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1- Sooner's better than LaterKiba sighed as he took a sip of mocha tasting cappuccino from the white container, saying ‘I’m An EARLY Riser’, the motto for the cappuccino store. Iruka worked there, and Kiba soon became a regular customer as he always stood up late training with Shino, trying to help him with his new bug techniques. They were gross but awesome at the same time; Kiba loved watching Hinata assist Shino in studying them.
“Kiba, how are you?” Iruka greeted as he sat down across from his old student, whom was now a Jounin, having taken on enough missions to become one at Lady Tsunade’s say.
The brunette looked up at him with a quirked brow. “Time off again, Iruka?”
The man laughed, nodding. “Even though we’re at a level difference in ranks, you still have to respect me, Kiba.”
He shrugged, his canine eyes gazing towards the door. “Sorry, I’m just exhausted is all.” he yawned, covering his mouth with his left hand. “
Roads to Happiness Chapter 7~~ 12:01 am... Uchiha complex ~~
Itachi gasped and cried out in pain, clutching his arm. Sasuke was instantly in the door. "Ne. Nii-san? What is it?" He said some what sleepily.
Itachi stood and headed out of the room, "Help me with this!" He grabbed Sasuke and dragged him into the bathroom, flipping the light on. Both of them stared at the blood gushing from his arm.
"Nii-san! What the hell happened!?" Sasuke took a roll of bandages out of the cabinet, waiting for Itachi to wash off the blood.
Itachi washed off the blood and read the symbols as they were revealed, "Sa. I. Sai. What the-?"
"What? Is that some kind of sick souvenir or something?" He started wrapping Itachi's arm in the bandages>
"I have no idea how I got it."
"Well, we should probably get you to the hospital, Nii-san."
"Iie. I'll be fine."
"Really? Because you might actually find
5- Not the smartest thing...5- Not the smartest thing to Say
Kiba shook his head slowly, but there were bite marks on his neck, making Kankuro frown as he reached for a washcloth, returning his attention to the brunette, bending down and wiping the saliva off his skin with a grimace.
“Don’t lie to me,” he sighed, “now…are there any more wounds she inflicted? The truth now.”
“Only…my pride,” he murmured, dropping his head.
'I…can’t tell him about ‘that’…he’d possibly think I’m sick! And I don’t even know why I was reacting to those…touches!!' he thought as he looked up to see Kankuro lift his left hand, pushing the towel down to see nail marks on his chest. Stopping once he felt that he was going almost below the waist with that, Kiba’s hands claiming his wrists with haste, making the puppet-master quirk a brow. 'D-don’t push it anymore!'
“Kankuro,” he frowned, pushing the hands away,
3- Reason he hates PartiesKiba yawned loudly as he plopped himself onto one of Kankuro’s couches, stretching his arms over his head. “Ahh….never thought I’d wanna sleep this bad for once in a lifetime.” he grinned as he looked over at the taller figure who was putting the scrolls into his room, reentering the room as he saw Kiba stand on the balcony, looking down on the village. “Hey, what’s with the sparklers…people are dancing and…” He looked over at the dark haired teen. “It looks like they’re celebrating.”
“About that,” Kankuro chuckled as he walked over to him, “Sand has a celebration like this every year, celebrating the day Gaara became Kazekage…since he did, everything’s been running smoothly.”
Kiba quirked a brow.
“So…they congratulate him on becoming Kazekage?” he questioned, clueless. “That an odd reason to start a party.”
The older teen shrugged, placing his
Poetic PsychosisIn thirty seconds, the next shell would fall. Every night was the same, but every night Lorenzo experienced it as if it were the first time. His throat felt swollen; breathing was hard. He glanced around at the others; young men like him who had been shipped out in the name of honour and freedom. There was no honour in this, no freedom. Only death behind your eyelids, and a fear so gutting, that it carved out your innards and left you a hollow husk. Lorenzo tried to breathe, tried to assure himself that he was still whole, still made of flesh. They had lied when they told him he was ready.
Matteo ran towards him, arms out, rifle swinging uselessly at his side. He shouted for him to run, but Lorenzo remained motionless, unable to move as his friend’s warning was lost in the constant blare of gunfire. None of them were ready.
“The cycle is repeating. It is not safe.” The voice was soft and weak, yet it carried over the gunfire and battle cries without impediment.
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