#How long does a lychee tree live?

[farmerstrend]

Litchi (Lychee) Farming

Litchi (Litchi chinensis) is a delicious juicy fruit of excellent quality. Botanically it belongs to Sapindaceae family. Litchi fruit is famous for its attractive red colour, excellent quality characteristics and pleasant flavor. Specific climatic conditions are required for litchi growing but the tree is not very fussy about soils. It is also little susceptible to viral diseases. Soil and…

[talesfromtheunknowable]

hey! question: how did Anuli come to be?

HIi! Thank you so much for the question.

ANnnnddd... whoooo boi, this is a long and convoluted history of the 'many drafts of the land of the fallen fairies'.

Grab some popcorn, there will be plot twists.

First came up with the 'Land of the Fallen Fairies' idea when I was around... ten-ish. I saw this book called 'the land of forgotten girls,' (just the cover, never read it) and I had watched the movie 'Fern Gully' in school, and had also learned of trees being able to communicate with each other from magic school bus. And thus, ten-year-old me decided to write a story about it, in the way you might imagine a ten-year-old writing a story.

Very overdramatic. No plot.

Basically it was about 'the last tree on the planet' and its fairy. They both lived next to a factory and no one on the plantet knew of thier existence. (Wow, spooky.)

The fairy (faer name was 'Oak'... which was very creative of me.) got stolen by some humans, who were children, but one of them worked for a scientist for some reason? They kept Oak in a jar where fae met the other fairy named Meadow (who was 'Oak's... mother? Or smth.). Oak eventually broke out and went to this 'hidden land' in the Bermuda triangle for reasons. (wow, spooky)

And I stopped at around there because I wasn't feeling nice while writing it anymore.

There are definitely iterations that I don't remember anymore, this is a seven-ish-year long project at this point after all, but here are the major ones.

The Floa and Naegi backstory.

I made these two dolls (that I don't have anymore). Floa was a redwood and Naegi was an evergreen. It was pretty much an 'enemies to best friends/platonic lovers / opposite attracts' sort of thing taking place in that Bermuda triangle island. They both watched the sunset together so yea.

Bloom

Insert the lychee tree that lives in a cave and made a bunch of doohickeys to survive and killed off faer younger 'siblings' accidently with... fire magic? At one point Bloom was a lychee tree and the whole 'fire magic' thing came from Mediterranean cypress's being immune to fire. I also made a doll for this one that started off as this tall and lanky and kind of scary crow-looking thing with long arms and burnt hands. Then it changed to a small deer thing, (Mediterranean cypresses are immune to deer too.) and it's legs kept breaking off.

The black fairy and Squioo

Another scrapped duo! The black fairy is based off the pando tree (and the only one so far that uses he/him pronouns) and the Pando tree is one large tree that looks like a lot of little ones in a huge forest. (It's a real thing! You can look it up.) And I think I had this whole thing where Squioo is another mediterranean cypress and fae died or something? I think at this point the land of the fallen fairies was more of a 'protective group' and fallen fairies were fairies that lost their tree, so they were almost 'apathetic zombies that could be dangerous if provoked'.

the houseplant

This is the iteration where it starts getting to where tLotFF starts looking how it does now. The scale isn't 'across the world' anymore and there is more of a focus on themes and always a protective guardian.

Although for this one the mc was called 'Amaris' and they started off in a houseplant store where everyone else shared memories. There wasn't really anything wrong with this one, I just didn't enjoy writing it.

Guardian territory

This is the previous version, and is also where you get Anuli. I just wanted something that would be easy for me to write, so I had Anuli use story metaphors for everything and be very contemplative, to the point of not knowing what is going on around faer. Fae isn't... 100% Anuli yet, but fae has the bones. In this version, it starts off with Kamari, Anuli and the sibling Maidoe (who got scrapped because fae had no purpose but may come up again later) leaving the 'bad place' to go to the guardian territory. I rewrote that version so many times and got super stressed out every time I wrote it because it had to be PERFECT.

The 'snippet version'

I changed my writing process to be what works for me and started from scratch, and so, after all that, we get to your question.

I wanted to write something that felt nice, that felt like my truth, especially since my life started feeling... monochromatic, and if I had to live for one thing and one thing only, that that thing better make me feel better.

(I just needed an outlet otherwise I would explode.)

And I always loved those 'metaphorical journeys with a very obvious message but it is told in a whimsical way' sort of stories, and I also wanted to tell my younger self to stop driving themself crazy looking for answers on how to make themselves 'better' in order to regain their lost childhood wonder, because 'better' was burning them out.

Also this video -

I wanted so hard to find that thing called 'happiness', to find that happy ending that I didn't let my story play out.

Anywho, I mention this because the writing process I follow is very 'theme based' and I wanted for my story to explore a theme more than anything else. (Think 'Little Prince' vibes mixed with a slice-of-life-children's show so I could be as dark as I wanted to).

Some of my earliest (for this version) planning pages! (I modified the 'Story Genuis' method to work better with my iterative, and impulsive self. Nowadays I write a 'scene' by exploring a sub-concept of my overall point, and writing out all the thoughts surrounding it, in five different pages at once.)

I needed Anuli to represent all of the aspects of myself that were 'too slow for society' and molded them around a bit to fit who Anuli wanted to be (fae wasn't as overdramatic and silly and metaphorical before.)

And as if this post wasn't long enough already, here are some extra things about where Anuli's traits come from <3

Anuli likes morbid stories because my parents didn't like how 'dark' my stories were, and where thinking of something happier and more 'inspirational for kids, new york times best seller', whereas I just wanted to explore this weird thing called existence. I didn't even think that version was so dark.

So I let Anuli tell the darkest possible things that fae can.

---

The Land of the Fallen Fairies slowly changed moreso to a more 'pixie-based-concept' on who is and isn't 'good enough to be part of society' rather than a 'zombie fairy'. I don't fully know what the criteria is for a fairy to be a fallen fairy, for now it's just 'can't keep up with regular society'.

----

Part of the reason Anuli's POV 'style' is the way it is, is because I wanted something that would be easier for me to write. There's very little scene description or character actions, 90% of it is thoughts and metaphors, and it's nice that the 'shortcut' that I put for myself so I could actually write something also works for the character I am writing.

---

For both Anuli and Kamari, both their names come from the origin of the tree. Anuli, the fiddle leaf fig, originates from Africa, and faer name means 'joy'

Kamari, who comes from... northern Africa and surrounding areas if I remember correctly, means 'moon'.

----

The land of the fallen fairies takes place in my backyard. So I don't really want to move (again... apparently the moving unspoken feelings I didn't know I had got expressed though the LotFF) because all the characters are outside. We got a magnolia, and I have a fiddle leaf inside my house for Anuli.

---

I knew I didn't want to have Anuli describe any feeling, not even tired-ness with a word. Fae has an internal world filled with sensations and emotions fae does not understand and uses faer stories to create faer own 'shorthand' for how to describe them. I really really like this aspect of faer, because it makes communication that much harder for faer, but that much easier (hopefully, I've been told that no one understands what I write.) to understand what fae is thinking. Fae has built up quite the shorthand over the course of the backstory, none of faer thoughts are understandable without context.

----

Anuli ended up liking sunflowers completely on accident. I needed to have something for Kamari to notice and prompt Anuli to tell stories about, and there was a small sunflower patch near the magnolia.

---

Character design is a whole other thing. Before I made the doll, I drew a bunch of sketches based off all the character design videos I could find.

(The ones with the horns were designs for the 'Amaris' previous iteration.)

Oh wait! I remember this iteration. Anuli read the memories of dead pollywiggins for some reason before everyone else told faer that was bad and creepy.

These are some of my favorite Anuli drawings. I made a sticker out of the 'Responsibility' one.

Anuli had a hoodie for some reason, I don't think most fairies wear clothes other than for accessorizing or practical purposes. I may have Anuli wear a cloak when fae comes out of the archives because the weather is changing to fall now and @imjusthereforeternity happens in real time, and Anuil is not meant for cold weather.

getting closer.

Last sketch is from @mylee-sketches for Maidoe. This was around - I think - the time I started making Anuli the doll, which was impulsive as I did not have some of the materials I wanted (it worked out in the end) and I did not plan out sizes.

Anuli the doll took three long months and fae is MASSIVE. (I ran out of the color for faer face and had to improvise with other colors to make faer body match). Fae is around the size of a newborn/1year old CHILD. I can hold faer while I'm writing stuff and fae can stand in my lap and be up to my chin in height. The biggest thing I will ever make and I do not think I'll be doing something of that caliber again for AWHILE at least.

I got a desk recently and fae stands on that now.

Fae also sits nicely on a bookshelf.

... I think that's it. As far as progression from idea to now over the past seven-ish years, this is about everything.

Thank you so much for the ask! And for reading this LONG post!

[milkybonya]

Unnamed

order #002: large banana milk tea with pudding and lychee jelly for Shinwon, requested by anon

-> Warning: food/drink mentions, mentions of alcohol + a bit suggestive?

-> in the same soulmate universe as my Named fic for Haechan, where "Some are named, some are unnamed. The named have their soulmate's name written somewhere on their body, and the unnamed don't have a soulmate", here you're unnamed.

[a/n]: i know this is a soulmate!au but i wanted to try writing from a perspective where the reader doesn't have a soulmate?? i think it will be fun hehe (but i hope the anon who requested doesn't mind!). i think it will work well with the enemies to lovers concept too :)

You're unnamed, and it sucks. For all your life, you've had to deal with all your loved ones moping about how they can't find who the name on their body belongs to, while you don't even have a name on your body. You're unnamed, like I said :(

They call you dramatic for being sad about it, telling you that you're free to date around and just do whatever... as if that helps. Of course it makes you feel worse.

The worst of them all if your neighbour, Shinwon.

"Good morning, [y/n]. Got a hot date today?" Shinwon asks you as he opens up the door to his flat.

You're dressed nicely today, but no, not for a hot date.

"Got a job interview."

"Oh... of course. I'm sure the unnamed wouldn't be going on dates much, anyway."

"You literally told me last time I must date around a lot because I come home late and have no soulmate so I can do what I want," you spit out, growing angry.

"Whatever. No need to get so mad!" Shinwon says, waving his hands around and finally stepping into his flat.

You huff and stomp off to your job interview.

Ever since Shinwon moved in next to you and found out you were unnamed, he's been getting on your nerves like it's no one's business. He's always teasing you about it, even in front of the other neighbours! He constantly embarrasses you and you hate him for hit.

He even leaves notes on your door, with 'unnamed!' written on it with stupid ' :P ' faces all around. It's so childish, but it still manages to make you so angry.

There's only one mystery, though.

Shinwon has never told you if he's unnamed or not.

You asked him many times, and he's always managed to dodge the question.

He lives alone... but of course, that might not mean anything. Still, you like to think that he's unnamed too, and lets out all his anger on you. The day that you find out for sure, you'll never let him live it down!

After absolutely killing it at your interview despite being nervous and angry because of Shinwon, you head to a café to treat yourself. Of course, Shinwon just has to be there. Working. At that café.

You don't realize it until you're right at the counter, since you're so giddy from the successful interview, still. But as soon as you hear him laugh right into your face, you realize who it is.

"[y/n]? What are you doing here now? Are you stalking me?" he laughs. His coworkers grow increasingly confused until he introduces you.

"This is [y/n]. They're my neighbour, and unnamed. Isn't that sad?" Shinwon tells them, cracking up.

His coworkers nervously nod and continue with what they were doing, but you feel absolutely embarrassed. You don't even know any of these people but now all of them know that you're unnamed? You'll get Shinwon back for this....

"Can I get that drink please?" you ask Shinwon, pointing to the menu. After paying for the drink, you wait on the side for him to prepare it. When he finally hands it to you, your rage is bubbling up so intensely inside that you do something you never thought you would have done.

As you go to pick up the cup, you pretend to 'accidentally' knock it over and spill it all over Shinwon.

"Oops, sorry," you say, innocently.

Shinwon wears a blank look on his face. He pauses, not doing anything until one of his coworkers rushes forward to help clean up.

"I'll get you a new drink!" they tell you.

You start to feel a little nervous as Shinwon's mood has very obviously changed. He greets the new customers quietly and without a trace of a smile on his face.

Why does it even matter, though? He's the one who's always making you feel angry. How about he be the one who feels angry for a change?

After taking your new drink and heading home like a boss, you spend the rest of the day resting at home. You decide to go out for a walk later in the evening, though, and you're met with a surprise when you open your door.

Your favourite plant, that you've placed right outside your door so you can see it everytime you enter and leave the house, and also so it's easy for people to know which flat is yours when they're visiting, has been completely smashed to pieces. The gigantic pot that was holding the little tree that had grown taller than where the doorknob sat on your door is now laying on the ground in a sad state.

It breaks your heart to see it like this, but you know exactly who's done it.

You take a few steps until you're at Shinwon's door. Then, you knock loudly, wondering if he's still home. Sure enough, he opens the door. And when he notices its you, he glares.

"What is it?"

"Why have you gone and broken my plant?"

"What makes you think I did it?" he shoots back, a slight, evil smile dancing on his lips.

"I know you did it, Shinwon."

There's a moment of silence as Shinwon thinks of what to say next, but you don't even let him speak as you continue.

"Shinwon, you embarrassed me, today, just like you always do. If this is because of me spilling my drink on you earlier, then no. We're not even now. We were even after I spilled my drink, because you've been tormenting me for so long now."

"What have I done?" Shinwon asks you, raising his eyebrows.

You sigh.

"It's not even worth telling you. Maybe you should clean up my plant and take some time to think about it yourself," you tell Shinwon before walking away.

He's left in a daze and actually ends up cleaning his mess, wondering why you have such an effect on him so suddenly. They're hot when they're angry, is what he finds himself thinking, but he quickly pushes this thought away.

-

"Shinwon, you jerk!" you yell up into the sky as you sit in your balcony, drinking some alcohol.

Nothing quite hits the spot right now like the drink in your hand as you peer down at the peaceful view below. A light breeze hits you and you close your eyes, feeling like it's caressing your face.

"You called?" Shinwon asks, poking his head out from the balcony next to yours.

You almost drop your drink out of your hand and curse at him. Shinwon just laughs at response.

"I never called you!"

"I clearly just heard you call me a jerk..."

You stick out your tongue at him and continue to drink. Somehow, he climbs over from his balcony onto yours and takes a seat across from you, taking a few sips from your drink. You feel so hazy that you don't even feel surprised.

"What are you doing?" you finally ask him.

"Not letting you drink alone," he murmurs.

"And what's wrong with drinking alone?"

"I do it all the time. It sucks."

Shinwon wears a small smile on his face as he talks to you, different from the mischievious one he'd always give you when talking to you and teasing you.

"And why do you drink alone if it sucks?"

Shinwon hesitates, scratching the back of his neck.

"I'm unnamed... we all do that, don't we?"

Your breath hitches in your throat. Unnamed... so you were right.

"Just cause we're unnamed, that doesn't mean we have to drink alone."

"Maybe... but we do it anyway, right?"

You hum in response before drinking some more.

"Why do you tease me so much if you're also unnamed, then?"

"It makes me feel more at ease. You make me feel... more comfortable in my skin."

You laugh a little.

"And what does that mean?"

"Maybe that I like you?" Shinwon giggles.

"What? You're joking, right? It's just cause we're both unnamed."

Shinwon shrugs, looking down.

"Shinwon, you know how it feels to be unnamed, then, right?" you ask after a long pause. "I feel so unloved, so unneeded and unwanted on this stupid planet. It's like I don't have a purpose."

Your eyes start to tear up as the burden and many thoughts you've been carrying begin to spill out.

Shinwon remains silent, probably unsure of what to say or do. Instead, he says something unexpected.

"Can I kiss you?"

You cock your head at him, confused. Why is your rude neighbour asking if he can kiss you when you're literally about to cry?

Oh, well. This will be your first kiss.. Finally, you're kissing someone...

When your lips meet, Shinwon's feel so soft and warm against yours. You don't want to pull away, and it all makes sense now. You don't feel so alone anymore.

-

The next day day, you wake up to flowers at your doorstep, along with some hangover soup. There's a note on top:

feel better, [y/n]! i'm sure the hangover must be bad... i would come to your door in person, but i thought you may be too embarrassed to see me.

- jerk Shinwon

You smile as you read the way he ended the note. This all feels very weird to you... You used to hate your neighbour, but after tasting his lips last night, hearing him say he doesn't want you to drink alone and seeing what he's left for you now, you're second-guessing how you feel about him.

You knock on his door, hoping he's still home. To your surprise, he opens the door, his hair messy and his eyes puffy.

"[y/n]? How are you feeling?" he asks, looking a little frazzled.

"Me? Better than you, it seems. I'm about to head out to work!" you say, pointing to your formal wear.

"Oh... won't be needing the soup, then?"

"No, I need it! I haven't had breakfast."

Shinwon smiles, looking down.

"I'm glad," he says.

"Well, Shinwon. Wanna go on a coffee date or something today?" you ask him, your heart pounding as your veins overflow with sudden courage.

Shinwon laughs slightly, the corners of his eyes creasing.

"That sounds nice."

[bowerbirdboy]

What would you love to see for Shoni in S2? I know I'd love to see them starting to be open in front of all the others about their relationship and feelings and seeing everyone else's reactions. I'd also love to see more protective!Toni when it comes to Shelby, and just them generally them having eachother backs in a variety of situation. I also don't expect Shelby to be perfectly ok with her sexuality just yet, she's got a long way to go still and I imagine that'll cause issues also

This show is the only thing I think about right now so thank you for asking, I’ve definitely got a few ideas. First off, something I love about The Wilds is that they don’t force Shelby and Toni to only have important scenes with each other and I do hope that continues where they each have a sense of individuality to their characters. However, I’m dying for more Shoni content so here’s a short list:

- I will feel ROBBED if we don’t get protective!Toni, but her getting riled up may go against her character arc. Instead, how about...

- protective!Toni gets calmed down by Shelby only for the situation to worsen or the person to continue provoking them and then we get protective!Shelby

- Toni giving Shelby a piggyback ride. Regan and Martha got one, it’s only fair.

- I’m really interested to see if Toni knows about Shelby’s injury and current mental state, I feel like if she did she’d be freaking out more in her interview though. If that’s the case, than it’ll be even more interesting to see her reaction when they’re reunited. (There’s actually quite a few interesting parts of Toni’s interview when you think about the context of her relationship with Shelby, but I don’t know if that’s just because they didn’t want to give away the relationship and only focus on Regan and Toni).

- I’d love to see more coming out scenes with Shelby and the girls, I think I’d be a perfect way to watch her grow more comfortable in her sexuality. Also super excited for Martha to find out and see how that changes the dynamics (fingers crossed that Martha is okay though, because WHERE IS SHE)

- Biggest thing I want is just them slowly becoming more comfortable and stable with one another. I want them to get to a Deanoru level where they can be seen holding hands or checking on each other in the background. Part of that is up to Erana and Mia of course, but it also has to make sense with how their characters are written and I hope that’s the direction we trend in.

- I always love angst but I don’t really want angst for this couple, there’s too much going on around them and they need something good in their lives.

- I need more honest talks! All of my favorite Shoni scenes are their open conversations, like the morning after the lychee tree and their last scene together.

- And lastly, I think Shelby needs to confront her family to actually be able to process and heal from her trauma. I’m hoping that if it does happen, Toni will be there to support her.

- WAIT I JUST THOUGHT ABOUT DOT AND FATIN GETTING COMPETITIVE ABOUT BEING THE CUTEST COUPLE AND YUP I ABSOLUTELY WANT IT

[nancywheelxr]

you said yanli x wen qing, so maybe something during their school days?? When WQ treated JYL for her headache/fatigue and JYL realizes that maybe the Wens arent so bad and also that she could be with someone who is actually nice to her?????????

okay okay, i love them so much, thank you for sending this!!! i’m sorry this took so long, I just had to get the vibes right.

Just to preface this: i’m absolutely ignoring yin iron, the war, etc, this is a happiness ONLY world because they deserve it 🥺🥺

* “How’s your headache?”

Wen Qing asks with little preamble– the minute Yanli sits down, she has a cup pressed gently into her hands, warmth seeping through porcelain to chase away the autumn from her fingers. “Gone,” she says, taking a sip and bracing herself to the inevitably bitter tea. Medicine has never settled quite right on her tongue, always too sour, too biting.

This time, though, the sting never comes. Instead, it tastes sweet, it tastes like early spring, and the surprise comes so swift, she can’t quite stop herself from looking up abruptly. Tidying up her desk, Wen Qing falters, bowl slipping from her fingers, and she clears her throat, looking away. “Wei Wuxian told me you found it bitter last time,” she explains, turning her back to Yanli, but her voice carries her familiar unimpressed tone, “so I added honey.”

Of course. “Thank you,” Yanli hides her smile. How very honorable of Wen Qing to go to such lengths to uphold a presumed debt towards her brother: most people would not think of small acts of kindness nor find them important, even if for Yanli, they’re the ones that most matter. “But I hope you know you owe us nothing.”

Wen Qing turns sharply. In the half-shadow from the curtains, her face is unreadable, but something flickers in her eyes, no answer forthcoming. Instead, she continues adding herbs now to her bowl, a green, fresh smell wafting up from her work, “what of your energy? Have you been feeling any tiredness?”

One could almost mistake her directness for rudeness, or even carelessness, but Yanli, who has known Jiang Cheng from birth and her mother around her father, knows better. When she takes the cup, their fingers brush, gentle as falling snow. When she examines her pulse, Wen Qing is careful not to startle her. When she tells her to rest, Wen Qing offers her lavender.

When she makes tea, Wen Qing adds honey.

No matter how suspicious the rest of the disciples regard the Wens, Yanli has seen Wen Qing kneel by her brother’s bedside, has seen her cry in worry, and has seen her threaten Wei Wuxian with her needles, hiding a smile in her sleeves when everyone’s backs are turned.

Wen Qing walks her back to her room, steps light as lotus petals, voice flowing quiet as a river’s murmur, and all the while, somewhere near her heart, something warm and radiant takes root.

*

“I thought,” a voice pierces the stillness, startling Yanli into nearly dropping her basket, “I told you to rest.”

The trees shade them from the mellow sun and paint Wen Qing in deeper burgundies among the greenery. Yanli smiles. “Apologies, Wen-guniang,” she takes in her stern expression, the little pinch between her eyebrows, and wonders if it would cause offense to reach up and smooth it out. “We didn’t have lectures and the day was so beautiful…”

“So you decided to ignore a doctor’s advice,” Wen Qing narrows her eyes just slightly, glaring at the basket as if deeply offended by it. Inside it, the lychees and apples sit idly, shiny and colorful, “and carrying weight too, I see.”

Yanli tries to hide her laugh into her sleeve, hitches the basket up, too warm, too content, to feel properly guilty. “You could always join me– wouldn’t it be better, then, if I wasn’t wandering off alone?”

Hesitancy crosses her face in an uncharacteristic feat. Wen Qing seems to be debating with herself whether to storm off or not, a thundercloud in the clear weather that is swept away with the wind as quick as summer rain. Her expression settles. She storms forward instead, taking the basket with a gentleness that belied her previous warpath. “You shouldn’t be straining yourself.”

A lychee rolls off to the floor, flattens a path in the grass. Yanli picks it up, says, “I’m not so fragile.”

Wen Qing’s gaze is scorching the side of her face, steady and sunkissing-intense, but Yanli looks resolutely forward, even as they start walking again, even as Wen Qing speaks up, quiet and certain, “no, you’re not,” she walks at her side, sleeves brushing with every breath, “but I’m your doctor. Can you blame me for worrying?”

“Are you?” What? Worried? Her doctor? Yanli ducks away, hoping to hide the heat she feels spreading across her cheeks, and privately startles at her own lack of answers.

Thankfully, Wen Qing doesn’t ask her to elaborate, merely scoffs. “Of course I am your doctor. How many times have you consulted with me?”

Yanli laughs again, picking a lychee off the basket. Vaguely, she wonders if she’s reading this wrong, if they are not friends after all, but Wen Qing has yet to move away, to further the inches between them so their hands wouldn’t brush, so their steps wouldn’t tangle in the grass.

“Maybe we should stop for a moment,” Wen Qing places a hand in her arm, soft and steady, but does not look directly at her. Instead, her eyes slant to a tall cherry tree a few paces off the path, its overreaching branches casting a long shade in the earth.

If she’s being honest, Yanli is beginning to tire. Cloud Recesses is colder than Lotus Pier and the chilled air pierces her chest like pinprick needles. It’s distracting. It melts like snow in the sun when Wen Qing’s hand lowers to cup her elbow, guide her to the shadowy corner. 

They sit, the basket between them, and Yanli takes care not to stare at her for too long– the late afternoon sun illuminates her profile too well, Wen Qing looks too lovely, it pulls at Yanli as if tied together by a string, tight and unrelenting. “Here,” she says, offering the lychee she’s just peeled. Her fingers are sticky with juice, but Wen Qing looks at the fruit, at Yanli, and her heart catches on fire. 

She takes it as if it’s something precious. “Thank you,” comes the response, prim and proper, and just thorny enough to very nearly send Yanli into giggles. Still, their hands brush. Still, her skin burns. 

Still, Yanli picks another lychee.

It’s not yet blooming season for the cherry tree and the leaves cling thoughtfully in their branches, and they sit in the shade, sharing lychees and apples and peaches, time dripping away sugary sweet. 

*

Later, when Wei Wuxian asks her, wide-eyed and sweetly unaware, why like someone at all, Yanli takes pity on him and doesn’t question his motives any further, answers him in the only way she thinks it won’t scare him off from Lan Wangji’s lingering eyes.

For once in his life, he leaves it well enough alone and– she’s glad. How do you explain loving someone so much you overflow with it? How to tell him it grows like ivy over your heart, a blooming thing golden and light, hiding behind your core? A yearning happiness so encompassing you ache with it. It’s wonderful. It’s terrifying.

And all the while, Yanli thinks of fingers sticky with lychee juice, the grass brushing her ankles, honey on tea.

*

The commotion with Jin Zixuan stays with her long after the dust has settled.

Guilt swells in her chest– should she argue further for her engagement? Should she not care more about the abrupt breaking? Jiang Cheng thinks so. He’s still fuming over it, long after even Wei Wuxian has cooled off, long after their father has returned to Yunmeng.

Privately, Yanli thinks the anger is just a smokescreen, that maybe breaking off this engagement is a blessing not just for her, but she will not push, not right now. Knowing her brother, it would do no one any good. Instead, she listens to his angry grumbling and pretends not to notice his looking. Jiang Cheng seems to be always looking, these days, eyes following Jin Zixuan as if a moth to a flame. 

He calls it glaring, of course.

This helps, a little, with the guilt and the embarrassment– her mother will not be happy about any of this, not at all, and gossip will run amok between sects, yes, but if it saves her brother the misery, then how can she regret it?

“Jiang-guniang,” Wen Qing’s voice reaches her before she comes into view, leaning against the railing beside her. She doesn’t dare turn to face her, but she feels the warmth of her hand so close to hers.

“Please,” Yanli says in a moment of boldness, words spilling without her permission and falling down to the garden below them, “are we not past these formalities? Call me Yanli.”

It seems to take Wen Qing aback, forcing her to pause, and Yanli watches her blink, a pink glow to her cheeks. “Well, only if you do the same,” she clears her throat, “Yanli, how have you been?”

Yanli shivers. The sound of her name in Wen Qing’s voice– how can it be so different? The way her lips curve around the vowels– she wants it to live there, safely in her mouth, always. Say it again, she almost asks, never stop, never tell me anything else. Instead, “I’ve been well, no headaches, no more tired than one would expect.”

“I meant,” Wen Qing shifts, their fingers brush in the wooden railing. She shivers again. “About your engagement.”

Oh. Finally, Yanli turns, glancing away to the greenery growing over the rocks to catch the tail-end of what must have been a concerned expression. As with looking directly at the midday sun, Yanli burns. “Then I thank you for your concern,” she nods politely, more muscle memory than any real presence of mind, “but there is no need for it. I’m fine, truly.”

Wen Qing hesitates, brow crinkling, leans forward just slightly, as if not even realizing, “forgive me if I overstep, but you seemed upset, earlier.”

“You could never,” she shakes her head, a small smile blooming unbidden, “I was upset to have caused such a disturbance and I admit, his words stung at the time, but– I think, it might have been for the best.”

Something flickers in Wen Qing’s eyes and Yanli wonders how she could have mistaken her as the sun before: it’s as if clouds have parted and the sky has cleared, and Wen Qing is brighter than ever. A constellation made flesh, light given a soul. 

Yanli wonders–

“In that case,” Wen Qing smiles, and it’s the loveliest thing Yanli’s seen in this life, the kind people would go to war for. She would do anything to see it every day until the end of the world. “Perhaps I asked the wrong person. Surely, Jin-gongzi must be distraught– otherwise, if he’s not, then he must be stupider than I thought.”

This startles a laugh out of her, too used to Wei Wuxian to be properly scandalized with the lack of decorum and delighted with the abrupt rudeness. She should not be so amused, she thinks, or so endeared by it, but as with all things concerning Wen Qing, Yanli is helplessly charmed. “Wen Qing,” she chides for the sake of it, just to say it aloud, savoring the name in her tongue, feeling it echo from her heart.

“It is forbidden to lie in Cloud Recesses, after all,” Wen Qing recites, wry and pleased, her eyes twinkling in the moonlight with mischief. It’s one of those things that she seems to keep very close to her chest, and Yanli swells with happiness at being allowed to witness it so freely. 

You could never overstep, she had meant earlier, anywhere you want, I’ll let the light in for you. Maybe this could go both ways. Hopefully. 

“Are you really not heartbroken?” She asks, growing serious once again, seeming to give her one last chance to request a shoulder to cry on. 

“Yes,” Yanli tries to speak with as much confidence as she can, suddenly desperate for Wen Qing to believe her, “we have been betrothed since we were children but it has never been any more than that.”

A nod. “You do not feel sad,” she catches her eye, solemn and infinitely patient. Kind. Gentleness hiding in plain sight if only one cares to look. “Then how do you feel?”

Has anyone asked Yanli this and meant it in such a way? She doesn’t know. Her heart trashes, swallowed by a riptide. “Free,” she smiles, “awake.”

Wen Qing seems to soften in the light. How is it possible they know each other for less than a year? It feels longer. It feels like she’s known Wen Qing her whole life, has been waiting for her. Whatever lies after death, she’ll know her there too. “I’m glad,” Wen Qing says, reaching to cover Yanli’s hand with hers, thumb brushing circles in a soothing heart-stopping rhythm, “you deserve more than that.”

Maybe it’s selfish of her, maybe she is the one overstepping, maybe she is reading this all wrong. Maybe Wen Qing doesn’t mean herself. But– so far, Yanli has hardly dared to want anything for herself. Can’t she have this? If nothing else, this. Her. 

“A-Qing,” she dares, voice quiet with all the other words she wants to say, and reaches for her, feels the silent tremor that travels underneath her palm. Hope. “A-Qing,” she repeats, and Wen Qing is so beautiful, eyes dark and wide, and Yanli never wants her to look away, never wants to say anything else other than her name. Forever, just them. Just their names in each other’s mouths. “What if I wish for more than I deserve?”

Wen Qing breathes, eyes fluttering shut for a moment. “Impossible. You deserve more than this world could hope to offer,” she glances at the moon high above their heads, then back down at Yanli with fierce certainty, “tell me: whatever it is, it’s yours.”

Please, she begs, her. “What if all I wish for is you?”

The words taste like honey in her tongue, and they slip syrupy sweet from her lips, conquering this secluded garden in the Cloud Recesses for themselves and taking residence between the green. Yanli wants to cry, wants to dive in the lakes of Lotus Pier and stay underwater until no one remembers her existence, wants to–

Wen Qing makes a small, wounded sound, and lurches forward, hands shaking like they never do, and she smells like the herbs she crushes to make into medicine, like lavender, and Yanli loves her. “Then you must surely know,” she tells her, voice like a leaf in the wind, “that it’s always been yours.”

A happiness so encompassing, it aches. Yanli is so in love, it spills into the world like rain. “A-Qing,” she says into her lips, and then Wen Qing answers, a whispered A-Li tucked in between a kiss.

[soundofez]

@mastar-week​ 2021, day 3// solace

The Untamed AU. In the end, even Black Star cannot defy his own death. The clans gather to facilitate his fall.

Maka doesn’t let them. It drives her own clan half-mad, but she will not give the world a dying man to execute. She will not give up the man she has left so long abandoned. She will not let Black die unloved.

Warnings: hurt/comfort but mostly hurt, insanity, major character death. this one's a big ouchie my guys ಥvಥ

Ten Years Ago.

After the last surviving branch of the Star clan finally submits itself to the judgment of the Death clan, the wards around the Sunken Hills fail.

The other clans swarm, metaphorical pitchforks readied, eager to tear apart the notorious Last Dragon of Star. Maka arrives too late to stop them from trespassing; she flies past trampled gardens that twist her heart with grief and fury. How dare they disregard the toil of the people who lived there; how dare they claim themselves superior to innocents who wished only to survive.

She arrives in the central cave, the so-called Den of the Last Dragon, to find Black Star holding the rioting clans at bay, untouchable even now, shorn hair tied into powerful charms and dried blood applied with morbid skill to woven talismans. The stink of rotting yin is almost overpowering: lesser cultivators lie strewn about, their natural yang insufficient to counter such high concentrations of that dark energy.

Maka waits until she is noticed, until the assembled cultivators finally back away from Black's final wards. They ask her if she wants the honor, and she nods curtly in return. "Only right," they agree, though their voices betray a rapacious hunger for violence. "Only right for the Jade of Death to avenge her young master."

She does not deign to use words with them. They are not the ones who need to hear what she has to say.

When at last they all stand silent and waiting, like circling crows, she walks past their bedraggled ranks to stand before Black Star.

He nods as she approaches, and she walks directly through the wards that had so powerfully repelled the other cultivators. He keeps his charms and talismans to hand, but he makes no move to use them against her.

The look in his eyes frightens her. He is not defeated, not quite; but he is weary and grieving, and to Maka he appears to be awaiting condemnation.

From your sword, he had once told her, I will face my death and consider it just.

Maka casts her own wards in one smooth flourish. They blaze behind her, brighter than Black's wards are dark. "Leave," she says aloud. She does not look away from Black. She cannot bear to, not now, not when there is so little time left between them.

The cultivators grumble with confusion that morphs into surprise and indignation and shock. "She has been bewitched," one of them cries. "He has corrupted her," shouts another.

Maka turns to face them. "Leave," she repeats.

She has to encourage them with a sweeping blow from her sword before they obey. She grants them no more words, even as they express promises to return. (To free her, the stupider ones declare; to slay her, the smarter ones say.)

They do not understand what she is doing. How could they, when they are so utterly convinced of the guilt of the man she is protecting?

Black Star does not seem to understand, either. "What are you doing?" he asks as their opponents flee.

"I'm doing what I should have done a long time ago," Maka replies.

Black spreads his arms. "Kill me, then."

The accusation stings. Maka permits it. She has done nothing to earn his faith. "I won't," she replies.

Black Star smiles at her, coughs— there is blood in his teeth, dribbling down his chin— his wards fail, and her own are suddenly blindingly bright—

She lunges to catch him before he can hit the ground.

—

In the end, even Black Star cannot resist his fate. His cultivation technique, which draws so heavily on natural quantities of yin, overwhelms his body's supply of yang.

Maka had known it would happen. She hadn't known how little time Black had left.

They spend those last months together, her and Black Star and a surprise child she found around the back of the cave. The girl's eyes as green as Maka's, though her hair is that brilliant blue infamous to the Star Clan. She looks startlingly, heart-achingly similar to how a child might look if Maka ever bore one for Black Star.

Maka salvages what she can of the former gardens, replanting radishes while little Hoshino Ao does her best to plant herself, too. They collect Black's favorite lychee from the trees, hard-won little things that Black had been so proud to show the cuttings of eighteen months ago, when they had stumbled into each other in the little town at the base of the Sunken Hills. Maka washes and peels and pits the tiny fruits, saving their precious flesh in a shallow dish specially reserved for them. Ao loves them as much as Black does; Maka has to teach the little girl restraint, even as she wishes that she could peel all the lychees the two Stars could ever desire. Ao obliges even so, sharing the dish with Black while 

Maka inspects the illusory wards alone. They cover a smaller area than Black's old wards had, but there is no longer a clan here who needs the space. Maka doesn't have access to the same techniques Black had used to cover such an enormous area, anyway. She secures the edges of the wards as the clans storm around invisible border, oblivious to her presence; Maka in particular watches her father, who appears more distraught than dissatisfied. He is one of the few cultivators to come daily, and the only one to beg and grovel for her to come home. He has an uncanny knack for knowing when she is present; he always seems to start pleading when she is around to hear him.

Maybe it is not so uncanny. He knows the feel of Death clan wards as well as she does, even if he cannot get through them. Still, Maka cannot safely speak to him, and so she doesn't. Time enough for forgiveness after Black dies.

—

They talk quite a lot in those last months, even as excessive yin rots his body and decays his mind. "Why are you protecting me?" he asks early on, while he still has his sanity. "The honorable Jade of Death shouldn't be helping an evil cultivator such as myself."

"You were never evil," Maka says hotly. "I should have protected you sooner."

Black laughs her off, light-hearted even as he waits for his grave.

At other times, Black is morbid. "You'll have to live here forever," he informs her. "If you leave this place, they'll kill you." He says this with regret. You shouldn't have come for me, Maka hears, even though the words do not leave his mouth.

"They won't kill me," Maka replies.

Still other times, Black flirts with her. "You can have your way with me, you know," he'll say, winking. "Nobody can stop you, least of all me. I'll never tell, either."

He is trying to drive her away. Tough: she's not leaving him until one of them dies. She tells him as much, though instead of acknowledging his failing body, she simply says, "I'm never leaving you again."

His spirit fails. He is tormented by ghosts who do not exist and nightmares that escape the realms of sleep. Still, he seems to recognize her. "I missed you, you know," he tells her, half-delirious. "All these months I spent cooped up in these hills, I missed you."

"I missed you, too," Maka replies, pressing a cup of water or a bowl of radish stew to his lips. He seems to hear her, and he smiles.

He starts to forget that she's there: when she returns from gardening or lychee-picking or checking the wards, he will startle and beam at her. "Maka, you've come to visit!" he will cry, or even, "You! I love you!"

She never knows if these last words are truly meant for her. "I love you, too," she replies anyway, pressing lychee flesh to his lips and letting him lick the sweet nectar from her fingers like a child. The fruit seems to keep the horrors at bay, at least for a little bit, at least while she's with him.

The last time he speaks to her, he is strangely coherent. "You shouldn't have gotten involved, Maka."

She sits beside him. "If I'd gotten involved sooner, you wouldn't be dying," she replies, thinking bitterly of the years she's spent dithering, and for what? She is already twenty-two, fast leaving marriageable age, and the love of her life is dying.

He is only twenty-two, and he is dying.

"You don't know that," he replies. "And that's beside the point. You should have let them kill me. The gods know I deserve it."

She leans over him, takes his face in her hands. "You promised you would be killed only by my hands," she tells him. "I will not kill you. I will not let the world execute an innocent man. I will not leave you because you are dying. I should never—" Her voice cracks on the word. She swallows and continues, staring into his black eyes, wondering if she will ever fall into such blackness again. Never, she thinks. It's impossible. "I should never have abandoned you, Black."

I will not let you die unloved, she wants to tell him later, but by then he is beyond hearing.

—

She buries his body. She does not take down the wards. She steps out from the Den of the Last Dragon and into her weeping father's embrace. She pushes Hoshino Ao into his arms before she submits to the clans' judgment.

She is not executed, as she had predicted. Lord Death is still too fond of her. Still, she is sentenced to daily lashes and seclusion for a year. It takes another year for her to recover.

Of course, she never really recovers. She continues living, and she is dutiful to the clan, and she finds some measure of joy in teaching the new cultivators; but she does not begin to recover until she sees a man in plain grey robes, his hair white but his eyes that impossible black, placing a talisman she’s seen many times before on a corpse who should have been long gone.

[kannra21]

Daisuzu shopping 💗

I thought about Daisuke's night at Kato's place and wondered if he'd ever consider repeating "the same mistake" again. Living a life of a commoner is strange for a millionaire, but he'll get the hang of it.

~o0o~

It was yet another busy day at the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department. The crew managed to catch the criminals responsible for the robbery of the "Space Jewelry" shop in Ginza, the Tokyo's most famous upmarket shopping district. After he filled the report and got himself patched from a fight with one of the resisters, Daisuke returned to his mansion with bandages and sterile gauze wrapped around his upper arm. It wasn't that deep but the cut on his maroon dress shirt wouldn't be fixed so easily.

Suzue had enough of constantly throwing away beautiful garments of clothes and Daisuke's closet was becoming emptier by each day. Therefore, she decided to do him a favor and buy the suits by herself. She got dressed in her beige trenchcoat after their meal and before she left the residence, Daisuke stopped her and asked if he could join her in whatever she needed help with. This surprised Suzue because he was never interested in these kinds of things, she was usually in charge of the purchases. Daisuke insisted because, after he spent his time at Haru’s place, he realized just how important it was for him to get involved in the everyday life of a simple man and learn how things around him work. And Suzue was never happier to comply.

Daisuke felt a little odd that he had to blend in with the large crowd of simple commoners, the busy traffic, and the constant commotion. Does Suzue really have to deal with this every single day? He suddenly felt self-aware and didn't know where to put his hands. He saw a couple holding hands and felt a little awkward because he didn’t know how Suzue would react if he performed the same thing. Therefore he extended his elbow in a gentleman-like fashion and offered her to take it. She smiled the sweetest smile and accepted it, he didn't even know what he found so compelling in this situation but it made him content as well.

They arrived at Aoyama boutique in one of the wealthiest neighborhoods around. And although it has a great reputation in fashion industry, they offered casual designs with hight quality and inexpensive prices. The moment they walked in, Daisuke was instantly drawn to the expensive section of the shop but Suzue needed to drag him away to the part they were looking for.

"But Suzue, these suits aren't as good as the ones on display."

"That's because every store has a simple costumer tactic they're using for psychological reasons. For them, it is important that they have strong in-store visuals and display their best products in front of the complex. Our current task is to buy a bunch of suits with high quality and lower price. Remember, we're buying you work clothes which are easily expendable but made of quality materials to make them last longer. Besides, you already have suits for special occasions at home."

"I know but.." Daisuke felt discouraged.

Suzue could see his uneasiness and eyes averting in thought "What's wrong?"

"The day I bought Abura Emirate's seventh prince's car-"

"You did what?"

"It's true. We needed the car to catch two young people responsible for the robbery of the chocolate store."

Suzue laughed softly "This is silly."

"I know. And the prince was looking down on my clothes for some reason. I lost my nerve and made a quick purchase."

"You were rough again?"

"Yes I was."

Suzue approached him and put her hand on his cheek "Maybe the prince was boisterous but you are old money, Daisuke-sama, and a person like him won't survive long enough in the royal district. You're the real deal, so I advise you not to bother with such people if that's what you really want."

Daisuke looked surprised and somewhat flustered. Suzue panicked a little when she realized what she just did and nervously told them to continue looking for his clothes.

After they finished with the shopping, Suzue couldn't help it but to head towards the Aoyama Farmer's Market with fresh homemade products.

"I thought we were going home?"

"I know but these products are healthier than those from the supermarket. I'm only thinking about your health, you'll thank me later."

Daisuke just watched her walking enthusiastically towards one of the stands and he was shaking his head while smiling. He found it cute when she gets so carried away. Suzue spotted the jam of her choice stacked on a high shelf, she tried to reach it but even her high heels couldn't help her. In vain attempts to get it, she didn't notice Daisuke standing next to her and taking what she wanted. Their hands barely brushed against each other and they nervously looked at different directions. He handed it to her and she thanked him.

Noticing her tension, Daisuke wanted to relax her so they wouldn’t find themselves in similar situations and not to make her nervous anymore. He could only guess why this was happening but, being clumsy the way he was, he couldn't fully establish the reason of her behavior. However, he tried and proposed to take her to Cheery Blossoms at Aoyama Cemetery. Suzue instead, became so flustered upon hearing his suggestion that he got worried and asked her if he should take her somewhere else which she refused because she didn't want to disappoint him if he really wanted to go there.

And that's where they were, sitting on a bench and watching the peaceful sight of the beautiful cherry blossoms. Suzue was so thrilled to be there that she took pictures of the place and made selfies. She looked at them and commented how she couldn't wait to show them to Mrs. Kikuko. Now that she mentoned her, she wondered whether they should buy something for her as well and she went through all the possibilities of what they could bring her once they arrive home. Daisuke watched her with a soft smile on his face.

"Suzue is really amazing.. wait what am I thinking?"

Well, it's not true that Suzue wasn't amazing. of course she is. God she's incredible even, for the way she always took care of everything. Being surrounded by cherry trees just added to her unquestionable beauty. Her cheerful spirit and curious nature reminded him of someone close to his heart. Someone he loved dearly, a woman who left him a long time ago and not by her own fault. But looking at Suzue now, he realized that he wasn't unfortunate because he had her and that was everything he could ever ask for.

God was he in love with her? He couldn't tell. It's not that he didn't know, he was more worried about Suzue's reaction. How will she take it? Is it too risky to start off this soon? Is she still nervous being by his side? Why did she act this way? Why is she nervous when there's no reason for her to be nervous in the first place? They lived in the same mansion for so long. Why is he nervous upon thinking about her and her feelings? Oh. He thought he got his answers but he needed to check them first. He just hoped that he won't mess everything up.

While Suzue watched her photos and talked about plans for the dinner, Daisuke carefully tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and kissed her cheek. They looked at each other and what Daisuke wasn't expecting was Suzue taking his cheeks in both of her hands and locking his lips with hers. Daisuke was still somewhat hazy and Suzue smiled a little.

"Cherry flowers are really doing it for you, aren't they?"

"This doesn't minimize the fact that you’re beautiful the way you are."

Daisuke realized what he just said and he blushed. Suzue gave him a peck on the lips and stroked the back of his neck which sent shivers through his back. They looked at each other so lovingly that they didn't notice other people's presence until recently and not to attract too much attention, they decided to visit Pierre Herme's café where they shared ispahan- a delightful mélange of lychee, rose and raspberry. Daisuke insisted on feeding her with the excuse that she always spoiled him and that he needed to make up for it in a way, to which she let him. They had a great time together and they took a cake for grandma as well.

When they arrived home, Daisuke opened her the doors like a gentleman he was. Suzue took a couple of his bags to help him carrying them and grandma Kikuko saw them in the hallway.

"Hello children, how was your date?"

Suzue just blushed in embarrassment "W-what do you mean?"

"Haven't you spent half a day outside? Sounds like a date to me."

Suzue just took her things, excused herself and headed to the room to put Daisuke's suits in the closet.

Grandma smiled and Daisuke averted his eyes in amusement.

"How do you notice such this?"

"I had a hunch. So, how did it go?"

"It was fine. Without any complications or embarrassments for that matter. I.. needed some time to figure things out but in the end everything sat in its rightful place."

Grandma looked relieved and said "Sayuri was always shy about expressing her feelings but when she did, she showed it in the most genuine of ways. And every day you keep resembling her more. I'm glad you turned out the way you did, even if we have our own disagreements."

He smiled a little "Thank you, grandma."

And went upstairs to help Suzue with the stuff they bought. Maybe he couldn't see his mother again, but Suzue brought a positive change in his life. A change he'd always be grateful for and cherish.

@daisuzuship @innovativestruggles @narcopharmacist @unholysoggytea @riaymei @ieatcrumbs @cow-goes-oof @matchabucks @bluegleeful @levi-is-heicho @kakooshi @kokorokai @darknessrxse @fluffyyagiza @geniusmeemee @sungmnnnn @koalarin @alstroemerie @petiamaximoff38 @hellohellokookie @marialenikiforov

Here ya go, hope you like it! 💞 Like I mentioned before, if you don't want me to tag you in this post you can tell me and I'll remove the tag. 👍

[duhragonball]

Dragon Ball Z 041

Hey, we’re at Namek already!   Or... are we? 🤔🤔🤔🤔

For some reason, Bulma has trouble landing the ship, or she doesn’t know how to just lower it gently onto the surface.    Instead, she sort of brings it in like a jet landing on a runway, except the ship doesn’t have landing gear, and her runway is full of trees and ends at a cliff.    Much of this story arc seems to depend upon Bulma being in too big of a hurry to stop and consider things more carefully, but you’d think she’d be more careful about landing the ship, since her top priority has always been self-preservation.  

Of course, if Bulma actually did take a more cautious approach here, the whole premise would fall apart.  This planet isn’t Namek at all, and the ship’s computer tried to tell her that, but she didn’t notice.   Now that they’re down, she probably doesn’t see any point in double-checking their coordinates, but I would think the warning would still be there.

The ship falls off a cliff, and the gang finds themselves in this building, which does look rather Namekian in design.    Well, it looks a lot like the Namekian spaceship, at least.

Bulma wakes up to see a pair of Namekians, who introduce themselves as Zarkuro (left) and Dr. Lychee (right).

They trade some playful insults during this introduction.  Zarkuro jokingly refers to Lychee as the worst doctor he’s ever met, and Lychee says Zarkuro has been “bad company” for 300 years.  Bulma only notices that this means they’re both really long-lived, but the real question is why they’ve been together for 300 years.   The only plausible explanation I can think of--besides the truth-- is that they’re a married couple.   That has a certain charm to it.    Two spouses, living in some remote outpost, plenty of provisions, completely at ease around one another. 

Lychee grabs Bulma’s nose and tells her this is the traditional Namekian greeting, so she reciprocates.   Then they wake up Krillin and Gohan, and they do it too.    What exactly is Lychee holding when he does it to Krillin?   

I sort of wish this became a thing, like the Vulcan hand sign or E.T.’s finger touching thing.   Dragon Ball fans could use it to say hello, but it’s kind of an invasion of personal space.    I know I wouldn’t want anyone reaching up to grab my nose like this.    Probably a good way to spread colds around too.

They all have a meal together, and Zarkuro wishes them luck in finding the Dragon Balls, indicating that he already knows what they’re here for. 

Bulma asks how they know so much, and they demonstrate telekinetic abilities, such as levitating a cigar and igniting it without a match.   I’m pretty sure Goku can do that too, although that doesn’t necessarily translate to telepathic abilities.  Then again, Goku will be reading Krillin’s mind in a similar fashion before long, so maybe I’m wrong about that.  

The ship is banged up, but Zarkuro thinks it’ll still fly. 

So Bulma checks the Dragon Radar and gets a signal.   Even better, three Dragon Balls are clustered together, so this ought to go off without a hitch. 

However, Zarkuro warns them that their landspeeder won’t last long in the hostile terrain, so he offers to take them in his goku, which is apparently a Namekian term for some sort of airship.   I’m not really sure why this vehicle is any better suited to the environment than Bulma’s equipment, but okay.

Zarkuro even helps them find a Dragon Ball while he’s at it.   So far these guys have been very helpful.    A little too helpful...🤔🤔🤔🤔🤔🤔🤔

Back on Planet Frieza #79...

...something big...

...is about...

... to happen!

Oh, wait, no it’s not.   As much as I love Dragon Ball Z, this is just one of the many inexcusable scenes where absolutely nothing happens.   This was already a filler episode, so I’m astonished that Toei felt the need to add even more padding to it.   Alternatey, they may have felt that it was worth putting the main antagonist in this episode, just to remind everyone he’s still in play.

Geets has a scary dream about fighting Goku, and Goku wakes up and throws a punch, scaring all the other patients, so it’s like they’re supposed to have some psychic bond now?   If Kakavege shippers aren’t making use of stuff like this, then I don’t know what they’re up to.

Goku’s feeling restless, but Chi-Chi wants him to STFU and be a good boy for once in his life.   Just let her knit, Goku.    Give her that at least.

She’s knitting a li’l sweater for Gohan, but I’m not sure it’ll fit him either.  

The next Dragon Ball is in an ancient burial ground, and Bulma finds it in a coffin.   Isn’t it a little odd that the Namekian Dragon Balls would have gone un-used for so long?   That one’s been buried for thousands of years, right? 

Also, why are there pictograms of people who clearly aren’t Namekians?   Why would anyone put that there? 

Bulma starts to get suspicious, but she’s mainly worried about the Namekians stealing their wish.     This is probably the smartest thing about this arc, because there’s clearly something off about all of this, and the gang knows it, but they’re so focused on their mission that they’re only thinking about securing the Dragon Balls.

The third Dragon Ball ends up getting swallowed by a giant dinosaur.   Bulma tries to chase after it, but Zurkuro stops her.

Bulma thinks he’s up to something...

But a trip in the goku makes his concerns plain.    The dinosaur wandered right into a swamp full of toxic gas and corrosive liquid.   If Bulma had followed him on foot, she never would have survived.  

So the gang trusts Zurkuro again, and he provides a diving suit that will give the wearer ten seconds of protection against the swamp acid.   Gohan volunteers to fetch the Dragon Ball.    He says he’s doing it for Piccolo, but I’m pretty sure he’d be going in any case, since he’s the only one small enough to fit in the suit.   Why does Zukuro even have that thing if he can’t use it himself?   🤔🤔🤔🤔

When Gohan decided to go on this adventure, Bulma and Krillin promised Chi-Chi they’d look after him and keep him out of danger, but look how that turned out.    “I’ll dive in the deadly acid!”   “Okay.”

As a precaution, Zurkuro had attached a line to Gohan’s suit, promising to pull him out after seven seconds, but it breaks.    The suit can hold for ten seconds, but that doesn’t apply to the cable, I guess.   Also, is it really safe for him to be handling that acid-soaked line with his bare hand?   🤔🤔🤔🤔

Fortunately, Gohan makes it out, even as his suit begins to fail, because he remembered he can fly.   This seems to happen a lot in the Fake Namek arc, so keep that in mind...

So what’s Dr. Lychee doing while all of this has been going on?    Well, let’s check back on him...

Yeah, he’s working on some very important medical research right now... 🌿🌿🌿🤔 🤔 🤔

[watermarginhk-blog]

Thriving in The Orient

FICTION

Ever since their fall from grace into middle class, Mum’s temper had quickened and the tallies marking her lips had grown to outnumber the ones around her eyes. Wilhelmina had suggested some creams, but Mum was in denial.

“Ladies and Gentleman, welcome to Hong Kong,” says a man with a funny accent. “It is a safety requirement that you remain seated yada yada yada. Yada yada yada, on behalf of Captain Darryl and my team, thank you for flying Cathay Pacific and enjoy your stay in Hong Kong. Goodbye!”

Wilhelmina, or Willa as her friends back in Grimsby call her, has butterflies. As in she has literally hidden a jar of dead butterflies, cleverly wrapped in a scarf, in her bag. What if they stop her at customs?

She’ll probably breeze through. They eat turtles and frogs here for crying out loud.

Plus, she is wearing her rose quartz choker. Willa chants a long ooommmmm in her head and shivers as it reverberates through every chakra of her body. She smiles and bows to the flight attendant, who smiles back at her wearily. It had been a long flight.

* * *

Two months into her new position teaching English at a Youth College for disadvantaged youths in the New Territories and Willa is ready to hop on a plane to Bali. Or Laos. Or Vietnam. She has been dreaming of Angkor Wat since her best mate back home Constance Jane returned from her Asia trip eyes wide skin red and peeling like an apple under hot water. She’d told Willa about a tiger-breeding monk who had taken her under his wing for a day and opened her third eye during a short ceremony she couldn’t clearly recall.

The week after, Willa’s ex-boyfriend Colin, who graduated the year before with a 2:2 in English Literature, same as Willa, got back from his teaching job slash gap year in Hong Kong.

When he asked her out for coffee, she knew it was an omen. A symbol from the Creator that she should explore her options in Asia. Career-wise. The guys there were a bit on the short side for her liking, but her good friend Laura had written in her weekly newsletter that her Chinese boyfriend worshipped her like some kind of goddess, and especially loved her hair, which was blonde. She’d made a pact with herself after she and Colin’s mutual break up over Skype, anyway.

Willa thinks about asking Margaux, one of the other female NET teachers, about travelling together at the next Bank Holiday weekend. Margaux is French and has Rosemary’s Baby hair. At lunchtime, Willa goes downstairs to ask the quiet receptionist girl, whose name is either Vicky, Kathy or Fanny, where Margaux’s classroom is.

“Upstairs the second floor, Room 15,” says Vicky or Kathy or Fanny. “Thanks,” says Willa, and dutifully inclines her head.

“Margieee hiyaaaa!!! Want to grab a dim sum after work?” she asks, swinging from the doorway, a bit like Pocahontas from a tree.

Margaux whirls around. She’s wearing fluorescent orange eyeshadow today.

“Mais yes, sounds délicieux—but s’il vous plait never call me with that name again uh?” she rasps with a sophisticated wrinkle of the nose.

Willa’s cheeks itch and Margaux turns back to her monitor.

She was only trying to be friendly.

“Brilliant!!! Meet you there at six, Margaux!!!” she warbles and turning to leave, almost trips over a small child. Quiet as ghosts, these children. Like their parents are training them up as ninjas or something. Even more disturbing is when there’s thirty of them staring vacantly at the whiteboard after being asked a seemingly obvious question, like how to conjugate a verb to match plural nouns.

She is dreading next class. Maybe, if she’s lucky, the ring leader will have caught that nasty stomach bug that’s been going around. Maybe the back row girl gang won’t threaten her life today.

She had taken this job at the Youth College, despite it being farther out, because four days into her initial job at St. Margaret Teresa Catherine’s Royal Kindergarten, she'd realised she hated young children, actually, because they were annoying little cunts who snotted everywhere and never listened no matter how many times she shouted for them to sit down.

The older the better, she had mistakenly thought, but it seems Asian kids only have two settings. Dead loud or dead silent.

As soon as her last student fucks off out the door, Willa packs her bag, checks her lipstick and virtually flees the school. Today is one of those days she questions her very impulsive decision to move thousands of miles away from the comforts of home to a foreign country where barely anyone knows any English. Did these people learn nothing from the Brits?

* * *

There’s no queue outside Dim Sum Palace, which is not its real name, but it sounds good on her blog and the name stuck. It’s usually quiet at this time, which is confusing, because don’t Chinese people eat dinner too? She approaches the pinch-faced hostess and holds up two fingers. Leng gow, she mouths, meaning two people in Chinese. The hostess looks bemused and smiles at her as a mama bear would smile at a sweet little rabbit in the woods.

Twenty-two minutes late, Margaux shows up with Nina. And Marty. Of course.

Margaux undulates into one of the chairs at the next table, Nina and Marty either side of her. Seeing the p-d off look on Willa’s face, Margaux grins.

“Willa cherie don’t look so angry uh? The more the merrier non?”

She crooks her finger and Willa comes to sit.

They order the usual ha gow (shrimp dumplings), sew moy (pork dumplings), cha sow bow (roast pork buns), low pak gow (fried turnip cake). Marty insists on steamed chickens feet because he wants to “expand his horizons.”

“Your wife not doing it for you lately?” Willa asks.

“Well as you know Willa my wife just gave birth hey and look I hope this won’t put off your appetite guys but as you know guys I don’t do well with all this lady stuff right and when I come back in the room after her you know Scisserion right you know where they snip the belly open right because what with me being a Westerner and all the baby would’ve got stuck or something so they handed me the baby and I said guys I said no right I mean come on that thing came out of my wife’s……like it was covered in blood and piss and shit before they wiped it I mean what were they expecting me to do here right?”

Nina frowns at her tea.

“But Marty you are le papa de bébé non? Why don’t you want to ‘old ‘er?” Margaux asks.

Before he can spring to self-defend, steaming baskets of pungent dim sum appear on the lazy susan. Everyone deploys their chopsticks as best they can and the wait staff try not to laugh.

* * *

An hour later, Willa is home and scanning the fridge. She’s still hungry from dinner because actually, she finds Chinese food abhorrently bad, and Marty’s story about his wife’s placenta or whatever really did put her off her appetite. But she wants point 28 on her “Things You Should Know About China Before You Move” list to sound authentic. Readers can intuit lies, so she always does the things she writes about so she can’t be called out.

She settles on the Quinoa Egg and Baby Spinach Protein Boost Pot she bought from M&S last week. Definitely worth the $30 it cost for the thirty minute cab ride home.

“Willababes is that you? Could you grab a beer for me while you’re at it please?” shouts Colin from the living room.

Willa reaches for the last Kronenbourg. Behind it is a small velvet box. The kind they keep rings in. She drops the can and it explodes across the kitchen.

“Nevermind that, love. We’ll get the cleaner to mop it up tomorrow,” says Colin from behind her.

He’s down on one knee.

Willa squeals and throws herself onto him, knocking him over onto the wet floor. They lie kissing in the beer puddle until the doorbell chimes off-key Für Elise.

“Don’t you want to get that, babes?” asks Colin, nuzzling the bindi on her forehead.

Willa can hear giggling behind the door. She gets up to answer it, thankful that the Chinese prefer tiles to carpet.

“CONGRATULATIONS MRS COLLINSON!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

Constance Jane, Mum, Laura, Margaux, Nina and Marty are grinning ear to ear, waving streamers and blowing party horns.

Willa pulls out her phone and snaps a picture for her blog.

[abominationblueberry]

Tagged by @soymilkmocha

Rules:  Always post the rules. Answer the questions and write 10 (or 11!) new ones. Tag 11 people and link them to the post. Tell the person who’s tagged you that you’ve answered their questions.

Answers!

Favorite song(s) from a Korean movie

I haven’t watched very many Korean movies! Really I’ve only watched Hello Schoolgirl and don’t remember the music. I keep meaning to branch out and watch more movies because I know there are a lot of really good ones out there.

Newest piece of media (book, play, opera, band, soloist, drama, cartoon etc.) you discovered. Share the excitement!

I have only recently discovered Joanna Newsom and don’t know why it took me this long. I knew her name, but had never listened to her before. I like picking a nice instrumental post rock group and making a playlist that shuffles between her music and theirs. 

Just like the question above, but choose a different category

AMERICAN GODS IS ON TELEVISION. It’s absolutely gorgeously filmed. Everything seems to be very thoughtfully planned. The colors particularly. Just. Ugh. My favorite book ever is on television and I cry happy tears every episode.

Top 3 stereotypical traits of your zodiac sign that totally aren’t You

I’m an Aquarius and all the stereotypical traits are pretty much exactly me. Except one. I’m not horribly social.

Favorite lyrics that come to your mind first

That come to mind first, right now it’s the opening verse of “We Are the Champions” by Queen.

I've paid my dues Time after time. I've done my sentence But committed no crime. And bad mistakes ‒ I've made a few. I've had my share of sand kicked in my face But I've come through.   

But it has to be sung in the sort of pleading emotional crescendo that Freddie Mercury does. It’s not the lyrics so much as the feeling. That man was such an incredible artist.

Your thoughts on Korean Unification

As an outsider I don’t think it’s my place to have an opinion outside of wanting everyone to live in a safe environment. This is a really very complex issue and probably very personal to a lot of Koreans. I wouldn’t want to form any opinions without knowing how the people most affected by the situation feel and without knowing what they want.

Rage out about a thing that pisses you off atm

My store is under massive cuts to our labor hours right now. Apparently we’re overspent for the entire period (which thankfully ends soon). But it means that we’re understaffed in several areas. And this is with an inventory and a store visit coming up. And Mother’s Day just this weekend. And Victoria Day weekend (which traditionally is a big camping and barbecue weekend). And in the last couple of months there have been several things that have created more work needing to be done at a store level. SO. We have more work and drastically less staffing hours to do it. We usually have three to four people in file maintenance on flyer start days. That’s to put up sale tags, make sure everything is signed properly, fix any prices that didn’t change over or had incomplete change overs, as well as doing our regular work including implementing new layouts, scanning for holes, making sure everybody completes their daily inventory corrections, putting items back in the system that have been kicked out, and a lot more. The next few weeks we have only two people on. Two people on a flyer start day. 

I’m not even mad that I’m losing hours because of it (a little concerned, but not mad). I’m mad that they’re basically impeding our ability to run the store. This is one of the things that brings sales down! Why is staffing always the first thing that gets cut? Not enough staff is one of the top customer complaints! I just. I can’t.

Favorite tree

I like oak trees and white birch. 

The price of a mango, an avocado and lychees in your country converted to USD

These are going to be based on Loblaws prices in Toronto 

Avocadoes average about $2.18 each (for now)

Mangoes average about $2.91 each

Fresh lychee are not available right now. Cans are about $1.45 each.

How do you like your coffee/tea?

I like almost all teas. I prefer them as is but do like several tea lattes.

I like all coffee. Pretty much any way it can be served. I have yet to come across a coffee preparation I don’t like. So basically I like my coffee in my mouth. That is the only specification. It needs to be in my mouth.

Questions!

I recently reblogged a post about soundwave tattoos. What sound would you want a tattoo of?

Tell me about your ideal sundae.

Build the perfect sandwich.

You’ve decided city living is no longer for you. You’re going to retreat into hermitage. Which do you pick: seaside cottage perched next to a rocky cliff, cottage in the woods that almost looks like it’s become part of the forest, a house on a farm/orchard/ranch, or a cabin in the mountains?

Describe yourself as a Disney villain.

Who is your favorite villain (and why)?

What is your favorite flower?

You are a room. What is your color scheme?

You are a wine/beer. What is your flavor profile?

What’s your favorite recipe?

Tagging: @soymilkmocha @seti-fan @stholtzmann @solidinjection @redisaneutral and anyone else who sees this and wants to have a go at it.

[mxgicaal-moved-blog]

((So here’s a story I wrote about the universe created by me and my friends, that this OC was originally from!  I’m mainly posting this to share with my old friends but you can go ahead and read it too!))

(ina = icy, lea's oc, i don't remember much about her but i do recall that she was the ice mage and we shipped her with fukai) {UNKNOWN.} With Bloodcrusher defeated (no, merely sealed away) so long ago, and the stones back in their place on the Demon Lord's crown, the mages seem like some sort of fairytale.  Not many remember them, and the idea that those jewels on the museum-exhibit crown grant powers is absurd.  But this woman knows better. This woman breaks the glass with a kick and grabs the crown, sprinting down halls and avoiding security traps skillfully - running, running, running far away until she's in some dark alley. "I will awaken you." She sends the crown flying across the alleyway hard enough to hit the ground and unbind the jewels on it.  The jewels vanish into thin air and the woman smirks.

{ROY.} The first thing he hears is the sound of busy streets.  Then comes his vision; a strange and narrow pathway between buildings that certainly isn't made of dirt.  It's solid material, a light gray color, he notes as he gives the ground a few firm stomps.  Then comes the sensation of a clenched fist - opening his hand, he sees a little blue stone with... some sort of engraving on it. It all comes back. The mages - names come tumbling out of his mouth.  Myalis.  Hikari.  Neo.  Celeste.  Ryllae.  Ina.  Balance, Light, Darkness, Time, Fire, Ice... and so many more.  The vision of a crown, its jewels scattered everywhere.  The horrible, horrible enemy they'd faced once and never saw again.  He's been called upon again, reborn after - how long?  the world seems so different now - because some force above wants him to do... something. What he needs to do, he doesn't know.  But his first thought is Ryllae.  Ryllae's always had the answers, right?  If he can find her... Glancing back down at the stone, he closes his fist and runs out onto the street.

{LEONARDO.} Anxiously, the boy wrings his hands.  He's been asked questions before - "shouldn't you be in school?"; "how old are you?"; "where are your parents?" - but he doesn't know if he's going to be able to answer the ones that are about to be fired at him. A soft groan escapes the lips of he who is lying on the bed.  A perfect mirror image, with sickly pale skin and dark hair - one could mistake these two for twins. (They were twins, once upon a time.) Eyes flutter open and Leo tenses, staring even harder at the lookalike.  The other boy tries to sit up - he falls back down, weakened by fatigue.  Finally, crimson eyes lock with Leo's and the boy speaks almost defensively. "Who are you?" Deep breaths, Leo has to tell himself, deep breaths so you can explain something so outlandish.  He closes his eyes for a second before replying. "More importantly than me, I'd ask, who are YOU?" That mirror image opens his mouth but he's silenced by Leo's own voice. "Except I already know who you are."  From the bedside table, Leo fetches a gem black like a void and presents it to the boy.  "Ring any bells, Neo?" Neo frowns, suddenly even more defensive.  "Give me that."  As if revived, he snaps into a sitting position and snatches the gem, studying it before turning to Leonardo.  "...I'll ask again.  Who are you?" A demon.  Your brother in a past life.  "Someone who knows that there's a reason you were summoned back to this world." "Is that so."  Blunt as always, Neo gives him a skeptical look. "It is."  Leo is equally blunt, but his old habit of copying is brother is quickly discarded in favor of a more serious tone.  "Listen, if I'm correct, the only thing you can remember is that you're a mage and you have the duties that accompany that title.  I don't know how you've come back, but you have, and it's for good reason." The red-eyed boy nods quietly.  Expectantly.  Leo scratches his head. "...Uh, I dunno the reason, but it's a good reason." "Okay."  Neo rolls his eyes in that familiar way Leo's always missed. "Anyways, the important thing is that you're here and I think there are some people you can't afford to wait meeting."  He places a hand on the other boy's.  "I trust you, Neo, so will you trust me?" Silence. "...Good.  My name's Leonardo."

{CELESTE.} "Myalis!" the girl calls, running across the crosswalk.  This place is strange, but she's gotten used to it after a few hours of wandering, and now her number one priority is to find her brother.  Or at the very least one of the other mages...  And maybe get a longer skirt.  This one's kinda short. When she reaches the sidewalk, Celeste is met with a familiar sight - unfortunately not Myalis, but... "Ina...?" she asks cautiously, tilting her head at the girl with ice-blue hair. "Cele?!" "It IS you!"  They share a hug - long and tight, the first hug they've shared in centuries, probably.  When Ina finally pulls away, her happiness turns to concern.  "I had a feeling I was supposed to find you..." "And I had a feeling I was supposed to find Myalis.  If you could help me with that..." "Celeste." "Mm?"  Her answer is absentminded; Myalis is on her mind right now. "We're here for a very particular reason, I think."  Glancing around nervously, Ina lowers her voice.  "I feel like something's off.  I haven't felt this way since..." Though Ina has trailed off, Celeste is well aware of what the other girl is referring to.  Frowning, she replies.  "If you're right, and the others are here too, it's important that we join the others.  We need to make a plan of counterattack."

{SAPPHIRE.} The young man across from her at the cafe looks awfully familiar, but she can't put her finger on it.  Of course, being such a popular girl, Sapphire's garnered attention from a lot of guys... perhaps he's just an admirer that approached her once.  Fingers carding through long pink hair, the girl takes another sip of her hot chocolate.  He's stealing glances at her, she notices from the corner of her eye.  But Sapphire pays it no mind.  Many, many boys have stared at her before. Then he comes over to her table. As he opens his mouth, she braces herself for some sort of inquiry about her phone number, but instead she's met with a genuinely confused-sounding voice. "Excuse me, ma'am, but have we met before?" This throws Sapphire off a little.  Is he flirting with her?  He doesn't look flirtatious.  He doesn't look happy at all.  He looks... lost.  So she answers honestly. "Not that I remember.  But you do look familiar." He quite politely asks if he can take a seat with her - to which she accepts; it's rare to find a cute boy with manners - and starts asking her questions about her family.  Not her.  Her family.  For whatever reason.  Does she have any cousins?  What are her cousins like? Sapphire is completely stumped now.  Is he interested in her or not?  What are all these questions for?  When she opens her mouth to ask, a feminine voice calls across the cafe from the doorway. "Myalis!" The boy's head snaps to the source of the voice, and Sapphire's eyes follow his. "Hikari?!" He runs off, too excited to bid Sapphire farewell.  She raises an eyebrow as they enthusiastically begin to talk and step out of the cafe. What a strange boy.

{ROY.} "Uh, excuse me."  Roy turns around to find a purple-haired man, probably in his early twenties, looking down at him a bit awkwardly.  Strange; it feels like Roy should be the older one, but... "If I were you, I'd probably head in that direction."  He points backwards.  "Just consider it a tip from... someone who knows what's up." With that, he walks off, not giving Roy a chance to reply.  'Someone who knows what's up'?  Is this a total coincidence or does someone actually know that he's a mage?  Maybe even someone who's set up a trap?  But Roy's always been a risk taker, so he takes off in the direction that man had pointed in. He's greeted from afar with four familiar faces - faces he'd never forget in his entire life.  Or in any of his future lives, for that matter. "Guys!"  The group turns to look at him before the girl with short ginger hair calls back.  And then he runs as fast as he can across the pavement, straight into the arms of four people he'd been through hell and back with.  Celeste, Ina, Hikari, Myalis... "You're just as beautiful as I remembered," he commented to Celeste with a smirk - earning him a scolding from Myalis.  They laughed and talked and caught up on what they'd been doing.  And then Roy said it. "Seeing you guys again is great and all, but there's still Neo and Ry out there..."  As far as he could sense, anyway.  It seems that only the seven of them had been called upon.  "We can't exactly celebrate until we find them, yeah?" "That's what I was going to say."  Hikari crossed her arms - oh, this was a perfect opportunity to get under her skin. "Great minds think alike.  Maybe we're soulmates, then?" "Oh, Roy, would you just SHUT UP!"

{LEONARDO.} Apparently there was some sort of radar that existed within mages, because Neo sure was confident about leading the way in their search.  Neo had practiced introducing himself to random strangers with the phrase "yeah, I'm the guy from The Matrix" (how'd he even know about that movie...?  He was still slumbering when it was released--) and they'd stopped for ice cream at least twice.  The urgent tone Leo had wanted to deliver was lost in Neo's interest in the new world.  Now they were strolling through a park when the red-eyed boy stopped suddenly. "What is it, Neo?" Leo glanced at his former brother with a mouth full of lychee-flavored ice cream. That ice cream was promptly grabbed from him.  "Hey!  Neo, th--" "Shush."  Neo narrowed his eyes and snuck behind a tree, ice cream cone in hand.  "I smell... a unique fear." Completely lost, Leo nodded and let Neo do his thing.  Stealthily, the boy pulled his arm back and hurled Leonardo's ice cream cone across the park.  He didn't even have time to be angry because a girlish scream shortly followed. "NOT LYCHEE!  GET IT AWAY FROM ME!  GET IT AWAY!" Neo snickered as a pink-haired boy came running and bumped straight into Leo, nearly knocking him over.  "Wh-whoa!" That boy looked up and blushed brightly.  "Oh, s-sorry--" "Found you, Roy!"  Neo slapped Roy on the back and laughed.  After him came more old friends - Hikari, Celeste, Ina, and Myalis.  How long had it been?  Three hundred years, maybe? And, unlike the rest, he wouldn't be recognized. "This is Leonardo.  He knows about us... for some reason," Neo said.  Then Leo took his time to speak up. "I'll explain everything later.  Right now, it's getting late - everyone follow me.  We're going to my house." With an "oh yeah!" from Red, they set off.

{UNKNOWN.} The woman twirled about, singing a tune, until finally she knelt down so she was eye-level with the cage.  "Your friends have forgotten all about you, you know." She was met with a glare from the small person inside.  "I'll make it out of here.  Just you watch." "Not on my watch.  You're too valuable to lose... Ryllae."

[readfelice-blog]

moominland chronicles 07 so fresh and so clean

Friday morning the sun creeps in between my spotted curtains, I stir, the light is golden and warming, I stretch, I start to feel my body slowly come alive, my little toes wiggle, my head soaked in my pillow begins to observe the feeling of the cotton on my skin, the smell of the bakery wafts through my open french doors. Something is wrong. My head is trapped inside a bubble, its dense and thick, acrid, everything is muffled around me, the chattering blackbird sounds so far away, I am in a thicket of half baked silence. This is fine, I just need to pop my ears, hold my nose, close my eyes, apply pressure. No pop. I’m moving my now open eyes from side to side, not sure what logic I’m following but it does nothing also.

Oh yes. I spent 6 hours producing yesterday, barely a break, an effect was catching at the end of a clip and causing some aggressive feedback, like being hit in the head by a hammer, over and over again in my ears locating the culprit, you silly cow. I was home from dogged dreary work, body aching and fatigued in every pore, after yoga nearly falling asleep on the rug on my hallway, dragging myself up to go to the mental sweet shop that is ableton and apply all the new and exciting things I’ve learned not 2 days hence, become better, brighter, more effective. But my ears were itchy, and I found some method on duck duck go to clean them with oil and water, I’d done it last week, there was a dull ringing after but I think that’d always been there. In a kind of unconscious stress laden half state, make them less itchy, clean them, hear better, brighter, crisper. It’s all about being bright and sparkling and clean, no detritus.

I’ve not been out on the weekends and really let loose for weeks, there’s a swelling inside me combined from all the excess baggage and that dogged dreary awful work, in ceramic bathrooms with flaxen eyes rubbing mirrors at 6am. Clean my ears, clean off the age of the firefox, it turns out it was a road that led nowhere. Brighter, remove all the dirt. No need for the last step with rubbing alcohol, it stung and its weird, I’m sure that was an error on the recipes part, my ears will dry naturally, I can just give them a little shake. You silly cow. When there is no alcohol or drugs to turn to what does the fatalistic human do, how can it self harm? It can attack its body.

We all need to party sometimes. Flashing lights, heavy bass, swaying people, smoking areas filled with affected bodies, not for 10 minutes, not for an hour, like anything in life it’s only rewarding if you commit to it for a long duration, let it remove the barriers and trickle into the baggage, its acidic grip melting away the gloop between the crevices that makes a mountain out of a molehill. Let the music shake up all the bits inside you, draw out all the ghosts, you can all dance together, then leave in a gaggle tired, heads leaning on each others shoulders.

Stick some cotton buds in there, the internet doesn’t agree but they’re wet and loosened by the oil, surely the liquid will just be absorbed by the bud and I will be so fresh and so clean, so so very fresh. And so clean. Back to the happy grind, EQing is a new world, my voice is razor sharp, I can hear each word, its like I’m dusting the track, clarity, sparkling, clean. Just another hour, just 30 minutes more, it needs concentrated energy, I’m so close, fiddle, knock my audio technica headphones gently, my pride and joy, my dearest purchase, my key to sonic islands untravelled before. My party for one.

I met him at a party, I don’t even remember how we started talking, maybe I sat next to him, because I was sitting with him and his friends, he’s not coming back here anymore, I closed the door of my little yellow house to him, I closed all the doors I could, I’m to sporty for him now anyway, I wear turquoise cycling shorts and I talk about yoga.  

They’re still not popping. Skip forward to Wednesday, Tuesday, Maybe that detail isn’t important, Wednesday is my go to day anyway, so let it be Wednesday. Walking home from a cleaning job on Wednesday along shaded tree lined avenues, cobbled ground beneath my feet, dizzy, still half deaf, still in a bubble, but my sight, my smell my sense of touch are all heightened, I’m not Mozart, I don’t know what partial hearing will do to this dream of mine to expand audibly. But hey, let’s make the most of this, the positive family clan mentality of EVERYTHING IS OK, if not sound then just stick to visuals, it’ll be a shame to never hear music again, but come what may. EVERYTHING IS OK.

What does a person previously dependent on alcohol to meet men and have adventures do when the well dries up? How will she ever meet a man again? Maybe it’s time to invest in a rabbit.

I’m getting really into looking after the plant my landlady left when she left last time, me and moon joke that he’s my new boyfriend. And I’m walking through the corridors of Funkhaus, it opens out into a carpeted palm decked paradise, it’s like another world, palms are plants, I’m inside a fantasy, people are starting to get less droney, look more awake, more excitable, twinkle, I have to go home to go to work tomorrow, but I take the image of that room with me as I go. I take Cabaret Voltaire to bed with me, and the ascending heart I had shimmying to the soundwaves, that was a party I didn’t even have to apply for.

Maybe meeting men isn’t so important when you’re half deaf because you’re to busy straining to understand what the person is saying to you. My californian supervisor in the Great Court, was half deaf, on one side, my nephew is half deaf to, people live without the full spectrum of their senses everyday, we live in a state of closing our senses down, especially in the metropolis, because otherwise, like Buffy when she could read peoples minds, we will go mad eventually, immediately, imminently.

I can be a half deaf person I suppose. But cleaning in silence is awful when its imposed, it’s just me and another bathroom, a dirty work surface, it’s just me and 2 privileged oh so cultivated young women in Kreuzberg, the bathroom like a white ceramic cave I’m tethered to, bits of lychee soap splattered everywhere, all over the walls, the bath, the shower, everywhere, on the floor, congealing in my mind. So very fresh and clean, I can’t really hear her properly when she tells me what she wants me to do, everything, transform the house in 3 hours, 3 2 1 , duck duck go.

You have to take your time.

And not put steroid cream in your ears, that doesn’t work.

The old adage, a watched pot never boils, is a truth so often found in the folds of life, I stop watching my ears, I let go about the worry of whether I’ll ever meet a man again or if I can save enough money till March for that feted room.

My hearing starts to return. Music briefly robbed from my life now reborn. Did my heart love till now? Forswear it, sight! For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night.

Track 31. Now to Moon (needs to be completely stripped and all the elements tweaked) Track 32 Divine Enshrine (needs more more more reverb on one vocal track) Track 33 P P P Paradise (needs building, recording in my bathroom, molding like clay)

Track 34-38 will come, I let them go like a nitrous balloon, I know they will float in to the ether and return to me.

Just don’t put steroid cream in your ears, so fresh so clean - so stripped of everything.

[idolizerp]

[ LOADING INFORMATION ON WINK’S MAIN VOCAL SOJUNG…. ]

DETAILS

CURRENT AGE: 23 DEBUT AGE: 21 TRAINEE SINCE AGE: 17 SKILL POINTS: 15 VOCAL | 05 DANCE | 00 RAP | 10 PERFORMANCE

INTERVIEW

with the delicate, demure eyes of a doe, and the curvature of a femme fatale, wink’s main vocalist possesses a duality that not many idols are fortunate enough to divulge to the korean public at large. when first hand-selected by the executives at koala.t industries, they thought it would be wise to play up her youth in comparison to the rest of the members; being one of the youngest, she was instructed to present a playful, over-the-top and almost coquettish banter on variety shows; even in interviews. the mixture of a bubbly charisma paired up with a sweetly sexy image that suited her group’s evolving concepts seemed to work well in her favor, but occasionally, she would take comments too far, or act a little too childish with her members that netizens begin to deem her as ‘annoying’ or ‘rude.’ this, in turn, led to a series of attitude scandals that blossomed mostly online. this left her company curious as to whether or not she was truly likable. after a multitude of meetings with her public relations team, it was decided that she would slowly transition into someone that leaned more soft, more tongue-in-cheek, and altogether, less sloppy. so, since their first music show win, she’s almost become a totally different person; one who waits her turn to speak, and when she does, is just as witty as before. fans have taken kindly to the apparent change, praising her for ‘growing up’ and being subtly hilarious.

on-stage, she presents a luminous, covetous display of aegyo: sending winks, kisses, hand-heart symbols, and so forth to the audiences she performs for. while many think that this is done in order to capitalize on her natural effervescence and sense of humor, or even to show gratitude to wink’s supporters, it’s mostly in practice to distract the daunting eyes of critics and online haters from her extremely lacking dance skills; she being arguably the worst dancer in the group. known for putting on a great live show, and for having seemingly stronger choreography than their vocals sometimes, sojung was beginning to stand-out a lot, but not for good reasons. word got back to her on how she was being referred to as ‘lazy’ for not putting as much effort or energy into her movements, and her excuse of ‘trying to focus more on her singing’ while performing was growing tired and overused. due to this, she spends hours upon hours of extra time rehearsing choreography to increase her confidence in movement; not ever wanting to be the odd one out. little-by-little, she’s shown gradual signs of improvement, and she hopes that she’ll match the others’ level soon.

BIOGRAPHY

triggers: abandonment, death, verbal abuse, body dysmorphia. i. an eight year old jang sojung is found seated at the foot of her parents’ king-sized bed; observant oculars gazing over at the woman who raised her in the reflection of her vanity’s looking glass, the aroma of wild rose and lychee scented body butter tickling the little one’s nostrils to burn a memory into place. curious as ever, the youngest of the household watched as mother’s manicured fingertips patted skincare into her luminous, pale complexion; the high-priced toners, moisturizers, and serums sinking into her pores to lift the gently etched in wrinkles beginning to form around the circumference of her eyes, and it’s in that moment when the silence is broken by that familiar, warm tone of voice. “sojung-ie…” the older woman lilted, pivoting around in her seat to set a doting gaze upon her daughter, the one of two that looked nearly identical to her. “do you want mommy to help you look pretty?” at the query propositioned to her, the child spritely lifted herself from the mattress and moved to replace her elder in the chair positioned before the luxurious countertop full of cushion foundations, powders, eyeliners, and false lashes. picking up a hairbrush, the matriarch of their abode began to glide each boar bristle through the babe’s long, chocolatey-hued tresses; humming a happy tune in harmony with the birds perched upon a tree near the window. only moments later, sojung gazed into the mirror and at her newly elevated features: cherry lipstick accentuating the curve of her pout, thick mascara curling up her eyelashes higher, and the peachiest of rouges bringing attention to her globular cheeks; the genuine smile that tugged onto the corners of her lips a clear conveyance of her newfound confidence. stamping a kiss atop her head, the girl’s mother leaned in close and shared in her daughter’s exuberance; leaving her with a bit of sage advice that, unfortunately, years into the future, she’d end up forgetting. “just remember, my darling love, that even without all of these products, without all of the lights, and the makeup, you’re still the most beautiful girl in the world. want to know why?” a pause followed, the tinier version of jang sojin blinked a few times in befuddlement. “because you have a kind heart, love. no one can never, ever take that away from you.” standing taller on the surface of the armchair, sojung turned and easily wrapped her arms around her mom; holding her so close, and so tight, for around a minute before whispering an “i love you so much, momma” against her chest; overcome with adoration. ii. a bouquet of vibrant roses of variegated shades of vermillion was held tight against the now eleven year old’s chest with one hand while her other palm clutched onto the smoothness of her older sister’s; its grip tight, seeking love, seeking guidance, and most importantly, seeking strength. tears full of unanswered questions, of not being able to say goodbye, and of anger streamed down the length of sojung’s contour; her mother’s coffin slowly being lowered into the ground on the most vivid, exquisite autumn morning: approxiamately one week before the start of chuseok. never in a million years had she thought that she would be thanking her mom’s spirit for protection during korea’s fall festivities at such a small age, yet here she was: trembling as she wondered why such grim fate was had on such an innocent, beautiful soul. it only took a few milliseconds for jang sojin to lose her life on impact due to a drunk driver carelessly plowing into her vehicle late at night, but it would take her husband, and her two daughters, many hours of lost sleep, many years of wishing she was around, and many weeks of grieving to overcome this bout of trauma that catapulted itself into their once happy lives. now, the littlest sibling’s father couldn’t even look at her without erupting into tears; her stunning visage an exact replica of the woman now long gone, her one-of-a-kind beauty now becoming one with the soil only to later blossom into buds of beauteous flora. iii. with tired knees pressed flush against the hard tile of the kitchen floor, yellow rubber gloves protecting fourteen year old palms from chemicals, and a face mask concealing her nose from the sulfurous odor of harsh fumes, sojung worked ardently to complete the list of chores her stepmother left for her; the itinerary spanning nearly two pages of insanely tedious, menial, flat-out unnecessary tasks to be completed by the time she returned home from the day spa with her friends. instead of simply mopping up the floors, she was instructed to scrub away at them by hand since it made them sparkle more, and in the thrush of all of this, her older sister came in from the other room, slipped on the moisture and spilled soda all over its surface, and almost as if on cue, the horror herself walked through the front door. “soyee-yah…” the younger of the two whispered, fear captured in her eyes as the older woman sauntered into the kitchen and immediately began to berate both of them for their clumsiness, for their mistake. while the words covered in acid and fire weren’t aimed necessarily at her, the smaller stared at the upset expression decorating her beloved sibling’s countenance and recalled the countless number of times that she protected her from bullies. being a lot more brave than she, soyee always fought people that threatened to harm sojung’s person, and now seeing the short-haired girl in shambles and in such a rarely vulnerable state brought out a rage in the the shorter. moving to stand tall, she positioned herself so that she was standing in front of her blood relative like a mother cat guarding her young; sights set on their father’s wife. “don’t you ever talk to her like that!” her voice loud, fueled with treacherous destruction. “who do you think you are? we were here before you, and we’ll be here after you, too! stop treating us like servants to you and your stupid sons. no one — not even my dad — likes them, and i’d be surprised if he actually likes you, too!” if looks could kill, sojung would have fallen dead in that moment, and after those events transpired, the patriarch of their home, the man that put them into this situation, informed the girls that they would be moving to seoul to live with their grandparents. it was then that the pair of them suffered their first heartbreak, and it was unfortunately in the hands of their own father: the man who promised he would never, ever hurt them. iv. at the beginning of the holiday season, sojung was warming up her voice in scales backstage at her high school’s winter musical. after failing to land a solid role the first few years of attendance, she’d taken singing lessons and worked her way up to a lead role; forever proud of herself. however, when one of her peers working costumes began to tighten the corset she donned around her waist a little too tight, then made a joke about her weight, the teen queen whipped around and glared. “do you want me to kick your ass, gippeum? if you call me fat one more time, i swear to god, i’ll make sure that no one recognizes you by tomorrow!” having stood up to her stepmother years prior, and suffered through ample amounts of horrible bullying in her childhood, she was adamant about never being taken advantage of, or walked all over ever again. did that make her a bit of a terror to some people? perhaps, but in her mind, it was all in self- defense… most of the time. hours later, after a standing ovation capping off the show’s closing night, she was approached by a man dressed to impress, and he handed her a business card for an entertainment company; urging her to audition for an open call that had just been announced a few days prior. all of this seemed to be such serendipitous timing as, only a few weeks ago, soyee had auditioned, and been offered a trainee slot, for midas media. all of this was amounting to be so mysterious, but still so exciting for the two of them. preparing a song that she adored, she entered the panel of executives for msg entertainment, became a bit nervous, flubbed her words, and wasn’t ever contacted again for a callback. disappointed, but still determined, she looked up other auditions in the area and later discovered that another talent conglomerate, koala.t industries, was hosting their own search for singers, dancers, and rappers, too. signing up, she worked night and day with her vocal coach, and when the moment came for her to shine again, she actually succeeded: lyrics were accurate, pitch was solid, technique was alright, and after a job well-done, she was overloaded with high self-esteem: even going so far as to get her grandparents to take her out to dinner to celebrate. it was at that dinner, though, that she was emailed about returning a week later with new preparations, and as luck would have it, a month after that, she was offered a spot to train beneath them in hopes of making a début. v. the year was two thousand and sixteen, and a twenty-one year old sojung finally stepped onto the stage shared by a multitude of her seniors; tv cameras spiraling around them, each girl shining in her own spotlight, and out of all of them, she was the one tasked to handle the more complex vocals — a main vocalist, through and through. back then, she had no idea what she was doing, and in a sense, she liked it that way. it was a time of deep discovery of self, and she was slowly, but surely, learning that, as much as fame seemed fun from an outsider’s perspective, it was arduous, and terrifying, and the most taxing challenge that she’d ever subjected herself to. from being labelled as unprofessional and immature, to being objectified by strangers online, it was a whirlwind of mixed emotions that she thought she’d never learn to navigate. then, in the following year, when wink received their first music show win with a slightly sexier comeback, she was no longer looked at as a competent singer, but more as a set of hips, breasts, and legs; a voluptuous frame that contained no substance, only ornaments. the change in their concept was definitely earning them greater success, and for that, she was grateful, but it was only making herself stand in front of the mirror and knit-pick each and every little thing about her body. comments on the world wide web claimed that she’d gained weight, others insisted she’d lost weight. some alleged that she was talentless, others fought and said she was one of the best vocalists in modern day k-pop. the positives and the negatives mixed to create a very interesting cocktail, and with every new day, it’s becoming harder and harder for her to accept it. the year is two thousand and eighteen, and despite all of the love she receives from her sister, and even after the golden advice her mother gave her at eight years old, she finds herself unhappy: questioning what her worth is, and whether or not she can live up to the image that koala.t paints her to be. truth be told, she doesn’t know if she even wants to become that girl, but for the time being, she keeps her head down, she complies, and vows to show the world someday that, despite her alluring visuals, despite her title, and despite wink’s reputation, she’s actually talented; she’s actually human.

[havenataliewilltravel]

“I would never dream of feeding my children anything that wasn’t grown in our region.”

6.22.18 - This quote, which was spoken by Rachna on the way back from Dehradun, touches on two themes that have emerged quickly within my first few days here. The first is regional pride, and the second is the thoughtfulness that goes into the food here.

Every Indian person here carries their regional identity like a wealthy person carries currency: it gives them their power and everyone, everyone, everyone they encounter knows about it. There is Ganjun, who hails from the west coast of India, where it is much, much hotter than in Uttarakhand. There is Asmaani, who is from Assam, which shares heritage with East Asia and is known for its tea. Then, of course, there is Rachna, our matriarch of sorts, who comes from here, from Dehradun. Rachna calls all the people native to the region between Dehradun and Mussoorrie, including herself, “hill people”, and she does so with great pride. The hill people know how to cut steppes into the limestone hills for farming; how to drive on a winding, narrow mountain road thousands of feet into the sky, even during monsoon season; how to coordinate the children of disparate hamlets into one school and cajole a teacher from a city into undertaking a long, daily commute to teach there. In a way, regional pride is even the reason that ANKURI, the nonprofit that I’m working with, exists. Rachna wants to show the women that you can live a good life in these hills, that there is a livelihood to be had here, and that immigrating to a city or another region is not moving up in the world. She is a community activist, and her love of her community is infectious.

Regional pride also affects the food. This wouldn’t be a blog by me if I didn’t manage to work in an entry on food within the first few posts! From what I understand, where you live has a huge effect on what you eat. Eating local food is considered necessary for health, and it plays a huge role in forming community, as so many Hindu holidays are either group fasting- or feasting-based. In the mountains, where the land isn’t as fertile, the diet is based largely on meat. In the desert, it is based mostly on grains because they are much less perishable. Along the Eastern coast, fish features more prominently in diet than elsewhere, and the South is home to coconut-based curries and other dishes. Here, in Uttarakhand, fruits and vegetables flourish year-round. I don’t think we’ve eaten meat yet! Instead, most of our meals consist of a few cold vegetable dishes, chutney, naan or bread of some kind, rice, and a legume stew or curry, most often lentils. On the first night here, I earned the wide-eyed respect of Gunjan by obliviously eating chutney alone on naan without a problem, not knowing that the chutney is usually considered too spicy to be eaten alone. Everything is spicy here, and I absolutely love it. Apparently it has to do with the intensely hot climate—the idea is to eat hot food in the hot weather so that you will sweat and cool down. I can’t say whether that has been the case for me, but I can say that the fresh fruit that we eat for breakfast and dessert is certainly very refreshing. Daily, we eat grapefruit, lychee, mango, jackfruit, banana, pear, grape, all just picked, all grown in the gardens in and around Thikana. Today, when driving back from an elementary school in the mountains, we stopped at the side of the road and spent a half-hour hitting a fruit tree with a stick and eating whatever fruit fell down. They called that fruit a pear, but it was like no pear I’ve ever had, fuzzy and green and containing a bright red pit. In a conversation with Gunjun, I told her that we go strawberry picking in my hometown, and she immediately exclaimed about how exotic strawberries are. I couldn’t keep from laughing.

[easypeasygardens-blog]

Le Paradou

Have you ever been given a book by someone who loves it - swears by it, even - and promised you would read it straight away? The book comes home with you, and you get “too busy” to begin, so you hold onto it for years, a piece of dust-collecting guilt. Finally, one day on an unprompted whim you start to read and you are entranced from the very first page. This has happened to me too many times to count, and each time I am subjugated by the almost magical way the evaded work suddenly becomes imperative; something within compels me to feverishly consume what I long let languish. Rather than regarding them as steely-eyed reminders of one’s lack of time, or worse yet, one’s flippancy towards the certain sort of indebtedness that comes with being loaned or given literature, I’d like to see such books as slow-ripening fruits that are better picked off the shelf only once their scent is strong enough to draw the reader to them.

Émile Zola’s “La Faute de l’abbé Mouret” (the several English translations are entitled ”Abbé Mouret’s Transgression”, “The Priest’s Sin” and “The Sin of Father Mouret”) is the fifth in the series of twenty novels that he published between 1871 and 1893 as what he called a “Natural and social history of a family under the Second Empire” - Les Rougon-Macquart. I was given this book in 2015 by a Parisian friend who insisted I read it, and it has been a full three years since then. Now half-way through, I am quite taken with Zolien Naturalism as a whole. Do I dare to eat the peach of each and every Rougon-Macquart novel, now, in order? Time will surely tell. In any case, this particular book seems made for me right now as I embark on new gardening projects. Entrez, mes amis, au Paradou!

The story goes that Serge Mouret, a neurotically pious and chaste young priest, suffers a mental breakdown due to, amongst other things, a long hot walk down a dusty trail, badly digested cabbage soup, the chthonic stench of his sister Désirée’s farm animals, the village maidens joking and playing in the church as they decorate it with rosemary, laurel and olive branches, and his own obsessional love for Saint Mary gone a little too far that night (all that self-mortification and cilice-wearing probably got to him, too). But what’s really upset the young Father’s nervous system is - obviously to the reader but of course unbeknownst to him - the chance meeting of Albine that morning. 

Serge had accompanied his doctor uncle to administer the last rites to an old eccentric named Jeanbernat at Le Paradou. Jeanbernat, a veritable heathen, was far from being in any mortal danger - he’d bled himself, thank you very much - and not quite irked enough by the priest’s presence to deny his guests “un pot de vin” (though almost). Ensues delightful philosophical banter that quite upsets Serge - mais Dieu existe! - until Albine, an orphan who had been left to the hermetic, extensively well-read Jeanbernat and who in turn left her to her own devices, much like the grounds he’d been charged with keeping in the faith that nature might take care of its own, erupts into the house covered head-to-toe in flowers. For outside these four walls where Jeanbernat has been plugging away incessantly at the large collection of philosophical treatises and natural histories left by the noble family who once summered at Le Paradou, there is a veritable garden of Eden - lush and immense, and hemmed-in by tall stone walls. It is Albine’s unlikely, unofficial inheritance: she’s out in the garden, whose name is a thinly-veiled reference to Paradise itself, from dawn until sometimes past dusk. 

Le Paradou is all the more surprising a place for the fact that it is situated in the Garrigue, the southern French semi-desert scrubland characterized by its’ hostile infertility, an abundance of thorny plants and aromatics. I know how difficult cultivation is in this area as I lived there for a year while pregnant and for my daughter’s first summer; the garden was a hot mess because it was impossible to keep up with the watering demands. Every day that summer there were cloudless skies that rich and haughty hue of blue one only finds in the south, and an almost ferrous aridity. We had only the well which was ever in peril of drying out. Besides and despite our attempts to ameliorate it, the clay-based soil seemed to end up having a choke-hold on even the hardiest seedlings that managed to eke out of the earth. And in the autumn, the devastating downpours that wrack the region with floods wiped bare all the earlier efforts anyway, eroding even one’s will to keep trying next year. 

To create an earthly Eden in the Garrigue was once, in a sense, my calling and the bent to my life that year in isolation on the four hectares we were entrusted with - for 100 euros a year as rent, the price of the property taxes - by a woman named Nathalie who wanted a “presence” to protect her land and “mazet” (a small stone cabin typical of the Garrigue) from hunting trespassers and vandals. It brought meaning to my bizarre existence as a newly-minted bohemian living “off the land” (read: as a dumpster-diving Freegan and forager) to toil and to, despite all the odds being against me, attempt to bring new life and beauty to the place we dubbed “La Mistoufle” (a made-up word that contrives to mean “trouble”, “deceit”, “a clusterfuck” and “a party” by turns, depending on the context). The nearest village was a forty-five minute walk away over a hill and down winding, rocky slopes, and it was called Les Mages - The Magi. Indeed it was a gift to live there, but of all my labour of love, only two things remain - everything else either scorched by the sun or washed away by a succession of five rainy seasons - and of one I’m not certain. The first is a little girl named Lumyhna with bright red hair reminiscent of the southern sun, and we have come so far away from that distant land once home. The second is a slender fig tree - my name, Bethany, means “House of Figs” - transplanted from Fontpédrouse in the Pyrénées where I met her father. I don’t know, though, about this last one, planted at the southeast corner of the cottage, for I haven’t been back to La Mistoufle since we effectively cast ourselves out of that place. Yet generally, unlike the peas and carrots I failed to grow past seedlings, figs do quite well in such adversity. They seem to thrive on thirst and desire. 

The earthly Eden home to Albine - the white, the innocent, the impeccably free - was created centuries before it became her fate to land in it. A prosperous gentilhomme of noble blood had the means to bring forth green and shade from the bare bone-dry wilderness, and so he did, and opulently. It makes one think of how in places in Israel the desert has been turned to fertile farmland, or of any number of creation myths in which, from nothingness, a divine figure creates the earth. I will resist the temptation here to describe Le Paradou in great detail (for what worth is an Eden except in one’s own mind, the most exquisite garden of the individual imagination?), except to say that at the beginning, the hand of man-as-god must have been quite apparent: the manicured lawns, the topiaries, the cool cascades and bursting fountains, the hedges and rows and alleys of trees, the neat botanicals and silent groves, and the fragrant orchards... it must have taken a small army of gardeners to maintain such perfection over the days and the months and the years. Yet when at last Le Paradou fell to abandon, that perfection strangely enough was not lost, but only changed, reminding one of the old physics dictum that says, “rien ne se perd, tout se transforme.” The original creation provided a sort of perennial energy to keep the beauty of that place lasting through the centuries, although the allure which once was that of industrial achievement now became that of nature’s wily way. Albine’s Paradou is indeed the sort of garden that I dream of: a place of carefree rêveries and matted odours, of grass that’s never cut and lusher than satin on goose down. But now I’m being too descriptive - time to prescribe a little bit before I end this mental meandering.

What can I learn from La Mistoufle and from Le Paradou? Although the first has ended, for me, in marriage, a daughter, and happiness - though in a very modern way and through a certain waywardness - and the second ends (spoiler alert!) in shame and pain and death (oh nineteenth-century social mores!) the two are not reverse reflections one of the other. The difference between these gardens comes down to three very simple things: time, care, and means. Indeed, anything is possible today from Biodomes (done) to growing lychee fruit on Mars (to do). Yet, a passion for growing does not suffice. So, when you are planning your dream garden, I advise that you begin by taking stock of the three most important factors involved before you dig in. And one more thing: if you’re unable to commit a small army of gardeners to maintaining a bombastically beautiful, lush, green perfection in the semi-desert, why not start with what works well where you are? Had I, at La Mistoufle, been content with the aroma of lavender and rosemary and flowering mint, I would have been the happiest girl in the world! Taking it slowly and patiently, introducing just a few new experiments per season and really tending to them well is a way to scratch the itch for novelty and challenge without getting overwhelmed and eventually feeling like a failure as a new gardener. Eventually, you’ll have a Paradou of your own. Just promise me you won’t, then, give up on life after a priest dumps you out of godly guilt and “expire in the supreme hiccup of flowers” as Albine does at the end of “La Faute de l’abbé Mouret” ;). Sorry about the spoiled fruit - I mean, book!