Waking Up Starstruck, (2016-10-10)

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To this day, Naruto’s birthday is not really celebrated in the village, despite all the good he’s done for Konoha and the world at large. It’s nothing against him–not anymore–but the day of his birth still coincides with one of the biggest losses in Konoha’s history, and so long as there are living to remember them, the dead deserve to be mourned.

But after the somber memorial services held by their respective clans, Naruto’s friends have a small gathering. The dead deserve to be mourned and remembered, but the living are meant to live.

—

“Happy Birthday!” they cheer, the small ramen stand full to bursting with the majority of the most powerful teenagers on the planet.

Naruto is near to tears of joy–Lee is already there–which Kiba ribs him for before beginning a round of Hilarious Stories of Naruto Shenanigans. (Only within the past year, Sasuke, otherwise that’s cheating!)

It’s nice, it’s fun, it’s more than Naruto’s ever had before. And it would be perfect…

… if it weren’t missing a person

—

Months ago, after everything had been resolved–plots of world domination unraveled, ancient grudges finally laid to rest–Naruto thought things would be better.

Well, they were better–peace and a distinct lack of zombies couldn’t possibly be worse–but he thought things would… settle.

He knew his friends have also a hard time shaking off what they’ve seen and done, though as time passed they’ve mostly been able smooth out the worst of it. He’s been coping, too; properly, even, now that he has time to process things.

Except, months ago, Shikako left.

—

Every so often, Nagaoka will come to Konoha bearing coded reports, personal letters, and occasionally gifts from Shikako.

Glorified messenger hawk is not a proper use for a battle deer summon in training, but the young buck is always proud to do it, and easily bribed with salt licks. The letters are pleasant, but carefully worded–succinct paragraphs of understatements–and it’s easier to have Nagaoka tell them stories of his summoner instead.

In the days leading up to his birthday, Naruto is hoping for another visit from Nagaoka. He is only a little disappointed when he doesn’t show.

—

Night falls, and though shinobi aren’t exactly diurnal, everyone must go home or to work eventually–Ichiraku’s is a restaurant, after all, not a bar, and while the party could just relocate and continue, Naruto is more than happy with what’s been given to him already.

The air is cool, the stars are bright, and he’s another year older.

The five year old him could never have imagined something like today–friends celebrating his birthday–but that’s because five year old him hadn’t yet joined the Academy. Hadn’t yet met a girl with braided hair who invited him and included him and kept believing him even before he really began believing in himself.

He looks up at the night sky and wonders where Shikako is, hopes she is well and happy.

—

He still lives in the same apartment he did growing up–crappy and somewhat rundown as it is–though over the years it’s improved in terms of comfort and security.

When he walks through the door, he knows someone is in his apartment, but the seals are banked at their lowest, friendliest setting.

There aren’t many people who have been attuned to his security seals, and most of them have already said their goodbyes for the night.

The only one left is the one who created the seals.

—

“Happy Birthday, Naruto,” Shikako says, and Naruto really is crying tears of joy now.

~

A/N: I wanted to do a proper birthday thing for Naruto but I also haven’t slept in over forty hours so here’s this jumbled thing that my exhausted brain slow-churned out.

Stars Also Dream, 8/? (2016-10-09)

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There is something to be said about the man who can, without any enhancing blood limit, become the head of T&I for a hidden village as large and as prosperous as Konoha. Ibiki is impressive: he’s patient and smart and–as the horrific scars from literal weeks of torture will attest to–so damned loyal; you know you’re lucky that he’s your best friend

He’s also stubborn and secretly sassy and an occasional pain in the ass.

“No,” Ibiki says, simply, as if you were asking him if he had any plans for the weekend and not, in actuality, telling him that you’re requesting yourself for a solo mission off-planet. Honestly, as if you’re being difficult–he’s let you get away with much worse.

“I’m the only one who is qualified for this,” you argue because factually this is true. Who else has all the relevant information, abilities, and history for this?

(Your daughter, maybe, has two out of the three, but you’d rather die than put one of your precious miracles in the Empire’s crosshairs.)

“No,” he repeats, walking ahead of you through the hallway, the tail of his silly overcoat flapping with every step. On either side of you, intel nin stop and stare or hastily bow, as if Ibiki were the Hokage herself and not the dork who, at seventeen, cried from too spicy curry and still picks corn out from a dish before eating it.

“But-”

“No.”

You’d smack him, but this is his place of work and you wouldn’t want to undermine his authority. Also, he’d take it as a sign that he’s winning.

Instead, you circle around to the front and stop, facing him with a watery-eyed pout. You know what you look like, with your small frame and pink blouse and wide eyes, and while Ibiki is far too familiar with you to fall for it, that doesn’t mean the other intel nin won’t.

Ibiki’s eyes narrow, irritated but reluctantly impressed, because he knows that he’s been outmaneuvered. Intel nin are–when it doesn’t concern work–absolute gossips, and the Head of T&I bullying the Jounin Commander’s wife is something that will easily make rounds.

He doesn’t sigh–Ibiki is much too controlled for that–but his mouth twists for a brief moment before he says, “My office, then.”

Which, in this case, basically means yes.

—

A lot goes on in Konoha that the Jounin Commander doesn’t know about. It’s not a slight against your husband or his capabilities, but considering the sheer number of shinobi, not to mention the many departments and their functions, it’d be impossible to expect one person to know about everything.

Of course, the Hokage is expected to do just that, but she has a retinue of department heads and commanders and assistants at her beck and call–delegation is a fantastic thing. In most cases, the Hokage keeps a loose leash on her underlings, trusting them to do their jobs to the best of their ability. In fact, its only in rare cases–such as your daughter’s genin team–that she gets involved in the minutiae of the shinobi under her command.

The existence of life on other planets no longer counts as minutiae.

Ibiki can keep some things secret from your husband: careful interpretation of jurisdiction motivated by the somewhat muted panic thrumming under your skin– 

(He’s always been able to read you just as well as you read him)

–but he won’t keep secrets from the Hokage: that way lies corruption.

You know quite well what results when corruption poisons a government.

But you’re still wary when you and Ibiki enter the Hokage’s office–a place you’ve not so much avoided as tried not to intrude upon–a hold over from your paranoid teenage years, so keenly aware of your status as an illegal alien… literally. You’re lucky Ibiki is letting you in on the meeting, never mind that you are the expert in this case, but your nerves are still wound tight.

“Figures,” Tsunade-sama says with a sigh, dropping her chin into her hand with almost elegant exasperation, “I knew your daughter had to have come by it naturally, and Nara aren’t exactly known for being harbingers of chaos.”

A slight exaggeration, but not wrong–the similarities between you and your daughter are legion.

“Go on,” she says, lazy wave of her other hand, “Let’s see how the original holds up in terms of bizarreness.”

It’s too fond to be insulting, and in this influx of memories from the past, you’re almost grateful for it. Grateful that your family has endeared themselves to the Hokage. Grateful for the way Tsunade-sama listens, analyzing yet understanding. Grateful for the way Ibiki stands beside you, as supportive and solid as always.

Grateful for the reminder of your present: you are a wife and a mother, a soldier and a friend, a shinobi of Konoha and proud to be all these things.

—

Ibiki doesn’t understand why you want to keep your past a secret from your family, but he respects your choice and helps you do so. To the rest of Konoha–to your family–this is just a short one-week mission for T&I, a routine check on a low priority contact in Land of Tea. Nothing risky at all–why would he ever put the Jounin Commander’s wife on a dangerous mission?

That being said, his leniency only goes so far, and both he and the Hokage refuse to let you go alone.

Your repeated argument, “I’m the only one qualified for this,” is soundly rebuffed with Tsunade-sama’s almost lazy, “Which is why you’re team leader. Now choose your second.”

Ibiki smirks–it doesn’t matter that it’s Tsunade-sama doing the arguing for him, he’s still winning. You try not to scowl.

And, well, you’re willing to accede to some extent that they may be right. Rescuing a princess from an evil empire isn’t exactly C-rank material, no matter that you’re mostly acting as observer and support to a Jedi master once renowned throughout the galaxy. You’re lucky they’re letting you go at all, really, but a threat to the planet is still a threat to Konoha and it’s true that you are the only one qualified to take point on this.

At least Ibiki isn’t trying to insert himself on the team–it’d make an obvious lie out of the cover, and for all that you’ve never done anything to him, you know he’s not immune to Force tricks.

Any shinobi worth their headband can keep up with a jedi physically and mentally, but when it comes to intangible matters of Force versus chakra, there’s only one obvious choice for this mission.

“I’ll need a Yamanaka,” you say, which is as much assent as Ibiki needs to begin working his weird powers of bureaucracy.

The both of you are summarily kicked out of the Hokage’s office; within the hour you are back at T&I with a newly released ragtag group of aliens and a bewildered Yamanaka chuunin.

Poor Santa-kun.

~

A/N: Okay, so I know I’m late by thirty minutes, but this totally counts because I didn’t want to have a third missed post in a row.

Ibiki and Tsunade’s reactions for @donapoetrypassion (still keeping it a secret from the twins for now, so none for them, sorry).

Santa Yamanaka is a jounin post time-skip, so @book14reader and I figured that he could be a chuunin pre time-skip who accidentally mentioned he wanted more experience to become jounin in front of the wrong person (ie Ibiki or, possibly, Anko) and got recruited onto the WEIRDEST MISSION EVER. Also, even without the Force immunity I’ve given the Yamanaka clan, if you’re going to put the Nara clan head’s wife on a dangerous mission, the best people to put on her team would be a Nara, Akimichi, or Yamanaka anyway because they’ll do damn near anything to make sure she comes back safely.

Word Prompts (S68): Spade

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Shadows and concrete and metal and beams of light spilling diagonally across the ground. Dark stains and rusting pipes and crumbling plaster dusting everything with pale sugar coatings.

“You got it?” he asks, storm coming in, soft and treacherous as the cloudy gray sky.

“Yeah, I got it,” you say, pocketing the card, careful not to put fingerprints on anything.

Gloves and blades and red red ink that scrawls so smoothly on the sealed boxes.

A motorcycle sits in the corner of the warehouse, unused but not forgotten.

Buzzing–electricity in the wires–and the sound of machinery powering up. Next door gears turn, loud and rhythmic, barely muffled by the shared wall. Four o’clock.

No one is expecting you until noon.

“I’ll see you in two weeks,” he says.

You scoff, “Maybe.”

—

Three years ago, you were approached on the train. Heading between work and home, just one of many mindless commuters.

But you were approached, out of the dozens on that train, and to this day you still don’t know why.

The new job is better–better pay, better hours–and you no longer have to join the herds of commuters.

Your wardrobe is entirely dark colors now, though.

—

“Shit,” you mutter, not too loud, but your friends pause and look over at you in concern anyway. You’re not much one for swearing–as far as they know.

“You okay?” Jenny asks, a soft fluttering hand on your sleeve. As gentle and fickle as a butterfly.

“Yeah, fine, sorry,” you say, each word a bullet punching through paper, “I just forgot something at work,” sheepish smile now, there we go, see how everyone dismisses the interruption.

Lisa rolls her eyes, clears her throat, all attention back on her, “Now that that’s settled,” she says, exaggerated impatience making everyone giggle, “Let’s start playing!”

The game is five card stud.

You left your favorite pair of shoes at the last location.

You’re never getting those back again.

—

Once, your family asked you what exactly you did for work.

“Operations,” you say, instead of draining your glass of wine, “Inventory and deliveries. My degree’s helpful,” you say with a shrug, which redirects the conversation towards your cousin Nathan who will not be budged away from his major in English literature.

It’s only when the topic has leaped another two more times–Nathan’s pothead girlfriend to Melissa’s impending wedding–do you take that drink.

Your family still thinks you work for a toy company.

—

Old, beaten up leather but still thick, still solid. Brown and mottled and the dimensions are off, but the jacket fits, even if not how intended–sleeves scrunched up and shoulders falling low.

Your new boots nearly match, but they creak, they’re stiff. You haven’t broken them in completely, but you find the added weight makes your steps feel more secure.

New gloves, too, only because your last ones had holes in them. A bit counterproductive, that. These ones have neon yellow stripes between the fingers, and you would be mad, except they don’t give you away as much as you thought they would, and it helps in low light situations.

Tomorrow morning you and a stranger are driving three hours east to a town you’ve never been to. Maybe, if you’re lucky, both of you will make the drive back in the evening.

You scuff your toe against the floor, the sound echoes in the warehouse. The light at the door flickers, struggles, on and off–you can see the green of grass growing through the cracks in the pavement outside.

You wonder what’s inside the boxes lining the walls.

~

A/N: ¯_(ツ)_/¯

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hereyougo-moretrash:

Little Kareru and Shikako! At first it seemed a little too domestic for her, so I made the book on sealing. Problem solved! @jacksgreysays

(LOOK AT HIS LITTLE FACE! HE’S SO CUUTE!

No, Shikako, don’t teach a toddler how to do Touch Blast. Don’t do it.)

Baby Grows Up, a Kareru Uzumaki ficlet (2016-10-05)

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Every year on his birthday (or, rather, the day Mum found him) Kareru’s aunts and uncles hold a tournament.

Supposedly it’s to see who his favorite is–he knows better than to actually answer that question–but Kareru thinks it’s just an excuse to hang out with each other. Or maybe “excuse” is the wrong word, it makes it sound like a bad thing; maybe “reason” would be better.

Every year on his birthday all the people he loves gather together and there’s nothing bad about that.

—

“I’m thinking about growing my hair out,” Kareru says, tugging on the red strands that brush against his ears. He is the Uzumaki clan head, a recent genin, and simultaneously thirteen years old and somewhere in his forties. Maybe fifties.

“Oh, yeah?” Mirai asks, pulling on her own long dark locks. They curl around her fingers and cling like little tendrils–to her fingers and, from the leaves and twigs in her hair, everything else, “I’ve been thinking of cutting mine.”

“I’ll do it if you do,” Kareru promises, reaching out with his pinky extended.

Mirai blinks at him before smiling, matches him and intertwines their pinkies.

Kareru will remember this moment for the rest of his life.

—

People expect a lot from him, he knows, even people he’s never met.

He’s a bit famous–not to be vain–given who his parents are and the circumstances of his birth (or, rather, finding). And not to mention, he’s been communally raised by a group of shinobi who can individually be called impressive and collectively be considered overkill.

He has a good foundation to build from, the best foundation it could be said–again, not to be vain–and so he knows that the expectations on him aren’t entirely unfair.

He’s not going to be the Sage of Six Paths come again. He’s not going to be the Uzukage, resurrecting–figuratively, of course–the fallen village of Uzushio. He’s not going to single-handedly revolutionize the field of fuinjutsu and usher in an era of prosperity and peace on top of the already prosperous and peaceful existence the world is currently enjoying.

Kareru won’t live up to everybody’s expectations, certainly not those expectations, but it’s nice to think that people think he can. The fact that people think that of him, even if those are exaggerations and extremes, is only because in some way they believe in him.

And even if he doesn’t know what he wants to do yet, it’s still nice to be believed in.

—

Baa-chan teaches him how to cook, how to lie with a smile, and how to flip backwards into a one handed handstand and kick someone in the face all in one smooth movement.

Surprisingly, all three things save his life. Even more surprisingly, it’s all during the same mission.

TenTen-oba… er, that is, TenTen-sensei, stares at him, hands on her hips, with an expression he’s seen her give Mum before: confused, but reluctantly impressed.

“We’re not even Team Seven,” she says, as she signals for Mirai to tie up the prisoner and Shachi to secure the perimeter, “I didn’t think this would be a problem,” she sounds even a little bit irritated–but her hands are gentle when she checks the stab wound on his shoulder, and so he knows she’s mostly just worried.

“Sorry,” he says, hissing in pain as she tugs the kunai out, and sticks a healing tag on the wound. One of her inventions together with Sakura-oba–translating the Mystical Palm jutsu into seals–something he’s been meaning to ask her to teach him.

“Don’t apologize,” Mirai says, having finished tying up the prisoner thoroughly and with a knockout tag to boot, “It’s not your fault,” she says pointedly in Shachi’s direction, who looks away with reddening cheeks.

“It’s nobody’s fault,” TenTen-sensei says, helping Kareru to his feet once the healing tag has run its course, “Although I’m sure your father will tell me otherwise.”

Kareru doesn’t know what TenTen-sensei and Tou-chan have against each other–something to do with how much of a bastard he was as a genin, Dad will say–but he has long since learned how to capitalize on it.

“I won’t tell him if you teach me the healing tag,” he says with a wide grin. He can fix the hole in his shirt and wash away the blood easily, it’s the lying that will be difficult: Tou-chan does have the Sharingan, after all, and he has years of interpreting Mum’s carefully crafted understatements.

But Baa-chan did teach him how to lie with a smile and that’s one thing Kareru learned better than Mum.

—

Mum isn’t around a lot–traveling and researching and (though he knows he’s not supposed to know) maintaining her part of Konoha’s extensive spy network–which makes the time she is around all the more precious.

“Kareru!” she calls out, before he can get within five feet of her. He knows he’ll never really be able to sneak up on her–her sensor abilities and his chakra capacity making the very idea impossible–but he likes to try anyway. She’s not angry or annoyed by it, gladly accepting the hug he gives her and even tolerating the way he lifts her off the ground for a moment.

She’s still taller than him–which some part of him is relieved by, never mind that he’s outgrown both of his dads–but she’s thin in his arms, light and easy to carry. He wonders if she’s been eating enough out on the road all alone, and he finds the thought infinitely sad.

This is a part of growing up.

—

When he was a toddler, Kareru got to be Hokage for a day.

Not really, of course. It was mostly Kaka-jii-chan letting him play with the Hokage’s hat and draw on no doubt terribly important documents, but it’s one of Kareru’s earliest memories. The view from the Hokage’s desk as shinobi come and bow and speak and leave, the entire village spreading out from the tower like ripples from a fallen object.

It’s a nice memory, but Kareru knows he doesn’t want it to happen again. He loves Konoha, it’s his home even if he wasn’t born here, but Hokage for one day is enough for him.

~

A/N: A bunch of random snippets in Kareru’s life because, I dunno, I didn’t have much direction here, @captainlibrarynerdstuff. But it was fun to write nonetheless and I think I’m getting a better idea of what Kareru is like as a person.

Also, because I say so, Shachi is Shachi Umino aka Iruka’s nonexistent child with… I dunno? Someone? I dunno. I built an entire backstory for Shachi even though he’s hardly in this, but basically he ends up having the Mokuton because I say so… but also because I head canon that Iruka is somehow related to the Senju (which is why he looks so goddamn much like Hashirama, I know it’s mostly same face art from Kishimoto, but let me have this) via his mother and then I had to come up with a Senju line so it’s probably something like…

Shachi Umino, son of Iruka Umino, son of Kohari Umino nee Senju, cousin of Tsunade Senju via Harigane Senju (who I made up) who is siblings with one of Tsunade’s parents (who don’t exist at all?!) and thus child of Hashirama Senju and Mito Uzumaki. So Shachi is the great great grandson of Hashirama and Mito.

Basically, TenTen’s team have super prestigious pedigrees and she’s the long-suffering herder of these overpowered cats. She thought she’d avoid the craziness by it being Team Nine instead of Team Seven, but then she remembers that she was Team Nine and her team had Gai, Lee, and Neji so… (she doesn’t realize that someone who can create Hammerspace as a teenager should also be considered impressive, but she likes the idea that she’s normal too much to abandon it).

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oakydokey:

jacksgreysays:

toalwaysbeme:

toalwaysbeme:

is there honestly anything more confusing than homophobic soulmate aus

@hyacynthbaby @tedkordisanasshole

i mean those soulmate aus where a guy is all afraid about the name on his arm bc it’s a boy’s name. like if it’s a world where everyone knows your soulmate is written on your body, like why would they be bad to two boys who’s very skin says they are to be together?? you know who writes aus like that? straight people

This! There was always something that bugged me about these kinds of AUs and I could never articulate it, but this!

Like… unless the phenomenon of soulmate-names-on-wrists is a very recent one (which, unlikely, given the usual premises) then cultures evolved around this phenomenon not the other way around.

Which means instead of two boys being together being “unnatural” or “bad,” its people who date other people who don’t match their name who are “going against what fate/god(s)/nature intended.”

Like if you very obviously have Jeff on your arm but you’re going around trying to date Annas or Megans or whatever, then clearly you are doing something wrong.

Alternatively, cultures might have evolved so that names are kept a secret–so no one can judge a person for dating people who aren’t their name–or, possibly, having a name is meant to be a platonic soulmate thing where they’re meant to be a sibling of sorts and dating them would be akin to incest… but at that point the idea that the problem is sexual orientation and not whether your names match up is baffling.

I wonder if there would be homophobes in a world where you were born with skin that literally told you that you would end up with someone of the same sex (or at least knowing the popularity of gendered names). If this world was like ours and had a lot of people who believe in an all-powerful God who created us, surely He is the one writing the names of our soulmates on our skin? And how could His plan be imperfect?

I don’t think there would be homophobes–or rather, definitely not as many as the real world and they would be going against the grain of Names Above All Else when it comes to signs from God/fate/nature so they’d be more like bizarro extremists–but there would be a movement similar to it?

Like, people who date not their Names are probably seen as worse than how conservative people in the real world view pre-marital sex and adulterers. Even though the parties involved in the relationship know the other person isn’t their Name and this is agreed to be casual (in comparison to Name relationships which might lead to obligatory marriage)… That’s probably what the homophobes of this world would be against in that world…