Rise- Greed for the stagesoflove Seven Sins challenge, R, Sanzo/Gojyo/Hakkai/Goku.

Fall- Hope for the stagesoflove Seven Virtues challenge, G, Konzen/Kenren/Tenpou, Goku.

...Man, I suck at deadlines.

Though I have an excuse this time! I had a day less to write these than I'd thought I would; I woke up yesterday when my phone rang and was promptly informed that I had a free ticket to a Flogging Molly concert that night if I wanted it, but I had to come get it right away. I agreed, of course, and the next time I had a chance to write was after 2am.

Still. That was awesome, as their concerts always are- loud and fun and exciting. The air-conditioning in the building had broken down, and given that it was in the high nineties all day, the humidity and temperature inside the mosh pit skyrocketed to insane levels. The security resorted to periodically dumping ice water over the crowd, and everyone was already so wet with sweat that that it didn't make any noticeable difference.

And afterwards was good too, eating pizza and driving home late at night, the streets mostly empty, windows rolled down and music loud. It was still hot outside, and so humid, and the sky over the city had turned a fuzzy rose or violet, no stars visible though there weren't any clouds either, just all the air thick like a fog or mist, reflecting lights.

Oh god, people. I can't take the rain anymore. It's not flooding here, because it stops and it starts but there's still never anything but grey: low, dark clouds against the higher, lighter ones, and the damp, soaked grey of the streets and buildings. Pale grey sidewalks when it's paused for a while, but always dotted with a few small, wet circles. No sun. No light. No heat. Everything is wet and cold, and the only sound anywhere is the hissing and dripping of the rain, until you almost cease to hear it, except that it haunts the back of your mind. It's depressing and isolating; no one wants to go out in it, so the only people around are alone under their umbrellas, or hunched into sweatshirts and coats, hurrying away.

Everything drips. Everything is wet and curled and wrinkled, like paper dropped in a puddle that shrivels in on itself in shreds and tatters as it dries. Everything smells like dead worms and mold and mud and old sweat.

I can't take it anymore. I'm pissy and depressed and any minute now I'm going to go curl up in the window and start reminiscing about past relationships and old friends and people I used to know, and wow, will that not go anywhere good.

Say something to cheer me up!

And now it's officially spring: I nearly managed to get sunburned today.

I love this weather. I love it when it finally turns warm, when the last of the chill is gone from the air and there's nothing left but the heat and the humidity and the sunshine. People switch to shorts, to skirts, to flip-flops and sandals and tank tops and go shirtless; a million different colors and style and sizes, and anything, anything, but the terrible uniformity of dark, bulky parkas. Bikes appear, and skates and skateboards and dogs on leashes and frisbees and baseballs and footballs, any excuse to be outside, and there's even the people who don't need an excuse, who just sit and lie in the sun for the sake of being there, in the warmth and the light and the grass. Dozens of them, hundreds, great masses of humanity celebrating the sun like they'd organized some ancient ritual.

And the colors. Everything has color; the grass turns a true green instead of yellow-brown, and even dirt deepens and is richer than the pale dust of winter. The sky is more blue, and the clouds and airplanes trails are bright white against it, like fresh paint instead of pale scars. The trees flower- I love these few days, when there's no leaves on the branches yet but everything is in flower instead: white and cream and rose and pink, the unreal fuchsia at the base of the magnolia blossoms. Those ones have huge petals, heavy, that litter the ground like snow or autumn leaves, but there's every size on down to the ones so tiny and light that they seem insubstantial, like if you touched them they'd smear to dust on your fingertips. And there's flowers on the ground too, in even more colors and sizes: the milk and butter and lemon of the daffodils, the tulips, red as cherry candy, and ones that I don't know the names of, in coral and pink and violet. When you walk under the trees, the air even smells the same as it feels: damp and soft like bruised petals. I'll pick up the fallen flowers and wear them in my hair, so every time I turn my head I catch that smell: the thick honey-sweet scent of spring and dying flowers.

And when the wind blows in before the coming thunderstorms, it's the first wind in months that hasn't been cold, that hasn't stung. It's not even cool, not really, just fast-moving enough to relieve some of the stickyness. The clouds roll in, deep blue-grey, and I saw one person still flying a kite below them, like a white bird against the early dark, even while the first few drops were falling, more imagined than felt, a mist so light it was indistinguishable from the humidity. The lightening bolts start out far away and without sound and come closer until they cast shadows, the thunder growing from rumbles to a crack like something physical, like something you can feel in your lungs. And then the long, long rain, the trickle and pouring of it, the cars on the street slushing through it, so everything sounds still and closed and safe.

I love it. I love it until I can feel the happiness like blood filling everything under my skin, until I smile at people I don't know on the street and look like an idiot, but oh. I love being alive, for just this moment, for just here, for always.

It is 12 degrees outside. What the fuck, weather. It was in the 60s on Thursday.

Oh, winter. Why you gotta play me like this? I thought we had a good thing going on, the last few months. It was in the 50s almost every day, it didn't snow... it was nice almost. But then you stab me in the back like this.

I think we should start seeing other people. I'm not the person I want to be when I'm around you. I don't even have tan lines anymore! You make me so pale, winter. Besides, I just can't stop thinking about summer, so I think it would be better if I followed my heart.

Winter, it's just... I wish I knew how to quit you!


Also, my computer's wireless works again! ♥

It rained all day yesterday, and sometime during the night, it turned to snow. I was walking home at about 2am, and the temperature must have dropped low enough just a few minutes before- there was only the lightest dusting of snow yet. I didn't even realize it at first; the streets and sidewalks were slick, and they shone white and yellow in the reflection of the streetlights, and I mistakenly thought the white on the grass was more of the same. The snow was still falling- it snowed all day too, and stopped just a few hours ago- in tiny, tiny flakes that I thought were just a mist of rain. But when I put up my umbrella, I could hear the soft patter as they landed, and when I looked up, I could see the flakes sparkling in the air as they fell past the streetlights.

I almost gasped in surprise; it didn't seem cold enough for snow. But then everything resolved itself, the way it does sometimes when you abruptly recognize what you're looking at, and the white all around wasn't just a reflection, but snow, just enough to trace the lines of the individual blades of grass. The ground looked like a shaggy white carpet. Snow had settled on the bare, wet branches of the trees, distinguishing them from the deep-water color of the sky. I was the only person around, so there were no footprints or tire tracks to mess up the clean snow, and everything was pure and white and quiet and lovely.

I still hate winter, but you couldn't get me to trade those minutes for anything.