#camellia flowering season

[tanuki-kimono]

Antique black furisode (seen on), with gosho doki (Heian court items among all seasons flowers) pattern.

Here, you can see a gosho guruma (ox cart used by Heian nobles, see pic below) among ume/plum blossoms, botan/peony, tachibana/citrus, tsubaki/camellia, kiku/mum, shobu/iris, etc.

The red&white soft sash is called a shigoki, and was then used to hold hikizuri (long skirt kimono) hem up while walking. It is now only decorative if worn with “modern” kimono.

[katatty]

Camellia: Looking good, Lori! The swimsuit is really working for you.

Lori: I know, right??

Danielle: Watch it, pal! You guys may be roommates but don’t think I don’t still remember when we were teens...

Camellia: Ugh, you really need to get over that, it was so long ago!

[suzumetabi]

バラバラにならぬように…. . #山茶花 #camellia #花 #flower #季節 #season #自然 #nature #東京 #tokyo #写真 #photo #photography #バラバラ https://www.instagram.com/p/BtVrl-gl4yr/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=1gpekzlamqen2

[imagewings]

#camellia #flower #flowerhead #seasonal #pink #nature #naturephotography #flowerphotography #nikon #nikonz5 #nikonaustralia #nikonz105macro (at Epping, New South Wales) https://www.instagram.com/p/Cot6AH6PS4j/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[joeruggieroblog]

Pretty in Pink!

Pink Camellias! Happy February!

[koikishu]

Essential Japanese Seasonal Decorations - Spring

Seasonality: All Spring/ February - April

Japanese Name: Wagashi - Akatsubaki

English Name: Traditional Japanese Confectionery - Red Camellia

     Tsubaki (椿), or Japanese Camellia, is a flower that blooms from late winter to spring (late January to March) and is often considered a harbinger of spring.  One well noted characteristic of the camellia is that its petals do not fall off one by one, but rather the whole blossom drops off at once. Since the blossoms are quite large, a soft thud sound is produced when it hits the ground or other objects – expressed by the Japanese onomatopoeia “boto”. The sight and sound of the flower head dropping was associated with beheading in earlier times and is thus considered an inappropriate flower to give to the ill.

(Text Source 1)

DISCLAIMER: This is not a sponsored post from the source website nor am I selling these items through this tumblr account. This post is the result of my finding this item to adorable and/or beautiful to not include on this account. Thank you for your understanding. 

[red-panda-12]

Hawthorn's Scavenger Hunt: Spring Edition - March 2021

Hawthorn’s Scavenger Hunt: Spring Edition – March 2021

I’m a bit late to the party, but I’ve wanted to write another post for some time but haven’t had the material to do so. So, Hawthorn’s scavenger hunt for spring is perfect. I’ve spent the weekend doing some maintenance in the yarden and have noticed lots of signs that spring is on its way. Here’s a collage of the gorgeous blooms that are signalling the arrival of the best of…

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

Could I get kallamar x reader(who's a friend) where he learns reader is sick and blames himself but reader was just born sickly and tends to get sick super easy and it wasn't his fault?

“..and we give thanks to Darkwood for the camellia that grants us good health all year round. With petals red like fervor, this flora nourishes and strengthens us in our time of need. May our farms allow them to grow in abundance this winter season and...”

As everyone in the temple listened to Lamb’s daily sermon, Kallamar stood in the midst of the crowd, towards the back. Although he did his best to pay attention and keep his gaze strictly to the podium, every so often it would shift over to you in worry.

Much like everybody else, your arms were raised in admiration of your great leader, but your face told him a completely different story:

You seemed dazed and exhausted. Being the closest one to you, he could see how labored your breaths were. Shallow and uneven, yet you tried your hardest to keep them quiet.

Over all, you didn’t appear to be in good health whatsoever. And this made the ex-bishop gravely concerned that he had something to do with it.

Ever since he befriended you, he noticed you’ve been sick more often. Almost every other day, you were resting in the healing bay or in a shelter, unable to do much work around the cult besides leaving offerings or giving devotion at the shrines. 

Because of that, you missed quite a few sermons..though Lamb didn’t seem to mind it at all. Of course, they’ve taken in sick devotees before--ones much like yourself.

But while they’ve gotten better with time and only rarely fell ill from there on, it was a daily occurrence with you.

It was..like you were cursed.

‘Were you?’ Kallamar wondered--a question that kept him up at night, yet he was too afraid to ask you about.

It couldn’t be a coincidence that when he arrived to the cult..you started showing symptoms almost immediately. Even though you had a relatively healthy bowl of food while he was being indoctrinated, you felt sick and started the friendship off on the wrong foot.

“..mar..did you hear me?”

Feeling a nudge, the squid nearly yelped in surprise as he looked to his other side, seeing Leshy tilt his head. “I said those flowers are only growing because of me.” He huffed. “This place wouldn’t even have half of them if it weren’t for my powers..”

‘He..still has his divine powers?’ Kallamar was starting to get a bad feeling. 

Maybe his hunch was right. Maybe deep inside, he could still somehow have an influence over health and sickness..just like how Leshy could influence flower growth.

They’ve had these powers all along--their crowns simply amplified them and allowed them to spread an even greater influence among their followers.

Now? These abilities were more subtle. Not as widespread as they once were, but Kallamar feared that he unknowingly caused you all this suffering.

He didn’t mean to hurt you. Did you hate him for it? You surely must.

“D-Don’t speak in the middle of the sermon..” He whispered back to his younger brother. “We’ll be in trouble.”

Leshy just scoffed quietly, but otherwise stayed silent.

Kallamar had almost calmed down, though he was startled yet again as a quiet gagging noise came from you. He looked over in alarm as you sneakily ducked out of the crowd, exiting the temple in a hurry before anyone else noticed.

Feeling guilt twisting his heart, he refused to stay here anymore and followed you outside.

You were sitting near a tree that was a fair distance away from the temple, wiping your mouth with your sleeve. Fortunately, you still had this morning’s breakfast in your stomach, but you had to sit down somewhere before the nausea became too overwhelming.

“H-Hi..are you okay?”

You saw the ex-bishop standing there, looking down at you with a worried gaze.

“Yeah,” you nodded, offering him a reassuring smile. “I’m alright. It’s just-”

“I-I’m so sorry..” His voice broke as he sat down, too--practically collapsing to his knees in front of you.

Tilting your head, your eyebrows furrowed upon seeing the tears sliding down his turquoise face. “Sorry for what?”

“It’s my fault you are constantly plagued with sickness. I just..I-I don’t know why or how but...I can still curse people apparently..” He sniffled, trying to wipe the tears away but failing miserably. It was useless, just like his inability to cure you.

“I didn’t mean to..y-you must forgive me-”

“Wait, did..Leader not tell you?”

“..tell me what?” Kallamar looked at you in confusion.

“I was born sickly.” You explained gently. “My immune system..never caught up to speed with the rest of my body. So I catch the flu and stuff easier than most people. It sucks but..I learn to live with it. Leader understands. They say giving devotion is enough for them, so they’re okay with it.”

“Th-That’s..that’s all?”

“Yep.” You chuckled, though you fell silent as he still frowned, and you shifted closer to him. “You could have asked me about it and save yourself the worry.”

“I didn’t want to be rude..” He muttered. “A-Are you sure it’s not my fault?”

“No. Not at all.”

“...you don’t hate me?”

“Of course not.”

At those reassurances, Kallamar felt a huge weight being lifted off his shoulders. He was so relieved to learn the truth--though knowing it sooner could’ve spared him from so much stress and anxiety.

“Thank you..” He smiled in gratitude, before seeing you stand up. “Oh! Where are you going?”

“To pray for a better abundance of camelia this winter.” You looked at him with a smile. “Care to join me?”

“Yes..I would love to.” 

[ultramarine-spirit]

Leaving aside the roses. What other flower do you think suits Athy?

Other than roses, and also putting aside Athanasias because that answer would be too obvious...

I'm really fond of this visual metaphor that connects Athy to chrysanthemums. The scene is evocative of death, which points to the japanese meaning of the flower, precisely as a link to death. White chrysanthemums also symbolize death and are associated with funerals and grief in western Europe. Since Athy's character is so inseparably intertwined with death and reincarnation, I think this fits her really well. But also, pink chrysanthemums represent the imperial family in Japan, which is a fun coincidence, and white ones also relate to innocence, purity, honesty, and loyalty.

For similar reasons, I think white calla lilies suit her quite well, as they symbolize rebirth and resurrection, as well as purity and magnificent beauty. They are often used in both weddings and funerals, which is a dichotomy I like a lot.

Lastly, I really like camellias as Athy's flowers. In China they represent unyielding love, and what's Athy's character if not just that? But what I really love about them is that they bloom in winter, and because of that they are seen as symbols of bravery and strength against all odds. Sounds pretty familiar. As a fun fact, unlike most flowers that lose their petals one by one when they wither, camellias' petals fall quickly and all at once, so they are linked to a quick death... Athy's birthday is in winter, and both of her deaths occurred in that season.

[marahuyos]

When Flowers Bleed

As the spouse of the head of the Yashiro Commission, there was no doubting the slew of enemies who despised the eldest Kamisato and anyone affiliated with him. Despite all reassurances and protection, there can only be so much that Ayato can do until the metaphorical flower will wilt and bleed. He can make camellias all he wants, it would amount to nothing when you’ve wilted.

In other words: Ayato gonna go fuck some bitches up

ayato kamisato x gn!reader

mara’s words: dignified gentleman this, shrewd little rascal that, i want my mans to get his dimitri post-timeskip moment (that trailer did everything to hint that he can go violent if he wanted). also hi im back with a gacha catalyst HAHAHAA

2,301 words

tw: violence (blood tw, body horror, torture tw), swearing, story is told in ayato’s point of view, angst to bittersweet fluff

Ayato always had a fascination towards crafting.

Call it a hobby of his when the stress of being the head of the Yashiro Commission was too high, his adept fingers would always gravitate towards anything that he can mould and shape. From ice carvings to thinly sliced radishes, he can fashion his signature camellias. His sister was honest enough to say that the camellias were completely unnecessary but she wouldn’t understand. After all, you’ve always loved it when Ayato makes camellias fashioned out of sliced fruits and letting you fawn over them before eventually eating them. If he could, he could make a garden of camellias just for you to lay down and cherish you like a beautiful flower.

Yet those camellias would never hold a candle to your beauty.

He would do anything to preserve that beauty.

It was a common occurrence that he would leave you alone for periods of time.

He trusts you and the rest of his retainers well enough that you would be safe from harm. Even in the punishing island of Yashiori, where the sun dared not shine, he remembers you fondly and the increment weather seemed to be nothing but a pathetic breeze. He makes sure everything in his to-do list was done before heading home; the problem with the forge, the unending rain, and the numerous vagabonds littering the islands. At least one of them was doable, the forge and the weather was something the commission couldn't fix. And those were just the permanent problems that he had yet to complete. There were numerous other subcategories in his to-do list that he wonders if grey streaks would appear in his hair soon.

He perishes the thought. He doesn't want to be silver-haired so soon.

As he walks across the sandy coasts of Tsuruji island, ship wreckage loomed around him and his small battalion. This was one of the next few things that he has to do-as much as it pains him to stain his suit white in fear of scaring both you and his sister. He always has his hand flexed and ready, prepared for any sort of sneak attack even though he has well-seasoned guards by his side.

They spot him before he could. Sensing the change in the wind as Ayato stills. With the flurry of starlight, he brandishes his sword before swiping it in the air in a practiced slash. Two thwips against the sand and the guards saw an arrow perfectly cut in half on top of the coast. The head of the battalion surrounded their lord, forming a protective shield as they surveyed the area.

"How uncouth, to commence a sneak attack so openly in the daylight." Ayato says aloud. "Although, it is so befitting of ilk such as yourselves."

Ominous clouds of smoke soon appeared, billowing out against the salty breeze to reveal the vagrants. This was more than usual, around twenty at most, and he wonders if this was planned at the beginning to have different types of wretches like them to gather. There were at least four Nobushis but they were formidable in their own right. Slightly widening his stance, he regards the leaders with a patient smile.

"Gentlemen," he says, smile growing wider when they were clearly infuriated by his smugness, "we can discuss this in a civil manner. After all, aren't we all pressed for time?"

The Kairagis grew more antsy, hands inching towards their weapons as they glared at the eldest Kamisato. One of the Nobushis walked forward, arms crossed and acting like he has already won this battle of wits. "It's more like you would be pressed for time, Kamisato. It's not like you to hurry for time."

He truly wasn't, but he was gone for so long from his home that he can't help but feel antsy.

"Ah, but do forgive me for thinking that our time together is bad." Ayato said. "It is not my intention to belittle our meeting together."

A few Kairagis ran forward, snarling at the smug confidence that he ensued until other Kairagis held them back. The guards were on high-alert, already used to their lord toying with the enemies.

The leader let out a dry laugh, tilting his head back either from his confidence or his subordinates' impatience. "Oh I'm sure. After all, we don't have a sweetheart to come back home to."

Ayato's gloating immediately ceased and the guards can tell already that the vagrant has crossed an imaginary line.

The man tightened the grip on his hilt, the action not going unnoticed by the leader as he chuckled. "Now who's the one pressed for time?"

He tried to gain his confidence back but the ripples of rage were beginning to tide. "... Of course. But I trust them to be safe and well."

"Are you? I'm sure they're safe and well inside a damp cell infested with rats.”

The jeering laughter fell deaf towards Ayato’s ears. This was a trick, surely, since these wretches can barely muster up a decent plan much less a proper kidnapping. There was no way that you were in danger when you were within the protection of the Yashiro Commission and Thoma and Ayaka.

But if they speak the truth? A nagging feeling behind his head whispered. You can’t take that chance.

Ayato glared at the leader, his Vision glowing with the tides of rage that won’t ebb soon. “What did you do?”

The leader huffed amusedly. “Wouldn’t you like to know? I’m no longer pressed for time, after all.”

“Milord,” a guard whispered next to him, “I can run back to the estate and see the status of your spouse.”

Ayato gave an imperceptible nod, letting the rest of his men know by stepping his foot forward. Everyone immediately went rigid with anticipation, the stance that Ayato is most known for before deluging the battlefield with his artistry. All it took was one singular petal to caress his cheek before the tides soon capsized the boat.

One thought appeared in his mind as camellias bloomed on the beach. May the Shogun protect you.

He should’ve panicked the moment the messenger came back with an ill-stricken face.

It didn’t hit him sooner when he made it back to the camp near the Kujou encampment that he had every reason to worry. He was gone for longer than usual, having to complete backlogged tasks that he put behind in favor of spending time with his favorite people (read: his family). The camp was tensely quiet, everyone seeming to know what was looming in their lord’s mind. As Ayato wiped his blade clean of blood, it took rapid footfalls against the dirt to break his façade.

"Milord!" He pants out, falling to his knees in such an undignified way but Ayato doesn't pay heed to it. "Th-The estate! I--"

“Calm yourself, man!” One of the guards exclaimed, handing him a gourd of water. As the messenger downed the water in one swig, Ayato can’t help but shake the man from his impatience.

“Tell me,” Ayato pressed harder, “what did you see?”

Swallowing the last dregs of water, he bowed his head towards his lord. “Milord, the estate is in complete disarray! The vagrants took a chance when Lady Ayaka was absent and pillaged the estate!”

His blood ran cold but he doesn’t dare to assume. “And of Thoma?”

He shook his head. “He escorted Lady Ayaka. Milord, I’m sorry but your spouse is--”

The word rang across his mind, echoing inside his head as if it’s the only thought available. He tried to quell it down, maintain the image that he delicately crafted for himself as the head of the Commission. As head of his family. As an older brother and a husband. Keep it in, don’t let them know. No one should dare see him so unhinged--

“Do you know where they kept them?” He asked, ignoring the ringing thought in his head.

He shook his head. “No, but the Shuumatsuban is tailing them as we speak. Sayu should come back with news--”

“Any second wasted is a second with my spouse in their clutches.” Ayato seethed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Do you realize that?”

The impatience was a surprise to the scout but nonetheless, he bowed his head in shame. “M-My apologies, milord!”

Letting out a sharp sigh, he stared ahead. Mt. Yougou stood above all of Inazuma, the glowing lights of the Grand Narukami Shrine shined brighter than the moonlight. All manner of prayers, he sent to the Shogun. Even if the chance of the Raiden Shogun miraculously swooping in and saving you was completely slim, he can’t help but be wishful.

He doesn’t doubt the Shuumatsuban but he wishes they would work faster.

“When did Sayu depart?” He asks, willing himself to relax.

Before his scout could answer, a whirling child did donuts around the scout before ultimately knocking him away. As Sayu righted herself and the scout ultimately out for the count, the tiny ninja bowed in front of Ayato before speaking.

“I found their hiding spot!” She exclaimed, head tilting from side to side.

Then there is no time to waste. “Show me.”

He supposes he can tailor another suit because this one was clearly too far to be cleaned.

When Sayu led him to the vagrants hideout, he was expecting something secure and out of sight that he would have trouble finding a missing person. He knew he shouldn’t have expected more when he sees the damp cave and barely any guards. With a nod to Sayu, they ravaged the place; any vagrants they spotted, they cut down. They were clearly no match for Ayato and Sayu, which begged the question on how did they manage to storm the estate and take you with it.

An unopen door stood in front of them now, none of them out of breath from the fight. There was shuffling behind the door, obviously knowing that they have been ransacked. With a cock to the head, Sayu pushed down the door with her Fuuin Dash. Without delay, Ayato used his Vision, his clone slashing powerful water slices and knocking back the enemies keeping the door down as he entered the room.

His carefully protected façade was quick to shatter.

He spots your legs first, shoeless and toes littered with blisters and tied together with a tightly wound rope. He travels upwards, the yukata he custom-tailored for you was completely tattered and bloodied. He sees your chest and he sees red when the yukata was ripped open to reveal your upper torso with fresh, open slashes and purple bruises. He sees your face and he sent a prayer to the Shogun to grant him patience. Your beautiful face was marred with bruises; your eye completely swollen over and your nose appeared to be crooked. Your bottom lip was split open, showing your bloody mouth as blood continues to trickle down your open mouth.

Ayato disregards the shouting of the Kairagis, he disregards Sayu’s request on his orders, he disregards the thundering palpitations of his heart. He can only focus on your wounded chest and his vision clears when he sees movement.

“Sayu--” He gritted out. “Get them out of here. I’ll deal with them.”

She faltered for a bit before nodding. With her daruma doll appearing, she quickly rolled towards you, carrying you as her doll attacked the enemies. With them gone, he regarded his enemies with a cold glower. Whether it was they were up against one person or they were just stupid, it didn’t matter, when they brandished their weapons with foolish confidence.

With his sword in hand, his animosity showed, persona be damned. “I will kill every last one of you!”

He is a person of finesse, of a dignified gentleman that he presents to the world in order to protect his family.

Now, as he exits the cave with blood red painting his pristine white suit, he is no longer that man.

As he picks up and cradles your frail but still alive body close to his. As both the blood of his enemies and yours stain him, he thinks that his fascination towards crafting extends to something more... extreme.

“Clean the place up.” He says to Sayu. “Feed the limbs to the monsters here. Send them out to sea. They deserve to be slashed into pieces.”

When you wake up from a dreamless slumber, you first spot a head of blue.

Your body already feels so sluggish but you mustered the strength to speak your husband’s name. As if snapping him awake, he lifts his head from his crossed arms, looking at you as if he’s seen Celestia. He still has that dignified, gentleman look but you can see the eyebags and the paleness of his face. You wanted so much to wrap your arms around his neck, to feel his body against your own instead of the cold, wet floor of the cavern you were in, but all you could muster was a squeak.

With a huff of amusement from the noise, Ayato knew what you wanted. He raised up slowly before gently bringing you close to his chest. You smell camellias first (an unhealthy amount of camellias) before you smelled his actual musk; sandalwood imported from Mondstat and a bit of bubble tea. The tears became before you even realized, staining his yukata (and surprisingly not his white suit) with salty tears.

He shushes you. “Hush now, my flower. You’re safe now. No one will come to harm you ever again.”

And you believed him. You believed in his calming persona, in your loving and caring husband who is devoted to you endlessly.

You don’t see the residues of murder left in his eyes when the tears first fell.

[katatty]

The kids hosted a summer pool party!!! Jeez, looks like fun... would have been nice to get an invite!!

[suzumetabi]

暫し、夢想の中に…. . #花 #flower #山茶花 #camellia #自然 #nature #季節 #season #東京 #tokyo #写真 #photo #photography #夢想 #夢 #dream https://www.instagram.com/p/BsxbyVYFlmy/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=3xxnziedwji1

[atlabeth]

everything happens for a reason part 16 - zuko x fem!reader

I miss you more than anything

part 15 | masterlist | part 17

a/n: SO. it has only been a minor 116 days since the last chapter. lol. i am so sorry for the delay, my inspiration to write for this series has been pretty low lately but all the sweet comments you guys have left abt this series has brought it back and it's finally here !! thank you to everyone that's kept with this throughout the constant month-long waits, i love you all and your support means the world<3 this chapter jumps around in pov quite a bit but hopefully it works out alright

wc: 5.9k

warning(s): angst, a lot of angst, katara, zuko, and yn's inner turmoil lol, prisons and bad conditions, and some more angst

chapter title comes from francis forever by mitski

The flowers were in bloom. 

Camellias, roses, peonies, fire lilies, silver wisterias. Their aroma was almost overwhelmingly sweet, but it signaled the change of seasons, the slow descent into the notoriously torturous Fire Nation summer. While Zuko would normally be reluctantly preparing for a trip to Ember Island or engaging in rigorous training to fill the hours in the absence of school lessons, his days instead consisted of politics and meetings. 

He was — once again — the crown prince. The Fire Lord’s heir, the next leader of the Fire Nation, the one who would have the honor of leading a fully united world after a century of war with the Fire Nation at its helm. It was what he had been fighting for all his life, what he had spent the past three years in exile for, what he had cast aside everything for. This — the life of the prince he was supposed to be — was what Zuko was meant for.

And yet he couldn’t even look himself in the mirror. 

When he did, he was met with a person he hardly recognized. Dark circles underneath his eyes, prominent cheekbones, shaggy hair that constantly fell in his line of sight. To anyone that asked he simply cited hard work, the excuse of all his new duties more than enough to get someone off his back. 

Zuko didn’t understand it. Everything was perfect. He had the title, the honor, the respect — for Agni’s sake, he even had the girl. He and Mai got together shortly after his return to the Fire Nation, and she was everything a noble son could have wanted. 

He should’ve been happy, grateful, ecstatic to have the life he’d always wanted after so long, but the only constant in his life seemed to be unrelenting anger. He snapped at every guard, every servant, Mai, Ty Lee, Azula — everyone that went farther than a greeted nicety that wasn’t his father. 

How could he have everything he had ever wanted but still be so miserable?

“Zuko? Did you hear me?”

Zuko was jarred from his thoughts by Mai’s voice, and he blinked a couple times as he met her eyes again. In all the years he’d known her, he didn’t think he had ever seen her smile. In a weird way, he was thankful for the lack of emotion. He didn’t have to worry about the seemingly ever-present scowl he bore most days when Mai was the same way. 

He shook his head. “No. What’d you say?”

Mai sighed. “Ty Lee won’t stop talking about going into town to see the lanterns and the barges they’re setting up for the festival, and she finally managed to wear me down. I was wondering if you wanted to come with us tomorrow night.”

Zuko frowned. “There’s a festival coming up?”

“The Festival of Szeto,” she responded. “You haven’t been to one in a while, so I thought it would be…” Mai rolled her eyes a bit, “…nice.”

He swallowed the sudden lump in his throat, barely managing a nod. “Yeah. Sure.”

Mai nodded as well then stood up from the chaise, walking over to the door frame before she turned to face him. “I should go. Azula requested Ty Lee and I join her for something tonight; I need to get ready for whatever she’s planning.”

“You’ve been talking a lot about Ty Lee lately,” Zuko said, not looking back at her as he got up as well and crossed over to his desk, the furnished wood covered by heaps of papers. 

There was something heavy in Mai’s silence, and he felt the weight of her gaze on his back. “She’s one of the only people I can tolerate in this place. You’re not exactly easy to be around these days.” 

Zuko clenched his jaw, his hand tightening into a fist on the table. “It’s not like you’re any better.” 

“You don’t really inspire happiness,” Mai retorted. “At least I can talk to people without them being afraid I’ll explode if they say the wrong thing. You’re a walking fire hazard Zuko, and it’s so painfully obvious that it’s because of her.”

He whipped around, a familiar fire blazing in his irises. “What are you saying?”

“You know exactly what I’m saying.” Mai crossed her arms. “You refuse to eat fruit tarts, you hate silver wisterias, you snap at every servant, and you can’t even look me in the eye some days. I can’t even mention her without you losing your temper. You have everything you could ever want, but you’re still stuck in the past.”

Zuko glared at her. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

She just shook her head, the same deadpan expression as ever. But there was something else in her eyes, something he couldn’t place. “Azula was right. You really aren’t over her.” 

Before Zuko had a chance to say anything, Mai left, shutting the door behind her. He stewed in a suffocating silence until it became too much, his rage manifesting in a frustrated roar as he slammed his fist into his desk. The pain didn’t faze him, his breathing slightly ragged as he lifted his head and stared out the window. 

Y/N. Mai didn’t mention her by name, but Zuko knew. He always knew; he knew her, and it was— she was— the source of every problem in his life. He hadn’t seen her in weeks, not since he had made the misguided decision to visit her in the prisons, and yet she managed to consume his every waking thought without lifting a finger. 

Everything in his life was perfect except for her. Except for Y/N, the girl he never should have fallen for and had no reason to feel anything else for, especially not now. What he said, he wanted so badly to be true. He wanted to hate her, he wanted to banish her from his mind, he wanted every part of her erased from every part of him.

But every Agni-damned thing in the Fire Nation reminded him of her. 

The silver wisterias that grew in the gardens. The fabrics the servants used to mend his clothes, the servants themselves. The fruit tarts in the kitchens. He nursed any injuries on his own, unable to even think about stepping foot in the infirmary. 

Zuko pulled away from his desk and sat against the side of his bed, burning holes into the floorboards with the heat of his glare. 

Mai was right. If he didn’t get rid of this guilt, if he didn’t let go of the past, he would never be free. And he wasn’t going to give up everything he had fought for over a childish crush.

His hands once again clenched into fists, the loose fabric of his tunic bunching up underneath. He had to forget his uncle, he had to forget Y/N , he had to forget every memory of the Avatar and his team and the disappointment and anger that each of them looked at him with that night in Ba Sing Se.

He just had to figure out how. 

-

So this was the Boiling Rock. 

It truly was deserted. An island in the middle of a boiling lake surrounded by rock that rose miles above the water, a sight that never failed to instill that feeling of worthlessness that was growing all too familiar. 

She did not belong here, isolated from everyone she knew in an inescapable prison with only the worst criminals for company. It instilled a sick sense of dread in her, that this was what the Fire Nation, or at least those in power, thought of those fighting against them to bring back peace. 

Y/N realized that Princess Azula had certainly made good on her promise the moment she was loaded onto the airship, one in a line of many other prisoners. With her spine ramrod straight and features tightened into a trained mask of stoicism, she was almost able to fool the others into thinking she wasn’t absolutely terrified. She got good looks at her fellow inmates on the gondola ride over to the prison, and saying she was intimidated was an understatement.  

Fellow inmates. It was strange to think of it like that, but it was her reality now. Back in the Fire Nation, she was completely alone. Here, she was surrounded by criminals, all much older than her and likely far more grizzled. She was out of her league in so many ways — one of the guards had warned the others about her waterbending (or lack thereof) and it only served to make her more vulnerable.

Y/N had a feeling that the prisoners here didn’t care for outsiders. 

After becoming the not-so-proud owner of an ill-fitting red jumpsuit and going through a very blunt orientation warning them of what would happen if they were even a step out of line, she was introduced to her new home for the foreseeable future. 

The cell was cramped, dry, and uncomfortable in every way. Boasting no windows, a single cot with a blanket so thin she could have torn it herself, and absolutely nothing else, she was truly living the life of luxury.

She sat on the sorry excuse for a bed and pulled her knees up to her chest as she backed against the wall, and the slow, methodical breathing she had learned from Aang was the only thing keeping her somewhat calm. 

This was it. 

Y/N was in a Fire Nation prison with no means of escape, her friends were on the other side of the world with no idea of what had happened to her, Aang was really and truly gone with no chance of rebirth, and the world’s last chance at peace was foiled with the fall of Ba Sing Se. 

There was no second chance. There was no ‘sleep on it, try again tomorrow’ — they had lost everything. She had lost everything. 

She was going to live out the rest of her short, pitiful life as a non-bending, traitorous prisoner, completely separated from everyone and everything she’d ever loved. 

In the darkest moments of her life, Y/N had always been able to look to the sky, at least comforted by the notion that Yue was watching over her. No matter where she was, Yue was always there. But here, surrounded by concrete and not even granted the luxury of barred windows, stargazing was not an option. 

She no longer even had the moon to turn to. 

She had lost. 

And she was purely and truly alone. 

-

“I honestly thought I wouldn’t be able to deal with the Fire Nation weather, but it’s actually pretty nice.” Sokka cleaned his machete as he spoke, needing something to do with his hands while he waited for dinner. “Don’t get me wrong, I love the South, but it’s nice not having to worry about freezing to death all the time.” 

Aang gave him a strange look. “You worried about freezing to death all the time?” 

He brushed his question off with his hand. “You get used to it after a while. I like not having to wear parkas everywhere, especially at night. This seaside breeze?” Sokka smiled as he inhaled the salty scent, gesturing towards the water with his machete. “Almost makes up for the Fire Nation chasing us everywhere.” 

“You have very low standards,” Katara said dryly, glancing over at him as she stirred a pot of soup with her waterbending. 

“Hey,” he shrugged, “low standards means that you’re never disappointed. It helps with your cooking.” 

She rolled her eyes at his remark, but she couldn’t hold back her smile. “Keep that up and you’ll be hunting for food on your own.” 

Sokka held up his hands in defense, but Toph just groaned from her spot on the ground, her blank gaze aimed at the night sky. “Are you gonna be done soon? I’m starving.” 

“You’re in luck,” she said, and she started bending their pitiful excuse for a meal into the wooden bowls they had picked up a hundred villages ago. 

They didn’t have much after their loss in Ba Sing Se, the sum of their journey having been reduced to the few possessions each of them kept in their bags after they were forced to flee from the city. 

There wasn’t much in terms of food where the four of them had been staking out lately either — the rations Hakoda had provided them before they left the Water Tribe fleet ran out despite their best efforts to make them last, leaving Sokka to scrounge up what he could on his usual scavenging trips and Katara to cook something up with the little ingredients and tools they had. It was a con to camping out in the middle of the Fire Nation, but underneath Sokka’s and Toph’s complaints, they would agree that it was a small price to pay to avoid anyone from the Fire Nation. 

Katara finished filling all of the bowls and she started passing them out, but when she got to her own she froze in place. “Oh.” 

Sokka had already started digging in — the broth might’ve been largely flavorless, but it was better than nothing — but he looked up from his bowl at his sister. “What?”

She sat down with a solemn expression, but he could see the emotions warring on her face. “I… I made five.”

The three words drained all of the earlier lightness out of the atmosphere, leaving the four of them in a heavy silence at the indirect mention of their lost companion. 

“It just…” Katara sighed as she set her bowl on the dirt, her appetite suddenly gone. “It just doesn’t feel right without her. I’ve always known we were friends, best friends, but I never knew how much I would miss her until she wasn’t here anymore. I always end up wanting to tell her things, and then I remember she’s not here, and I…” She trailed off, her gaze falling to the ground, but Toph nodded. 

“She could actually take a joke,” she said with a smile. “She looked out for me and she took care of me, but she never treated me like I was a child. I could tell that she cared in her own way, and that was special.” 

“You are a child,” Sokka said. 

“You know what I mean.” 

“I do,” he chuckled. “And I miss her too. We have this— this kind of bond that you guys can’t understand — I think it has to do with Yue, but she just always got me. She got all of us.” Sokka looked at his sister and shrugged. “You’re right. It feels wrong without her.” 

“I feel like it’s my fault,” Katara muttered. “I was down there when she sacrificed herself. I should’ve been faster, I should’ve been able to help her somehow—” 

“You can’t do that to yourself, Katara,” Sokka interrupted. “You did everything you could— she made the choice to stay down there.”

“Do you blame me for not helping her?” Aang asked. “Do you blame me for going down in the Avatar state?”

“Of course not,” she said with a frown. “You saved us all — we had no idea what Azula was going to do.” 

Toph nodded. “And do you blame Sokka and me for not being down there?” 

“No!” she exclaimed, her brows creasing even further. “How could I blame you all?” 

Aang gave her a knowing look and she chuckled lightly as she nodded. “Oh. I see what you’re doing.” 

“If you can’t blame us for it, then you can’t blame yourself for what happened to Y/N.” Aang gave her a small smile. “She wouldn’t want you to blame yourself anyways. You know that.” 

“Just because I know it doesn’t mean it’s easy to accept,” Katara sighed. She fiddled with her hands as she stared down at the ground, a question weighing on her mind that she could barely bring herself to ask. 

“Do you think she’s still…?” Katara trailed off again, but the implication was obvious as it hung heavily in the air. 

“She has to be,” Aang said, and he sounded so sure of himself it was hard to think otherwise. “There’s no other option than her being okay.” 

Toph nodded. “She’s tough. You said she was a servant there before all of this, right? If she’s handled the Fire Nation before, she can do it again.” 

Katara nodded as well, offering another soft smile to her friends in thanks for their efforts. “Yeah. She’ll be fine.” 

She didn’t know if she believed her words, to tell the truth. But she kept repeating them to herself in her head, hardly paying attention as the rest of the group idled onto another topic of conversation. 

“Wherever you are,” she murmured so quietly no one could hear, “I hope you know that I miss you.”

-

Zuko stared up at the ceiling, his eyes burning from a lack of rest but his mind unable to shut off. It was almost funny, how he dragged through each day completely exhausted, yet once the night came he could never find the sweet release of sleep. 

Nights like these had become far more frequent than they should have, his habits becoming so unhealthy even Mai was beginning to worry. He let out a frustrated growl as he sat up, running one of his hands through his unkempt hair, shaggy layers continuing to grow the more he ignored it. 

“Guess your lies aren’t helping you sleep as much as you thought they would.” 

Zuko’s head shot up at the sound of a voice, his wild eyes darting back and forth looking for the source. When he found it, his eyes widened. 

“What?” His voice was low, barely more than a whisper, and for a moment he wondered if this was it, if he was really going crazy. 

She was there — Y/N, his waterbender, the link to his past that he was trying so Agnidamned hard to forget— 

“Did you think it would be that easy to get rid of me?” She was almost taunting him from her spot, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed. Dressed in the grime-covered tunics all prisoners were forced to wear, looking just the way she had the day he visited her in the cells, it was hard to tell himself that she wasn’t really here. “I’ve always been a part of you, Zuko. You know that just as well as I do.” 

“No,” he said, already on the edge of rambling, “no, you’re not—” 

“Why do you keep trying to deny it?” she asked, her composed features in stark contrast to his own desperation. “You haven’t stopped thinking about me since the day I escaped the Fire Nation. Even when you’ve betrayed me, when I’m supposed to be your enemy, you bring me here like this.” 

“I didn’t do anything,” he muttered, his hands clenching into fists around the fabric of his sheets. “I’m trying to forget you, and when I finally do, I’ll be free.” 

She laughed mirthlessly. “That’s how you think this will go? That eventually, you’ll forget me, and you’ll be able to move on without the pesky little waterbender weighing you down.”

Y/N stood up from the wall and walked towards the bed, stopping at the foot as she crossed her arms. Zuko knew it wasn’t real, that she wasn’t real, but he could hardly keep himself from reaching out on instinct. 

“You betrayed me. You betrayed your uncle. You don’t just get to forget what you did to us, go on and live your happy royal life.” She practically spit her words, and Zuko flinched. “This will destroy you from the inside out. And I hope to the spirits it does.” 

“Why won’t you leave me alone?” Zuko was almost begging now, and even though he hated the desperation in his voice he couldn’t help it. “I can’t help you anymore. I have no choice, just— just leave me alone!”

Her lips quirked up in a sardonic smile as she tilted her head to the side slightly. “I’m not even here, Zuko. You did this. You did this.” 

Her mockery, her taunts, her being so close and yet completely unobtainable, the fact that everything she said was true. Zuko couldn’t take it anymore, the last of his weakened façade breaking as he felt the temperature rise around him. 

“Get out of my head!” he yelled, a blast of fire shooting out from his fists in a desperate effort to end this. She disappeared with the flames, leaving only a small fire in his place. Zuko had been so caught up with his own mind’s creation that he almost forgot the consequences of his rage, and he darted out of his bed to smother the flames with his sheets. 

He stood there, panting and staring down at the smoldering fabric with wide eyes. Zuko ran a shaky hand through his hair as he turned around, grabbing one of his bed posts to ensure his balance. He was scared, terrified — could he even tell what was real or not? 

Zuko would go insane if he didn’t figure this out, he knew that much. He had to end this— this war inside of his head, and then he would finally be free. 

He grabbed his cloak from the chest on the edge of his bed and shoved his arms into it, leaving the mess in his room as he closed the door as quietly as he could. After making sure he wasn’t being followed, he set off to end his turmoil, once and for all. 

He needed closure.

-

“All prisoners from Block C, report to the courtyard.” 

Y/N sighed as she pushed herself up from her bed, waiting a few seconds after her cell door opened to walk out and join the flow of inmates. Though her hands itched to do something, she kept them hanging loosely by her side, doing her best to blend in as just another prisoner on their walk to the courtyard. 

Everything in her dismal life had blended together, the strict schedules set in place by the guards the only reason she was able to keep track of the days. Even then it wasn’t always helpful, as their block times weren’t set in stone. Some days she would end up in the courtyard in the early morning, other days she would be armed with a mop to fight against the neverending grime the moment she woke up. 

It was a torturously mundane existence, but when surrounded by some of the Fire Nation’s worst criminals, Y/N found that she preferred mundane to any other option. 

She squinted a bit when they entered the courtyard; despite a few weeks of the same routine, the sun still got to her every day after coming from the dark isolation of her cell. The place might’ve been hot, humid, and miserable, but it was still better than the rest of the prison. 

It didn’t take her very long to learn how to survive in the Boiling Rock — she stayed silent, kept her head down, and showed zero emotion. Never show any vulnerability, and stay out of everything. She was an abnormality here as a young girl, even more so with her brand of waterbender — it was a giant target on her back, and she did whatever she could to keep it from being shot at. 

“Hey!” 

But sometimes, her best efforts weren’t enough. 

A gruff voice rang out behind her and she tried to ignore it, hoping that it was directed at someone else. There were hundreds of prisoners, and at least half of the blocks were out at the moment. It was more likely that he wasn’t trying to get her attention— 

“I said hey. You listen to me when I talk to you.” 

Of course she wouldn’t be so lucky. 

Y/N tentatively turned around and had to force herself to hold eye contact with the man in front of her. He looked to be a little older than her, maybe in his late twenties. With a handsome face and a sharp jawline, he was the image of a noble son she might’ve met back home but with the added fatigue from prison life. She had seen him around a couple of times, and she knew that he was nothing but trouble. She wished he didn't have a bone to pick with her. 

“You’re that Water Tribe savage, aren’t you?” he sneered, taking a step towards her that in turn caused her to back up. “I heard you worked with the Avatar, that’s why you’re in here.” 

“You’ve got the wrong girl,” she muttered, refusing to look away from her assailant as he continued to push forward. Y/N felt her back hit the wall and she bit down hard on the inside of her cheek, willing herself not to show any emotion. 

His arm shot out, palm flat against the wall and effectively trapping her in place. “I don’t think I do,” he taunted. “I think you’re the only one who has a chance of getting out of here, but you’re just too damn weak to do anything.”

“You’re lucky I can’t bend out here,” she refuted coolly, still maintaining eye contact. “Otherwise you’d be dead where you stand.” 

“Oh, we’ve got a feisty one here!” he laughed, turning and gesturing with his head towards her to get the attention of some other prisoners before bringing his attention back to Y/N, his eyes gleaming dangerously. 

“You think you’re better than us, don’t you? Because you’re all about your fancy waterbending, and working with the Avatar, and being a hero. But you ended up in the same place we did, so I guess it wasn’t worth it.” He closed the distance between them, the proximity so near she could feel the heat from every exhale. She forced herself not to look away, despite every nerve in her body screaming at her to back down. “I think I gotta take you down a notch.” 

He launched his fist at her before she could blink, and Y/N recoiled instantly as she took the blow to the right side of her face. Her hand immediately flew up to nurse the injury, letting out a strained gasp at the sudden pain. 

“Doesn’t feel so good, does it?” the man snarled as he reeled back for another. She screwed her eyes shut, already bracing for the impact, but it never came. She heard a grunt and slowly opened her eyes to see another girl, one that couldn’t be any older than her, holding his fist in place with an iron grip. She had appeared out of nowhere, but she had saved her. 

“Go pick on someone your own size,” she threatened. Y/N could see his face contorting in pain with the hold the girl had on him, and as soon as she released his hand he backed up. 

“What’s your fuckin’ problem?” he snarled, squeezing his hand to regain feeling in his fingers again. “No one ever taught you how to mind your own business?” 

“It’s my business when you pick on innocent people,” she countered. “Now, are you gonna get out of here, or do I have to do something a lot worse?” 

The man grit his teeth as he glanced around him — no one would come to help him if he took her challenge. As he started to back away, he glared at the girl. “You’ve just made a powerful enemy.” 

She rolled her eyes as he walked off, then turned to the group of prisoners that had gathered around the scene. The girl drew herself up, acting much older and intimidating than she appeared. 

“Well?” she yelled, enhancing her stature as she took a step forward. “Get out of here!”

In yet another fantastical feat, the girl managed to scare the crowd off. Y/N couldn’t help as her jaw dropped, amazed at how easily she had gotten rid of not only her attacker but everyone else. She was ready to thank her savior, but when she turned around giving Y/N a full view of her face, she gasped.

“Suki?”

Warmth blossomed in her chest despite the instinctual disbelief. Y/N had always wanted to meet up with Suki again after she left to go help her warriors, but the Boiling Rock was the last place she thought they would find each other again. Was her friend really here? 

“Hey.” Suki grinned as she casually leaned against the wall, taking a second to shake out her hand. “Talk about a reunion, huh?”

Suki didn’t have the chance to even breathe before Y/N lunged at her, wrapping her in the tightest embrace she could muster and relishing in the warmth of another, of someone she could actually trust. 

“You’re here,” she breathed, close to tears. “I’m not alone. You’re here.”

“I’m here.” Suki responded in kind after a moment of hesitation, reciprocating the hug with the same intensity. Once Y/N pulled away, she gave her a sideways smile, though her coyness was lessened by the softness in her eyes. “How’d you get unlucky enough to end up here?” 

Y/N rubbed her injury, already able to feel the swelling, and shook her head. “Tui’s gills. There’s… a lot to unpack.” 

She shrugged and gestured to her surroundings. “We’ve got time.”

She managed a small smile of her own and mirrored Suki’s lean against the wall as she sighed. “Well… It all started in Ba Sing Se.”

-

Zuko was familiar with the Capital City prison by now. He’d visited Y/N once before and his uncle far too many times after, but after Azula caught him one night, he decided to play it safe. Despite her promise not to tell anyone, he didn’t trust her. He had his childhood mantra for a reason. 

The guards were familiar with his disguise, allowing him in without any trouble, but once he reached the block he remembered Y/N to be in, he was met with a guard he’d never seen before. He looked young, far too young to be on guard duty in a prison like this, but Zuko didn’t really care. It meant it would be easier to get what he wanted. 

“You can’t be here, sir,” the guard said, snapping up to attention as he finally sensed his presence. “This block of the prison doesn’t accept visitors—”

Zuko took off his hood and the man’s eyes widened, an apology tumbling out immediately. 

“I’m so sorry, Prince Zuko! Please, forgive me— I’m new and I was never told that you—” 

“Save it,” he grumbled, but as he got closer to the cell, a frown twisted his features. The inhabitant was a large, muscular man, and in the moment he was thankful he was asleep so he wouldn’t have to deal with it. Zuko turned to the guard and glared at him. “Where is she?” 

“Who?” 

“The waterbender, the prisoner that worked with the Avatar!” he snapped, that wild desperation in his eyes growing once again. “Where is she? This is her cell!”  

“She isn’t here anymore!” the guard rushed out, his hands raised up slightly at his sides in some sort of defense. “She hasn’t been here for weeks— she was transferred out with the last block of prisoners to make room for the rioters.” 

“Where was she sent?” he demanded. 

“I don’t know!” he practically whimpered out, and when Zuko grabbed his collar, ignited a flame in his free hand and held it up to his face, his eyes widened even more. “I swear, I don’t know! Princess Azula authorized it herself; she didn’t tell anyone about the specifics!”

Azula. 

Zuko let him go with a growl, already beginning to stalk off before he stopped and turned partially. “I was never here. And if you spread word of it to a single person, I’ll make sure you—”

“I promise, Prince Zuko,” he said, still terrified, “it won’t leave this room.”

He all but stormed off, his hands clenching into fists at his side as his feet carried him to a place he was far more familiar with. Zuko was back in the palace soon enough, and he didn’t even bother to knock as he barged into his sister’s room. 

“What is your problem?” he seethed, barely contained rage simmering just below the surface. 

Azula frowned as she sat up, and she brushed her loose locks out of her face as her eyes settled on Zuko. “How kind of you to wake me up like this.” 

“I don’t have time for your games,” he spat. “Why did you transfer Y/N out?” 

She rolled her eyes as she glared at him. “This is really what you choose to bother me with? You don’t even try to hide it anymore, Zuko. It’s pathetic, truly.” 

“Why did you transfer her out?” he repeated. 

“I’m doing you a favor,” Azula snarled, the interruption starting to get to her. “You’re not strong enough to let go of her by yourself, so I’m trying to help you get rid of her. Anyone with eyes can see that you’re still holding onto her — the only way for you to truly thrive is for her to be out of the picture.”

“That’s not your decision to make,” Zuko seethed. 

“It may not be, but you refuse to make any of the changes necessary of your position.” Azula shook her head, something genuine in her eyes. “You were made for this life, Zuko, not one with that Water Tribe peasant. Don’t throw it away because of her.”

Zuko couldn’t find anything to say to her, like his anger had fizzled out after a night of burning red hot. She didn’t seem to care. 

“Now,” Azula laid back down on her pillows, “don’t bother me with this talk anymore. Especially not in the middle of the night.” 

Zuko fumed as he stormed out of her room, quickly finding his way back to his own. The second he stepped past the threshold, he nearly lost it.

He wanted to scream, he wanted to shout, cry, do anything, but all he felt was unwavering numbness. Zuko settled on the edge of his bed and took the headpiece that kept his topknot together out of his pocket, and he pressed the pad of his finger against the point of one of the flames. All it provided was a dull pain, and suddenly he could barely even stand the sight of it. He didn’t deserve the mark of a prince. 

Zuko opened the drawer on his bedside table, about to throw it in without a care, when he noticed the only other belonging in the compartment. 

A simple children’s book, the edges rolled up and the spine broken in from a loving owner. His heart stopped as he took it in. 

Keiko and the Koalaotter. A wilted and dried petal from a silver wisteria. A scribbled heart done with Zuko’s own ink, now old and faded but undeniably from her. 

Something inside of him broke at the sight, and he stared at the ground as his fist tightened around the headpiece. The realization hit him like a ton of bricks, and it made it hard to breathe as his chest tightened. 

This was a mistake. All of it, the life that he thought was his destiny— it was all a mistake. 

How the hell was he going to fix this?

-

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[prof-peach]

Hello professor, ive been looking into taking on a sawsbuck as a business companion, i make tea from certain grass type’s shed dry leaves and flowers, and i was wondering a few things. Where does sawsbuck lie in the grass type classification? Are they normal type pokemon with a parasitic feature like parasect? Are they normal grass hybrids that feature both the animal and plants as one being like tortera? Or are they full on grass pokemon that evolved to look like normal types like nuzleaf? Also the only species ive seen are the cherry blossom verity, what other kinds of floral species can i look into?

Sawsbuck is an interesting one, technically they're more like a Torterra in that their body is host to a tree, the seed of which is lodged in their brain upon birth/hatchig. Some actually do not receive a seed, and are pure normal types! but it is quite unusual a defect in the species. The seed once the pokemon evolves, sends its roots far down into the brain and through the spinal column, right to the tip of their tails. They do not need to root like an average grass type, as they already are constantly rooted into the pokemon's body itself. If its host is healthy, exercised, and fed well, so are the plants that adorn its head. The foliage is a good signal that you have a strong partner, if they're full and healthy in colour, and quick to adapt to each changing season, then odds are they're ok. You could call it parasitic, but your information on Parasect is off a touch, they're technically Symbiotic. The fungi that hosts within that pokemon aids it, and keeps it healthy and hardy, giving back sugars and nutrients the original pokemon needs but cannot produce without its mushroom infested bod. Just like Parasect, Sawsbuck needs its tree core partially for camouflage, but also to photosynthesise when they have a lack of solid foods available. When Sawsbuck fall on hard times, their foliage will provide them with energy, and in extreme conditions, they shed and consume their own antlers, to survive terrible conditions. It is unusual for a grass type to not need to root, and thats why it's primarily a normal type, capable of surviving fine without its tree, without the grass aspect, and without its antlers. We occasionally see members of the species who's trees have rotted and died out, and should they survive this process, they go on to live just fine so long as they have enough food and water. Normal type pokemon are notoriously adaptive, its why Sawsbuck are classified as Normal firstly in their type hierarchy. Their classification is actually debated quite a lot, they do not produce seeds like most grass types can, and cannot reproduce this way, and they do not root, and yet they synthesise and benefit from their host plant matter, and often survive thanks to the trees they sprout when left alone in the wild. I suppose it's a topic to question but regardless of how we categorise them, it doesn't really matter. They're good partners, and can provide a whole host of useful medicine from their variants. A pure breed Sawsbuck however isn't all that good for tea brewing. If you want a strong packmule/mount with tasty tealeaves, I'd suggest a Gogoat. They are very durable, and have great empathy for peoples needs. in regards to Variants of Sawsbuck that may suit your needs, search for a 'Camellia sinensis' Variant, a species of tree that is good for tea, or perhaps an Eastern white pine variant, not known for its flowers, but certainly can brew a good cup or two! Theres Sassafras variants too, but they're a bit more uncommon to find. I suppose you could look for a Willow variant or two, the bark they shed can be treated so you can use it as a drink but BOY, it's a bit of a longwinded process. Hope you feel a bit more informed, theres plenty of others but they're uncommon to find, let alone tame. Some variants are more fiery than others.

[quillsareswords]

For the Valentine’s Day blurb I could imagine Damian showing you his art book along with the drawings of you he did over time while saying how much he loves you how grateful he is not those words exactly but just Valentine’s Day Damian talk you know

Kick off the the celebration y'all, happy wallowing season ✌️

MASTER LIST in BIO

It's sitting on your bed when you get home from a class. At first glance, you don't realize what it is. Some skinny black square sitting atop a bed that definitely wasn't made when you left.

You set your bag down and step closer. That's when you recognize the elegant golden embossed D.W. on the corner. He's stuck a red bow on the opposite corner, beside a white envelope. You're glad to see he's still putting that calligraphy course to good use, the way your name is scrawled so beautifully that you almost don't recognize it.

You pick up the card first. He didn't stick it shut, so the card slides out easily.

It's rough white parchment. The front boasts a gorgeous top-down bouquet of roses, all different colors, all outlined in black ink that acts as a barrier the watercolor paints don't respect. On the back, a gentle pink camellia.

It's hand painted.

You open it carefully. In true Damian Wayne fashion, he's spared no expense when it comes to paint. There are little vines of flowers crawling around the corners and slithering between the clusters. The words on either page are perfectly spaced and centered.

On the left page, "To my shining moon and glittering star; my only love and favorite muse; let this remind you how beautiful you really are."

On the right page, "You know I'm not a poet as I am an artist, but I'd try anything for you. This isn't all I'd like to give you today, but it is the gift I'm most proud of. I truly hope this will dismiss all those foolish ideas your mind crafts about yourself. I can't always be there to remind you in person, but this should be a decent placeholder. I love you terribly, my dear. [Signed,] Your Mr. Darcy, Damian."

You haven't even opened your gift yet and you're already close to tears. You set the card on your bedside table, propping it open so it stands up beneath your lamp.

And then you settle down against your headboard and pick up the sketchbook. It feels familiar in your hand—as it should. You weigh it passively in one hand, swimming through memories of summer evenings spent in the gardens, rainy spring mornings in front of his open balcony door, fall afternoons spent in the corner of a cafe, winter nights spent fireside. The number of times you've picked it up to hand it to him; the hours spent curled into his side, drifting in and out of sleep to the sound of graphite against paper.

The first page is Batcow's portrait. The second is a quick outline of a scene from the city park. On the adjacent page, a robin in the same style.

You spend the next two hours flipping through it. At first, it's just animals and landscapes, a few harsh scene sprinkled in—because who would Damian be with the shady darks to break up all the beauty. Somewhere after the more troubled images (zombies and battlefields and zombie battlefields and one you think might be the stronghold he was raised in being razed to the ground), his focus seems to shift. There are whole pages dedicated to practicing different human forms at different angles, and the farther you get, the more familiar they start to seem.

And then it really changes. The first one is rough; unerased guide lines, too-sharp angles. There's something about your face that's just off, but it is unmistakably you. The next is of the same stronghold, but this time it's cast in the flow of a messy watercolor sunset.

You watch his skill develop across the pages. And you watch yourself evolve along with it. You see the way you wore your hair in eighth grade, the phase of experimentation with makeup, the earrings you wore for three months solid, that ratty hoodie that's rotting in your closet. You watch your smiles get brighter while his painting improves, your confidence grows with his expertise. The closer you get, the more abstract his work becomes; the more emotion he pours into it.

There's one toward the end that nearly knocks the breath out of you. It's done from the perspective of his reading chair. His room is sketched out carefully, from the paintings on his walls to the clothes scattered lazily around the floor, it's all painstakingly captured in pencil and pen. He's used the colored pencils you'd given him for his birthday the week before to engrave the moment perfectly. The early rays of the morning sun are just spilling into the room, painting everything in gentle light.

You can hardly image yourself as the subject of such a piece, but there you are, settled among the blankets and pillows spread out on his bed like an angle laying in a cloud. You look– gorgeous. If this is how he sees you, it's no wonder you get to pick stars out in his eyes every morning.

You really hate him now. Jesus, he's the absolute worst.

He's surprised you with this– this home-run, heart-wrenching, emotionally-ruining, year-making gift on Valentine's Day. And he's alluded to have more to give you. And what did you get him? A booklet of handmade coupons for hugs and kisses, and a batch of your grandmother's brownies that he would not shut up about after Christmas. That bastard.

Guess you're gonna have to call the other grandma. This seems like a job for Grammy's famous cheesy veggie casserole.

[koikishu]

Essential Japanese Seasonal Decorations - Winter

Seasonality: Late Winter/ January

Japanese Name: Tsubaki

English Name: Camellia

    The tsubaki [], or Japanese Camellia, is a flower that blooms from late winter to spring (late January to March) and is often considered a harbinger of spring.  One well noted characteristic of the camellia is that its petals do not fall off one by one, but rather the whole blossom drops off at once. Since the blossoms are quite large, a soft thud sound is produced when it hits the ground or other objects – expressed by the Japanese onomatopoeia “boto”. The sight and sound of the flower head dropping was associated with beheading in earlier times and is thus considered an inappropriate flower to give to the ill.

(Text Source)

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