#mauve butterfly orchid

[kittythegengarmonarch]

I forgot to post a few hours ago, knowing that I finished it at 2AM LAST NIGHT. But yeah, for those of you who don't know, October 21st is my birthday. And because it's my Sweet 16, I made this year's Birthday Outfit extra sweet, resembling a Purple Ombre Bundt Cake with cream cheese and strawberry syrup. The crown is a rose gold, with a mauve-like color at the top, and there are 4 rhombus shaped opals, as not only is Opal one of my birthstones, but also, 16 is 4x4, 4 squared, 4 to the second power. There are also white ribbons with a light orchid ombre, and at the edges, there are 'golden and magenta sprinkles'. And there is a light blue butterfly, inspired by the shoes of 2 characters that we will not mention. lol This year, for Halloween, I'm going to be Barnaby from Billie Bust Up, as even though it's been only a week, I instantly really liked the characters(for the exception of Elaine), and Barnaby is my absolute FAVORITE. He's so silly, and he is PERFECT. He is also autistic, like me. (Also, that is not an eyepatch, that is a mask.) I hope you like it. Prepare for the 21st! ^^

Posted using PostyBirb

[calledher]

what color is your soul?

Hana ; ashen

old newspapers, smoke, quiet cities, pale cheeks, pebbles, chalk, the clouded moon. your essence is ashen: you are warm but vacant, an empty canvas waiting to be painted. your heart is soft; there is a peace that seems just out of reach, but it is worth striving towards. perhaps lost, you comfort yourself by what you can, and you are never unwelcome. you are the dreamer. you are the wanderer. you find kinship in like-minded individuals of chiffon, hickory, beige, and ivory, who share your aspirations for goodness. you are also drawn to the inspiring and kind lavender and peach, who will help you grow and open you to find yourself. however, you may struggle to get along with the strong-willed personalities of periwinkle and tawny who put themselves first.

Nari ; crimson

rose vines, blood, apples, velvet, sharp nails, galaxies, dripping jewelry. your essence is crimson: you are the strong, defiant and avoidant. you crave some sort of deviation; to walk in another's footsteps feels mundane, a waste of your time. you are possessive and never look back at the things you've lost or forgotten. you are the rebel. you are the one who will change the world. you find kinship in like-minded individuals of red, blush, garnet, and bronze, who share your impassioned existence. you are also drawn to the confident souls royal and gold, who will help you grow and show that not everyone seeks to break you. however, you may struggle to get along with the slow-acting personalities of navy and umber who never seem assertive about anything.

Dani ; jade

islands, sketchbooks, rainy windows, pendants, puzzle pieces, tree frogs, sea glass. your essence is jade: you are withdrawn and observant, like a sailing ship watching others pass. you struggle between giving too much and too little; it is a hard thing to be both authentic and loved. your sensitivity makes you gentle to others. you are the spirit. you are the philosopher. you find kinship in like-minded individuals of seafoam, teal, blue, and green, who share your thoughtfulness and creativity. you are also drawn to the purposeful chartreuse and fire, who will help you grow and connect to the world around you. however, you may struggle to get along with the ambitious personalities of wine and terracotta who push too hard.

Kairi ; wine

plums, nail polish, planners, theaters, pursed lips, mosaics, sewing thread. your essence is wine: you are ruled by determination to bring your grand vision to life. you are a pillar of your chosen family; reliable and moral, there is never a situation for which you are not prepared. you are an idealist and accept nothing less of yourself. you are the activist. you are the dutiful. you find kinship in like-minded individuals of amaranth, pearl, grey, and pink, who share your need to devote to a cause. you are also drawn to the expressive orchid and mauve, who will help you grow and learn it is okay to not live up to expectation. however, you may struggle to get along with the excessive personalities of jade and fire who do not know what they truly want.

Bora ; red

leather jackets, cherries, bruised knuckles, roses, lipstick, fast cars, rose petals. your essence is red: you are a spirit of intensity who effortlessly inspires others. you struggle to slow down; there is always another goal, another prize, to prove you are strong enough to them. you cannot stop speaking for the voiceless. you are the torch-wielder. you are the rebel. you find kinship in like-minded individuals of crimson, blush, terracotta, and fire, who share your unapologetic nature. you are also drawn to the free-spirited souls purple and yellow, who will help you grow and see that you can lighten your heart sometimes. however, you may struggle to get along with the internal personalities of blue and brown who are too methodical.

Yoonmi ; orange

guitars, fanta bottles, sunglasses, orange peels, butterflies, popsicles, paper lanterns. your essence is orange: dreams hold you aloft and inspire you to be better. you thrive on creativity; there is always a new inspiration that moves you and takes your heart. you draw friends but may show all of them the same smile. you are the restless. you are the adventurer. you find kinship in like-minded individuals of apricot, amber, fire, and terracotta, who share your enthusiasm. you are also drawn to the pensive souls blue and green, who will help you grow and see which projects and emotions are worth your time. however, you may struggle to get along with the headstrong personalities of grey and purple who are too rigid in their perspective.

tagged by: @idleds thank you!! this was so much fun!! tagging: @makemerun @idolkills @lcvemaz @phantombs @fairynuit

[unikittybigbrightworldau]

OC “Wiki Pages”: The Petalstones

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Family: Daisy (Snapdragon)

Special Features: Flowers, gemstones, musical talents

Character Influences: BABYMETAL

Genre: J-rock, J-pop, pop rock

Likes: Fun events, performing, meeting their fans, being creative, art, stories, technology, being outside, nature, partying

Dislikes: Disorder, getting hurt, tight spaces, death

Genders: Various

Pronouns: He/him (Magnolia, Tiger Lily, Orchid, Hellebore and Chrysanthemum), she/her (Iris, Lotus, Marigold, Wisteria, Snapdragon)

----

Debut: TBA

Headcanon Voice: Su-Metal (Iris), Moa-Metal (Lotus)

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The Petalstones (ペタルストーヌス Petarusutonsu) are a J-rock band hailing from Botania who have supporting roles in Unikitty: Big Bright World. Their music is enjoyed by many people throughout the world.

----

Members

Iris (lead vocals)

Lotus (lead vocals)

Magnolia (piano, keyboard)

Marigold (violin)

Orchid (bass guitar, upright bass)

Tiger Lily (lead guitar)

Wisteria (cowbell)

Snapdragon (additional sound effects)

Hellebore (drums)

Chysanthemum (tambourine)

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Physical Appearances: Each Gemflower has their corresponding flower blooming on their head, as well as somewhere on their body with their gemstone inside it. Iris has very light purple skin, and her flower is on his chest, having her gemstone inside it. She wears a blue sleeveless shirt with an iridescent shirt and pants underneath it. Lotus has pink skin and two coral pink beads on either side of her head. Her flower gemstone is located on the left side of the neck of her dress, which has a very light pink top that's almost white, a coral pink belting, and a blue skirt with green layers. Her dress's skirt has pink hints in the layers, and the top has a shoulder pad on one side. Magnolia's skin is silver, and on either side of his head, there are silver beads. His flower gemstone is on his chest, and he wears a white and yellow dress with light yellow stockings.

Marigold has mango skin, her gemstone is close to her neck, and she wears gold yellow clothes and two beads on each side of her head. Orchid has light purple skin, heart-shaped beads and has his orchid amethyst on his chest, wearing magenta pants and a top with light purple sleeves. Tiger Lily's skin is orange, his clothes are brown and resemble a pirate's clothing, and his flower is positioned on his right hip. Around his waist is a sash with tiger stripes on it. Wisteria also has light purple skin and a similar outfit to Magnolia's, wearing a purple dress with mauve stockings. Snapdragon's skin is red, and her outfit consists of a shirt and pants with a green collar, resembling a strawberry. Her flower is located on her navel, as is Hellebore's. Hellebore has red violet skin and wears four maroon beads on the sides of his head. He also wears a black leotard with gray leggings. Chrysanthemum has green skin and wears a green shirt with a matching green skirt and pants beneath it. His peridot chrysanthemum is on his chest.

Personalities: All ten of these flower rocks are inseparable; it feels like they can't survive if they aren't working together. They all have similar opinions and similar attitudes to each other, but each of them also have their own differing personality traits. 

Iris is a social butterfly and a good communicator, and Lotus is calm and has a strong sense of peace of mind. Iris and Lotus are the messengers and leaders to the Petalstones. Magnolia is quite fatherly and is very wise in a similar way to Piano. Marigold is content and environmental, using what's around her to get ideas. Orchid is very sensitive and much more reactive to his surroundings, and he's also very outgoing.

Tiger Lily is compassionate, strong-willed and brave with a dash of strong optimism. Sometimes, he behaves like a cat. Wisteria is peaceful and social. She's willing to meet anyone and is usually the first one of them who speaks. Snapdragon is a bit shy and quiet, but she's intelligent, gracious and a fast learner. Hellebore is listless, indifferent, and laid-back, but he's also very smart, level-headed and encouraging. Chrysanthemum is cheerful, joyful, energetic, defensive and in a constant state of harmony. One of the things they have in common is that they all love to get creative, and they show it in their music.

Abilities: Iris and Lotus are the lead singers of the band; Lotus can also play the zither, and Iris plays the xylophone. Magnolia plays the piano, keyboard and also the calliope. Marigold can play the violin, the viola and the cello. Orchid plays the upright bass and the bass guitar, plus the french horn. Tiger Lily plays both electric and acoustic guitar; he also plays the tin whistle and hurdy gurdy. Wisteria plays the cowbell, the cornet, and also the koto. Snapdragon provides additional sound effects to the group's music, and she can also play the melodica and the accordion. Hellebore is the drummer for the band, being able to play all kinds of drums. Chrysanthemum can play the tambourine and the recorder. He often wears jingling bracelets when performing.

Some of them have other talents. As examples, Marigold is an artist, Magnolia is good at sewing, Tiger Lily is a creative storyteller and Snapdragon works with technology very well.

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Trivia

The Petalstones are meant to reference BABYMETAL, who did the theme song for Unikitty. This is why Iris and Lotus sound like Su-Metal and Moa-Metal respectively.

Jezabat got help from her friend @literallyzooble for the band’s Japanese translation. They are also the reason why she decided to make the Petalstones a J-rock band besides BABYMETAL.

Coincidentally, The Petalstones is also the name of an alternative rock band.

The Petalstones prefer to be called by the names of their flowers.

The ten of them consider themselves to be like a family.

Magnolia is the Petalstone with the lowest range. Because of this, he usually sings the bass lines for their songs.

Wisteria is the one with the highest range, and she is the only Petalstone who can hit whistle notes. She doesn’t do it often, though.

If their gemstone cracks, things will get unstable for them and their flower, and if it's shattered, their flower will shrivel up and they'll die. There is a way to repair a cracked gemstone in the instance of one; the gem will magically heal itself as long as whoever's gem is cracked is exposed to sunlight.

Snapdragon is the only Petalstone who was not built from pieces that sprouted from the earth. (Botania and Marevi don't have a stork deliver pieces like in the Unikingdom.)

She was created in a lab by Dr. Fox's aunt. Before she married her uncle Rover, Daisy's last name was Beryl.

Unikitty and Puppycorn have seen the band in concert once before as a fun sibling's day out. To this day, they're huge fans. They introduced the band to the rest of the Unigang.

The Petalstones' fanbase is called the Earth Children.

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In Other Languages

Arabic: البتلة الحجارة / "Albatalat Alhijara" (Petal Stones)

Spanish: Las Gemas Florales (The Floral Gems)

German: Die Blütensteine

Swedish: Petalstenarna

Italian: Le Gemme di Fiori (The Flower Buds)

Portuguese: As Gemas das Flores (The Flower Gems)

Korean: 페탈스톤은 / "Petalstoneun"

Japanese: ペタルストーヌス / "Petarusutonsu"

Chinese: 花瓣石 / "Huābàn Shí" (Petal Stone)

Polish: Zespół "Kamienie Kwiatowe"

French: Les Joyaux Floraux (The Flower Gems)

Russian: Группа "Цветочный камень" / "'Gruppa 'Tsvetochnyy Kamen' (Group Floral Stone)

Hindi: पेटल स्टोन्स / "Petal Stons"

Thai: หินกลีบดอกไม้ / "H̄in Klīb Dxkmị̂" (Flower Petal Stone)

Turkish: Petal Taşları

[gaiaspoken]

what color is your aura?

blooming flowers, butterflies, sunsets, text messages, hair dye, auroras, neon lights. your essence is orchid: you are the brightest smile and strongest heart. you inspire those around you; unconsciously, you exist for their purpose, not your own. continue to seek the limelight though do not lie just for their applause. you are the host. you are the performer.

but she's tinging a little bit of a mauve gradient because of hawks' feather that she keeps in her hair directly affecting her. mauve as a color represents feelings of romance, sentimentality, youth, and nostalgia which is also perfect for her! thus the combo.

[violettesiren]

When down the marble steps girls ran tonight like brilliant birds were their slim shoes of green, Of amber-rose, of mauve, of crimosin. Shell-fluted with thread-silver…lazulite, Dawn-gold, pale orchid-violet, silver, white! Why, every girl was shod like some brave queen. Nay, what famed royal foot has dancetime seen So evening-slippered…blue and bronze and bright?

These graceful girls with feet in velvet shoon, Those in mosaic doeskins soft encased, Were flying fairies from the iris moon: Titanias all—their feet by flowers embraced. They danced…shoe petals blown upon a tune— Shoe butterflies by shining music chased.

Evening Slippers by Winifred Davidson

[tanetlee]

Kamil's story

The funicular ride I took uphill brought me to the place known as [Kali’s] Garden of [Eden], where wild roses grow and every single bush bears sixty blooms, with the sweetest scent of any flowers anywhere [1].  On my way up, the hustle and bustle of the city below grew fainter and the sumptuous greenery of the surrounding hillsides came into view.

In front of my eyes was a garden, and what a garden [2]! Beautiful pictures [of] herbaceous lupins, pink, yellow, mauve, and other colours, [...]; myosotis [...], giving spring carpets of their precious blue in bulb and other beds; giant pansies, white, primrose, mauve, purple, and other shades; [...] perennial poppies of the orientale and bracteatum types, having giant flower stems [...]; double and single giant pyrethrums, having [...] masses of beautiful flowers; scarlet, white, pink, purple and rose Brompton stocks [3]. The air heavy with the delicate scent of pink blooms of hibiscus and orchids, springs of joy murmur on every side [4]. Butterflies fluttering daintily from bloom to bloom, their wings a riot of vibrant hues. Soft, velvety moss growing luxuriantly around majestic trees with sprawling canopies. The garden’s flowers breathed perfume and its birds warbled amid the bloom as it were a garden of the gardens of Paradise [2]. This garden [did] not whet your appetite; it quenche[d] it [5].

As I lingered, marvelling at the kaleidoscope of colours that surrounded me, I could discern a soft melody in the distance. And behold, up came dancers and drummers with their drums and pipers with their pipes, [...] and played all manner antics with voice and limbs [6]. The placid serenity from moments prior had suddenly bloomed into a symphony above [the branches], a beating of drums below [the moss], dances, joyous faces [...], songs, [...] and frank laughter [7]. All gathered by a field which stretched to the brink of a brusque cliff. As the crowd stood motionless, the stillness broken only to the gentle flutter of dragonfly wings, moments stretched into minutes. Finally, a delicate silhouette ascended the stairs leading up the cliff face.

‘Who is she?’, I asked my neighbour.

‘Newcomer I see’ he said, ‘You have been in Eden, the garden of [the] God[s][8], Kali and Apollo. You have joined to meet the oracle, Ewa. Now observe and talk not’.

It all made sense. Hence [faces] splendid with both [smile] and [laughter]; [...] hence the zither and lyre and drums [9]. Hence the dances and cheering.

The oracle’s eyes, dark and deep as a starless night, observed the masses with a calm intensity that belied the seriousness of her task. As her body swayed slightly, behind her, her long robes flowed in the wind. And then, a powerful voice bloomed from her lips:

‘[Kali and Apollo are] wise [11], so pray to the Winds [10]’ she spoke, ‘They will prove to be mighty allies of [Krakow] [10]. [Jack] is wiser [11], so, love of money and nothing else will ruin [Krakow] [12]. But of all men [you are] wisest [11], so make your own nature, not the advise of others, your guide in life [13]. Also the dragon, earthborn, in craftiness coming behind thee [14]. Your presence here outrages the God[s] [15] who offended you. Don’t go back, matricide [15]! The names Shiva, Argus and Pinterest mark the hour of your downfall [15]!’.

Ewa’s words rang out across the garden, her voice carrying the weight of the prophecy. The crowd listened in rapt attention, knowing that her words carried the authority of the divine.

She turned around and vanished down the face of the cliff. My neighbour, much like everyone else around me, seemed to have heared the true answer to [their] question [16], a question that only those of Krakow appeared to have pondered.

As I retraced my steps towards the city, I knew I had visited the Garden of Eden upon the earth, birth place of the fairies: I will never forget thy beauties, O [Krakow], for none but thee will I ever long:— Blessed be the wonders that glitter on thy [meadows] [6].

[1] Herodotus, The Histories

[2] The Book of the Thousand and One Nights

[3] Gothein, A History of Garden Art

[4] Wollstonecraft, Complete Works

[5] Seneca, Complete Works

[6] The Book of the Thousand and One Nights Supplementary Nights

[7] Hugo, Les Misérables

[8] Augustine, The City of God

[9] Melanchthon Bucer, Collected Works

[10] Macaulay, G. C., Herodotus Book VII

[11] Nietzsche, The Birth of Tragedy and Other Writings

[12] Diodorus VII.12.5

[13] Ciero

[14] Plutarch, On the Pythian Responses

[15] Markville History, World History to 16th Century

[16] Aquinas, Summa Theologica

[ayanos-pl]

Dendrobium bigibbum

デンファレ（デンドロビウム・ファレノプシス系）が安くなっていたので初めて買ってみた。これまで派手すぎるかと敬遠していたのだけど、意外とそうでもない。むしろ、かわいらしい。花瓶はオリーブ油の空き瓶。

[coffee-in-europe]

january: black-and-white films, old records, red lipstick, classical music, gold earrings, city lights, garnet clothing, champagne, glitter, russian literature, snowstorms, art galleries, dimly lit restaurants, high-heels, chickadees, frosted windowpanes, silk shirts, espresso, pomegranates, snowy owls

february: candy hearts, roses, grapefruit, trench coats, mittens, dark chocolate, calligraphy, sealed envelopes, vanilla cake, ballet, romance films, chandeliers, late-night phone calls, musicals, aurora borealis, marshmallows, pink lipgloss, poetry, freesia, movie theatres, ballads, pressed flowers, stained glass, teacups

march: dark comedies, photo albums, lemons, cold rivers, baking, tidying, colouring, movie marathons, nonfiction books, newspapers, clovers, train rides, fashion magazines, pasta, orchids, podcasts, houseplants, sketchpads, yogurt, celestial art, bubble baths, charcuterie boards, moonlight, ice floes, crystal glasses, coffee dates

april: disney cartoons, rubber boots, tulips, mauve nailpolish, fresh vegetables, cold rain, journals, lavender, fresh eggs, pink blush, birdsong, morning frost, rosemary, tulips, foggy mornings, aloe vera, ponds, herbal tea, puddles, lilies, bunnies, floral sheets, marmalade, pastoral novels, frogs, english custard, lily pads

may: picture books, daisies, farms, warm breezes, cherry blossoms, early mornings, fresh-baked bread, gardening, childhood reminiscing, dandelions, honey, meadows, hummingbirds, butterflies, rainbows, sugar cookies, polaroid cameras, wild mushrooms, carnations, frescoes, silver lockets, brown bears, pancakes, rivers, greenhouses, white sheets

june: jean shorts, pop music, white wine, beach days, yoga, sunday brunch, ice cream, concerts, wildflowers, fluffy clouds, morning dew, cotton candy, turtles, popsicles, kayaks, watermelon, pineapples, vineyards, sparklers, bicycles, denim jackets, swans, asphodels, cocktail parties, gooseberries, lilacs, hollyhocks

july: adventure stories, oranges, lakehouses, campfires, festivals, disco nights, strawberries, figs, starry skies, iced coffee, fireworks, street markets, bumblebees, trumpet vines, strappy sandals, sunglasses, patio lights, linen, denim skirts, pizza, fruit smoothies, pizza, rainstorms, peaches, lagoons, white dresses, astronomy

august: golden sunlight, nostalgia, willow trees, nature poetry, sunrises and sunsets, picnic baskets, sunflowers, crickets, cicadas, colourful quilts, cherries, rolling hills, maxi-dresses, tall grass, dragonflies, crochet, renaissance art, vine tomatoes, overalls, roadtrips, hammocks, sunhats, waterfalls, tabby cats

september: coffee, book piles, croissants, long walks, classic novels, braided hair, notebooks, film festivals, apples, pears, farmers markets, forests, jigsaw puzzles, owls, tortoiseshell glasses, orchards, library cards, foxes, tweed blazers, climbing ivy, tea kettles, maple syrup, goldenrod, lanterns, waffles, boardgames

october: pumpkin patches, black turtlenecks, ginger pastries, fireplaces, wet leaves, ankle boots, corduroy, birch trees, cafés, bookshops, castles, caramel, rainy mornings, blustery nights, town fairs, countryside walks, cinnamon, nutmeg, old houses, black cats, bakeries, creeks, thick blankets, city blocks, white chapels

november: candles, red wine, ancient ruins, greek mythology, second-hand books, plaid blankets, mahogany nailpolish, mystery novels, museums, burgundy sweaters, dinner parties, gemstone rings, icy breath, black coffee, language studies, antique shops, white roses, cobblestones, lace, cathedrals, firewood, audiobooks, crescent moons

december: soft snowfall, christmas carols, pine scent, wool socks, irish stew, fairy lights, thick books, fantasy stories, throw pillows, shortbread, comfort films, window shopping, scarves, icicles, peppermint, carrot noses, angels, hot chocolate, skates, pinecones, caribou, gingerbread, crackling fires, hot toddies, cashmere

[natedogx15]

Anti-Hero Butterfly Wielder

I’m really proud of this prompt and think it’s my favorite one so far out of all the prompts I’ve made.

So the events in Origins are full of a lot of questions. Miraculous Ladybug was already full of these questions.

Questions like, why didn’t Gabriel use an Akuma to heal his sick wife or go back in time to prevent it? How did he know the Miraculous were around?

Also, Master Fu sent out the Miraculous before even seeing what this Butterfly Wielder would do. Now, Wayzz did say that a negative aura had the Miraculous. However, negative is an extremely broad term, in my opinion. You can be a person with negative traits/aura but still, be a good person in different ways.

Examples

Someone who is often dishonest, however, they usually use this on people who are jerks to others.

Someone who hates most people but loves their family and friends more than anything.

So, here is my idea for a different Butterfly User to replace Gabriel.

The person is someone whose family was wronged by the rich and powerful. Whether it’s Andre doing something to their family business because Chloe wanted something, Bob Ross ruining their parents' musical career, Audrey firing them for a petty thing. It’s your choice on why.

Because of this wrong, their family went into poverty and causes one of the parents to start abusing the other parent and our future Butterfly wielder.

Now, this all depends on the level of angst you want for your character. You can either have the parents both die eventually sending the future wielder to the orphanage or allow them to keep living and get better over time. It all depends on you.

Years go by and the new wielder now worked in an antique/trade/pawn shop to try and help their family. The age of this character is also up to you. They could be an adult, high schooler, or middle schooler like the main characters of the show.

While cleaning up the store they somehow accidentally break an item of Chinese descent. Whether it’s a vase, statue, plate, etc. After they do they find the Butterfly Brooch inside/a part of said object.

Once they meet and Nooroo explains to them what the Miraculous can do. The Butterfly wielder sees this as an opportunity.

Again this path is up to you. You can have it so the family got back up from their disaster legally or illegally. This can affect their personality since kids learn from their parents.

If you go with the legal path then your wielder may have a stricter honor code and choose not to use cheap tricks for anything and prefer to do everything fairly.

If you go down an illegal path then they could be a more heroic and clever version of Lila willing to use manipulation to their advantage.

Either way, because of their past they develop a type of this philosophy about the world.

The weak will be prey for the strong until they get stronger. If the weak stay weak forever then they will be trampled on.

Because of that, they become the Butterfly hero to give the weak the opportunity to be strong against their abusers and stand up for themselves.

Here are a couple of name ideas for your Butterfly Hero

Dream Catcher, Baron Orchid, Duke Mauve

Unlike Gabriel, this Butterfly wielder targets these types of scenarios.

A hostage stuck in the middle of a robbery wanting to help people, a person getting mugged wanting help, someone getting their work stolen by higher-ups, an investigator wanting to expose corruption (i.e. Andre Bourgeois and Francoise Dupont). A student getting bullied wanting to expose their bully.

Now on to Master Fu and Miraculous Ladybug’s plot and how this could work.

Like canon, Master Fu would send out the Ladybug and Black Cat. Now, this is where you can also diverge down two different scenarios.

1) They (probably Adrien) attack the new Butterfly wielder’s Champion when that Champion was trying to save someone. Because of this, the public sees the Ladybug and Black Cat wielders as the villains. Maybe your Butterfly wielder does as well.

This can lead down a Reverse Miraculous Ladybug AU path based on one big misunderstanding caused by Master Fu himself. The Butterfly Wielder would hunt down the Ladybug and Black Cat wielder seeing them as abusers of their power. They’d use Champions with a lower area of effect type of power to avoid civilian casualties.

However, should civilian casualties happen, that’s the chance for the Ladybug wielder to show that this was a big misunderstanding by using the Miraculous Cure. That may lead to a conversation between the three about the entire situation and possibly meeting Master Fu.

2)The Ladybug, Black Cat, and Butterfly are all on the heroic side. No misunderstanding happens but there is tension because neither Marinette nor Adrien nor your own characters enjoy the way the Butterfly Wielder does justice.

Now, in this path, you could have Master Fu be the villain in an anti-villain sense. He wants the Butterfly retrieved and sees that the Ladybug and Black Cat wielder refuse to do anything. This causes him to choose others while counseling them into believing that the heroes Miraculous needed to be taken to keep the world safe.

However, with both paths, there is one important thing to keep in mind. The way the Miraculous are set up makes the Kwami slaves. They have no free will of their own despite having the power of the universe at their disposal. If the Butterfly Wielder finds this out they could want to free the Kwami. Seeing the Miraculous and the Order of Guardians as another form of abusers.

Gabriel in all of this

Now, taking away the Butterfly doesn’t necessarily take Gabriel away from the plot. Gabriel may have still had the Peacock and Emilie could still be comatose.

However, unlike in canon, he’d have a limited number of chances to do anything so he has to play his cards right. The Peacock could end up killing him and Nathalie and whoever else he gets to help him try and claim the Miraculous.

I’ll be going over what he can do with my two options to the Miraculous Ladybug plot part of the prompt.

1) In the misunderstanding path, he could be a wild card or fan the flames of the misunderstanding. Using a Sentimonster based around the Butterfly’s Champions, the Ladybug, and/or Black Cat to try to get them to weaken each other so he can snatch the Ladybug and Black Cat.

Or he could use the Peacock to follow my Artificial Miraculous idea so he has a continuous source of power to try and capture the Miraculous.

Either way, he would try to manipulate the Butterfly wielder or both sides to help him in his ultimate goal of claiming the Ladybug and Black Cat.

2) In the idea where the Ladybug, Black Cat, and Butterfly wielders are all heroes and there is no misunderstanding. Gabriel could be one of the antagonists or prime antagonist with or instead of Master Fu depending on your choices.

If it’s being an antagonist with Master Fu then both sides are separate from the other. Master Fu and Gabriel could be allies later on but in the beginning, they aren’t allies.

If you make him the only antagonist then he will be on a limited number of uses and would have to use manipulation a lot more to have people be willing to use the Peacock Miraculous for him and take the side effects.

[cherrynojutsu]

Title: Like Gold

Summary: Sasuke grapples with love and intimacy regarding his developing relationship with Sakura after returning to the village from his journey of redemption. Kind of a character study on Sasuke handling an intimate relationship after dealing with PTSD and survivor’s guilt in solitude for so long. Blank period, canon-compliant, Sasuke-centric, lots of fluff and pining, slowly becomes a smut fest with feelings.

Disclaimer: I did not write Naruto. This is a fan-made piece solely created for entertainment purposes.

Rating: M (eventual nsfw-ness)

AO3 Link - FF.net Link - includes beginning/ending author's notes

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Chapter 6/?: Roots

It's pouring rain by the time Sasuke awakens, a tempestuous sort of hush awash a village swathed in grey. He's gotten a very good night's sleep, only waking once around five to groggily hearken as the pitter patter of droplets began against the asphalt and metal of the roof. He'd watched the beads of liquid slowly connect to others, forming small rivulets pulled downwards by gravity on the glass of his bedroom window, before he made the decision to try to fall back asleep. To his bewilderment, it had actually worked; a rare occurrence, as it usually doesn't. No dreams, no nightmares, just blissful emptiness, like he was allowed for once to drink in the moisture of rest like a tonic, exuding into his being much like the precipitation trickling into the soil outside.

It's nine thirty when he rolls out of bed, reluctant to leave the warm requiescence of his comforter, but also wanting to give himself plenty of time to get ready. He'd like to shower before he heads over to Sakura’s, and he also wants to eat something light for breakfast first. He decides on ochazuke, because it’s relatively easy to prepare and he thinks he would like more tea; two birds with one stone. There are sesame seeds in his cupboard that he could sprinkle over the dish, at the end. He sets a portion of brown rice to boil before brewing a cup of the caffeinated green sencha to eventually seep over it.

It smells really good as it permeates into the hot water, earthiness propelling upwards and sinking into his nostrils. He'll have to thank her again today, now that he knows what her gift actually contained.

While he lets things stew, Sasuke considers the kitchen table, where he left the remainder of the gifts yesterday. Now is as good a time as any to find a place for each of them, he supposes. He makes quick work of washing the paring board before setting it aside to dry. The cough drops find a home in his bathroom's mostly empty storage behind the mirror; he takes the two lozenges left from the hospital and puts them there, too, to use before he opens any of the new packages.

He decides that the photo should go on the bedside table, next to the clock. He can always move it, if he changes his mind. It catches his eye for longer than is strictly necessary.

Eventually he returns to the kitchen, removing the strainer from the tea and stirring the pot of rice twice as he waits for it to finish cooking. The barrage has lessened since daybreak, not overly loud, but enough to create an ambient sort of background noise that is a nice change of pace; less of a storm and more of a quenched thirst for the earth, emptying from rooftops down the gutters and into the ground. Sakura’s building is older, too; it probably will sound much the same at her apartment.

He savors the ochazuke once it’s finished, a simple but enjoyable way to start the day, caffeine threading its way into his system gradually. Washing the dishes is his next task, followed by an extremely lengthy shower, temperature near thermogenic. The bruises from his two spars with Naruto are still sore, but not terrible; the heat feels good on the marred skin. Water drifts across more bruising that has bled into existence overnight on his shins, before it sinks between his toes and vanishes down the drain. He’s not sure why he watches it; it just seems compelling today for some reason, everything pulling downward.

When he’s dry, he throws on a comfortable pair of black pants and a matching long-sleeved shirt. He doesn’t want to read more of his book since he has a little less than half left of the one on kenjutsu, so he decides to complete some meal prep instead, testing out the paring board by chopping and slicing various produce; mushrooms, bell peppers, broccoli, carrots, tomatoes, green onions, and burdock roots are slowly removed from his fridge, cleaved into neat pieces, and then returned to their respective assortment of bags and containers. The small bits of metal attached to the board allow for cutting goods with ease, a bit ingenious. It works extremely well, much more efficient than the hassle of summoning a clone to simply stand there holding each item still. It’s not that he doesn’t have the chakra to spare, but it feels more dignified this way.

After enough time has passed, Sasuke pulls on a pair of grey socks, sandals, and his cloak before he leaves, library book concealed and protected by the black garment.

It’s marginally chilly outside, but not terribly cold like it would have been earlier in the morning. Petrichor overwhelms him, an aroma he is well acquainted with. He is reminded of the scent of the foliage the handful of times he passed through the Land of Rain, and also of drizzly days spent as a child here in Konoha. Every bit of vegetation he glimpses on the way to Sakura’s apartment complex is drinking up the liquid greedily, drop after drop of nourishment with which they will sustain themselves and use to grow.

The puddles are starting to join in their crevices, small streams of gentle cascades forming. It captures his attention like the shower drain did earlier, and it feels nostalgic for some reason, like there is some forgotten secret that the land beneath is whispering through the medium of interconnected pools, rippling outward until they touch more solid soil.

His hair is a bit damp when he arrives at her building just prior to eleven. Illumination flows from beneath doorways of variegated colors; everyone else is inside today, too. The tonality is similar to the harmony overheard at his own apartment, as he expected; he finds it comforting.

He knows he’s a little early, so Sasuke takes his time going up the stairs. Once he reaches the sage green of her threshold, he raps twice and waits, studying Sakura’s plants in their terracotta pots. There are a few amongst them that he doesn’t recognize, which is curious, given that he’s wandered so many places and has grown familiar with a vast diversity of flora. There is lucky bamboo pushed towards the back of the array, in the area that gets the least amount of light. A spider plant is to its left, and a golden pothos, along with a snake plant, are sandwiched to its right, towards the corner. A lilac moth orchid blooms near her door, a paler variety than he has seen anywhere else. Coral kalanchoe spill out the side of a taller planter, next to pink and pistachio mums, faded yellow butterfly ranunculus, and a small vessel filled with white daffodils, sunny insides flourishing outwards. There are succulents, too, tricolor lavender scallops sprinkled throughout several of the ceramic containers, along with a strain he doesn’t recognize.

Yarrow and jewelweed emerge from smaller pots on the edge of the spread, which makes him wonder if the few plants he’s unfamiliar with are being grown for useful purposes rather than decorative. Perhaps she keeps them for her work crafting antidotes; he knows that the roots of plants can often carry medicinal benefits. One of them is quite odd looking, now that he is peering down at it closely; dark plum-colored stems spread upwards with circular leaf-like shapes at the crown, trains of spiky white flowers budding from them. Another one he can’t identify has a tiny whitish yellow flower, dwarfed by the huge wrinkled leaves that surround it.

They appear as if they have been tended already, the loam damp as it is outside with no opportunity for warmth to dry them as of yet, though this verdure is more tame, less wild. She must water them in the morning. All of them are so different, yet they are all alike, too, stringy germinations and rhizomes expanding to suffuse through their similar planters.

Her door clicks open, and he shifts. Sakura smiles up at him, sunshine on a rainy day accented by a dimple, wearing an extremely comfortable-looking outfit: an oversized cream crewneck that slips off one of her shoulders a little, and a juniper pair of jogging pants that he thinks would be too long for her if not for the gathering at the ankles.

"Good morning, Sasuke-kun," she greets, eyes he loves radiant on his. "It's almost ready; come in."

He responds, “Morning,” and follows her inside, placing his library book on the console table momentarily, where her lamp is already switched on. As he shrugs off his cloak and toes off his sandals, she drifts back to the kitchen, something likely needing her attention there. He notices as she goes that there is an extremely fuzzy pair of beige socks on her feet.

As he hangs his cloak, he realizes that her apartment smells like roasted tomatoes and toasting bread, overpowering any vague notes of her tea cabinet in a way that makes his mouth water.

Sasuke reaches for his book from the console table and goes further into her living space, where the rest of her lamps are also turned on already; no hard lighting. He assumes they'll read on her couch, so he sets the text on the end table, closest to the side where he’d sat the previous night. There are two blankets thrown over the sofa now that weren't there yesterday, one appearing plush that is a color somewhere between mauve and lavender, and the other one a knit heather grey. It’s probable that they came from her bedroom; perhaps the walls are some variant of violet, a color he would not have expected.

As he turns, intending to join Sakura in the kitchen, his eye catches on a familiar photo, and he stops. Perched on one of the few empty areas of one of her bookshelves is their original Team Seven portrait, in a pale wood frame, near white. It's different in finish from the other frames adorning her walls near the kitchen, much lighter in color.

He is struck by it for multiple reasons; it wasn’t there yesterday, meaning it probably has also come from her bedroom, and it is very close in finish to the wood of the uchiwa fan he gave her as a birthday gift. He hasn’t seen it; Sasuke knows most women keep ornamental fans like that in storage for safekeeping. He vaguely recalls his own mother used to keep hers, though less ornate and made of paper rather than silk, in boxes, stored securely for future use at festivals and such in her closet. She’d shown them to him, once, and he’d seen her carrying them on special occasions, from time to time.

Sasuke studies the picture and the wood grain for a long moment, gaze softening. He wonders if she moved it out here to make him feel more at home.

He breaks his contemplation by making his way to her kitchen finally, where Sakura is flipping a grilled cheese sandwich over in a pan, one of two. A slow cooker lies atop the counter, lid condensed with moisture, with plates, bowls, and spoons laid out next to it.

It smells really good.

Green eyes fall on him, bright and filled with exuberance. "These are on their last minute, I think, so if you wanted to, you could dish up the soup while I finish them. There’s a ladle in there.” She gestures towards the drawer beneath the counter where the slow cooker rests. “It's tomato miso; I hope you like it. It should be done by now.”

His stomach suddenly feels tied in knots in the best sort of way. A gilding of warmth spreads throughout his entire being, veins and arteries and capillaries slowly immersed in something numinous.

“...I’m sure I’ll like it,” he murmurs, reveling in the blush that inks its way onto her cheeks, all the way back on her cheekbones to surround the freckle he’d touched yesterday. She looks away shyly, grinning like he has given her some grand compliment. The corners of his own mouth twist upwards.

Sasuke pulls the ladle from the aforementioned drawer, where it sits amongst other utensils, setting it in one of the bowls already placed on the counter. When he removes the lid, his olfactory senses instantly flood with a wave of savory miso; by the aroma, she must have used red, middle range, a perfect foil for the acidity of tomatoes. When he grabs the ladle again, he stirs it a few times; quartered shiitake mushrooms, kombu, scallions, and tomato chunks - he thinks they are of the plum variety - circle the pot, filling it near to the brim just below the surface. Sakura has made a considerable amount of it, much more than is needed for a single meal for two.

He shifts the plates closer to the slow cooker, bowls set atop them, before ladling soup in, careful not to spill and making sure to get an even mixture of produce with which to fill the broth in each. He rinses the ladle clean, and she mentions that there are small plates in the cupboard to his upper left, to rest the ladle on; he grabs one as she moves to open a different cupboard behind him.

Sasuke returns the lid to its place to trap in the slow cooker’s heat, rotating the dial from hot, past low and into the warming setting. When he turns back to Sakura, she’s shutting the stove off and moving the pan to a cool burner. Both of the sandwiches are resting on a cutting board, sliced diagonally.

The sandwiches smell really good, too. She veers the halves onto the empty space of the plates using the knife, before leaving it, along with the paring board, in the sink.

They each grab a plate and spoon before heading to her dining table, in front of the northern window. The dangling market lamp is already turned on, and fat droplets are slipping down the glass.

It’s a calming lunch they share, a steady lulling of inclement background noise alternating between bites of sandwich and spoonfuls of soup as they watch the street below. The avocado is good in grilled cheese; it’s something he would have never thought to add. Sakura dips hers into her soup, so he tries it, too, and finds he likes it even better that way. The soup on its own is something else, though; filling and savory, near perfectly spiced. She’s a good cook.

“It’s good. Thank you,” he compliments halfway through as she chews and swallows a bite.

She beams at him. “You’re welcome.” She studies him before adding, “There’s enough for leftovers, if you’d like any more.”

He nods and takes another mouthful, looking out the glass thoughtfully. The residential buildings across the way are also lit up, soft light blurred through the fractals of raindrops.

“Do you think Naruto’s doing his homework on a day like today?” Sakura asks eventually.

“Tch.” He turns his gaze to her. “I doubt he’s even awake yet.”

Her grin is mischievous. “You’re probably right. It's his weekend. No Hinata around to wake him up? Definitely still asleep.” She sighs exaggeratedly. “Kakashi-sensei will be so disappointed. Though it’s better than copying someone else’s, I guess.”

“...Did he used to copy yours?” He’s more amused by that prospect than he should be, though he’s pretty sure he knows the answer.

Sakura furrows fine pink brows as if she knows that he knows the answer, too, but she’s still smiling. “He used to ask if he could. I was too good of a student to let him.”

“...Figures.” A ghost of a smile overtakes him, a cleansing sort of sentimental fondness for bygone days during which their third squad member was at his most annoying.

“I think Shikamaru used to let him. It was too much effort to say no that many times.”

Sasuke exhales through his nose, a rendition of a laugh as she takes another bite of her sandwich, dipping it first in the soup and looking amused. Nara would.

He also takes another bite, and mulls over his next words.

Swallowing beforehand, he inquires, “...What’s in Suna?”

Sakura blinks in surprise, analytical eyes quickly working out that he’s referring to her comment yesterday at Ichiraku’s. She turns to the window, smirking and chewing her food as if considering something of great importance. The dimple sinks in and out as her mouth moves; he averts his eyes back to his plate before he gets caught staring.

When she swallows, she’s quiet for a long moment, then says ambiguously, “I’m not sure I should say anything. Insider knowledge.”

Interesting. Sasuke is sure she has the same friendly camaraderie with Nara that she has with everyone else, but he assumes the insider knowledge must have actually come from Ino; she is the type to know everyone’s business, given how much she apparently shares her own with Sakura, and she is Shikamaru’s teammate, though they're both Jonin now.

“...No hints?” He presses, pinning her with a stare. Now he’s more curious; it must be something good, if it’s a secret of this magnitude.

She bites her lip, still grinning, then bites into her sandwich, watching precipitation race down the glass.

“One,” she finally acquiesces, as if it’s a monumental conspiracy. He raises an eyebrow in anticipation.

“It’s in Suna sometimes. Other times, not.”

He narrows his eyes and suppresses an urge to twitch, because that could really be anything, given their line of work, but based on her bemused expression, he’s not going to get more than that. He settles for studying her until she looks elsewhere, a shy giggle escaping her throat as if this is very funny.

“Sorry. Not mine to tell.” She raises another spoonful of soup to her lips.

“...But Kakashi knows?”

She swallows. “Oh, yes. He might have known before anyone else caught on.”

“Naruto?”

Sakura appears to be deliberating. “...Mmm, he’s more observant than when we were kids, so he might. I kind of doubt it though. They’re pretty good friends now, but…”

Sasuke hadn’t known that. He waits for her to finish her thought, staring at her pointedly. Her gaze flicks back up to his after a second.

She shrugs, then. “He’s a good strategist. I kind of think he’ll hold a higher-up position, once Naruto becomes Hokage, if Kakashi-sensei doesn’t promote him before that. He’d be an asset as an adviser.”

Shikamaru became the chief coordinator of the Shinobi Union, after the war. That type of advancement would make a lot of sense. He would be well-suited to assist the Hokage even now, moreso in a few years. It speaks to Naruto’s increase in awareness, Sasuke thinks, that he would be planning ahead to compensate for areas he is less strong in by appointing sensible counsel. A clan head is an astute choice, especially one who has put in efforts to make peace.

It’s odd, to think of the roles everyone in their generation has come or will come to fill, the more he considers it. Distinctively different plants with roots distending into analogous vessels, like the terracotta ones on Sakura’s doorstep.

“Nara’s a good choice for that,” Sasuke finally says, realizing he should respond.

Sakura inclines her head before lifting her bowl to her mouth to drink the last of her broth. She’s finished her sandwich now. He’s about finished with his, too.

This is nice, he thinks as she smiles at him before glancing outside again. “It’s really coming down now, huh?”

It’s the type of question that doesn’t really need an answer, but he nods anyway, because it is. Meager ponds are collecting in the street, rills tracing pathways over the awnings of the building across the thoroughfare. Pitter patters on the roof have grown in intensity to rival those of the early morning. It reminds him almost of the summer monsoons Konoha tends to get, though this clearly isn't one, still being in the throes of spring. Moisture is good for roots, he supposes.

He sips the last of the broth from his bowl, and she looks back to him. “Would you like another bowl? Or maybe some tea? I can brew some while I do the dishes.”

Sasuke considers the offer. It was a pretty filling meal, the soup piquant and packed with produce as it was. “...Tea would be good. I can help.”

Sakura seems like she’s going to protest, so he adds, “Thank you for the sencha… and the rest. I didn’t have loose leaf yet; I like it.”

She flushes, smiling at him softly. “You’re welcome.”

A silence filled by drizzle passes in which they regard each other, and then she’s standing to collect her plates, so he follows her example and grabs his own before trailing behind her to the kitchen.

It’s early enough still that they can have caffeinated tea, so she cycles through the loose leaf options she has as the sink fills with suds; matcha, chai, ginger peach, white monkey, and rose bouquet white. “The white monkey isn’t as sweet as it usually is; I think I got a unique batch. It’s more woody and peppery than anything; I’ve been mixing it with matcha.” There are the pre-packaged versions, too, but she doesn’t read them off, since they have more specifically sweet flavors, like caramel vanilla, banana dessert, and strawberry shortcake.

He picks white monkey at her recommendation of it not being too cloying, and she grabs one of the banana dessert pre-packaged tea bags for herself. Sakura makes short work of setting the water in the kettle to boil before procuring two teacups and siphoning some of the white monkey blend into a small strainer she pulls from another drawer.

Once she’s done that, she unplugs the slow cooker and reaches for something from a lower cupboard - two hand towels - to put on the counter; he assumes one is to utilize as a dish mat and the other is to actually dry with.

“If you really want to, you can dry… But you’re a guest, so you don’t have to,” she murmurs, expression affectionate in a way that makes his neck warm.

So Sasuke helps. She washes and rinses - her dish soap is lemon-scented - and strategically sets each piece atop the first towel he’s laid out. He dries one side of the plates and bowls, then flips them over one-handed to dry the other, stacking them on the clean expanse of counter to his right. It doesn’t take very long with them working together. When she goes to empty the sink, she gives it a scrub and a rinse with the soapy sponge she’s been using, efficient as always, before rinsing any remnant suds from her own hands.

“I can show you where everything goes,” Sakura says, so Sasuke helps her put things away, too, mentally cataloging what’s in each cupboard for future reference. Her storage system is well thought out, organized in a way that makes the most sense for the layout of the space.

When she reaches upwards to put the cutting board back in its place, the sleeve of her top slips further to one side, gravity pulling the fabric downwards on her slender frame and exposing some of the skin of her upper back. There is a dusting of tiny freckles just above the interior portion of her left shoulder blade that he hadn’t known was there. The way they are scattered reminds him of serpens caput, missing only one of the constellation’s general equivalent of stars. He forces his stare away, ears reddening, when she turns to remove the pot from the slow cooker.

“Thank you for helping.” Sakura adds coconut creamer and sugar to her own cup of tea, stirring. “Would you like lemon with this one?”

Sasuke thinks, still a little distracted by dainty freckles, before shaking his head. If it’s woody and peppery, he’ll probably like it fine on its own. She pushes his teacup towards him on the counter with a look that tells him to test it, so he does, and finds he was right; it’s herbaceous, with a scant amount of woodiness and pepper lurking underneath. Maybe the tiniest hint of sweetness, but barely.

“It’s good,” he tells her quietly, before taking another sip.

Apparently the grey blanket is reserved for him; she takes the lavender once they head to the living room, curling up on one end of the couch with it, tea and her book on the table. Based on her bookmark, she’s about halfway through hers. Sasuke does the same on the other end, mirroring her pose, back propped towards the side of the couch with feet extending to the middle rather than going off the front. He keeps his knees slightly bent so he doesn’t invade her space too much, though he doesn’t think she would mind.

He steals one last glance at her before opening his own book to get lost in the different ways to wield a blade. The rain on Sakura’s roof is ataractic, accented by the pleasant smell of tea, the sensation of a full belly, and a warm blanket that smells like her, though it’s more raspberry this time than any lingering antiseptic.

It’s nearly three by the time he finishes his book, mind swimming with descriptions of sword forms. Sasuke peeks at her and sees she’s almost done, too, so he rereads the more engrossing passages, the ones that were particularly well fleshed-out. He’s so relaxed that he thinks he could fall asleep despite the caffeine, if he closed his eyes for more than a few minutes; focusing on rereading should help him stay awake.

Sakura closes her book after a bit; he looks upward at the sound, meeting green.

“How was your book?” She asks, lips twisting upwards; she must have noticed he finished his, despite still reading her own.

"...Good."

“Learn anything?”

“...A bit.”

Her smile widens as if she is amused; maybe he should elaborate, but he’s not sure if practical applications of swordsmanship are something she’s interested in.

Evidently they are, because she questions, “Care to share?”

Sasuke begins explaining the concept of iaido, derived from iaijutsu, the samurai skill of drawing one’s sword and cutting in the same movement, rather than cutting from an assumed stance after already drawing the weapon. It’s a simple idea, one he’s experimented with in the past, but there had been illustrations on a few of the pages showing different forms, and two of them he has never attempted. The pictures helped; he thinks to himself when he visits the library again, he’ll seek out one containing more visual aides.

He expounds upon the chapter on dual swordsmanship, too, primarily utilizing one sword to attack and another to defend; the defensive stances detailed are some he would like to try, specifically tailored as they are to be used with one arm. Some of them he’s already used intuitively, but one of the forms captured his attention, involving a slight variant sweeping of the blade to repel an attacker that would situate them at a more advantageous angle. It could be useful, if he ever needs to draw an enemy into a trap.

“Interesting,” Sakura remarks, and it seems genuine. Maybe it is interesting, in the case of someone who has, at least to his knowledge, never used a sword. He would like to ask her about medical ninjutsu sometime. “So it was a good read?”

He inclines his head to indicate yes. “...And yours?”

Sakura grimaces. “It… wasn’t terrible, I suppose. I didn’t really like the author’s writing style. Ino and I differ in that regard. She reads things more for the story itself than the way it’s told, so sometimes this happens.”

Sasuke raises an eyebrow so she’ll clarify. She shifts slightly, bringing a finger to her chin in thought. “It was too… straightforward. Limited and repetitive vocabulary, not a lot of dialogue structural variation, though it’s well-researched; I’ll give it that. It takes place during the second Shinobi War. A civilian woman’s husband going off to battle, they have to evacuate the area, the costs of conflict, that sort of thing. The ending was sad…” Her voice trails off, punctuated by the plunk of deluge, then she adds, “I guess it makes sense that the protagonist would think in limited language given the rudimentary basic education structure of everything back then, but it’s not very… poetic. It was like the author felt nothing as they wrote it, a kind of detachment from the whole thing.”

He suppresses an urge to smirk, reminiscing on her letters and extensive vocabulary. “...You like poetry.” It’s just an observation, but it’s something he hadn’t known about her, prior to now. Very Sakura.

Color floods across her cheekbones, and she looks at him with an expression that is very tender, as if there’s something else she would like to say. He could stare for hours, entranced by her as he is. “...I do.”

Sasuke wonders, then, if any of the books on her bookshelves are poetry books. He hasn’t read the titles carefully. It occurs to him that she might have more books in her bedroom, now that he’s thinking about it. When he was younger, he used to keep many of his own in his room, too, sorted by genre.

“Did you finish your other book already?” Sakura asks him, then, expression inquisitive.

He nods, eyeing her as he contemplates what he would like to say. He decides not to phrase it as a question this time; he wants her to offer, so he knows he's not requesting too much. Give her an out. She trains with Ino in the morning on Mondays and has lunch with her after, but she hasn’t said anything about her plans for the afternoon.

There’s still something in him that’s nervous, tightening as he speaks, careful to specify time. “...I was thinking of going tomorrow afternoon to get some new ones.”

Her smile unfurls slowly; Sakura really can read him well. “...I was, too.”

His chest rushes with warmth, anxiety released in a single relieved breath; it's not too much, then. The corner of his mouth quirks up, and that seems to encourage her, because she adds, “Ino and I are usually done with lunch by around one. It’s supposed to be nice out, I think. We could…” Her voice trails off, as if she’s considering. “...We could meet at the library around one thirty, and then maybe… take books to a quieter area to read, after. If you want. I... think I know a spot that should be fairly dry by then.”

“...I can meet you here,” Sasuke offers in a low voice, a confession he's more comfortable with now. The way she glows in response as she agrees is captivating.

Sakura invites him to play go with her, after. He agrees, because he wants to, and also because he doesn’t want to leave just yet. They set up the board on her dining table, a gridded battlefield of sorts beneath the market light.

She absolutely demolishes him in the first round, carefully surveying the board before each play of her white stones with careful calculation and syllogism. It’s to be expected, because she has always been smarter than him, but also because he hasn’t played in years and is woefully out of practice, ill-prepared to deal with this sort of onslaught. The second round is closer, but he still loses. It’s a challenge, as he knew it would be; Sasuke finds her moves to be quite roundabout, more about the long haul tactics of trapping than any short and quick route to victory. There are times where he realizes he unknowingly played right into a ruse more than five turns previous.

It’s four thirty by the end of the second match. Sakura’s attention flashes to the clock once as she puts away the board; he helps, sorting his own black pieces into their respective container. He will have to head out soon, though he’s not looking forward to it. He is quite comfortable here, with her.

“It’s still coming down out there,” she muses as she rises to store the box, peering through the glass before turning to make her way to the bookshelf she’d retrieved the set from earlier.

“...It is.” He gazes out the window, distracted by the puddles and their ripples below them in the street. It feels almost as if something is tugging on him to focus on them, suggesting something orphic, beyond simple rainwater.

The soft clicking of teacups and small plates being collected from her coffee table resounds behind him, so he turns to her, thinking he could offer to help wash them.

“I made enough soup for leftovers, so if you want to take some home, you can.” Sakura says, before the words make it out of his mouth. Outwardly he remains blank-faced, but something in him sighs. He’s not really sure what he's going to do with the rest of the day. Sparring with Naruto would be unwise on a day like today; he’d probably catch a cold. He could go by a store and buy a book to read, he supposes.

Being back in Konoha is odd like that. He used to just… walk, if he didn’t have anything to do on his journey, or read her letters, but now that he has had the opportunity to spend time with her, he selfishly just wants more of it. Time spent alone seems dimmer in comparison.

He would like to take some soup back to his apartment, though. It was kind of her to offer; he should probably say something.

She looks contemplative when he looks to her, though, carefully clutching porcelain, and thank you lingers in his throat, unspoken.

“Or… If you would like to stay for dinner, and do something after... you could.”

The faintest of stings begins behind his retinas, something long in the tooth stirring, aged roots buried so deeply he had perhaps forgotten they ever existed in the first place. He thinks it is the feeling of being wanted, of having a place in someone’s home.

He hopes she’s offering because she genuinely wants him to stay. She has a mountain of responsibilities, he knows, although it is her day off.

“...You’re sure?”

Pink brows furrow as if she’s confused how he could ask such a thing; she shuffles her weight slightly from one foot to the other. “Of course.”

An interlude passes in which the torrent measures time, the beat of a ballad that is very old. Her next words are hushed, pianissimo lyrics that he’s sure she has no idea just how much he has yearned for; she’s biting her lip and peeking at him from beneath pink lashes as she says them.

“I missed you, when you were gone. You… can fill as much of my free time as you’d like.”

The daunting prospect of a lonely evening evaporates completely. His tongue feels tied up in his mouth, but he nods, hoping she can read in his eyes his gratitude; he’s fairly certain that if he spoke, it would come out hoarse, not at all suitable as a response to the song she has just offered to him.

Sasuke thinks that she can see it just fine, because she gives him a breathtaking smile that could sustain him for a long time, a drop of honey added to an overflowing teacup in which he sips the surplus, with a tinge of an aftertaste that isn’t too sweet for his liking.

The dishes are tackled together. After they finish, she reheats tomato miso soup and cooks two more sandwiches for supper. Another meal is shared at her dining table, overcast skies overlapping into evening, the lights from the windows of Konoha glowing more and more as time passes. It’s just as good the second time, flavorful and filling.

They watch a geology-focused documentary on her television about lava, earthquakes, and landslides. Sakura questions him afterwards about the little time he was in the Land of Volcanoes, south of the Land of Mountains. He hadn’t stuck around for any extended time due to the extreme heat, but what time he did spend there is seared into his memory due to the intensity of it. He had come rather close to one of the region’s volcanoes, within sight of a smoking center mere miles away with lava tendrils trickling outwards, in the process of cooling but still alarmingly hot.

It makes him feel more appreciative for the rain here today, recalling it. Here in Konoha, he could touch the streamlets if he wanted to; he doesn’t need to keep a distance.

They follow up the documentary with a movie after; this time he tells Sakura to pick one. It’s unique, including some fantasy elements, about a struggle between the gods of a forest and the humans living on its edge that consume its resources. The protagonist is cursed by an animal attack, and seeks out a cure from one of the deities. While traveling, he sees other areas in which humans are ravaging the earth and warring with the gods of nature, a thought-provoking contrast considering they’ve just viewed a program detailing the inner mechanisms and wrath of volcanic eruptions, much like gods of nature in their own rights. The conclusion is open-ended; though the hero tries to broker a peace between humanity and the spirits, there is no feeling of resolution or success, no guarantee that one side will mediate with the other. It isn’t quite what he expected it to be, but he notes that the characters were quite realistic, allowing for the viewer to identify with them and better experience what they must be feeling secondhand; it was not told in a detached sort of way as she’d said the book from earlier had been.

Sakura makes earl grey tea, after, and they visit for the better part of another hour, quiet voices awash in auriferous lighting, relaxed by bergamot malt and lemon slices. She inquires about his travels, which places overall were his favorite in the four other great nations. The way she looks at him as he answers makes his heart thump, as if she is hanging on his every word.

It’s near eleven at night by the time he rises for the entryway. The kiss they share before he leaves feels like the drizzle of the rainwater outside, mellow collections grown slowly but surely deeper from time spent together, inexplicably telluric like submerging into soil.

He steps in a few unavoidable collected pools of moisture on his way back to his own apartment, drenching his socks. It makes him feel strangely nostalgic again for some reason, a reminder of a place’s capacity for change, to absorb something and thrive again.

Sasuke has seen many parts of the world now, absorbed as much as he can through his brother’s eyes, and has just relived his favorites by describing them to Sakura. She didn’t ask him about his favorite place in the Land of Fire, though.

It may easily become Sakura’s apartment.

XXX

When he sinks into slumber, he is pulled further downwards into a memory from a very long time ago, something quondam that has since dissolved.

The recollection is hazy in the ways that dreams are, slightly murky as if he is viewing it through a puddle tinged with the loam of Konoha, but perhaps there is something about Sharingan vision even unactivated that embeds the visual acuity into one’s optic nerves, to live there in perpetuity for eventual retrospect. It is one of his earliest memories, he thinks; he would have been maybe four, meaning Itachi had to have been nine or ten, though there is no one he can ask to confirm.

There had been a summer monsoon, perhaps the first one he was old enough to remember, water temperate enough to exult in without catching cold. Their mother warned them not to be outside too long in the storm, and occupied the covered porch, observing them to make sure they heeded her will. There had been no precipitation for a while prior - he thinks there may have been a drought - so the moisture was welcome. Plashets collected in their sprawling yard, causing Mikoto Uchiha’s prized white lilies to appear as if they were emerging from small lakes. She had expressed concern that they may drown upon Sasuke’s examination of them, framing the boundary of their home, but he, in that naive viridity that small children have before the world beats it out of them, thought they were strong enough to persevere.

“I’m sure you’re right, Sasuke,” his brother had said supportively, before showing him a path that allowed a step in every puddle on their family’s grounds. They had raced to the far end of their property and back; he had clumsily fallen at the end of the first pass, getting soaked, as if he wasn’t already from the warm rain coating both of them from the ashen sky above. Mud stuck between his toes, squelching and cushioning his fall while simultaneously making him filthy. It had sloughed off so easily back then in the deluge, corroding all at once and bleeding into the mess of their yard to immediate murky liquidity.

Itachi helped him up by his left hand, getting covered in his muck before the water rinsed their digits clean, and then he was being challenged to a second sprint. Sasuke emerged victorious this time, though now, looking back with eyes that are not his own, he realizes his brother obviously let him win, trained Shinobi that he was by that point. Coming to terms with that is horrifying, because he can see now that his brother was still just a child, wisdom beyond his years be damned. Sasuke is sure Itachi would have to have killed people on missions by then, completely at odds with the soft-spoken and gentle countenance he portrayed at home.

Eventually there was enough drizzle that miniature rivers of connected pools formed, capillaries of nourishment interlacing everything. Sasuke had been fascinated by the changing landscape, until Itachi had ambled up to the porch to speak with their mother. Disappointment swept into him like a tide; he had thought that his brother didn’t want to play with him anymore. But then their mother had risen and gone indoors, and Itachi motioned for him to join him at the edge, beneath the awning.

She came back carrying a small pile of paper, which confused him. He’d watched, enthralled, as Itachi folded one of the pieces into something reminiscent of a boat, simple yet perfect.

“If you put them by the gutter, the force will push them sailing across the yard,” his brother had said; he remembers the inflection so clearly, strange because it is from a time when Itachi was young enough to have the voice of a child, so unlike the rich timbre he’d held later in life.

He had trailed after his brother to the gutter, and sure enough, the paper boat was propelled by the rain streaming down from the roof; it took off as soon as Itachi let go. Sasuke had stomped after it with approximately zero grace, mud coating him up to his ankles, until it reached the boundary fence, saturated through and less buoyant due to the barrage of droplets dampening it from above.

The absolute joy he felt, when he had sprinted back to tug on his brother’s sleeve to ask if he would show him how to make one, and he’d agreed. They’d returned to the pile of paper guarded from the elements by their mother, and Itachi showed him each step, creating another one alongside him as an example. His small hands were not very coordinated back then; his boat hadn’t turned out as nice, all wrinkled sloppiness instead of crisp, clean folds.

“You just need more practice,” Itachi had murmured. “My first one was messy, too. I’ll help you.”

Larger hands had closed around his, creating skillful creases and shaping with dexterity. The second boat turned out much better. Sasuke had given his first one to his mother, then, so she could race, too. Remembering the smile, the genuine look of motherly gratitude she’d given him, bruises something in his soul, precipitation on frail roots entombed deep; it reminds him of the struggle of swallowing a gulp of water after traipsing through the desert, dry mouth making it almost painful, a gargantuan effort that takes everything in him not to look away.

She’d followed them from the porch over to the corner eaves, staying under the cover to avoid getting drenched, and the three of them had released their creations. Sasuke thinks they had to have given him a small headstart, surrendering theirs just after his, so his boat would make it to the other end of the yard first. He’d run after it, Itachi meandering along behind him at a slower pace, while their mother stayed beneath the awning.

His brother had smiled at him as he jumped puddle to puddle in glee. They’d grabbed the now-soaked paper boats at the conclusion of their path, and brought them up to the porch to set in a pile. Then they constructed and raced more, a veritable treasure of a late morning. For his last of the day, Sasuke had tried folding one on his own again, and it turned out better than his first attempt. Though a little lopsided, it hadn’t capsized, sailing strong in the current unaided just like Itachi’s.

Their mother had made them shower and then drawn them a hot bath after, to ensure they were clean and warmed. She had parted his toes to get the mud stuck there out, soil spiraling and dissolving down the drain as he watched. He’d splashed Itachi in the bath after, and folded one more boat with a piece of paper his mother brought him, so he could see how much time it took for it to sink without getting flooded from above, an experiment in buoyancy.

She made miso soup with rice for a late lunch, with something from their aunt and uncle’s shop as a treat after, some variety of warmed pastry. Itachi had let him try his in addition to his own; Sasuke’s had been strawberry, but Itachi’s tasted of peach, gooey sweetness to top off a perfect day that wasn’t even over yet. Their mother must have made herself some tea, too; he remembers the aroma of jasmine filling the space, warmed by lamplight cast on dark wood. When she’d told Sasuke it was time for a nap, he’d become extremely sullen, because he didn’t want to sleep; he’d wanted to spend more time with his brother. It wasn’t often he was home for a full day, prodigy that he was by then and always on missions.

Itachi had surprised him. “I’ll take a nap, too. It's important to rest sometimes. You can join me, Sasuke.” His refusal morphed instantaneously to greedy acceptance. Sasuke crawled into bed with his brother in his room, huddled in the comforter for warmth as the deluge continued for hours, the dousing on their roof and peaceful breathing composing a conciliating symphony with which to lull him to sleep. Eventually he'd succumbed, tuckered out and content, though he'd tried to stay awake as long as he could so he didn't miss out on time with Itachi.

Ten year olds don't usually take naps. His brother may have feigned sleep just to get him to do as their mother wanted. That realization is trenchant, too, sharp like a blade, because it’s a cycle that would repeat itself until Itachi’s end, Sasuke never understanding until the moment had passed, always a step behind and looking backward instead of forward.

When he’d awakened later in the evening, he’d smelled food cooking, miyabi soup and some kind of grilled fish. Itachi hadn’t been beside him anymore, but after blinking groggily, his brother had appeared like an apparition in the door frame.

“Dinner’s almost ready, Sasuke.”

Drizzle is still pummeling his apartment building when he rouses in a dark bedroom, alone. No one appears in the door frame this time as he blinks unsteadily, throat choked before the silent tears come, because this memory aches, haunting his heart like some kind of drowned spectre, dripping muddy stains onto clean floors. Sasuke moves to wipe them away with his left hand, the one Itachi used to help him up from the mire, until he remembers that he doesn’t have a left hand anymore. Making a paper boat now would take twice as long.

Everything in him hurts, marcid marrow writhing in his bones as if they are dead roots that have gotten a drink after a decade spent in drought, someone trying to nurse something deceased or rotting back to life. He goes to the memorial stone under the tenebrose cover of two in the morning, but it doesn’t feel like his brother is there. All he has of him are the eyes drowning in his sockets and excruciating retrospection, intermixing with the rain soaking him outwardly.

I miss you, he thinks as he tries not to asphyxiate on the memory, hoping that his mother at least hears his thoughts here, echoed in the ponds collecting around the stone that bears her name. He has to leave eventually, because he starts picturing white lilies emerging from miniature lakes, full of life and swaying with wind and torrent, instead of cold and motionless grey granite, and he thinks he is going to start sobbing.

Sasuke returns to his apartment after the better part of an hour and stares out his living room window, nursing a miniscule cup of sencha tea, weak so as not to unsettle him too much. The weather lets up eventually, turning from a drench to a drip between the fine branches of the cherry blossom tree across the street. The puddles slowly begin to sink in, though there are remnants of dirt collected in the grooves of the pathways due to the overflow. The tree is starting to lose its petals; they float atop the collected areas of water, a hint of hope buoyant atop sorrow like a paper boat.

He isn't at all hungry, but Sakura said he should try to gain weight, so he forces down a very early breakfast of plain rice, tasteless, before he goes to rifle through the box in the closet. He averts his eyes as he lifts the lid, fumbling to turn the photo upside down without looking at it and moving it to the bottom of the container before sifting through Sakura’s letters.

He picks a favorite of his, one she wrote to him while he was passing through the Land of Savanna, the first autumn season of his journey.

Sasuke-kun,

I was so happy to see your hawk on the horizon today. I gave him some water since he had a long journey.

The way you described the grasslands changing color in Savanna was lovely. The trees are changing here, too, shedding all of their leaves and making the roads a sea of color. Naruto slipped on a scarlet one the other day coming out of Ichiraku’s. He almost dragged Hinata with him, but thankfully no one was hurt. That's providence, I suppose, though it's not a red thread.

Soon it will be the season for chestnut-flavored everything. Stout squirrels come next, and Tsukimi will be happening, too. I've only ever seen it here in Konoha and once in Sand, while we were on a mission. You'll have to tell me if the moon looks any different where you are. Don't forget to make a wish.

The air is turning crisp here, like the leaves, so I imagine it will be there, too. Please stay warm.

I miss you.

-Sakura

Sasuke comes to the realization then that he’s sitting in damp clothes, and that he is kind of cold; he hadn't thought to grab his cloak earlier, too overcome with mourning. He carefully puts the letter back, and makes the decision to take a hot shower. The heat makes him feel incrementally better, thawing him from the inside out. It also makes him realize his mouth feels dry; he’s probably dehydrated, and needs to drink more than a weakly brewed half glass of tea. He prepares another cup, stronger this time.

A mission summons arrives around nine. He uses the mirror of his bathroom to make sure he doesn't look too disheveled - the shower helped, he thinks, though he’s slightly pallid - before heading to the Hokage’s office.

He's the first one of those requested to arrive, though not by much. Naruto is sitting in his designated chair with the scroll again, looking for all intents and purposes like he just woke up.

"Teme?! Eh, really?!" The dobe turns in his chair to glare metaphorical daggers at Kakashi, who pointedly ignores him. "You're seriously not sending me with?! Bogus."

Kakashi simply inclines his head towards him, not even sparing Naruto a glance. "Sasuke. Good morning. Ready for a mission?"

He nods mutely, wondering what it could be. Naruto whines some more, but Sasuke tunes him out. There's nothing like his teammate’s complaining that grinds on him in the morning, though he’ll inwardly admit it is helping to coax him back into some sense of normalcy.

His replacement walks through the Hokage’s door next, impassive as always. He inclines his head politely at Sasuke, so he returns the gesture. Naruto heaves a sigh. "Oh, come on!"

Sai doesn't miss a beat, turning to Kakashi, absolutely devoid of any kind of emotion as he delivers Sasuke’s favorite invective. "Is Dickless not coming?"

Sasuke barely manages to suppress a snort as Naruto guffaws, launching an entire container of pens at Sai. "STOP CALLING ME THAT!" Not all of Sai's nicknames are poorly chosen. He loathes the one he has for Sakura, but Sasuke doesn't think he'll ever get tired of hearing Naruto’s. It improves his mood measurably.

Shikamaru Nara saunters through the doors last, looking extremely apathetic already. Shrewd eyes flick to Sasuke’s momentarily, too quickly for him to read anything from them, then to Sai’s, then to the pens Naruto is picking off the floor, before settling on Kakashi.

Interesting. So it’s the escort mission, after all.

Naruto is outright mad now, glowering but past the point of saying anything as he returns to his seat in silence. It seems he at least knows when to give up, these days.

"Now that I have you all here, I'm afraid I must break the news that this won't be a terribly exciting mission. Simple escort to Sand for our diplomat tomorrow. It may be a bit… overkill, but there will only be three of you on the return trip, and my newest batch of missions didn't have anything terribly exciting in it. It's better to complete something useful with enough time to get back in case we need you for bigger tickets next week; it can't be helped." Kakashi shrugs, before adding, "Sending Sai should shorten the trip and make it less taxing, at least, flying birds and all. Shikamaru will lead, like usual."

Kakashi goes on to disclose that they'll be leaving at dawn tomorrow. Apparently it's only a four day round trip with his replacement's jutsu involved; this means they’ll leave on Tuesday morning and be back on Friday evening, should nothing go awry. It’s not likely that it will; Suna and Konoha are strong allies at this point.

“Any questions?” Kakashi asks at the end of the briefing. Neither Shikamaru nor Sai say anything; he doesn’t, either. An escort is simple enough, especially one of a fellow Shinobi.

His old sensei smiles in a way Sasuke feels is directed mostly at Shikamaru. “Alright, then. Dismissed.”

Nara strolls lackadaisically out of the office as Sai follows. Sasuke gets the inkling that this will be a rather silent journey, between the three of them. He’s a bit thankful he hasn’t been assigned a mission with more talkative comrades, at least not for his first one back.

“Teme!” Naruto pipes up as he turns to leave as well, so Sasuke lingers. “Wanna spar this evening?”

His brows knit together while Kakashi looks between them, as if amused. Sakura has not invited him over for the evening, but he thinks of soft words yesterday anyway.

I missed you, when you were gone. You… can fill as much of my free time as you’d like.

“The day before a mission? You’re stupid. Pass.” Sasuke says, both because he’s hoping to spend the twilight hours with her, too, but also because he knows it will annoy the hell out of Naruto. They really shouldn't go all out the night before one of them leaves for a mission anyways; if one of them breaks something, Sakura will be stuck fixing it, and it’s supposed to be her day off.

Naruto looks miffed, a lone blond brow twitching, so he adds, “...Saturday, early morning. If you’re even awake. Dobe. ”

Before he turns away from Naruto’s spluttering, he catches an all too knowing gleam in Kakashi’s visible eye. Sasuke is suddenly sure that their old sensei is well-acquainted with Sakura’s work schedule. He can feel the hole being burned into the back of his head by blue eyes and a single dark one as he leaves the Hokage’s office, the dobe still struggling to come up with a response to his quick refusal.

He feels marginally better as he walks leisurely back to his apartment, noting along the way that more of the puddles are already beginning to dry up.

Sasuke fixes something more substantial for lunch, since he knows Sakura will eat with Ino; a chicken curry, fragrant with garlic and ginger and carrots, poured atop rice. He doesn’t have any potatoes, so he substitutes with other produce, a unique mix for curry; bell peppers, green onions, and burdock roots. It’s not bad, but maybe he’ll pick up some potatoes when he gets back from Sand.

He is looking forward to going on a mission again, he realizes as he eats. It’s probably going to be a rather routine one - it’s not likely that they’ll face any enemies in friendly territory - but it will be good to be amongst allies again, contributing to fulfilling a purpose, however slight. Sasuke thinks maybe he should make more of an effort to interact with Sai. It appears as though he and Sakura are close, if he’s been to her apartment; Ino was there, too, he supposes, but still.

Sasuke spends the remainder of his time doing the dishes and making sure everything in his fridge is wrapped well, to ensure it doesn’t spoil in the time that he’s gone.

XXX

Sakura’s hair is damp, pink more saturated than it normally is, when he meets her on her doorstep; she must have showered. The scent of mixed berries is renewed, and suddenly he is certain that it has to be some kind of soap, perhaps a body wash. She has her single fiction book in hand.

“Hi,” she says, grinning up at him with a disarming beauty that makes his heart skip. Her hair clings to her neck when she locks her door behind her; Sasuke focuses on a ranunculus bloom instead, noticing that there are two small cuttings of the flowers missing, taken from its rear portion, until she turns back around.

“...Hi.”

“How was your morning?” She questions kindly as they make their way down the stairs and out the glass door, spring sunshine filtering in.

He blinks once as he considers how to answer. “...Fine. I had a mission briefing.”

Sakura’s lips quirk upwards. “Anything exciting?”

He exhales through his nose, a shadow of a laugh. “No. Just an escort.”

Jade eyes twinkle. “Ah, I’m guessing… Sai and Shikamaru.”

“...Kakashi might listen to your squad suggestions more than Naruto’s.”

She chuckles a little. “No, it’s just that he usually sends them for that. You must have replaced Naruto; he’s the third squad cell member, most of the time. Sai’s jutsu makes it a quicker journey, especially with Temari’s fan techniques; she can create updrafts.”

Sasuke thinks he vaguely remembers a blonde woman who is Gaara’s sister; that must be the diplomat. The sibling of the Kazekage would be well-suited for such a job.

“...Maybe I’ll find out what’s in Sand.”

She smiles while biting her lip. She’s very pretty.

“Maybe,” she finally offers cryptically.

They weave through the road on their way to the library, taking care to avoid the water still lingering; it has sunken into the earth for the most part by now.

Sasuke checks out three books this time. One is another on historical samurai, this one with more illustrations as he’d wanted. The second is a historical account of the establishment of Nunogakure, in the Land of Silk. He had passed through the country twice, and had always been interested in learning more about its history, given the establishment of its hidden village by kunoichi and their record of hostility with the ruling daimyos. The third is a fiction book about an old man at sea, suggested to him by Ichika as she scans Sakura’s books, then his.

“It’s kind of proverbial, and not terribly lengthy. You seem like the type who would like it,” the librarian offers, so he adds it to his pile. It’s not quite an old lady giving him vaguely prophesying teacups, but it sounds interesting enough. He appreciates her kindness; not everyone in Konoha gives him this particular brand of easy acceptance after the debacle that was his past. Sasuke thinks perhaps showing up with Sakura helps. Ichika looks at his empty sleeve for a long moment this time; she must not have noticed the last time he was here, the unfilled end of it hidden by the counter.

Sakura says there’s a spot towards the slope of Hokage Rock that drains off the cliff, a hill that should be dry enough to sit on, so they meander upwards. It’s on the western side, just at the juncture where the grass begins to give way to harsher stone. A wild cherry blossom tree that he spotted from a half mile away is clinging to the precipice, a bit off the beaten path. It must have sturdy roots, he thinks, reaching deep into the dirt and bedrock to give it the strength to soar upwards even here on uneven ground.

As they near it, he observes that it’s losing its petals, too, late in blooming like the one across the street from his apartment; small green buds are starting to take the flowers’ place.

They read for a bit under its branches, sprawled out on the hillside. She was right; the ground is dry here, already soaked into the soil or run off the slope. It’s not too warm or cool out, an enjoyable spring day where everything is freshly watered. The book Ichika recommended is pretty good, full of oceanic metaphors, some of which he finds unnervingly relevant. Sakura might like it; it’s written somewhat artfully. He gets about a third of the way through its pages as the sun begins to hang lower in the sky.

It’s around four when he allows his focus to wander away from his book to her. He's been leaning up against the tree, in the only spot someone could; the rest of the area by the trunk is too asperous to sit comfortably, roots twisting ruggedly, but strong. Much stronger than white lilies, hardy enough to weather even the harshest storms. Sakura is on her back a few feet away, book open above her and pink hair settled in a halo on the grass. She looks extremely comfortable, as if lying like this in the small amount of shade offered is something she does all the time. Maybe this is a place she visits often.

Her book is titled Hazel Wood; he can tell by the cover it must be fiction, but he's not sure what exactly it's about. He's thinking maybe he’ll ask her later. He's also thinking maybe he should ask if she wants to do something after this; he would like to, if she's free.

She shifts slightly, and he slides his eyes to the skyline so he doesn't get caught staring, very suddenly becoming conscious of the fact that he’s been admiring her for the better part of a few minutes. When he looks back over warily, she is picking up a stray petal and situating it between the pages, sticking out like a bookmark to mark her place. Then she regards him, smiling like she's amused.

He arches a brow, unsure what could be funny, but she's setting her closed book neatly aside and pushing afoot to close the distance between them. He tilts his head up towards her as she walks to the tree trunk, and then she's reaching out. Two fingertips skim his scalp, and then she's handing him a cherry blossom petal that evidently had been caught there.

"A bookmark, if you want one," she offers, her expression saying she is incredibly entertained.

He blinks once before taking it, lone hand brushing hers for a millisecond. He's distracted by how soft her fingertips feel again.

"...Thank you." He puts the petal in his book to mark his spot as she straightens.

Now would be an opportune time to query her evening plans, but she beats him to it. "Would you want to stop by the market quick with me and then come over for dinner?" Comely green melts into charcoal when he looks up. "I was thinking of making teriyaki atsuage and cucumber salad, but I'm out of cucumber."

His agreement is immediate, insides twisting pleasantly.

As they head down the hill together to beat the evening rush, books in hand, a single crow passes overhead, swooping low towards the center of the village extending before them.

That’s providence, he thinks, though it’s not a red thread. He stares at it like he’s seen a ghost until it disappears.

He helps her cook this time. Sakura handles the cutting and chopping while Sasuke seasons and turns the tofu as it fries in one of her pans, mixing together mirin and soy sauce to create the teriyaki dressing while she slices cucumbers and tosses them with other ingredients; she loads the salad with peanuts, sauces, garlic, and red chile flakes.

It’s another gratifying evening together. They play three rounds of chess this time, and it’s just as challenging as go; she cycles through positions intuitively, sometimes with seemingly little thought involved. Sasuke thinks she might be analyzing her next moves in her head during his turns, having a few planned out and simply narrowing it down based on whether he moves a rook or a pawn. He comes close to winning the final match, at least. With more practice, he might win once in a while.

Sakura offers to make tea again, after. He accompanies her to the kitchen, and when she opens the cupboard, his throat closes, because two new jars of loose leaf sencha from the tea shop have mysteriously appeared, one for the caffeinated shelf and one for the decaffeinated shelf.

Sakura’s expression is tentative. “I thought maybe sencha this evening. I… picked some up on my way back from lunch, earlier today.”

He nods weakly, tongue-tied and endlessly grateful.

She makes some for the both of them, finishing off her own with sugar and honey. Sasuke watches her swirl the spoon in the now fading luster of her kitchen, thinking the way she takes her tea is like her very being, so sweet.

Verdant eyes peek up at him when she walks him to her entryway, hours later. He sincerely hopes that she’s enjoying spending time with him as much as he is with her.

Then, Sakura’s voice lilts up to him, a quiet murmur, "Will you… come see me, when you get back?"

He blinks, sugar and honey pouring into him now, because it’s almost an answer to the question in his head that he hadn’t vocalized. Then his brow furrows, because maybe he’s failed at conveying that he'll spend literally any amount of time with her that she allows him. Sasuke knows his communication skills aren’t the best, and he has never been in any sort of romantic relationship, so everything is new territory, stunted by his lack of practice.

Her gaze flits away from him. "Just… so I know you're okay."

Oh. She means coming to see her right after debriefing, so she'll know he's returned safe. Something pleasant pools in his belly, sinking to the extremities in a way that feels nurturing. He realizes he is taking too much time to respond; she looks nervous.

"I will."

Jade centers back on him, reassured now, and he's not sure how he's going to go four days without it, this limitless green that soothes him to no end.

"Oh. Good. Thank you." Her expression changes to one that is considerably more relaxed, a tender look directed upwards that he has never seen her wear for anyone else.

Sasuke presses his lips to hers for a long time before he departs, a soft goodbye he’s hoping will convey all the words that are caught in his throat, gratitude and affection that have been stewing there since they were thirteen.

He thinks he feels love press back from hers, a delicate flickering that makes him ache, and perhaps providence. Sugar and honey, too. Sweetness doesn’t hurt him like the recall of pastries does, when it’s experienced secondhand like this.

XXX

The mission goes smoothly. Sai's jutsu does speed things up considerably, and the Sand delegate, Temari, uses her giant fan to give them a boost in places that are lacking in higher gales. He rides with Sai on the way there, while Shikamaru and Temari drift on the other; Sasuke thinks the separation must be so she can use the jutsu, strategically getting behind his replacement's bird to give him a boost before Sai can control it and have theirs catch the subsequent updraft, too.

Sasuke and Shikamaru fulfill lookout roles, him scanning ahead and Shikamaru scanning behind. It is refreshing to see the land from above, giving way from forests to grasslands to the beginnings of desert edges. He finds himself thinking about what his hawk saw, all of the times he brought correspondence to and from Sakura. It’s not as hot this way, traveling through the air with breeze ripping around them, though they make an effort to stay hydrated, still.

Sai is quiet, but Sasuke is, too, so he can't knock him for it. He wonders, scanning the horizon for the upteenth time, if Sai knows what's in Sand that interests their squad leader. He would have to, dating Ino, but he doesn't feel comfortable asking him something like that.

They spend most of the first day in relative silence, only spying a single squad of comrade ninja from Suna traveling hundreds of feet below them, just leaving the desert. Towards the end of it, as they finally cross into the first area that is truly all sand as far as the eye can see, Sai surprises him by speaking.

"Beautiful says Ugly is stupid happy that you've returned. I am certain that Dickless is, too."

The effect the words have on him is a little jarring and complex. There is the immediate familiar disdain for Sai’s inaccurate nickname for Sakura, intermixed with immature amusement at Naruto's epithet. A feeling of brotherhood follows, and his heart blooming with something tender, vines twisting or perhaps not-so-dead roots getting another drink. Stupid happy doesn’t sound like a phrase common to Sai’s vernacular, leading him to believe it was Ino’s exact wording, likely after spending the morning with Sakura yesterday.

He thinks it over as they soar over the last bit of terrain for the day, sorting through the different emotions. His answer isn't hesitant; it just takes preparation for him to muster the gall to vocalize it to someone he's not terribly close to.

"...I am, too." It’s an understatement.

XXX

They arrive back in Konoha on Friday evening, as scheduled. No issues, just more lookout duty and enjoyable wind offering relief from the heat. Peacetime is nice; anyone they saw to or from Sand was an ally, no foes. They only utilize one of Sai’s creations on the return trip, Shikamaru still observing the rear but this time atop the same bird as them. It’s a slightly longer trip, without the diplomat to speed things up, but they still make good time.

It's a bit after six when they leave Kakashi’s office, mission report paperwork folded neatly into his satchel. Naruto wasn't there; Sasuke assumes he's either been sent on a mission or has gone home for the day already. He supposes he’ll find out tomorrow, if a banging erupts on his apartment door after sunrise. It must have stormed again recently; the soil is damp, and everything is faintly greener than it was before.

He finds he missed it, the smell just after it rains that was decidedly not present in Suna, even if it does bring hard memories.

“Good work,” Shikamaru says simply to both of them as they step outside, ready to go their respective ways. It’s not necessary for him to say it, but Sasuke appreciates the acknowledgement. He’s aware it is probably not easy to trust him, after everything. Not everyone has the same confidence in him as Team Seven does.

Sai nods towards Shikamaru, then turns to him.

"Tell Ugly I say hi." His tone sounds almost kind as he turns to part ways from them in the street. Shikamaru glances at Sasuke for an instant, expression not containing an ounce of surprise, but he doesn't say anything as he turns to head the other way.

Tentatively, Sasuke starts out in the direction of Sakura’s apartment. She should be home right now, if she didn’t stay late at the hospital. He wonders as he gets closer if maybe he should wait a bit; she might be in the middle of cooking, or eating dinner.

He wants to see her, though. He's missed her greatly, and she did say to come by; he tries very hard to swallow his doubts.

Soon he's knocking on a sage green door that is beginning to look familiar. The plants are still damp indoors, too; maybe it rained as recently as this morning. It has to have been overcast for a good portion of the day, for the sunlight through the diamond window to not have dried the moisture from her watering them just yet.

Sakura opens the door wearing a smile; it grows wider upon seeing it's him, like she can’t help it.

His heart skips a beat when she says his name. "Sasuke-kun."

"Sakura."

She steps aside while holding the door open, a silent invitation for him to come in, so he does. He stands in her entryway uncertainly for a second, until she offers, "I'm making tenmusu; there's enough for two. Would you like to stay for dinner?"

Everything in him relaxes, any and all ambiguity dried by her kindness in an instant. "...I would. Thank you."

Little flecks of gold shimmer in the lamplight, facets atop something burgeoning with warmth. There is love there, in her eyes and upturned lips. He wonders if she can see it in his, if she has any idea of the true gravity of his feelings for her, all of the things that flare to life in his belly at the mere thought of time spent here.

It’s a break in routine, but there is something he would really like to do, something he has been working up the courage for over the past few days, so he takes the risk, pulse quickening; he hasn't kissed her anything but farewell yet, really, aside from their first, which was somewhere in the middle.

It is better than he imagined, vespertine devotion saying hello rather than goodbye. He skims the freckle on her cheek again as his lips brush hers, hand tender against her skin and silky pink locks. When she leans into his touch, he finds himself wishing there was a way for his soul to graze hers, to tell her the utterly selfish thing he wished for after her letter so many moons ago. Sakura’s soul would be warm to the touch, he thinks, like freshly-brewed tea or the flux of a summer monsoon, but much more illimitable, and endlessly ardent.

Her hands on his shoulders are becoming a familiar weight, grounding him like the roots of her namesake.

When they part, she blinks up at him once, and then suddenly her arms are wrapping around his center instead of his shoulders, pulling him close. His heart swells, and he hooks his lone arm around her waist.

She smells like home, he realizes. "...Tadaima," he murmurs against her hair.

"Okaeri," she responds, soft and sweet against his chest.

[hotpotrandomfics]

RWBY OC Team: Team CEOS (Chaos)

Cerulea Willow (Leader, Top Left)

The daughter of the personal bodyguard to Helheim family and heiress to the Willow Security Servic (WSS), Cerulea Willow is a snow leopard faunus from the Kingdom of Atlas. Raised by her father, Cerulea has a keen mind that is capable of breaking down and analyzing the environment. With the training from her father, Cerulea learned to dual wield a pair of sub machine guns that shift into large daggers. She is headstrong and believed her skills to be top of line along with a strong sense of duty Cerulea is also the childhood friend of Orchid Helheim, as well as being the partner of Ezra Ashwood.

Ezra Ashwood (Second-in-Command, Top Right)

Ezra is a tiger faunus, functioning as the voice of reason and acts as the glue of his team. Ezra has the most real world experience compared to his team while living a hellish life. Ezra wields Oath, a pair of butterfly swords that combine into a bow. His partner and team leader is Cerulea Willow.

Orchid Helheim (Weapons / Technology Specialist, Bottom Left)

A distant cousin to the Schnee family, Orchid Helheim comes from a family of business technology manufacturers that specialize weapons and surveillance technology. From a young age, Orchid wanted to be more than some aristocrats daughter, she sought to find her own means of life and purpose. Witnessing the Vytal Festival one year she decided she wished to be a huntress. Orchid sports a repeater rifle that transforms into a katana with slots to implement dust. Miss Helheim is stoic and rarely enthusiastic, though she does smile more around her team. She’s the childhood friend of Cerulea Willows and partner of Sky Mauve.

Sky Mauve (Dust Expert / Vanguard, Bottom Right)

A local citizen who’s family owns one of the many dust shops in the City of Vale that also did minor weapons repairs. Sky is the bold member of his team and always trying to make light of situations for the most part with little realism. Sky has extensive knowledge on dust, understands the complexity of mixtures, creating ammunition and other means of weaponizing dust. He wields a war axe that shifts to a double barrel shotgun. Sky is partnered with Orchid Helheim.

[aqua2fana]

Took an aura quiz for the umbrella academy

Accuracy may vary

Aura quiz by firstginger

Luther: Gold- lion statues, coins, gold leafing, bound books, goldfinches, crowns, heart lockets. your essence is gold: you are a noble heart who believes in your own strength. you stand against your fear; if you can deny something exists, you will not see it, it cannot touch you. you are enduring and strong -- but watchful, for anyone can grow fangs. you are the monarch. you are the leader of the rebellion. you find kinship in like-minded individuals of cream, yellow, marigold, and moss, who share your ambitions. you are also drawn to the forthright crimson and umber, who will help you grow and find genuine confidence in the face of uncertainty. however, you may struggle to get along with the overly-involved personalities of magenta and forest who are unconscious of their own feelings. Or Alternatively.... Yellow- daisies, road signs, bumblebees, lemon merengue, bicycles, polaroids, awnings. your essence is yellow: you are precise yet shy, putting band-aids on your cuts alone. you demand much of yourself; your self-expression feels tempered by a mold you're intended to fill. you seek an anchor to hold and keep your doubt at bay. you are the dutiful. you are the one who rises after you fall. you find kinship in like-minded individuals of cream, gold, honey, and chartreuse, who share your loyalty and compassion. you are also drawn to the sturdy red and brown, who will help you grow and learn to not question your own judgment. however, you may struggle to get along with the overly-involved personalities of pink and green who are unconscious of their own feelings.

Diego: Crimson- rose vines, blood, apples, velvet, sharp nails, galaxies, dripping jewelry. your essence is crimson: you are the strong, defiant and avoidant. you crave some sort of deviation; to walk in another's footsteps feels mundane, a waste of your time. you are possessive and never look back at the things you've lost or forgotten. you are the rebel. you are the one who will change the world. you find kinship in like-minded individuals of red, blush, garnet, and bronze, who share your impassioned existence. you are also drawn to the confident souls royal and gold, who will help you grow and show that not everyone seeks to break you. however, you may struggle to get along with the slow-acting personalities of navy and umber who never seem assertive about anything.

Allison: Orchid- blooming flowers, butterflies, sunsets, text messages, hair dye, auroras, neon lights. your essence is orchid: you are the brightest smile and strongest heart. you inspire those around you; unconsciously, you exist for their purpose, not your own. continue to seek the limelight though do not lie just for their applause. you are the host. you are the performer. you find kinship in like-minded individuals of lavender, amethyst, pink, and purple, who share your boldness. you are also drawn to the practical wine and chiffon, who will help you grow and let you take things one step at a time. however, you may struggle to get along with the analytical personalities of chartreuse and honey who don't get swept up in your ambitions.

Klaus: Blue- blueberries, canals, gatorade, denim jackets, stationary, coastlines, bluebirds. your essence is blue: you are as deep as the seas, but sensitive to the slightest ripple. you attach meaning to your emotions; they guide you, but also blind you to how things truly are. you act misunderstood but shy away from telling anyone who you really are. you are the poet. you are the sorrower. you find kinship in like-minded individuals of sky, navy, mauve, and jade, who share your need for authenticity. you are also drawn to the self-actualizing green and orange, who will help you grow and open up during hardship. however, you may struggle to get along with the linear personalities of grey and red who seem overly focused on structure.

Five: Ivory- lace, marble, china dishes, doves, paper, bones, vanilla shakes. your essence is ivory: you are a piece of history, sturdy and eternal. others believe you to be gentle; they don't see the pressure that is threatening to crack you. you seek control and organize your life into rows. you are the overseer. you are the porcelain. you find kinship in like-minded individuals of grey, noir, pearl, and ashen, who share the pressure you put on yourself. you are also drawn to the expressive rose and lilac, who will help you grow and learn that things will be okay even if they don't go right. however, you may struggle to get along with the indulgent personalities of sky and apricot who need too much stimulation and decadence.

Ben: Brown- wicker baskets, bookstores, wood rings, chocolate bars, suitcases, mochas, teddy bears. your essence is brown: you are a strong-hearted worker afraid to burden others. you are persistent, and thankless; you will be the wielder that your loved ones need and will fight for what they deserve. your tenderness only seeks to belong. you are the martyr. you are the unyielding. you find kinship in like-minded individuals of umber, beige, chiffon, and terracotta, who share your devotion to others. you are also drawn to the bright pink and yellow, who will help you grow and show you how to speak up for your needs. however, you may struggle to get along with the aggressive personalities of purple and red who look after themselves first.

Vanya/Viktor (whichever version of the character you prefer): Teal- dyed hair, scales, doc martens, borealis, stormy seas, kingfishers, agate. your essence is teal: you are unique and yearning, emotional without realizing it. you readily get pulled in deep; when you've found an interest, it anchors you, though you can become lost in the details. your identity is strong and you will not change for anyone. you are the free spirit. you are the observer. you find kinship in like-minded individuals of jade, seafoam, navy, and forest, who share your deep intuition. you are also drawn to the thoughtful souls moss and bronze, who will help you grow and learn how to try new things. however, you may struggle to get along with the forceful personalities of amaranth and garnet who are too attached to a single perspective.

[unsettlingshortstories]

Terra Incognita

Vladimir Nabokov (1931)

The sound of the waterfall grew more and more muffled, until it finally dissolved altogether, and we moved on through the wildwood of a hitherto unexplored region. We walked, and had been walking, for a long time already—in front, Gregson and I; our eight native porters behind, one after the other; last of all, whining and protesting at every step, came Cook. I knew that Gregson had recruited him on the advice of a local hunter. Cook had insisted that he was ready to do anything to get out of Zonraki, where they pass half the year brewing their von-gho and the other half drinking it. It remained unclear, however—or else I was already beginning to forget many things, as we walked on and on—exactly who this Cook was (a runaway sailor, perhaps?).

Gregson strode on beside me, sinewy, lanky, with bare, bony knees. He held a long-handled green butterfly net like a banner. The porters, big, glossy-brown Badonians with thick manes of hair and cobalt arabesques between their eyes, whom we had also engaged in Zonraki, walked with a strong, even step. Behind them straggled Cook, bloated, red-haired, with a drooping underlip, hands in pockets and carrying nothing. I recalled vaguely that at the outset of the expedition he had chattered a lot and made obscure jokes, in a manner he had, a mixture of insolence and servility, reminiscent of a Shakespearean clown; but soon his spirits fell and he grew glum and began to neglect his duties, which included interpreting, since Gregson’s understanding of the Badonian dialect was still poor.

There was something languorous and velvety about the heat. A stifling fragrance came from the inflorescences of Vallieria mirifica, mother-of-pearl in color and resembling clusters of soap bubbles, that arched across the narrow, dry streambed along which we proceeded. The branches of porphyroferous trees intertwined with those of the black-leafed limia to form a tunnel, penetrated here and there by a ray of hazy light. Above, in the thick mass of vegetation, among brilliant pendulous racemes and strange dark tangles of some kind, hoary monkeys snapped and chattered, while a cometlike bird flashed like Bengal light, crying out in its small, shrill voice. I kept telling myself that my head was heavy from the long march, the heat, the medley of colors, and the forest din, but secretly I knew that I was ill. I surmised it to be the local fever. I had resolved, however, to conceal my condition from Gregson, and had assumed a cheerful, even merry air, when disaster struck.

“It’s my fault,” said Gregson. “I should never have got involved with him.”

We were now alone. Cook and all eight of the natives, with tent, folding boat, supplies, and collections, had deserted us and vanished noiselessly while we busied ourselves in the thick bush, chasing fascinating insects. I think we tried to catch up with the fugitives—I do not recall clearly, but, in any case, we failed. We had to decide whether to return to Zonraki or continue our projected itinerary, across as yet unknown country, toward the Gurano Hills. The unknown won out. We moved on. I was already shivering all over and deafened by quinine, but still went on collecting nameless plants, while Gregson, though fully realizing the danger of our situation, continued catching butterflies and diptera as avidly as ever.

We had scarcely walked half a mile when suddenly Cook overtook us. His shirt was torn—apparently by himself, deliberately—and he was panting and gasping. Without a word Gregson drew his revolver and prepared to shoot the scoundrel, but he threw himself at Gregson’s feet and, shielding his head with both arms, began to swear that the natives had led him away by force and had wanted to eat him (which was a lie, for the Badonians are not cannibals). I suspect that he had easily incited them, stupid and timorous as they were, to abandon the dubious journey, but had not taken into account that he could not keep up with their powerful stride and, having fallen hopelessly behind, had returned to us. Because of him invaluable collections were lost. He had to die. But Gregson put away the revolver and we moved on, with Cook wheezing and stumbling behind.

The woods were gradually thinning. I was tormented by strange hallucinations. I gazed at the weird tree trunks, around some of which were coiled thick, flesh-colored snakes; suddenly I thought I saw, between the trunks, as though through my fingers, the mirror of a half-open wardrobe with dim reflections, but then I took hold of myself, looked more carefully, and found that it was only the deceptive glimmer of an acreana bush (a curly plant with large berries resembling plump prunes). After a while the trees parted altogether and the sky rose before us like a solid wall of blue. We were at the top of a steep incline. Below shimmered and steamed an enormous marsh, and, far beyond, one distinguished the tremulous silhouette of a mauve-colored range of hills.

“I swear to God we must turn back,” said Cook in a sobbing voice. “I swear to God we’ll perish in these swamps—I’ve got seven daughters and a dog at home. Let’s turn back—we know the way.…”

He wrung his hands, and the sweat rolled from his fat, red-browed face. “Home, home,” he kept repeating. “You’ve caught enough bugs. Let’s go home!”

Gregson and I began to descend the stony slope. At first Cook remained standing above, a small white figure against the monstrously green background of forest; but suddenly he threw up his hands, uttered a cry, and started to slither down after us.

The slope narrowed, forming a rocky crest that reached out like a long promontory into the marshes; they sparkled through the steamy haze. The noonday sky, now freed of its leafy veils, hung oppressively over us with its blinding darkness—yes, its blinding darkness, for there is no other way to describe it. I tried not to look up; but in this sky, at the very verge of my field of vision, there floated, always keeping up with me, whitish phantoms of plaster, stucco curlicues and rosettes, like those used to adorn European ceilings; however, I had only to look directly at them and they would vanish, and again the tropical sky would boom, as it were, with even, dense blueness. We were still walking along the rocky promontory, but it kept tapering and betraying us. Around it grew golden marsh reeds, like a million bared swords gleaming in the sun. Here and there flashed elongated pools, and over them hung dark swarms of midges. A large swamp flower, presumably an orchid, stretched toward me its drooping, downy lip, which seemed smeared with egg yolk. Gregson swung his net—and sank to his hips in the brocaded ooze as a gigantic swallowtail, with a flap of its satin wing, sailed away from him over the reeds, toward the shimmer of pale emanations where the indistinct folds of a window curtain seemed to hang. I must not, I said to myself, I must not.… I shifted my gaze and walked on beside Gregson, now over rock, now across hissing and lip-smacking soil. I felt chills, in spite of the greenhouse heat. I foresaw that in a moment I would collapse altogether, that the contours and convexities of delirium, showing through the sky and through the golden reeds, would gain complete control of my consciousness. At times Gregson and Cook seemed to grow transparent, and I thought I saw, through them, wallpaper with an endlessly repeated design of reeds. I took hold of myself, strained to keep my eyes open, and moved on. Cook by now was crawling on all fours, yelling, and snatching at Gregson’s legs, but the latter would shake him off and keep walking. I looked at Gregson, at his stubborn profile, and felt, to my horror, that I was forgetting who Gregson was, and why I was with him.

Meanwhile we kept sinking into the ooze more and more frequently, deeper and deeper; the insatiable mire would suck at us; and, wriggling, we would slip free. Cook kept falling down and crawling, covered with insect bites, all swollen and soaked, and, dear God, how he would squeal when disgusting bevies of minute, bright-green hydrotic snakes, attracted by our sweat, would take off in pursuit of us, tensing and uncoiling to sail two yards and then another two. I, however, was much more frightened by something else: now and then, on my left (always, for some reason, on my left), listing among the repetitious reeds, what seemed a large armchair but was actually a strange, cumbersome gray amphibian, whose name Gregson refused to tell me, would rise out of the swamp.

“A break,” said Gregson abruptly, “let’s take a break.”

By a stroke of luck we managed to scramble onto an islet of rock, surrounded by the swamp vegetation. Gregson took off his knapsack and issued us some native patties, smelling of ipecacuanha, and a dozen acreana fruit. How thirsty I was, and how little help was the scanty, astringent juice of the acreana.…

“Look, how odd,” Gregson said to me, not in English, but in some other language, so that Cook would not understand. “We must get through to the hills, but look, how odd—could the hills have been a mirage?—they are no longer visible.”

I raised myself up from my pillow and leaned my elbow on the resilient surface of the rock.… Yes, it was true that the hills were no longer visible; there was only the quivering vapor hanging over the marsh. Once again everything around me assumed an ambiguous transparency. I leaned back and said softly to Gregson, “You probably can’t see, but something keeps trying to come through.”

“What are you talking about?” asked Gregson.

I realized that what I was saying was nonsense and stopped. My head was spinning and there was a humming in my ears; Gregson, down on one knee, rummaged through his knapsack, but found no medicine there, and my supply was exhausted. Cook sat in silence, morosely picking at a rock. Through a rent in his shirtsleeve there showed a strange tattoo on his arm: a crystal tumbler with a teaspoon, very well executed.

“Vallière is sick—haven’t you got some tablets?” Gregson said to him. I did not hear the exact words, but I could guess the general sense of their talk, which would grow absurd and somehow spherical when I tried to listen more closely.

Cook turned slowly and the glassy tattoo slid off his skin to one side, remaining suspended in midair; then it floated off, floated off, and I pursued it with my frightened gaze, but, as I turned away, it lost itself in the vapor of the swamp, with a last faint gleam.

“Serves you right,” muttered Cook. “It’s just too bad. The same will happen to you and me. Just too bad.…”

In the course of the last few minutes—that is, ever since we had stopped to rest on the rocky islet—he seemed to have grown larger, had swelled, and there was now something mocking and dangerous about him. Gregson took off his sun helmet and, pulling out a dirty handkerchief, wiped his forehead, which was orange over the brows, and white above that. Then he put on his helmet again, leaned over to me, and said, “Pull yourself together, please” (or words to that effect). “We shall try to move on. The vapor is hiding the hills, but they are there. I am certain we have covered about half the swamp.” (This is all very approximate.)

“Murderer,” said Cook under his breath. The tattoo was now again on his forearm; not the entire glass, though, but one side of it—there was not quite enough room for the remainder, which quivered in space, casting reflections. “Murderer,” Cook repeated with satisfaction, raising his inflamed eyes. “I told you we would get stuck here. Black dogs eat too much carrion. Mi, re, fa, sol.”

“He’s a clown,” I softly informed Gregson, “a Shakespearean clown.”

“Clow, clow, clow,” Gregson answered, “clow, clow—clo, clo, clo.… Do you hear,” he went on, shouting in my ear. “You must get up. We have to move on.”

The rock was as white and as soft as a bed. I raised myself a little, but promptly fell back on the pillow.

“We shall have to carry him,” said Gregson’s faraway voice. “Give me a hand.”

“Fiddlesticks,” replied Cook (or so it sounded to me). “I suggest we enjoy some fresh meat before he dries up. Fa, sol, mi, re.”

“He’s sick, he’s sick too,” I cried to Gregson. “You’re here with two lunatics. Go ahead alone. You’ll make it.… Go.”

“Fat chance we’ll let him go,” said Cook.

Meanwhile delirious visions, taking advantage of the general confusion, were quietly and firmly finding their places. The lines of a dim ceiling stretched and crossed in the sky. A large armchair rose, as if supported from below, out of the swamp. Glossy birds flew through the haze of the marsh and, as they settled, one turned into the wooden knob of a bedpost, another into a decanter. Gathering all my willpower, I focused my gaze and drove off this dangerous trash. Above the reeds flew real birds with long flame-colored tails. The air buzzed with insects. Gregson was waving away a varicolored fly, and at the same time trying to determine its species. Finally he could contain himself no longer and caught it in his net. His motions underwent curious changes, as if someone kept reshuffling them. I saw him in different poses simultaneously; he was divesting himself of himself, as if he were made of many glass Gregsons whose outlines did not coincide. Then he condensed again, and stood up firmly. He was shaking Cook by the shoulder.

“You are going to help me carry him,” Gregson was saying distinctly. “If you were not a traitor, we would not be in this mess.”

Cook remained silent, but slowly flushed purple.

“See here, Cook, you’ll regret this,” said Gregson. “I’m telling you for the last time—”

At this point occurred what had been ripening for a long time. Cook drove his head like a bull into Gregson’s stomach. They both fell; Gregson had time to get his revolver out, but Cook managed to knock it out of his hand. Then they clutched each other and started rolling in their embrace, panting deafeningly. I looked at them, helpless. Cook’s broad back would grow tense and the vertebrae would show through his shirt; but suddenly, instead of his back, a leg, also his, would appear, covered with coppery hairs, and with a blue vein running up the skin, and Gregson was rolling on top of him. Gregson’s helmet flew off and wobbled away, like half of an enormous cardboard egg. From somewhere in the labyrinth of their bodies Cook’s fingers wriggled out, clenching a rusty but sharp knife; the knife entered Gregson’s back as if it were clay, but Gregson only gave a grunt, and they both rolled over several times; when I next saw my friend’s back the handle and top half of the blade protruded, while his hands had locked around Cook’s thick neck, which crunched as he squeezed, and Cook’s legs were twitching. They made one last full revolution, and now only a quarter of the blade was visible—no, a fifth—no, now not even that much showed: it had entered completely. Gregson grew still after having piled on top of Cook, who had also become motionless.

I watched, and it seemed to me (fogged as my senses were by fever) that this was all a harmless game, that in a moment they would get up and, when they had caught their breath, would peacefully carry me off across the swamp toward the cool blue hills, to some shady place with babbling water. But suddenly, at this last stage of my mortal illness—for I knew that in a few minutes I would die—in these final minutes everything grew completely lucid: I realized that all that was taking place around me was not the trick of an inflamed imagination, not the veil of delirium, through which unwelcome glimpses of my supposedly real existence in a distant European city (the wallpaper, the armchair, the glass of lemonade) were trying to show. I realized that the obtrusive room was fictitious, since everything beyond death is, at best, fictitious: an imitation of life hastily knocked together, the furnished rooms of nonexistence. I realized that reality was here, here beneath that wonderful, frightening tropical sky, among those gleaming swordlike reeds, in that vapor hanging over them, and in the thick-lipped flowers clinging to the flat islet, where, beside me, lay two clinched corpses. And, having realized this, I found within me the strength to crawl over to them and pull the knife from the back of Gregson, my leader, my dear friend. He was dead, quite dead, and all the little bottles in his pockets were broken and crushed. Cook, too, was dead, and his ink-black tongue protruded from his mouth. I pried open Gregson’s fingers and turned his body over. His lips were half-open and bloody; his face, which already seemed hardened, appeared badly shaven; the bluish whites of his eyes showed between the lids. For the last time I saw all this distinctly, consciously, with the seal of authenticity on everything—their skinned knees, the bright flies circling over them, the females of those flies already seeking a spot for oviposition. Fumbling with my enfeebled hands, I took a thick notebook out of my shirt pocket, but here I was overcome by weakness; I sat down and my head drooped. And yet I conquered this impatient fog of death and looked around. Blue air, heat, solitude.… And how sorry I felt for Gregson, who would never return home—I even remembered his wife and the old cook, and his parrots, and many other things. Then I thought about our discoveries, our precious finds, the rare, still undescribed plants and animals that now would never be named by us. I was alone. Hazier flashed the reeds, dimmer flamed the sky. My eyes followed an exquisite beetle that was crawling across a stone, but I had no strength left to catch it. Everything around me was fading, leaving bare the scenery of death—a few pieces of realistic furniture and four walls. My last motion was to open the book, which was damp with my sweat, for I absolutely had to make a note of something; but, alas, it slipped out of my hand. I groped all along the blanket, but it was no longer there.

[alexllove-blog]

Lit by early-morning sunshine, the country lane ahead of me is enchanting.

One side is hedge, sweetly fragrant with white hawthorn blossom, and the other, old dry-stone wall, covered in emerald moss, moist and springy to the touch. Every now and then a wren darts in and out of the wall, looking for the perfect space to nest-build. On the ground, life is also starting to fizz. Fresh, tender shoots are emerging. The broad dark-green leaves of foxgloves spread themselves out and a pair of golden brimstone butterflies flutter around the mauve petals of common dog violets.

A misty valley in Borrowdale in the Lake District National Park

I stop for a moment and take a slow, deep breath –thankful to be back in Lake District National Park in North West England. It’s not just me that finds these landscapes so irresistible. Just over 114 kilometres from the thriving metropolis of Manchester, Lake District National Park, at around 2,362km2, is England’s largest, and more than 19 million people from all the over globe visit it annually. Just like me, visitors here are thrilled not just by the region’s spectacular scenery, but also by the rare creatures that live in its ancient oakwoods and the birds of prey that majestically soar the skies.

At springtime, the Lakes – as the area is better known – are especially magical, but it’s a place that beguiles at any time of the year. The otherworldly beauty of its windswept mountaintops, dramatic valleys criss-crossed with idyllic country lanes, sparkling waterfalls and deep, clear lakes often haunts me long after I return home.

Path from Stonethwaite to Rosthwaite

But of all the region’s valleys, it’s Borrowdale that casts the strongest spell on me. The picturesque area, which is situated in the green heart of the Lake District, is a haven for some of Britain’s most endangered flora and fauna. It’s where I am now, and the country lane I’m passing through is in the small village of Rosthwaite, some nine kilometres south of Keswick, the valley’s main town. This is the start of one of my favourite walks, which will take me through a myriad of arresting landscapes, from craggy fells to wild moors, from mountain tarns to oakwoods and, finally, from river valley to lakeshore. It’s a beautiful microcosm of all that the Lake District has to offer.

Borrowdale has thrilled me since childhood. A huge, wild, living playground, it was the perfect antidote to the grey shades and straight lines of school and suburbia. With my parents, brother and sister – as well as our dogs, a young and exuberant Irish wolfhound and a sensible, much older border collie – many happy summer days were spent here. In the meadows, we searched for daisies, buttercups and forget-me-nots for my flower press. And, in the woods, with socks and shoes off , we chased each other around huge oak trees, picking up acorns, throwing them for the dogs to catch, always saving a few to play wonky marbles with later. Then we’d find a clear stream to cool down and clean our hot little feet before starting our adventures all over again.

A ram near Watendlath

Of course, some four decades on since playing in the woods here, it’s sturdy boots, rather than bare feet, for me on my walk today. Now reaching the end of the lane, the view opens out and my climb up Great Crag, a steep fell-side, begins. The colours are different here – less verdant, more of an autumnal palette of faded-purple heather, burnt-brown bracken and grey rocky knolls. The colour of storm clouds. Now, some 200 metres above sea level, I turn around and marvel at the classic Lakes view. The valley floor – which in the summer months is ablaze with wildflowers – is strikingly green, intersected by the shimmer of the River Derwent that snakes through Borrowdale like a silver ribbon.

Turning back towards Great Crag, I follow the bridleway until a large whitewashed farmhouse and a small cluster of stone cottages come into view. This is the secluded picturesque hamlet of Watendlath that nestles on the shores of the tarn here. Apart from a mewing buzzard above me, enjoying the warm thermals, and a gaggle of honking barnacle geese, it’s incredibly quiet.

A blackbird on a wall near Stonethwaite

I take the path around the water’s edge, passing a flock of free-roaming sheep. Huge moss-covered oaks, with branches outstretched like arms and twigs pointing like fingers, cast their shadows. As the terrain turns to moorland, damp and peaty in places, I spy the yellow-green heads of bog myrtle popping above the scrub.

I scan the sky, hoping for a sight of another buzzard or maybe a falcon. It is empty. If I’d been standing here three or four years ago, though, I might have seen England’s last golden eagle, known as Eddie, filling the void. Up until the early 1800s, golden eagles – Britain’s second-largest bird of prey with a wingspan of around 1.8 metres – were numerous in the Lakes. But regarded as a threat to new-born lambs, the birds’ eyries (nests) were systemically destroyed by local sheep farmers – causing such a catastrophic decline in their numbers that golden eagles became locally extinct by the 1850s.

A pair of keen ramblers taking in the scenery

Since then, only very occasional pairs have settled in the Lakes. The last known couple were Eddie and his mate. He is believed to have died in 2016, some 12 years after the female. Fortunately, conservation measures have been put in place to encourage the return of these iconic birds. It’s hoped that chicks from successful populations in southern Scotland will be introduced here soon, turning the Lakes’ skies golden once again.

“Rare creatures live in its ancient oakwoods and birds of prey majestically soar the skies”

After two and half kilometres or so, I see Dock Tarn, one of the Lake District’s most beautiful mountain lakes. Circled by a small ring of tor-topped hills, covered in heather and bilberry, the tarn is aglow in the sunshine. On the surface, some yet-to-flower waterlilies shiver slightly as a light breeze brushes over them. Come high summer, orchids can be found among the grasses, and when the heather blooms, the tarn will reflect their hazy-purple hues, as if in perpetual twilight. It’s not just Dock Tarn that mesmerises. From here, I can also admire the summit of Glaramara and enjoy take-your-breath-away views of other mighty fells, including Haystacks, Honister and Pillar.

An arresting view of Derwentwater as seen from Catbells fell

The Lake District’s natural beauty has quickened people’s hearts for centuries. During the 1800s, some of England’s best-known Romantic poets and writers – including William and Dorothy Wordsworth, Samuel Coleridge, Thomas de Quincey and John Ruskin – were particularly enamoured. They celebrated the Lake District’s sublime beauty in their writings, often elevating the region to a heaven on earth, a wild Eden where man could achieve spiritual harmony with nature. William Wordsworth – probably the most famous Lakes poet, and author of the love song to the Lakes “I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud” – in his great autobiographical work The Prelude, published in 1850, described the region as a place where:

“The solid Mountains were as bright as clouds, Grain-tinctured, drench’d in empyrean light; And, in the meadows and the lower grounds, Was all the sweetness of a common dawn, Dews, vapours, and the melody of birds, And Labourers going forth into the fields.”

A bridge in Rydal

Turning away from the “bright as clouds” view of the summits, I trace a stone-pitched track to the hanging oakwood at Lingy End and begin my descent. The climb down through the ancient wood is steep, and I’m kept company by the babbling Willygrass Gill stream. Originating at Dock Tarn, it cascades gently down the valley, eventually joining the River Derwent. Shoots of pungent wild garlic sprout between rocks and stones, joined by butter-yellow, star-shaped celandine flowers.

“A wonderland I first visited as a girl, I am lured back to the Lake District year after year”

I scan the trees for red squirrels, an endangered native species. Thanks to special conservation programmes, Borrowdale’s woods are one of the best places in England to spot this rare and elusive creature. I also look out for red and roe deer, but as with the squirrels, I am out of luck. I do, though, sight a great spotted woodpecker drilling into a tree, its distinctive black, white and red markings glimmering softly in the dappled light.

A cottage in Stonethwaite

Borrowdale’s oakwoods are the remnants of the temperate “rainforests” that once flourished on the western seaboard of Britain. They are the precious last habitat of disappearing moss and liverwort species and support an incredible variety of ferns and fungi, as well as butterflies, moths and other insects. That’s why Borrowdale’s oakwoods – over 500 hectares, home to more than a hundred bird species – are afforded the highest tier of protection available to habitats in Europe.

After an hour or so, the steepness of the slope eases and I’m back on level ground in the village of Stonethwaite, just next door to Rosthwaite. The wide walled and pretty path here runs parallel to the River Derwent, considered one of the purest rivers in Europe. Freshwater shrimp, lamprey and salmon thrive in its protected waters – even sleek-haired otters, once locally extinct, are back and can sometimes be spotted on the riverbanks with freshly caught fish in their paws.

Two people fishing at a reservoir in Watendlath

Back at Rosthwaite, I jump on a bus and less than 10 minutes later find myself on the shores of Derwentwater, one of the Lake District’s fi nest glacial lakes. In the afternoon light, the water reflects the shape of the mountains that circle it. A swan glides by, heading towards Lord’s Island, one of the lake’s four main islands. Once inhabited by the Earls of Derwentwater, the island is now a desirable residence for nesting birds and primroses only. During the winter months, the secluded bays and headlands here provide shelter for many wildfowl, including greylag geese, mallards and moorhens.

The Queen of the Lakes, as Derwentwater is also known, is the only place in England – apart from Bassenthwaite Lake about 16 kilometres further north – where vendace, a rare Arctic fi sh species dating back to the Ice Age, survives. Bassenthwaite Lake is also the place to see the Lake District’s only ospreys. These spectacular birds of prey, with a wingspan of almost 1.5 metres, returned to breed in 2001, after an absence of almost 150 years, and during the summer months can be seen diving for fish in Bassenthwaite’s pristine waters.

A river scene in Rydal

Two years ago, in 2017, the Lake District National Park was designated a Unesco World Heritage site. It became a National Park in 1951, one of the first established in Britain after the passing of the 1949 Act of Parliament. This year marks the 70th anniversary of that Act, without which the UK wouldn’t have its 15 glorious National Parks to explore and enjoy today.

That the Lake District is – and remains – a protected place is important to me. The Lake District is a gift. A green refuge where once-lost species have returned; a precious jewel of a place where I, and countless others before me, have felt at peace and been inspired, and found gentle reminders of a more natural past. A wonderland I first visited as a girl, I am lured back to the Lake District year after year. And each time I return, I fall back in love – bewitched all over again by the “empyrean light” of the Lakes that shines forever bright, captivates completely and re-wilds my heart.

SEE ALSO: Why Manchester is the UK’s next creative powerhouse

This article was originally published in the June 2019 issue of SilverKris magazine

The post Over vales and hills: The enchantment of the Lake District appeared first on SilverKris.

[writinggeisha]

Colour Words

White: French beige,  Navajo white,  alabaster white,  albino white,  antique white,  arctic white,  argent white,  ashen white,  beige,  birch,  biscuit white,  bisque,  blanched almond,  blanched white,  bleached white,  blonde,  bone white,  buff,  camel,  canvas beige,  linen white,  marshmallow white,  milk white,  mocassin,  mother-of-pearl,  mushroom,  neutral white,  nude,  oatmeal white,  off-white,  old lace white,  opal,  paper white,  pearl white,  piano key white,  polar white,  porcelain,  powder white,  pure white,  raw cotton white,  coconut white,  contrast white,  cotton white,  cream,  diamond,  dove white,  ecru,  eggshell white,  flax,  flour white,  fog white,  frosted white,  ghost white,  goose white,  hemp,  ivory white,  lace white,  latte,  light tan,  lily white,  sandstone,  seashell white,  sheep white,  sheet white,  shell white,  shining star white,  silvery white,  smoky beige,  snow white,  solid white,  spotless white,  sugar white,  toothpaste white,  vanilla,  waxen white,  wedding white,  whey,  white,  white chocolate,  white smoke  Yellow: Chardonnay,  French fry yellow,  Titanium yellow,  amber,  banana yellow,  bleached blond,  blond,  buff,  bumblebee yellow,  butter yellow,  buttercup,  butternut squash yellow,  butterscotch,  cadmium yellow,  canary yellow,  champagne,  citrine,  corn yellow,  lemon peel,  lemon sherbet,  lemon yellow,  linen,  lion yellow,  maize,  marigold yellow,  mellow yellow,  metallic gold,  mimosa yellow,  mustard yellow,  ochre,  olive,  omelette yellow,  palamino,  papaya,  parakeet yellow,  pencil yellow,  cream,  custard yellow,  daffodil yellow,  dandelion,  duckling yellow,  egg yolk yellow,  electric yellow,  flax,  flesh tone,  gold,  gold yellow,  golden bronze,  golden yellow,  goldenrod,  highlighter yellow,  honey yellow,  lemon chiffon,  lemon drop,  pineapple yellow,  popcorn yellow,  raincoat yellow,  saffron,  school bus yellow,  squash yellow,  straw yellow,  sunflower yellow,  sunglow yellow,  sunset yellow,  sunshine yellow,  taxi cab yellow,  topaz,  vanilla,  wheat,  yellow,  yolk yellow  

Orange:  amber,  apricot,  basketball  orange,  blood  orange,  bourbon,  burnt  orange,  butterfly  orange,  candlelight  orange,  candy  corn,  cantaloupe  orange,  carnelian,  carotene,  carrot  orange,  cheddar  orange,  cinnamon,  mango,  marigold  orange,  melon  orange,  neon  orange,  old  gold,  orange,  orange  juice,  orange  peel,  orange  sherbet,  orange  soda,  orange-red,  papaya,  peach,  persimmon,  pumpkin  orange,   copper  penny,  coral,  dark  orange,  dark  salmon,  dayglo  orange,  ember  orange,  fall  leaves  orange,  flame  orange,  ginger  orange,  gold,  golden  orange,  goldfish  orange,  ice  pop  orange,  light  orange,  light  salmon,   rust  orange,  safety  orange,  saffron,  salamander  orange,  starfish  orange,  sunrise  orange,  tabby,  tangelo,  tangerine,  tawny,  tiger  orange,  tiger  stripe  orange,  traffic  cone  orange,  yam  orange

Red: Bordeaux  red,  Indian  red,  alizarin  crimson,  amaranth,  apple  red,  auburn,  autumn  leaf  red,  barn  red,  beet  red,  blood  red,  blush,  bougainvillea,  bourbon,  brick  red,  bright  red,  burgundy,  burnt  sienna,  candy  apple  red,  cardinal  red,  carmine,  carnelian,  cerise,  cherry  red,  chestnut  red,  chili  pepper  red,  magenta,  magma  red,  maroon,  orange-red,  paprika,  pepperoni  red,  persimmon  red,  pink  red,  pomegranate  red,  poppy  red,  rabbit  eye  red,  radish  red,  rare  steak  red,  raspberry  red,  red,  red  apple,  red  berry,  red  carpet,  red  licorice,  red  lipstick,  red  nose,  red  pepper,  red  potato,  red  rose,  red  velvet,  claret,  copper,  coral  red,  crab  red,  cranberry  red,  crimson  red,  dark  cerise,  dark  red,  deep  pink,  devil  red,  faded  rose,  fire  engine  red,  fire  red,  fire  truck  red,  flame  red,  florid  red,  fruit  punch  red,  garnet  red,  geranium  red,  henna,  hibiscus  red,  hot  pink,  ketchup  red,  ladybug  red,  lipstick  red,  red  wine  vinegar,  redwood,  rosewood,  rouge,  ruby  red,  russet  red,  rust  red,  sangria  red,  scarlet,  sports  car  red,  stop  light  red,  stop  sign  red,  strawberry  red,  tawny  port  red,  tawny  red,  terra  cotta,  tomato  bisque,  tomato  red,  torch  red,  vermillion,  watermelon  flesh,  wine  red,  winter  apple  red

Pink: Pepto Bismal pink,   Persian rose,   amaranth,   apricot,   ash rose,   baby cheeks pink,   baby pink,   bacon pink,   ballerina pink,   ballet pink,   ballet slipper pink,   begonia,   blush pink,   bougainvillea,   bubblegum pink,   cameo,   carmine,   carnation pink,   cerise,   cherry blossom,   mulberry,   neon pink,   orchid,   pale pink,   pastel pink,   peach,   peach puff,   peony pink,   petunia pink,   pig pink,   pink,   pink Cadillac,   pink champagne,   pink cheeks,   pink diamond,   pink grapefruit,   pink lemonade,   pink sherbet,   polka dot pink,   powder pink,   conch pink,   coral pink,   cotton candy,   cranberry,   cupcake pink,   dayglo pink,   dusty rose,   eraser pink,   flamingo pink,   flesh,   flesh-colored,   fuchsia,   grapefruit pink,   hibiscus pink,   hot pink,   jellyfish pink,   lavender pink,   light plum,   lipstick pink,   magenta,   rose,   rose petal,   rose pink,   rose quartz,   rosy red,   ruby,   ruddy pink,   sand pink,   seashell pink,   shocking pink,   soft pink,   strawberry jam,   strawberry milkshake,   sunset pink,   tea rose,   thistle pink,   tongue pink,   tulip pink,   turnip pink,   worm pink

Purple: Concord grape,   amethyst,   aubergine,   beet purple,   bilberry purple,   blackberry,   blackcurrant,   blue violet,   blueberry,   brandywine,   bruise purple,  byzantium,   cerise,   claret,   currant,   dahlia,   magenta,   mauve,   monster purple,   mulberry,   opal purple,   orchid purple,   pale plum,   pansy purple,   passionfruit purple,   pastel purple,   periwinkle,   plum,   prune,   purple,   purple cabbage,   purple jam,   dark raspberry,   dark violet,   eggplant purple,   fandango,   grape crush,   grape jam purple,   grape jelly purple,   grape purple,   heliotrope,   hyacinth,   inky purple,   iris purple,   juice purple,   lavender,   lavender blush,   lilac purple,   quartz,   raisin purple,   raspberry,   rhubarb purple,   royal purple,   thistle,   true purple,   turnip purple,   violet,   violet red,   wild berry purple,   wild grape,   wine,   wisteria

Blue: Caribbean blue,   Caribbean turquoise,   Dodger blue,   Pacific blue,   Prussian blue,   Tiffany blue,   alice blue,   aqua blue,   aquamarine,   azure blue,  baby blue,   blue belle,   blue ice,   blue jean blue,   blue-green,   blueberry,  bluebird blue,   bluebonnet blue,   cadet blue,   lapis lazuli,   light blue,  marine blue,   marlin blue,   midnight blue,   navy blue,   neon blue,   nighttime blue,   ocean blue,   pale blue,   pastel blue,   peacock blue,   police officer blue,   pool blue,   powder blue,   ribbon blue,   robin egg,   royal blue,   sapphire blue,   cobalt,   cornflower,   cyan,   dark blue,   dark slate blue,   deep sky blue,   denim blue,   dolphin blue,   electric blue,   frostbite blue,   glacial blue,   heather,   iceberg blue,   icy blue,   imperial blue,   indigo blue,   inky blue,  jay blue,   lake blue,   slate blue,   snowflake blue,   stained glass blue,   steel blue,   stone blue,   summer sky blue,   surf blue,   swimming pool,   teal blue,   true blue,   turquoise,   ultra blue,   ultramarine,   verdigris,   violet blue,   washed denim blue,   whale blue

Green: Granny Smith apple,   Kelly green,   Kermit green,   Persian green,   absinthe,   algae green,   alligator green,   apple green,   aqua,   army green,   artichoke green,   asparagus green,   avocado green,   bay leaf green,   bluegrass green,   boxwood green,   broccoli green,   cabbage green,   cactus green,   caterpillar green,   celery green,   chartreuse,   chive green,   chlorophyll green,   iceberg lettuce,   iguana green,   ivy green,   jade green,   jadestone,   jungle green,   kelp green,   key lime green,   leaf green,   leprechaun green,   lettuce green,   lichen green,   light cyan,   lime green,   lizard green,   melon rind green,   metallic mint,   mint green,   moss green,   myrtle green,   neon green,   olive drab,   olive green,   parrot green,   crocodile green,   cucumber green,   cyan,   cypress,   dark khaki green,   dark olive green,   dollar bill green,   drab olive,   eel green,   emerald green,   evergreen,   fern green,   forest green,   frog green,   grass green,   grasshopper green,   green,   green apple,   green olive,   green pepper,   green tea,   green-yellow,   holly,   honeydew green,   pea soup,   pear green,   pickle green,   pine green,   pistachio,   sage green,   sea green,   seafoam green,   seaweed green,   shamrock green,   spinach green,   spring bud green,   spring green,   sprout green,   spruce green,   summer grass,   swamp green,   tea green,   turtle green,   verdant,   verdigris,   wasabi green,   zucchini green

Brown: October brown,   acorn brown,   auburn,   autumn leaf,   barbecue sauce brown,   bark brown,   bay,   bear brown,   beetle brown,   biscuit brown,   branch brown,   brick brown,   bronze,   brown,   brown sugar,   brunette,   burnt sienna,  burnt umber,   butterscotch brow,   cafe au lait,   camel brown,   cappuccino brown,   caramel brown,   cardboard brown,   chestnut brown, kangaroo brown,   khaki,   leather,   lion brown,   liver brown,   mahogany,   maple brown,   maple sugar brown,   maroon,   meatball brown,   milk chocolate,   mink,   mocha brown,   mud brown,   nougat,   nude,   nut brown,   nut brown ale,   nutmeg,   oak brown,   pancake brown,   peanut butter brown,   potato brown,   pretzel brown,   raisin brown,   cinnamon brown,   cocoa,   cocoa brown,   coffee bean brown,   coffee brown,   coffee stain brown,   copper,   dark chocolate brown,   dark citrine,   deer brown,   desert sand,   dirt,   doeskin,   dun,   earth brown,   earth yellow,   earthenware brown,   fallow,   fawn brown,   football brown,   fox brown,   freckle brown,   ginger brown,   golden brown,   hazel brown,  rich earth,  roan,   root beer brown,   rosewood,   ruddy brown,   russet brown,   rust,  saddle brown,   sand,   sandy brown,   sea lion brown,   semi-sweet chocolate,   sepia,   sienna,   sorrel,   steak brown,   tan,   tan brown,   tan-nude,   tawny,   toast brown,   tumbleweed,   tweed brown,   walnut brown,   wheat,

Gray/Grey: argent silver,   ash gray,   battleship gray,   cadet gray,   charcoal gray,   chrome,   cloud gray,   cloudy day gray,   concrete gray,   cool gray,   cool grey,   dim gray,   dolphin gray,   dove gray,   overcast gray,   owl gray,   oyster gray,   pewter,   pigeon gray,   platinum,   rainy day gray,   rhinoceros gray,   river rock,   salt and pepper gray,   sardine gray,   seal gray,   shark gray,   silver,   elephant gray,   fog gray,   grandma gray,   granite gray,   gray,   grey,   gunmetal gray,   haze gray,   hippopotamus gray,   iron gray,   koala gray,   metal gray,   mist gray,   moon gray,   smoke gray,   soot gray,   steel gray,   stone gray,   storm gray,   stormy sea gray,   taupe gray,   thunder cloud gray,   warm gray,   wed sidewalk gray,   wool gray,   zinc gray

Black: Mars black,   black,   black cat,   black coffee,   black licorice,   black pearl,   black pepper,   black tar,   blackboard black,   blackout,   blue-black,   bow tie black,   kettle black,   kohl black,   licorice black,   mascara black,   mica,  midnight black,   molasses black,   night sky black,   ninja black,   obsidian,   onyx,   outer space black,   caviar black,   chalkboard black,   charcoal black,   coal black,   ebony black,   eclipse black,   eyelash black,   fig,   gothic black,   hearse black,   ink black,   jet black,   piano key black,   pitch black,   pupil black,  raven black,   sable black,   shadow black,   smoky black,   sooty black,   spade black,   spider black,   tar black,   tarmac black

https://www.words-to-use.com/words/colors-names/

[reveredhearts]

What color is your aura?

tagged by: no one

tagging: @lionfated (and any of Lucian’s other muses at the same time, tbh),  @falsumemorias, and anyone who wants to say I tagged them ♥

IRIS ; red

leather jackets, cherries, bruised knuckles, roses, lipstick, fast cars, rose petals. your essence is red: you are a spirit of intensity who effortlessly inspires others. you struggle to slow down; there is always another goal, another prize, to prove you are strong enough to them. you cannot stop speaking for the voiceless. you are the torch-wielder. you are the rebel. you find kinship in like-minded individuals of crimson, blush, terracotta, and fire, who share your unapologetic nature. you are also drawn to the free-spirited souls purple and yellow, who will help you grow and see that you can lighten your heart sometimes. however, you may struggle to get along with the internal personalities of blue and brown who are too methodical.

CALLUNA ; navy

brush strokes, suit jackets, midnight, comforters, star gazing, arctic waters, starlings. your essence is navy: you are the keeper of your own narrative. you thrive on uniqueness and the unordinary; everything you feel, you feel deeply, and can be dissatisfied with everyday experiences. you do not shy from the intensity of competitive. you are the protagonist. you are the indulgent. you find kinship in like-minded individuals of blue, sky, teal, and indigo, who share your depth and enigma. you are also drawn to the creative souls forest and amber, who will help you grow and learn to feel all of your emotions, not just the productive ones. however, you may struggle to get along with the direct personalities of noir and crimson who are too concerned with forcing their perspective.

PROMPTO ; blue

blueberries, canals, gatorade, denim jackets, stationary, coastlines, bluebirds. your essence is blue: you are as deep as the seas, but sensitive to the slightest ripple. you attach meaning to your emotions; they guide you, but also blind you to how things truly are. you act misunderstood but shy away from telling anyone who you really are. you are the poet. you are the sorrower. you find kinship in like-minded individuals of sky, navy, mauve, and jade, who share your need for authenticity. you are also drawn to the self-actualizing green and orange, who will help you grow and open up during hardship. however, you may struggle to get along with the linear personalities of grey and red who seem overly focused on structure.

AQUA ; wine

plums, nail polish, planners, theaters, pursed lips, mosaics, sewing thread. your essence is wine: you are ruled by determination to bring your grand vision to life. you are a pillar of your chosen family; reliable and moral, there is never a situation for which you are not prepared. you are an idealist and accept nothing less of yourself. you are the activist. you are the dutiful. you find kinship in like-minded individuals of amaranth, pearl, grey, and pink, who share your need to devote to a cause. you are also drawn to the expressive orchid and mauve, who will help you grow and learn it is okay to not live up to expectation. however, you may struggle to get along with the excessive personalities of jade and fire who do not know what they truly want.

VENTUS ; orange

guitars, fanta bottles, sunglasses, orange peels, butterflies, popsicles, paper lanterns. your essence is orange: dreams hold you aloft and inspire you to be better. you thrive on creativity; there is always a new inspiration that moves you and takes your heart. you draw friends but may show all of them the same smile. you are the restless. you are the adventurer. you find kinship in like-minded individuals of apricot, amber, fire, and terracotta, who share your enthusiasm. you are also drawn to the pensive souls blue and green, who will help you grow and see which projects and emotions are worth your time. however, you may struggle to get along with the headstrong personalities of grey and purple who are too rigid in their perspective.

SORA ; yellow

daisies, road signs, bumblebees, lemon merengue, bicycles, polaroids, awnings. your essence is yellow: you are precise yet shy, putting band-aids on your cuts alone. you demand much of yourself; your self-expression feels tempered by a mold you're intended to fill. you seek an anchor to hold and keep your doubt at bay. you are the dutiful. you are the one who rises after you fall. you find kinship in like-minded individuals of cream, gold, honey, and chartreuse, who share your loyalty and compassion. you are also drawn to the sturdy red and brown, who will help you grow and learn to not question your own judgment. however, you may struggle to get along with the overly-involved personalities of pink and green who are unconscious of their own feelings.

OLETTE; navy

brush strokes, suit jackets, midnight, comforters, star gazing, arctic waters, starlings. your essence is navy: you are the keeper of your own narrative. you thrive on uniqueness and the unordinary; everything you feel, you feel deeply, and can be dissatisfied with everyday experiences. you do not shy from the intensity of competitive. you are the protagonist. you are the indulgent. you find kinship in like-minded individuals of blue, sky, teal, and indigo, who share your depth and enigma. you are also drawn to the creative souls forest and amber, who will help you grow and learn to feel all of your emotions, not just the productive ones. however, you may struggle to get along with the direct personalities of noir and crimson who are too concerned with forcing their perspective.

SKULD ; marigold

roller skates, crayons, golden pheasants, sunrises, corduroy pants, sunflower fields, warm summer days. your essence is marigold: you tackle problems head-on and take no prisoners. your biggest pride is the fruits of your labor; you surround yourself with your accomplishments and the people who you can make happy. productive and willful, you cannot ignore something once you've committed yourself to it. you are the strongheart. you are the warrior. you find kinship in like-minded individuals of peach, honey, gold, and amber, who share your love for discovery and ambition. you are also drawn to the astute souls garnet and hickory, who will help you grow and learn to commit yourself to things for the longterm. however, you may struggle to get along with the heedless personalities of amethyst and moss who don't understand your need to champion.

DIMITRI ; umber

book spines, suits, coffee, deep soil, violins, bear fur, staircases. your essence is umber: you are strong and silent, rarely ruffled. yet, you are unmoored; tender and drifting, you are unsure of your motivation save for to do good. many find you generous and stalwart -- but melancholy. you are the keeper. you are the ungrudging. you find kinship in like-minded individuals of brown, beige, hickory, and garnet, who share your profound determination. you are also drawn to the flamboyant magenta and gold, who will help you grow and show you how to follow your heart without guilt. however, you may struggle to get along with the self-focused personalities of royal and crimson who rarely compromise.

FALLON ; tawny

fall leaves, candles, blood oranges, hawk feathers, ladybugs, clay dust, toadstools. your essence is tawny: you are an energetic force with purpose. there is a genuine care for others that dictates your actions; still, you do not doubt you know best. effortlessly a leader, you extend your wings to watch over the ones you love. you are the protector. you are the consul. you find kinship in like-minded individuals of terracotta, garnet, blush, and beige, who share your strong core. you are also drawn to the open-minded souls periwinkle and peach, who will help you grow and show you how to open your boundaries. however, you may struggle to get along with the internal personalities of seafoam and ashen who are thought-heavy.