Jingure

The Challenge
Topic: One False Pairing
Genre: [any]/Romance. Fluffy romance. THIS IS NOT AN OPTION.
Rating: G-PG-13, because R is stretching it a bit and you'd probably all roll over and die.
Length: 1100+.
Parameters: There's always a pairing. YOUR pairing. Your one true pairing, your beloved, you'd rather gouge out your own eyes with a fork than write so-and-so with anyone else. Fluff and hentai alike makes you squeal with joy!

And then there's always something to rain on your parade: a pairing you abhor, detest. A pairing that makes you shed the contents of your stomach, gastric acids included. You'd never write it. Ever.

Unless Jing challenged you to.

That's right. Write it. Write it BELIEVABLY. This is a test of tolerance.

And just so this seems like more of a challenge, throw in some song lyrics or a couple of lines from a poem, be it in dialogue or description.
Deadline: November 10, 2004

I know I promised to write my other one, but...[sigh] It'll be late. Don't hate me. ;-;

much love,
jingure.

OMGWTF!

Well. OK. WHATEVER!!!

In correspondence with Yoko's post concerning Halloween costumes, I was like... "WOAH. OK. LET'S MAKE A HALLOWEEN THING WTF!"

The Challenge
Topic: "Masque Act"
Genre: [any]
Rating: [any]
Length: Ehh...more than 1000 words. You know it's easy.
Parameters: Alright! Now you can pimp your OTP WITHOUT FEAR!!! I DON'T CARE. Two main characters, maybe three but that's to your discretion, costume-clad, one rendezvous. Either one or both characters must remained utterly unnamed. Go nuts with description, pronouns, blah blah blah, but hey. Whatever. Also make some sort of reference to cold in any context. Because. I said so.
Deadline: November 3, 2004

YES I WILL WRITE THIS ONE SHUT UP

much love,
jingure.

Uh, not much to say here.

The Challenge
Topic: "Passing Notes" (What? Expect something wittier!?!!)
Genre: [any]
Rating: G to PG-13
Length: 200+ words?come on, just how much text can you cram into this kind of thing?
Parameters: Note-passing and inopportune outbursts in Iruka-sensei?s class. Note that our favorite genins (or chuunins, in Shikamaru?s case) are younger here?7-10, maybe, depending on your take on 'Ruka-sensei?s schedule. Go ahead and cram in the WAFF, if you want; I'll be lenient here. But there is one stagnant parameter?a secret's gotta be revealed somewhere, subtle or not, big or small, though this may not necessarily be the cause of the outburst.
Deadline: October 25, 2004



much love,
jingure.

If you have time, review @ ff.net?URL's right there beside "Title".

Title: Pazienza
Author: Pickled Death
Genre: Angst
Rating: PG
Summary: But I wait only for you.
Author?s Notes: This one was written on a whim when I really ought to be working on other things? [sob]

---

Silver never stops him?

Silver? Stop me?

It?d take nothing short of platinum?

no.

Are you okay, Naruto?

am I?

If I?m happy, you?re happy?

you make it sound selfish.

Are you happy?

am i?

?

?

?

?

sometimes, he drowns in a pool of milk-white and awakens cradled by green jewels and thinks he can never escape the spell she has cast upon him. Thunder rolls outside, resonates the agonies of tortured souls in explosions of light and lightning and the skies are gray like her soul and Hinata?s eyes and he sits and watches the storm. there is quiet. nothing but quiet. in the Hyuuga manor.

The doors are translucent and so is his soul but Hinata respects his wishes and never, never delves deeper. He can just tell. Hinata who never breaks a promise, gives him warmth he does not deserve, gives him warmth he probably doesn?t even want. and he sinks, disappears in the folds of Hinata?s fleece and floppy sweater or the silken kimono that dangles lifelessly off Hinata?s silken shoulders in ripples of autumn and orange.

Footfalls are soft. hanabi doesn?t like him, prefers the company of blood meeting blood and he knows that?s hiashi?s damn fault but he doesn?t care. He understands. Blood is valuable. Sasuke and Sakura?s son has awakened his Sharingan and utilizes it at every given opportunity, never mind the strain. what doesn?t kill you makes you stronger. ripped tendons strengthen upon reconnection. Naruto understands.

on the twenty-third footfall Hinata appears, a swan lingering behind a paper door. Doors are courtesy. No need to vehemently inform outsiders that there are no secrets here except his.

Because he is the head of the household and the head of Konohagakure and he?s cradled in green jewels. the sea of coral that lingers in phantoms of memories. coral. Eyes bearing a glassy sheen of tears. He neglects the Hokage headpiece tonight. Ten years ago he would?ve never let go, would have clung to it with fingernails begging to be claws.

?Naruto-kun,? Hinata says and Hinata?s soft voice is melodious like the twang of harp strings on the underside of a ballet, but her voice is like the low trill of a wooden flute, so soft and then so loud, conveying whatever she wants to convey. and he?s dreaming?still dreaming? ?Did you have another dream??

Face upturned, he closes his eyes, so ashamed. ?Yes,? he says, softly, as another clap of thunder deafens him but briefly. ?I did.?

He doesn?t want to steal a little boy?s mother. He doesn?t want to steal a doting husband?s wife.

He wants to steal Sakura.

He holds Hinata. She doesn?t know why, her breath hitches in her throat, but he holds her, embraces her silken shoulders and buries his face in the crook of her neck and shoulder and wills his pain to disappear, to scurry away like a frightened animal at the feel of the warmth she radiates the warm she radiates and he will not ever deserve.

Hinata thinks he?s haunted

he thinks she?s right.

?

?

?

?

i always knew your dreams would come true, Naruto

all but one.

Are you happy?

am i?

---

much love,
jingure.

Challenge: ?Misplaced?
Length: 2,349 words
Parameters: A glimpse of the Narutoverse minus one character, be that character integral to the canonical plot or not. Assume that character never, ever existed?then set your fingers to the keyboard and get to work.
Title: Cut To the Bone
Author: Pickled Death
Genre: Drama
Rating: PG-13
Summary: AU; one-shot; standing in the midst of a wasteland, Jiraiya thinks something?s missing.

---

Prologue

The wasteland once had a name, you know.

Landscape, bitter landscape, littered with fractured trees and fragranced with the scent of blood and carcasses frying in the summer sun?a scene derived from a tortured painter?s terribly skilled fingers. And Jiraiya?he was late. Unpunctual. Too late. And he knew, both caring and not caring, surveying the scenery with a clinical dispassion of a man who?s seen, gazed upon such terrible things before.

But he hadn?t, and that should have worried him.

But it didn?t.

Instead, Jiraiya?s colorless lips set in a scowl as purplish-black bled into a reddening sky, and he was vaguely remorseful as he performed an ungraceful bound off Gamabunta?s hind leg, barely managing to avoid a similarly ungraceful landing on a corpse. What was once a great village was now reduced to layers of rubble?teeth marks, he knew, recognizing the bit of dried, acidic saliva that had melted away a house or two or nine. Not just teeth. Fangs. And beyond the village rubble?

Corpses. Corpses, many corpses, flattened against the soil, crushed, battered, bitten, some carelessly dismembered, treaded upon by claws and heavyset paws. And beyond the corpses?

The woodlands that once formed an ethereal veil around Konohagakure?trees, all of them, had been smashed or tattered. Shame. He recalled treading those paths, once upon a time. The veil remained?only so many times a demon could stomp about on a forest; it was like dancing on thorny rosebushes, if Jiraiya had any right to make a comparison?but it was much, much smaller. Smashed. Tattered. Trees, huge, once-majestic trees, weaving labyrinthine trails in and out of the Fire Country, now strewn across the land.

The land seemed barer without them.

Today, though?this evening, though, he knelt and swiftly untied a forehead protector from the head of the nearest corpse and gently laid it across the poor soul?s chest with a solemn tenderness.

?Oi, Jiraiya,? he heard Gamabunta croak, a deafening boom that he?d gotten accustomed to, ?I don?t like concerning myself with your affairs, but??

?A demon, duh,? Jiraiya said, voice never losing its edge. Then he stood, pivoted, and knelt beside another body, and Gamabunta?s eyes, hollow ringlets of clouded orange-gold, followed his movements; movement proved awkward for the frog who could tread the entirety of the Fire Country in, oh, nine, eleven leaps, but admirably he said nothing as Jiraiya?s pace quickened. Two bodies. Twenty bodies. Thirty, forty, sixty, a hundred, two hundred?

Bodies. Bodies, bodies, bodies, the count stretching onward for kilometers. There wasn?t a beating heart in the bunch.

So.

He spent himself crossing forehead protectors on stilled chests.

?Late,? he muttered every now and then, like a sporadic mantra. Because he was, after all, late.

?Chakra. Tendrils of chakra, blazing with the white-hot intensity of the sun itself, lashing out at the Fire Country?s closest neighbors. Still detectable after so many kilometers. The Kyuubi?s bloodlust was insatiable. Its need for stealth was?nonexistent. Hard to be surreptitious when you?re a demon fox.

The Fire Country?s closest neighbors. Takigakure. Kusagakure. Amegakure.

Jiraiya finished his self-appointed task unceremoniously, readjusting a shattered limb so it graciously lay at the corpse?s side.

He?d missed a body, though.

A hand dusted with blackish dirt and searing red flesh-scrapes jutted out from beneath a pile of wood-splinters.

His eyes, narrowed and stony, were immediately drawn to the faintest, faintest twitch of ashen fingers. And then he felt it?a pulse. Chakra. Chakra, slight, not extraordinary but substantial, flickering like a candle in a blizzard?and for only the first time that day, Jiraiya felt himself flung into the throes of desperation. Another ungraceful bound, and he was skidding to a halt beside the rubble, spending a silent moment in utter, utter wonder?before he saw and felt the twitch of both fingers and chakra, and he recalled that whoever this survivor was, he?d (or maybe she?d) like to get out. Now.

Jiraiya sifted through the rubble at a rate so rushed and panicked and yet so agonizingly slow, as though his hands, too, were quivering with disbelief. Carelessly and carefully flinging aside wood, steel pipes, stone, miniature battle scars, he exhaled, quietly, ruefully, as his searching fingers touched something almost warm. Flesh. Good. He was?almost?happy.

Relief. Unadulterated relief, coursing through his almost hollowed veins. But Jiraiya was never ever a pessimist.

Except when he was.

It was a girl.

No, he thought with the same suddenness. It?s a boy.

So it was. A lanky boy, a little on the short side, arms twisted and bent in angles so awkward Jiraiya nearly cringed. The boy?s hair was long, nonetheless uneven, jet-black, and he could clearly see where a wayward steel shard might have sawed through a small chunk of it. With the absence of weight owing to Jiraiya?s courteous handling of the collapsed roof, more air fit snugly into the boy?s lungs.

??Ey, Bunta!? he called, cupping the side of his mouth with a hand. ?I got a survivor here!?

Gamabunta grunted in reply, though the shift of his eyes relayed a stronger curiosity than what could be discerned by voice alone. Really, the toad possessed more human qualities than Jiraiya himself sometimes.

Jiraiya?s eyes briefly grazed the body?cuts, chinks, bruises like seas of splotchy midnight blue?before gathering it in his arms, quietly establishing a connection so as to supply the kid with a steady stream of chakra. Jiraiya really had no talent for healing?he always left that particular responsibility to Tsunade-hime?but kid really needed a boost anyway. Just. a little. boost.

A clumsy one-handed seal and Jiraiya found himself comfortably seated on Gamabunta again, carefully repositioning his legs and nestling the tanned, wiry frame on an obscure patch of frog-skin.

?Bunta,? he said, folding his arms and crushing his fingers into his right bicep with bruising force, and he was tired and somehow much older than he should have been, now of all times and here of all places. He exhaled, unable to expel the memory of the scent of blood from his mind, and the massive toad twitched his head to assure Jiraiya he was listening. ?We?re goin? to the western border. I?m sure you know why, right? Smell the chakra??

The toad hesitated, and Jiraiya?s toothy grin never faltered. Gamabunta didn?t need to look at him to know he was grinning?and the toad looked something akin to annoyed.

The sun inched past the obliterated Hokage monument, and Jiraiya gingerly avoided casting his eyes upon the final face etched unto the cliff side with startling precision. Every inch, every wrinkle, the downward slant of the old geezer?s eyelashes?yeah, way too many memories. A shame how, after a handful of decades, he was still running. All of them were.

Loyalty was a habit that never really quite died.

Unless you were Orochimaru.

So he wasn?t remotely surprised when he never felt the quiet, steady tumult of a serpent burrowing underground. In fact, way back when, when he?d first discovered Orochimaru standing with a bunch of smoking carcasses at his feet and a smirk slanting his lipless mouth?yeah, okay, Jiraiya had gasped, but quietly. Then came the even quieter acceptance, the grim sobriety of reality burdening his once lightened shoulders.

Reality, reality, reality.

He was getting mighty sick of reality. Now. Here. In what used to be Konohagakure.

Maybe it?d be Konohagakure again someday.

But it certainly wouldn?t be by his hand.

Gamabunta had correctly ascertained the distance between here and there, from ex-village border to wrecked forestry, and bent his rubbery limbs preparing for a jump that would easily clear the gap.

The boy stirred and made a soft hiss of pain, teeth gritted in an admirable effort not to yelp aloud. Then he jackknifed into a sitting position upon realizing that he was sitting on a surface a little bumpy, a little dry, and, disoriented, he kneaded his forehead with a palm before his dark brown eyes regained focus. Jiraiya barely understood his confusion and panic, and would have laughed as the boy reasserted control over his muscles and glanced around slowly, then frantically.

Surprisingly, the first question to emerge from the boy?s mouth was not, ?Where am I?? Nor was it, ?Who are you??

Instead, it was a toneless, ?Are my arms broken??

Jiraiya?s grin widened, if possible. A little unusual. Jiraiya?d met a couple of unusual kids before. Never really liked them. They were brats. ?Four places in the left, three in the right. Fingers and wrists are still operable and you?ve also got a slightly cracked rib. A roof fell on you.?

The boy closed his eyes, clenched the eyelids shut tightly. ?Are my parents dead?? he asked, quietly, suppressing a tremor in his throat. He was reluctant to betray anything, but betraying was really all he was doing. Jiraiya wondered if the boy would?ve spoken to Sarutobi-sensei like this.

Then again, he recalled bitterly, Sarutobi knew everyone, could speak to people as though he knew their most intimate secrets without ever being told.

And really, he probably did.

?Everyone?s dead.?

The boy?s eyes flew open and a pair of hot tears slipped unwittingly down angular cheeks. Barely visible pupils shrank in alarm?alarm alarm alarm alarm. A new meaning to the term ?alone?: sole survivor. But really, Jiraiya understood when the boy?s posture slackened and his shoulders quivered as he craned his head around to catch a final glimpse at?at a land reduced to barren soil, the bodies almost indistinguishable from the tight-knit patterns of ground-lumps they formed. And Jiraiya understood when his eyes attained a glassy, searching sheen. Because people, subconsciously, unconsciously or no, always hunted down that which haunted their thoughts.

The boy was looking for his family.

?Kid,? Jiraiya said after a long pause as the landscape bobbed up and down thanks to Gamabunta?s harried jumps. ?What?s your name??

The kid drew his knees to his chest and rose a shaking hand to readjust his forehead protector, let it sink over closed, brimming eyes. Fingertips lingered on cool metal, and then on the Leaf insignia, before a choked voice responded, ?U-Umino Iruka.? A slight slur on the last syllable. A sniffle and a hiccup. Jiraiya didn?t touch him, only stood, slowly, and made a short journey to Gambunta?s head.

?I?m gonna give ?im a summoning contract, Bunta,? Jiraiya said softly, too softly, but the boss of toads knew and understood. ?And a couple of scrolls.? Pass along the secrets of the trade. It?s too late to take a real pupil, now, the silence told the both of them.

Too bad. He?d looked forward to having a first, real student, someday.

His advanced hearing netted the sounds of bawling, sobs rapidly gaining volume.

Sometimes, Jiraiya wished he were deaf.

?The kid?s name is Iruka.?

Gamabunta nodded shortly, assessing the distance between here and there?and then they were at the border, unceremoniously, miles and miles away from that place, a forever-haunting reminder of Jiraiya?s inability to arrive early, or at the very least on time. Still. He wasn?t going to dwell on that now. Can?t change the past: a lesson hard-learned.

Besides, he had villages to save. Lives to spare. He could do this, could face death over and over again, stare a demon in the eye, and perform a few quick seals and it would all be over. Death was not a problem, never a problem, because he knew what he was signing up for when he put on that forehead protector.

They entered Kusagakure and his ears were assailed with a cacophony of screams.

?Take the kid to Tsunade-hime when I?m through here,? he said, pauses meaning everything and nothing marking the spaces between his words, weaving his fingers through his mussed mane of white hair. ?Tell ?er it?s a gift from Jiraiya. Make sure he?s wearin? a forehead protector and the stuff I?ll be giving to him.? Uncertainty. Jiraiya hated uncertainty.

Gamabunta snorted almost derisively, an everyday gesture that almost lulled Jiraiya into a false sense of security. Really, he succumbed to illusions far too easily?illusions of safety, illusions of peace and quietude and freedom from servitude. Still, at least he?d possessed the soundness of mind to know he was still in the service of Konohagakure the second he laid eyes upon it?when it wasn?t there anymore.

You know, Jiraiya hated genjutsu. Really, really hated it. The fact that Orochimaru was great at it didn?t assist his ever-mounting dislike for the man.

?S-sir?? If you don?t mind me a-a-asking?? The boy?s?Iruka?s?voice managed over the turmoil, terrified as though Jiraiya had led him out of the frying pan and into the fire. Tear streaks marred a scarred face. His voice was thick with gravel and disuse and sorrow, but Umino Iruka still possessed the soundness of mind to know fear when he tasted it. ?What the h-hell are we doing!??

?We?re gonna kick some demon ass,? Jiraiya deduced without a second thought; Gamabunta bristled, but grunted nonetheless in reply, cautiously, cautiously approaching the Kyuubi as it lashed out with three tails and unleashed a deafening hiss as it laid eyes upon the boss of toads, a flattened pink tongue trailing along fangs coated in plaque and blood. ?Stay put, kid. The frogs?they?ll protect you.? Pause. A brief, brief moment of regret, a brief moment of contemplation?and then finality. ?And take care of this for me!?

A scroll, large and heavy and cumbersome, materialized in his aging hands and he heaved it at Iruka, who caught it with some difficulty?was nearly flattened by it.

Still, somehow, calmly eyeing the despairing boy perched a good handful of meters away, and pivoting, wasting a second in eyeing the remnants of the border of what was once a bustling country of fire, he couldn?t help but shake the nagging sensation that something was missing. Somebody was missing; someone was missing when Konohagakure had needed him or her most.

Uncharitably, he assumed that person to be himself and said nothing more as Gamabunta unsheathed his blade.

---