Þæs ofereode, þisses swa mæg (000_hester_000) wrote,
Þæs ofereode, þisses swa mæg

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Akatsuki scrapficlet

You know when you're, like, writing a whole bunch of things at once, and you feel like you're doing a lot, but then you don't actually finish anything? Yeah, that's me right now. Rawr. Therefore, have a short scrapfic, which is the only thing I do have done.

Title: [Untitled]
Fandom: Naruto
Author: Hester
Characters: Akatsuki (and, like, two seconds' worth of Pein/Konan, just because)
Genre: Gen
Rating: G/PG
Warnings: None, unless you're horribly allergic to the idea of people presumably having died at some point and/or dying in the future, in which case you... probably shouldn't be reading Akatsuki!fic in the first place.
Summary: Because everyone has something they need.
Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto. Dur.
A/N: The format for this is totally stolen from a poem by Philip Lamantia called Time Traveler's Potlatch, which is a big chunk of why it's now scrapfic.

For Pein: a velvety dark horizon, and then– a sky painted dove gray, rose, and gold, marked with clouds like spilled milk (but that is a misnomer, of course, because on this morning the sun rises over a world without mistakes).

For Sasori: the fragile wings of the dragonfly, so easily torn, preserved for a hundred millennia in amber.

For Madara: a book of all the paintings of warlords with magnificent golden crowns and floor-length furs, surrounded by a cloud of worshiping angels (for that is how the world should be).

For Kakuzu: shinobis’ hearts, more than even he could ever need, stacked one on top of another, frozen, waiting.

For Kisame: a rival, a sparring partner, someone to acknowledge how far he has come.

For Hidan: the challenge to prove that God resides in everything, and a butcher’s knife.

For Itachi: ink, a brush, and nine years’ worth of letters never sent, their envelopes dusted with ashes.

For Konan: this morning, gray with rain, and the hand of God warm in her own.

For Zetsu: a front seat at the battle at Badon Hill and the missing pages from Beowulf: each stroke of the sword that has been lost to everyone since.

For Deidara: one more split-second, one perfect moment that can never come again.

Tags: akatsuki frat house, fanfic, gen, naruto, scraps

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