under the same sky

the green dragon, jae-ha

+ 1

By the time she arrived at the mapped coordinates, daybreak had filtered over the edge of the trees, haloing them in dull heat. The dim shack in between the mountains was exactly the kind of hovel she expected to see a criminal plotting nefarious activities within.

Years ago, she would have been shocked to see Sasuke—Sasuke Uchiha with body guards (now retired from service) and silver cuff links and flossed teeth—staying in such a place. But now…

She inhaled sharply, recalling the smoker’s breath in the casino, the pictures and coroner’s words on the body that had been brought in. The girl’s skin had been almost translucent, lips cracked and raw. Remnants of acrylic glue coated the tops of her nails. Her hair was limp, oily. She’d had sex before she’d died.

Now things were different.

She turned the car off as she came to a stop, fuel gauge hovering just above E. The door swung open as she unbuckled, clambering out of the car with urgency. The door shut behind her with a slam, and only the wildlife stirred. Crows squawked and ripped themselves away from the branches in fear.

“Good advice,” she muttered to them, watching the black smears of wings scatter like ink in water.

The door of the cabin swung open, wood scraping on wood, and Sasuke stepped out, waiting.

She took a step forward.

it is a carefully cultivated state of being, and the daylight makes it easy. 

sarada’s bed is a canopy, the curtains changed out from their original ones which her mama had picked. her bedsheets are unruly at all times because her mama liked to keep them straight. 

her bedside table three frames: one, a picture of her and chouchou. two, her with her team. three…empty. 

her bookshelf is empty of a few books gifted to her by her mother; those are tucked away in a box in her closet. also in that box is several sweaters, a few necklaces, birthday cards, and a pair of shoes. what can’t fit in the box–an abundance of stuffed animals–is shoved into an opaque trash bag which sits on top of the box. 

sarada no longer buys cherry blossom bar soap. she doesn’t eat dango. she doesn’t visit the okonomiyaki food stand across from the hospital. she doesn’t use training ground 3. she always goes to shizune when she gets injured to avoid using the hospital.

still, it unravels in the night. her papa’s restlessness shows through thin walls, the way he tosses and turns in the bed he no longer has to share, the way he paces he length of the room. 

grief has no trouble seeing in the dark, and it finds her easily night after night. 

it finds her in her parents’ room, when she stumbles in, trembling. it finds her when she curls up against her papa, his arms tight around her. the sheets smell like her mother, and she ducks her head under his chin and cries. 

she pretends not to feel his tears on her neck. 

+

All night the dark buds of dreams open richly.

In the center of every petal is a letter, and you imagine

if you could only remember and string them all together they would spell the answer.

By the time Sakura left the gala, it was a little past midnight. She slipped into her black car—parallel parked on a quiet side street—and turned the keys in the ignition, daring to drive. Her earlier conversation had sobered her entirely, and she had spent the rest of the night turning the story over in her head.

She peeled away from the curb, joining the flow of traffic, and made her way across town, stopping at a red light.

On the seat next to her lay the ending, the conclusion: a slim file with a single news article in it. Pulling the pieces together had been easy once she’d steeled herself to stare at the truth, eyes open, no matter how much it burned.

+

“Is that…no, Sakura Haruno? The last time I saw you at the state department’s gala…well, I can’t recall how long ago it even was. You look so different.”

With a small cup of water resting comfortably between her fingers, Sakura tipped her head back, laughing. “Well, to be fair, the last time I was here, I had my mother’s skirt clutched between my fingers. One would hope I look different, Jiraiya.”

The old man grinned in response. “Ah, yes, she was always gallivanting across the world, wasn’t she? I suppose you weren’t given the opportunity to attend. Well! Now that you’re older, I hope you’ve discovered the open bar.” He eyed her water meaningfully.

+

When they finished, he brushed off the blonde hairs that had gotten stuck to her slick bare back. “Your turn,” he drawled as he rolled off of her and sat up, ruffling his hair.

She sighed into the pillow her elbows and face were resting against, letting her knees slide down as she curled to the side. A large pout made itself known on her small chin. “No pillow talk?” Her fingers curled around his bicep, red nails like blood against the inner skin of his arm.

He stood from the bed, and her hand dropped, boneless, to the mattress. His feet met the dirty carpet as he snagged the package of cigarettes and a lighter on the window sill in one hand, tossing the condom into the trash from the other. Sitting back down on the edge of the bed, he lit one, shoulders hunched as he stared out at the smog and the storm.

“What do you want me to say?” he scoffed after he took a drag. “I love you?”

+

Sleep brought her there again. Back in the attic of the library, dust floating like the smallest particles of snow, glinting and swirling in the summer sunlight. The paperclip he used to unlock the door was now in her possession, and he was kneeling before her.

In her mind’s eye, she could see a vision within a dream—him kneeling, his touch light on her knuckles, presenting a box, wearing a suit, looking like—but that wasn’t them.

+

The dealer shuffled and reshuffled the cards, filmy eyes sliding first over her bare neck and then downward. “What brings you to the City of Dreams?”

Sakura’s shoulders tightened, straps of her bottle green dress sliding closer to her neck, fabric draping and pulling downward. She flicked her gaze downward to the plated name of the casino encrusted on the edge of the table. Dazed, she traced the letters, index finger gliding over the ‘C’ in City. “A dream. What else?”

Her voice was steady, but still she glanced over her shoulder and flagged down a server. A cup of whisky was placed in front of her on a coaster, and she inhaled the stench of alcohol to give her a wisp of bravery before she sipped.

Two cards slapped the table in front of her, face down. She barely glanced up, even as a familiar arm brushed against hers. He sat just to her left, wasting no moments to slide the cards towards him, lifting up the edge to read their value before pressing them back down.

“What about you, sir?”

She kept her gaze straight ahead. His voice was just the same—one part smoker’s lung, one part private school. “What about me?”

“What brings you here?”

Typical to his character, he produced a cigarette from his breast pocket and lit it quickly, bringing it to his lips. “Unfinished business,” he replied in an exhale of smoke. His words had edge; even the other occupants of the table could feel it. A few glanced up warily.

lightning, very hot fire

snow storms, ice, frost on crops

some types of fungus/mold

corpses, ghosts, bones, a diseased person

clothing, skin tone, hair, etc. of a bad person

fur, teeth, eyes of an attacking animal/monster

bleached out deserts, dead trees, lifeless places

poison

Some ideas for good things that are black/dark:

rich earth/soil

chocolate, truffles, wine, cooked meat

friendly animals/pets/creatures

a character’s favorite vehicle, technology, coat, etc.

a pleasant night

hair, skin tone, clothing, etc. of a good person

undisturbed water of a lake

the case/container of something important

valued wood, furniture, art

velvet

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early influences on your writing

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hardest character to write

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hardest verse to write

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one song that captures (insert story title)

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share the synopsis of a story you work on that you haven’t published yet

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writing advice

Summary: Hak works in his grandfather’s used bookstore. Every night before he closes he finds a girl sleeping in the corner. Why does she keep doing this?

A/N: This was based off of a post, but I can’t find it.. ;A; I may create a companion piece for this.

A clock ticked solemnly somewhere out of sight in the store. Hak checked his phone for the twentieth time in the last five minutes. Ten o’clock on the dot. With a sigh he closed the magazine he was pretending to read. Standing up he snatched the keys hanging on the wall.

“Why is it me who always has to close up shop?” Hak mumbled to himself. He leisurely strolled to the door. The lock gave a satisfying click. Freedom.

A crash startled Hak. It came from the back of the store. 

If I were a month: April If I were a day: Saturday If I were a planet: Venus If I were a god or goddess: Athena If I were a sea animal: Puffer fish If I were a piece of furniture: Bean bag or an ottoman If I were a gemstone: Amethyst If I were a colour: Teal If I were an emotion: ಠ_ಠ If I were a fruit: Peach If I were a sound: Waves If I were an element: Fire If I were a place: A narrow street in a centre of a busy city If I were a taste: Chocolate If I were a scent: Milk and honey If I were a song: Fast car (Tracy Chapman) If I were a pair of shoes: Converse