Lyrin's Writing Journal

don't kill me plz

2006-09-17T17:47:07Z

Right, yeah, it's been a while. Those of you who keep up with my regular journal will note that I have a new journal, over at coffeepot_words. I'm not too sure what to do with this journal; I don't do much other than fic, for one thing, and no one really cares. Also, I feel bad about deleting another journal, and for some fic, this is the only place where they're archived, and...I don't really want to put them on my site, and transferring takes too much work.

...so what I'm trying to say is, this journal is dead. Has been dead for a while, really. Feel free to defriend me, I wouldn't really blame you all. :P Not like anything's happening over here.

Posting Hiatus; Naruto - "Poison"

2005-12-28T23:02:33Z

Going on a posting hiatus. I'll still be writing, but it's disconcerting to realize that I really, really dislike my writing, and that knowledge makes writing even harder and not at all fun. As such, I'm taking a short break from posting what I write and taking a look at what I write, and trying to improve.

To make up for my absence:

Poison
Fandom: Naruto
Pairing: Itachi x Sasuke
Rating: PG13
Summary: AU. Sasuke never became a ninja.

chapter one

CHAPTER TWO

Shisui and Itachi had been friends long ago, but Itachi…

How stupid, Shisui thought, yawning. People always change. Itachi had been cold as a child and grew colder as an adult. His mind worked like a go board, where everyone was reduced to pieces that he controlled. Shisui disliked the sensation and Itachi had understood.

They were not friends now, or even acquaintances, but they nodded to each other in the halls and sometimes Shisui went over to Itachi and spoke to him with his voice low and smirking, and when Itachi wanted to spar against someone other than himself, he went to Shisui first.

There had been a night when Itachi called him out and they stood together, shoulder to shoulder, watching the river flow beneath the bridge. Shisui had not quite understood the look in Itachi’s eyes, the set of his shoulders and the grimness painted in his face. He’d felt like laughing for no reason and his mind could not be soothed at the weight of the kunai holster strapped to his leg. He’d thought the shadows seemed to grow at that moment, the night still, holding its breath, waiting.

The moment passed. Itachi turned away from him and said nothing. Shisui made a joke about moonlit confessions and friendship becoming more, but it fell flat. His mouth had gone dry and he had to spit a few times before his tongue stopped feeling like a thick, rubbery slug.

Shisui had never quite…forgotten. That was the dangerous thing about Shisui, the thing that had made Itachi look at Shisui with considering, weighing eyes, and not find him lacking. Because Shisui laughed and joked but he was one of the best ninja in the Uchiha clan and he never. Ever. Forgot.

Shisui decided that their friendship had fallen apart after that night. He’d woken up the next morning with the certainty that Itachi had meant to kill him—suspicion rising up in his gut and curling around his heart, because there wasn’t an Uchiha who hadn’t sneaked a look at the scrolls that told them the secret to the Mangekyou Sharingan.

Except for Sasuke. Shisui almost pitied the kid. Younger brother to the hope of the clan and too sick to become a ninja.

There had been that other ninja, the one with the terminal cough. Hayate, Shisui’s memory supplied, dredging up brief flashes of a pale face with shadows beneath its eyes. He had continued to be a ninja, becoming one of the most promising of his generation. Not a genius, but just. Determined.

Shisui could respect that. Hayate wasn’t a half-bad ninja either, could give him a run for his money if he had enough time and a good grip on his swords. Mikoto had mentioned Hayate when she and Fugaku argued over Sasuke’s withdrawal from the Academy, used him to drive her argument home. Do you want our child to be nothing more than a second-rate ninja, always coughing and sick and whispered about behind his back? Pitied and looked down upon for daring to become a ninja?

He didn’t know the full details of that argument, of course. But whispers and rumors moved through the Uchiha clan like wildfire, and everyone knew that Sasuke Uchiha, Itachi’s younger brother, was too weak to continue being a ninja.

Shisui closed his eyes. Stupid, he told himself. It was late and if he didn’t sleep, he’d be yawning all morning, too tired to properly chase after the brat and bring him back.

What a life. Twenty-three years old and still a babysitter.

Sasuke left the house early each morning, sneaking out even though he knew everyone knew he did. That wasn’t the point.

Today was the day he should have become genin, been that much closer to beating Itachi.

He should train. Forget about rank and title and focus only on strength, on improving. He could guilt Shisui-san into training with him, avoid Itachi, Father, and Mother. He was never certain of Itachi’s feelings toward his training, but his parents had made theirs clear.

“Now, I’d like you guys to tell me all about yourselves.” Sasuke paused, aware that he was intruding and that eavesdropping was impolite, but there was something familiar about the voice.

Sasuke kicked at a rock, bouncing it off of his foot a couple times before aiming at the wall and watching it rebound. It wasn’t fair, he thought privately. He worked harder than everybody else at the Academy and he’d never become a genin.

“Like what?”

“You know, the usual. Your favorite thing, what you hate most…Dreams, ambitions, hobbies. Things like that.”

“Well, then, why don’t you go first, sensei?” Sasuke pictured the speaker in his mind. A girl, with long hair and big eyes and a nice body, who blushed prettily over boys she liked and had dreams. Sasuke felt his lip curling.

“Yeah, you’re a stranger to us anyway!”

Sasuke turned away, about to leave.

“Who are you?” their teacher called. Sasuke hadn’t realized he’d been seen, but what was the point in acting shocked? The teacher was a jounin. Of course he’d seen him.

Sasuke shrugged. “None of your business,” he called over his shoulder. “I was going to leave anyways.”

The teacher laughed. “Maa, maa, you should show more respect to your elders.” Sasuke looked at him, recognition flaring.

“When I was five, Itachi beat the crap out of you,” he said flatly. You’re not worth my time.

“Hey! How do you know Itachi-san?” the blond yelled, jumping to his feet and glaring.

“Isn’t it obvious?” the girl snapped. “He’s an Uchiha too. Honestly, Naruto, don’t you have eyes?”

“Sa…Sakura-chan…” So easily wounded, wide, puppy dog eyes. Sasuke hated him suddenly, violently, for no reason at all. Why can’t I smile like you?

Sanada Uchiha watched him leave and said nothing at all.

“Oi, brat, what’re you doing here?”

“You followed me.” Sasuke’s voice was flat, no hint of recrimination in it. Shisui shrugged and laughed.

“Actually, no, I didn’t.” He held up the grocery bags as proof. “Was running out of groceries, so I went to pick some up.” He peered inside, making a face. “Damn it, I forgot the milk again.”

Sasuke watched him curiously. Shisui never lied if he could help it, though that didn’t actually stop him. “You drink milk? Shisui-san,” he added belatedly, remembering that even if he thought Shisui irritating, Shisui was still older and stronger.

“No.” Shisui looked at him for a long moment, eyes flickering toward his forehead. “So. Bunch of new genin today. Fresh out of the Academy.”

“Yeah.” Sasuke frowned. He should be training right now, not wandering around Konoha torturing himself. “I’m better than them.”

Shisui shrugged. “Yeah, well, that’s life.” He raised his eyebrows at Sasuke. “You coming or what?”

“I can walk home by myself,” Sasuke snapped. “I’m not so helpless that I can’t take care of myself in a village full of civilians.”

Shisui looked surprised, then amused. “Sure, whatever, brat. If I see any kittens in need of rescuing, I’ll call you.” He winked, inviting Sasuke to share in the joke.

It wasn’t funny. Sasuke felt cold and miserable inside. Shisui always treated him like a joke and Itachi hardly acknowledged his efforts. Mother’s lips pressed into a line and Father’s expression turned cold when he saw his youngest son. He tried so hard and it didn’t even matter because people like—like “Sakura” and “Naruto” and even Sanada would always, always surpass him, and he would never catch up, because his lungs…

He straightened up, face hardening. He wasn’t weak enough to drown in self-pity and there were plenty of ninja who probably had worse health than he did. Plenty of adult ninja smoked and drank. The ones who didn’t would die anyways.

It doesn’t matter. I’ll become stronger than all of them. Stronger than Itachi.

CHAPTER THREE

Naruto stared after the Uchiha curiously. “Hey, Sanada, you know him?” he asked, forgetting about needing to impress Sakura-chan and Kakashi-sensei.

Sanada shrugged. “Just a cousin,” he replied smoothly. “Not very important.”

“So you’re related?” Sakura leaned over, her eyes big. “He was pretty cute.”

Sanada didn’t even look at her. “Doesn’t matter. He’s just a failure.” The words twisted in his mouth, his tone dark. Bruises on the inside that had never quite healed flared into life; Naruto’s fist tingled, the way it did after he hit someone.

“Now, now,” Kakashi-sensei said suddenly, interrupting them. “Let’s not—gossip.” Naruto flushed, guilty and embarrassed, but he refused to let that keep him down.

“Ne, ne, Kakashi-sensei, do you know him?” Kakashi didn’t smile at Naruto.

“Sakura, why don’t you go first?”

Sakura blinked, easily diverted. “Oh! Well, I’m Sakura Haruno and…” Sanada stopped paying attention, tipping his head forward so that his bangs fell in his eyes, shielding him and letting him think. Sakura prattled on and Naruto interrupted to yell something, tapping his forehead protector.

Sasuke, what were you doing here? Sanada wondered, not at all sure he’d like the answer.

Afternoon found Sasuke back at the main house, sitting with his knees tucked beneath him as his father stared down at him.

“You’re not a ninja,” Father said quietly. His voice was gentler than it would have been if it were Itachi before him. But, Sasuke thought, refusing to acknowledge the bitterness accompanying it, if I were Itachi, I wouldn’t be here in the first place. “You have no reason to learn to fight.”

“I want to,” Sasuke said unthinkingly. Father stopped, not quite sucking in his breath, but the silence banging against Sasuke’s ears was louder than a yell. Taking a deep breath, Sasuke continued. “I want to become a ninja. To be strong.” Stronger than you. Stronger than Itachi. So strong nobody ever looks down on me again.

Father’s voice, when he finally answered, became even kinder. Sasuke hated him. It was a slow burn in the back of his mind, rising up thick and sweet like poisoned honey, leaving behind the aftertaste of ashes. He trapped it, let it build so it pushed at the confines of his mind, a voice in his mind hissing that he’d need it later.

“You are not a ninja,” Father repeated. “You have no need of that kind of strength. Sasuke—your strength is different from Itachi’s.”

You don’t actually believe that. You’re saying it to be kind. You’re saying it because you want to protect me.

Sasuke had known for years that Father would never see him the way he wanted him to, but the confirmation of it—You are weak, Sasuke, and there is no way for me to tell you so—made his eyes sting. He bowed his head so that his eyes remained hidden, and so that Father could not see him bite his lip. His fists clenched in his lap—to hide the trembling, he knew.

Father studied him for a minute longer. “You may go,” he said, and did not bother to hide his sigh. Sasuke got to his feet, bowed, and it took every ounce of willpower he had not to run.

He brushed past Mother with a hurried apology, Itachi rendered into sketchy shadows at the edge of his vision, blurred into invisibility. Sasuke wiped at his eyes furiously. He wasn’t running, he wasn’t, but once he was out of the compound and hidden deep in the forest—

He’d only been running for five minutes before he felt the burn, creeping outwards from his heart, spreading through his body. He ran faster, trying to outrun it and knowing the stupidity of that sentiment, except…

Sasuke stopped thinking and ran. He could go faster than this, had before, would push past his limits and prove Father wrong. If he had not fallen sick, his specialty would have been speed and agility, better than Itachi’s. If he had not fallen sick, his life would have been so much easier and brighter, and Father would not have had such naked disappointment in his eyes, as if Sasuke were too stupid to notice it.

If he ran for long enough, maybe he could forget. He could lose himself in the wind and the speed and the adrenaline rush, feel like he was something and he could become something and if this was what it meant to be strong, to experience this all the time, he’d give up anything.

The muscles in his legs burned as he pushed up from the ground, stopping to rest on a tree branch, clinging to it with chakra; he knew that much, at least, from training sessions with Shisui-san. His chest was making the rattling sound again, but for a while—

For a while, he’d forgotten. Sasuke grinned to himself, fierce and wild and determined, savoring the feeling.

When his breath caught up to him and his chest stopped rattling, Sasuke jumped off of the branch, landing on all fours. The clearing was only a little bit further, anyways. He began to run again, stopping only when he found the spot, suppressing the disappointment because he didn’t have the time for self-pity if he wanted to become stronger.

Afternoon bled into evening, its blood dark and spotted with stars. Sasuke looked up and saw the moon through the branches and leaves, white and glowing. He had to return back to the Uchiha compound soon, but—a moment longer? A moment more, and then he’d leave. He thought maybe when he was in the forest, where no one could see or find him, he became a different kind of person, someone who people could like and not simply pity.

Sasuke wondered if Itachi looked up at the stars sometimes and regretted. His laugh sounded both mocking and wistful, because whatever regrets Itachi might have, he kept to himself. Getting to his feet, he brushed himself off, and blamed the tiredness for how slowly he returned home.

“Sanada, come on, what aren’t you telling me? Is there some dirty little secret about Sasuke you won’t tell me?” Sanada walked a little faster, hunching his shoulders in at the looks the pedestrians were giving them. Dirty little secret’s pretty accurate though, he found himself thinking, but he banished the thought. Weak or no, Sasuke was still family, and all resentments stayed where they belonged—inside the family.

“Naruto,” he said, once he was sure that the grinding sound he could hear wasn’t his teeth, “shut up. And learn some subtlety, idiot. It’s none of your business.”

“But—Sanada…” Sanada quickened his pace to just short of a run, hearing Naruto jog to keep up. He could see Naruto’s face in his mind too, eyes narrowed to slits in his irritation and voice growing screechier by the second. “Just tell me already!”

“No.” Where the hell is Sakura when you need her? Stupid bitch is always clinging when I don’t need her and when I do she’s off fighting with that blond girl. Useless.

Naruto halted suddenly, grabbing onto Sanada’s sleeve and pulling. “What the hell?” he complained. “What’s so big and important about that Sasuke kid anyways?”

Sanada yanked his shirt back, straightening the cloth. “His name is Sasuke Uchiha,” he said finally, thinking, throw a bone to the dog and get it to leave you alone. “He’s Itachi-san’s younger brother. And he’s not a ninja, because he’s”—stronger than you, said a traitorous little voice—“too weak to become one.”

Naruto stared at Sanada, who turned to go, dismissing him. “Wait—Sanada—you can’t just tell me that and leave!” He ran after the Uchiha, grabbing his shoulder and pulling him back. “Why’s he weak? He looked strong enough to me.”

“Clan business,” Sanada replied shortly. “Although…” His voice turned thoughtful as he gazed at Naruto beneath his eyelashes, feeling his lips curl into a nasty smirk. “You wouldn’t know what that means, wouldn’t you. Not having a clan or your own or even parents, after all.”

Naruto froze. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” he asked, voice shaking, tightly controlled. His hand curled into fists. He could hear his heartbeat, growing louder and louder as the anger spiraled upwards, reaching his heart and mind and spilling over into the outside world.

“You heard me,” Sanada replied, watching Naruto closely. “Or is the loser ninja deaf too?” His eyes flickered up to the Leaf symbol, just slowly enough to be understood. “What did you do to get that, loser, bribe Iruka-sensei? Or maybe you used that perverted jutsu of yours to get him to agree—what was it called again…?”

I worked for this forehead protector, some small part of Naruto whispered, I fought for it and I did what this bastard could never do, not in a million years, and I mastered a forbidden technique and—

Who cares? snarled the larger part of him. Make him stop talking, or we’re going to rip out his guts and stuff them down his throat and shut up his mouth so he can’t say anything more because we worked for what we’ve got, and we don’t have rich families to fall back onto or

A hand fell on each of their shoulders. Kakashi-sensei was smiling, his visible eye a perfect arc of contentment, but his mouth was a hard slash beneath the mask, and his fingers dug into their shoulders hard enough to bruise.

Naruto blinked, rubbing his eyes, and the red haze vanished.

“Now, now, kids,” Kakashi said, and leaned forward so that to the outside world, he appeared as a harmless teacher lecturing his kids. Sanada’s shoulder twitched. Pain flared, and he stopped moving. “Let’s not fight out in the public like this, all right?” Cheeriness and goodwill dripping off of every word to land in an oozing puddle at their feet. Sanada thought of poison pills, lying out on the ground for small children to eat. Bright, smiling candies that killed in slow, mind-numbing agony. He looked at Kakashi for the second time, reassessed him, and wished he could see what that mask was hiding. No one wore masks like that unless they were trying to draw attention away from something.

“Just a harmless squabble, sensei,” Sanada said, his voice as sincere as he could make it, “between two good friends.” He took a chance, leaned forward, and punched Naruto in the shoulder as hard as he could get away with. Naruto drew in a sharp breath.

“You bastard,” he began, but Kakashi squeezed a little harder, digging into a bundle of sensitive nerves that neither of the two boys knew could hurt so much, and Naruto subsided, scowling. Sanada couldn’t quite swallow the yelp and Naruto took pleasure in it, a dark, vindictive kind he didn’t understand.

“I see.” Kakashi-sensei’s expression had gone flat. “I hate kids, but I hate liars more.” He released them then. “Sanada, Naruto—I don’t ever want to see this kind of behavior again, not if you two expect to pass the initial exam. Work out your issues in private.”

“No problem, sensei,” Sanada said quickly, shooting Naruto a poison-sweet smile. “It won’t ever happen again.”

“See to it that it doesn’t.” Kakashi leaned back and his expression snapped back into place, the smile present this time and brightly colored porn book in his hand.

Just like all the other teachers, Naruto thought bitterly. Just like all the ones who failed me no matter how hard I tried because… His throat caught a little, old resentment he’d thought he’d managed to forget rushing back in, claws out and fangs showing. I’m the Nine Tails.

Sanada waited until Kakashi was well out of sight, then leaned forward. “I don’t care who you think you are or what you want to be, Naruto Uzumaki,” he hissed. “But clan business means none of your business, or my aim might just—slip one day.” There were teeth in his forced grin, hints of fangs and claws that ripped through shadow. Naruto felt something in him answer back, amused at the challenge and not a little condescending.

Sanada pulled back and his face split into a real grin, convincing enough to fool Naruto, if only for a second. “See you later, Naruto-kun,” he said over his shoulder, walking away, hands in his pockets.

“Twelve-years old and already making death threats,” someone said, lazy amusement coating his voice. Naruto turned around to find another black-haired pale-skinned man standing behind him, hair hanging around his face and giving him a messy, haphazard look. “He and Sasuke used to be friends, if you could believe it.” He looked at Naruto then, raising his eyebrows. “Naruto Uzumaki?”

“Yeah,” Naruto answered, sullen. He eyed the stranger warily. “Who’re you?”

“Shisui Uchiha.” Shisui wasn’t looking at him though, watching Sanada thoughtfully. “Don’t take him too seriously though—he might actually think he’s a threat. Brat like him, he gets spoiled too easily.”

“…what are you talking about?

“If you’re looking for Sasuke,” Shisui continued as if he hadn’t heard, “he’ll probably be in the forest, training. Just follow the path and you’ll find him.”

“I’m not looking for him!”

Shisui shrugged. “Sure, you aren’t. But if you wanted to, he’s going to be there all day.” He winked at Naruto and walked away.

…what a freak, Naruto thought.

CHAPTER FOUR

Sasuke leapt into the branches, hiding himself in the foliage and watching. If it was Itachi or Shisui-san, they’d know where he was anyway; if it was someone else, then he could prove, to himself at least, that he’d gotten better.

Some blond kid came stumbling into the clearing. Sasuke thought he recognized him, but couldn’t recall his name. Not that it mattered, really, but then the branch cracked under his grip and he thought belatedly, maybe he should learn to control his temper. The kid looked up at the noise, searching him out. Sasuke froze, heart thudding loud enough to give him away.

The kid looked away, scratching his head. Sasuke relaxed. He probably wasn’t a very good ninja.

The branch’s cracking grew louder. Sasuke grimaced. If he jumped for another branch, he’d give himself away; but if he stayed, the branch would break, and he’d still give himself away.

He landed on the ground, scowling. “Who’re you?” he asked, crossing his arms over his chest. The kid looked taken aback, then matched his expression.

“Naruto Uzumaki! I’m going to be the next Ho—“

“Whatever,” Sasuke interrupted, annoyed. “This is my training ground so—“

“Hey! Don’t interrupt me when I’m talking!” Blue eyes narrowed to slits and Sasuke’s scowl deepened. Dislike, rising up in him. He thought of dogs walking stiff-legged around each other, growling and baring their teeth, daring the other to leap first.

If we fought, who would win? Desire, leaping to the surface coiled beneath his skin, finite patience. Sasuke wanted to fight him suddenly, see how he matched up to a ninja his own age.

“Why not?” Sasuke asked, snorting. “It’s not as if you have anything interesting to say. Idiot,” he added as an afterthought. “You’re on Uchiha land, anyways.”

Naruto rocked back on his heels, hands behind his head. “Fine, see, I was going to ask you for a sparring match, but obviously you’re too much of a prick to accept one. I bet you’re afraid because you know I’d beat you.”

“Shut up.” It came out faster than Sasuke could control, revealed too much of what he’d wanted to keep hidden. Naruto, luckily, didn’t seem like the kind of person to read too much into things.

“Why not though?” Naruto asked. “Come on, we could totally spar and—I’d kick your butt, because—“

Sasuke threw the first punch. It slammed into Naruto’s face and he could feel bone give way beneath it, and satisfaction made Sasuke smirk even as he leaped backwards. He’d landed a couple blows on Shisui once, but the clone had puffed out of existence the moment his fist hit, and there was no real accomplishment in falling for a trap.

Naruto caught himself and threw himself into the air, yelling something as clones popped into existence. Sasuke kept an eye on all of them, knees bent, crouching slightly. He could just hit them all until he found the one that didn’t disappear, except that tactic never worked, not unless they all came at him one by one…

He tried to forget how this was his first real fight and reached out with chakra senses, drawing back when he found nothing unusual in any of them. The clones landed on the ground, throwing themselves forward. Sasuke jumped back, his leg sweeping through the closest one. It disappeared with a loud pop, and another one leapt in to replace it.

…you’ve got to be kidding me. Disbelief slowed him down long enough for one of the clones to land a hit. Sasuke grunted, arms automatically coming up in a block—but it didn’t hurt nearly as Shisui’s did even when he held back.

Sasuke felt his face split into a grin. Naruto was going to die.

An hour later, Naruto collapsed onto the ground near him. Sasuke’s nose twitched; he smelled of sweat and milk and ramen, but mainly sweat. Sasuke wrinkled his nose, but knew he smelled mostly the same.

“Shit,” Naruto said. “You don’t totally suck.” It sounded as though he were smiling.

“Whatever,” Sasuke panted, staring at the sky through the trees. He hadn’t noticed how blue it was earlier. “In case you hadn’t noticed, I just beat your ass in.” He laughed, breathless, but broke off into a coughing fit, curling upwards and body shaking.

“Are you sick or something?”

Sasuke didn’t answer, his eyes half-closed. He uncurled himself and lay flat on the ground, breathing heavily.

“Hey—answer my question already.” Naruto sounded more alert now than he had a minute ago. Sasuke closed his eyes, ignoring him. “Are you listening?”

“No,” Sasuke answered. “How’d you find out where I was?”

Naruto scratched his head, not yet bothering to get up. The grass was cool against his cheek and Sasuke really could kick some ass, even if he looked like bones and skin. “Uh, some guy, I forget his name—kinda tall, long hair, black eyes…”

Sasuke snorted. “You just named half the ninjas in this village, idiot.”

“Don’t call me that, bastard—he was related to you. I think.”

Sasuke’s eyes snapped open. Itachi? he thought, his heart thumping in his chest. But—no. Naruto would recognize and remember Itachi. It couldn’t be him.

“What did his name sound like?”

“Kind of—hissy. Lotta S’s.”

Sasuke paused. “Shisui?” he said carefully. Naruto yawned beside him.

“Yeah, that’s it—Shisui.”

Sasuke couldn’t find it in himself to get angry, though he didn’t doubt that that would come later. Stupid bastard, he’s meddling again. The sun was warm on his face however and contentment stretched out in his chest, purring softly.

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” Sasuke asked, somewhat curious. He could feel himself relaxing in Naruto’s presence, slowly, like molasses oozing down a hill. He heard Naruto shrug, cloth scratching against grass and pebbles and ground.

“Gotta go train with Kakashi-sensei and Sakura-chan later…why aren’t you a ninja?”

Sasuke tensed, contentment leaping away and snarling, before vanishing into nothing. He kept his voice normal, closing his eyes against the too-bright light of the sun when he spoke, carefully avoiding Naruto’s direction.

“Haven’t you heard?”

“No.” Naruto scowled, pushing himself up and punching the ground. Sasuke felt it shake beneath his shoulder, small vibration in the earth. He twitched away from it. “No one will tell me anything and it’s like some big secret that no one’s supposed to know about but everyone does anyway—“

“Who did you ask?” Sasuke pushed himself to his feet, holding out his hand. Naruto grabbed onto it and pulled himself to his feet, brushing himself off. There was a grass stain on his orange jumpsuit. His hand was warm and callused and tough. Sasuke knew the places where a ninja’s scars would develop, could trace the ones on Itachi’s hand with his mind open and eyes closed, but Naruto’s hand remained unscarred. Young, Sasuke thought suddenly, and could not understand the weariness that accompanied the thought.

He pulled away. Naruto rocked back and forth, hands hanging loose at his sides. “I asked Sanada,” he said, eyeing Sasuke’s stance. His feet shifted apart slightly and his head lowered, watching, like a wary dog not quite sure of whether to growl.

“Sanada’s a prick,” Sasuke replied, dislike rising up in him at the name but drowned out by the rushing sound he could hear, how his bones seemed to vibrate to the point of pain. He tasted excitement in the back of his throat and blood on his tongue, biting the inside of his cheek hard enough to bleed. Naruto growled at Sanada’s name. Sasuke felt his heart beat faster. “Tell you what, moron—if you beat me for real this time, I’ll tell you why I’m not a ninja.”

Naruto shook his head, but not in rejection. “You bastard,” he began, but Sasuke darted into the trees and Naruto found himself giving chase.

“You’re sick?” Sasuke found he could not bear how Naruto said that, horror and pity dripping off of each syllable. He looked away—he always seemed to be, now—and shrugged.

“Yeah. Terminally.” He gave Naruto a sidelong glance. “Too big of a word for you, moron?”

“I know what terminally means…!” Naruto refused to be distracted for long however, chewing his lip as he sunk deep in thought. Sasuke waited, comments about how hard it looked rising. He swallowed them back down, arms crossed over his chest and eyes hidden behind his bangs.

Here it comes—“I get it,” “that explains it,” and then he’ll treat me like I’m made of glass. We won’t fight because I’m too fragile to fight with and he’ll be just like everyone else.

“That’s all?” Naruto scratched his head.

…Still not like everyone else. Sasuke wasn’t grateful though, Naruto’s dismissive tone grating along his nerves.

“What do you mean, ‘that’s all’?” he echoed. “It makes me a freak in my family—the failure that couldn’t.” His lips twisted into a parody of a smile and he stared at the ground. When he was five he had fallen to the ground, arms wrapped around his stomach as he coughed and choked on bile and vomit. Mother had dropped the plates the moment she heard him fall. He heard the china breaking against the ground, glass shards sparkling everywhere, but not Mother’s voice raised in concern and worry.

Naruto shrugged. “And?” He linked his hands behind his head, half-turning away. “There are worse things to be. You have parents and a brother and friends. You aren’t alone.”

“Aren’t I?” Sasuke responded before he could help himself. “Nearly everyone else is a ninja in the Uchiha family. We rule Konoha. Itachi is the genius and the one everyone loves and the perfect son and—and then there’s me, who can’t even join the Academy.” He hadn’t cried in years.

Naruto’s head whipped around to glare at him. Sasuke glared back, determined to make him understand. The pain was a giant, black hole in his chest, a gaping wound where his heart was supposed to be. Naruto, if he understood, Naruto, who had come closer to understanding than anyone else ever had, who did not look at him as if he were something to be pitied—Naruto, if he understood, could heal him.

“You’re so stupid,” Naruto said. “If I had a family—if I had people who cared about me like you do”—a laugh escaped Sasuke—“I wouldn’t talk about not being understood or loved or anything. I’d…” And he stopped, trailing off, expression guarded and eyes faraway.

Naruto was wrong. Sasuke knew this with the fierce, unwavering belief of a fanatic, let it carry him forward and allow him to speak. “We’re not a family,” Sasuke said, and as he spoke he realized it was true. “We’re a clan.” Fierce pride at the sentiment warred with loneliness he thought he’d left behind. His nails dug into his palms, leaving behind red crescent-moon shapes that began to sting only when he released his grip.

Naruto stared. “What’s the difference?” he demanded. “They still care about you, they still support you,” and he stopped as Sasuke laughed like he’d never stop, until his laughter turned into a dry wheezing that made his entire body shake, and he closed his eyes and pressed his forehead against his palm and tried to remember to breathe.

“You don’t know my family,” Sasuke said when it stopped and Naruto’s face had taken on an odd cast, as if he did not know what to say or do or how to react. “My—clan.”

“Do I need to?” Naruto asked, eyes huge in his face, and Sasuke thought about hitting him. If it would make him stop—

“Yes,” Sasuke answered, and could not help the bitterness twisting his face into a mask.

Naruto - SasuSaku

2005-12-11T05:01:29Z

So! I signed up for SasuSaku over at 1sentence, because I'm JUST that dumb and masochistic, writing fifty sentences for a pairing I've never done before. But whatever. That's not the point. The idea was to write a single sentence (which I totally failed at ><) for each of fifty themes. And I finished in three days~

None of them are related to each other. Some are AU because I'm really cheap that way. I am incapable of writing like this; every single time I wrote one, I resisted the urge to keep going, and resisted badly. Crit? Desperately needed, probably.

01. Comfort

Sakura listened to him breathe, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest out of the corner of her eye, and around them the Forest of Death seemed that much brighter.

02. Kiss

When she kissed him, he pulled away first, knowing that to love her would mean to break her.

03. Soft

Sakura was almost afraid of how the story would end; she fell in love and didn’t land on her feet, but Sasuke looked up at the right time and caught her, and his gaze made her smile.

04. Pain

Touching Sasuke always meant pain, rough and hard and biting, digging into her bones and making her shudder, but she loved him, she loved him so much, and if it was for him she could bare anything.

05. Potatoes

She watched him out of the corner of her eye as he reached into the pile that Naruto had picked and pulled out a potato, tossing it at the blond and hitting him on the head; she looked away from Sasuke’s expression, wondering why she wanted to cry.

06. Rain

Sakura had chased after him the day he left, but now that he returned, she stood by the gate with the rain pouring down her cheeks as a substitute for tears.

07. Chocolate

Sakura stood by the oven stirring chocolate, humming to herself; last year it hadn’t turned out as tasty as she wanted it to, so this year it had to be perfect.

08. Happiness

Sometimes, Sasuke looks at Sakura and wants to apologize: I know I’ll never be happy with you.

09. Telephone

Sakura had called the phone company from her cell phone a week ago; their repairman stood in her living room now, black hair sticking out from under his cap.

10. Ears

Sakura had been the only medic-nin available when he fell to the ground and she had done her best, pushing back her tears and steadying her hands as she tried to repair the damage, but in the end Sasuke was glad he already knew how to lip-read.

11. Name

“You look like my mother,” Sasuke said at last. “Her name was Mikoto and you are nothing like her.”

12. Sensual

He’s never thought of her as a woman before, but she smiles nervously up at him and the front of her dress falls low enough to be indecent and the slit high enough to allow free movement, and he realizes abruptly that they are no longer children.

13. Death

When Sasuke killed Itachi, Sakura cried the tears he could not shed.

14. Sex

Their bodies were awkward against each other’s, her hipbone digging into his and his mouth biting where it should have soothed, and it was almost painful, their grace deserting them, but Sakura felt pleasure uncoil itself in her gut and came with an almost silent gasp, and he held her for a long time afterward.

15. Touch

Muscle jerks beneath her hands; Sakura lies and says it’s just because he’s not used to being touched.

16. Weakness

Sakura’s lips twisted when she realized that no matter how strong she became, Sasuke would never see her as anything other than twelve and weak.

17. Tears

Naruto stood before Sasuke and stared, unbelieving, and Sasuke gave him his first smile and said, “Don’t ever let her cry, Naruto,” then blood bubbled out of his mouth and Naruto howled in loss.

18. Speed

Sasuke ran and ran, as if that would help him escape his demons; Sakura was nowhere as fast, and stared after him as he disappeared.

19. Wind

The wind was cold and bitter enough to feel like it stripped the flesh from her bones; Sakura huddled deeper in her jacket and pretended it did not bring back memories.

20. Freedom

If you love something, let it go, Sakura remembered, but Sasuke never returned.

21. Life

They were only children, after all, and Sakura could not be blamed for crying when Sasuke finallyfinally kissed her back.

22. Jealousy

“What are you doing here, Ino-pig?” Sakura demanded, hands on her hips, and tried to ignore how the front of her dress pulled tight across her breasts and the way blue eyes slid to Sasuke.

23. Hands

“You’re bleeding,” Sakura said, concerned, but the blood wasn’t his own and Sasuke dunked his hands in the stream and watched them come back clean.

24. Taste

Sakura closed her eyes and kissed Naruto as hard and fierce as she could; the taste of blood that flooded her mouth jolted her out of her fantasy, and Naruto wiped his mouth on his hand and mumbled sorry, because neither of them had been kissing each other.

25. Devotion

“Did you know she still loves you?” Naruto demanded, and Sasuke wondered how to reply that he’d never asked her to.

26. Forever

“Stay with me forever,” Sakura pleaded. Sasuke did not meet her eyes when he said yes.

27. Blood

He came back to them broken and bleeding, a child staring at them through the cracks in his shell, and Sakura scrubbed his blood off her skin and wept because she could not stop him from dying on her kitchen floor.

28. Sickness

“I don’t know how to cure you,” the pink-haired doctor murmured, and Sasuke looked away from the mirror and the disease crawling up the back of his neck.

29. Melody

His mother sang to him once, when he was young enough for this to be acceptable; Sakura crooned a wordless little song in his ear and he closed his eyes and stopped breathing.

30. Star

“Make a wish,” Sakura said and Naruto obeyed, but Sasuke watched her trace the path of a star across the sky.

31. Home

Sasuke dreams of home: torn mats and blood caked in corners, cracks in the walls and shadows of bodies slumped against the ground; Sakura tugs on his hand, says something he doesn’t hear, and he thinks of her instead.

32. Confusion

“Guys are so hard to figure out,” Ino says with a sigh—try dealing with Sasuke, Sakura thinks dryly.

33. Fear

“Look at me!” she yelled, her eyes wild and a dark forest green that reminded him of snakes and death traps, failure and strength.

34. Lightning/Thunder

She found him outside on the roof, the rain plastering his hair to his cheeks, same place he was every time it stormed.

35. Bonds

“Come back,” she pleaded, “when you’re done, come back,” but it was more of an order than anything else.

36. Market

She wants everything it has, glass blown thin as spirits, jewelry that catches the sun, toys whirling on the table; a year later, Sasuke returns with Kabuto as his guardian, and someone enquires what happened to that nice, pink-haired girl he was with.

37. Technology

“My clan’s history always ends in blood,” he says, as if that is an excuse for the bullet lodged in his side.

38. Gift

Lee gives her flowers and jewelry and unconditional love; Naruto gives her smiles and affection and childish attention; Sasuke gives her nothing.

39. Smile

She turned to him and did not quite smile, but her eyes shone and the wind wove through her hair, and Sasuke felt his mouth curling into something he’d forgotten how.

40. Innocence

“I love you,” she said. “Isn’t that enough?”

41. Completion

“I’ll see it through for you,” Sakura promises his grave, a hump in the ground and a stone with his name carved into it by his brother.

42. Clouds

He sees her walking late out at night (coming after him, though he does not know that) and offers her an umbrella, protection from the dark clouds overhead.

43. Sky

Sometimes she looks up at the sky and manages to forget him.

44. Heaven

“Sakura,” he says, “wake up. It’s morning.”

45. Hell

She learns to ignore how heads turn when she passes them on the street—her teammate was the traitor, the betrayer.

46. Sun

Sakura tried to love Naruto, love him for his brightness and laughter and smile, but she loved to hurt herself too much.

47. Moon

The light shone softly on his face, made the shadows beneath his eyes deeper and his skin brighter, and Sakura crawled out of her sleeping bag and reached out to touch his mouth.

48. Waves

She splashed out into the ocean, laughing, the water frothing around her knees; she turned to him and called out, “Sasuke-kun, come on in, we’re all waiting for you!” and held out her hand.

49. Hair

Sakura smiled at him from across the room, her long hair hanging around her shoulders; Sasuke thought of dark hair and a clear voice, his mother bending over his knee as she tended to his scrape, and did not smile back.

50. Supernova

“Sakura,” he breathed out, warm breath fanning out against her cheek and eyes closed as he slept.

Avatar - "How Heroes Are Born"

2005-11-29T05:24:50Z

How Heroes Are Born
Fandom: Avatar The Last Airbender
Pairing: None
Rating: PG
Warnings: Mild spoilers for The Blue Spirit and The Waterbending Master
Summary: Zuko puts on the mask and does not remember how heroes are born.

There are certain lines you don’t cross. Zuko touched the first one the day he defied his father, demanded to spare the lives of young Fire Nation soldiers who believed in their Fire Lord.

Zuko finds the mask buried deep in his trunk, not quite at the bottom but close enough to be a secret. He does not remember it, but something inside him does.

He does not think about what it may mean, this blue mask of water in the trunk of a Fire Nation prince. Even if that prince is exiled and might never see his throne.

Zuko almost crosses a line when he picks up the broadswords (antiques with blades that hummed with the memory of blood) and slides on the mask, but he isn’t thinking of anything at this point. It all comes down to the Avatar, after all.

Zuko forgets about lines when he sees the child-Avatar, suspended between two pillars by rope, bound, but when his swords slice through the rope he thinks he hears something else snap. By then he and the Avatar are well out of the room and running.

Every Fire Nation child knows the story of the Blue Spirit, a mysterious hero who comes and goes in the darkness and frees the unjustly imprisoned. Zuko knows the stories as well as any other child and does not think of what the mask he did not buy means. The story behind two broadswords hanging over his mantle, hung there by his uncle who holds more secrets than wisdom.

Zuko slips away, back onto his ship filled with men that will not betray him, and does not realize how legends are born.

Months later, a bird screeches by the window of the ship. He can hear fire sizzling across string, burning and devouring and consuming, and even then he does not think. The ship explodes in flame but Zuko is a Fire Nation prince, and he has never been afraid to play with fire.

He does not have the time to realize that playing with fire is what gave him his scar.

The mask he pulls onto his face is made of iron. Red paint marks his helmet and he hides himself behind it, unthinking of what this all means, but then the North Pole comes into sight and his eyes fall onto the blue mask he has not seen in months. His uncle’s plan forgotten, he picks up the mask and pulls it on. Zuko has no broadswords, but a firebender has no need of weaponry.

He fights by the Avatar unthinkingly, hating Zhao and hating Ozai, hating what his life has become, and does not realize how heroes are born.

Art - "Elf"

2005-11-27T21:28:12Z

Scribble: Elf Fairy Puck Thing
Category: Random Ori
Character: Original (Puck/Random Fairy)
Notes: This took forever to draw. Partially because I wanted to see if those online manga guides really were useful or not. Eh, not really when it came to the features, though it really helped out with proportions. Not that that stopped the hand from being OH SO UGLY, but mmk.

Loveless - "Understanding"

2005-11-27T04:53:49Z

Understanding
Fandom: Loveless
Pairing: Soubi x Ritsuka (main; hinted Seimei x Ritsuka)
Rating: PG
Warnings: Anime-based; takes place in same universe as Everything And Nothing and Scripture.
Summary: He loved Seimei and always will, but he's learned one thing, it's that he needs to move on. He loves Soubi now.

Ritsuka doesn’t understand Soubi and Seimei’s relationship.

He doesn’t understand why people say he is nothing like Seimei because how can he want to become anything else? How can he ever hope to remember his brother if he does not, in any way possible, become him?

Soubi does not speak of Seimei often, but when he does, the shadows in the corner of the room stretch forward and pass across his face, his hands spasm as if he does not think Ritsuka will notice. Ritsuka does, because lately he notices everything about Soubi, even the way his hair swirls around his neck and shoulders and the bandages only accentuate the length of his neck. Even the scars spelling out Beloved fascinate him, despite—because—of their ugliness, the imperfection that makes Soubi human.

Seimei never mentioned Soubi, not once, never brought him over. Ritsuka can understand that because sometimes he fights the urge to lock Soubi away, imprison him in a glass cage so he’ll never leave him, not the way Seimei did and not the way he fears Yayoi and Yuiko eventually will—

Except Seimei once kissed him, a light brush of his lips against Ritsuka’s forehead (he shivered because Seimei’s skin was cold and his eyes had gone black in the darkness of the night, the air whispering of things he had been and still was too innocent to understand), and he’d whispered that Ritsuka was his most precious person, I love you I love you I love you don't ever forget that. Ritsuka didn’t believe he was lying then and doesn’t now, but, then, what was Soubi to Seimei?

Because Soubi loved Seimei, still loves him now (he only serves you because Seimei told him to and you look like him, but Ritsuka banishes such thoughts), and Seimei’s mark of ownership will never vanish.

If Seimei did not love Soubi, if Seimei did not look at Soubi the way Soubi looked at him, then who did he love?

Me me me me, a small part of Ritsuka chants. He loved me because he was my brother and I loved him and I wanted him to love me as much as I did him me me me but that is childishness and Ritsuka cannot be weak. He cannot stand to fail Soubi, cannot stand Soubi protecting him because

“Stop protecting me!” he yells, slapping Soubi’s hand away from his face (it sounds like a gunshot in the aftermath of the spell battle) and trying to ignore how the blood dripped all down his back and stained white cloth like paint on a canvas
he isn’t weak. He can protect himself, he’s strong enough, why won’t you trust me?

One day, Ritsuka will ask Soubi about Seimei and will not order him to tell him because Soubi breaks his promises so much that the pain has dulled over into a throbbing ache like an infection. He wants Soubi to tell him on his own, to trust him with that much, at least.

Because Ritsuka loved Seimei and still does and always will (he iswaswillbe my brother i can’t just stop loving him don’t you understand yamato-san? you may say he was cold and cruel but he was my brother and i loved him) but the past is the past. If he has learned one thing, it is to let go. He loved Seimei but now he loves Soubi.

“Ne, Soubi…”
“Hmm?”
“What was Seimei like?”

crazy_as_a_fox @ 2005-11-24T13:43:00

2005-11-24T21:44:37Z

I have the very bad feeling I'm going to be watching a whole lot of Naruto soon. Because, clearly, I've gone insane and Poison has taken over my life.

Also, the day I remember Farsight and try working on it is the day I realize it was also on my laptop and I don't remember what I wrote, I just liked it a lot.

Rrrr.

Naruto - "Poison"

2005-11-24T09:47:45Z

Because I felt like writing an Itachi-didn't-kill-the-clan AU. :) But with a very important change. And, er, the title's a working title.

Poison
Fandom: Naruto
Pairing: Itachi x Sasuke
Rating: PG13
Summary: AU. Sasuke never became a ninja.

CHAPTER ONE

The child was trembling, fists clenched and chin thrust forward, legs shaking as if they could no longer support his weight. His lips moved as he said something to himself, promising something he’d never fulfill. The man leaned against a tree and crossed his arms over his chest. Watched, because that was what he was good at. It was what he was supposed to do.

The sky overhead grew dark and the stars twinkled faintly. The child’s fingers bled and his knees were scraped from falling and tripping and stumbling in his weariness. His hair stuck to his cheek. A cut had opened up on his lip and blood moved down his chin in a sluggish trickle. The man waited for him to give up, because that was what young children did when they didn’t get their way.

The child didn’t give up. He ran out of kunai so he walked over to the target and pulled them out, wiped them off on the grass and returned to his spot. He tucked them into his holder and pulled out his shuriken. He was swaying, weaving back and forth on his feet, head bowing in exhaustion and jerking back up in determination.

The man stepped out of the shadows, away from the tree. In the moonlight his face was younger and less lined by shadows, and he looked less like a man and more like a boy. He sighed, deep and heavy in the darkness. The child looked up, surprised.

“Sasuke, it’s time to go home now.” He reached for Sasuke’s hand. Sasuke’s palm was small and his fingers almost disproportionately long. His guardian could crush them beyond repair right now, render him crippled and betrayed but- safe. Beyond the reach of men who looked at a twelve-year old child and saw failure.

Sasuke looked up at him questioningly. “Shisui-san?”

Shisui did not smile. Sasuke felt unease stir in him briefly, but brushed it away. Shisui-san was looking after him and Sasuke should trust him, even if they were not overly fond of each other. But not too much, he added silently, remembering Itachi’s words.

Shisui’s grip tightened. Sasuke squirmed a little, but refused to complain. “I’m old enough to walk myself home,” Sasuke said.

“Sure you are,” Shisui said and made Sasuke walk faster to keep up with him. “You think I’m out here because I want to be?”

Sasuke glared at him through his bangs. “You’re here because of Itachi,” he muttered, not quite underneath his breath. “You’re here because Itachi asked you to.”

“You’re twelve. Don’t act like such a brat.” Shisui knew he held Sasuke’s hand a little too tight for comfort. He could feel the bones grinding in his grip, blood struggling to reach long fingers.

Shisui knew seventeen ways to break a man’s hand and thirty-nine more to cripple them. An extra fifteen to render the hand beyond the skills of all but the best of medic-nin. Trapped in his grip like this, Sasuke left himself open to attack in seventy-nine different ways.

It would be easy. All Shisui would have to do was twist his wrist fifteen degrees to the left and ninety degrees down. There would be no snap, instead the crunch of bones relocating themselves awkwardly. Sasuke would fall to the ground and Shisui would help him back home, tell him that next time he should be more careful about how he landed. Training accidents, he’d emphasize, could be nasty. Fatal, sometimes.

Itachi would be angry, but there’d be no denying the fact that he’d be pleased. He would kill Shisui unless he saw the logic behind his actions- and he would.

Shisui shook his head and laughed. He didn’t even like Sasuke and hated mercy killings. There would be no point.

“Now what are you thinking about?” Sasuke asked, glaring. Shisui let go of Sasuke’s hand and ruffled his hair, making it stick up even more until he looked like a hedgehog.

“Nothing important, brat,” Shisui said.

If Itachi wanted Sasuke…put down…then he could do it himself. Shisui liked Itachi, there was no doubt about that, but that didn’t mean he’d do his dirty work for him.

*

“Sasuke, what on earth were you doing out so late?” Mother’s eyes narrowed as she glanced at his dirty clothes and scraped up skin. Sasuke swiped at the blood on his chin belatedly, realizing how he must appear to her. “Training?” She smiled at Shisui distractedly, more focused on examining Sasuke’s nearly black fingernails. “Shisui-san, thank you for returning him to us. I hope it wasn’t any bother.”

“Nah,” Shisui replied easily. “It’s no problem.” He glanced at Sasuke, amused. “Just doing my—civic duty.”

Sasuke muttered something dark under his breath.

“Sasuke! Apologize to Shisui-san this instant.” The light coming from inside the house turned Mikoto into a silhouette of herself, standing framed in the doorway. Her shadow stretched on and on. Sasuke looked smaller than he had before, thinner. Weaker.

“Sorry,” Sasuke mumbled. “See ya later, Shisui-san.”

Mikoto gave Shisui a small bow, taking Sasuke by the shoulders and leading him inside. “Would you like to come inside, Shisui-san?” Shisui hid his grin, amused at the change from mother to host. He shook his head.

“Like you said, it’s getting pretty late, and I’ve got to get back to my own house.” He gave a polite bow and waved to Sasuke, who glared at him through his eyelashes.

The door slid shut as Shisui turned away.

Sasuke took off his shoes and arranged them neatly on the mat. His legs were shaking badly, exhaustion catching up with him. He swayed back and forth, head throbbing, vision swimming. Somehow, being with Shisui-san had made him forget how much he hurt all over and how much trouble he was in now.

Mother pursed her lips. “Go take a bath,” she said, “and go to sleep. Your father will speak with you in the morning.” She pushed him gently towards the bathroom.

Sasuke undressed and sat on the edge of the bathtub, waiting dizzily for the water to heat up and fill the tub. He could feel bruises forming already, across his chest and back and the sides of his legs, most from falling out of trees or being unable to keep enough chakra flowing to let him resist gravity for a while.

He slipped into the tub with a splash. Water sprinkled Itachi’s clothing and skin. Sasuke glared at him sleepily.

“I thought I locked the door.”

“You did.” Itachi helped him scrub the worst of the dirt off. His voice was low and smooth, his eyes calm. Sasuke studied his face and could find no hint of anger or blame, but he had never been able to read Itachi’s moods.

Sasuke let himself relax, leaning against the railing of the tub and breathing in the steam. Sometimes, he thought he would drown in here one day and not mind at all.

“You don’t need to send Shisui-san to spy on me, you know. I’m twelve,” Sasuke said. He cleared his throat. Itachi stopped scrubbing him, waiting until Sasuke’s coughing fit subsided. They pretended not to notice that the fit lasted longer this time, or that Sasuke ducked his hand underwater to hide the blood splattered on it.

“Did you take your medication?” Itachi knew the answer, but waited for Sasuke to respond.

“I didn’t feel like I needed it today,” Sasuke mumbled, avoiding his gaze. “Thought I could just take double tomorrow.”

Itachi sighed. It reminded Sasuke of Shisui for a moment and the sudden, deep irritation welling up in him surprised him. “You know it doesn’t work that way, little brother.”

“Never said it did,” Sasuke said, staring at the water. He could feel his tiredness evaporating in the face of Itachi’s exasperation, replaced by sullenness he never seemed to outgrow.

“Sasuke.” Itachi slid one finger beneath Sasuke’s chin and tilted it up so that their eyes met. Sasuke scowled, folding his arms over his chest, not daring to break eye contact. “Take your medication.”

“Why should I?” Sasuke countered. “Everyone’s just waiting for me to—“

“Sasuke.”

Sasuke bit back a retort, knowing it made him seem petty and immature. Itachi nodded and drew his hand away, standing up. He handed Sasuke a towel and left the bathroom, the door closing behind him with a soft click. Sasuke stood up, the water dripping off of him, sliding down his body. His legs shook and his body trembled. When he breathed his chest rattled. He tried not to think of it as a death rattle; but, a small part of his mind whispered treacherously, it might as well be.

When he was younger, Itachi had helped him out of the bath and dried him, watched him dress and carried him to his room. Sasuke had protested at the treatment, insisting that he knew how to dress himself and walk and could do it on his own. Itachi acquiesced and Sasuke struggled to keep the privilege. Every time his father had seen Itachi helping him, the lines around his face grew deeper and the frown deepened. Mother flinched and held a hand close to her heart, as if something pained her there.

Sasuke hated it. He would walk to his room on his own, because he may have been sick—dying, the medic-nin said to Father when he thought Sasuke asleep, he hasn’t got much longer to live, and the words clawed deep, bleeding beds inside of him—but he wasn’t helpless. He was Itachi’s brother and he may not have been a ninja, but he wasn’t a civilian or an invalid either. He would survive.

Sasuke kept one hand along the wall to support himself all the way back. He nearly tripped and the shadows moved forward, but he caught himself and it had only been his imagination.

Supernatural - "Girl In A Man's World"

2005-11-09T05:37:49Z

Girl In A Man's World
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Implied Dean x Sam
Rating: PG
Warnings: Implied incest (who's surprised? haha)
Summary: She wants to know how she could ever have doubted him.

Jess isn’t sure what to think of Sam anymore. But she lets him go anyways, because everyone’s got their secrets, and not because she sees the way he and his brother look at each other, and all the things he never said click into place.

She loves Sam, who nearly hit her the first time she called him Sammy. “Just—don’t,” he explained, shaking. “Don’t call me Sammy.” He looked at her then, and his face went pale as his eyes went wide, and he touched her with trembling fingers. “I’m so sorry,” he said.

When she meets Dean, she thinks maybe Dean called Sam Sammy, once upon a time, hears him say it and Sam’s automatic response. But nothing like the violence he showed her, and that makes her stare at Dean who gives her a smirking, sleazy grin, moving away from Sam—he’s mine and I don’t have to mark him to prove it, he seems to be saying, but she passes it off as her imagination—and looking her up and down, making her feel naked.

Sam stands by her, seconds before he leaves her. Jess watches him go and feels like she can’t do anything to stop it, remembers the old saying about people and letting them go, and she needs to see it. Needs to believe, so badly, that he’s hers. That he loves her as much as she thinks she might love him.

“I’ll be back Monday,” he promises. She nods then, kisses him and watches Dean watch them. She has to believe he’ll come back, that he doesn’t return the look Dean gives him.

Sunday, she waits for him and does not admit to herself how worried she is. Cookies out of the oven, a little note for him that she reads three times over, making sure it betrays none of her fear. Do you love your brother more than you do me? she wants to ask.

The door opens and closes. She turns around, sees his silhouette in the doorway, his back to her. She smiles at him, relief welling up from deep inside her. She wants to know how she ever could have doubted him, how she could have ever seen Dean’s hand on Sam’s arm and two brothers that stood too close together. She loves him. He loves her.

“Sam,” she begins, but then his face comes into the light and it’s not Sam.

She screams, even as she knows that Sam will not come.

Supernatural - "Full Circle"

2005-10-25T20:20:43Z

Full Circle
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: None (gen)
Rating: PG13
Warnings: Mild profanity, some disturbing imagery, spoilers for Pilot
Summary: Whatever choice you had, wasn't really a choice at all. Sam-fic.

And, really, what kind of choice had it been? Find your father--save your father--or go back to your picture-perfect life. Go back to the girl you think you're in love with, the girl who you might spend the rest of your life with, or spend your life running around shooting at shadows.

No choice at all, really.

So you'd gone back, and if you thought hard, you could still taste the cookies in your mouth. Not perfect, but close, home-baked and warm and fresh and--

You don't eat a lot of sweets lately, because when you do you think of the way Jess' cookies tasted and the drop of blood sliding down your forehead. You think of flames and a blond woman burning, reaching out to you above your head.

You eat only when you have to, when your body might break down or when there's no other option. You choose the scraps even then, the things that you would never have touched. As long as they're not sweet, as long as they're not warm, you won't remember.

It's not enough.

Wake up screaming, remembering not the death of your mother, no flames and no drops of blood against your pillow, but instead a shadow over your bed, staring down at you with hungry, hungry eyes. Darkness reaching out to brush your cheek, hovering just above your skin. Little baby boy gurgling, unafraid of the shadows because he hasn't yet learned what's out there.

Close your eyes and know that he will, that you did, that when there were monsters beneath your bed, your father believed you. Look around and realize that you were a freak, that normal people didn't believe in monsters in their closet and underneath their bed.

Remember the metal against your cheek, Dean leaning over you and telling you how to hold the gun, how to position it. Your arms shaking as much from fear as from the weight. Too heavy to lift, a nine-year old with a gun in hand ready to shoot the monsters. Opening the door slowly, finger trembling on the trigger and knowing that you weren't likely to get another shot. Eyes leering and claws dripping, and you are afraid of the dark, because there's only so much of it you can kill before it kills you back. Neighbors calling and asking about the shot they heard, is everything all right, and you're only a little, trembling boy whose brother is saying what a damn good job you did, you little shit. Burn the body and pretend it's a barbeque, only nobody's eating.

Get out while you can. The darkness is unlimited and you've only got one life. You'll be damned if you're going to spend it all chasing after shadows, looking for the murderer of a woman you don't remember.

You never had anybody. You have no memories of beauty and quietness and grace, of anger and disappointment and love. Just Dean and Dad, sitting with their backs to each other and guns held ready in hands, staring deep in the shadows and believing it's not staring back.

This isn't living. This is hiding, this is dying slowly, because every time you shoot the shadow, you let the shadow shoot you back. And the shadow is faster, the shadow is stronger--the shadow is older. Argument like that, the shadow wins.

You leave and you don't tell them, not until you're safely in Stanford and your palms are sweaty and your mouth is dry, and you think you might throw up because you're that nervous. Dean picks up the phone, yells at you, talks to you, tries to make you come back. Asks when you'll come back, when you're going to stop being this stupid because we're not normal and this is your life as much as it is his, sounds like he's going to kill you. You say he sounds like an abusive husband, and that shuts him up long enough for Dad to take the phone.

"You don't walk out on this family and expect to be welcomed back in open arms," Dad tells you quietly. You can hear the disappointment, hear the fury. "You don't turn your back on this family, ever." First lesson he taught is that family's most important, that family is the only thing you can trust. You feel guilty, but you've worked too hard for this. You won't let go now, you can't spend your life afraid. If you pretend you're normal, maybe the shadows will let you go. Maybe, you can forget.

Four years later, the shadows drag you back in. Woman in White clawing at your chest, lips cold against yours. Skull face grinning at you, and you realize that no matter how good of a team you make with your brother, no matter how much you want to save your father, you can't do this. This can't be your life.

You go back and you're breathing in relief, normalcy, and the shadows can't touch you here. Cookies in your mouth, warmth and sugar and sweetness. You love Jessica.

Drops of blood on your shirt, girl reaching out as flames bathe her body. Your brother, dragging you away, arms locked tight around your body and this is the safest you've ever been, your brother saving you and you're together and this is family, family is most important, old lessons ringing true in your mind.

You realize what Dean has always known, what Dean and his father tried to tell him. You can't turn your back on the shadows and expect them to do the same for you.

Bitter, turning your insides dark and bloody. The gun in your hands is not as heavy as you thought, and your fingers remember the long, slow pull of the trigger even if your mind does not. Your body rocks back against the recoil of the gun. Don't breathe the gunsmoke. Don't get too close to the fire as you melt the silver. Be careful or you'll burn yourself as you shape the bullet.

Close your eyes, and pretend you didn't feel shadow fingers against your cheek as Jess burned above.

edit: Tense changes corrected. Hopefully got all of them. ^^ ~~gawd i hate second person~~

Art - Caged Bird Singing

2005-10-24T02:48:28Z

Uh. Yeah.

...I should have done a cover first. But, anyways, I was in an art-webcomic mood today, and drew the first three pages of a very weird story.

(For the record, this looked a lot better on paper. My tablet skills--lack thereof--totally killed what little merit these comics had.)

Caged Bird Singing

Page 01
Page 02
Page 03

Batman Beyond - "Tabloid"

2005-10-09T22:15:59Z

Tabloid
Fandom: Batman Beyond
Pairing: Alleged Bruce Wayne x Terry
Rating: PG13
Warnings: Implied pedophilia. Nothing major.
Summary: His brother's keeping secrets. Matt is worried.

He isn't stupid, you know.

He lives in Gotham. He's alive. His brother beats up and is beaten up by Jokerz, comes home every day thinner and more exhausted and. He's his brother.

Matt isn't stupid.

Terry started working for Mr. Wayne three years ago. Terry, of all people, who he guesses is good-looking (because Lisa had a giant crush on him and it was getting kind of annoying, losing out to his big brother); who isn't rich or special, just his brother and really. Really. Annoying.

Matt isn't deaf.

Terry knows what they whisper behind his back, that he's Bruce Wayne's fucktoy. And Matt hears them too and he--wonders.

He thinks about life without Terry. He thinks of a life that has no older brother picking him up from school and making fun of him, rolling his eyes and slouching in his room like he's still in highschool. It really. Sucks.

And. Terry never mentions the rumors, but he comes home every night. Bleeding and bruised and sometimes he doesn't come home at all. Because he's been working. All night. With Mr. Wayne.

Matt trusts his brother, but he's not stupid.

He knows that his brother's always been secretive. Private. And after dad died, it only worsened. But.

There's something going on between Mr. Wayne and Terry.

Corpse Bride - "Cliche"

2005-10-09T21:54:50Z

Cliche
Fandom: Corpse Bride
Pairing: one-sided Emily x Victor
Rating: PG
Warnings: ...necrophilia?
Summary: Love is a cliche. But.

She loves him.

She is a cliche and her love is a cliche. Were she alive, she would have fought for him, would have clung to him and spat in the other girl's face. She's not cruel, she's not evil, she just. Needs.

She's not alive. She hasn't been alive in years. She has no right to him. That other girl, Victoria, with her perfect name- Victor and Victoria, like siblings instead of lovers- will not love him like she had. Does. Will. Victoria does not know waiting to return, does not know how it feels to be stabbed in the heart by the person who owns it.

Except. Except.

Emily cannot stand the idea of hurting someone like Lord Barkis hurt her. It makes her eye roll away from her, her fingers pick themselves apart in agitation. She won't do that. Can't.

She is a cliche. A dead girl in love with a living boy. In love. Love is a cliche. And Emily is not quite enough of a romanticist to believe that true love cures all. Just. Everything that matters.

Victor matters. Victor is important. She'll wait for him.

She's dead. She has all the time in the world.

Firefly - "River"

2005-10-06T04:30:12Z

River
Fandom: Firefly
Pairing: River/Simon
Rating: PG13
Warnings: Incest
Summary: He is the first to call her River.

He calls her River, and the others follow him. She knows what a river is, knows that it's synonymous to Brook. She tries out Brook in her mind, plays with it for a while, but the image it brings is light, bubbly, happy. Names are important, she knows. She is not Brook. But Rivers--Rivers are calm and simple on the surface, dark and churning beneath, rocks ready to slice open feet.

He calls her River, and himself Simon. She thinks of nursery rhymes--Simple Simon Met A Pieman Going To The Fair. He is simple, straightforward mind and straightforward emotions, but there is something strange about his eyes when he looks at her. All these things she doesn't understand, feelings called love and tenderness and care. She is supposed to bloom under his touch, turn into this person he remembers. She is not the one he loves, not the one he wanted to rescue.

"You found the wrong girl," she tells Simon. He won't understand.

Simon's eyes are hurt. Stars in the black, out of reach and barely in sight. Nothing can ever hurt them again. His hands reach for the drugs, and she would hate him for it where he not so gorram convinced he was helping her. His love is real, his cures are not. She fights but does not mark him, and the needle slides neatly into her arm and she steadies herself.

Her eyes are clouded and she cannot see the way she is used to, the way they made her. But there is still Simon, bending over her, voice washing through her body like Serenity's low hum. She opens her eyes and smiles. She is blind and deaf, cannot hear and cannot see, not the way she needs to. No more minds pressing down on hers. She is the only one inside herself.

The only person she is right now is herself, and she still loves Simon. It's the only real thing left in the world.

***

Doesn't love her like he loves Kaylee, she thinks. Doesn't love Kaylee, not as much as he wants to. Infatuation with long fingers and a clever mind, Kaylee doesn't love him as much as she believes. Wants to love him and thinks she does, but infatuation. Serenity knows so. Simon wants to love her, thinks she should. All scarred and beaten up, bruises and blood, doesn't know what to do with himself. If Kaylee can fix Serenity, can hear her whispering and talk right back, then she can fix Simon. River knows more about her brother than he does himself.

Brother. Sister. Words that don't mean anything but the blood in their veins, and blood is nothing. River knows about blood. Shed enough of it, and they'll replace it with someone else's. Not brother and sister anymore.

Creeps to Simon's side at night, curls tight into the curve of his body and drowns in his warmth, his mind a soothing hum of family and blood. When he's awake it's the hum of a hospital, needles plunging in and out of flesh and surgeons watch on, dispassionate. But his dreams are filled with memories, and they reach out, engulf River in their love and warmth. She kisses him as she slips into the bed, his eyelids and his forehead, trying to show his dreams who she is. Her hair falls over his face, shadows on his skin.

Simple Simon, blind Simon, doesn't see what he should see. Calls her River because that's who he wants her to be.

One day, Simon will turn away from Kaylee. Will realize that he hurts her and that she hurts him, and that he loves her but not the way he thinks he did. River soaks up warmth and listens to Serenity murmuring in the background, and is reassured.

Firefly - "Boys And Girls"

2005-10-04T02:59:21Z

Boys And Girls
Fandom: Firefly
Pairing: River/Simon
Rating: PG for a kiss
Warnings: Crazy space incest
Summary: Understanding, but no comprehension.

River remembers more than Simon thinks she does.

No blueberries staining her mouth and fingers, no correcting his papers and no memorizing the human anatomy with a young boy. Instead there are needles boring into her brain, little vials of blood marching through the assembly lines. Hundreds of her but only one body.

River knows the exact pitch of scream that will send Simon running, but not wake up the crew. River knows exactly how to push away the guilt, and how Simon smells of pine or mint, sharp and clear and easy to breathe. She inhales his essence, squirms their souls closer and tries to become one. His arms are warm and soft as they envelop her.

The nightmares are real, they always have been. But River is stronger than Simon believes--would like to believe--and when she closes her eyes and recalls her brother's voice, low and comforting and worried, it's easy to chase them away. Told Simon once that she hadn't thought he'd come, but what she really meant was she'd begun to forget. Dinosaurs and Independant monsters, memories of brother and sister blurring into nothing. A boy and a girl, that's all they were.

Simon kisses her, sometimes. On the forehead, on the cheek, on the nose. His lips once grazed hers as he pulled away, but he did not notice. She never forgot. His breath is as warm as he is.

River crawls into his bed, sometimes. Curls tight around him like a blanket and tries to meld them into one being, kisses him when he sleeps and does not know. She knows what Simon would think and the thoughts will scrape across her mind, cut slices of hurt and pain from her flesh. Can't take that from Simon, not Simon. River does not understand; a boy and a girl, that's all they are.

Firefly - "Endless"

2005-10-03T00:38:02Z

Endless
Fandom: Firefly, The Sandman
Pairing: Slight bits of crazy space incest (a.k.a. River/Simon)
Warnings: Spoilers for Serenity. Mild. Confusing.
Rating: PG13
Summary: River has a dream. Lucid dreaming, they say, but wHAt DOeS reALIty MEaN aNYwayS?

She steps forward daintily, carefully, toes first like a ballerina. She presses down, transfers her weight from one leg to the next, then the ball of her foot where she balances, a dancer about to twirl. But she puts more weight on her foot, and her heel is against the floor. Repeat process, leftrightleftright. This is called walking, and River remembers when she used to dance.

Oh, everyone dreams, several times a night though not always remembered, never more than one. River does not like her dreams, and sometimes slips into someone else's. Kaylee, thinking of Simon, thinking of strawberries and the hum of Serenity, the hard, smug satisfaction when Serenity pulls through that'smygirl.

Tonight, she is in a garden. She is awake, but her real eyes are closed. Her dream eyes are open and she sees a man in a dark robe, reading. She cocks her head and balances on her toes, remembers pictures from a book she read when she was five (Simon laughed to see her practice so diligently, but there was nothing that did not come naturally to her, as she reminded him when she beat him at chess that day, or did that happen last year or the year after or at all) and does a grande plie. Pirouette. Her leg extends and she twirls, and the man does not look up.

She stops. "We're all going to die," she tells him, and the man looks up.

"All mortals die," he says. Blind leading blind, she thinks, preacher leading the way. Knows what'll happen and is waiting for the end, never knew what it's like to forget the future. "But that is my sister's jurisdiction, and not mine. Go." He waves his arm and she leaps back, graceful as a sword (but Simon, swords clank and hack, they aren't graceful at all, it makes no sense). She doesn't look back because he'll never stop reading from his book, not ever. Waiting for the end, remember?

The Reavers came, once upon a time. Wash iamaleafonthewind watchmesoar got them through but died in the end (spike gut him right through the heart Zoe didn't know how to mourn because it was just death death death everybody dies in the end, simon will too and so will you and who will be left then). Simon was shot, once upon a time, and River made her choice. Killed all the Reavers because of Simon, because they hurt Simon and she can't lose Simon. It's the only thing she knows, sometimes, only thing she can be sure of: she can't lose Simon. two children , lost themselves in the black and almost never returned . found each other and won't let go can't let go because if they do they won't come back.

"It wasn't his time, honey." A girl, all in black, hands and face like snow. Kaylee's smile and Kaylee's eyes, but older and wiser. Curling black ink beneath one eye and River cocks her head like a bird.

"Will never be his time," River says.

The girl's smile is kind, humorless. "It'll be everyone's time someday. And one day it'll be my time."

River's gaze is unblinking. "I know a thousand ways to kill somebody in a way that Simon can't cure."

"Is Simon your brother, sweetie?" Death--like Wash whose face has frozen and the image projector has recorded him for forever, caught in a smile and a glance at Zoe, or has that happened yet or will it happen or--knows the answers to the questions she asks, but that doesn't make them any less important.

River ignores her. She always does, unless she needs to look. "I can shoot myself with a gun but Simon'll make the bullets pop right back out, sew up the wound and it won't even scar. I can poison Mal and Simon'll suck the poison right out, replace it with his own blood pumping and living and sometimes food gets stuck in my throat but Simon'll take it out and I'll feel better. Kaylee can be crushed by a car and Simon will give her a new body."

"A doctor, huh?" Death laughs, all tinkling bells and dark humor. "I love doctors, but I have a job to do. When I come, he won't stop me."

"Simon doesn't like you," River informs her. Her eyes are large and dark, like Death's. No ink beneath one eye, no skin as pale as paper and hair as dark as space. No smile like Kaylee's and no kindness. "He hates it when he sees you."

"What about you, darling?"

"Everyone dies someday," River says. She wraps her arms around her knees, crouching tight. Her hair falls around her face, brushing against the floor. Her head hurts. She wants Simon, wants him so much.

"This is where I come in, sister." Slinking across the floor like a shadow, eyes gold and tail swishing behind it. Has no gender has no name and River rocks back on her heels, stands up and faces it and feels nothing, because she is a weapon and she can kill people with her mind. And weapons don't feel. If she's as graceful as a sword and as functional as a sword, then she is a sword. Simon is not there to tell her she is a person.

Death rolls her eyes. "She belongs to our brother's realm, Desire: she's a dreamer."

"Is she?" Desire is mocking Death, River knows. She can see their words spinning from their mouths like webs from the butts of spiders--spinnerets, voices tell her, spider webs sticky strong come from spinnerets located near their glutial area, threads not used only for webs but for building and nurseries, keeping little baby spiders safe so they can crawl and devour. Properly constructed, a spider's web can support up to twelve (12) times its weight.

Eyes like fire (liar liar pants on fire a little girl cries and her brother rolls his eyes) swing to hers. River blinks, once, twice. "She is not mine," Desire says, stretching languorously, never looking away, always on her. "Her brother, however..."

"Mine," River says, stretching her mouth to be like Mal's and her voice to be like Mal's. He says that sometimes, me and mine. Tells Simon (simple simon) that he and River aren't his, but he takes River back to the ship and defends her from Jayne (jayne jayne jayne she knew a girl named jane [no y {chromosome}] once), protects Simon and it's okay to let them die.

Desire laughs. Death is gone in the face of desire, though everyone knows who's stronger. She's nice like that. River tilts her head back and smiles to herself at Desire's sound of annoyance. "Mine," Desire corrects. "He loves you too much to be yours. Desires you whole and complete and the way you used to be too much to ever be yours."

River shrugs, balancing on the balls of her feet, moving back and forth, back and forth, swaying it's called. I am a leaf on the wind. "Simon is silly like that," she agrees. Remembers the way his body sprawled as Reavers snarled, blood spurting and bullet ripping, doctor down all hope is lost. Remembers seeing her brother's deathpainpaindeath in the faces of every Reaver, and killing them all. No one can hurt Simon. No one can take him away. Not from her.

Desire sneers. Lights a cigarette. River looks at the brand and does not recognize it, just a long white stick and a flame flickering at the end of it, hollows underneath Desire's eyes like shadows in Mal's when he thinks about valleys and why he lives on a ship called Serenity. River understands shadows, used to hide in them before they turned her into one. Simon wants her to dance in the light again.

"Spiders," she tells Desire, sheheit. Sheheit becomes shit. "Spiders with stickythin webs and little flies struggling as you creep down and devour but when all the flies are gone the spiders die too. The spiders are going to go away."

Desire laughs. "Spiders are spiders," sheheit says. Desire does not understand, too simple and too complicated. simple simon met a pieman going to the fair. Brother, soft and warm and solid, but spinning around and around until he's too dizzy to see straight. River remembers being like that but they took her apart and set her straight without even realizing.

Desire fades. In its absence, Despair arrives. River shrinks back, hands buried in her hair and she holds her palms over her ears though that does not block the sound, nothing blocks the sound. People come, pull her hands away from her head and she is strapped down on a table. Needles boring into her brain and the scars throb as scalpels cut into her skull, electricity pulsing over and over. Hum of people's minds as they press down on hers, secrets that aren't meant to be kept leaping into her mind. Second daughter of Prospero, Earth-That-Was and Earth-That-Never-Was, Miranda was. Words live on.

River's eyes are frozen open. She screams for someone, for anyone, for Simon big brother rescue me help me please Simon simonsimonsimon! I didn't think you'd come.

Take her away Lock her in a room with white walls Hands Of Blue Two By Two hands of blue two by two hands-of-blue-two-by-two handsofbluetwobytwohandsofblue

Screeching, squealing, blue-handed men with their sticks of sound, blood oozing out from under eyelids and through noses and ears bubbling up through the mouth choking drown in your own blood

hide in a corner hope they go away hope the nightmares end simon where are you simon isn't coming simon won't come simon doesn'tknowsimonwhereareyou?

crying

River's fingers tighten and she wants to scream but sparrows have no voices meant for screaming only chirping and whistling and wings flutter against windows

five years old and she sees a bird fly into a window in her dreams. thudcrash and the bird is limp, wings at a 72.5 degree angle unnatural as breathing stars. crunch the bird's bones go.

Despair breathes heavily through the layers and layers of fat. No sense, River decides, looking up from her past. "You're not mine anymore," Despair says. She snorts. River backs away. Too much in Despair's eyes, too many deaths and too much pain. River shakes her head.

"Nomore," she whispers, "nomorenomorenomore."

"Um, DeSPAiR?" A girl with River's eyes and sunshine hair, streaked with pink like flowers, standing with her hands behind her back and eyes lowered. Little girl about to be punished and knowing it. Bright splash of color in a world lit with blue, though Despair herself is the dullest shade of gray. River feels her mind splinter. "i THinK I maY HAVE loSt SoMethInG reaL IMPOrtAnt."

Despair looks at her.

"oH. Um, SOrRy," the girl says. Rocks back and forth on her heels, familiar. "BuT haVE yOu seEn mY doGGy? i LOSt hiM ON noA's aRC of flYInG WoNd.eRs."

"No," Despair says. Her eyes swing back to the scene, River trapped in a chair as men with blue hands try to understand how a genius works. Take apart her brain, put it back together. If we change this, will she change?

River climbs after the girl when she turns to go.

Makes no sense, she thinks as fish follow her around. She shrinks from them.

"WhO arE YOu?" the girl asks. River stares at her, mimics her position. Her thoughts are whirling, mind clicking away behind her eyes and producing incomplete data.

"Tam comma River," she recites. "Age 17 comma Relations colon Tam comma Simon parentheses brother semi-colon Tam comma Gabriel parentheses father semi-colon Tam comma Regan parantheses mother period." She breathes.

The girl blinks at her. Big eyes, one blue one green. On Earth-That-Was, they used to think green eyes meant madness. River knows what people think of her (hears it in their minds, lurking beneath the surface ready to bite at her when she's least expecting it, even Simon who she loves), but her eyes aren't anywhere near green. Shows what they know. (Logistics of eye color determining mental health and disposition prove false; connection is minor and societal. Has more to do with nurture and belief. Discontinue experiments.)

"havE yOu LOsT anyTHInG imPorTAnt?"

Pictures in her head, so clear and important but locked away where she's the only one who can see them. River lets out a little moan of impatience. So important, why won't anyone else understand?

"Fish," she tells the girl. "Fish swimming in circles chasing each other around." Above her, the fish mimic her words, hovering over her head. "Shed their scales and get out of the water and shake themselves dry. Cold, because they are naked, so they take leaves and cover themselves up, leaves become feathers and they learn how to fly."

"uM." The girl (name Delirium species N/A) thinks about this but the pictures in River's head are hers. Locked up so tight no one can find them but her, and she can't make anyone understand them. "cAN BIRds fLy iN ThE blACk?"

River flashes a smile. Birds above her head, perching in her hair. Rainbow skies and the floor doesn't stop moving. This is what other people think she is, but River and the girl before her know better.

"yOuR insIDEs keeP COmIng ouT of YOuR bOdy," Delirium notes. "doESn't YoUR bROTher keEp them In?" Long wires, shining tentacles made of metal, kind that Kaylee runs her fingers over and speaks to like it loves her back, spinning away from her stomach and hands and underneath fingernails. Like intestines, spilling out of her. Fingers or feelers (I'm not a bug, Simon), reaching out, letting her know the world. They don't belong inside her anymore, insides outside.

"Keeps messing things up," River hisses, furious. "Keeps coming in and poking around, putting everything back where it belongs. Stupid boy, doesn't know what he's doing, doesn't know what he has to do. Makes me sleep every night and doesn't realize that in a ship there is no gorram night."

"i HAvE a BrOtHer Too," Delirium hums. River loses her anger, can never hold on to it. Slips through her fingers little by little, impossible to control. It's okay, she doesn't mind. "I hAve LoTS of brOTheRs. Um. DeSIRe'S kINd oF mEAn thoUGH." Her attention is diverted, momentarily, by a large, dark shape.

"There you are," the dog says. "I was looking all over for you."

Delirium laughs, bright colors and portraits of family. She holds out her arms. The dog leans into them and she turns to River. "thIS iS My doGGy. my BROtHer GAvE HiM to mE."

River thinks of Mal. "Dog captaining space, going where his nose takes him." let's see what a man like you would kill for.

The dog laughs. Not logical, not at all. But maybe it's like Shephard Book's bible, take it on faith. Doesn't matter if Noah's arc isn't possible. No sense.
River is vaguely aware that her mind is disintegrating again, but it'll come back.

"i THiNk yOU shOULd Go nOw." Delirium looks faintly embarrassed. "yOU'Re noT suPPOsEd tO BE hEre, becAUse yOU'Re not REally oNe Of MiNe."

River understands. Worlds are melting together and people aren't where they're supposed to be. Rocks back on forth on her heels and decides she wants her combat boots, and when they come she laughs and remembers running around and around as Kaylee chased her. no power in the 'verse can stop me.

"i LIkE yOU," Delirium tells her. "sO. uM. thERE's ONlY oNe bROTher yOU havEN't mEt, unLeSs yOu CoUnT dESTruCTion. DReAm'S kINd OF nICE i guESs."

River thinks. Dreams are, "A series of images, ideas, emotions, and sensations occurring involuntarily in the mind during certain stages of sleep."

Delirium shrugs. "dON't teLL DreAM thAt."

River remembers some of her dreams. Hands of blue, two by two.

"Enough, Delirium." River turns around, sees someone who will tower over even Jayne. i can kill you with my mind. Reminds her of Desire, a bit, but this is Dream and he is an inverse of himself. River can see someone behind him, hair black and skin white, eyes shining like stars. This Dream is simply white and his eyes are sickcrazymadness green, but they contain stars like miniature novas, explosions going off in his eyes. Fireworks, they remind her. Dream turns his eyes onto her. "Who are you?"

"TaM coMMa RIvEr," Delirium says. "i THiNK shE's OnE oF yOUrs."

Dream looks straight through River, who fidgets, a seventeen-year old psychic with combat boots and long hair. She wants Simon.

"I see," Dream says. "River. You are not in the Dreaming. You may awake."

River awakes to darkness and nothing. There is no night in space. Serenity hums around her, a warm, living thing. i am serenity.

She wants Simon by her side, to hug her and tell her it will be all right. She could scream for him, loudly, like a nightmare has seized her mind in its teeth and won't let go, but then she'd feel guilty for all the stares shot his way next morning. She doesn't want to hurt him. She slips out of her bed--no combat boots--and into Simon's, curls up next to him and breathes him in.

"Wha--mei-mei?" He is awake in an instant, though his voice still tired. "Is there something the matter?"

"I had a dream," River tells him. He is warm. River could sink into that warmth forever, let it overwhelm her, drown her. His bed smells of him, soft and clean and nothing like a hospital. His hands are the color of flesh, not sheathed in blue. He travels two by two, but she is the other part and that makes it all better.

crazy_as_a_fox @ 2005-09-30T22:47:00

2005-10-01T05:50:17Z

Ee. compagnie has created a new comm called uchihafest, a request comm for the Uchihacest fandom, because we are NOT the horrible black sheep of the Naruto fandom (though I won't argue about the black sheep part unless bored).

...

If you haven't clicked already, go click now.

The end.

Naruto - "Mirror, Mirror, On The Wall"

2005-09-27T22:06:04Z

Mirror, Mirror, On The Wall
Fandom: Naruto
Pairing: Naruto/Saki-chan or Sasuke-ish...
Rating: PG
Summary: Sasuke. Saki-chan.

Sasuke has no mirrors in his room. His apartment has two bathrooms, and though the one he uses is on the other side of his suite, he makes the trip anyways because he understands that girls need their privacy. He needs his privacy.

Saki-chan’s closet has a full-length mirror on it, so she can see herself in her newest outfit and wonder what Naruto-kun will like. Over her dresser is a mirror, large and oval and framed in gold. She does her makeup in front of that mirror, but she always does it last. She doesn’t like it when Sasuke walks in on her changing.

Sasuke cleaned the guest room two months ago, when Saki-chan demanded him to. She doesn’t want to share rooms with him, and he only tolerates her because he never has to see her.

It was nice of Sasuke to give her the guest room, Saki-chan thinks, but dismissively because she doesn’t think much of Sasuke. She thinks he can be extraordinarily stupid, and she doesn’t like how sometimes, Naruto-kun looks at him and forgets her.

Sasuke cleans the nail polish off his fingernails religiously. It reminds him of his brother.

Saki-chan paints her nails patiently, knowing that she can’t have her way all the time and willing to wait until she can. If her nails are pretty enough, she can forget the scars and calluses that the long, frilly sleeves of her dress hide.

Sasuke has no use for Saki-chan. He thinks she’s an idiot, a stupid little girl who has no idea about fighting, about revenge and love and how far you can go in the name of avenging.

Saki-chan has no use for Sasuke. She thinks he’s an idiot, a stupid little boy too blind to enjoy the warmth of someone’s hand in his and too caught up in a world built for him by his brother.

Sasuke hates his reflection, too afraid of what he might see. Saki-chan never stops looking, too afraid she might start seeing him.

Naruto - "Farsight, Ch1"

2005-09-18T21:13:29Z

Farsight
Author: Ouvalyrin
Rating: PG13
Pairing: Itachi x Sasuke
Summary: AU. Things that go bump in the night are scarier when your brother’s one of them. Sasuke does not remember. Itachi does not forget. Loosely inspired by the Moments universe.
Warnings: Implied incest, implied child molestation (later)

chapter 1

Sasuke liked mustard.

He liked the way it tasted when he bit into a sandwich, with the yellow paste thinly spread out over a slice of bread. If he put too much it made his eyes water, and sometimes he did it on purpose. It stung his tongue, had a certain nasty, vicious bite to it that all other condiments and seasonings lacked; Naruto commented that it smelled bad, that it made him smell strange, but Sasuke brushed it off. Everything had its price.

Eating too much mustard was like dragging your nails down the inside of your arm; do it hard enough, eat enough of it, and after a while there was warm glow to it, almostnotquitemaybe friendly. Then it would fade, disappointing him, and he would have to do it over again.

Itachi had caught him doing that once. Not eating mustard, but scratching himself, over and over. His arm had not yet started to bleed—his nails were short, blunt, rounded—but it was red, a pale pinkish kind of color Sasuke wanted to enhance. If Sasuke had really wanted to hurt himself, he would have used a kunai, so he didn’t see why Mother had been so upset.

Itachi crouched in front of him, holding Sasuke’s wrists in his hands. “Don’t do that again,” he said.

“Why not?” Sasuke asked, cocking his head and staring at Itachi with quizzical eyes. His brother’s eyes were black. Sasuke wanted to see them red, two commas swirling in an ocean of blood, him and Itachi like fish or sharks, circling each other in the sea.

Sasuke would never tell anyone, but he knew why Itachi no longer used the Sharingan, and he knew why the men had come to their house. Itachi had almost killed them, would have killed them, but Sasuke knew his brother loved him and that was why he had not. He missed Shisui sometimes, because Itachi would fight him and Sasuke liked to see Itachi fight; but he’d never really liked Shisui.

“Because,” Itachi replied. He took a kunai out of his belt and slowly drew it down Sasuke’s arm, the blade sharp enough to cut him, but only a thin trickle of sluggish blood leaked out; Itachi was careful, because Itachi loved him. Sasuke flinched at the cold metal, which stung like fairy iron. Itachi tapped Sasuke’s forehead then, and his fingers were colder than the throwing knife. “Mother hates it when we hurt ourselves, so don’t do it on purpose.”

Sasuke loved Itachi, so he would do anything Itachi wanted him to. Sasuke trusted Itachi, so he would believe anything Itachi wanted him to.

He bandaged his arm and wore long sleeves until the scratch was nothing more than a scab, and then he pulled that off and flicked it away.

But now, of course, he was thirteen and knew better. This was called self-harm, and he was not supposed to hurt himself on purpose. Itachi’s skin no longer seemed cold, but was warm and the flesh of a living creature. Sasuke could hurt him, Sasuke could make him bleed. Sometimes he wanted to, because he was thirteen and he understood what Itachi did now. He understood that it was wrong and they were not allowed to, but Itachi did it anyways because Itachi was Itachi and Itachi was the best. Rules did not apply to him, but they did apply to his younger brother.

Sometimes, Sasuke thought there was something wrong with himself. Naruto said they were friends and would sling an arm around his shoulder, pull him close enough for Sasuke to smell ramen and milk on his breath. Sasuke shoved him away then, heart pumping fast enough to burst. He would try and regain his breath and his skin crawled.

“Don’t touch me,” he’d snarled out when Naruto first did that. He’d beat him up, until Kakashi-sensei arrived and pulled him off. He’d refused to apologize, whirling away like a child too proud to admit to a tantrum.

Kakashi had spoken with Father that afternoon. Father’s eyes had been cold and Sasuke waited to be judged, but first Father told him about disappointment and behavior fitting a member of the Uchiha. Sasuke gritted his teeth and listened, because he was thirteen and he hated his fatherbrothermothercousinfamily but sometimes Father would look at him like he was worth something, and Sasuke hated how that made him feel.

Kakashi told him to get used to it. Naruto kept on doing it, but with more hesitation than the first time. Sasuke’s skin still crawled and his muscles twitched and jerked with the effort of staying still, but Naruto could touch him now, come close enough to see the tiny grimace Sasuke’s face had at the smell of sour milk and ramen.

Itachi said nothing when he saw them walking together, Sasuke Sakura Naruto Kakashi. He said nothing about Naruto’s friendly arm and Sakura’s blushes; just nodded at Kakashi and continued on. He did not so much as glance at Sasuke, who never looked away from the path. Itachi brushed by him, so close that their fingers touched. Fingertips that brushed together could be forgotten. Itachi’s hair was only a little longer than Sasuke’s, but he did not bother to spike it. Sasuke was glad to be nothing like his brother.

Itachi was strong.

Sasuke was weak.

Sasuke’s expression was grim, the lines of his face carved in stone. Sakura thought it made him look determined and cool, like a movie star. Naruto thought it made him look like an old man, like the Hokage faces on the mountain. Kakashi never said what he thought.

That night, it rained. Sasuke sat in his room, staring out the window. He could never predict Itachi’s movements, but he knew what would happen. His fingers tightened on the windowsill, and he shivered. The rain turned the air cold.

The door slid open. Sasuke did not turn, and he did not hear Itachi’s footsteps as he entered the room. Itachi lay a hand on his shoulder. Sasuke flinched in spite of himself.

“Go to bed, Sasuke,” Itachi murmured. Sasuke thought about fingers that dipped onto his collarbone, a warm palm lying over his heart. His hand, of its own accord, reached up, as if to tug Itachi’s hand down. Their fingers brushed together. He lowered his hand, realizing what he was doing.

Fingertips that brushed together could be forgotten.

Itachi exited the room. Sasuke turned to watch him go then. His hands were shaking, and he let go of the windowsill.

I want…

Did it really matter what he wanted? He got up and moved to his bed, slipping under the covers. Itachi was—

three doors down to the right, bed pushed against the wall in the corner just beyond the window so the moonlight doesn’t shine on him and head by the wall so he can face the door and see who comes in before they see him

--his brother.

I hate you. I want to be you. I love you. I hate you.

Sasuke closed his eyes. The blankets were thick and the mattress soft. The window was closed, so none of the night air could get in, but he curled up tighter and could not get warm.

***

When Sasuke was eight he fell sick. He huddled in a tight ball of misery, sweat dripping off of him and eyes screwed shut against whatever demons haunted him. Mother had nearly gone insane, Itachi remembered. She wrung out cloth after cloth, folding them on his head in an effort to bring the fever down. Sasuke refused to open his eyes and the doctors did not know why. Father forbid them from taking Sasuke to the hospital

(he is Uchiha. he will stay here.)

(with all due respect, Uchiha-san, he will die here.)

(my son is not so weak. he will live.)

(he is a child. he is not itachi. he will not live.)

and it had been the first time Itachi ever heard him acknowledge Sasuke as his son. He thought it ironic, that only now did Sasuke receive the praise he’d always wanted.

“Your brother is sick,” Mother told him. She did not meet his eyes. Her hands were wrinkled and her hair fell into her eyes. She smelled of sweat and fear and exhaustion. Itachi wondered if this was what it meant to love.

She did not say anything more to him, but Itachi knew what she meant.

He went to see Sasuke, who was curled up in a corner. His hands were over his ears and his eyes screwed tightly shut. The room smelled of sweat and fear and exhaustion, but it was nothing like Mother.

“Sasuke.” Itachi crouched by him, for the first time uncertain of what to say. He reached out, and Sasuke gave a gasping little cry like a wounded animal. Itachi stopped.

“You killed them,” Sasuke hissed, his eyes still closed. “You killed them. I hate you!”

“Sasuke,” Itachi said. “Look at me.” Sasuke curled away from him, but Itachi forced him back. Unsure of what more to do, he began stroking Sasuke’s hair. Mother had done that, a long time ago. He had not seen the purpose of it, but it had comforted Sasuke the way logic had not.

He kissed Sasuke’s forehead then, smoothing back long bangs. Sasuke shuddered, and Itachi held him tighter. Beneath the sweat and the sickness, he smelled milk-sweet, as all young children smelled.

Itachi forced himself to relax.

“I didn’t kill them,” he said. “You’re hallucinating.”

Sasuke opened his eyes then. The lights were bright, so there was no mistaking the color they were.

Itachi released Sasuke, who clung to him—“you didn’t kill them you didn’t kill them you didn’t kill them”—with desperate, scrabbling fingers. He stood up and left, the door clicking shut behind him.

Sasuke closed his eyes and tried not to scream. When he opened them two hours later, they were black, and the fever was nearly gone.

***

Itachi was the genius of the clan. Nobody doubted this, because Itachi’s eyes and expression never changed, not even when Shisui died and they had been friends, and he was ANBU (everybody knew this because how could he not be?) and he was barely twenty.

Sasuke was the second and youngest son of the head family, but there was nothing in him like Itachi. But, Itachi thought, cold inside and furious like jealousy, Sasuke has the Sharingan. If only for a second, if only for a brief moment of foresight.

It made no sense. Sasuke’s current chakra reserves—large, for his age, but not enough—could not support their family’s signature eyes. Not when healthy, not when sick.

Father could not know. Itachi could see Sasuke’s life spinning before him, a long road that Father would change. His step quickened, stride lengthening, and he brushed past Mother, who was watching with dark, dark eyes.

He slowed, looking back to murmur a soft apology. Behind his eyes his mind worked, an imaginary go board appearing in his mind’s eye. He moved the pieces—clackclackclack of black and white stones on wood—and he knew he had to do next.

When Sasuke returned, confused and quiet, staring at him with wide eyes that were asking “did you kill them, brother?” Itachi asked him, quietly, what he remembered.

“Nothing,” Sasuke said, guileless. But he watched Itachi, cat-quiet and crouching in the shadows, and he flinched at Itachi’s footsteps. Itachi did not acknowledge this outwardly, and instead acted as if Sasuke had never fallen sick.

Slowly, Sasuke forgot why he was afraid. But when Itachi entered a room, Sasuke was the first person to notice, and he never stopped watching.

crazy_as_a_fox @ 2005-09-11T20:13:00

2005-09-12T03:13:16Z

Quick plunnie dump, since I have to go run off and do stuff now. ^^; Wah, I've been rather quiet lately.

Death Note/Petshop of Horrors x-over, inspired by aishuu.
Light and Daddy D meet
"There was a shadow hovering over the human's shoulder. He could see eyes there, leering at him, and if he listened closely, the crunch of teeth sinking into the flesh of an apple.
D remembered that gods were not the only strange things in the world, but he had never considered a human accepting that."

D.Gray-Man - "book"

2005-09-11T20:03:18Z

book
Fandom: D.Gray-Man
Rating: G
Pairing: None
Warnings: None
Summary: Rabi likes books.

    Rabi remembers being little, and the Bookman looming over him like a dragon or monster. Rabi remembers touching the spine of each book with trembling fingers, not at all sure about the rest of his life.

    Books have a certain smell to them, paper and ink melded into something that touches a cord in the back of Rabi's mind, tells him in no uncertain terms: this is a book.

    Rabi crouches in the corner of the library, smiling as his fingers seek out the best books. He builds them into castles, slowly, stacking them up. Then he sits and hides in the center with a fairy tale in his hands, and he reads about princesses and dragons and the noble knights who slay them, until the Bookman stomps over like a dragon- fire and steam, Rabi thinks dazedly, fire and steam- and knocks down his fortress with a single kick, and boots him out back into the real world.

Naruto - "Existentialism"

2005-09-05T16:55:02Z

Title: Existentialism
Authors: </a></b></a>compagnie and </a></b></a>kyouten
Rating: PG-13
Summary: In which Sasuke is not a drug addict (he can quit anytime) and Itachi does not like his little brother (and certainly not because said brother no longer needs him); welcome to high school with the Uchiha family, complete with as much bitchiness and angst and backplot as you'd expect.
Et cetera: Night time at the Uchiha household.

1 | first days are never good
interlude | night

Naruto - "Existentialism"

2005-09-05T04:53:04Z

Title: Existentialism
Fandom: Naruto
Authors: compagnie and crazy_as_a_fox
Rating: PG-13 - R
Summary: In which Sasuke is not a drug addict (he can quit anytime) and Itachi does not like his little brother (and certainly not because said brother no longer needs him); welcome to high school with the Uchiha family, complete with as much bitchiness and angst and backplot as you'd expect.

1 | first days are never good

crazy_as_a_fox @ 2005-09-04T18:34:00

2005-09-05T01:35:05Z

New writing journal! Which isn't to say that I'm abandoning this one, but it just means that combo projects with compagnie shall be posted at cracklove, and I shall be linking to it from there. So nyeh. :P

As a sidenote: we love crack. We love crack a lot. We ramble.

Be very, very afraid.

Naruto - "Exploration"

2005-09-04T06:54:32Z

Exploration
Authors: compagnie and kyouten
Fandom: Naruto
Pairing: ...uh, Itachi x Sasuke, maybe Naruto x Sasuke XD;;
Rating: PG13 (i guess)
Summary: In 1492 Columbus sailed the ocean blue. Welcome to the New World, Itachi. Don't let the barbarians get you, Sasuke! Naruto, put down that animal- I mean Sasuke, put down the Sasuke, he bites.

The wine had turned into vinegar on the thirty-third day. Itachi wrinkled his nose in disgust as he sipped at it, and then decided that he would rather eat the fish that had been caught three days ago. His father, Fugaku, was a decidedly stupid man. Itachi had warned, in a cool whisper during the summer months, that it was foolish to follow Christopher Columbus, a nobody with high aspirations, to some world that didn't even exist. The world, Itachi insisted, was flat, and no one could change that fact. Itachi was proven wrong on the thirty-fourth day. He let Sasuke take a sip of the now-vinegar in mock-celebration. The world Christopher Columbus had found was a terrible, strange place full of twisting vines and trees bigger than the ship's mast.

La Navidad. His new home. Itachi took Sasuke, his fourteen year old brother, by the hand. Sasuke was a man, but Itachi would not let him venture out into this new world without his guidance. Fugaku, an established gunner, and Itachi, a genius in the craft, were forced to stay and watch as the Santa Maria's topsail sunk from view as it disappeared into the horizon.

The sun was high in the sky and Itachi pulled at his shirt collar in irritation. They were instructed to build a moat surrounding their squat, improvised city, but no one wanted to listen to a person who had sailed away in a boat. The barbarians were nice. Itachi didn't believe any of it. Barbarians, no matter how nice they acted, were not friendly. He didn't trust them and his grip on Sasuke's hand tightened as he reluctantly followed his father to their home. The carpenter, a lazy man who smoked more tobacco than anyone Itachi knew, had taken three days to build it. They had spent those free days huddled in sheepskin and dirty, salty clothes. Itachi was beginning to miss civilization and he wondered if Sasuke did too, even if he never asked.

Sasuke had not asked to go on the voyage, or even known if he wanted to. Itachi had offered to bring him, his tone if not his words clearly stating that Sasuke would say yes. Father had objected- he would hinder them, slow them down, delay them- but Itachi had made his feelings clear. Either Sasuke went, or he did not. Sasuke, for his part, had said nothing; he would miss their mother, Mikoto, but did not mention this. He was nearly fifteen, and too old to cling to his mother's skirts.

Nearly fifteen, and still hiding in his brother's shadow. The thought made him flinch as it always did as he followed his brother, whose grip on his hand was borderline painful.

Overhead, the sun shone, bright. His eyes ached, pinpricks of painful red and orange dancing behind his eyelids if he looked for too long. He glanced at the ground, and saw that his own shadow was swallowed up by Itachi's.

The house was disappointingly small, but Itachi expected it. Everyone was pitching in to help the barbarians build their houses. The barbarians had offered, and they had all accepted their offer gratefully, and Itachi was glad for the help, even if he had the urge to kill each and every one of the offending dark skinned men with bad table manners.

He led Sasuke into the house, their father still outside talking to one of the men, and opened the collar of his shirt gratefully. At least in here there was some protection from the bugs, which had already killed one man. Itachi was careful to keep himself and Sasuke away from the rest of the villagers, fearful of the hacking, lung disease that ended with messy bowel movements and death. Yet, he wasn't inconspicuous, and helped out as much as he could: collecting dry wood, maize and water from the thick, hot forests.

The bed, hard and lifted off the ground, was only enough for one but Itachi slipped off everything except his undershirt and a pair of loose, thin pants and gently pushed Sasuke onto the bed. They would share, because father would have a bed to himself. He helped Sasuke with his clothes, smiling a bit at the boy's protest, because really, he shouldn't be helping but in this place, where nothing was familiar-not even the trees-Itachi couldn't help but be overprotective. After laying down, and pulling thick, weighty fabric over both of them, Itachi realized how bad they both smelled. At sea, the air was fresher and smelled of fish and salt. Here, in this small, stuffy space, not even perfume masked their smell. He closed his eyes; the room swallowed up in darkness as dusk fell, and thought of blood, the kind that pumped through Sasuke's veins---the skin that was warm beneath his hands.

Sasuke’s heart thudded alarmingly in his chest. He had not slept beside Itachi in years, not with Itachi’s chest pressing against his back and Itachi’s hand draped over him, and never with Itachi’s breath tickling the back of his neck.

He closed his eyes and nearly inhaled, but thought better of it and breathed carefully through his mouth.

Itachi was his brother. Itachi had always been his brother in every sense of the word- he protected, he cared for, he watched. Itachi had always been the first person Sasuke thought of, before Father and Mother and more important than them.

If he held his breath and listened hard, he could hear Itachi breathing. His imagination filled in Itachi’s heartbeat. Sasuke could remember what it had been like, to have been five years old and afraid of his nightmares, and the safety in his older brother’s arms.

Itachi had always been the strong one.

He shifted then, opening his eyes once more.

Itachi opened his eyes, staring into the darkness and at the pale neck in front of him. He licked his lips, throat tight, and closed his eyes once more. "Go to sleep, Sasuke," he breathed, feeling the faint hairs stir under his breath.

A loud thud and the door shut. A candle briefly flared the room into light before it was blown out. He heard the rustle of his father, as he got ready for bed, listening to each faint footfall and the tap of metal against wood, gun against bedpost. Itachi's own gun was set on the floor beside the bed, for easy reach.

He waited until Father's quiet rumbles died into the snore of sleep. Then, his hand drifted to Sasuke's hip in an overt display of protectiveness. It was… not entirely appropriate, but Sasuke was his brother and his responsibility. Such actions could easily be excused in his eyes.

Sasuke twitched at the gesture, his eyes widening. His brother’s hand was warm, almost unnaturally so, easily felt through the thin layer of cloth. He felt oddly vulnerable, weak, open, exposed. He shivered and pretended it was the cold (cold, Sasuke decided, even though the night was muggy and the air thick and slow), because Itachi was his brother and brothers did not make each other feel this way.

He closed his eyes and tried to sleep, but sleep did not come easily. He inched further away from Itachi and felt guilty for doing so; but he was not a child anymore, and there was something strange in the air between them.

Itachi let Sasuke scoot away, his own hand falling limp in the scant space between them. He evened out his breathing, and even as he slept, he was still awake and waiting. As he drifted off, the world blurring between dream and reality, at times, he could feel Sasuke shift onto his hand and then off again. Everything was bundled together, not making sense, and the screams in his mind intensified. Light bloomed, turning the world red and orange. He breathed in smoke.

Gun in hand, he swung out of bed, grabbing Sasuke with his free hand and yanking him off the bed. He heard his father stumble awake, curses on his tongue, but he didn't wait. The barbarians were attacking.

Sasuke’s eyes snapped open when Itachi’s hand closed around his wrist and pulled him forward. He stumbled to his feet, nearly tripping over his boots.

“What’s going-“ Smoke. And where there’s smoke, there’s fire… Sasuke’s heart leapt into his throat and he glanced at his brother for reassurance, all nervousness and apprehension forgotten. Itachi’s face had turned blank, stony, but his eyes glittered strangely. Sasuke looked down, quickly. The colors swirling outside in the form of fire lit up Itachi’s face. The gun shone blackly, metallic and bitter as his fingers tightened around the butt. Sasuke licked his lips, found himself pressing closer to Itachi, hand tightening.

"Quiet," Itachi said, voice calm as he steered Sasuke away from their makeshift house - away from their father - and towards the woods. Dark bodies painted blue and black with the smell of berries and charcoal flashed before him like quick, darting birds with their dangerous metal--- spear-like beaks. He ducked around the house, quickly losing his father to the screams around them. He hoped the old man died.

A flash of mute silver and Itachi staggered as the spear hit. A sideswipe that took him on the side, a shallow rip on his shirt that turned damp with his own blood. Itachi parried, his gun coming up to knock away the next blow and he pointed the muzzle at the dirty blond-boy. Blue eyes - European, he thought with shock - glared back at him. The boy's face scrunched up in a snarl and Itachi's eyes widened as a piercing pain ripped through his arm and Sasuke was snatched away from him. Control lost, he lashed out, hitting the boy on the jaw with the butt of his gun. He ducked a blow aimed for his head, grasping Sasuke's collar and tugging him closer. "Stay away you beast," he said, voice low and dangerous.

Naruto shifted on his feet, eyeing the metal curiosity and watching the two pale animals cautiously. His mouth pulled back in a grimace, showing off his sharp canines as a warning that the strangers did not take heed off. He jumped forward, striking the taller boy and grabbing the smaller. Small ones were easier to eat. Their neighbors that built the ugly houses had warned them away, but his tribe did not listen to them. They worshiped the wrong gods and had killed their previous chief.

Strike! he thought, and Kiba listened to his signal, landing a blow with a howl of justice. Naruto screamed in elation, grabbing hold of the smaller one and pulling him through the woods. Branches whipped as his face, even though he was surefooted, but the stumbling, struggling boy wouldn't allow him to move freely. He growled low in his throat, letting lose a few calls to his friends, and took his prize back to the camp. Smoke rose over the trees, filling the air with the smell of gunpowder, and Naruto didn't stop until he was safe at home, the strange animal tied and gagged, awaiting the judgment of the elders.

Itachi stumbled after Sasuke, even with his injuries, but not before killing that stupid dog boy with a swift, efficient cock and load-a bullet ripping through Kiba's heart. He felt satisfied as the dog let out a swift, strangled scream.

And then, he was shooting everything. Anyone and everyone. He pulled ammunition from his pocket, licking gun power and loading as quickly as he could. His fingers were stained black, and at one point, he watched as his father fell to the ground, missing an arm. He left, seeking shelter in the woods as the screams became quieter and more concentrated. He knew, after witnessing the barbarians attack, that there would be no survivors except for those taken as hostages. Sasuke.

The blood smeared on his arms and face made him feel calm, the acute pain in his side and shoulder helping him focus. He leaned up against a tree, holding his gun close, like a baby, and waited for daybreak.