give to her daughter’s teammate instead. Sasuke still startles at affection, though at least he no longer looks as hunted as used to in the beginning.

“Will you be staying over for dinner?” Yoshino asks, no pressure one way or the other. Still, he dithers, and so she has to add, “I bought some wonderful fresh tomatoes at the market.”

Neither her husband or any of her children have any strong feelings for tomatoes.

After another considering beat, Sasuke nods.

///

(Somewhere Down Road One)

Something about the situation still sits uneasily with Yoshino, even though she’s received assurances from everyone involved.

Fugaku and Mikoto are kinder than she had expected–than she had feared–polite nearly to the point of stiffness, but just as shocked by the proposal as she and Shikaku had been. Originally they were suspicious–perhaps they had heard about Shikako’s hypersensitivity–but soon enough they became not only accepting but excited… relieved?… at the idea.

Shikaku, she knows, only wants what is best for their daughter. He has no doubt run through all the possible outcomes and decided that if this is something Shikako wants–and it is, even after the tediousness of the discussions, something their daughter wants–then of course he will do his best to arrange this engagement.

Never mind their own rocky history with such things. Never mind that Shikako is still a child and yet devoted to this plan with a steely determination that has nothing to do with a newly blossoming crush.

Sasuke is a good boy, sweet and intelligent. He may one day be a good husband; Yoshino would understand her daughter having a crush on him. But Sasuke as a person barely seems to factor into the equation at all.

“Hello, Yoshino-san,” Sasuke greets her when she opens the door. She guides him inside and prepares some tea while he waits for Shikako. He is shy and a little nervous and halfway in love with her daughter already.

“Take care of your heart,” Yoshino says, warns, but does not ward off: she may be fond of Sasuke but Shikako is her daughter.

“Not Shikako’s?” Sasuke asks, innocently curious.

She shakes her head. No, it’s not her heart that Yoshino is worried about.

///

(Fire Fallow Cultivation)

“They’re beautiful, aren’t they?” Yoshino-san says, and Sasuke glances up at her confused.

They are sitting at Shikako’s hospital bedside–a distressingly frequent settings for them–and until this moment Yoshino-san has been silent. Even during Tsunade-sama’s explanation, right before the Hokage left to deal with–in her words–literally any other patient.

“You don’t think they’re beautiful?” Yoshino-san asks, prompting Sasuke into responding lest he be considered rude.

“Think what is beautiful?”

Yoshino-san eyes him carefully and Sasuke has to remember to keep breathing: it’s far from hostile, but the assessing gaze is different than what he’s used to from Shikako. Similar to Shikamaru’s pointed analysis.

“Tsunade-sama’s wings, of course,” Yoshino-san says simply, as if she weren’t turning his world on its ear.

During his occasional research he was never able to find even a reference to the wings–for her to just casually mention them…

“You can see them, too?”

… he’s not alone.

~

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Untitled (2018-02-16)

jacksgreysonLeave a comment

“The problem is,” begins Zelia, pen in hand and paper before her. She is a study in stillness, musing and wondering. The tableau is only broken by the frantic searching of her apprentice as he races back and forth across the warehouse for the items she told him to retrieve.

Nyx thinks it hilarious. “The problem is?” she prompts.

“The problem is,” Zelia repeats, “Is that he’s terribly powerful, a force unto himself, of course.”

“Of course,” Nyx agrees.

“But he’s also terribly stupid. He has no idea what he’s doing,” Zelia concludes, finally shaping her thoughts and transcribing them. It is less a letter and more a prophecy, glyphs drawn in corners to protect the information until needed.

“Isn’t that how we all started out?” Nyx asks, ever the devil’s advocate.

“Speak for yourself, demon,” Zelia scoffs, no bite in her words, “The Grey Witch is, has been, and will always be quintessential.”

Nyx knows this is not a brag.

—

Find the line.
Find the line that will lead you home.
Find the line that will lead you home, beyond the dangers.
Find the line that will lead you home, beyond the dangers, above the pain.

Find the line and you will have nothing to fear.

—

“Immortality!” Zelia shouts, just one voice amongst an endless amount, “Immortality! That stupid boy!”

On her left is an empty chair, grey of course, on her right sits her teacher whose face is in her hand, shoulders shaking.

For a moment, Zelia is ashamed. Until she realizes her teacher is not crying, she’s laughing–then, Zelia just gets indignant.

“What is so funny?” she asks. How can her teacher laugh in the face of this disaster? Proof that Zelia has chosen poorly, that her apprentice–stupid boy, tampering with high magic without having any clue of the consequences–will end what should be an infinite chain.

The title of Grey Witch cannot be passed down if the holder becomes immortal.

Lifetimes wasted, magic forever devastated, all because she chose an idiot who could not grieve properly.

“Oh my darling Zelia,” her teacher says, “How I have failed you. The Grey Witch is not a line.

It’s a circle.”

~

A/N: I dunno. I have no prompts…

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