Title:  Blank Canvas
Author: 
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Title:  Last One Standing
Author: 
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The first hint Temari had that something was wrong was the quiet.

Ino was never quiet--not when she was mad, not when she was happy, and certainly never while they were making love (or “girl-fucking”, as Kankurou so crudely liked to put it when Temari came down in the morning to the lower apartments to raid his fridge).  Ino took great ( Read more... )

Temari tastes like roasted coffee beans and the sugared plums Ino had brought her earlier that day in a small paper bag:  sweet and just a bit spicy against her tongue.  Their kisses are slow and languid, and Ino takes her time exploring the soft walls of Temari’s mouth.

Ino thinks she probably tastes waxy like her lip gloss, and she likes the ( Read more... )

He’d already offered her the cloak twice, and she’d refused to put it on, declaring it “ugly, shapeless, and far too hot” for her tastes, which just proved that she was a stupid bitch and deserved whatever hideous sunburn she got while he led her through the desert.  Kankurou wasn’t fond of playing escort in the first place.  He was the brother of ( Read more... )

“Shikamaru’s a horrible boyfriend.”

The words were out of her mouth before she could take them back, not that Ino would have taken them back anyway.  Why should she?  They were the bare bones truth of the matter; the matter being that if Shikamaru was a horrible non-boyfriend who forgot your birthday even when it was one day after his own, or ( Read more... )

She stood awkwardly on the shore, the thin straps of her bathing suit top twisting against her sunburnt shoulders.  The wind had tangled her hair around her neck and the salt in the breeze made it frizz slightly.  Her lips were chapped and parted in an uncertain noise of dismay and she prodded at the water with her toes.

Even at eleven and a ( Read more... )

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It was their very first away mission.

It was their very first away mission, and her first time spent away from home overnight (except for sleepovers with Sakura when they were seven and that really didn’t count).  It was also the first time Ino had ever been forced to share a sleeping space with boys and she was quite certain that this was ( Read more... )

 She didn’t think she would like it, the sweat.

It had never seemed that enticing when it clung stubbornly to the panels of Shikamaru’s jounin vest, or Chouji’s shirt, stinking up the cramped tent and making Ino long for a stream to push her sweaty boys into until they came up smelling like something more suitable for her delicate nostrils.
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During the day she walks through minds, opening them like doors that she can slip between.  Doors where she can infiltrate, reach in, and rummage through the rooms without hassle or interference.  Most people don't bother to shield their minds from attack, and even if they did, she can tear through them like paper.

~The old man with the scar ( Read more... )