Sakura sat in the library, nose firmly pressed in a book. She was so engrossed she almost forgot that she wasn't alone.

Kikyō stood on her left, standing to attention. She had a large sheath attached to her back, the handle of her sword reaching above her head.

Mamoru slouched on right, arms crossed. He had twin daggers strapped to his sides. He yawned loudly behind his mask.

Ostensibly the two Anbu guards were there to protect her, but Sakura was pretty sure they were meant to keep her from escaping. As if she would! With access to a library like this, with what seemed like all of the knowledge in The Land of Fire in one room? As if. She hadn't seen her mother or grandmother yet, or Naruto and Sasuke, but she felt content after Kakashi's visit. He had put up a fuss whenever she pressed him for details, but he seemed cheerful and she knew he would tell her if anything bad had happened.

"What if there was something forbidden or secret in these books?" Sakura had asked when they had first led her to the library. She didn't want to get them into trouble for some little oversight. It wasn't as if she really was a criminal.

"Then it wouldn't be here." Mamoru said simply. "Konoha keeps its secrets elsewhere."

Now, Sakura turned a page, marvelling at the many different types of plants that could be used for the same purpose. To kill. Already she was proficient in amateur botany, able to name almost every type of plant by sight alone. She knew what could wound, maim or disfigure. She knew which could be boiled, or chopped, or ingrained in kunai. Some could be included in the ingredients of a smoke bomb. Even chakra could be transmuted into poisonous gases, which could then be ejected out of the mouth. Poison could be added to the tips of senbon. There was an entire world of knowledge here that Sakura had never even imagined.

Although the two Anbu had introduced themselves with ordinary names, – though Sakura suspected they were not their own – everyone else referred to them differently. Mamoru was Tori, presumably because of the mask he wore. Feathers were painted in swirls around a beak-like mouth. It was artistic, but intimidating. Kikyō was Tora. Her mask had orange and black stripes and a fearsome jagged mouth. Sakura wondered if they had been placed together out of some misguided sense of humour.

It seemed like something the Sandaime might have found funny, Sakura thought, remembering his twinkling eyes and warm smile. She felt hollow whenever she remembered his death. She couldn't believe he had been dead for four years. His very presence had made her feel completely safe. And he had been murdered, right in the middle of the village he protected. Yet no one would tell her who had done it. Or why. All she knew was that it happened after the Forest of Death. Very helpful. It wasn't as though any of the books or scrolls around her would contain such recent information. Not to mention it was probably classified. Sakura sighed. Around here, everything was classified.

Though, strangely, that was something she found quite appealing. When they walked through the corridors, no one looked at her with suspicion. No one treated her unkindly. No one even seemed to notice her. It was as though she belonged there, amongst the secretive staff, all of whom did their best to blend in and not draw attention to themselves. With pink hair, Sakura had always drawn attention. As a child, she had welcomed it. Now, well… She had strange feelings, sometimes, like déjà vu. She would feel illogically frightened every time Ibiki's name came up, though he had done his best to make her feel welcome here. She soaked up every bit of social interaction she was offered. And every time she thought of this 'Itachi,' or someone brought him up, she felt irrationally… at ease. As though his name brought serenity. Sometimes it brought pangs of worry, though not for herself. Other times, a piercing ache of grief in her chest. Sakura wondered if these feelings weren't random. If so, her past self may have been less innocent and more foolish than she had wanted to believe.

Sakura had marked the days with her lessons. On Mondays, Ibiki taught her about the various ways a shinobi could harm another – ways in which no marks would be left, or the most effective ways to leave temporary damage – outside of the battlefield.

Tuesdays, Inoichi or another member of his clan would visit her and try to 'heal' her damaged psyche. She knew Tsunade was a proficient healer, because she had apparently taught Sakura, and Sakura had discovered enough about herself to realise that she was an above average healer. At nights, she would use a method Ibiki taught her on herself, partially to use as a test subject, but also to alleviate some of the numbness the nights would bring. Pain seemed to sharpen her mind more than Inoichi's gentle probing ever did.

Then, on Wednesdays, Sakura would see Shizune, a kind-hearted woman who seemed distressed every time Sakura saw her. Sakura used her lessons to heal herself of the wounds she had created the night before. She made sure to keep this progress secret. As much as she enjoyed her lessons and the company of her Anbu guards, she never quite forgot that she was not actually here by choice. On Thursdays a student nurse named Ryouta came in to teach her surgical techniques and offensive medical ninjutsu. She seemed to be a natural with chakra scalpels.

"Saku-tan?" Mamoru leant slightly closer to her, "What are you reading?"

"The disciplinary methods the Head of Torture and Interrogation uses on Anbu soldiers who use cutesy nicknames for their prisoners." Sakura replied, softening it with a smile so he knew she was joking.

Even so, he made an offended tut, the sound amusingly hollow within his mask, "You're a kid! It's this or Sakura-chan."

"And you are not our prisoner." Kikyō added calmly.

"I'm not actually a child," Sakura noted, absent-mindedly scanning the page, "I'm apparently a teenager. I completely missed all of that angst."

"Whether you're twelve or sixteen, you're still younger than me, so you're Saku-tan."

Sakura lifted her head and aimed a teary, wide-eyed look at Mamoru, her puppy-dog eyes burning through his mask.

"I was trained to resist all sorts of compulsion, Saku-tan. It's nice to see Anko's lessons on manipulation are going well, though."

On Fridays a frightening woman named Anko came to teach her 'the kunoichi way,' which seemed mostly comprised of 'bat your eyelashes and stab 'em in the gut.' She and Ibiki were the only teachers who treated her normally, and Anko had not shown a flicker of recognition when they first met. That made Sakura suspicious, since she clearly had residual feelings of fear regarding Ibiki and the first time Anko swore in her presence, Sakura had felt a fond kind of amusement. Those weren't the kind of feelings you spontaneously developed for a stranger. Not to mention Sakura had a faint memory of both Ibiki and Anko during the Chuunin Exam.

Sakura gave up on trying to convince Mamoru that she wasn't a helpless, tiny child in need of a big brother figure. He had imprinted on her, like a baby duckling. Anko would tell her she could use that.

She went to turn the page, but Kikyō's arm shot out and seized her wrist, lightning-fast.

"What is that." Kikyō said, her voice suddenly devoid of all emotion.

Sakura looked down and saw the bruise on her wrist she had created the night before. She hadn't had chance to heal it yet.

"Oh, I fell over," Sakura said sheepishly, "It's just a bruise, I'm fine."

Kikyō knelt down next to her. "You are not the only person to have received lessons on injuries. You and I can both recognise a self-inflicted wound."

Mamoru made a soft noise of dismay.

"Sakura, are you hurting yourself?" He asked, bending down to make eye contact. She could dimly see his eyes glimmering in the holes of his mask.

What could she say? That she was secretly progressing much further in medicine and healing than she had admitted and was using herself as guinea pig to measure her skills? Her chakra was sealed away every night, just enough that she could never perform anything advanced. But for Sakura, healing clearly came naturally, and she had perfect chakra control. She couldn't remember hearing that, but she knew it was true. It only took a wisp of chakra to heal a bruise. It took no chakra at all to cause one.

Instead, hating herself, Sakura decided to practice another set of skills. For real this time.

She fidgeted in her seat, tearing her eyes away from Mamoru's. She bit the inside of her cheek – "The lip is too obvious," Anko chided, "Every mark worth their salt won't trust a woman whose lip quivers every time he suspects her. Nibble your nails, the inside of your mouth." – and tucked her hair behind her ear. Self-comforting gesture. She did it again, seemingly without realising it.

"Sakura." Kikyō said, her voice very gentle. Sakura felt a surge of utter self-loathing, and was unpleasantly surprised to realise it felt familiar.

Sakura's eyes darted up to Kikyō's mask and then right back down to her lap. "I told you. I fell."

"No you didn't, Saku-tan." Mamoru said, equally gentle.

"It's actually lucky that you did that yourself. If someone else had done it to you, I would have had to crush them." Kikyō rested a hand on her shoulder. Warm. Unwelcome. She didn't deserve it.

Sakura shrank away from her touch.

"I just –" Sakura started, her voice cracking. Frustrated, she cleared her throat. "I just keep thinking I did something bad. Otherwise I wouldn't be here. And I miss my mother."

("If you want to convince someone of something, sprinkle it with truth. Twist honesty just a little bit and suddenly deception sounds a lot sincerer.")

These two guards were not paid to be kind to her. They were presumably paid to keep an eye on her. Sakura couldn't understand why Mamoru's voice was so kind or why Kikyō's hand had found her wrist again and was holding it lightly.

"Saku-tan, you know we can't tell you anything. But trust what Ibiki said. If he didn't scream in your face until your ears bled, then you can't have done anything bad."

He didn't. He was kind to her. He wanted her help. Anko would say something coarse about his manhood, if it was her. It wasn't, though. She was doing her best, using what they taught her to shield herself, but was that the right thing to do? On her first week, she had been a model prisoner – or guest, as Ibiki would insist – so should she just go back to that? Obediently studying relevant information and only using her chakra when instructed? Or was this all some kind of test that she would fail if she stopped fighting back?

Sakura measured time by her lessons. She used her weekends to absorb all the information she had learned during the week, and to practice techniques outside of class.

By her count, she had been down here for two months and three days.

Kakashi had visited her before the lessons even began. He had not been back since.

Had everyone forgotten her, just like she had forgotten the man named Itachi?

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"We gotta train those blushes outta you," Anko grinned wickedly at Sakura's flushed cheeks, "You control your emotions, your emotions don't control you. How are you gonna bluff your mark at knifepoint about the location of your squad if you can't control your body's response to stress? How are you gonna keep your heartbeat steady in the middle of an interrogation if you can't slow your breathing? And how are you gonna persuade anyone that you're an experienced concubine if you giggle and blush prettily like a common whore?"

Sakura didn't giggle at that. She aimed an annoyed glare Anko's way. Sakura had met prostitutes. Almost impossible not to, in her line of work. Hard-workers, invaluable sources of information, and not a target for scorn. She couldn't remember when, but she could definitely remember a group of young women hiding her underneath a robe as the guards passed, looking for –

Itachi?

Sakura's glare didn't waver.

"I'm twelve." Sakura insisted. She had said it a lot in this session alone.

"Yeah?" Anko's grin was sharp and knowing, "Wanna know how old I was when I started learning all this stuff, hands-on?"

"You shouldn't have had to." Sakura scowled. "There's no reason why a kid should ever be forced into that kind of life – the shinobi way or peddling their wares on the street – it's not right. Kids should just be kids."

She had been. She could remember that much. Brought up in a civilian family, Sakura had never had to know hardship beyond the occasional money trouble and a bully or two.

Anko's grin softened slightly, "Kid, you have got to fix this bleeding heart of yours. I promise you this, if you keep up this way of thinking, you're gonna get hurt. That's just a fact. You'll fall for a big pair of sad eyes and end up with a knife in your back. It's happened to better shinobi than you."

"I refuse to believe there is no room for compassion in a shinobi's lifestyle."

"Then why are you here? What can I teach you? A shinobi never shows weakness, Sakura. A shinobi never knows weakness."

"It's only when you've been weak that you can learn to be strong." Sakura retorted, the words having a strange, practiced rhythm to them, as if she had heard them many times before and was simply repeating them now.

"And you'll never be strong if you keep letting that weakness drag you down." Anko rolled her eyes, pushing herself up to stand without another word.

Sakura caught the scent of disinfectant, flowers and soap float across the room.

"So, you just got back from the hospital, right?" Sakura said innocently, "Who'd you see?"

Anko slowly lowered herself back into her seat, looking vaguely interested, "What makes you think I didn't go to get treated myself?" Her face was set in hard line, inscrutable.

"Your chakra feels undisturbed. It's hard to explain, but after foreign chakra enters the body, it leaves… traces. Ripples in your chakra signature."

"It's possible I went for a check-up." Anko pointed out. "No chakra needed there."

"You'd be surprised," Sakura mumbled, remembering each one of her medical textbooks' instructions on check-ups in perfect clarity. Unsurprisingly, they tended to be thorough when performed on active shinobi, "If you went for a check-up, I'd go back at once to complain. I can't imagine how any hospital staff could ever miss the broken knuckle on your left hand."

Anko's lips quirked upwards, glancing down at her swollen knuckle. "Not bad. But there's a half a dozen reasons why I might have been to a hospital recently. Never make assumptions. It's okay to use facts to back up theories, but try not to bluff without knowing all the facts, okay?"

Sakura motioned for Anko to move closer. Slowly, telegraphing her intent, she took the older woman's hand. She had seen this woman's reflexes, like a snake poised to strike – when? When had she seen that? A dull memory of a burning shack crossed her mind and just as quickly left.

Sakura used a flicker of chakra to straighten the finger. The pain made Anko hiss gently, almost under her breath. If Sakura hadn't been so close, she wouldn't have heard it. She held the hand tenderly and concentrating on stroking her chakra over the injured knuckle.

Her chakra was never partially sealed during the sessions with her new teachers, so the wound took almost no effort to heal. Not that it would have even with her chakra restricted, but Sakura didn't see any reason to give any hints as to her limits.

"So who'd you see at the hospital?" Sakura asked, fingers ghosting over the newly-healed wound, still sore and tender. Her fingertips pressed down lightly, just a threat.

Anko laughed, a full, throaty chuckle, "Oh kid, you're gonna fit right in round here!"

"I recommend you put some ice on that knuckle to reduce the swelling." Sakura smiled sweetly.

Anko's hand shot out, a snake striking, and Sakura flinched back. Anko ruffled Sakura's hair roughly, her smirk only growing wider at Sakura's instinctive reaction.

"Keep at it, kid. We'll make a killer out of you yet."

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Ibiki took Sakura further into the bowels of the building until all thoughts of sunlight were swallowed whole by the darkness below. Kikyō and Mamoru followed, silent shadows on the steps behind them. Sakura listened to her own soft footfalls and wondered if her future self was happy. Despite this whole conflicting business with the missing nin, the occasional flashes of memory and emotion seemed to indicate that Sakura had not been suffering as much as Ibiki seemed to believe.

The path they took at the end of the stairs was one of many, cells lining every direction. Ibiki seemed to know exactly where he was going.

"Hey, little girl…" A man called out from behind bars as they passed by, "Come a little closer, would you?"

Mamoru rapped the bars with his knuckles. The metallic thunk had the prisoner scuttling backwards in alarm. Sakura did not let the man's words get to her. She let them wash over her, pointless, harmless things that could not touch her. Anko would be proud.

They walked for a while, enough time for Sakura to wonder just how far the building spread underground, until they came to a little room with no bars, just a door.

Ibiki flared his chakra and knocked thrice on the door. It opened after an answering surge of chakra on the other side.

A man faintly splattered in blood opened the door. He gave them all a cursory look, his eyes skimming over the Anbu guards to land squarely on Sakura.

"Is this the medic nin, then?" He asked, looking harried.

Sakura felt the first flicker of unease.

"In training," Ibiki grunted, "You don't mind if she uses your guy for practice, do you?"

The man shook his head, but he looked a little troubled.

Ibiki swept into the room.

Kikyo gently nudged Sakura forwards, after him, and they all entered what Sakura had assumed was a cell, and now knew with total certainty, was not.

It was a torture chamber.

The man who sat in the middle of the room, bound to the chair with chakra strings, was missing several fingers and toes. The ones that remained were swollen and purple. Broken. His left arm looked as though someone had tried to peel it. His face was unmarred – never injure the jaw or mouth, Sakura remembered Ibiki's lecture, you need them to be able to talk – but his cheeks were stained with tears and grime.

Sakura stood still, cold to the core. Ibiki wasn't kind. She had let herself forget the fact that he was a shinobi. She had thought that his gentle words were the truth, even when they turned into a lesson on how best to inflict pain on others. Ibiki wanted to get a reaction out of her.

Several possibilities flickered into her mind at once.

1) The truth. She could be coldly furious, tell Ibiki exactly what she thought of him, let him know she knew what he was trying to accomplish with this vile stunt.

2) A soft lie. She could show her disgust, her anguish, and let him think her weak for it. Let him underestimate her, let him think his little display worked.

3) A bold lie. The hardest to accomplish. Pretend not to care about the man's suffering. Pretend she hadn't spent the last few months breathing in medical ninjutsu like air, vital and essential. Pretend she didn't spend her nights imagining working on a ward, or a battlefield, bringing comfort to someone's last moments, being a bringer of hope with her healing touch.

Her old sensei – the one who favoured Ino for her superior knowledge of flowers, and despaired over Sakura's inability to make eye contact – would have told her to choose the soft lie, the safe option, the expected one.

Her new sensei, Anko, on the other hand…

"What do you want me to heal?" Sakura asked brusquely, rolling up her sleeves.

Ibiki gave her a long, lingering look, rubbing his chin. "I just need him not to die of blood loss before we finish questioning him, but this is the perfect chance to test your skills, so by all means, go all out."

Sakura forced herself to walk through the puddles of blood instead of gingerly stepping over them, and knelt down in front of the captive. She did not make eye contact.

The wounds from his missing toes were bleeding steadily, so she started on them. Ten minutes later, when all that remained were the broken toes she couldn't afford to waste chakra on, she straightened up and turned her attention to the flayed, ruined mess of his arm.

"What do you think of the technique of questioning used here?" Ibiki asked suddenly, jarring her out of her forced calm.

Was this more than a vindictive attempt to show her what would happen to her if she stopped cooperating? Was this actually a test?

"Adequate," Sakura replied, hating herself, "His face is intact, so he can answer questions. There's no facial disfiguration, so his village could still potentially identify him should he turn out to have value as a hostage. My only criticism would be that the flaying of the skin here is excessively localised. If it were me – " She swallowed hard, please don't ever let that be me, "I would spread out the torture beyond the arm. That would be harder to endure, I believe."

"Death of a thousand cuts," Ibiki murmured, "Interesting."

Sakura gently took the man's arm, pretending not hear his pained whimper. She bent down, checking Ibiki's eyeline furtively, assuring herself that her face was blocked by the man's head and whispered, very, very quietly, "I'm sorry."

The man let out a groan and coughed, a hacking sound that spoke of fluid in the lungs. Sakura casually brushed a hand over the man's back, a gesture too small for Ibiki to have seen from his post at the door, and examined the man's lungs, sinking down into his chakra system. She had never done anything like this before, she was sure of it. There were no instinctive feelings to guide the way this time.

She felt the corruption swelling in his lungs, a death sentence, one that loomed very close indeed. He was days away from death. The concentrated damage to his arm spoke of frustration from his interrogator. The captive must not be talking, which made sense if he knew he only had days to live anyway. He could hold out for his village without even needing to hope for a swift end.

This was the test.

It must be. Ibiki knew the man was dying and wanted to see what she would do. Would she give in to her empathy and withhold the information, letting the man die before Konoha was done breaking him? Or would she prove her loyalty and ruthlessness by reporting the illness, even healing it, to prolong the man's life and allow them more time to interrogate him?

There was only one way to find out.

Sakura knelt down again, stroking healing chakra through the man's arm, slowly and carefully repairing the damage. Her mouth level with his shoulder, not visible to Ibiki, she whispered, "Has a medic already come to see you?"

If they had, then Ibiki must know the truth. Unless they only employed horrifically incompetent medics, like that unreliable Ryouta.

"What do you want from me?!" The man barked, almost making Sakura jump. She reined the impulse in sharply. "Morino, you twisted devil. You want to know if I'm ready to die? The answer's no. No."

No.

No medic, no test. Just Sakura's paranoia at play. Unless the captive was a plant meant to trick her into falling for – No. That way led madness. She couldn't keep looking under the underneath. Not if she wanted to stay sane.

"Thank you," She whispered, "You don't have long to live. This will end soon."

The man let out a hoarse laugh.

Ibiki's frown hardened, the lines of his jaw tight with anger. "I want to know exactly why you kidnapped a lord's son. I want to know what message you intended to send, cutting the boy open and sending his mutilated corpse back to his father. I want to know where you buried his heart."

Sakura stopped breathing.

The man laughed again, this time with an edge of madness that was audible to all of them. "Who says I buried it?" He licked his lips and howled with laughter.

Sakura let out a shaky breath, fingers tightening on the man's arm. The excessive damage to the arm wasn't frustration after all. It was disgust, fury, impotent revenge on the behalf of the poor little boy this man had murdered.

The disease in his lungs would stay. He would die soon, like she promised. His chakra reserves clearly showed he was a civilian. He would crack under torture and tell them everything they need to know, then die soon after. She wouldn't save him or ease his pain, but she wouldn't extend the torture. Not when this man had proved to her that she was absolutely not cut out for this life, for this dark, twisted place, hidden so deeply in Konoha that she had never spared a thought for its existence before now.

"There. I've stopped the bleeding. He won't die from his wounds. But the pain remains." Sakura wiped her hands against her black skirt, the streaks of blood from her palms invisible against the fabric.

Ibiki nodded, gesturing for her to follow.

"Hey! Nurse! Get back here! Come back, you little bitch!" The man roared after her, fury seeming to increase as she left the room, "I'm not done with you! I'll make you squeal, little slut!"

Mamoru coolly unsheathed one of his daggers and played with it, throwing it up and catching it by the hilt. "Morino-sama, I can think of one appendage he can live without, but would rather not. Can I free him from that little burden?"

Ibiki smiled, a rare, broad grin that spread across his face. "I like the way you think, Tori, Get someone to cauterise the wound. Have fun."

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Itachi wore his henge like a costume tailored just for him. Something he'd never wear himself, but fit like a glove.

He walked the streets of Konoha without fear of discovery. He had spent years honing his skills as a spy and had long since lost the residual trespasser's unease. His disguise was an unremarkable-looking civilian, designed for the eyes to slip straight over. It wasn't one of his usual henges, so even if one of Akatsuki's spies lurked in Konoha's crowds, they wouldn't recognise him.

Sakura had been missing for nearly three months. He had abandoned her, shocked by her terror at the sight of him, had left her vulnerable and alone. To be picked off by Konoha's dogs. At this rate, he couldn't tell if it would have been worse for her to have been caught by Akatsuki. At least then he would have heard some hint as to her condition. This endless waiting was the worst punishment to bear by far.

Umeko had survived his rough treatment, as suspected, and was still convalescing. If Konan truly had uncovered Itachi's deception – how? What could have given him away? – then he should get to work destroying every aspect of every one of her plans that he knew of before she had chance to withdraw them. After three months of restless indecision, he had chosen the path of inaction, for fear of sparking retribution or, if his cover did indeed remain intact, actually blowing it.

The only piece of Konan's plans he had within reach was Umeko. But to strike against Konan now, without knowing for certain his double agent status had been discovered, could prove disastrous.

Not to mention Umeko was Sakura's friend.

Sakura.

His little brother was so tantalisingly close, and yet all his thoughts centred on his pink-haired protégé. How had she taken over his senses so completely? He saw cherry blossoms floating on the breeze and thought of her. Green apples hanging from a bough became her eyes. The ache in his muscles reminded him of how it felt to lose her every time.

Three months.

There was no going back now. He would not visit in the night and leave just as quickly as he arrived. He would not find her and leave her ever again. This time, he would do everything possible to ensure Sakura returned to his side once more. Happy, healthy and completely whole.

Uchiha Itachi walked the streets of Konoha with murder on his mind once more.

Hi.

I wrote this chapter like a billion years ago and although I'm not a 100% certain of where the plot was meant to be going, I've written up a rough idea of where I think it should go. I'm a perfectionist and I really, really hate the fact that I left even one story unfinished. And as it happens, I left a bunch. Desert Blossom was one chapter away from being complete and I just couldn't do it :/

I'm back at uni, doing a master's, and the level of difficulty has increased tenfold compared to the last time I was there. The majority of my assignments are all due in for May, so if I'm actually going to finish my fanfiction, post-May is my best bet. Until then, I really need to focus all my attention on work.

Do you see how horribly serious this author's note is? I miss the days when I would ramble for paragraphs down here. Still, I'm twenty-four in a week. I'm extremely mature and grown up. I feel zero shame to be reading/writing fanfic at my age, tbh. People have been writing fanfic (essentially adaptations) for centuries, recycling stories and putting their own spin on things. Zero shame here.

Also MY GOD is it hard to write for an anime/manga you haven't watched/read for years! I've been trying to plot this bitch out, working off the bare bones my younger self left, but forgetting the vast majority of Naruto lore has made this difficult -_-

If this turns out right – there should be 25 chapters in all. Hopefully I'll finish it this year. I've missed you crazy kids so much. I also plan to finish Sakura in Shadow (how, I don't know. That fic is a mess despite the meticulous notes I found on my old computer. I planned it all out so carefully, and yet the execution was just shite. Oh well), Paper Planes (I FOUND THE NOTES FOR THIS FIC! THEY'VE BEEN MISSING FOR YEARS!), Desert Blossom… Speak Up, Calm Down… I think that's all of them. Hm. Who knows.

Amusingly enough, I can see in my old notes that I kept considering killing off or seriously maiming the same character all the way through the planning, changing my mind at the last minute every time. I may yet murder them, we shall see.

Btw can I recommend the legit best Naruto fanfic I've ever read? It may or may not have triggered my renewed interest in the fandom. It's Reverse by Blackkat, who can be found on archiveofourown. A quick google should see you through. Backslide by the same author is also fucking awesome. Be warned, there be gay folk in these here fics. I remember being a young teen and wanting desperately to include male/male or female/female ships in my fics, but my fans were young and reacted with the FURY OF A THOUSAND SUNS whenever I brought it up. Nowadays I'm like, meh. Life's too short not to write about what I want.

Still, I used to write vaguely American high school Naruto AUs. None of which were good. Maybe I should supress my writing wants :P

If I have the time to do massive amounts of research into Naruto, I may write a time travel fic or one of those Sakura gets a new mentor/outlook/reason for fighting fics. Time will tell.

Btw, I have a tumblr. Katlou303 over there too. Look me up. I post nothing and just reblog endlessly.

Quick poll for fun: What is the coolest jutsu in Naruto?

No suggestions. You guys let me know your favourites in the reviews. If there are any and I'm not just typing into the void.

For some reason I just really liked everything the Hyuuga did. Especially the spinny twirl of doom. That was cool.