Tag: writing

On the forums dona reminded us of your changeling!Shikako idea. If you still need prompts, could we possibly get something else in that ‘verse? Thank you again for these ask box events!

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A/N: Considering dona was the one to prompt it in the first place, it’s not really my idea. But I do enjoy that ‘verse so I’ll see if I can do something with it? It’s more world-building than plot, because I had some ideas about Fae in the world of Naruto that didn’t really fit in a Nara-centric ficlet, so I appreciate the opportunity! 😀

—

Sometimes–on the very rare occasions where their luck hasn’t set off a ludicrous Rube Goldberg of chaos–Shikako enjoys just… basking in Naruto’s presence.

Eyes closed, face turned towards him, it really is reminiscent of childhood naps on a sunny afternoon.

She is not the first Fae to be captivated by an Uzumaki, and she certainly won’t be the last.

///

The Uzumaki are vibrant–colorful both literally and figuratively–brilliant and beguiling and entirely human.

Normally, when The Court has a guest, the revelry starts on a high point: humans are, after all, easily charmed and quick to ignore their hardships for some carousing. But soon they grow reluctant, body weary, and when they are returned home they always complain about how everyone they’ve ever loved is dead.

So ungrateful.

But Uzumaki guests are eager from start to finish, dancing and drinking as well as any member of The Court, and when they are returned home they hardly blink an eye at the changes around them.

What is a century to a clan known for longevity?

///

Fae are subject to the strictest of rules, the only inhibitor to their preternatural power.

They cannot speak untruths, yes, but that does not mean they cannot deceive. They cannot take what is already claimed, but claims are easy enough to change:

A favor, a name, a face–how simple it is to gain possession of those iron-blooded surface dwellers.

///

No one really remembers much about Kakashi’s mother. It’s true his father was much more infamous, but it’s not entirely the fault of Konoha’s imperfect memory.

After all, it’s from her that Kakashi inherited his penchant for masks.

How unfortunate that he didn’t also inherit the reasoning behind it.

Not that it would matter much: as a changeling, Shikako is free to do as she pleases.

///

The Summer and Winter Courts are forever at war–or, perhaps, are the one and the same just with different adornments.

What do seasons mean to eternal beings? After all, conflict is just another kind of dance.

But the Fae are fickle, not foolish: they send changeling children across the veil for a reason.

///

The Uchiha, as all too clearly proven, were entirely mortal, but fearsome warriors whose reputation impressed even those beyond the forests.

The clan knew better than to get involved with the Fae. Sasuke is just a lone boy carrying the name.

Emotional bonds are the most powerful, crafted not from tangible materials or breakable promises, but from sacrifice.

Blood and heirlooms and secrets exchanged until there can be no more tally of debts, no method to untangle what is owed to who.

All these unwanted, broken orphan boys…

The finest Queen will have the strongest and most loyal of Knights.

~

A/N: Team Seven in the Changeling ‘verse! To be fair, changeling!Shikako doesn’t know about the whole… Fae machinations and turning her team into mortal thralls thing… (゜▽゜;)

Check out the Ask Box Advent Calendar!

can I prompt some of that foundation of yesterday outsider pov?

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A/N: So… I know I just did a Into Thin Air ficlet which is, of course, set in FFVII but… the problem is anon, I haven’t actually played FFVII?

And like, that’s mostly the reason why Into Thin Air kind of rehashes the same ideas and is VERY VAGUE, because I don’t know the timeline in enough detail to make things specific (which is why Unto The Climate is easier for me since I’m more familiar with Naruto canon and it’s only Windy–and Kaguya/Jenova–who is from FFVII).

And given Foundation of Yesterday is primarily set in FFVII with Naruto characters being summoned/awakened there, that explains why the brainstorm was just a brainstorm and not a ficlet. And then there’s the whole… set up of it…. Although, to be fair, that was more of me stream-of-consciousness coming up with the idea as it came to me as opposed to attempting to write it so, what the hell, it’s the ask box advent calendar, I’ll give it a shot!

~

Foundation of Yesterday, Prologue (2017-12-15)

The Shichidaime Hokage goes missing without a trace. The Elemental Nations begin to freak out: it’s been decades since the world was so close to destruction, but that their primary defender has gone is alarming.

It is only the beginning.

—

Kaguya is uncovered from her icy prison and experimented on, the foolish mortals playing at gods, but their folly shall be her triumph.

Her first two sons were traitors, but her third? Oh, she’s certain Sephiroth will do her proud.

—

There is an unstoppable countdown, jinchuuriki disappearing despite everyone’s best efforts as if chakra itself were reclaiming them.

Shikako and Sasuke have not stopped searching for Naruto but their hope is steadily dwindling.

They are running out of miracles.

—

Vincent knows his eyes are unnerving–unnatural, demonic–but Lucrecia is the first to ever say she loves them.

Too bad she loves science more.

But honestly, the cursed existence that follows after his death isn’t entirely her fault.

—

“It’s time to sleep,” Gaara tells his children, a bewildering, solemn statement from the only remaining jinchuuriki. It’s the last clue they get before he, too, disappears.

For Shikako, it’s also the last straw.

—

When Yuffie is six, father gives her a necklace, the pendant a dark stone with shining green flecks–a family heirloom: if she protects it, it will protect her in turn.

Obviously just a superstition, Yuffie thinks years later as her homeland is conquered and destroyed.

Not quite.

—

The loss of the jinchuuriki is never solved, and though sad, time marches on. Children grow up, take their own place as heroes and leaders, and eventually it becomes just another tale to tell.

They never think to connect it to the vanishing Shikabane-hime.

—

Where a Strife walks, trouble follows, names well earned. They are living, breathing natural disasters, bringers of storms and change.

It’s not a coincidence that they end up in Nibelheim.

—

The Planet works in mysterious ways.

~

A/N: … hrm… this is probably overly referential to the brainstorm, but it just didn’t want to flow :/ Hopefully it’s still a fun read, though, anon!

Check out the Ask Box Advent Calendar!

Prompt: Windy Strife interacting with Naruto’s team (especially Kakashi). Outside pov?

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A/N: ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ Windy Strife!

~

Unto The Climate, part three (2017-12-08)

The problem with Fuyu Namikaze is that she appeared so publicly.

She is not some spy abducted in the quiet of the night, plausible deniability erasing her existence, or a conspirator whose own paranoid privacy wraps the noose around her neck.

She appeared on the rooftop where the Hokage and Konoha’s most infamous missing-nin were fighting, awakened by the Shinigami itself.

But even if secrecy could be enforced amongst the witnesses–not so unbelievable, given they were mostly ANBU and high ranking shinobi at the scene–she was then brought to the hospital, a screaming, uncontrollable ruckus right there in patient intake.

And while, true, it was just one incident in the midst of already so much chaos–an invasion does not immediately end simply because one side has been defeated–people saw her, spread the news.

People want a hero.

Ibiki shakes his head, considering the woman on the other side of the one-way mirror.

Fuyu Namikaze is not a hero.

But she looks enough like the last one that maybe they can make do.

“Send him in,” he orders, eyes never leaving Namikaze.

“Which one?” Anko asks, irreverent as always–but she’s not wrong: there are two options that Ibiki thinks will give the most information about their guest.

He glances over at his second in command. No doubt she is both celebrating and coping with the death of her former sensei–it’s been a hard couple of weeks for her. She deserves this.

“You choose.”

—

Windy stares at the cup of tea in hir hands–paper, of course, don’t want to risk giving the prisoner something breakable, something that can produce shards. It really is quite a nice interrogation room: everything soft and subdued and only slightly uncomfortable. Like the ShinRa conference rooms.

Given the number of shifts Winter had tailing the department heads, this is practically his second home. He might very well take a nap.

There’s a soft pulse of magic then a click–the door unlocking. Zie wonders who they’ll send in: the grizzled hard ass to intimidate her or the kindly old man who only wants for her to help him help her?

Frankly, Windy has no idea why they’re trying anything given zie can’t understand a word they’re saying.

The boy who enters is just exactly that: a boy, no older than thirteen–fourteen maybe if he’s the same kind of late bloomer as hir brother–and yet he’s wearing the green flak jacket of a trooper.

Ah, appealing to her emotional side, then.

The boy stares, mouth agape, expression honest and honestly hopeful.

Zie regrets the comparison to hir brother, now. Damn it, they’re good.

Clearly they’re looking for something, so zie might as well give them what they want.

“Sit,” Windy says, which doesn’t prompt anything in the boy until zie gestures to the chair beside hir. Across the table is too distant, reserved for her interrogators, they want to see her be softer, more vulnerable.

The boy sits. He doesn’t stop staring.

Zie’s already reaching for her dull pencil and pad of paper, “Name?” zie asks, writing down the Wutaian character that they used–thankfully that seems to be the same–before sliding both over to the boy.

He writes, trying to maintain visual of hir at the same time which is… some kind of feeling… before returning them.

Maelstrom.

Now that’s a solid Strife name.

—

Kakashi waits.

What a bizarre thing to do.

Normally he’s the one that people wait for, but not today it seems.

Anko probably did that on purpose. He just waits and watches in the viewing room, his teacher’s son–his student–and his teacher’s… sister? Relative?… interact and it’s doing… something to him.

Yeah, given the smirk on Anko’s face, she definitely did it on purpose.

Ibiki knocks on the glass–Naruto startles, the prisoner doesn’t–signaling time’s up. Kakashi’s mildly surprised: it’s the quietest he’s ever seen Naruto, most people would do a lot for that.

However Naruto, perhaps overly mindful of how new his chuunin status is–or, more likely, feeling self conscious of the casual kindness the woman has shown him–gets up to leave.

But not before the woman reaches out and brushes a hand against his cheek, hand glowing a pale green.

Kakashi can feel his own eye narrow in suspicion.

“What the fuck was that?” Anko spits out, stepping over to where the controls for the room’s seals are, “We’re at level two, she shouldn’t be able to do any jutsu in there.”

Ibiki says nothing before Naruto returns, no doubt eager to claim a spot in front of the one way mirror to resume his staring.

“What did she do to you?” Ibiki asks him, a quick jolt of chakra to disrupt any possible genjutsu.

Naruto, showing his quickly won loyalty–not exactly a good trait, especially in front of the head of T&I–bristles at the accusatory tone. “Nothing, scar-head, she was really nice!”

“She can’t even speak our language,” Anko refutes.

“That doesn’t mean she can’t be nice,” Naruto starts, at which point Kakashi tunes out.

Maybe it was nothing.

Naruto did have a bruise on his face earlier–a yellowing remnant of his fight against Sand’s jinchuuriki–which is no longer there.

Then again, Naruto does have a known healing factor; maybe it was nothing.

“Your turn, Hatake,” Ibiki interrupts, silencing the argument–literally, it just turns into one of stuck out tongues and ugly faces–and adding a simple warning, “Watch yourself.”

Yeah, he doesn’t believe it was nothing either.

—

Anko remembers the Yondaime vaguely–or, as vaguely as can be done when his face is carved into the mountain overlooking the village–which makes sense given it’s been over a decade and the time before that she had been… well.

That fucking snake bastard, not even an eternity in the Shinigami’s stomach is enough suffering.

She doesn’t have that weird nostalgia about him that some of the other shinobi have, and certainly none of the creepy starry-eyed zeal that the civilians do, but what she remembers of him is probably not the full picture.

Better than that snake bastard could mean anything: kinder, more charismatic, more competent, stronger, smarter, hell even better looking!

(Stone isn’t exactly the best medium for glamour shots, but if Fuyu Namikaze really is so shockingly similar, well. She’s certainly easy on the eyes, is all Anko will say about a current prisoner.)

Definitely a better teacher, that’s for sure, and Anko will never admit to being jealous of Kakashi Hatake but she’d certainly trade if that were an option.

It’s clear Fuyu Namikaze is bringing up all sorts of emotions in that deadened heart of his. Probably this next bit will be more revealing about him than her, but might as well, right?

… except as soon as Kakashi walks through the unlocked door, Fuyu Namikaze bugs the fuck out: face draining of color, feet flat on the ground and retreating as far back as she can get. She makes a motion–grabbing for something on her back that isn’t there, a weapon maybe?–before picking up the chair and chucking it at him.

It’s not much. Chairs aren’t exactly aerodynamic and these ones even less so–weighted to make it harder for prisoners to do shit exactly like this–Kakashi easily shifts out of the way, but it’s clear on the tiny patch of visible expression that he’s confused as fuck.

“Hey, what’s going on?” the brat asks, probably more to make noise than anything else.

It’d be funny except then Fuyu Namikaze’s hands begin to glow, a darker, cooler green–blue, almost–and Ibiki barks, “Level three, now!”

Anko complies, activating the stronger set of seals on the room. Level two prevents jutsu use–or, at least, it should–level three knocks out the inhabitants… or, at least, it should…

Kakashi goes down pretty easily–he’s nearly as famous for chakra exhaustion as he is his Sharingan–but Fuyu Namikaze stays standing for a few more moments, not even puasing, shards of what looks like ice forming around her hand, before she sways once, twice, and falls to the ground.

“Get him out of there!” Ibiki says to the two T&I flunkies guarding the door who immediately jump to obey; then he turns to her and raises an eyebrow.

Anko shrugs, she doesn’t know what he wants her to say. “Yeah, that was fucking bizarre.”

Which isn’t exactly out of line for Fuyu Namikaze.

~

A/N: A longer fill than yesterday, because there were so many ideas I wanted to convey for this prompt, to-someplace-else, and I didn’t even get to the rest of Team Seven so… um… but at least I got the Kakashi and outside!POV parts?

Also, apparently I’m going FULL CANON DIVERGENCE here–Orochimaru’s dead, Naruto became a chuunin, who knows what else I’ll change? So there’s that…

(Also, Ask Box Advent Calendar is on!)

Okay you asked for prompts so you’re getting prompts: Tobirama Is Actually A Cat, part 3, reuniting with his team.

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A/N: … so… I actually forgot about this ‘verse? Aaand… I also don’t remember what I had planned, either…

Which I guess just makes this a free for all for me?

Yeah, okay, let’s do this.

~

Curiosity Kills (Satisfaction Guaranteed), 3/? (2017-12-07)

(four)

Tobirama is used to having eyes on him. His appearance, when he was younger, until he could rightly earn those looks because of his abilities. The Senju’s second strongest son.

And then, after Hashirama’s death, the strongest. The Hokage.

Yes, Tobirama is used to having people’s attention–negative more than positive–and while he might never handle it as well as Hashirama did, at least he could walk tall with his head held high.

Or, at least, he used to.

Now he slinks under everyone’s gaze, ashamed at being seen so. At the fuss everyone is making over him, over mistaken sorrow–an embarrassing tale for his students to hold over him later.

“Kitty!” a high voice calls out, before Tobirama is roughly grabbed, his legs pinned to his body, awkward, bordering on painful.

Still, he does not unsheathe his claws.

“Tsunade-chan, sweetheart, put him down,” Mito says–her voice he would recognize anywhere, thick with grief as it may be. Not as if it’s the first time, anyway.

Thankfully, Tobirama is let go–somewhat reluctantly dropped–and so he indulges his brother’s granddaughter the lingering pets.

To his surprise, Mito drops to her knees–ceremony and age be damned–and runs her own hand over his head. “Oh, Tobirama,” his best friend sighs, a familiar refrain.

For a moment, he thinks everything will be okay.

Then she starts to cry.

—

(There is no changing back.

As far as everyone knows, he is dead.

That may as well be true.)

—

He is free to come and go, the guards letting him through with fond if subdued smiles–never mind that he doesn’t need permission, chakra still keyed to the gates– but he doesn’t go far.

Tobirama walks the streets of Konoha, patrolling, protective, even if he can no longer be Hokage. This is still his brother’s village. His  village, too, and even in this cursed existence he will defend her to the death.

How lucky that it appears he can do so multiple times.

Outside the Senju compound, quiet and constant, everything is in flux.

They are at war still, of course, but more than that there is internal controversy. The people have lost their leader: while field promotions may hold for the ranks of soldiers, the council is reluctant to hand leadership over to a teenager.

On top of that, there is dissension in his team–damned politics muddling his straightforward decision with talks of candidacies and clan support.

Inside the Senju compound he is a reminder of a respected relative lost.

Outside, he is a critical pawn in his own succession.

~

A/N: … didn’t get to Team Tobirama just yet, sorry, but this seemed like a good place to end part 3 even if I did cop out the whole “he can’t change back” thing.

I mean, that is the premise anyway, so going through the story of how he tries and fails would just be redundant.

~FICTIONAL POLITICS ARE THE BEST POLITICS~

This series is based on @blackkatmagic’s ’Tobirama is actually a cat: discuss’

(Also, Ask Box Advent Calendar is on!)

I’m a trans woman and I _Can’t_ be out. It’s not safe. So about the only concession I can make is to grow my hair long. And I caught a glimpse of my shadow out of the corner of my eye today, with long hair just curling up at the ends and … I dunno, my heart just about broke from Want. Would you mind accepting a prompt for a world where Shadows Show the Future? Or something like that?

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A/N1: Hey sister, I’m sorry it took so long for me to respond and I’m even more sorry that you are unable to be yourself. But I’m glad that you have reached out, that you have that small comfort to revel in your identity, and I hope that someday soon you will be able to do so completely.

Be strong, be safe, and know that we are here for you. I would love to fill this prompt for you; thank you for bringing it to me.

~

1) Shadows Also Dream: Or, Eerin Nara* is Not a Jedi

There is no Light side, there is no Dark side, there is only the Force.

Eerin breathes, lets the waves of natural chakra wash over him, meditates and centers himself. The sun is only beginning it’s climb into the sky, cold air damp with dew.

This is nothing compared to his Mum’s morning stretches.

Around him he can feel the other students do the same, can feel them harmonize their chakra to each other, to their teacher’s…

… all except for one.

He opens his eyes and meets someone else’s–Ben Organa, Master Luke’s nephew, though that’s not really how he’s supposed to be considered.

Just another student like everyone else.

The sun is still rising, casting long shadows across the ground. His family would consider it strategically ideal.

Ben’s eyes widen in surprise, before he turns away, red creeping along his cheeks. Embarrassment more than anger, but not without the latter.

Eerin closes his eyes–quick so as to avoid Master Luke’s attention, but long enough for what really matters.

A figure in armor, helmet, and cloak. A lightsaber held high over fallen bodies.

There is no Light side, there is no Dark side, there is only the Force. But even then: Eerin doesn’t need to be a user of Light to save lives.

~

2) Counterclockwise (Sundials Don’t Rust): Or, Leanne Peridot Apparently Has More Than One Sister

There are three things about the future Regina knows to be true:

Galileo will never betray her.

Her visions are never wrong.

She will one day kill her father.

That last one has less to do with her abilities and more to do with her determination.

Of course, whose to say how any of that will come to pass.

Perhaps Galileo will never betray her because he will die long before he ever could–their line of work far from safe, and him in the thick of things.

Perhaps her visions are never wrong, but her interpretation of them–lacking context–may very well be.

And perhaps instead of killing her father, he will end up killing her instead. Or perhaps he’ll drink himself to death, or he’ll have a heart attack, or he’ll slip on a wet sidewalk and crack his head open.

She’ll never have that problem, at least. Her eyes are always on the ground, always steps ahead of everyone else just by looking at their shadow.

Until, one day, her father’s shadow changes.

Ah, so she really will kill him one day.

Unless he has another daughter who will beat her to the punch.

~

3) Walking Around (Eyes Wide Open): Or, Sakako Uchiha Does Not See Dead People

In a family of shadow manipulators, it’s easy enough to ignore.

At first.

For the Nara, silhouettes are less about physics and more about discipline and creativity. Despite her name, the Nara genes run strong, and there is no harm in that.

By itself.

But she is still the Uchiha heiress, and whether or not curse of her bloodline is fact or superstition, it still flows through her veins.

The Sharingan. Once it sees something, it can never forget.

But maybe, if she doesn’t understand–if she chooses not to–then it doesn’t matter. Just strange shapes upon the ground instead of messages from beyond.

Mum doesn’t often speak about her younger years–it is in the past, she says, to be learned from but not drag us down–but Sakako understands enough:

Knowledge is both power and responsibility.

Once she takes that step, she can never go back.

~

A/N2: Three different fills! Just trying to get a feel for this ability, because it seems very cool but I don’t know if I fully understand it as a mechanism yet. I might come back to it in the future! 😀

So “Eerin Nara” is the Stars Also Dream equivalent of Kinokawa Nara. Going with the idea that the closest thing SAD!Yoshino had to family was her Jedi Master Bant Eerin, not the Kinokawas who, while very nice, didn’t really understand her.

I have some ideas for what kanji the name Eerin would use, but I’m not sure which is the best. Not that his kanji is important in a writing sense, given I write in English, but I like having that little tidbit of ~flavoring~. Kanji possibilities under the cut for anyone else interested.

Ask Box Advent Calendar is on!

Ee
慧 (wisdom, enlightenment, insight)
影 (shadow, reflection, image, light, trace)
映 (reflect, harmonize, to project, to cast [a shadow])
栄 (glory, prosperity, to shine/glow)

Rin
倫 (ethics, morals)
臨 (to peek through, to examine, to face)
理 (reason, truth, justice)

Viridescent: Or, Tetsuki Fights The Power Rangers (2017-11-17)

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Her father is a fisherman in a sleepy town between the mountains and the sea.

They are a small family, but one that must work hard for their existence. She has a part time job and tries to contribute to their household of two.

Sometimes her father brings her presents–she remembers owning grander trinkets; jewelry and weapons and treasures that were both–but she likes the smooth driftwood and gleaming sea glass very much.

One day her father brings home a medallion–green encircled by gold.

///

School is school, mundane as ever, and this school is even more so. She keeps her head down and doesn’t act up and so she is invisible.

Being unseen means she can see everyone else.

She makes no friends, but neither does she make any enemies.

This does not hold true forever.

///

In her dreams a new voice appears… perhaps voice is the wrong word.

Maybe desire would be better: intent. Memory. Ghost.

But she is already haunted by many ghosts and so Rita’s rage does not overwhelm her.

///

Mr. Scott used to be drinking buddies with her father.

Used to, because now Mr. Scott is far too busy trying to hold his son back from the brink. Jason Scott is throwing his life off the rails, train wreck in the making, his potential wasted.

Or so her father says. He looks at her with grateful, relieved eyes:

She is not nearly so much trouble.

///

She gets hungry for gold. It gnaws at her stomach, her brain, Rita crooning instead of screeching, and so she decides to indulge.

But why murder and pillage when stealing is far more efficient and fun?

It’s just like stretching muscles long left unused.

///

Whatever language Rita speaks doesn’t translate very well. They are concepts more than words, emotions more than syllables.

And also, alien visual cortexes are different from human.

Yellow is still yellow (energy and recklessness), blue is still blue (loyalty and instincts), green is still green (sharp and unyielding).

But Rita’s red is more like Earth’s orange, pink closer to red, and black more of a dark purple. Or maybe indigo? Or maybe both, she never could tell the difference.

As pigment, that is.

///

She is still invisible–especially helpful now that the town is abuzz with news of the robberies–and so she notices connections bloom where before there were none.

A group where before there were only individuals.

That way lies trouble, she thinks; her father’s relieved eyes.

She turns away.

///

She just nabbed a couple of gold candlesticks from the town pawn shop, crunching into them like carrots as a midnight snack, and so Rita is as calm as she ever will be.

Because of that, the second voice deigns to make it’s presence known. It’s much quieter, beaten down and scared, but perhaps after almost two weeks of keeping Rita at bay it feels brave enough to speak.

Power Rangers, it says.

Energy Warriors, it means.

Flame Guardians, she understands.

///

But Rita’s voice is louder, angrier, and far less sentimental.

Power with a price. With a limit. Synergy–the sum greater than the parts.

The parts nothing without the sum, or so Zordon would have his team believe.

Five is powerful, yes, but not as stable as six.

She wanted independence. She wanted freedom. She wanted.

///

Months pass. The five rangers grow stronger.

More slowly, perhaps, without an enemy to prompt it, and confused at the lack of one, but stronger they grow all the same.

Synergy, the second voice whispers every time she passes one of its fellows

She supposes she can see the appeal of it, but they are looking for a fight, not a friend.

///

After her final robbery within the town–the awful cash for gold place with unfair rates–she realizes she’s made a mistake.

Not with the theft itself–no, she’s a professional… or she was one, once–but with her management of the situation.

The rangers are languishing without an enemy, but if what Rita says is true of the Zeo Crystal then someday there will be others who want it for themselves.

They need to be ready.

They need to be made ready.

///

The mountains are theirs, she can respect that, will not take that away from them. But she’s not going have the battle in the middle of town where casualties and fatalities are just waiting to happen.

The sea, then.

Just as well, it brought her the medallion.

///

Genjutsu against the sleeping rangers is ludicrously simple, but how to make it suitably frightening yet goading is the hard part. Rita and some of her other ghosts are more than happy to contribute.

The Dead Ships. Impending, if belated, doom.

Come stop her if they dare.

///

She announces that she’s going out, surprising her father who is on his own way out for work.

She never goes out, she has no reason to do so.

Fishing is best at night.

“By yourself?” He asks, worried. Then, suspiciously, “On a date?”

Ah, the perils of being the single father of a teenage daughter.

“No,” she says, “I’ll be meeting some people from school. Group project.”

She’s not really lying.

///

With the amount of gold she’s consumed–thefts branching out to neighboring cities–making a simulacrum of Rita is easy. Trusting her with it is far less so.

“There is a line,” she says. “If you cross it I will do worse than kill you.”

“Don’t think you can command me, Earthling wretch,” Rita responds.

They both know Rita doesn’t really mean it, but she definitely means hers.

///

Out in the water Rita and Goldar fight the Power Rangers in their Zords.

The sea froths from the battle, angry, ships bobbing about frantically with the waves.

There is a line.

The rangers form their own–protecting their town, struggling and straining against their enemy.

On the shore, she forms another.

///

Synergy, the second voice whispers.

Not yet, she responds.

Synergy requires trust.

///

Rita is defeated–Megazord something not even she could dream of–and as the simulacrum is slapped out beyond the atmosphere, her voice returns. Muted and exhausted; not exactly happy but… satisfied.

As a reward, there’s an ostentatious chandelier in the mayor’s house that’ll make quite the meal.

She did good, she’s earned it.

///

From her desk right next to Kimberly Hart, she notices the drawing.

She huffs a small, quiet laugh, trapping the noise into her shoulder: no need to draw attention to herself at this point.

A lightning bolt.

The significance doesn’t translate, but still. She’s touched.

///

Every Tuesday after school, Billy Cranston comes to her part time job–the legal one, that is.

He orders the cheapest thing available and sits at the smallest table and does his homework until, eventually, one of his fellow rangers calls him.

He doesn’t tell them why he does this every week. For nearly as long as they’ve known him, this is just something he does, one of his habits.

But she knows the truth: he doesn’t like donuts.

She can keep this secret, too.

~

A/N: Guess who recently watched the Power Rangers (2017) movie!

~Free movies on Delta flights~

I don’t think I’ll continue with this ‘verse. I especially don’t think this will be one of the “canon” ‘verses that Tetsuki goes to, but this fic flowed easily so…

If there are any future non-canon one-shots of Tetsuki going into other ‘verses, I’ll put it under the title Viridescent, too.

Untitled (2016-11-15)

jacksgreysonLeave a comment

A/N: Related to this ficlet.

~

Her squad is a bunch of dumb boys who almost never follow orders and barely scrape out mission successes through sheer luck.

Like captain, like squad, she guesses.

///

Ryan’s their sniper. Long and skinny and as active as a sloth. He can wait for hours–days, once, in Nevada–in his roost in anticipation for the perfect shot. 

Once, she spent a afternoon convinced she was alone in their headquarters only to prove herself wrong when she sat on the couch and spotted Ryan under their makeshift coffee table painting a still life of shoes and empty bullet casings.

He never misses a shot.

///

Peter is the youngest; a walking encyclopedia and social disaster, both.

Before they figured out the latter, they tried to use his baby face on a diplomatic mission–The Resistance isn’t the only organization of survivors, but they are, probably, the most effective–needless to say, his vivid blushing and stammered, incoherent pick up lines on the commander were less than appreciated.

Still, there’s no one better for obscure historical facts, navigation, and matching up what little excess supplies they have with what other people inexplicably want.

He’s still their dumb hamster child, though.

///

Vinny is her second in command.

She can trust him to get the job done if she sends him off on his own and if she has him go off with one of the others as a leaner, stealthier fire-team then, well, she knows they’ll both come back to her alive.

He has a somewhat worrying preference for eyeball stabbing and a frustrating tendency to hoard guns, but given the current environment she figures neither of them are entirely bad things.

///

Chuck, their general, is a man with gray in his hair, sharp blue eyes, and a photograph which he always carries but never looks at.

Once, when he was transferring it from pocket to pocket, she caught a glimpse of it: a pair of kids, a smiling round-faced woman, and a man right beside her who might very well have been her superior officer in a kinder, happier world.

///

Nate has surprisingly zero qualms about following the orders of a woman less than half his age.

Most other members of The Resistance attribute that to a lack of… spine… but she knows better: he was a well decorated vet before the aliens invaded, served three tours on the same ship as Chuck before they both got promoted up and away.

By rights, he ought to be running The Resistance alongside Chuck or, at the very least, his own squad.

But she thinks he likes not having that much responsibility.

He would rather fix radios and poke at the sleeping behemoth that was once the internet–occasionally making sure the bunch of reckless children around him have the equipment they need before they run off to pull off even more reckless stunts–than have such a large part in the fate of humanity.

///

Anton is her least favorite, which seems like such a petty, childish thing to say at the end of the world.

He’s part of her squad, so of course she’ll treat him the same as the others, but still. She’s not very fond of him.

It’s not as if he’s an awful person: he’s nice and smart and genuine–and under duress she’d admit his face is maybe aesthetically on point–but everytime he smiles at her, or tries to talk to her outside missions, she tenses up and runs away.

One time she even let Peter ramble on about his grandfather’s coin collection for three hours just so she could shrug helplessly at Anton from across the room.

He’s a good soldier, competent and sharp–hell, she’ll even say that he’s a good teammate, a good person!

The only issue is that he knows who she used to be.

///

Her squad is a bunch of dumb boys who almost never follow orders and barely scrape out mission successes through sheer luck.

Bizarrely enough, she wouldn’t change them for anyone else.

~

A/N: Ask Box Event is still open, I just had this idea and wanted to write it before I forgot…

Alright. “Team training”, either Flip to the Last Page or Gambling Away the Past? (I’m totally not hoping this will inspire you to continue one of these verses. Of course not)

jacksgreysonLeave a comment

A/N: This is more of a regular prompt than a fake fic title, so I don’t think this does count as part of the ask box, but I do love your prompts in general, to-someplace-else, and I have been meaning to touch base with those series so, what the hell, let’s do this!

~

Gambling Away The Past, 9/? (2017-11-09)

Wakakusa is a young buck, only in his second antler growth, but he’s strangely tall and stocky–not as much as Heijomaru, of course, but a good combat summon nonetheless.

Where he got his penchant for fire, she has no idea.

“Oh gods,” she moans into her hands, sitting on the side of the training field with the rest of her team… the rest of the humans of her team, anyway.

On the field proper are Wakakusa and Kakashi’s pack of dogs–closer to pups than the grizzled ninken she remembers, paws adorably oversized, but far more experienced on the field than Shikako’s probationary partner.

Rin obligingly douses the flames with an almost lazy and exasperated D-rank water jutsu before Kakashi waves the summons apart to reset the exercise.

“It’s capture the flag, not set the field on fire,” Shikako yells out futilely; Wakakusa tosses his head in response. She’s not yet sure if that’s irritation or embarrassment or, simply, acknowledgement.

“Like you’re one to talk,” Obito nudges her.

True.

This clearly isn’t working–maybe she shouldn’t have expected it to work–Kakashi’s method of training his dogs wouldn’t necessarily work for Wakakusa just because they’re all summons. She’s his summoner, she should be more involved.

She heaves herself onto her feet, plants one hand on her fist with more confidence than she feels, and calls out a challenge, “Dogs versus deer! Obito and Rin will be the judges.”

At their names, the both of them perk up in excitement.

“That’s eight versus one,” Kakashi says slowly, not yet understanding. As far as he’s concerned, Wakakusa can’t even handle his ninken one at a time, much less all eight of them teaming up.

“No,” she corrects, “It’s nine versus two…” She walks over to stand next to Wakakusa who swishes his tail casually in a simple one-two. This, she knows, is a much more positive reaction.

“… unless you think you’re going to need help?” she continues, goading.

Kakashi’s eyes narrow. Around him, his summons drop their doggy grins and focus.

Challenge accepted.

Changeling, Shikamaru, The Nara are not like the ninja clans that must pay the Fae in blood, or gold, or a child from their clan: whenever a Nara child is stillborn, the parents are bound to foster a Fae child their place.

jacksgreysonLeave a comment

A/N: Hm… I kinda want to both brainstorm and write a ficlet for this prompt, because the idea is very lovely (as per usual, dona) but the brainstorm I have is different than the ficlet I want to write?

Like the ficlet is just a straight up narrative prose exploring the idea of some Nara children being changelings and why their clan are the exception, etc. etc. Whereas the brainstorm is a more expansive plotty thing about how having a changeling character would affect the story.

Hm, I guess they’re not necessarily exclusive to each other so let’s do both… ficlet first!

~

To say that the Shodaime Hokage created the forests around what would become the site of Konohagakure is an exaggeration at best and an outright lie at worst.

It’s true that the Hashirama trees are the first type that villagers learn to identify as children–prevalent in most parks and training grounds, a protective ring around the walls–but the forest itself is far older than that; far greater.

Far less human.

///

Yoshino is in labor for a grueling forty six hours–more blood, sweat, and tears than even the worst battle–but she knows it’ll be worth it, prays to every god she can think of that it’ll be worth it.

When finally it’s done, that last exhausting push, she can barely catch her breath, barely stay awake, and yet she claws at consciousness desperately.

Why is there only one baby crying?

///

The Nara clan live close to the earth: their herds and their trees and their shadows upon the ground. They are intelligent, taking their own time and space, and for that they are looked upon fondly.

Most of the time, that’s a good thing.

///

There is a tree, deep within the Nara clan compound, old and gnarled and kept secret.

In that tree, there is a hollow, cleaned monthly but left empty.

Tonight, with Kasuga and Sembei at his back, Shikaku places the small, shrouded bundle inside.

///

It has been a long time since the Nara clan were given a gift from the other side.

An honor and risk, both.

The rest of the village has no idea what they’re in for.

—

OKAY! So, now it’s brainstorm time.

I made it vague because I wasn’t sure if, because you specified Shikamaru, you wanted him to be the changeling or if you wanted his POV of changeling!Shikako… or, I guess, now that I think of it, if you even wanted DoS? Whoops.

Anyway! The ficlet above would be the prequel basically laying down the groundwork of your prompt for a much larger story. What that story is, I’m not entirely sure…

Actually, I’m thinking something like Danzo has somehow gotten to the other side and that’s where a lot of his ROOT soldiers are from–changeling children that weren’t so blessed to be placed with the Nara clan, which sort of explains the affinity Shikako has with Sai, etc. etc–and the Fae kind of point Shikako in that direction and just, go wild, dispense our wrath…

… but I’m worried I’m focusing too much on Danzo as the big bad. I mean, the Fae could also be GREATLY DISPLEASED with the giant evil bijuu eating statue and that’s another task the whispers in Shikako’s mind point her towards.

I do like the idea that while the Nara are the only ones who get changeling children as a sort of active, deliberate exchange, there are other places (including outside of Konoha) where changeling children appear where there isn’t any established and known protocols for it. And so, like how Naruto has his not-so-secret society of jinchuuriki, Shikako has a slightly-more-secret society of changelings.

Sai is one, definitely. I’m thinking also Juugo? And maaybe Isaribi to incorporate her more into the story… I don’t think there’d be any overlaps in changelings and jinchuuriki (the only exception might be Sora at the Fire Temple who is only a partial jinchuuriki or something like that?)

Hm…

I mean, this would be in Shikamaru’s POV so as to match your prompt and also him as an outsider but close observer of this phenomenon would lend itself well into the whole–changelings LOOK human, but they aren’t, kind of thing. Yes, they’re mostly taught how to interact in a socially acceptable way, but they’re still Other.

Actually, now I wonder if even the bijuu are a little scared of the Fae (and, by association, the changelings) because chakra is a relatively new power in the world. The bijuu aren’t that old in comparison to the Fae. SOMETHING TO THINK ABOUT FURTHER 😀

~

Ask Box Event Now Open!

“Hibiscus”. Poison Ivy/Tetsuki, Deuteranomaly!verse a few years down the road.

jacksgreysonLeave a comment

A/N: Oh generic-name-goes-here, you always prompt the sweetest things that make me blush. (ノ*゜▽゜*)

I actually think I’m gonna write a ficlet for this instead of the event-typical fake fic summary, so I hope you enjoy!

—

Ivy’s children are far smarter than anyone else gives them credit for–only recently do mainstream scientists even consider that plants feel pain when damaged, one of the most basic traits of living things–but even they have their limitations.

Her warning bell flowers call out to her late on a night so cold and quiet, a night like many other in Gotham, and yet she wonders.

The figure on the edge of her territory is familiar yet not. It’s been years since that first night, months since she last saw her, and yet those eyes haven’t changed at all.

The newest bearer of the Green Lantern title waits on the outskirts of Robinson Park, waiting for permission to enter Poison Ivy’s realm.

///

The first time Tetsuki leaves Gotham is not entirely by choice.

It’s not as if The Bat had run her out–though she’s heard how awful he is about people with abilities beyond the human norm–but being eagerly shepherded to the west coast by his eldest bird wasn’t exactly at the top of her to do list.

She does not regret it whatsoever: she learns so much from the Titans–more about how to be a teenager and the vigilante lifestyle than than how to use her abilities–and she, perhaps stereotypically, loiters around Japantown whenever possible.

She enjoys the ambient noise of conversations she can understand without conscious effort. The nice couple who run the taiyaki stand give her freebies whenever they see her, as thanks for stopping a robbery early in her stint as an honorary Titan.

It’s fun, and she does enjoy the missions… but it’s not home.

///

The woman who sits in Ivy’s garden now is not the same girl who first had the honor, but the guardian venus flytraps butt their heads against her in playful recognition and the air plants reach out their tendrils to her.

If Ivy were one for embarrassment and blushing, she would do so now, but as it is she turns her face away.

Tetsuki smiles, distributing pats to the flytraps and reaching back to let the tendrils wrap around her fingers, her hair. She has more control now, doesn’t worry about damaging them by accident, and that confidence carries itself in her shoulders.

She’s no longer that little girl dragging chains in her bloody footsteps, seeking sanctuary desperately. Now she’s a vigilante, a protector if not a hero, and she’s not going to let herself be afraid.

///

During an earlier night, when they still communicated mostly through gestures and short, stuttering fragments, Tetsuki awoke from a nightmare, screaming, and slightly on fire.

Luckily for her, the only casualties were the sleeves of her borrowed clothes, otherwise she might have been forcibly ejected from her hostess’ home.

But the woman, despite the near disaster, was kind, gentle. She had held Tetsuki’s tear-ridden face between her hands as if she were precious, dear, as much as the delicate flowers and the angry chomping things standing guard, both.

Tetsuki followed the sound of her voice, soothing and undecipherable, then, back into peaceful sleep: green no longer seemed so frightening.

~

Ask Box Event Now Open!