Disclaimer: NARUTO and its characters were created and are owned by Masashi Kishimoto. Original characters and plot are the property of the author. No copyright infringement intended.
Title: Heaven Hold Us
Pairings: ShikaNeji, KakaGen, InoKiba
Rating: M / R (language, themes, violence etc.)
Genre: Drama/Angst/General
Summary: A series of Post-War BtB one-shots [BtB Flashforward]
Timeline: Post Fourth Shinobi World War. 4 months after the War.
HEAVEN HOLD US
II
by Okami Rayne
Kakashi.
Well. Kakashi's ninken. Genma should've guessed. Ino's canine chaperone. The dog dropped her off on Raidō's doorstep – damaged goods – and loped back down the hallway, lupine and grey, looking like the tragic embodiment of Hatake Kakashi's tragic lone-wolf soul.
At least it wasn't the mouthy pug.
Though that might've been preferable.
Preferable to Ino standing in the hallway, skirt too short and top too skimpy for wherever she'd been and whatever she'd done. Dark lipstick painted a swollen mouth, giving her too-pale face a vampire-complexion. Her colour was off. Pigmentation patches near her jaw and temples revealed swathes of ashen skin that would probably burn to the touch. Large hoop earrings matched the smaller bangles haloing her wrists, fingers twitching, varnish dark and chipped. She reeked of cheap fruity perfume. And beneath all that dime-store sweetness Genma caught the stink of cigarette smoke clinging to the long pale rope of golden hair twined over her shoulder.
What a picture.
Jaw tight, he set his gaze squarely on her eyes.
They were so unlike the eyes of that small loudmouth Yamanaka princess running around with wildflowers in her hair, throwing confetti petals while sitting pretty on Naoki's shoulders as he white-knighted her home like he didn't have death on his skin and blood under his nails. This girl, once so small in Naoki's hands, yet so large in his heart, her blonde locks always clipped back with weird glittery things that would leave tiny technicoloured sparks on Naoki's palms, then Genma's skin – which gave Karibi all the piss-taking ammo needed to blow holes in their egos. Glitter, just a different kind, was on Ino's lashes now. Shiny. Stinging. The faintest sheen.
She'd taken something – her pupils were blown.
That bothered Genma less than the tears. They stood there, right at the ridge of her lash-line. Not falling. Just holding. Holding solid. Holding steady. Holding like the tension and the air and everything Genma might've thought to say – only he didn't say a word. Because as always, there were no words but action.
"Pawning off the lost princess onto me? You seriously think I'm the go-to guy for this?"
No response.
Just the low-key slither of the wind through the grass, shaking up the stillness and skirting round the edges of a silence as cold and angular as the polished Memorial Stone jutting upwards like a buried weapon.
It'd become that.
A weapon.
One which Kakashi used to keep Genma at arm's length. Hallowed ground and all that. The kind where verbal throw-downs and the whole ground-and-pound went against way too many rules to ever pardon Genma from the penalty that'd follow if he tried to start shit here. Although…how the hell would Kakashi's wrath be any worse than the punishment he'd already meted out?
Get up. Get on.
Genma sighed. A long purging plume straight from the bottom of his falling chest. He hated self-pity about as much as he hated any of his former demons…but every now and then one or two of them rolled in their graves and threatened to rise. It wasn't a unique haunting. A unique hell. They were all feeling it. Kakashi, for one, fought the same devils.
"It's a difficult adjustment for him."
No shit. As if Genma didn't know. As if he didn't understand. Or care.
Blinking slow, he checked his rage and invited himself into this 'sacred space' with his usual blasé irreverence, voice carrying on the same low note. "You sent her to me. Slim pickings or just feeling sadistic?"
Kakashi didn't bat an eye. Both of them grey now. Grey and lustreless as the Memorial Stone. "It had to be you."
"Bullshit."
"Genma."
"Kurenai. Shizune," Genma began, grinding out the names through bared teeth. "Yoshino. Tsunade. Fucking Gai. Anyone else. Why the hell did you pick me?"
"Naoki."
Genma's expression froze over, head drawing back, voice dead as a flatline. "You really want to tread that ice with me?"
Kakashi's gaze cut away, eyes pinching. Not quite an apology. "I could lie, if you'd prefer."
"You don't get to dodge accountability on this, Kakashi."
"And this?" Kakashi challenged, the barest edge sharpening his voice – his eyes – gazing back at Genma with a look that encompassed the enormity of the strain and space between them. "Because if you want my accountability for this – then you have it."
"The hell I do. You're—" Genma bit off the rest of the sentence – it was as damning as any charge. He'd been on emotional trial for months.
Kakashi knew it. The bastard. He held the judge's anvil in the sheer weight of his gaze. He slammed that anvil down by staring straight at Genma, giving the Tokujō a single acknowledging nod. "Say it."
Genma's turn to dodge. And he dodged alright. Like a celebrated pro. Actually moved bodily into the movement, fielding the question and the hurt by turning a weak half-circle to take himself out of range, huffing a laugh. "You seen my brat-pack quota? It's a big fuck-off zero for a reason. I'm not made for this."
"Shikamaru."
Genma stilled. Shot Kakashi a narrow look. "Nice. You're just pulling out all the cheap shots tonight, aren't you?"
"You don't deny it."
"Deny what?" Genma snapped, voice hoarse from the infection, hoarser still from the irritation. "It was different with Shikamaru. Then. Now. On both counts. And just so we're clear, both times I didn't ask or offer."
"No. You never do."
Ouch. Genma rounded on him, brows flying high. "Fuck me, that's rich. After all the hand-me-down-sensei-shit you've pulled over the years, never mind tonight?"
"I trust you with her."
"You should know better. Know me better."
"Well, your better is best right now."
"The hell it is," Genma snarled, anger blazing through him, hot and itchy, eyes tapering to slits. "You chose wrong."
"If that were true then you'd have left her."
Genma blinked. Or rather, his shadow-clone did.
Busted.
Kakashi's expression softened just a little, which in no way alleviated the embarrassment or the annoyance.
Scoffing, Genma backed up a step and gave the copy-nin a droll look. "And what? Come here in person? Wouldn't want to violate your restraining order. Though that hasn't exactly spared me the jail time, has it?"
"Genma."
Shit. So much for fielding. So much for dodging. Genma's mouth had once again delivered a swift kick to the groin of the unspoken heartache standing between them. And just for good measure, he gave another punt to the pain.
"Guess my good behaviour isn't going to sway you." He shrugged, arms spread in the same black humour as the smile on his face. "What's a guy to do?"
Kakashi's expression buckled a little, but his cruel excuse refused to weaken at the knees. He shook his head, silver strands limned with the same moonglow as his eyes, emotion phasing through them. "You know that my leaving was never to do with you," he husked. "Never."
"Never." Genma laughed, but his voice shook just enough to betray the pain stealing through. "Never is. My lovers never need a reason to leave, Hatake. No words but action, right? I get it. You can sleep easy."
Kakashi moved towards him. "Genma…"
Genma didn't expect that. It knocked him back a step both inside and out. Recovering – retreating – he turned his back on Kakashi – on those sad, grey eyes –and let his clone burst into swirls of dissipating chakra as hot and raw as the pain stinging in his throat…stinging in his chest, his head, his whole damn system the second he jerked back to awareness in his corporeal body.
Blinking, he stared sidelong into a pair of yellow-green eyes.
Waif bobbed his feline head and inched closer across the pillow, lips pulling wide in a sharp toothy yawn. Genma croaked a half-growl. Lame threat. Waif smashed his fury head against Genma's temple with such spontaneous affection it caused the Shiranui's eyes to drift shut in agony before he lurched upright on the bed and hacked up a glob of bloody phlegm into his cold black coffee.
Waif, in solidarity, coughed up a hairball.
The silence rang for a moment. Or maybe that was Genma's blood-pressure screwing with his hearing. He pinched his nose, popped his ears and worked his jaw, dizziness swimming around in his head. Stupid move, sending out a shadow clone. He couldn't afford the chakra expenditure…but he couldn't physically leave. Really wanted to. A nice cut and run for old time's sake.
Not this time.
Yeah. Cause he was reformed. Or repentant. Or stuck in some subconscious atonement-drama which made it easier for others to do the leaving.
Again…not this time.
No. Cause Ino hadn't gone anywhere. Craning his neck back, Genma glanced beyond the kitchenette towards the bathroom. Light still shone along the crack beneath the door. He could hear water running…running…
Waif pawed at him – gave him a nice 4-inch scratch.
Sitting up, Genma flicked the bedside lamp on and reached to push the cat away. Waif ducked the touch, swiped out a paw, gave Genma another bloody token of his affection before sidling into the ninja's lap and purring sweet nothings.
"Rough love," Genma croaked, swinging his legs off the bed and standing to deposit the cat from his lap to the floor. "I'm usually into that."
Crooked tail twitching, Waif stared at Genma's feet then tipped his head back as if detecting humour – or not…because yeah, he was a cat. A daring cat. Or maybe just a lucky cat. Three lives short of the nine after prior homelessness…Pein…The War.
"Sorry," Genma muttered, belated and moronic. "Probably should've looked for you."
Hadn't needed to. The cat found him. Always did, no matter where he moved. Waif gazed up and meowed again, adding some volume, showing off teeth. Genma did the same, lips pulled back as he flashed enamel. But there was no venom in it.
"Scram," he hissed, whisper-soft.
Waif waited until he was good and ready. He circled Genma's ankles a few times, eventually lost interest and wandered off to the far corner of the room nearest the small balcony. He'd made a nest of Genma's top. An old grey tank resting in shreds. The cat flopped down, began to lick himself into various yoga poses, all of them shameless.
Yeah, he was definitely taking his cues from Genma these days.
The water shut off and the bathroom door clicked open.
Wincing, Genma swayed away from the lamplight towards the shadows of the kitchenette, making sure to scuff his feet and clink some ceramic. Didn't want to add some accidental peekaboo trauma to whatever acid trip Ino had taken. She'd gone between silence and sniffles and a strange spaced-out vacancy which suggested she wasn't all there.
Which is probably better than being all here.
With him.
He'd told her to shower. Clean up. Hoped to hell he wouldn't have to assist because the shadow of Asuma's ghost seemed to cling to every corner of the room. There was no comfort in that. No reassurance.
I don't need it.
"No. But she will. Think you can handle that for me?"
"Fuck no," Genma breathed.
Frowning, he occupied his hands and dicked about with the old gas cooker to avoid grasping the unwanted reality…the unwanted responsibility. But as with Raidō earlier, there was no escaping it.
That's the problem, Shiranui. You stayed sane.
Low-standard sane, for sure. Not at all encouraging if he was the yardstick Asuma's ghost and Kakashi's eccentric brain were measuring a "sound mind" by.
The light in the bathroom cut out.
Genma paused, felt the breeze of Ino's passage as she brushed past; close enough that he could smell his cologne on her. One of the few things he hadn't hidden. Like the razor, the scissors. Not that it would've stopped her. There were ten kinds of ways she could've punched her ticket in there. No way of ever knowing for sure what the hell was in someone's head. He'd trusted his gut on this occasion.
Yeah, because that old hunch worked well with Karibi, didn't it?
Genma's hands settled at the countertop and his body stiffened against the immediate grief – the immediate guilt. Age-old and haggard. It didn't hurt the way it used to…but every now and then it took the breath from him. He allowed it – out of respect for the only woman he'd ever loved enough to let in – before he stepped out into another state, another mind…another unwanted moment.
Ino sat on his bed, stark naked.
Plot-fucking twist.
To his credit, Genma stared without expression, his total non-reaction as hard and detached as Ino was soft and inviting, her skin flushed, eyes fixed on him. Slowly, deliberately, she lifted one long slender leg and draped it artfully over the other, an anticipatory heat scintillating in her gaze – dangerous, sharp, volatile. She leaned back on her elbows, every move practiced and designed to seduce.
Genma's gaze remained steady on her face. At length, he spoke. "That's your play?"
In the absolute stillness that followed, Genma knew it could go two ways. She'd either try to kill him or she'd start to cry. Given what little he knew about Ino's bi-polar behaviour since the War, there was no middle-ground between those outcomes, those two inevitabilities.
But Ino didn't try to kill him.
And she didn't start to cry.
She laughed.
She laughed and Genma went cold all over, a dark tide rolling through him. No surprise really. Kakashi had sent her his way for this very reason. It all made a sad and sorry kind of sense. He knew these waters.
Sink or swim.
Ino stopped laughing, sat up a little on her elbows and beckoned him with a soft toss of her head, throat bared. "Come here."
"Get dressed."
"You fuck women."
Genma's brow ticked up. He'd never heard her swear – which, for some inane reason, irked him more than her nudity. "Get dressed."
"You fuck women."
"So does Kiba. Bitch in heat seems more his type."
Ino went rigid. A wild and almost stricken look of shame gripped her expression before the moment passed, along with whatever lucidity she might've reached for. She slipped back into the sylph-like smirk, the harlot game, the grip of the drug.
"And what's your type?" She crooned, swaying her leg in a coy, playful manner, body at total odds with the tight, icy look in her eyes. "Sweet-hearted medics like Shizune? She told me you screwed her."
"Get dressed."
"She's tragically in love with you. She didn't need to tell me."
Genma said nothing. Did nothing. She was looking to get her claws in and he was okay with that for now. He had no embarrassment to exploit. Shame was a wasted tactic on the likes of him. Guilt too, apparently.
"You've screwed her," Ino accused. "I know you have."
Genma simply stared, hands slotted into the pockets of his slacks, body loose, expression closed – affecting boredom as his brain went electric with warning. The silence gained a few pounds, bloated and heavy. Even Waif looked uncomfortable, ears pinned, body flat to the ground.
Ino scraped her nails along the bedsheets, fingers curling into fists. Her lips pulled into a nasty little twist. "You'll screw her but you won't screw me? I know it's not a blond thing. Or a Yamanaka one."
Bull's-fucking-eye.
Genma's gaze sharpened on her. "Careful," he cautioned, voice very soft.
Ino's throat bobbed at the threat. But she'd got her reaction. "Maybe that's the problem. Guess I hit too close to home, don't I?"
She hit alright. And yeah, it hurt. But he could hit too. With barely a tic in his expression, Genma tracked his gaze over her body in a slow, sensual crawl until his lip kicked up in a mocking smile.
"Damn," he breathed. "Daddy would be so proud."
His hit was harder.
Ino screamed.
She went for him. Not in the sexy fun way.
Waif sprung into a mal-coordinated spasm and bolted for the kitchenette. Or at least, that's what Genma assumed the cat had planned, given that Waif was ever the streetwise self-preserver. But – as it so oddly happened – Waif went for Ino. A hissing, spitting ball of crooked-tail fury.
Ino didn't expect it.
To be fair, neither did Genma. Wasn't exactly in his cat's nature to go all Man's Best Friend. Good thing it wasn't in Genma's nature to get sentimental about it. He wasn't sure which one to tackle first. Both ranked high on the 'gouged eyes' scale, though Ino had the dangerous advantage of taijutsu-ticking-timebomb mixed into whatever chemical cocktail she'd knocked back. She was juiced on fuck-knows-what and he was jacked up on old fumes.
Not exactly fighting fit, are you?
Not exactly. Ino looked crazed. A very specific kind of crazed. Genma remembered what that no-holds-barred insanity felt like – what it looked like.
Not pretty.
Screeching, Ino made to reach around her middle to grab the cat – and given the pitch of her scream and the hell in her eyes she was looking to levy one of Waif's remaining six lives. She never got her claws in.
Genma stepped in, got a solid hold and spun her.
Waif flew off about as smooth as Velcro, getting in a good departing riiip. He landed on the bed in a light spring and struck a Halloween pose, spine arched, hissing for all his remaining lives were worth.
Ino screamed, a horrible, wet sound.
"This?" Genma gritted out, thwarting her attempt to elbow him and locking her in a choke-hold. "You really want to choose this?"
Ino went loose in his grip, a sudden deadweight. Clever. The move surprised Genma and he staggered forward a step, reaching with one hand for the wall. Ino slipped from his grip like an oiled cat, spun, slapped his elbow up and drove one helluva punch straight into his ribs. Solid connect. Solid crack. Solid should've-seen-it-coming.
A familiar move.
Raidō's move.
No doubt a hand-me-down Niju Shotai goodie. Well shit. If that's how she wanted to play. Wheezing, Genma kept his balance, ducked her kick and drove his fist into the slender meat of her bare thigh, putting all of his mass and all of his shitty mood into it.
Knuckles v.s. nerves.
Game over.
Ino dropped like a stone, one knee cracking down, arms wrapped around her dead leg. Soon enough she'd wish it would stay that way. Wish she couldn't feel a thing. It was a big bitch of a move. Although, not quite as big a bitch as Genma anticipated because not even 5 seconds into the takedown, Ino lunged for him again. Not some half-ass, last-ditch-effort-stagger, she actually launched off her other leg and tackled him around the waist, shoulder-slamming into his gut, taking his balance.
Even as he fell, Genma laughed in surprise.
Until his skull hit the floor. Less fun when the lights burst in his head and her face winked out into darkness. Shit. A swarm of fizzy black filled his vision. A thousand dots and stars before he made the slow crawl back to the light. Dazed, he wondered what the hell had given her the edge – which poison, which pill…which person?
You oughta' remember…
Just really didn't want to.
Mizugumo was gone…and Genma had come such a long way from all those dark temptations. Felt the stone-cold reality of his sober brain the second Ino's hot, damp hands framed his face.
Shit!
Genma's eyes flew open and his hands flew up, fingers snarling around her wrists as blue-white heat sputtered at his temples. But Ino didn't have the chakra for what she'd intended, her lip curling back in frustration, the tears and the fury blazing like an entity in her eyes, chipped nails digging into Genma's hairline.
"Choose?" she screamed. "I never chose what I lost!"
That sent him North of pissed.
Genma gripped her wrists and head-butted her, a violent klaxon ringing in his ears at the force of the blow. Ino's head rocked back, brow split and bleeding. Genma kept hold of her wrists, hooked his foot behind her shin and bridged hard, rolling them to pin her.
"And you think the rest of us did?" he snarled down. "Grow up."
Ino screamed so loud the sirens ringing in Genma's head took on a brain-splitting pain which threatened ruptured eardrums and grey-matter leakage. He arched his head away from her, expression scrunched in pain.
Banging on the door. "GENMA!"
Waif leapt onto Genma's back, rebounded, sprung off the wall and went into an acrobatic shit-fit. Ino kept on screaming. It was a guttural, hateful sound – strangled and tortured. The sheer volume of its agony hooked on Genma's war-torn, love-wrecked heart and yanked so hard it dredged up an awful sickness from the pit of his gut.
It had to stop.
She had to stop.
He struck her.
Not the calculated, pressure-point KO which would've been kinder, better and ten times less of a dick move. This was a full-on, one-shot punch which short-circuited consciousness, cut off her wailing and sent her limp against the floor.
Silence.
Shaking out his fist, Genma fell forwards onto his palms and hacked a lung-splitting cough into the crook of his arm, body braced above her on his hands and knees. He struggled for air.
The banging came again, insistent, intrusive.
More shouting beyond the door. "Genma!"
Waif spun another psychotic lap around the room. Grunting, Genma pushed to his feet, stumbled past the cat and staggered towards the door – throat on fire, heart slamming out a drum-and-base rhythm, brain leaking out signals, co-ordination sloppy, face pale and sweating.
He made it to the door.
Yanked it back to find Iwashi standing there in bright – oh so bright – red boxers.
Genma braced his forearm against the door, dug very, very deep and made a show of squinting in distaste. "Someone's feeling confident."
Iwashi's mouth dropped open and his face heated. "Yeah, confident that my neighbour is a fucking psychopath."
"Guilty as charged."
"Sounds like someone is dying in there! What the hell are you doing?" Iwashi leaned forward in a bid to spy over Genma's shoulder only to have the door inch further shut.
Genma leaned into the slim space, effectively blocking any line of sight into the room. "I don't have enough sexual euphemisms to explain it to you. But I'm happy to demonstrate."
Iwashi rolled his eyes and backed off a pace, prudishness kicking in. He gave Genma the judgemental once-over. "I really worry about you, Shiranui."
Brow arched, Genma's eyes dropped to Iwashi's groin.
The other ninja went red. Not quite as red as his boxers. "Genma."
"My mistake," Genma husked. "You wore those to avoid attention."
"Jackass."
A tense beat held between them. A painfully long and tortured moment in which Genma's vision did a weird trippy little dance while Iwashi's gaze cut back and forth across the Shiranui's face in a weak pretense of speculation. Wasted attempt. Iwashi often tried to intuit Genma's facial nuances the way Raidō did and failed miserably. Poor guy. Genma always suspected he suffered some kind of middle-child syndrome when it came to the old Goei Shōtai trio. Even now, he was trying to bond, to offer or sell something…
Genma wasn't in a buying mood. He sucked the blood from his gums and flashed teeth. "Is tonight the night, Iwashi?"
Iwashi hissed at the suggestion. Its ill-placed humour did nothing to disguise the sting of rejection. It was an old tactic, keeping people at arm's length with crass jokes and inappropriate razzing. Raidō took it for the bullshit it was and knew how to bat it back – Iwashi just got pissy.
He turned away from Genma. "Next time you decide to have wild animal sex can you go rut in the forest and save me the embarrassment?"
Genma kept his eyes on the boxers, squinting. "Looks like you've got that covered."
Iwashi flipped him off.
Genma waited for a five count before he eased the door shut and pressed his brow to the cool wood, one palm flat against the grain. "Shit," he breathed, the humour and the bullshit dropping off about as light as Akimichi chain-mail. It hadn't felt this heavy in a long time.
Because you're still not made for this shit.
Grunting, he made to turn away, back to Ino, back to the mess, back to–
The door exploded inwards behind him.
Staggering, Genma wheeled in shock, body lagging, mind scrambling to the fore until a bare-knuckled fist punched his brain into the back of his skull. He went down hard. Stayed there. Palms braced, head throbbing, vision going red in one eye.
Surreal – maybe stupid – how the solitary thought which popped into his busted head was, Is this how the world used to look to you, Hatake?
Half red. Half ruin. But there were no Sharingan insights for Genma. Just pain. A lot of pain.
Good.
Genma reached for the pain. Knew how to use it. Got jacked on violence like some part of his psyche was hard-wired to respond to its hot chemical call. Respond. Not react. He could be a calculated kind of crazy in the red-mist moments.
Someone grabbed the back of his neck.
Red mist went redder.
Snarling, Genma used the impetus and spun, slamming his elbow point-blank into a red-slashed cheekbone, dislodging himself. In the darkness, the other ninja's head snapped sideways but his face swung back just as fast, elongated teeth bared in a snarl that matched the savage glint of two yellow-gold eyes, pupils thinned to slits.
Incredulous, Genma coughed up a laugh and almost a lung.
Inu-Fucking-zuka.
Kiba wasn't feeling the giggles. His eyes went from Genma to Ino, froze on her naked body, expression rippling into an oh-so-dangerous kind of stillness, every muscle tensed.
Ah shit.
Wheezing, Genma staggered to his feet, swaying more than he'd like but less than he'd feared given the hit he'd taken and the shape he was in. The violence was speaking to him now. Chakra reserves sputtering to faulty yet unforgiving life…it wasn't a good feeling.
"Kiba," Genma cautioned, eyeing the dog-nin across the short distance. "This isn't what it looks like."
No. It looked worse. So much worse. Ino was bleeding, naked, out cold. It was laughable to even consider negotiation. There'd be no talking Kiba down. Genma knew it, but he figured the token "this is all just a big misunderstanding" speech was worth a lame-ass shot. Said lame-ass shot fell waaaay short of its mark. And if the animal look in Kiba's too-bright eyes was any indication, then Genma's aim was about as wide as it was worthless.
This is why I don't do kids.
Even during his time as Proctor. He never volunteered. Never pretended to be a better man or a better mentor. It was insane enough with Shikamaru...but Ino? Her history. His history. Shit. Give him a mission. Give him a mark. He never fucking asked for this.
"No. You never do."
Kakashi.
Like poison diffusing, the red-mist spread from one blood-shot eye to the other. Genma's expression wiped clean, the old ANBU killer and the old Goei Shotai bleeding into some strange crossbreed inside him.
Not like Kiba.
While the Inuzuka wasn't a pedigree kind of fighter he was a purebred kind of wild. Genma respected that. More than he cared to admit. It took a lot for a beast-nature shinobi to master animal-instinct without their heart turning like spoiled meat.
Not like us, huh?
Not like Kakashi. Or Yamato. Or Ibiki. Or even Asuma back in his rebel-yelling days.
Sure as shit not like Genma.
No. Kiba was better than that. Hot-headed brat that he was, there was no denying it. Even now, his wolf-eyes glowing like a demon's, there wasn't any darkness in the kid's heart…
And that's why he'd lose.
A/N: Back with a quick update! Thank you always for those of you taking the time to review and reach out after reading. I love and appreciate your feedback. 3 Its chakra to my veins. Once again, I can't make promises with these shorter pieces as they're done as and when I have time and inspiration (both in short supply these past few months!) Which reminds me to also thank those of you on FB and Tumblr showing such kind and motivating support both for the BtB oneshots and for my Original Works. Much love and appreciation to you all, always! x
A/N (2): For those wondering what the heck is up with apparent Ino OOCness, bear in mind this is 4 months after the Fourth Shinobi War and the Battle Against the Infinite Tsukuyomi. In the BtB verse I don't like to shy away from the psychological consequences; there's a lot more PTSD and mental havoc going around and suffice to say Ino is a victim of said "mental havoc" after losing her father and after what she saw in the Infinite Tsukuyomi Genjutsu (which, in my brain, is totally diverging from the manga depiction of two guys fighting over her - I'd like to think she has a lot more depth than that). Cheers, lovelies. x