Characters: Akatsuki (and, like, two seconds' worth of Pein/Konan, just because)
Warnings: None, unless you're horribly allergic to the idea of people presumably having died at some point and/or dying in the future, in which case you... probably shouldn't be reading Akatsuki!fic in the first place.
Summary: Because everyone has something they need.
Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto. Dur.
A/N: The format for this is totally stolen from a poem by Philip Lamantia called Time Traveler's Potlatch, which is a big chunk of why it's now scrapfic.
For Pein: a velvety dark horizon, and then– a sky painted dove gray, rose, and gold, marked with clouds like spilled milk (but that is a misnomer, of course, because on this morning the sun rises over a world without mistakes).
For Sasori: the fragile wings of the dragonfly, so easily torn, preserved for a hundred millennia in amber.
For Madara: a book of all the paintings of warlords with magnificent golden crowns and floor-length furs, surrounded by a cloud of worshiping angels (for that is how the world should be).
For Kakuzu: shinobis’ hearts, more than even he could ever need, stacked one on top of another, frozen, waiting.
For Kisame: a rival, a sparring partner, someone to acknowledge how far he has come.
For Hidan: the challenge to prove that God resides in everything, and a butcher’s knife.
For Itachi: ink, a brush, and nine years’ worth of letters never sent, their envelopes dusted with ashes.
For Konan: this morning, gray with rain, and the hand of God warm in her own.
For Zetsu: a front seat at the battle at Badon Hill and the missing pages from Beowulf: each stroke of the sword that has been lost to everyone since.
For Deidara: one more split-second, one perfect moment that can never come again.