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cleolinda · 1 year

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Licorice, feat. Hypnotic Poison, Lolita Lempicka, and more

PREVIOUSLY ON:

HYPNOTIC POISON, briefly (Dior, 1998)

Black Opium (YSL, 2014) and Black Opium Extreme (2021) retried

You don't wear Hypnotic Poison perfume, it wears you: that is the credo of this magnetic eau de toilette. The sultry fragrance bathes the skin in a mysterious and irresistible scent, like a bewitching elixir. (dior.com)

I forget how I recently came across this fact, but I found out that Hypnotic Poison, eau de parfum concentration, has licorice in it, which I most certainly had not perceived in the original eau de toilette, nor is it listed as a note. So I got myself a sample of that to compare to my bottle of the EdT. (It's the only Fancy Perfume I have an entire bottle of: a birthday gift.) I've tried them both multiple times now, but last night I actually wore one on each hand, and I wore A FULL SPRAY of the EdT, which is absolute madness compared to a single molecule just about choking me out five months ago. Apparently, I really am starting to tolerate perfume now.

The thing about EdPs and EdTs is that sometimes, it's not just a different concentration; they can actually be formulated with different notes. Curiously, in the case of Hypnotic Poison, the eau de toilette came out in 1998, and the parfum concentration didn't come out until 2014—a pretty wide gap there. Looking at the notes, we have—

Annick Menardo and Christian Dussoulier's original composition: Coconut, plum, apricot, Brazilian rosewood, jasmine, tuberose, rose, lily of the valley, caraway, vanilla, almond, sandalwood, and musk

and

François Demachy's EdP concentration: Licorice, almond, jasmine sambac, orange blossom absolute, vanilla, and tonka bean.

Somewhat hilariously, it's the EdT that smells simpler to me. I actually was not smoked out of the room by the tuberose this time, which is a massive plot twist in my personal development; the perfume had more of a jasmine-angel food cake vibe. Like, specifically the almondy meringue lightness of angel food cake, not a heavier almond-coconut-vanilla pound cake. (My mom bakes a lot, what can I say.) I don't see licorice listed in the notes, but I swear to you, I can smell it now. There's a—licorice connotation? It's there, somehow, so I'm going to guess Dior is using jasmine sambac in both concentrations—as I mentioned last time, jasmine sambac and licorice seem to blend amazingly, and the jasmine (and maybe the caraway?) is managing to imply an anise-type note, if one isn't really there.

As I also mentioned last time, the reason you (I) kind of want to be like, "you know, licorice/anise/whatever fragrances" is because we're actually talking about a compound called anethole; it's in star anise, fennel, and magnolia flowers as well. (As a side note, I have three magnolia trees in my neighborhood, and the scent has been floating through the air this past week. It's not the most anisic smell in the world, but it does remind me of my jasmine sambac/mogra sample, and it's been really nice.) So, "licorice fragrances" may also throw in a little aniseed here and there (and vice versa), because we're really talking about the more general scent of anethole.

(Bonus fact: anethole also causes the "ouzo effect," or "louche effect," which famously makes absinthe cloudy when you add water. My understanding is that absinthe generally gets the anethole from anise and fennel, not licorice root, but a perfumer might make a different judgment call there. I'm almost certain I have an absinthe-themed perfume oil around here somewhere, so we'll see.)

Now, something that's really interesting here is that Annick Menardo also created the eponymous Lolita Lempicka perfume in 1997, and as Bois de Jasmin says, that's the fragrance that "brought licorice notes to the mainstream." Hypnotic Poison arrived only one year later, and even though it doesn't have licorice listed, you can smell something, I swear.

While we're here, let's have a dance break for Lolita Lempicka (the 1997 original, not any of the do-overs called “Premier Parfum” or “Original”), which I bought last year when I first dipped my toe into the world of Fine Fragrance Samples:

If you were reading fashion magazines in the late '90s, you most likely know this one, and you know the bottle. Which I still covet.

When I first got the sample a year ago, I tried it... and just kind of got a watery green (ivy, I guess) with some cherry, maybe a slight licorice, deep in the background. But the notes include star anise and licorice, ivy, cherry, violet, iris and orris root, amaryllis, vanilla, praline (someday I am going to have to write a post about wtf "praline" means in perfume), tonka bean, vetiver, and our old friend white musk. Like. Surely it can't just be "green"?

After what happened with Black Opium Extreme, I tried it again last week. Yeah. !CHERRY PRALINE LICORICE! Anything "green" was incidental on me, although the vetiver probably provides a bit of enchanted forest. Completely different from my first wear. And it's easier to see a family resemblance to Hypnotic Poison when those gourmand notes come out.

Let's jump back to Hypnotic Poison—this time, the newer EdP concentration. Much like Black Opium Extreme, it's not just a higher ratio of perfume to alcohol. It's actually a simpler yet woozier composition: licorice, almond, jasmine sambac (for sure this time), orange blossom absolute, vanilla, and tonka bean.

There's no coconut or fruits or rosewood or extraneous flowers. This is ANETHOLE and WHITE FLORAL and ALMOND VANILLA. It is not fluffy or angel-foody. This one, I actually get why you would call it "poison"; it's almost cloying, not in the sense that it's sugary-sweet, but in the sense that it's very deep and very heady. It feels like you could spray it on a handkerchief and chloroform somebody with it. I actually like it, but it's A Lot, and the fluffy eau de toilette with its smoke-and-mirrors suggestion of licorice feels more wearable to me. Which is a wild thing to say, given that I started writing about perfume on Tumblr by saying that a single whiff of it nearly made me pass out, but here we are.

When you set the Black Opiums next to the Hypnotic Poisons next to the Lolita Lempicka, you start to see why you'd use anethole notes in a fragrance. Even though people talk about how sweet licorice root is—and it is; I made myself eat some very fine Australian licorice candy for this post—the scent is sort of dark and... I don't know how to describe it. Like mint going through a goth phase? Aniseed seems more herbal-spicy to me, more like fennel (goth mints going out to get pizza). (Aniseed was also in the Australian soft licorice, but I had licorice-only jellybeans to compare it to; this is the attention to detail that you can expect from Cleolinda Industries.) I can see how you'd also put anise into Lolita Lempicka to keep the cherry-praline a little wild, a little sylvan, and why you'd only put licorice into the Hypnotic Poison(s) to underline something dizzyingly smooth. And yet, again—it's not that the 2014 Hypnotic Poison is sugary; it's that it's darkly, swooningly overwhelming, with a goth candy jasmine that somehow pulls it back from being saccharine. That's why you'd use licorice, to put a little bit of wicked queen into it—into Hypnotic Poison, into Lolita Lempicka, into Black Opium.

Offhand, I do have two other fragrances with anethole notes, although they deserve further entries of their own: Pink Sugar (Aquolina, 2004) and L'Heure Bleue (Guerlain, 1912), which COULD NOT BE FURTHER APART on the prestige scale. And both of those are stories for another time, but I'll say that Pink Sugar tries real, real hard to tame its ethyl maltol with some grown-up raspberry, licorice, and fig leaf notes, and it fails. Utterly. I was already a grown-ass woman when I chose to buy a full bottle of the stuff 10-15 years ago; I am not a snob. I love sugar perfumes! I defend them! You could actually knock someone out with this. It's Glinda with a glittering pink skirt so big that the Wicked Witch simply gets bowled over in the first act.

Guerlain's L'Heure Bleue (1912), on the other hand, is the pre-WWI sister to their golden post-war Mitsouko (1919). I would rather write more fully about L'Heure Bleue in the context of iris or even citrus, but the hidden darkness of its anise note, I think, contributes a lot to its famous sense of melancholy: "the blue hour," with war on the horizon.

As vastly different as these perfumes are—two femmes fatales, one enchanted princess, a sugar bomb, an elegant rumination—you start to see how anethole notes can add an olfactory "minor key" to fragrances. Whether you use an herbal anise or a more candied licorice (or both), you can add something more serious, wistful, or vampy to your fragrance, depending on what you combine it with.

Meanwhile, I have washed my hands a dozen times and also showered since last night, and I can still smell Hypnotic Poison, both concentrations, on my hands. Let’s hope Santal 33 goes well with licorice.

Perfume discussion masterpost

#perfume #perfume discussion #perfume: dior #perfume: lolita lempicka #note: licorice #note: anethole #long post #perfume: guerlain #perfume: aquolina

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theawkwardterrier · 3 years

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Blossoms Every Day

Summary: When you work at a flower shop requests for elaborate bouquets are just part of the job. Requests for bouquets this specific, on the other hand...

The other of my rejected Steggy Secret Santa stories. I was looking for AU tropes to play around with, thought of flower shop...and immediately began to write it in the weirdest way possible.

Read on AO3

After three years of being the only employee of Asters to Zinnias other than Michaela, the owner, you are fairly familiar with the peaks and valleys of the business. Valentine’s Day is big, of course (and the day or two afterward are even bigger for more elaborate apology arrangements) but considering the shop’s proximity to the university campus, there’s also an uptick in sales around graduation time and about a month after the fall semester starts each year, when the kids who’d met and fallen for each other at orientation have their first tiny anniversary.

Summer and winter breaks, though, are generally...well, you don’t want to call them dry spells because it would give Michaela an onset of migraine face, but they’re certainly less busy. That’s why on a drizzly Wednesday morning at the beginning of January, you feel certain enough about having the shop to yourself that, while you dust the vases behind the counter, you have your earbuds in playing an episode of the soothingly-voiced serial murder podcast you love.

The volume is turned up pretty loud, so you don’t hear the bell over the door (don’t tell Michaela) or the approaching customer’s footsteps, or your own shocked squeak when you turn to water the spider plant on the counter and find someone standing there.

“Sorry,” you gasp, pausing mid-murder description and hastily shoving your earbuds into your pocket. “How can I help you?”

There’s something of a stunned look on the man’s face, and he stares for a moment as if he doesn’t quite know how to answer the question and would have preferred you stay oblivious to him for another few moments while he gathered his thoughts.

Finally he says, “I—I think I need a recommendation. Can you think of what flowers would say ‘welcome to campus’ to a really smart visiting professor in the history department who specializes in European women's and gender history in the mid-nineteenth to mid-twentieth centuries?” And then, as if he wants to make sure you have every bit of information which might be helpful, he adds, “Her last book was an amazing collection of oral histories about women in the UK during World War II.”

You’ve picked out plenty of arrangements for people who didn’t know daffodil from a delphinium, for students who’ve walked in asking simply for “something pretty,” and you consider yourself pretty quick on your feet at this point. After a moment of staring, you offer weakly, “A nice plant always brightens up a new office. Maybe bamboo, for good luck?”

He walks out with his potted bamboo twenty minutes later. You spent two minutes wrapping the pot. He spent eighteen writing and rewriting cards. Hopefully the professor really likes bamboo.

Two days later, a woman walks in, comes right over to where you’re finishing up a new baby bouquet to send over to the hospital, and asks for “something to show gratitude for making me feel welcome. An arrangement expressing appreciation for brightening up my office.”

“Oh,” she adds, “and his eyes are a lovely shade of blue, if you have something that might suit.”

Holding back a groan, you start to offer some options. Apparently she liked the bamboo well enough.

You don’t see either of them for three weeks, long enough for you to have told the story to Michaela then to a couple of friends over beers, long enough that the pair of them are fading into a slightly amusing anecdote.

The man shows up just after you’ve come back from lunch break. You’re still wiping a few tricky crumbs off your sweater as he tells you that he’s looking for something that says “sorry about that horrible meeting, and here’s hoping for less exposure to jerks in the future - although since too many of them are tenured, I wouldn’t count on it.”

“Sunflowers are cheerful?” you suggest. “Maybe mixed with some tulips or snapdragons, plus white poppies - they symbolize consolation - and some greenery?”

He’s pretty young, probably too young for tenure or a significant salary, and you can see that his dark, tidy dress pants are getting a bit soft around the hems, but he doesn’t back down when you quote the price.

That evening, when it’s dark and the wind is blowing chill outside and you sit at the counter with your face in your hand dreaming of getting out of here and going home to hot soup and a blanket wrapped around your shoulders like a cloak, there’s a call on the store’s phone. You hadn’t talked to the woman long enough in person for her voice to be familiar, but you have no doubt as to the identity of the person requesting a “thank you for speaking up to our terrible colleagues” bouquet.

The thing is that they never seem to show up or call when Michaela or any of the regular customers are around, or when any of the neighboring shopkeepers are popping in for a break and to share some gossip. You’re the only one who ever sees or speaks with them. Every month that the receipts tally with the inventory, you have a flash of relief at this small proof that they actually exist.

But this means that it’s up to you to suggest red tulips to represent “those journal reviewers were idiots to turn your paper down” and yellow poppies for “congratulations on the high average on your students’ last exam.” You’re the one charged with making arrangements in honor of “I had a great time at trivia last night,” and “best wishes on your sports team making the championship, even though I’m sorry you can’t be at the game,” and “you looked like you were a bit down yesterday,” and “that book you recommended was so great that I’ve already started on the sequel,” and “sorry I was short with you in the hall this morning, my neighbors threw a raging party last night even though it was 2:30 on a Wednesday.” In April, you help choose the three most perfect crimson roses in the shop to add to a birthday bouquet of calla lilies and orchids, and you don’t say anything about how the shade reminds you of a certain hue of lipstick or about what everyone knows red roses mean.

You’ve kept up with your schoolwork through it all, acquitted yourself nicely. Graduation day is approaching quickly now. But somehow, between helping Michaela find your replacement among the newer students and saying a slow goodbye to all your campus haunts, you can’t help but wonder how things will end for your two most politely irritating regular customers. Visiting professors aren’t meant to stay, after all.

The arrangement you put together in early May, tiger lilies and sweet peas and irises, is the largest yet. You’ve been told that it’s meant to say “I’m sorry that you can’t stay, but I know that there’s something amazing waiting for you,” although the sadness is obvious in his eyes as you hand it over. Nevertheless, he thanks you sincerely for all your help.

“I’m sure you’re glad not to have to see me anymore,” he jokes. You shake your head. Once, maybe, you would have secretly agreed, but in a certain way you’ve come to look forward to the challenge that only these two seem to give you. More than that, you’ve enjoyed seeing two people so eager to demonstrate their affection for each other. They seem to have said more with flowers over these last months than most people say with words in a lifetime; sometimes you wonder if they even have to speak when they encounter each other.

With a last smile, he turns to go, just as the bell above the door jingles, and she steps through.

“Peggy,” comes the surprised exhalation. You can’t see his face, although you can imagine the widened eyes, the parting of his mouth. “I didn’t expect to see you here.” The enormous bouquet in its vase lowers just a bit, so they can look each other in the face over your handiwork.

“Steve. Hello,” she says, surprised too but covering it better. “I suppose it was only a matter of time before our schedules overlapped here.”

You’ve seen people grin and shriek and tear up when presented with flowers before, but there’s something entirely new about the particular quiet tenderness with which they are regarding each other. It sort of makes you want to just stand quietly and perhaps hold the hand of someone you love.

“Your order is ready,” you say instead, hefting her vase forward onto the counter, filled with primroses, violets, and camellias. And before you can think better of it, before you can imagine what Michaela would say, you add, “One ‘Thank you for everything. If you ask me, I’ll find a way to stay’ bouquet, as requested.”

For a minute, nothing moves, and in the drowning silence you wonder if your last memory of this job is going to be filled with shouting and humiliation and demands to speak to your manager. But instead their eyes seem to shift into deeper focus on each other, as if you aren’t even there.

“Do you really—” he swallows, voice somehow even softer as he continues. “You don’t usually say things you don’t mean.”

“No,” she responds. “And I’m not now. They offered to have me stay on, if I want to.”

“But Cambridge—You can’t just tell Cambridge to go screw themselves.” The vase in his hands seems to be preventing him from gesturing the way he wants to, but he holds himself very still and her eyes don’t leave his.

She laughs a bit. “Of course not, but I can tell them that there are greater opportunities available to me here.” She places a hand on his arm. “And Steve? To be clear, I don’t simply mean academic ones.”

And suddenly the spotlight turns back onto you as he turns abruptly and says, “Can you send these over to the hospital instead? I don’t know that I need them anymore.” As you give a quick nod, somewhat shocked by the rapid turn of events, he strides over to set the vase gently back onto the counter beside hers.

“You can deliver mine there as well,” she tells you. “I think this is the sort of conversation you have in words rather than plants.” She steps forward and extends her hand. He glances at it, at her face, then intertwines his fingers with hers. The bell jingles behind them as they step out the door together.

A year later, you’re waiting for your lunch order at the specialty salad place near your new job when your phone vibrates with a text. You’d given your number to your replacement just in case you were needed to shed light on the location of the fancy twine or what to get Michaela at Starbucks when she was groaning over the January billing, after the holiday sales had dropped off and before the Valentine’s orders had started coming in. This is the first time it’s been used.

What in the world do I put in a proposal bouquet that’s meant to symbolize “You are the best, most brilliant woman in the world, someone who knows herself better than anyone I��ve ever met. I can’t fully describe when you are to me and I’d wait for you forever, but if you’re ready, I would love to be married to you”???????

You give a shout of a laugh, right there in the crowd, not caring about the glances thrown your way or the call of your name at the pickup area. You’re too busy typing back: Okay, you’re going to want to have orange blossoms in there…

#Steggy fic #Steggy #Steve Rogers #Peggy Carter #why am I like this???

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soft-cheek · 7 years

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ANYWAY its now officially harpers birthday so i can finally post this

#Bethany's art #Bethany has ocs wow #idk what drove me to draw it 4 days early #i didnt do montys until like #a few hours before his ended #anyway lily of the valley is apparently the birthday flower of may #so since i did it with monty i did it with harper too #daisy and sunny didnt get one though because like #i already had to draw two of them #didnt wanna draw flowers too

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sasusakufestival · 7 years

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Pink Peonies and Lilies-of-theValley

Hello there, everyone. I know its a bit late, but this is my entry for #Day02Insecurity PLEASE ENJOY!

Disclaimer: I hold no rights over Naruto and its characters.

I have an extended version of this, available at fanfiction.net. You may look for my username: C.S.Isui and it will be under “The Bouquet Series.”

ARIGATOU MINNA-SAMA!!

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PINK PEONIES AND LILIES-OF-THE-VALLEY

“I dont see why not, anata.”

“I dont see why, Sakura.”

“You’re being difficult.”

“No.. you’re being difficult.”

“The both of you are being difficult. Its my birthday.”

Sarada stood at the kitchen door way, her brow beaded with sweat and her hitai-ate in one hand and a glass of water in the other. Her birthday was a week away and a pair of brand new red glasses came as a package for her.

“I think it will be nice if we paid Karin a visit. It has been a while. And I wasn’t able to see her the last time!”

“I kinda want to meet her too.”

Sasuke gave an exasperated sigh but gave a defeated smirk. His daughter inherited his and his wife’s persistence and stubbornness. It was quite annoying, really; but in a very endearing way. He looked at his girls, both with a determined look in their eyes. He sighed again, in defeat.

“Fine. Sarada, you have to promise me you will not leave my or your mother’s side and we will not stay longer than a few hours. If Orochimaru is there, we will leave immediately.”

Sarada hugged her dad happily as he patted her head with a slight pout in his face.

_____________________________________________________________________

“…And so, Sarada and I got Sasuke-kun to agree to come and visit you! I hope you dont mind. On your last letter, you said you were in a hideout near Konoha since Orochimaru wanted to wish Mitsuki good luck on the team’s retake of the Chunin Exams.

Anyways, we’ll see you in three days.

U. Sakura”

Karin was in a state of panic. The Uchiha family was gonna pop by and judging by the date on the letter, TOMORROW! She didn’t have time to prepare or clean or even do anything.

“Whatcha gonna do about it Karin? Mrs. Uchiha Sasuke is gonna visit with the hubby and little baby Sarada.” Suigetsu was hanging out in her lab again. Apparently he had nothing better to do.

“I need to get ready. I need to at least have something for them! Instead of gawking and being stupid, why don’t you help by cleaning up?!”

The swordsman laughed it out but still decided to help. He was kinda worried for Karin. Given her history with Sasuke, he wasn’t really sure if she was truly over the guy. He did impale her in the chest with his lightning sword and all. He watched her as she muttered to herself, panicking and obviously excited about the visit.

“WE NEED CAKE! AND BANNERS! AND ICE CREAM! AND CONFETTI! AND… And…and A GIFT! YES! THAT’S IT!”

Karin turned sharply at Suigetsu and suddenly slumped.

“What kind of gift? We already got her glasses. I can’t think of anything!” She turned her attention to the other person in the room and sighed. “What do you think I should get them?”

Suigetsu was about to open his mouth when Karin suddenly stood up, fire in her eyes and determination in her fists.

“Im going to Konoha!”

_____________________________________________________________________

It wasn’t that far, Konoha. A 3 hour trip by foot distance was something Karin needed to think.

A cute dress, a book collection, a make-up set…. Her list went on and on and on. For 11 years she had been sending Sarada glasses, a joke she and Sakura shared. She smiled to her self, thinking about how much the little girl she helped release to the world has grown up.

“Karin oba-san… Sounds weird, but I like it.” She said as she entered the gates of Konoha.

The village was in full bloom. The cherry blossom trees were making the landscape look like a romance movie while the chilly spring air gave a refreshing breeze.

Karin remembers the last time she was here. She had been a prisoner of war, but was cordially pardoned by the Shinobi Alliance. She recalls the time when Uzumaki Naruto came to speak about the war and thanked all the shinobi who helped the cause. Never had she seen chakra so fiery and sunny. Konoha was a place she felt safest in, despite her allegiance to one of the village’s most notorious shinobi; and the people actually didn’t mind her presence. They treated her as if she were a normal person.

Karin walked down the village market place. The scents of yakitori and mitarashii dango filled her nose while the colorful wares dazzled her eyes. Konoha never ceases to amaze her. Looking at her wallet, Karin contemplated about buying a delicious smelling takoyaki. She had saved quite a bit since she rarely had the need to buy anything.

“Whatever. Im hungry!” She smiled to herself and proceeded to the stall. “Nee-chan, one takoyaki please, with extra mayo and katsuboshi!” Upon receiving the serving of 5 takoyaki balls, Karin immediately took that steamy first bite and the subtle flavours of leek, octopus and takoyaki sauce bursts into her mouth. She was about to take the next bite until she heard a very familiar voice.

“Your birthday is tomorrow. Is there anything you like?”

Karin froze. It was Sasuke. He was with Sakura. And by the looks of the bags they carried, they were grocery shopping. He was even more handsome than she remembers. His elegant nose, his sharp eyes, his attractive mouth… Karin always did see him as a warrior, a knight in shining armor, a force to be reckoned. His raw power attracted him to her and his kind heart made hers beat incessantly.

“I dont know, anata. Im glad you even reminded me it was my birthday.”

His wife is amazing. A kunoichi worthy of the Uchiha name. Sakura was beautiful, smart, compassionate and strong. Qualities Karin thinks she will never achieve in her lifetime.

Maybe that’s why he chose her instead.

Sakura’s eyes shone brighter than the brightest emeralds while hers were dull and boring. Sakura’s personality was as vibrant as the beginning of spring, hopeful and refreshing while hers was as unstable as Orochimaru’s earliest experiments. Even Sakura’s name was better than hers. Just imagine comparing “Cherry Blossom” to “Phosphorus.”

Maybe Sasuke chose her because she was Sakura.

A goddess to match a god.

“Sasuke and Sakura.” Karin thought. “Even their names go together.”

Suddenly, the steaming takoyaki lost their luster.

“I dont mind giving you a present.” “Allowing Sarada and I to visit a friend is more than enough, anata. I know how overprotective you can get.”

Visit a friend? Were they talking about her?

Karin decided to finish her remaining food, not wanting to waste them and silently trailed the couple.

“…hesitant at first but Karin was kind enough to help.” She heard the Uchiha matriach say. A grunt was the only sound that came from the patriarch though.

“Don’t be like that! She helped us. She helped bring Sarada into this world, to us. Karin basically helped usher the first Uchiha to be born in decades. You should be thankful.”

“I am thankful, grateful even.” He said. His eyes soft as he gave his wife a smile. Karin swears she can see sparkles.

‘Damn right, you should be grateful…’

Wait, what did he just say?

“I remember how hard it rained that night and how helpless I was because I couldn’t help you and our child.”

“Admit it, Karin was our saving grace that night. Practically an angel in disguise.”

“Yes. Yes, she was.”

Karin could swear she felt her heart burst at the seams. Never had anyone spoke about her at such a high regard. The man she loved practically called her an angel. She was so happy, she could have died.

Her eyes turned again to the couple and sighed. She was right. Sasuke and Sakura shared a bond nobody in the world can ever replace or sever. She would never be able to step on Sakura’s shoes.

But…

She also shared an irreplaceable bond with them. And she is the only person who has that bond. She realizes it now. She ushered their hope for the future. She helped them restore the name of the Uchiha. She helped complete their trio of happiness.

And Karin is proud to have done so.

She turned and looked at the nearest store. It was the Yamanaka Flower shop, and a fresh batch of blooming pink peonies and lilies-of-the-valley were being carried in. Karin smiled, remembering a conversation she had with Sakura about the language of flowers and Sarada’s encounter with the DNA machine.

_____________________________________________________________________

“It’s cleaner than I remember.” Sarada said as she tailed her father. He had been in a foul mood since this morning.

“I remember this place being draftier than ever and you were also is a very foul mood, papa.” “Stay close now, dear. We don’t want you dad to get in an even fouler mood.”

Sakura and Sarada laughed. “Hai, hai, mama.” she said as she moved forward and linked arms with the Uchiha patriarch.

At the edge of the tunnel, they were welcomed with a brightly lit room decorated with poorly made streamers and a peculiar smell of cake mix, burned sugar and smoke.

“W-w-WELCOME!” said Karin as she coaxed Suigetsu with the confetti. The swordsman only looked at her and rolled his eyes before lamely throwing the tiny pieces of paper. “…yo.” he said.

“Happy birthday, Sarada-chan!” Karin said awkwardly. “Gosh, you’re bigger than I remember!” She approached the heiress hesitantly at first but proceeded. She handed her a box.

“Ano… Karin oba-chan, desu ka?” Sarada said, politely taking the package. The red-head smiled and nodded. “I got you an awesome gift. Wanna open it?” Sarada looked at the gift. It was kind of small and hard, much like a book. Sarada looked at her parents, particularly her mother, who nodded that she can open it.

“A Beginner’s Guide to the Language of Flowers” read Sarada, wondering why she was given such a peculiar choice for a gift. She knows her mom and auntie Ino loved flowers and were quite proficient with its meanings, but why give it to her?

Karin was looking excitedly at Sarada who gave her an awkward thank you. Her gift wasn’t finished yet, she chuckled.

The Uzumaki looked at Sakura who was conversing with Suigetsu and Sasuke about the hideout. She also had something prepared for the pinkette since it was her birthday.

“Neh, neh, Sakura,” she called out. Sakura turned and smiled “Thanks for letting us drop by. Anyways I brought you cheesecake! I would have brought okonomiyaki but Sasuke-kun insisted on leaving early so I could only…. oh, that’s lovely.” she was surprised when she was what the red head was holding.

It was a bouquet of pink peonies and lilies-of-the-valley.

“It’s your birthday today, isn’t it?”

Suigetsu, who happened to have moved next to Sarada motioned her to open the book at the folded pages.

“Take it as my apology.” he said.

The bespectacled teen looked at him with curiosity and disdain but followed the instructions and found highlighted passages.

“The lily-of-the-valley,”she read, “is a flower you give to someone who completes your life, happiness or family.” Sarada smiled and continued to the next page.

“Pink peonies are given to newly-wedded couples,” tears were falling from her eyes now, realizing the meaning of her gift and her mother’s bouquet. “usually given by well-wishers who hopes that the newly weds would have happy life and a happy marriage.”

Not being able to control her happiness, Sarada approached Karin and gave her a hug.

“Arigatou, Karin oba-san. Honto ni arigatou!”

#ssfest17 #sasusaku #ssfanfiction #ssfestday2 #submission #ssfestentry

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