Naruto: conductivity and PoT: instant lobotomy = instant love
No, I never seem to write for my own sake. For tongari again, because of her artwork again.
A week after they all came back from fighting the Sound ninjas, Shikamaru takes Temari to a beach at the edge of the Fire Country borders. The Sand ninjas aren't going to stay in Konoha for too long. This is the last chance Shikamaru will have. This is the only thing Shikamaru can come up with. He's not a Chuunin for creativity, necessarily; no one's ever said he was an artist in these kinds of things.
He points out to Naruto when Naruto offers to help, "I owe her." Naruto doesn't say anything, just shakes his head, but Shikamaru can see Naruto's hand forming a fist, then relaxing, tensing, then relaxing again by his side, and he knows Naruto understands. Sasuke's machine is the only thing that makes a sound in Sasuke's hospital room as the medical specialists try to bring him around; Gaara's been the one keeping Naruto sane and angry for the last few days. He's been the one keeping Sakura out, guarding the door, prodding or kicking Naruto awake in the mornings. Sometimes it seems that the only thing Naruto is staying alive for is training with Gaara in the forests or terse, vehement, silent staring matches with Gaara in the streets.
Shikamaru thinks it's lucky that Sasuke got knocked out during the rescue mission. Otherwise Naruto, who's been storing up his anger and betrayed confidence and bitterness until now, would have knocked him out anyway, and it wouldn't have been so neat or pretty.
Naruto hurts like an animal. And Gaara understands.
So Naruto owes Gaara. They all owe the Sand siblings, but Shikamaru's the first to say or do anything about it. And Temari doesn't ask or comment on it, doesn't ask why, doesn't gawk, just slings her gigantic fan over one shoulder when Shikamaru shows up at the door of where she's staying, one side of his mouth turned up in a crooked grin. He tells her, "Don't think of this as a date," and she's already ahead of him, looking over one shoulder, plodding forward in her determined pace, and saying with equally crooked humor, "I don't date younger guys."
They don't talk much getting there, and they don't talk at all when they first see it. It's just rows and rows of trees but suddenly they're in the middle of it and the sea's wide and blue and sparkling like the leaves in Konoha's trees, so placid and churning underneath and all motion and unrestrained beauty that it's wild and Shikamaru can't look at it for long because it hurts his eyes. But Temari stares at it until tears are starting to form at the edge of her eyes. It's like a desert full of water, Shikamaru realizes for the first time, and it's all wet, and there's sand the color of Temari's hair, but it's soft sand, neutral, nothing desperate or anxious or dangerous. It's soft under their feet. Temari takes off her shoes immediately when she gets to the strip of sand along the sea. Shikamaru follows suit, but he doesn't know how she digs her toes so deeply into the sand as if she would fade away otherwise. He doesn't know how she manages to stare so long at all that water. He doesn't know what she's thinking.
It's like she's never seen so much water in one place before, it's like she's never seen water at all, it's like she's something newborn, the way her mouth is soft and relaxed and so astonished, the way her eyes are wide and bright with brightness, the way she tries not to blink. She leaves her fan far behind her, her clothes unfettered and drawing ragged lines in the wind, and her breath comes in long, whistling gasps.
Shikamaru just rolls up his pants and shoves his hands deep into his pockets. He's trying to see the same thing she does, but he figures he can't. Temari isn't seeing water, she's seeing something else, something impossible and new and beautiful. She takes a step into the water and turns to ask him, "Is it always this cold?" Another step, and another, and soon she's knee deep in it, and he says, "You're getting your clothes wet."
After a while, listening to the sound of her hair flicker in the wind, he says falteringly, stiffly, fingers picking at the seam inside his pockets, "I want to thank you for saving my life."
"It's endless," she says quietly, looking straight ahead so that he can tell she's talking about the sea, and Shikamaru watches her take step after step deeper into the sea, watches her for so long that the sunlight stings tears into his eyes that trail down his cheek when he blinks. They don't say anything at all for a long a time. There isn't any need to.
Later Temari strips down to her undergarments on the sand and buries her nose into the smell of the salt in her wet clothes and Shikamaru looks the other way, remembering how bright her hair and her skin was in the sun that afternoon, how she looked very small and very frail as she walked farther and farther into the water, and he wonders if she had wanted to drown herself in that blue, cold, endless expanse, because he knows that she can't swim.
for baby_pen, in hopes that she will finish the instant lobotomy picture.
.<'>
I take you as I take your sanity, your lucidity, your voice, the violins of your heartbeat.
I take you as the darkness takes the sun when the clock falls below the horizon, as your voice takes my dreams;
you I take freely, as I love you, as my body receives you, as you are put upon this landscape
of unadultured feeling and unforgotten lies, in this place where you blend in so
that the skeletons of your shadows in the background haunt me in my dreams;
they are the mouths of your voice that speak to me, calling me out, hanging from the treetops of the hung man.
You take me as the waves take the grains of sand,
as time takes the grains of sand,
as wind takes the grains of sand,
as I love you, as I love you like the endless downfall of sand that is you,
that is me, that is our love in a place that is built of nothing more than pebbles,
in this place that does not care anymore.
We are pedestrians in a place meant for Venetian ferries and Singaporean streets, we are
tourists in a place where there are no hotels.
And I say to you that to love me is insanity,
and you say to me that to not love is stupidity,
my hand in your hair scratching the surface of your mind and your pysche,
disturbing the settled flotsam of your existence, I am calmed
by my own gall, by my own indolence, by my own expectations, I
am unbound, unfurled, scrawled upon by the brushes of your fingers,
your fingernails leaving the tracks of red rain on my skin,
and with these fingers I raise in the air, my hand caressing oxygen
as water loves rain, as deserts love rain, as flowers love rain, as life loves you,
with this hand I free you too. With this hand I bond me to you,
together as we are, unseparated, you to me as the shadow is to the heavens,
as your grave is to my heart, your tombstone to my thighs,
I love you.
You take me as I love you, as I will always love you.
So hold on, tilt your chin back, your heart beats like mine under your skin after all,
and you will feel nothing as I free you, as I touch you, and when I am done
you will know that you take me as I take you, that we are both stolen and broken goods here,
that we are both apparent and transparent and disappointed in a life that we should not have lived.
Thus we pay the price for our emancipations.
A week after they all came back from fighting the Sound ninjas, Shikamaru takes Temari to a beach at the edge of the Fire Country borders. The Sand ninjas aren't going to stay in Konoha for too long. This is the last chance Shikamaru will have. This is the only thing Shikamaru can come up with. He's not a Chuunin for creativity, necessarily; no one's ever said he was an artist in these kinds of things.
He points out to Naruto when Naruto offers to help, "I owe her." Naruto doesn't say anything, just shakes his head, but Shikamaru can see Naruto's hand forming a fist, then relaxing, tensing, then relaxing again by his side, and he knows Naruto understands. Sasuke's machine is the only thing that makes a sound in Sasuke's hospital room as the medical specialists try to bring him around; Gaara's been the one keeping Naruto sane and angry for the last few days. He's been the one keeping Sakura out, guarding the door, prodding or kicking Naruto awake in the mornings. Sometimes it seems that the only thing Naruto is staying alive for is training with Gaara in the forests or terse, vehement, silent staring matches with Gaara in the streets.
Shikamaru thinks it's lucky that Sasuke got knocked out during the rescue mission. Otherwise Naruto, who's been storing up his anger and betrayed confidence and bitterness until now, would have knocked him out anyway, and it wouldn't have been so neat or pretty.
Naruto hurts like an animal. And Gaara understands.
So Naruto owes Gaara. They all owe the Sand siblings, but Shikamaru's the first to say or do anything about it. And Temari doesn't ask or comment on it, doesn't ask why, doesn't gawk, just slings her gigantic fan over one shoulder when Shikamaru shows up at the door of where she's staying, one side of his mouth turned up in a crooked grin. He tells her, "Don't think of this as a date," and she's already ahead of him, looking over one shoulder, plodding forward in her determined pace, and saying with equally crooked humor, "I don't date younger guys."
They don't talk much getting there, and they don't talk at all when they first see it. It's just rows and rows of trees but suddenly they're in the middle of it and the sea's wide and blue and sparkling like the leaves in Konoha's trees, so placid and churning underneath and all motion and unrestrained beauty that it's wild and Shikamaru can't look at it for long because it hurts his eyes. But Temari stares at it until tears are starting to form at the edge of her eyes. It's like a desert full of water, Shikamaru realizes for the first time, and it's all wet, and there's sand the color of Temari's hair, but it's soft sand, neutral, nothing desperate or anxious or dangerous. It's soft under their feet. Temari takes off her shoes immediately when she gets to the strip of sand along the sea. Shikamaru follows suit, but he doesn't know how she digs her toes so deeply into the sand as if she would fade away otherwise. He doesn't know how she manages to stare so long at all that water. He doesn't know what she's thinking.
It's like she's never seen so much water in one place before, it's like she's never seen water at all, it's like she's something newborn, the way her mouth is soft and relaxed and so astonished, the way her eyes are wide and bright with brightness, the way she tries not to blink. She leaves her fan far behind her, her clothes unfettered and drawing ragged lines in the wind, and her breath comes in long, whistling gasps.
Shikamaru just rolls up his pants and shoves his hands deep into his pockets. He's trying to see the same thing she does, but he figures he can't. Temari isn't seeing water, she's seeing something else, something impossible and new and beautiful. She takes a step into the water and turns to ask him, "Is it always this cold?" Another step, and another, and soon she's knee deep in it, and he says, "You're getting your clothes wet."
After a while, listening to the sound of her hair flicker in the wind, he says falteringly, stiffly, fingers picking at the seam inside his pockets, "I want to thank you for saving my life."
"It's endless," she says quietly, looking straight ahead so that he can tell she's talking about the sea, and Shikamaru watches her take step after step deeper into the sea, watches her for so long that the sunlight stings tears into his eyes that trail down his cheek when he blinks. They don't say anything at all for a long a time. There isn't any need to.
Later Temari strips down to her undergarments on the sand and buries her nose into the smell of the salt in her wet clothes and Shikamaru looks the other way, remembering how bright her hair and her skin was in the sun that afternoon, how she looked very small and very frail as she walked farther and farther into the water, and he wonders if she had wanted to drown herself in that blue, cold, endless expanse, because he knows that she can't swim.
for baby_pen, in hopes that she will finish the instant lobotomy picture.
.<'>
I take you as I take your sanity, your lucidity, your voice, the violins of your heartbeat.
I take you as the darkness takes the sun when the clock falls below the horizon, as your voice takes my dreams;
you I take freely, as I love you, as my body receives you, as you are put upon this landscape
of unadultured feeling and unforgotten lies, in this place where you blend in so
that the skeletons of your shadows in the background haunt me in my dreams;
they are the mouths of your voice that speak to me, calling me out, hanging from the treetops of the hung man.
You take me as the waves take the grains of sand,
as time takes the grains of sand,
as wind takes the grains of sand,
as I love you, as I love you like the endless downfall of sand that is you,
that is me, that is our love in a place that is built of nothing more than pebbles,
in this place that does not care anymore.
We are pedestrians in a place meant for Venetian ferries and Singaporean streets, we are
tourists in a place where there are no hotels.
And I say to you that to love me is insanity,
and you say to me that to not love is stupidity,
my hand in your hair scratching the surface of your mind and your pysche,
disturbing the settled flotsam of your existence, I am calmed
by my own gall, by my own indolence, by my own expectations, I
am unbound, unfurled, scrawled upon by the brushes of your fingers,
your fingernails leaving the tracks of red rain on my skin,
and with these fingers I raise in the air, my hand caressing oxygen
as water loves rain, as deserts love rain, as flowers love rain, as life loves you,
with this hand I free you too. With this hand I bond me to you,
together as we are, unseparated, you to me as the shadow is to the heavens,
as your grave is to my heart, your tombstone to my thighs,
I love you.
You take me as I love you, as I will always love you.
So hold on, tilt your chin back, your heart beats like mine under your skin after all,
and you will feel nothing as I free you, as I touch you, and when I am done
you will know that you take me as I take you, that we are both stolen and broken goods here,
that we are both apparent and transparent and disappointed in a life that we should not have lived.
Thus we pay the price for our emancipations.