tuesdayficarchived | So much fail.

So my lost purse with my debit card (now hot carded) and I think with A Movable Feast (thankfully already finished, though I'm one of the few in my class who likes it, damn it)? Also had my flash drive in it. And I hadn't sent important paper to my prof while all fucked up with sleep dep like I thought I had. And it was only on that lost flashdrive.

So! I'll be writing more than one paper while staying up tonight. What does this additional bit of stress mean? My loss is your gain.

Drabble trading. Yes, I know I had prompts open, but they're closed except to someone who'd asked about a fandom before I wrote this entry. This is more stress than usual, and I need something to keep me from hiding in the library basement's bathroom and never, ever, ever coming out again. There are sinks in that bathroom, and a surprisingly clean floor. I could make it until starvation set in, and so few people come along it would be years before they found my body.

You write me one drabble (and I'll be loose in the definition of this), and I'll write you two--basically, I write one, you write one, I give you another. Rinse and repeat for however long you like. I'm crossposting this with my fandom journal.

And . . . go!

ETA: Tomorrow, 4/24/2008, at 11:59:59 p.m., the drabble trade will officially be Over. By which I mean I will answer any submitted before that time with the two to one deal, but merely admire and feedback any submitted after. Because of this, you can submit as many as you want without waiting for me to catch up (and even make vague suggestions I might follow for my responses). So. Last chance. TWO TO ONE. GO!

(If I'm flooded, I'm going to try to have all my responses back by the end of finals, but I make no guarantees other than there will be responses to everything submitted before 12:00:00 4/25.)

Closed

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Thirteen years, six days, twenty-one hours and fifteen minutes.

Gaara shifted further back into the uncomfortable high-backed chair and squinted up at the clouds instead. The sun pelted down obscenely bright on everything beneath, scalding the dry Suna earth into cracks and furrows. Around them was a familiar smattering of battered-looking catacombs, and family crypts carved over several generations, complete with well-worn crests of arms and trinkets.

What made this death so much more important than the rest? He briefly flicked his eyes back to the priest. He knew of last rites; they were part of the standard training of any Shinobi. He’d given no such respects to any of his victims. He’d never bothered wondering if any of their relatives had to sit through dry ceremonies.

“At my funeral,” he asked Temari afterwards, quiet fingers tangled in her sleeve, “will they talk about how I was a good person and that I will be missed?”

“Of course they will Gaara,” Temari nodded and rubbed at bloodshot watery eyes, and tried to smile.

Ash fell from the sky like snow, drifting softly and clinging to all it touched. Drifts of it piled against the trees. The people scurrying about wore heavy cloaks and cloths over their faces where they weren't covered in masks.

There was only one tent, and all the children and wounded shared its cramped space. It was originally meant to be the command center, but the fourth had decided, eyes shifting between his ANBU and those who'd fled the village when it been set afire, that those able to walk and talk could do so just as easily outside as in.

"The fires in the north sector are under control," someone in a mantis mask reported. "And half the med-nin are prepared to move further south."

"And my wife?" Minato asked, eyes flitting back to the tent.

"They say he's a boy," the ANBU reported. "He was born just under an hour ago."

Minato nodded and allowed himself one aching second to feel like a proud father rather than a fool unprepared and inadequare to the tasks yet ahead. "Right," he said. "Bring him to me."

"Are you sure?" the ANBU asked. His voice was flat, emotionless for the real question he was asking.

Aburame's wife was expecting, Minato knew. She'd been one of the first withdrawn from the village. Aburame had also been out on the battlefield several times already. Of Kohoha's shinobi, he was maybe one of the few who might understand.

Minato laughed and ran a shaking hand through his hand. "No," he said. Then, "yes. Yes, I have to be." He drew himself up. "Bring me the--bring me my son."

The ANBU nodded and withdrew without further words.

Naruto punched Sai right in his pretty boy, too smug, annoying, annoying face. Then Naruto shook his hand a few times, because Sai hadn't bothered to dodge at all, and he hadn't actually expected to connect.

Sai held his nose and said, "Satisfied?"

"NO." Naruto continued to glare, and Sai smirked a little despite the fact he was bleeding all over in a very unattractive (and dare he say, annoying) way.

"Good," said Sai, wiping away some of the blood. "Because I'm going to prove or disprove my theory, No-Dick."

Naruto blanched and held up his hands. "Let's not do anything hasty here."

Sai's smirk was no less reassuring when it stretched wide across his face and went distinctly predatory in way he had to've learned from too much time with Sakura or Ino.

"Don't worry," he said, stalking forward. "Like that love tap,"--and Naruto was going to kill the person who taught Sai that phrase--"this has been building for a while now."

Kissing someone with a bloody nose was gross, Naruto ultimately decided. Very gross. What was even worse was when that same extremely annoying person stuck his hand unexpectedly down your pants.

So much fail.

And another one, Just Because

and now for something a little different

Re: Second Guy/Kakashi