A Little Less Conversation

The Pink Thread of Fate

tartha — Fri, 18 May 2012 06:57:58 GMT

A fun [OOC] drabble, because evidently spending 3 hours editing Kakashi/Iruka fandom makes One Piece dance around my brainmeats. /shakes head

I like to think that Sanji is a very cerebral person (when he's not busy dying from lust). I like this couple when they're violent and noble. Dunno how "fluff" came out of me.

I'm adding a small disclaimer to this. I really, genuinely, love One Piece, and I find any [serious] pairings immediately abhorrent. However, I think that many good stories have been told with a Zoro/Sanji theme, and my fangirly heart has been beating me into reading them (resist though I might). So I give in, because I find it enjoyable, but I do not believe that any character in the show should actually be with any other. One Piece (for me) is not about romance (unless you're talking about bromance, perhaps, or "a man's romance" in relation to fighting and striving and dying and whatnot), One Piece is about nakamaship.

The Pink String

They say--and, of course, when I say, ‘they’ I’m referring to the enigmatic presences which infiltrate and saturate the world in which I dwell--that we are connected to our destined lover by a thin red string. This string is thin but stretches wide and cannot be cut by any normal means despite it being a fragile-looking binding.

Over the years it has come to my attention that while humans are startlingly compatible with many people, and while they can live out their lives with various loves, the red string is not what is destined, but--rather--what has been created.

That is to say, since I do not believe in Destiny, I do not believe in True Loves, Destined Ones, or Soul Mates, but I do believe that the one who you cherish and who you fill the corners of your life with is, perhaps, your True Love by what you’ve made of your time with them.

Having said this, it is embarrassing to admit that I did not realize who my "True Love" was until I had already filled my life with him. Slowly, painfully slowly, I began to realize that besides my day-to-day routine, besides the big moments, besides the small ones, besides all the extra space in my head, my heart had filled with him.

Perhaps my head hadn’t noticed that he had taken up permanent residence in my heart because I always expected that couch to be filled with the delicate beauty of a woman, or perhaps I didn’t notice because he was quietly napping rather than making himself known.

Regardless, there he is, and there he’s determined to stay.

~-~

I like the color red. Red is the color of my captain’s coat, red is the color of ripe strawberries, red is the color of my alla pizzaiola, red is what I used to see when my soul mate and I argued.

Red is also the color of blood, which for this crew is a color filled with determination. We are all connected by the blood bonds of those who enter battle and live to tell the tale.

I am bound by strong red strings to all of my nakama. I would die for them, they would die for me, and we support each other as we all strive for our dreams.

So being connected by a red thread is a very important, but not a very unique thing.

But when I sit, one foot on the grass and another through the fence surrounding the upper deck, lounging with the warm weight of my destined one meditating against my side (if he were sleeping he’d be snoring), I know that we have created a bond between us that others might think was destiny from the very beginning.

That’d be cheating though, that’d be ignoring all the hard work that went into making this relationship what it is. And it was a lot of hard work.

No, despite how ridiculous it is, despite the fact that we are both men and neither of us is feminine (thank all the little islands in the Grand Line for that), I’ve decided that the thread that connects our hearts is pale red.

You see, pink is the only common shade of a color which is considered a color all on its own. And between the blushes, the pink-frosted birthday cupcakes, and the quiet sun rises... We’re surrounded by a lighter red than blood, something much sillier, brighter, soft, but no less serious.

Magenta perhaps. Because, really, ‘pink’ sounds altogether too gay.

A Short Story

tartha — Thu, 03 Nov 2011 06:39:44 GMT

In honor of my long absence I shall post a short piece of original fiction I wrote a couple years ago. I hope ya'll who read it, enjoy it. Feel free to add commentary. ^_^

Ghost Hunters

She sat and watched the birds circle lazily in the sky overhead, above her, above the clouds. She was young, somewhere between 15 and 16, but she seemed perfectly at ease by herself. Their white feathers reflected off of the bright cold light of the sun as they crossed the expanse in front of her. One faltered and fell.

“Ah...!”

But then the bird had fallen deep out of her sight beneath the clouds. After a while she stood and looked out over the tops of the rolling clouds. The rays of the sun stung her eyes. She turned back to the door of her home when she realized that she had been standing there for the sake of standing, and it was not worth the chill of the air when one is standing dramatically for oneself.

“Mae. Mae? Mae!”

The noise of her phone made her smile broadly to herself. She pushed aside the heavy curtain that she used as a door and pulled it back into place behind her as she slipped off her shoes and walked over to the junky phone. Her room was full of blankets and shiny knick-knacks. There was no order or sense of direction to the piles, but it gave off a comfortable feel even though it was dark and the walls were made of thin rusted steel that rattled in the wind. The screen of her phone was covered by a dirty piece of cloth and when she moved it aside she could see clearly Angelina’s impatient face—her fingers drumming against her upper arm in the manner they always did when she was ‘extremely vexed.’

Mae leaned forward and pushed the small knob under the screen. “Yes Ann?”

“Marcus took too much powder. Get down here now.”

“It’s possible he’ll come up with something useful this time. Drug him yet?”

“No Mae, but you’re the only that can handle him if we don’t get the information soon. Get down here.” After another irritated tap of her fingers Angelina’s image glitched out of existence.

Mae stopped herself from sighing dramatically as she looked around her room— affectionately called The Crows Nest—for the shoe that matched the one that had been on top of her phone screen.

Mae grabbed her coat and pulled it on as she moved through the door and clambered down the metallic grating to her Sails. She swung her helmet on and jumped on the curved round disk of her Sails and jumped off the Nest.

-Interlude 1: Sails-

Sails were developed during the last war in the hopes of giving a foot soldier, or message deliverer, or spy, the freedom of movement afforded by flight. However, the technology was difficult to master quickly and required the soldier to weigh no more than a child. Since only children could hope to stay aloft most people were of the opinion that Sails were too dangerous even for recreation. However, production continued and the more deplorable factions during the war used children as flight troops.

-End Interlude-

For a sickening moment Mae hung in the air high above the clouds with no support. She always lost her breath when she first jumped. And then her sails opened.

Corrugated metal siding, bars of thick steel, and sheets that reflected the light of the sun met with her and disappeared behind her into the vast sky as she sped down the side of the tower. This tower was now her home, a great relic from the time before the last war; it was now the tree for the Lost Boys. Mae grinned—they weren’t all boys, and the tower seemed more like a metallic junk structure than a tree, but they liked their home, and its fanciful name. This was their fortress.

Mae grimaced as she saw Angelina standing on the landing platform, arms crossed, and face screwed up into a frown. “Come on. Hurry up.”

Mae landed skidding across the platform and jumped off her disk as the Sails folded in on themselves. She unlatched her helmet as she followed Angelina through the lower base. “Does it seem like he’s found one?”

Angelina didn’t answer as she opened the large copper door she had led Mae to. Marcus lay on a couch and thrashed and foamed at the mouth. He looked around himself wildly with unseeing eyes. Darrel, a boy just a year younger than Mae, stood at Marcus’ head with a worried frown across his usually calm features. He ran a hand across his bald scalp and his frown deepened.

Mae rushed to Marcus’ side and took one of his small hands between her own. Visionaries were always small. Marcus had always seemed especially small and ethereal to Mae.

-Interlude 2: Visionaries-

Humans are generally of the opinion that once something is dead it should stay dead. ‘Visionaries’ are humans that, having taken a highly toxic drug (commonly referred to as ‘powder’), instead of dying are given visions of whatever ties a ghost to the world—usually an important possession or unfinished errand. Unfortunately, over time a Visionaries’ body begins to deteriorate under the effects of the drug, and they often die young.

-End Interlude-

“He gave us location and description. Mae, I gave him painkillers.” Said Darrel.

“How long has it been?”

“Not long, he… seems to be calming down.”

Mae nodded and looked at Marcus who had stopped thrashing. A young boy she had not noticed—Fen—sat across from her. He was flipping through a notebook and comparing his hurried scribbles to a map.

“I think I know how to get there. We’ll have to pass through Pirate airspace.”

Angelina walked over to Fen and pulled the map out of his hands. He protested in vain as she squinted at it. “It’s an island.”

Fen looked as though he wanted to comment on her observations, but was cut short.

“Shut up Pipsqueek.”

She turned several of the other papers over and over not seeming to remember which way was right side up. With a huff she threw them back into his lap and crossed her arms to resume tapping. “Any ideas who it belongs to?”

Fen paused for a moment and then shook his head. “No.”

Darrel was wiping Marcus’ mouth and looking the little boy over for injuries. “We’ll find out when we get there.”

-Interlude 3: Ghosts-

Several years ago there was a terrible war which devastated the world. Many things died. So many things died that many of these things forgot that they were supposed to be dead. This is why birds—apparently uninjured—fall from the sky, and disappear before they hit the ground.

-End Interlude-

Angelina had decided that only a scouting party of herself, Mae, Darrel, and Fen would go, since they had been present at the Vision, and Mae was always part of the scouting parties. Angelina was the self-appointed leader of the Lost Boys, and while it was generally thought that she was a nasty know-it-all with a temper, she remained unchallenged. She was one of the oldest—at 14—and usually had fairly good ideas. No one else really wanted to lead.

Marcus had wanted to go with, but Mae, the only one who could question Angelina’s leadership, had refused to help him. “You’re tired, and it’s too dangerous. You’ve done enough for us, you should sleep.” She had said.

The boy looked up at her and his voice quivered as he spoke. “But you’ll need me May-May. There are big monsters, and there will be pirates, and I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll be fine. Trust me!”

“Giant spiders Mae! Be careful!”

And with Marcus pouting she placed a hand on his head and ratted his hair. It seemed the right thing to do… perhaps some friend in her youth had done the same for her? She smiled and waved as she left to meet up with the others. They would be taking Sails, but would be low-flying to avoid Pirate attention.

▼

They had left after the sun had gone down and made their way skimming across the quiet surface of the ocean. They passed silently by a pirate patrol and continued on to the island.

They landed on the shore of the island just as the light of dawn began to obscure the sparkling of the dimmest stars. Mae packed her Sails up and strapped her disk to her back. The effect was that she looked like a strange child-turtle. Fen wore his like a hat, and Angelina slung hers at her hip. Darrel tossed his over his shoulder, and they started in from the beach.

The island wasn’t very big, but the nature of the trees, which grew tall and thin and several meters apart from each other, made Sail travel impossible. They had walked for little over an hour but had not seen any restless spirits, giant spiders, or objects that could hold enough meaning to keep someone tied to the earth.

Angelina slumped down against a log and huffed brushing her hair out of her face. “No wonder Marcus saw what the location looked like. This dumb island all looks the same.”

Fen nodded from his seat in the middle of the trail where he had tossed himself. “Boring.” He said.

Mae had wandered a bit from the group to find herself a walking stick. “Come on.” Mae jumped up on Angelina’s log and shook her by the shoulders, “We’ve got to be close.” She grinned and brandished her walking stick at the animal trail they’d been following. “We’re finally headed downhill.”

▼

They had walked a bit further when Darrel called a halt and jumped off the trail to slide down a hill. Mae jumped after him, and the others followed.

Crouched over a heap of what looked like forest debris Mae and Darrel debated disturbing the pile. “Dare… I think we should.”

“You’d just summon the ghost, and if it’s evil then we’d be unprepared.”

“Then let’s get ready.”

Angelina looked over Darrel’s shoulder, “It’s all we’ve found, we can’t just leave it there.”

Mae reached forward and began pulling the leaves and pine needles away. She knelt and handed large rocks to Darrel who threw them away from their little group. Fen circled the group and looked around them warily.

Mae brushed aside a last layer of dirt and blinked at what she had unearthed. A small skeleton lay in a pile before her. She yelped and stood as Fen let out a warning scream and pointing above them.

Descending from the highest parts to the trees was a large chair-sized body of a spider. The legs were long and thin and reached high above the trees as the body swooped towards them its mandibles dripping toxic ooze and clicking.

Mae slid her disk off her back and leapt into the air activating her Sails. Up towards the spider she flew before veering wildly to avoid it, streaking up into the air. At the top of her arc time stopped.

The other kids were running. Fen had escaped and was jumpstarting his Sails, Angelina was climbing a tree so that she could get on hers, and Darrel was taking his time making sure the others could get away.

Mae felt the hot breath of the spider behind her, the clicking and the movement of the legs as it raised itself to strike, but at the top of her arc she stopped holding on to the disc. Her feet dislodged and she felt herself plummeting through the spider to the earth. Those remains. Those human remains were hers.

-Final Interlude-

In a large dilapidated metal tower there is a group of kids called the Lost Boys. They are ghost hunters. After the last war many creatures forgot death. These children hunt what ties ghosts to the earth and release the unfortunate spirits.

Ghost Hunters ride on shiny metal disks with large white Sails that carry them through the sky. But sometimes, someone notices that a child has been around, but has never grown up, that they should have gotten too heavy for the Sails, but they never did.

When Ghost Hunters fall, they never hit the ground.

So long away...

tartha — Thu, 03 Nov 2011 06:33:25 GMT

I've been so far away for so long...

So, for those who know, I spent a year in China. Yay!

At the end of my year I went to Beijing for ten days to 'see the sights' as it were.

Sadly, upon my arrival, my computer stopped working completely. Between returning home, subsequent travels, movings-in, and job searching I disappeared off the internet almost completely for three months! I feel so bad for my long absence! Anyhow, I'm back now because I finally got my old desktop up and running (mostly). Yay! Still searching for a job though... ahh Northwest, how I love you and hate your job market.

It's not that there aren't jobs there, it's just that I'm 1-of-50 recent college graduates searching for employment to start paying back their STACK of college debt. /sigh

Something is seriously broken with this system.

But I digress! I was feeling listless and realized it was because I haven't been reading or writing, and so I've embarked on the epic journey of typing up all the stuff I wrote while in China. Yay(ish)! Wish me luck! I hope everyone is doing well. <3

I updated on One Piece when I got back to the 'States. Yay!.

Also: GOOD HOLY GOD 315 MESSAGES. <3
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Doodles!

tartha — Sun, 19 Jun 2011 04:42:12 GMT

Lolzy. Scribbles. Key to success: low expectations.

Also: the translation from paper-to-camera-to-computer is always a bit of a let-down. Maybe it's just seeing the art for the first time? Naaah. I'm gonna pretend that it's excellent in person, and that my incompetence as a media-shuffler is to blame for any low quality...ness, including anatomical problems... >_>

Iruka in his pre-genin outfit. *snerk*

child!Kakashi in a Plug Suit
(looking freaked out, because you should look freaked out if you're a kid in a plug suit)
Yes, I have an entire AU Evangalion/Naruto written out. I'm kinda proud of it, but it reads like the Silmarillion and so I won't post it unless someone begs me, because it's a really, really dry read (and I wrote it).

The Purple Butterfly Doodles
(I doodled these.... months ago when I started an aborted/hiatus'd project called The Purple Butterfly in which Iruka is part of a secret order of ninja which are to seduction what ANBU is to assassination. They have a special jitsu which changes their bodies for the work they do.
Iruka fubs his jitsu up and just changes his coloration/gets rid of his facial scar... Kakashi is assigned as his backup (of sorts).
Anyway... I figured if I was going to post something I could probably post several somethings, and I had this laying around. *wiggles eyebrows*)

T&I Ino
So... Ino's like... the most useless ninja. No joke. She has like, the coolest ninjitsu, and somehow she is totally useless. I cannot think of a fight that she was impressive during. Not one... >_>
Feel free to remind me if I'm forgetting one. Anyway, to put my fangirly heart at rest I've decided that she's (secretly?) being trained for T&I. Besides Shikamaru she's probably the most likely candidate of the "rookie" generation to work in T&I (if you conveniently ignore her personality... although she does like knowing stuff). Anyway, here she is in a fancy-smancy T-I trench-coat (they're standard issue ;P).

Random Naruto Factoids

tartha — Sun, 15 May 2011 06:21:41 GMT

Some age/exam-graduation information numbers...

So I looked up all the main ages and graduation dates for the most commonly referenced ninja in the fanbase(s) I frequent. I did this (supposedly) as research for Hounding the Fox a story I'm thinking of actually finishing, and I got totally distracted.
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Matching Graduation Dates:
Academy Graduation
Asuma, Shizune, Kurenai, Ebisu
Itachi, Genma

Chuunin Exam
Gai, Asuma
Genma, Itachi
Shizune, Kurenai

Of course, this is only the known graduation dates--many characters do not have graduation dates listed.
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I found the various ages of people to be interesting (especially considering the fandom which surrounds them). There are more than several characters not listed here (for instance: Tatami Iwashi who is 37), but I found that they were... unimportant for what I was wondering about. Same with characters who are dead: I was wondering about them as children so their current 'dead status' didn't really matter.
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Listed Ages
Hyuuga Hiashi - 42
Nara Shikaku - 41
Aburame Shibi - 39
Akumichi Chouza - 38
Yamanaka Inoichi - 38
Namiashi Raidou - 35
Shiranui Genma - 34
Yamashiro Aoba - 34
Ebisu - 32
Morino Ibiki - 31
Sarutobi Asuma - 31
Shizune - 31
Uchiha Itachi - 31
Yuuki Kurenai - 31
Hatake Kakashi - 30
Maito Gai - 30
Touji Mizuki - 29
Hagane Kotetsu - 28
Kamizuki Izumo - 28
Umino Iruka - 26
Yamato / Tenzou - 26
Mitarashi Anko - 24
Yakushi Kabuto - 23
Inuzaka Hana - 18

**Inuzaka Tsume does not have a listed age. I found this inordinately funny. Evidently, a woman does not reveal such things (although she probably falls between 37 and 42 if the other 'parental figure' ages are consistent).

Other Stuff
Most minor-character medic-nins are between the ages of 25 and 30.
Temari has a weasel summon. I had totally forgotten.
Iruka and Kakashi have the EXACT SAME Stamina/Chakra Reserves. ^_^
Iruka totally sleeps with his forehead protector on. *gigglesnort*
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Missions
Academy Students and Kages do not run missions.
Genin run D and C Rank missions.
Chuunin, C and B.
Special Jounin, do A and B.
Jounin run A and S.
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Maxed Stats*
(The best of the best according to the known stats of both the living and the dead. Although I'd venture a guess that these are not up-to-date.)
Ninjutsu
Jiraiya, Orochimaru, Chiyo, Tsunade, Itachi, Sasori, Kakuzu, Deidra, Hidan, Sandaime, Kakashi, Sasuke, Gaara
Taijutsu
Rock Lee, Gai, Kimimaru, Tsunade, Hyuuga Hiashi, Sandaime
Genjutsu
Orochimaru, Itachi, Kurenai, Sandaime
Intelligence
Shikamaru, Orochimaru, Chiyo, Tsunade, Itachi, Sasori, Sandaime, Kabuto, Kakashi
Force
Gai, Tsunade, Kisame
Speed
Gai, Itachi
Stamina (& Chakra Reserves)
Jiraiya, Gai, Sasori, Kisame, Hidan, Naruto, Gaara
Seal Knowledge
Orochimaru, Hyuuga Hizashi, Shizune, Itachi, Hyuuga Hiashi, Sandaime, Kabuto, Kakashi

*(Closeness only counts in Horseshoes and Hand-Grenades.)
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Which means...
The Sandaime, and Itachi tied at being maxed out in 5 different areas.
Orochimaru, Tsunade and Gai tie in 4 different specialties.
Sasori, and Kakashi tie in 3.
Jiraiya, Chiyo, Hidan, Gaara, Hyuuga Hiashi, Kabuto, and Kisame have 2.
And the rest is history....
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<3 Gai. Haha.

Brain Spew (Part 1)

tartha — Mon, 02 May 2011 16:16:42 GMT

Brain Spew:
It's like Drabble, but worse.

In fact, it's so bad: you're not supposed to read it yet. If you do (although I advise against it), let me know if you think it has potential. If you think it doesn't have potential I kindly ask you to sod-off, because it's not supposed to be read yet (or just let me know nicely, I'm down with that). ;)

...except for my beta. Who doesn't exist. But will need to be able to access my brain spew to nudge me in the right direction.

Includes ramblings from Cadence (Shika & Neji), Less Spoken; More Read (Gaara & Lee - part of the "Tattoos & Memories" universe), Disturbia (Kirk & Spock), and After the Fox (Kakashi & Iruka).

Part I
Part II

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LESS SPOKEN; MORE READ
(Modren AU Naruto: Gaara x Lee)

To watch them, you’d think they were crazy. The stoic red-head stood to the side of his desk with his arms crossed listening as the other spoke.

Lee shook his head, and grinned determinedly, “Come on! It’ll be good for the Company.”

To an observer, nothing seemed to change. Gaara stood, unmoving, with his arms across his chest and his face schooled into a blank stare, but after a short while Lee began to speak again as though the other had replied in full,

“You’re just being stubborn! I know you dislike social functions, but you can’t just ignore important holidays—“

Maybe there had been a fractional movement of a bald brow? Perhaps? Lee reacted accordingly as though the other had verbally berated him,

“It doesn’t matter that not everyone celebrates them! Everyone celebrates! That’s the important part. Besides, you’re just worried about how your personnel will interact with the regular employees. You should have more faith in them! They’re a bit… eccentric, but they’re likable enough.”

…

“Your siblings are well-liked! I see no reason that—“

Again, Lee was mysteriously cut off mid-sentence, but nothing followed but him looking at the other attentively, and Gaara remaining impassive. The silence drug on, and Lee stood and slowly made his way over to the other man. He didn’t break the silence as he sat on the edge of the desk, leaned forward to invade Gaara’s personal space (not that this was hard—Gaara’s personal space was a good five feet in every direction), and grinned happily. The silence stretched a moment longer, and Gaara shifted so that he was facing the man in front of him, and then spoke. His words were clipped and short, but those who knew him best would be able to decipher the antagonized tilt to them,

“If you insist, Lee.”

_______
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AFTER THE FOX
(Naruto: Kakashi x Iruka)

Iruka: 5'8" and 145lbs, Registration ID: 011450 Birthday: May 26^th, Age: 26 (Gemini)
D-Rank: 288, C-Rank: 183, B-Rank: 90, A-Rank: 12, S-Rank: 0
Kakashi: 5’9” and 148lbs, Registration ID: 009720 Birthday: September 15^th, Age: 30 (Virgo)
D-Rank: 197, C-Rank: 190, B-Rank: 414, A-Rank: 298, S-Rank: 42
Both of them are bloodtype O. (This means that they can give blood to anyone, but can only receive blood from other O types.)
The Fox: Excellent Stealth and Cunning, Muscle Memory, Normal Chakra Levels, Good with Traps & Ropes & Knots, Improvised Weaponry

After his first unsuccessful attempt to apprehend The Fox, Kakashi follows the thief to a small island off the coast.
Hounding the Fox ^_^

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=viJipACkwBw

Who is the fox?
I am the fox!
Who are you?
I am me!
Who is me?
Me is a thief!

So after the fox, after the fox
Off to the hunt with chains and locks
So after the fox, after the fox
Someone is always chasing after the fox

Where is the gold?
It’s on the truck.
Where’s the truck?
I won’t tell.
You must tell.
Then I will lie.
You’ll make your poor, poor sister cry.

So after the fox, after the fox
Off to the hunt with chains and locks
So after the fox, after the fox
Someone is always chasing after the fox

Why do you steal?
So I’ll be rich.
Why not work?
Ahh, work is hard.
You’ll be caught.
I never fail.
All little crooks wind up in jail.
Not me! Not me!

So after the fox, after the fox
Off to the hunt with chains and locks
So after the fox, after the fox
Someone is always chasing after the fox

*Also (of course) inspired in part by Lupin the III, because I love him so very, very much. <3

It was… an unusual request. Especially for an A-Rank.

Kakashi looked up from the mission parameters and gazed at Tsunade, “You want me, specifically, for this?”

His tone hadn’t quite reached sarcastic, and fell just short of incredulous, “When you said I’d been cleared for part time duty I wasn’t aware that you meant genin-level work.”

Tsunade smiled happily across her desk at him, “Brat. I thought you’d like this challenge. And it most certainly is not genin-level. I would never send a new team out on an A-Rank.”

Lazily he watched her, waiting for further explanation.

“I know this seems a bit weird, but the thief has, by all accounts, slipped past every single person of authority who has gone after him. It’s not ranked high due to danger (unless you count an ego bruising as potentially fatal); it’s ranked high because it’s hard.

No one even knows what ‘The Fox’ looks like or sounds like or smells like. The man has a disturbing knowledge of how ninja work—every ninja that has ever been sent after him as ended up horribly embarrassed with empty hands and nothing to show for their efforts. We’re the sixth village this lordling has hired to try and capture the thief, and I’ve got all the information anyone has on the slipper devil. His knowledge of what a ninja can do is startling: he may even be missing nin. But we really don’t know anything. The only thing that we can be certain about is that he has never killed anyone. At least on record.”

Kakashi continued to watch her. She sighed, “Look, Brat. We’ve got a reputation to uphold: no other village has managed to capture this twerp. You’ve got to take it easy for a while, and a short search-and-capture mission should be well within your capabilities. Besides, if all the information on ‘The Fox’ is true: it might even be a challenge.”

She grinned happily at him, and began tapping a brightly laquored nail against a pile of papers on her desk. His visible eye dropped to watch the movement for a moment, and he realized that he was probably not going to win this argument.

Well, at least if it was boring it would be over with quickly; and if it was interesting at least it would be… interesting.

This, Kakashi reflected, was the strangest conversation he’d had in quite a while; which was saying something, because he spoke with Gai on a regular basis, or Gai spoke at him on a regular basis. Regardless, standing knee-deep in sludge at the bottom of a forty foot pit, and looking up at a shadow and a very faint light, he thought the circumstances really only made the whole situation that much more surreal, “Why do you steal?”

He could hear the bright laughing grin in the other man’s voice when his reply came tumbling down the wet shaft, “I want to be rich!”

Kakashi gave an unimpressed snort, and crossed his arms as he yelled back up at the shadow, “Why not work?”

There was no pause, but the voice that came laughingly down at him was filled with whiny indignation, “Work is hard!”

_

Another of those dreams. He loved those dreams. He would float above the head of the man in the dreams, or he became the man in the dreams—it often changed mid-dream. The man, or himself (he’d never quite worked out if they were one and the same) was quite the rogue. The dreams were always fun, challenging, and interesting. The man in his dreams lived an exciting life: he was a master thief; a cat burglar of great renown. The phantom crook had no fear of death, and nothing to hold him down. It was exhilarating, exceedingly foolish, and something Umino Iruka would never give up for the world.
_

His father had worked in T&I. His mother had been an ANBU. He may not have been a child prodigy, but he was close. He had high levels of chakra and was already showing potential before he began training as a pre-genin. As a pre-genin he was a terror, and a mighty fine one. He laughed a lot, trained hard, devoured books, and was exceedingly good at both traps and stealth.

He liked to tease and laugh and joke with friends, and could be easily persuaded to “great foolishness.” His instructors liked him because he paid attention, and his parents were proud because it was obvious that one day he would make an excellent shinobi.

When the kyuubi attacked his parents were killed, he was left orphaned, and he fell fully into his jokes. He became an incorrigible prankster, a class clown, and where his home was now silent and empty; he concentrated all of his efforts on ‘acting out.’ The Sandaime spoke with him, urged him to be proud of his parents’ sacrifice to the village, and slowly—ever so slowly—he began to work hard again.

When he became a genin, his jounin instructor was baffled by the low levels of chakra the young boy had. They were surprising. Most people—even those not trained in the ninja arts—had more chakra than he did. It was strange considering his parentage, but not unheard of. His instructor was also surprised to note that—in the original evaluation of Iruka’s class… Iruka had been one of Anko-chan’s potential partners: someone with enough potential to train under one of the great sanin. Which was odd, because—while Iruka was a great kid—he didn’t really have very much potential. He was smart enough, but with his low chakra levels and seeming lack of either ambition or particular skill… He’d probably end up a good solid chunin who never, or rarely, worked on missions above a B-Rank.

And so, besides being fairly smart, Iruka had a good knowledge of Seals, Ninjutsu, and Taijutsu, but was fairly rotten at Genjutsu, and was neither particularly quick or powerful. Lacking a specialization he was a good teacher, but not well enough equipped to be a jounin. His passion was for Konoha, and he saw the future generations as the most important part of the Hidden Village. He threw himself into his work—having found his purpose. He worked the mission desk, and helped as a sort of satellite adviser-and-friend to Saindame, and later provided the same wisdom and friendship for the Godaime.
_

Kakashi stared, blinked, and tried to reign in the strange feeling of vertigo brought on by extreme disbelief, “Iruka? What…”

The shadow twisted, and it became obvious that it was holding itself up by some sort of robe system.

“No, no Shinobi-san! I am The Fox!” Iruka—or the splitting image of the sensei—grinned mischievously at Kakashi, and began sliding upwards,

“Although I’m impressed you managed to see me Shinobi-san. That’s a first!” Iruka—The Fox—‘s eyes glittered in amusement as he slid upwards on the pulley system.

Kakashi wondered if it was some sort of illusion.

He knew better than to hold his breath. Instead, he concentrated on breathing slowly and steadily. He blinked sweat out of his eyes, and felt trickles run down the under sides of his arms and across his back. He shut his eyes for a moment and listened to the frantic beating of his heart. He allowed the small curve of a smile to work its way across his lips, and he let out a low breath. He was such an adrenaline junkie.

When his eyes snapped open he was completely focused. His head was completely clear, and it was like he could sense the entire room beneath him, and if he reached—listening carefully, feeling with his instinct which had yet to lead him astray—he could sense the entire mansion, the entire compound, and maybe the outlying edges beyond the wall. He scurried down the wire he was hanging on and dropped silently to the floor below. The swords were in the room opposite this one: he was sure of it.

Brain Spew (Part 2)

tartha — Mon, 02 May 2011 16:15:21 GMT

Brain Spew:
It's like Drabble, but worse.

Part I
Part II

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DISTURBIA (or A Disturbing Look into the Wasteland of Time/Space Through the Broken Looking Glass of a Logical Mind)
(Star Trek: Spock x Kirk)

It's interesting how different fandoms create certain ... expectations of couples. This couple is violent, this couple is into S&M, this couple is sweet... Jim and Spock intrigue me, and I was interested to find that there is quite a bit of slavery in the fandom. I suppose the setting makes it readily available. And of course Pon Farr, but even more than Pon Farr (which is a delicious bit of Cannon really... sci fi writers are all perverted <3 --except maybe Philip K. Dick; I love him anyhow) I see taverns/bars/pubs. Really, I now associate the song [i]Closing Time[/i] (by Semisonic) with this series. But I digress.

A bit ago (who knows how long) I was watching the music video for [i]Disturbia[/i] by Rihanna and was thinking that it was ridiculously fun (my friend sent it to me 'cause he told me it reminded him of me--little shit). So I was looking at Rihanna in her little cage freaking out and thought, "Hey... that's almost Spock's hairstyle." Okay, so it isn't, and I'd been reading too much fanfiction, and, you know, that's how [i]these things[/i] happen. So caged Spock seemed to fit damn well into this whole genre. And I love space oddities (/snerk). My favorite type of rp is probably Space Opera, and all the fun shenanigans that it implies. Anyway! That's how this started. Spock with orange hair in cage: started this nonsense. Haha. My first full-blown fanfiction.

Oh yeah. And [i]Mad Max[/i] (okay, so maybe [i]Road Warrior[/i], but I always just call [i]Road Warrior[/i], [i]Mad Max[/i] anyhow 'cause who cares about the first one, eh?). Something about this whole fic screamed "Post-Apocalyptic Wasteland" and so I ran with it. I wasn't going to, because it makes the whole thing rather ... messy, but, well, it's my fanfic and I love that setting so [i]meh[/i] whatever. Besides, Post Apocalyptic Scotty is hot as a crazy snake-charmer. And Bones deserves a Plague Doctor mask, because he's just [i]that[/i] cool.

Also: I kept writing "Spoke." Poor Spock. Damn typos.

James T. Kirk, captain extraordinaire, did not like the position he found himself in. He did not like it, one bit.

They had... collided with some sort of mental anomaly. Something terrible had happened to his head science officer, and while he wasn't going to try to understand the garble of the situation that [i]Scotty[/i] had explained, he needed the basics so he could fix his broken crew-mate... friend... colleague. He wasn't [i]exactly[/i] sure where he stood with Spock. Perhaps 'wary friend' was a good description. After their first, rather explosive, adventure--the "getting to know you" period--they had begun to work rather well together.

The reassurance from the elder Spock that eventually Kirk and his half-Vulcan would be an inseparable team was looking less like a tall-tale and more like a distant possibility. They [i]did[/i] seem to work well together under pressure, and when they were in agreement, and sometimes even when they weren't in agreement. He had never regretted keeping the solemn Vulcan on board. He was even growing to like the enigmatic man. Especially after he found out that that Uhura and Spock had come to the conclusion that they "were not meant to be more than close friends."

Jim was not entirely sure why [i]that[/i] mattered, and he tried not to think about it too much. The idea of the long (endless) legs of his communications officer not being 'taken' was somehow a reassurance. She seemed better independent of any romantic attachment--something unattainable. That was how it was [i]supposed[/i] to be.

Now that both of the sexually unattainable crew-members were stationed behind him, and [i]not[/i] in a relationship; he was more at ease. It made Jim comfortable--as though the world was closer to where it was supposed to be.

Since the ship had left Earth a year ago everyone was closer to where they were 'supposed to be'--in Kirk's (humble) opinion. His life, and the lives of his crew had begun to fall into a routine... although it was, paradoxily--illogiclly, a [i]routine[i/] of adventure. Jim was hardly ever bored. He found the various people and creatures he got to interact with quite enjoyable, and when he wasn't harassing alien fauna, he was harassing his crew: his friends.

He loved harassing McCoy up until he was threatened with bodily harm to leave sickbay. Listening to Scotty was enjoyable until his brain started to hurt from following the man's thought patterns. Sparring with Sulu hurt his pride a bit, but it was well worth it. Beating Spock at chess was a surprising, and very pleasurable, experience. One he repeated as often as possible. Kirk was a social butterfly, and spent every free moment (and some moments where he should have put his time to better use doing, say, the ludicrous amount of paperwork his job required) mingling.

Jim loved going planet-side. He was the most comfortable on his own ship, in his very own captain's chair, but he loved acting as an ambassador, and seeing parts of the universe that no human before him had ever seen. And so, while Spock grumbled loudly about the inadvisable habit of a Captain leaving the ship for Away Missions, Jim continued to do so. Occasionally, he even managed to get the stoic man to go with him. Having Spock around to soundboard off of while he met with delegates and exotic women was priceless. He even managed to find reasons for McCoy to leave sickbay and come planet-side--although he admitted that half those reasons were probably not ones he would have chosen: Jim was... accident prone. Bones would tut and bitch and stab him with hypos, and Spock would project a sort of 'I-told-you-so' cold disdain from his emotionless facade.

He could almost see the look now, or maybe a disdainful eyebrow.

But he was not, currently, experiencing something routine. Adventuresome? Yes. In the realm of probability? No. He was sitting on a small chair with his hands bound and bolted to the floor at his feet. His feet were also cuffed together, and his back ached from being bent over. Not that he could have straightened out if he'd been free--the ceiling grazed the back of his head even while he was hunched over.

He curled himself further and stood, yanking violently at the chains. He could feel the ropes that knotted around his wrists burn as he struggled, and he banged his head on the ceiling painfully. His back, a part of his body which had taken most of its prior damage from nails during 'fun activities,' was aching and sending sharp pains down his spine and across his shoulderblades. He grunted unceremoniously as he sat back onto the chair. The pressure on his spine did not abate. He couldn't even slide the chair away so that he could sit more comfortably on the ground--it was bolted to the cold metal of the floor.

A small light in the small corner of the room flickered, and he hoped that it wouldn't go out and leave him in the dark in his unfortunate position. He groaned to himself and let his arms fall limp between his legs. Clearly, Spock didn't view him as a friend.

From the strange explanation Scotty had given him he had gleaned that they had entered a mental anomaly that blurred reality and scrambled everything within your mind with everything that the anomaly had previously encountered. Jim Kirk, besides being in a small room with a single light and hard chair with his legs and hands bolted to the ground, was in Spock's mind. He knew he wasn't the only one who was in there either.

Spock had gone comatose when the anomaly had hit--evidently it hit the mentally-attuned a lot harder than the thick-headed humans, but whenever anyone had fallen asleep they had twitched, moaned quietly, and dropped into a deep coma--somehow *linked* with Spock. Spock acted as an amplifier, a go-between, between the powerful mental anomaly and the "dense" humans.

Jim had ordered McCoy to keep as many people awake as possible, and had decided--after the briefing his various science, medical, and engineering teams had, had--that he needed to wake Spock up. Evidently, the only readings that made any sense in relation to the anomaly were the ones relating to multi-universe theory, which was why the person who had made the most sense--illogically--was Scotty. Who, all-in-all, seemed very excited at the prospect of a huge mathematical brain somehow spanning several thousand realities. Jim could appreciate the excitement, but mostly just wanted his senior science officer back, and everyone else who had fallen into the coma.

And so, Jim Kirk had willingly dived head-first into Spock's mind. But he wouldn't let the anomaly take away his freedom, he would get to be [i]himself[/i], because before he dove into the amalgamation that was Spock/Mental Anomaly, he would [i]first[/i] jump into the anomaly and work his way [i]back[/i] to Spock--thereby ensuring his secured sense of self. In theory.

And it had worked, as far as Jim could tell (unless he had somehow lost himself, or remembered himself different, but he wasn't going to start worrying about that at this stage). But he was in Spock/Anomaly world, and had to play by its rules, and by those rules he had to start his adventure sitting on a cold metal chair, in a cold metal room, with a flickering light and his hands bolted to the ground. Clearly, Spock hated him. "Jim has entered my mind. It is only logical that I place him in a box." Jim groaned as he pictured Spock--full uniform--with his hands clasped lightly behind his back, and a calm expression; maybe an eyebrow raised if Jim wanted to complain about being put in such a small-ass room-box.

Maybe he should reconsider his own feelings of friendship. He would have at least given the man space to sit up. Jim, is not a cold, heartless, bastard. Although... Spock would probably be naked in his mind. He was curious as to what the Vulcan looked like, and that curiosity would probably have manifested in nudity. Actually, Jim thought, if everyone had been dragged into [i]his[/i] mind they would have had a right good time of it. Nudity for everyone! Or maybe just enough clothing to make it interesting. But no, they ended up in [i]Spock's[/i] universe. Jim looked at the small room again... maybe this came from the anomaly and not Spock. Or maybe he should let Spock win at chess occasionally.

Jim winced. He had managed to rotate his hips until his phaser was resting on a thigh, used his elbows (expertly, he thought) to nudge the weapon out of it's holster, and managed to get it trapped between his knee and his chin... mouth. Now, he'd probably spent a good half hour adjusting the settings, wiggling into the exact right position (without dropping the damn thing), and was being nervous about shooting. Everything in this world felt real, the pain around his wrists felt real, he wasn't gonna go for a phaser-burn. Especially not so close to his nether-regions, or his hands.

[i]Vvvvshiap! Creish[/i]... and the smell of burning. The phaser dropped after he had burnt through the wrist restraints, and he slumped. He was sore all over, the muscle aches from holding himself so still for so long were screaming, and so after he had snapped the restraints on his ankles he slid off the chair and gasped for air as he stretched on the floor. The floor was cold, hard, and felt wonderful--his back protested, and he smiled in relief when he heard his spine adjust back into a shape.

And there was Spock... no, Kirk could tell it still wasn't Spock. This one was probably an amalgamation of Spock and the Anomaly. It sat on a large black throne with legs made of some large beast's horns. Everything about this Spock oozed power, and control. Two figures were tied to either side of him... as Jim walked closer he frowned and examined the two to either side of the central figure.

On either side of the elaborate throne were solid slabs of blackened concrete. On the left side sat a full-blooded Vulcan. After a moment's inspection Kirk decided that this was a full-blooded Vulcan version of Spock.

The Vulcan wore the traditional Vulcan robes, except they were fringed with red feathers. The skin of his legs was stained a startling red. He sat cross-legged, meditating. The Vulcan had black metal chains that snaked up his body and wrapped around his neck, these connected to thick cuffs around his upper arms and wrists. The metal chaffed the skin and smudged the white flesh with green. The stoic figure made Jim's breath catch in his throat, something about this Vulcan was more primal, and the intense control the chains and meditation provided seemed inadequact for the intensity just under the surface. Jim teared his eyes away from the bowed head and swiveled his vision to the other block--knowing what to expect.

This block had Human Spoke. His hands and legs were bound by a thick fraying rope. His hair was disheveled and far from the perfectly smooth bowl-cut Jim was so used to, so fond of. The man wore leather pants that had been ripped, and a similarly ripped leather jacket over a tight black shirt. His body was highlighted by the clothes so foreign to it, and made Jim swallow at the sight. His left, rounded, ear was pierced with a dangling silver ball. Human Spock struggled uselessly against the ropes, hopping and jerking against his restraints. While the other was completely still and silent, this one was constantly making small noises of struggle as he moved. The expressive face gritted it's teeth and pulled harshly against the thick weave of the rope bruising the wrists and soaking the harsh material with red blood.

Jim breathed harshly as he tried to ignore the two tethered figures on either side of the man in the center. This [i]wasn't[/i] Spock, but it did a damn good job of looking just like him. Anomaly Spock stood and approached Jim, long legs covered in tight black pants, torso covered in some sort of black leather belted contraption. He had a smear of black that ran in a line across his face level with his eyes. His hands looked as though he'd dipped them in black ink--the long fingers tipped with long black lacquered nails, the ink fading towards the large central knuckles of each digit.

Kirk took a tightened breath as he watched the mesmerizing hands move expressively as Spock stood.

"Jim."

Jim's back straightened, and he had the unnatural urge to correct this hybrid of his first officer--James Tiberius Kirk was Captain.

Anomali-Spock actually smirked at him, raised an eyebrow and took several steps forward so that he was just at the edge of Jim's personal space, "Captain. I should have known that you'd find a way into my mind without my consent. It is neither logical, nor possible."

"You're not actually Spock. You're like... some [i]puppet[/i] Spock. I'm here to find the real one, and shut this operation down for good."

"You wound me Jim. I *am* Spock, I am more Spock than you've ever known. Every version of myself that [i]is[/i] and [i]will be[/i] and [i]has been[/i] is present. And yet, you are still the singularity of you. I do not understand how this came to be if you are here, but I can assure you that I--he--we will never be able to forget the eons which is our--my true existence."

So, this Spock didn't speak with as much scientific jargon or Vulcan logic as the other, but he was just as hard to follow. Jim was fairly certain he understood, but he was also fairly certain that he was probably missing some vital point. Hopefully, it wasn't a point that mattered in his whole 'saving my first officer' plan.

Jim sighed and stood. He wasn't really partial to inaction, and while stretching out did a good deal of good for his back, it didn't do too much for his piece of mind. He began a slow jog, with his head bent to accommodate the low ceiling, away from the restraining char.

It soon became apparent that he was stuck in some dreadful rat-maze. So maybe Spock saw him as some sort of horrible science experiment. Great. Just what he'd always wanted and aspired to.

Kirk jogged onward. Small and twisty, the ongoing tunnels, dead ends, and forks-in-the-road made him feel more claustrophobic then the small room had.

His brain tried to piece together what the purpose of such a maze might be--what the logical function of something so absurd would likely be--but his mind reminded him that he was within a mind, or an expanded mind, and that really--emotions and minds really weren't that logical. Even if this was Spock. He was still a bit startled to think that Spock's mind wasn't just a well-ordered cube. Neatly stacked files in various filing cabinets in a pristine sterile room. The freezing floor, the slightly grimy cracks where floor met wall and wall met ceiling were strange. And very real.

His wandering mind wasn't helping him solve the damn maze though.

The dry heat of the air was cloying, and Jim coughed as he surfaced. The light was almost blinding in its intensity, and he squinted at the dust and sun. He was standing on a vast plain of dry red cracked earth with hints of mountains in the distance, and a thick dust gusting through the air. The heat, which he had thought staggering before, was now oppressive. However, it was not a wet heat, and he thanked no one in particular that the humidity did not match the scorching intensity of the sun.

He sighed heavily and retreated a few steps back into the maze, just under the shadow. He would wait until the sun was setting to start moving. Vulcan had been a desert planet, and there was no reason for him to assume that this was not the also the case here. He was hungry, tired, and his body ached.

Jim sat heavily on the ground, and watched the light move across the entrance to the maze.

There were people, and a good amount of alien species, milling about... among stalls where people shouted their wares, and bargained in loud voices. Everything was heat and dust, leather and fur, and this ... post apocalyptic market dropped Jim's jaw. Where had this come from? The Anomaly. Must be.

Jim looked down at himself for the first since arriving and noted that he was wearing the jeans he used to wear on Earth, and the black undershirt he wore in Starfleet. In some ways it made sense that he'd be wearing a combination of both his lives, but some small part of him was sad that he didn't get to show off how he looked in leather. He looked damn fine in a leather jacket.

The dust swirled, and he coughed roughly into his shirt sleeve. This was an entire world! How the hell was he supposed to find Spock? He got some strange looks--probably for his apparent cleanliness, and his odd clothing--but mostly appreciative glances. Didn't matter the where or when--or the who--Jim Kirk radiated charisma like Orion's radiated pheromones. But his worked better.

Jim started walking through the market looking at the various wares and the locals. He flirted with a few ladies, but kept moving searching for some vague hint as to where he was supposed to go to find his missing friend.

Down the street there were raised voice, and then the eruption of disruptor fire. Kirk sped up his pace and snuck up on the action. A group of men were arguing, and as Jim drew closer he could see one frantically gesticulating and waving about what appeared to be an elephant gun. He was vocal and pissed off. And familiar.

"Shit." It was Bones. A post-apocalyptic version of his best friend, complete with archaic doctor's tools slung in a satchel over one shoulder, animal fur over the other shoulder, and half the hair on his head shaved off. But he was in really good shape. Kirk spared an appreciative glance.

Well, it made sense in a way. The wife had taken everything, and so really--Bones was well suited for a world with nothing... Plus, as much as Bones loathed to admit it and would skin Jim alive for knowing it, Bones was an amazing shot. Kirk's mind stuttered to a halt, and he shook himself free of the strange hypothetical. Bones was talking... ranting... lecturing... and waving a rather large gun--not an Elephant Gun exactly, but maybe one crossed with a Klingon Disruptor Rifle.

"...Furthermore, I'm a doctor, not a mercenary damnit! And I won't have you going about endangering the lives of perfectly healthy citizens because you think they're infected with some newfangled plague which [i]doesn't[/i] exist; and trying to use me as some sort of assassin-for-hire because you've made an unqualified diagnoses based on your own personal blood-lust. And this is a damn dirty witch-hunt and you damn-well know it you--"

"Um... Bones?"

"What?"

"You have a gun."

"Yes."

The orange light of the desert filtered through the dust kicked up by the crowd, and his friend stared at him incredulously--completely cut off mid-tirade.

"Wait. Do I know you?"

The other guy threw the first punch. At Jim. Now, if Jim didn't know any better he'd think this was unfair, but so was appearing in a post-apocalyptic wonderland in his own personal rat-maze. So it seemed to make perfect sense that the guy who had started the doctor's tirade would decide that [i]Jim[/i] was clearly the right target. Later, Jim would tell Bones that he'd taken the attack for him, and make the doctor feel some sort of guilt before he inevitably began to lecture Jim on proper street-brawling ethics, and how a Starfleet captain should avoid such things altogether.

There were a couple screams, but mostly the crowd seemed anxious to join in. The fight spread through the narrow dusty streets, and Jim doubted if most people knew why it was happening, or who was friend and who was foe. Jim didn't know besides the fact that he wasn't going to hit McCoy, and he was probably going to hit the jackass who slugged him first. He couldn't find the 'ass after a while, and a sharp tug brought him out of the street and into a side-alleyway.

McCoy's face was set in a grim line, "Follow me."

Jim followed McCoy through winding side-streets, tall buildings turned brown-orange in the constant swirl of dust. They traveled in silence, and quickly left the noise of the brawl and the market behind them. Eventually Bones lead him down an alleyway to a door with a wooden placard swinging above above it on a black hook with the crudely burnt image of a bird-mask and a vial.

"So the Anomaly got you. I'd have thought you'd keep yourself awake the longest, or have figured out how to induce that less-than-sleep, sleep-thing you'd been muttering about."

"You'll have to find the Oracle. He will answer your questions."

His mouth was uncomfortably dry, his hands dug into the grit of the ground, and he thought that it was not logical to feel more dirty than when he got in his normal brawls. Dirt was, all things considered, probably a lot cleaner than most bar floors. Maybe, he was just more accustomed to ignoring what was there, but the sand from the dry earth got under his nails and made him feel sloppy.

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CADENCE
(Naruto: Shikamaru x Neji)

The dancer, he thought, was good. Especially for an assassin. And if the information he’d received was correct, the man undulating before him wasn’t even an assassin trained in seduction—he was the single most powerful warrior of the Hyuuga Clan. A clan that had a history of great warriors and leaders. It was only known to a very small few that the clan used the Slave Curse on their own. It was how the assassin had come this far. No self-respecting murderer would have the curse seal, no self-respecting warrior would bow before his own honor to have it administered. But the dark Hyuuga secret was that they branded all of those not in the direct line to inherit the title of Lord when they were still too young to walk. And so, the most powerful general from the eastern reaches had managed to infiltrate into the bosom of the West to kill the famed war adviser: Shikamaru Nara. The Nara’s were a famous clan in their own territory, but none had earned the hatred of the eastern states quite a thoroughly as the eldest son of the current head of family. He was not feared as a mighty warrior as his father was, but was loathed and feared for his startling intelligence which had orchestrated some of the greatest losses the East had ever seen.

Covered in a sheen of sweat the supple body before him began to waver and lean as the deep drums of the assembly hall began a low steady cadence.

Welcoming Blurb

tartha — Thu, 28 Apr 2011 11:00:49 GMT

I’d like to thank micah for the quote: “new and terrifying form of keyboard-dyslexia,” because it’s really my only excuse for not making a sensible post at this time.

I feel like I should probably make a post which explains who am, and what I like, and what you’re bound to find here. I still plan on doing this. I also plan on writing many great things, and some day owning my own store, or bakery, or elevator to the moon. I’m still not sure when all this will happen.

Hopefully, there will eventually be stories here. Eventually.

That being said:
I mainly created this account so that I could lurk and enjoy the wealth of stories that the live journal community (in general) has to offer. There is so much talent floating about on the internet, and I refuse to not partake, and some small (possibly mean) part of me demands the ability to comment, heckle, and generally make a nuisance of myself.

Comments? Questions? Snide Remarks? I like them all.

P.S. - I like to edit stuff.

micah’s lj: http://micah-n10.livejournal.com/

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Fanfiction Pet-Peeve of the Day:

The word 'gossip.'

The plural of the word gossip does not have an s. Gossip is both the plural and non-plural form of the verb.

-People gossip.

-People can be in the act of gossiping.

-People who gossip are gossips. <--- this is the only situation where an 'S' should come near this word.

Gossip is both a noun (the information which is traded), and a verb (the act of gossiping).
There, now I feel much better.

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Drunk People.

Please have personal experience with being totally shit-faced before you attempt to write it. It is a bit of an ass thing to say, but I'm tired of alcohol being the miracle drug. It can lower inhibitions, but it you do not stop being who you are when you drink.

Maybe I am different than your average drunkard... but having experienced near-black-out levels of drunkeness I can say (with some authority) that I was still totally aware of what I was doing. I didn't always make the normal or right choice when horribly inebriated, but it was still a choice.

I love the "I just can't resist it" shtick as much as the next guy, but...

ALSO (damnit) I know not a single human being who can take 1 sip of anything and be drunk. Being drunk is often a state of mind as much as it is a chemical reaction (yes: alcohol has a strong placebo effect), but that doesn't change the fact that I have never in all my years seen anyone: sip = drunk.

rantrantrantrantrantrantrantrantrantrantrantrantrantrantrantrantrantrantrantrant
*kicks over a trashcan*

~*-*~

Yaoi vs Shounen-ai & S/M vs Uke/Seme vs Top/Bottom
You can correct me if I'm wrong, but....

These terms (Yaoi & Shounen-ai) are used in reference to Anime/Manga, but the internet has co-oped them to refer to homosexual relationships and I've seen these terms bandied about fairly loosely. I find it a wee bit misleading (not to mention unnerving) when one is used instead of the other.
Yaoi - explicit
Shounen-ai - not explicit (literally: 'boy-love')
Boy-Love - can go either way (abbreviated as "BL" this just refers to male homosexual relations)

Uke - someone who 'bottoms' (receives)
Seme - someone who 'tops' (gives)
These are not terms used solely for describing Submissive/Dominate relations.

While we're at it: Sadism is liking to hurt people, while Masochism is liking to be hurt (if you say the opposite of what you mean it confuses the hell out of the reader). *raises an eyebrow*

Sub/Dom and Slave/Master roles are about control; not sexual position--eeggaaddss.
Contrary to what is, evidently, popularly held belief, you can "top" and still play the role of a submissive, and the reverse (I'm a bit boggled that people think you can't have control while receiving).

Obviously, there are some stereotypes that sometimes hold true, but please don't confuse your terminology because of a preconception.

*gnaws on language issues* OMnomnomnomnom...

~*-*~

So, I may (personally) have the grammatical skills of a rampaging elephant, but DEAR GODS PEOPLE: GIVE THE READER SOME GUIDANCE!

Shall I redirect the grammatically-challenged to the sentence: "Woman without her man is nothing."?

This means two COMPLETELY DIFFERENT things depending on punctuation.

~*_*~

Plurals.
Check for them.

It's like mixing up tenses, but lazier!
You can find them! I believe in you!
Fight-O!