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midnightdiddleDrabbles. Five, to be exact. The first four are Naruto, and safe. The fifth is Firefly, and has incest warnings. *shifty eyes*
First, for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
drelfina:
Your Own Personal Redemption
The Academy teacher certainly wasn't something to be as intriguing as he was. He was average, not much more. Average strength, average chakra, average speed and knowledge and seals. Everything about him was average.
The way he was kept getting up, though, was anything but average.
"Why don't you stay down?" Orochimaru asked almost boredly, flicking his sword, slicing through cloth and flesh and muscle and bone. The teacher stumbled to his knees, fell to the ground.
"Sasuke-kun-" The teacher was getting up again, over-balancing and falling back, arms hanging by his sides, blood dripping from fingertips to dirt.
Orochimaru didn't have time for this. The village was burning, like a vision of hell, and he needed to reclaim his vessel, reset his life, start it over again, a never-ending game with never-ending lives.
"Really, Sensei," he said, and he grabbed the teacher's hair, pulling his head back, edge of his sword next to the throat, "you should learn when to stay down."
The teacher didn't move, not when his throat was slit. Orochimaru twitched his fingers, his sword flicking, blood splattering, and continued on his way, through fire and brimstone and all of hell towards Sasuke and his own personal redemption.
and Play Pretend
There's a few years for boys, between childhood and the teenage years, that they look like girls. They're pretty, wispy and fragile, bones thin as twigs, and they look so much like girls, it's near impossible to tell them apart.
There's a few years for boys, between childhood and the teenage years, that there are missions they'd rather die than talk about. They're too pretty by half, like girls, and the mission desk knows this, uses this for their own advantage.
Iruka was sitting in the water, pack back by the edge of the river. He tore at his hair, shoving his head beneath the water, scrubbing like mad. His sensei stood on the bank, arms crossed, watching silently. Iruka looked up, eyes hard, blood running thready through the water on his face.
"Never again." Iruka's voice sounded stubborn and a half, and his sensei sighed, glancing away.
"Never what, Iruka?"
"I'm not pretending to be a girl. I'm not a woman, I'm not-" Iruka snarled something incoherent and scrubbed at the dried blood caked on his arms, melting away in the water.
"Not what, Iruka?"
"I'm not weak!" Iruka looked small there, sitting in the river, wrists thin and face pale. His sensei knelt next to Iruka's pack, digging through it to find some warm clothes for the boy.
"No," he said, and he promised himself he wasn't lying, "you're not."
And forhayden_clone, there is Not Quite Perfect
Iruka isn't perfect. He's far from perfect, far from the genius that Konoha loves to profess. He's a chuunin. He is strong, but he's not unbreakable. He's fast, but not quite quick enough, and he's smart, but far from brilliant. He is, in all things, ordinary. Occasionally, when thrown into the situation, Iruka will do something extraordinary, something that will leave others tight-lipped and wide-eyed with surprise, and for a while, Iruka will feel that maybe, just maybe, he's good enough.
Kakashi's too perfect. He's like a finely crafted blade, sharp along the edge, thin and razorsharp. He's strong enough, fast enough, smart enough. He's taken everything he was, all the brittle and flawed metal, and he's burned away the imperfections through trial and error, missions and failures. Now, he's at the pinnacle, and there's nothing further up to reach for. When he looks down, at the expectant faces and bright eyes, it seems like a very long fall.
And so, it goes something like this:
They run into each other at the little corner grocery store near the ramen stand. Iruka's trying to decide whether or not milk is worth the cost, because Academy's out for vacation and he's running the occasional mission. Last time he bought milk, he left the village the next day and the milk was sour by the time he got home, and he doesn't want to waste the money again. Kakashi's trying to decide between 1% and 2%, because he can never quite remember which kind he likes more.
"There's the thing of this," Kakashi says suddenly, turning the carton of milk in his hands over, looking for the expiration date. "Doesn't seem that different, does it? Seems like it'll go on forever, doesn't it?"
Iruka's not sure if Kakashi's trying to explain something, or apologize for something in that awkward way Kakashi always seems to have, and so he grabs a carton of milk, 1%. "Not that different, no," Iruka says, and Kakashi follows him to the checkout.
"Come by for tea," Kakashi says as they stand outside the grocer, sun beating down on their shoulders. Iruka decides it is, indeed, an apology, however strange, and he follows Kakashi home. Kakashi starts putting his groceries away, his celery and his newest bag of rice and his 2% milk. When he pulls out his current carton of milk, the side reads '1%' and he curses.
Iruka sets his carton of 1% on the counter next to Kakashi's fridge, because maybe he needs to apologize, too. "I knew you'd forget," Iruka says, and maybe, when he drinks the tea, sitting in Kakashi's chair, he's a little more perfect. And maybe Kakashi, when he tries to carry on a conversation, is a little less sharp.
And maybe, together, they're not quite perfect, but they're pretty close.
And foricefalcon there's Chair in the Corner
Jiraiya never stays in Konoha long. He hasn't, not since Orochimaru left, chased by ANBU, and Tsunade left, chased by ghosts. Jiraiya was never chased out of Konoha, because there was nothing left to chase him. His life left with Orochimaru and Tsunade, and once they were gone, he was left behind, wishing he could chase after him.
So when Tsunade comes back to Konoha, filling their old teacher's office with herself, as loud and strong and impossible as she is, Jiraiya feels like maybe, just maybe, it'll be okay to come home again. It's not quite the same, with the team as broken up as it is. It's not quite the same, with Sarutobi-sensei dead and Orochimaru still gone, somewhere a few hundred miles away, on the wrong side.
But right now, maybe it's not so bad. Maybe it's good enough, and he should be pleased with what he's got. So he goes home, to that little house that's been closed up for far too long. He opens the door, sliding it along the dusty track, and he drags his feet along the wood, stirring up clouds of memories.
He stands in the living room for a long time, breathing in the past, the faint smells of life from long ago. It's been a long time, he realizes, as he pulls the sheet off the chair in the corner, sending dust flying through the air, scattering the light. It's been far too long.
It is nice to be home.
And finally, foraya_kun_rose, Dancing Barefoot
River always loved to dance. She used to dance down in the kitchen, around the big table, through and around the workers. They used to laugh and clap their hands, singing along with the radio, and she used to dance.
Simon finds River spread out across the balcony in the holds, her arms dangling from the platform. Her dress today is purple, too big by half, sliding off her thin shoulders. He tells himself he needs to make sure she eats more as he crouches next to her, resting his fingertips against her hair.
"River?"
"I'm awake." She's staring at something beyond them both, and Simon plays with her hair, rubbing it between his fingers. "We're dancing around the table again."
After dinner Kaylee presents a radio, tripped and wired to catch waves from forever away. The sound is a little distorted, a little broken up, but music is music, and on a ship the size of Serenity, any chance to lean back and breathe is a welcome one.
Simon watches River dance around the table, on her toes, arms raised over her head, crossed at the wrists. Her fingers are long and thin, curving up into eternity, and he thinks he's never thought his sister was more beautiful before in his life.
Kaylee pulls him up, and he grabs her, pulling her with him. When he turns, looking over Kaylee's head, he sees River dancing, and he feels, for a moment, happy.
It's River's turn to clear the table and wash the dishes, which means it's Simon's turn to do her chores while she sits on the counter, eating candies from a bag Book snuck into the kitchen when the Captain was looking the other way. The soapsuds are slippery on his hands, like her dress when he grabs her knees, propping himself up against her. He kisses her, slow and soft, and her mouth tastes sweet, like the candies.
"We're dancing," River says, and there's a quirk to her lips, a corner lifting higher than the other. Simon watches her mouth, entranced. "Have to be careful, don't step on the toes. If you do, she'll leave you."
Simon kisses her again, humming the song from the radio, and River laughs, like she used to years ago, when they lived on Osiris, in a house full of rooms she danced her way through. And for a moment, between one blink and another, when River's eyes are sliding closed, Simon feels happy.
First, for
drelfina:Your Own Personal Redemption
The Academy teacher certainly wasn't something to be as intriguing as he was. He was average, not much more. Average strength, average chakra, average speed and knowledge and seals. Everything about him was average.
The way he was kept getting up, though, was anything but average.
"Why don't you stay down?" Orochimaru asked almost boredly, flicking his sword, slicing through cloth and flesh and muscle and bone. The teacher stumbled to his knees, fell to the ground.
"Sasuke-kun-" The teacher was getting up again, over-balancing and falling back, arms hanging by his sides, blood dripping from fingertips to dirt.
Orochimaru didn't have time for this. The village was burning, like a vision of hell, and he needed to reclaim his vessel, reset his life, start it over again, a never-ending game with never-ending lives.
"Really, Sensei," he said, and he grabbed the teacher's hair, pulling his head back, edge of his sword next to the throat, "you should learn when to stay down."
The teacher didn't move, not when his throat was slit. Orochimaru twitched his fingers, his sword flicking, blood splattering, and continued on his way, through fire and brimstone and all of hell towards Sasuke and his own personal redemption.
and Play Pretend
There's a few years for boys, between childhood and the teenage years, that they look like girls. They're pretty, wispy and fragile, bones thin as twigs, and they look so much like girls, it's near impossible to tell them apart.
There's a few years for boys, between childhood and the teenage years, that there are missions they'd rather die than talk about. They're too pretty by half, like girls, and the mission desk knows this, uses this for their own advantage.
Iruka was sitting in the water, pack back by the edge of the river. He tore at his hair, shoving his head beneath the water, scrubbing like mad. His sensei stood on the bank, arms crossed, watching silently. Iruka looked up, eyes hard, blood running thready through the water on his face.
"Never again." Iruka's voice sounded stubborn and a half, and his sensei sighed, glancing away.
"Never what, Iruka?"
"I'm not pretending to be a girl. I'm not a woman, I'm not-" Iruka snarled something incoherent and scrubbed at the dried blood caked on his arms, melting away in the water.
"Not what, Iruka?"
"I'm not weak!" Iruka looked small there, sitting in the river, wrists thin and face pale. His sensei knelt next to Iruka's pack, digging through it to find some warm clothes for the boy.
"No," he said, and he promised himself he wasn't lying, "you're not."
And for
hayden_clone, there is Not Quite PerfectIruka isn't perfect. He's far from perfect, far from the genius that Konoha loves to profess. He's a chuunin. He is strong, but he's not unbreakable. He's fast, but not quite quick enough, and he's smart, but far from brilliant. He is, in all things, ordinary. Occasionally, when thrown into the situation, Iruka will do something extraordinary, something that will leave others tight-lipped and wide-eyed with surprise, and for a while, Iruka will feel that maybe, just maybe, he's good enough.
Kakashi's too perfect. He's like a finely crafted blade, sharp along the edge, thin and razorsharp. He's strong enough, fast enough, smart enough. He's taken everything he was, all the brittle and flawed metal, and he's burned away the imperfections through trial and error, missions and failures. Now, he's at the pinnacle, and there's nothing further up to reach for. When he looks down, at the expectant faces and bright eyes, it seems like a very long fall.
And so, it goes something like this:
They run into each other at the little corner grocery store near the ramen stand. Iruka's trying to decide whether or not milk is worth the cost, because Academy's out for vacation and he's running the occasional mission. Last time he bought milk, he left the village the next day and the milk was sour by the time he got home, and he doesn't want to waste the money again. Kakashi's trying to decide between 1% and 2%, because he can never quite remember which kind he likes more.
"There's the thing of this," Kakashi says suddenly, turning the carton of milk in his hands over, looking for the expiration date. "Doesn't seem that different, does it? Seems like it'll go on forever, doesn't it?"
Iruka's not sure if Kakashi's trying to explain something, or apologize for something in that awkward way Kakashi always seems to have, and so he grabs a carton of milk, 1%. "Not that different, no," Iruka says, and Kakashi follows him to the checkout.
"Come by for tea," Kakashi says as they stand outside the grocer, sun beating down on their shoulders. Iruka decides it is, indeed, an apology, however strange, and he follows Kakashi home. Kakashi starts putting his groceries away, his celery and his newest bag of rice and his 2% milk. When he pulls out his current carton of milk, the side reads '1%' and he curses.
Iruka sets his carton of 1% on the counter next to Kakashi's fridge, because maybe he needs to apologize, too. "I knew you'd forget," Iruka says, and maybe, when he drinks the tea, sitting in Kakashi's chair, he's a little more perfect. And maybe Kakashi, when he tries to carry on a conversation, is a little less sharp.
And maybe, together, they're not quite perfect, but they're pretty close.
And for
icefalcon there's Chair in the CornerJiraiya never stays in Konoha long. He hasn't, not since Orochimaru left, chased by ANBU, and Tsunade left, chased by ghosts. Jiraiya was never chased out of Konoha, because there was nothing left to chase him. His life left with Orochimaru and Tsunade, and once they were gone, he was left behind, wishing he could chase after him.
So when Tsunade comes back to Konoha, filling their old teacher's office with herself, as loud and strong and impossible as she is, Jiraiya feels like maybe, just maybe, it'll be okay to come home again. It's not quite the same, with the team as broken up as it is. It's not quite the same, with Sarutobi-sensei dead and Orochimaru still gone, somewhere a few hundred miles away, on the wrong side.
But right now, maybe it's not so bad. Maybe it's good enough, and he should be pleased with what he's got. So he goes home, to that little house that's been closed up for far too long. He opens the door, sliding it along the dusty track, and he drags his feet along the wood, stirring up clouds of memories.
He stands in the living room for a long time, breathing in the past, the faint smells of life from long ago. It's been a long time, he realizes, as he pulls the sheet off the chair in the corner, sending dust flying through the air, scattering the light. It's been far too long.
It is nice to be home.
And finally, for
aya_kun_rose, Dancing BarefootRiver always loved to dance. She used to dance down in the kitchen, around the big table, through and around the workers. They used to laugh and clap their hands, singing along with the radio, and she used to dance.
Simon finds River spread out across the balcony in the holds, her arms dangling from the platform. Her dress today is purple, too big by half, sliding off her thin shoulders. He tells himself he needs to make sure she eats more as he crouches next to her, resting his fingertips against her hair.
"River?"
"I'm awake." She's staring at something beyond them both, and Simon plays with her hair, rubbing it between his fingers. "We're dancing around the table again."
After dinner Kaylee presents a radio, tripped and wired to catch waves from forever away. The sound is a little distorted, a little broken up, but music is music, and on a ship the size of Serenity, any chance to lean back and breathe is a welcome one.
Simon watches River dance around the table, on her toes, arms raised over her head, crossed at the wrists. Her fingers are long and thin, curving up into eternity, and he thinks he's never thought his sister was more beautiful before in his life.
Kaylee pulls him up, and he grabs her, pulling her with him. When he turns, looking over Kaylee's head, he sees River dancing, and he feels, for a moment, happy.
It's River's turn to clear the table and wash the dishes, which means it's Simon's turn to do her chores while she sits on the counter, eating candies from a bag Book snuck into the kitchen when the Captain was looking the other way. The soapsuds are slippery on his hands, like her dress when he grabs her knees, propping himself up against her. He kisses her, slow and soft, and her mouth tastes sweet, like the candies.
"We're dancing," River says, and there's a quirk to her lips, a corner lifting higher than the other. Simon watches her mouth, entranced. "Have to be careful, don't step on the toes. If you do, she'll leave you."
Simon kisses her again, humming the song from the radio, and River laughs, like she used to years ago, when they lived on Osiris, in a house full of rooms she danced her way through. And for a moment, between one blink and another, when River's eyes are sliding closed, Simon feels happy.
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no subject
Date: 2006-06-06 10:25 am (UTC)It's still great, and so are all those other ones up there~!