#kakahshi

[anonomusreader]

Whiteboard doodles

[allgather]

@kakahshi & road to ninja au. pov you are displaced from your reality and the first person you find looks like your boyfriend but everything about him is wrong, wrong, wrong, so you pull a knife on him.

iruka doesn’t flinch, looks surprised only for a fraction of a second before he steels his face into something neutral, bordering on hard ( and he does it so quickly, it betrays a lifetime of practicing. Iruka has learned to smother his impulse to feel completely and he’s a better shinobi for it ). he examines kakashi, looks him up and down with a gaze that is guarded and analytic, really considers the other’s inexplicable behaviour. eyes cast down to the kunai at his neck then move up to kakashi’s face, obscured by his mask. it is curious, to have a weapon pulled on him upon finding kakashi wandering in the forest surrounding Konoha. Kakashi is a comrade, one he’s taken likely hundreds of missions with. they get along fine. this is odd, to say the least.

“what are you doing?” a perfectly neutral, merely inquisitive tone. there’s a lack, if you know to listen for it, if you’ve heard what this voice is capable of, it’s warmth and it’s melody. but no one here has. “could you tell me why you’re holding that to my neck, kakashi?” it’s flat and when he says the other’s name there is nothing there. while they are this close, kakashi’s hand and blade millimetres from cutting into his flesh, iruka feels the prickle of kakashi’s chakra. and it’s … different than he has come to expect, a more volatile crackle, hot and sharp and angry beneath the surface of his skin. turned up in its intensity and flaring out of control, whereas iruka’s is carefully constrained, locked behind his ribcage. ( he’d learned it from an upbringing in root. to hold it tightly, yet detached from his self, stripped of as many signifying traits as possible. when he’d first arrived in root at eleven, lord danzo called his chakra warm in a way that made clear his distain. he’d thought of ice while he trained his chakra control every day for three years before he’d finally chased the warmth out ).

iruka has asked questions but he grows bored of waiting for kakashi’s response, tired of letting himself be held by the tip of the blade. in one precise movement, quick as a flash, he lifts the weapon from kakashi’s hand. Iruka is fast, faster than most of the other jounin he knows, and lethally skillful, but so is Kakashi. something is wrong. it shouldn’t be this easy to take the kunai from his hands. Iruka must have the element of surprise. for some reason, Kakashi doesn’t seem to expect this from him.

Iruka holsters the kunai, places it among the others in his hip pack, eyes never leaving Kakashi opposite him. “you’re acting strange.” Iruka hasn’t cracked a smile this entire time and he doesn’t now ( in some other world, this would be some kind of record, the longest he’s gone without smiling at Kakashi. here, it is perfectly ordinary, entirely unremarkable ). “are you unwell? I can find a medic if you need.”

[maitiests]

IN CONFIDENCE did matatabi share with lee the horrible truth behind rin nohara's, and her brother isobu's temporary, deaths. it shed further light onto the tragedy that took place in the third great shinobi war. it turned out, the three tails was desire for isolation given form, the only of the tailed beast truly content with being sealed away. the bijuu would have never broken free from the seal placed upon the kunoichi, rin nohara's death was -- uneccessary. and lee briefly considered telling @kakahshi, after all, if there was one person deserving of the truth it was kakashi. ultimately the jinchūriki decided against it, not willing to, not only, re-open old scars, but also rub salt into the wounds. kakashi needn't know at least one of his team mates could've lived ( as a weapon for the hidden leaf, of course, not a kind fate lee knew well ) , so lee keeps quiet about it. but it changed how lee viewed the sensei. the respect remains, of course, but there's also -- pity.

[kavvaakari]

@kakahshi // here

their mission, by all rights, should be simple. they were traveling together with the intent of taking out a bandit camp suspected of harboring one of konoha's missing nin. kakashi had idly mused what it might look like when they get there, how many men would certainly have to die. surely he had all of the answers, he definitely acted like he did. it had been a... difficult adjustment for kakashi. missions in the anbu had always been different. violence & death, eliminating threats before they could be known, inherently dirtier than the tasks he had been assigned in his new position. truthfully, he hadn't yet removed himself from those habits of brutality. as a jonin, they were seen. their faces were known to one another, no code names & only the masks they chose. there was a person attached to the acts of violence expected of them in this world. he thinks that genma doesn't like him, though kakashi assumes this about most people. ( he knows genma's position is special, different than his. he wonders what sort of woman she was, what she had done to survive thus far? they had fought the same war, come out on the other side. how did she get here? he would never have the courage to ask. ) they had crossed paths a handful of times in the past, it was hard not to with gai in the middle of them. but kakashi could hardly muster pleasantries for gai, let alone his teammates. so kakashi had treated her with the cold edge he'd offered too many in the village. the very same cold edge he was struggling to shake now. “ believe it or not, i do, ”kakashi muses casually, though there is a firm challenge lyingunder his words. a raised brow, a cool gaze. a part of him wishes that things were different & the other part of him knows they aren't. they howl in the back of his head, asking why he was so quick to taste death, " alright, then. what do you suggest we do when we get there? "

Genma's gaze is shrewd-- some might read judgmental. She eyes first Kakashi, and then the little hastily drawn map of the camp in the dirt at their feet, apparently unbothered by the challenge in his gaze. Her senbon clacks against her teeth when she crouches, tracing her finger along a square on the south side of the camp.

He outranks her, and he's no fool, but he's also much more powerful than her, and perhaps used to making a statement with the violence he enacts. She has no doubt his plan would work, but she isn't certain they would escape unscathed, and--

"Did you count how many civilians are staying in this camp?" She asks, absently. In any war, and in any crew of bandits, they had the whores and the washer women and the children that eked out existence on the edges of humanity's violence, washing clothes and cooking and satisfying man's other base urges. "I counted seven women, two kids, an infant," her voice remains flat, as if she were observing the color of the sky, or counting those already dead. She tells him, because she isn't sure if he'd counted them. "I doubt they would fight at all, but they will likely not survive a frontal assault," she pauses, and then tacks on a polite: "Sir."

Genma was no stranger to violence, aggressor or victim, and had been often and loudly accused of a lack of honor. She doesn't think Kakashi is really the type to care about that, but she tries not to judge too much based on reputation, and so she hesitates just a moment before she proposes: "We should poison their alcohol." Her finger taps the map. "Add sedatives to it, rather. They drink every night. We could take out the guards at a distance and just kill them all in their sleep-- anyone that doesn't drink enough of it will be easier to eliminate without a numbers advantage."

She considers herself one of the squishy ones, as far as shinobi go. Pitched battle isn't her strong suit, the way it is with Gai or even Copy-nin Kakashi, and she'd rather avoid a huge, messy ninjutsu battle when a simpler option is available. That is how she survived the Great War, and how she's managed to survive since.

"There's a ton of valerian growing around here," she flicks her index finger to the side of the clearing, where its pretty pink-white flowers are glowing happily in the morning sun. "I can make a pretty powerful sedative if you give me a day, mix it with some of the stock I have on me," she keeps her tone light-- not every leader appreciates any amount of correction, and she's still taking his measure too. "If we aren't in a rush, what's an extra day?"

[maitiests]

his senses were far from lucid, haunted by blurred visions; masks and featureless faces, dulled voices, -- AND FIRE. at first a bright bright red and yellow flickering before him, NOW no more, it was turnt a haunting blue, with swirls of black. as haunting as it was oddly beautiful. he was overcome with certain emotions, NOT HIS that much he knew, grief, a wrenching nostaliga, a love newly lost, and a sincere hope to reclaim it. lee was informed of his current. . . tragic situation. the anbu spared little detail, and even less empathy, most of the time his thoughts rain through his grip like fine sand -- in times of rare clarity lee is stricken with despair and fear. . . and a subtle curiosity. could these feelings belong to -- the beast sealed within him? were bijuus -- capable of such emotions?

the drugs keep his mind foggy and body numb, vaguely lee is aware of the fact that he cannot move; a seal placed onto him held him strict in place. lee is kept in a dark place, the air was humid and cool, there was no window to allow daylight to peek in. ( for how long has he been here? ) a week pershaps, a month, or just a day. it's all the same to a cloudy mind. the door opens and lee does little more than to shift his gaze to the side -- and a sudden familiarity peeks through the fog. a masked face, but different from the anbu, and spikey silver hair. lee can do little more than to turn his head, and his mouth opens, though no words escape the back of his lame throat. THERE WAS RECOGNITION IN THESE DARK EYES -- lee was still in there. much and more the genin wants to say, directionless thoughts build up; and collapse under their own weight ( i'm sorry for what i'll do to konoha, i'm scared to die, i'm so afriad, where am i, where is papa, help me )

❝ -- shi [ . . . ] -sensei. are you -- here to [ . . . ] kill me? ❞ he was to die at any given moment, the elders have made themselves very clear. and his death, his failure to contain what was impossible to contain, would bring death and destruction upon his home. he'd rather die by kakashi's hands than the nijuu. actually -- he'd prefer to die in gai's arms, be killed by love, by his father's hands, but how could he ask something this cruel of gai?

@kakahshi angst surprise.

[maitiests]

it's a timid game, they play, push and pull, mainly lee; to see where he stands. his father had talked of the hatake so highly, brothers, not in blood, but in bond; he'd say, gai would talk of the adventures they had together, and call him his eternal rival. BUT LEE, in his own words, WAS MORE PRECIOUS TO HIM THAN THE AIR IN HIS LUNGS. so, in childish spirit lee ponders, would it be him or kakashi? ❝ i am -- ❞ he barks at the jônin. gai had taught him of the importance of an honest spirit, but ultimately it was bc, somewhere deep down, lee still remembered the burning, stining, AGONIZING pain. a lie caught meant six lashes. and lee had a map of scars on his back for less.

he blinked up at kakashi, clinging to the doorframe a little tighter. lee doubts the older man would actually leave if lee told him, despite his father's constant reassurance, it was difficult to believe his words held actual weight. and beneath that, wouldn't it be interesting to find out just what was so great about hatake kakashi -- find out what made his father think so highly of his rival. ❝ you can come in. ❞

to give further truth to his words, lee took a small step to the side. surely kakashi had been a guest here far more often than the boy could imagine, who was he to deny him entry? ❝ papa never stays away for long. ❞ and when he did return, it was never without a gift in hand. either candy; or books and toys, lee was beginning to run out of room.

❝ i'm not scared of you. ❞ comes out of nowhere, and kakashi had reason enough to doubt with the boy's timid voice and shy posture. the words were more for lee. that one man, ebisu, was much scarier the way he looked at him through his glasses. and even scarrier than both of them were the, so called, caretakers of his former orphanage. he dares not call it home. ❝ don't -- don't think i'm scared, i know my place very well. ❞

@kakahshi cont.

[maitiests]

gai is filled with anxiety when it's been a bit too long since he has seen his rival, on his search for the hatake; it felt like he was walking on rusty nails -- but the pain wasn't his. walking through the masses of konohagakure's busy streets, kakashi wasn't anywhere to be seen, not that gai expected him to be spotted among the crowd; asuma and kurenai haven't seen him either, again, gai hadn't expected them to. the maito checks their usual places, each one found empty increased his anxiety tenfold, he avoids the hatake manor -- the main hall where kakashi's father had -- in fear of finding his best friend in the same -- the thought is pushed away. and he bites on the inside of his cheek hard to focus on anything else.

at last gai finds his battle-bonded brother outside of konoha's borders, among dry grass and hot, humid air. he cares not for the sweat forming on thick brows, neither for his throat suddenly seeming way too dry. kakashi is oddly quiet, no insult spat at him, neither a sassy quip thrown his way. so he sits in equal silence, the air thick with unspoken words. i don't want you to be alone.

❝ yeah -- i heard. ❞ grits his teeth, gai was no stranger to having his loved ones belittled; and he was a man of action more than anything else. he has broken one or the other nose after overhearing the more than cruel gossip. the tragedy of war had taken obtio from them, and forced kakashi's hand to kill rin; so why was kakashi scorned, when he was just the one surviving victim of this farce of glory.

❝ screw that. ❞ he barks as if by will and want alone gai could alter what happened, wash clean his rival's reputation -- or beat anyone bloody who dared talk badly about his brother. ( gai, too, was a child of violence ) he looks at kakashi, as if the emotions behind his eyes were enough to convey what words could not. ❝ i'm ending this right here -- i am the ding dong damn sunshine future, your friend forever, i'm not going to die, and i'm not going to fall apart on you. ❞

@kakahshi cont.

[allgather]

@kakahshi & after the war.

iruka collides with his husband ( his husband. it is still so new and only now does it feel real. that they have promised their lives to each other, and that they have made it out with their lives to see that promise through ). he had come at kakashi at a run, broken into a sprint upon the sight of him in the distance, among the wreckage and the waking of thousands of shinobi. whatever disorientation iruka had felt upon waking from that strange and wonderful dream was chased from his system by his urgency. the desperation of searching, for messy white or blond hair, among the masses. he’d spotted kakashi first, and iruka is glad they are both shinobi ( perhaps for the only time in his life ), so he does not need to worry about toppling him over. he doesn’t pull back on his speed, even as he reaches him, lets himself hit kakashi full-force and knows he can handle the impact. as he expects, sturdy hands catch iruka at his waist, brace him against kakashi’s body, steady.

there is so much to say that Iruka begins to speak while his face is still pressed into the crook of kakashi’s neck ( and his lover will feel the vibrations of his words against his skin, something caught between speech and a kiss ). “I’ve missed you. oh my god, I’ve missed you.” the words are insufficient, though he doesn’t know any better ones to describe how their months apart have felt like a piece of iruka’s heart had been wrenched right out of his chest. he feels it slot back into place now. like coming home, at last.

the urge to check kakashi over in his usual way, to tend to his injuries with devoted, loving hands, pulls at him as compulsions do. but the need to stay close to him is stronger. iruka isn’t willing to pull even a fraction of an inch away from where he is pressed flush against his love, only shifting their points of connection to suit his needs. his hands find kakashi’s hair, cradle the nape of his neck, gently cup his cheeks ( and, yes, run thumbs over the lingering cuts, healing chakra at his fingertips ). his lips drag up along his neck, his jaw, to meet his lips, again and again. his forehead dips to lean against kakashi’s own. the movements, every touch, it’s all more desperate than how he usually reaches for the other, underlaid with an urgency months in the making. he’s lived as nothing more than a medic for all these terrible months; now he wishes, above all else, to be a person finding comfort in his husband’s arms. “kakashi.” his name is irreverent, like a prayer from iruka’s lips, wherever they lay connected to kakashi now. “are you hurt? I can help, just give me a moment.” he wants more than a moment; he wants every precious second of the rest of their lives. “just let me- let me hold you.” iruka’s voice is strained before it breaks entirely. “i love you. i love you so much.”

all the tears he’s choked back to keep himself together and useful, keep his mind away from the terrible danger and impossible distance, they close his throat and wrack his body. it is selfish, to be standing in the wreckage with so many around them mourning their loved ones, their villages, their homes. but for this singular moment, iruka doesn’t take on the grief of the world and allows himself the indulgence to be held and feel relief. a thought crosses his mind and he laughs, inappropriately perhaps, but iruka is so delirious in his relief that it feels like euphoria. “we’re married. we get to be married, kakashi.” it’s an almost absurd realization each time he has it and it’s the most wonderful he’s ever felt.