#imagine a sunflower marsh!!

[winged-wolf-s-collection-of-arts]

Day three (Falloutober): Distant Glow!

Definitely nothing to worry about-

@falloutober

[octoagentmiles]

i love ur octonauts safe foods post but that also brings the question: what are the octo-agents safe foods?

wonderful question my anonymous friend- apologies for the delay, please enjoy post 🤲:

Paani’s patties have nuts, seeds, and bugs in them, which all have kind of similar tastes—hear me out—they all taste nutty (yes, bugs have a nutty flavour, if you didn’t know), and possibly a little roasty or smokey depending on how they’re prepared. Paani’s safe foods probably consist of a lot of other grains, nuts, or butters (peanut butter, sunflower butter, almond/cashew butter, etc). He probably unironically enjoys pistachio ice cream. Can’t go wrong with a giant jug of straight up rainwater, either.

Tracker grew up the same way Barnacles did: In the Arctic with very little variety. So, their tastes are probably the same, or very similar. He enjoys simple flavours, and dishes with non-complicated seasoning. I also imagine he’s an extremely picky eater, despite being taught in the Polar Scouts to be prepared to “eat what you have to” in an emergency. He might like a couple obscure or odd things here and there, but other than that his palate is pretty limited. He likes knowing what to expect when he eats something (and in general), so he basically just eats the same foods over and over. He’s an EXPERT at cooking these foods.

Googled native Russian and Siberian cuisines for Natquik, and I’m seeing a lot of dough, pastry, soup, and salt (and a lot of other things, but they’re mostly meat and I’m going to pretend he’s vegetarian and so is everyone else, with the exceptions of Mr. Paani “The Bug Eater”, and Ms. Pearl “Eats Living Urchins Whole”). He loves savoury foods, as well as “earthy” flavours (below-ground vegetables, such as beets, potatoes, carrots (he might bond with Tweak over that one), or mushrooms) but can NOT tolerate spiciness at all; he’s worse than Barnacles in this regard. If he eats something too hot he will spit it out instantly, and be very dramatic about it. He also enjoys a cup of tea now and then, and he’s not picky about what kind; if it’s warm and got leaves in it, he’ll drink it.

I like to think that Calico Jack and Kwazii are alike in more ways than one thousand—and they probably have IDENTICAL tastes/safe foods. So, Jack loves sweets and sugars, but hates bitters. He hates citrus too (because he’s a cat), but has learned to tolerate it in all his years as a pirate. He chugs lemon juice like it’s milk, and he just ate a whole ghost pepper. You won’t catch him anywhere near a tangerine, though. (Disclaimer: Citrus is actually poisonous to cats in real life, which is why they hate it so much. This cat however, is fictional, and just thinks they’re icky.) CJ also canonically loves to cook and bake his own food, based on how many recipes he invented and passed down to Kwazii; such as pirate pie (real pie, see GBR for ingredients), pirate stew (main ingredient = kelp), and “pirate pie” (kelp and lima beans on toast), to name a few.

Ranger Marsh LOVES the Octonauts’ hot cocoa specifically, I don’t know if it’s the way the Vegimals make it, or what, but I’m taking this to mean the man is fan of chocolate. Dark chocolate. Meaning, he probably enjoys bitter things. Do not let him cook for Kwazii or Jack. I bet most of what he eats is foraged directly out of the Everglades’ thicket, so that would likely include weird and bitter berries, plants, and wild vegetables. I also headcanon that he taught Tweak how to make her famous chili, she just perfected it. Chili can taste like pretty much anything depending on how you season it, so you can bet he likes his extra bitter as well.

Okay now Pearl is probably the opposite of Shellington. I said that Shellington would enjoy intense or odd flavours (like extra hot sauce on cake), but dislike salty-anything because it reminds him of red urchin. He learned to like strange foods, as a result of being allergic to his species’ main source of nourishment (shellfish). Since Pearl didn’t have this problem, she didn’t need to branch out her plate; and thus would love salty things because it’s what she’s used to. She might dislike overly sour or sweet things, or generally “unnatural” or artificial foods. She’s probably not much of a chef, considering most of what she eats is stuff she literally picks off the seafloor.

Apparently a red panda’s diet is 95% bamboo, soooooooooooooooo... I guess that answers Min. She probably eats a ton of those bamboo biscuits, and that might literally be all. Bamboo tastes earthy, nutty, and slightly sweet, so if she were to expand her menu, she’d probably eat foods with similar tastes, or anything that has a good crunch to it. Y’know what? I bet she’d love a Paani Patty.

Ryla literally ate bat droppings covered in moss. Granted, the “droppings” were berries, but still. I don’t think she’s very picky. She doesn’t have any “safe foods”, because she’s a hardcore survivalist—she’ll eat ANYTHING (unless it’s poisonous then she’ll only eat it once). Wombats are strict herbivores, so she probably enjoys a good salad when she's not fighting for her life in a cave.

I think Koshi and Pinto are both stereotypical kids, who'll gladly inhale anything with sugar in it. Pinto specifically might have similar tastes to Peso, in which he'll also just eat... literally anything. Especially if it's weird looking. Koshi is a bit more sensitive to strong smells, so she'll only eat what she likes the smell of. She doesn't seem like someone who likes trying new foods, either. She likes sweet, or bland simple tastes.

[yunnathearcher]

Early morning heat greets me. I smell pancakes. I’m not hungry though. I take the long way, side entrance extraordinaire. Melanin greets me, lets me in. Their noticing is beautiful, an open show of awareness and love. I find my way to the beach.

Later I’m biking. And there’s strangers. And they’re biking too. There’s more strangers & they’re walking and skating too. Good mornings sound off from all directions as we cross paths. I’m thinking this is what life is all about. I’m feeling like this is a life full of loving and living.

I stop in the shade underneath a tree to track my thoughts and let my quads breathe. I’m sticky and the smell of my sweat is sweet. I bike across a bridge, cross over a marsh- I think about my father. I pass a patch of sunflowers along the way- I think about my mother. Just when I thought I was too exhausted to keep going, I get a boost of energy like God put a battery in my back. I bike over another bridge, this one is hilly, the sounds of the wheels against the planks is loud. I steadily push my way through the resistance. I get to a point where there is eye level greenery all around me and the inner Voice says- stop. So I stop & I turn back.

Later, I'm back in the room with another cup of coffee listening to the water of the shower run. I check my phone and I'm thinking, holy shit I took some pretty awesome vids/pics. I pull myself away, slightly tempted by covert narcissism to get lost looking at my face. At first the shower feels lukewarm, water pressure faint but I tweak it a bit and it gets hot, sets my melanin ablaze. I half forward fold and let the water wash over my back, feel it run across my freshly tanned skin, deep breath out, deep breath in. I am thinking this is what heaven feels like. I think about how often I project parts of me that are hard to swallow onto those that I love the most, I consciously make a note to stop doing that. I immediately halt the background thought that's doing exactly that. As I wash my body I imagine ridding myself of any unfounded doubts and replace them with wholehearted beliefs, ideas filled with benevolence and peace. The sugar scrub leaves my skin raw, relieved, glistening. Afterwards I'm washing my face in the mirror, looking into my eyes, no smile, no frown- just eyes. It's still early. I feel so good about today.

[henrywaldvolker]

Izba, the magical cat, was walking in the woods when a butterfly flew up and asked for help in a breathless voice. The butterfly explained that a friend was in danger, and she needed to contact the Marsh Wizard, Fern.

Izba asked the insect to rest on his fez while he dashed to Fern's home. Arriving just as Fern was about to set off on a forest walk, Izba informed the wizard of the butterfly's plea for help. Tilly, the butterfly, told Fern a caterpillar refused to make a cocoon because it did not want to change.

Bidding goodbye to Izba, Fern and the butterfly headed swiftly into the trees. Fern was greeted by a host of insects who explained that they had tried to tell the caterpillar that change was nature's way and nothing to fear.

Fern walked over to the bush where the creature sat eating a delicious juicy leaf and introduced herself. The caterpillar turned his head away as if to ignore her. Fern searched through her pockets and found what she was looking for—a seed. "Do you know this seed will grow into a lovely sunflower next spring?" asked the wizard. "So what? I'm not fond of sunflowers. They taste bitter," then returned to eating its mulberry leaf. "Without change, we cannot grow. When we change, we experience wonders we could never imagine," said Fern, sitting next to the caterpillar. "What of the wonders I experience now, like eating this delicious leaf? After I change, I won't be able to do that anymore." Fern sat silently, thinking about the worm's words. He did have a point, after all. She needed to choose her words carefully. "Your words show wisdom behind them," replied Fern. "I cannot tell you that nectar's sweet aroma and intoxicating flavor are better than your leaf.

However, it has been said that one sip of nectar is like eating an entire forest of mulberry trees," whispered the wizard. The caterpillar's eyes grew massive. "An entire forest?" said the worm. Fern winked. "That's what I've been told. But then again, I wouldn't know since I don't have the luxury of such wonders," she said. "I see butterflies darting about from one blossom to the next. Each time, they seem excited to move on. Perhaps what they tell me is true," said Fern. The caterpillar put down his leaf and gazed about the forest floor. Winged creatures fluttered between blossoms. "Perhaps you are correct. Perhaps experiencing change is how life is meant to be," said the worm. "I think that failing to change as nature has intended is a living death. Neither one nor the other," said the caterpillar.

"Wiser words I have not heard," said Fern with an enormous grin. The caterpillar thanked the wizard for her counsel, crawled up an overhanging twig, and began to spin its chrysalis. Before sealing its opening, he asked Fern if he might visit her after his change. "By all means," replied the wizard, then stood and headed home. Fern had a visitor a few weeks later, and the two talked for hours. But that's a tale for another time… Folksburywoods Story Blog www.folksburywoods.com

[marymauk]

Caduceus my beloved <3

ID: simple digital drawing of Caduceus from Critical Role and a bunch of textposts. The textposts are as follows:

Yeah I think I have a promising career in STEM (sticks, twigs, earth and moss)

Death is a one way street but that didn't stop me from committing one hell of a traffic violation

I hope you eat. I hope we both eat. I am cooking. There is sign of food. You are coming to lunch with me. Fork in loveable hand.

We need more herb emojis. Would like to send a text with some rosemary or thyme.

No offence but do I look like I understand anything

Here have some bees! 🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝

You all hate to see a GNC bitch thriving in a marsh environment

All stories are about love in all forms or what the lack of love causes people to do. I speak only the truth. I am correct.

Imagine... being a sunflower

End ID.

[scriptflorist]

Hello! Can I ask for two flowers for twin siblings?

One of them is a kind and extroverted girl with sun/light and healing powers. She also has an Atlas personality and tries to help everyone, often exhausting herself in the process

The other is a gentle introverted boy with moon/shadow and psychic powers. He always tries to help whenever he can but since his powers aren't as useful (in the beginning) as his sister's he always feels like he'll never be as important and cool as her

Do you have any flowers that fit them?

Of course you can! Hope this helps with your story!

Twin Sister

allspice – compassion

almond (flowering) – hope

angelica – magic, inspiration            

ash mountain – with me you are safe, prudence

ash tree – grandeur, greatness

aster (china, double) – I partake your sentiments

balm of gilead – healing, cure, relief, I am cured

basil (sweet) – good wishes

blue bell – kindness, constancy, gratitude, sorrowful regret, humility

camellia (red) – unpretending excellence

coneflower (purple) – strength and health

cowslip – healing, youth, rusticity, winning grace, pensiveness, early joys, native grace

daffodil – sunshine, respect, regard, new beginnings, chivalry, self-love, deceitful hopes, unrequited love

eglantine – I wound to heal, poetry

enchanter’s nightshade – spell, witchcraft, sorcery, fascination

euphorbia – persistence

flax – I feel your kindness, benefactor, I am sensible to your kindness, domestic industry, domestic symbol

geranium (rose) – preference

hemlock – you will be my death

hemp – fate

holly herb – enchantment

Iceland moss – health

laurel (ground) – perseverance

lint – I feel my obligations

love-lies-bleeding – hopeless but not helpless, hopeless not heartless, desertion, deserted love

lychnis (scarlet) – sunbeam’d eyes, sunbeaming eyes

marianthus – hope for better days

marsh mallow – kindness beneficence

orange tree – generosity

pear tree – comfort

rosemary – healing balm, remembrance, your presence revives me

sage – good health and long life, esteem, domestic virtue(s), wisdom, great respect

shepherd’s purse – I offer you my all

sundew (round-leaved) – surprise

sunflower (dwarf) – your devout adorer

sunflower (tall) – pride, haughtiness, lofty and pure thoughts, false riches

sweetbrier (European) – I wound to heal, poetry, imagination

tulip (yellow) – there’s sunshine in your smile, hopeless love

Virginia creeper – I cling to you both in sunshine and in shade

Twin Brother

allspice – compassion

amethyst/bush violet – admiration

angelica – magic, inspiration

balm (gentle) – pleasantry, joke, joking, sweets of social intercourse

basil (sweet) – good wishes

bellflower (chimney) – aspiring

bittersweet (nightshade) – truth

black bryony – support, be my support

catchfly (night-flowering) – night

cereus (night-blooming) – transient beauty

clematis – mental beauty, artifice, poverty, filial love

columbine (purple) – resolved to win

coriander – hidden worth, concealed merit

convolvulus (blue, minor) – night, repose

convolvulus (night) – night

enchanter’s nightshade – spell, witchcraft, sorcery, fascination

euphorbia – persistence

foxglove – I’m not ambitious for myself but for you, a wish, occupation, insincerity, stateliness, youth

geranium (night-smelling) – melancholy spirit

hemp – fate

hollowroot – weakness

holly herb – enchantment

kennedia – mental beauty, intellectual beauty

laurel (ground) – perseverance

laurel (mountain) – ambition

lint – I feel my obligations

love-lies-bleeding – hopeless but not helpless, hopeless not heartless, desertion, deserted love

marvel of Peru – timidity

meadow sweet – uselessness

mezereon – desire to please, coquetry

mistletoe – I surmount (all) difficulties, I climb to greatness, I surmount all obstacles, parasite, kiss me, affection, difficulties

moonwort – forgetfulness

moschatel – weakness

nightshade – scepticism, truth, dark thoughts, falsehood

nightshade (deadly) – falsehood

pear tree – comfort

rose leaf – I am never importunate, you may hope

rose (purple) – enchantment

scorpion grass (mouse-eared) – forget me not

siphocampylus – resolved to be noticed

witch hazel – a spell

Virginia creeper – I cling to you both in sunshine and in shade

– Mod Jana

Disclaimer

This blog is intended as writing advice only. This blog and its mods are not responsible for accidents, injuries or other consequences of using this advice for real world situations or in any way that said advice was not intended.

[collecting-stories]

Your Father Says - JJ Maybank

Request: hey love ur stories btw obviously so can i get an imagine for jj where inspired by forget what ur father says by the vamps it's ok if u don't wanna write it.

A/N: I’m not obsessed with JJ running away, you are. Just kidding, it’s me. 

Outer Banks Masterlist

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

~cause a boy like me and a girl like you got no degrees and a lot to prove.~

“This is a bad idea.” You said, standing in the middle of the living room holding your duffel bag in your hands. You had packed all the clothes you would need and any essentials you could think of between the duffel and the backpack on your back. “JJ, are you listening to me? This is a bad idea.” You repeated, watching your boyfriend as he pulled a few of your dad’s beers out of the refrigerator and into his cooler.  

JJ stopped what he was doing, standing up and looking over his shoulder at you. “It’ll be fine.”

It was JJ’s idea. On a rare day that you were able to duck your dad’s watchful eye and meet JJ down by the marsh, he suggested the idea that the two of you runaway. Not forever and not far, but just for a little while. Just to get away from your dad and JJ’s dad and the Outer Banks in general.  

“We could take my cousin’s van and just go.” JJ had suggested, “it’d be awesome. Camping all over the country, sleeping under the stars. Just you and me.”

“I don’t know. My dad would never let me.” And it was true. You knew there was no way in the world that your dad would let you go anywhere with JJ. He didn’t even want you seeing the boy that he deemed ‘a lost cause’. Kids like that were nothing but trouble and you weren’t ever going to let that kind of trouble into your life.  

“So, what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

“I can’t just go.”

“Why not?”

Your dad couldn’t watch you all the time and it hadn’t taken long for JJ to become an unwavering part of your world. You snuck out to a party when your dad was away for a weekend and the next thing you knew JJ was sneaking into your room. He was the one who thought about leaving and decided to put the plan into action but you were happy to go along with it. If only a little freaked out about what your father might do if he found out you had left with the only person, he had expressly forbid you from ever even talking to.  

You followed JJ out to the van, watching as he loaded the cooler into the trunk. “No, we’ll get caught. My dad said if he sees you around anymore, he would-”

“And he won’t see me around anymore.” JJ pointed out, “if we leave now.”

There was only a small window of opportunity while your dad was at a doctor’s appointment to leave and make it to the ferry. If you missed your chance there might never be another one.  

“Okay. Hold on.” You put your duffel and backpack on the ground for JJ to load into the van and hurried back inside your house.  

“We gotta go.” JJ called, following after you, standing in the open doorway. He kept glancing over his shoulder as if he could hear the car coming down the road but it was just phantom noises putting him on edge.  

“I’m not gonna disappear from my house and not tell him anything J. He’ll literally freak out if he comes home and I'm missing.” You explained, grabbing a pad of paper and a pen from the counter and beginning to write a note to tell him that you were leaving. You tried to think of all the things you wanted to mention, that you would call, that you would be home before the end of the summer, that you were safe and happy and with a friend (you were careful to say friend) as you rushed through the letter.  

“You aren’t missing, we’re just...taking a vacation.” JJ replied.  

You stopped writing for a moment to look over at your boyfriend, a brief moment of panic seizing you, “a vacation out of North Carolina. He’s never even let me off the island, do you know how freaked he’ll be when he realizes I’m leaving the state?”

“We’ll be back.” JJ stressed. He finally came back into the house, letting the screen door bang shut behind him as he came over to you. He put his hands on your upper arms, rubbing his thumbs against your skin to comfort you.  

“And your cousin is okay with us using his van?” You asked, trying to run over all the things that you would need to know about the trip. Did you have everything you needed? Would you be safe? Did you have enough money? It was all starting to sink in.  

JJ laid a kiss against your forehead when he caught the look of anxious terror that crossed your face. He knew exactly where you were going. He had gone there a time or two as well though for a different reason. “Yeah, totally.”

“Okay.” You nodded. You looked at JJ and took a deep breath, letting yourself focus on the boy in front of you and not the mess you were potentially leaving behind. “okay I’m ready.”

“You’re ready ready?” He asked, making sure you weren’t having second thoughts. He’d unpack everything if he had to but he didn’t want to stay another minute on the island.  

“I’m ready.” You promised. “I want to do this.”

“It’ll be good and we’ll be back before you know it.” He let go of you, stepping away and heading back toward the door. You signed your name and folded the paper before laying it on the table for your dad to see.  

“I know, and I want to go. I want us to go.” You said, following him back outside, stopping on the porch to lock the front door. “I just...my dad is going to be pissed when he finds out I’m gone JJ and I’m just really freaked out what he’ll do when he gets home.”

“Well I don’t want to stay here and find out.” JJ replied. “Let's go. You left him a note, so let's hit the road. We can call him when we’re out of NC and then when he screams, we can hang the fucking phone up.”  

“Okay.” You pocketed your keys and walked down to the van, getting in the passenger side as JJ started the car up. As he pulled out of the driveway you chanced a look in the rearview mirror, watching your house get smaller and smaller in the distance, unable to stop the smile when you thought of a summer away with JJ.  

-

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[malgal7777]

Hiking with Tracy 2021:  Weekend 3, the Lost Weekend

As I went back to re-read my blog I noticed I had cut off my WHOLE weekend of 4/17!!  This is my 20 mile walk from the Emeryville Marina to the Richmond Marina and back via the Bay Trail along the water & Hwy 80.  So let me try to reenact my journey!

The theme of this hike was “Don't tell me this town ain't got no heart, you just gotta poke around” - Once again I tip my hat to the great Jerry Garcia.  Not sure if you all figured it out, but I love Jerry.  I came to the Bay Area to follow the Grateful Dead’s music and I never left.  

This particular hike was absolutely beautiful.  I wish it wasn’t so I can mix this blog up, but sorry folks, you live in a beautiful area.  Even along a dirty highway, there are things of beauty all around you.  Take for example this hike, wildflowers everywhere.  Even popping out of the sidewalk.  I'm reminded of Jeff Goldblum’s character in Jurassic Park...”Life refuses to be contained...it just finds a way”.  And sure enough, Sunflowers out of the sidewalk!

Since I was next to a highway, I went with headphones this time around.  One of my positives during this pandemic is my rekindled love for music radio stations.  I love listening to a radio station and I definitely have my favorite DJ’s. My personal favorites this past year were:  WWOZ - a local New Orleans station; KCSM - a Bay Area jazz station and KXT - out of Dallas, TX.  These stations literally kept me sane during the lockdowns.  I highly recommend them, especially if you’re cooking, doing chores or working in the garden. 

This particular morning I went with WWOZ.  And what a good decision that was.  Ron Phillips was spinning his favorite Saturday morning tunes and I was going down the road feeling BAD (as in good)!  Irma Thomas, Anders Osborne, The Subdudes and a little known singer/songwriter out of New Orleans, Chris Smithers.  If you get overwhelmed and about to burst...stream Chris Smithers “Let it Go”.  So funny.   Anders Osborne is a name my friends have been trying to get me into for a long time.  And I’m a bozo, definitely missed the boat on this one!  From his new album, try this song:  Welcome to Earth.  

Ok, so I digress!  Back to the walk.  In one of my last posts, I mentioned the people I meet.  Well this am was a doozy!  As I was grooving to the sweet sounds of the Crescent City I was approached by a group of ladies.  They had a question for me:  What’s more important in a relationship:  Love or Economics?  My first response was “Wow, you ladies don’t mess around for a Saturday morning!  Going deep on me”.  But, because I’m me, I had an answer. Now usually I would have said Love, Love, Love.  Hands down right?  But they caught me at a weird time.  I have been obsessively thinking of a comment I overheard from another group of ladies while doing my Diablo hike.  One of them had commented “I have no desire to marry just for love.  Forget that, I need to be economically stable”.  My reaction was pity for this poor girl.  I literally felt sorry for her.  The more I thought about it (obsessively for two weeks) I came to realize, she didn’t necessarily say she wasn’t going to work, she just wanted someone with their shit together and would contribute to their family being comfortable.  What’s wrong with that?  Is being comfortable taboo now?  So when my Bay Trail friends asked me, that’s how I answered.  Love was great but there’s nothing wrong with wanting to be comfortable, isn’t that love after all?  I obviously made one of the women very happy.  She loved it.  The other two nodded and smiled, they were on Love’s side.  So we said our goodbyes and I felt like I had gotten a weight off my shoulders.  As I was walking away though...I asked myself...But didn’t YOU marry for love?  And sure enough, I did.  Bob & I didn’t have a pot to piss in.  And while we’re not the Rockefeller's, we’re comfortable enough for us.  I love him dearly and love has to be the basis that you build your financial future upon.  If you don’t have that, it get’s ugly when $$ is involved.  The best part of this moment was that song “Welcome to Earth” was playing as I was coming to this realization and the last line is literally “Love is always the answer”.  The Universe works in mysterious ways!  But, where were the ladies...I wanted to change my answer??!!  No where to be found.  Man, I blew it.  I would now obsessively think about this for the next 20 miles. Told you I was a bozo. 

By this time I had reached The Albany bulb.  A Bay Area gem to the north of Golden Gate Fields.  There’s a great beach and then it jets out into a peninsula which is covered with art installations all over.  I’ll talk more about that later, since I came back on Sunday to finish my 25 miles. This morning though I watched a group of swimmers about to enter the freezing bay waters, no wet suit mind you!  CRAZY and No Thank You!  Brrr.   Next Stop, Point Isabel, dog heaven.  A large open spaced off-leach dog park.  I go there all the time.  If you have a dog, you should take them.  They will love you even more than they already do. 

Now past Point Isabel is where the trail gets interesting.  You start to wander away from the highway and are now among the prettiest beaches and marshes. It’s an interesting view of the Bay Bridge and you can no longer see the Golden Gate Bridge as you veer north of it.  You now start to come upon single family homes along the trail.  You’re instantly reminded of Cape Cod.  A ocean view from Richmond, CA.  The best part is once you see this neighborhood you know you’re close to the marina.  And sure enough, I turned the bend and there in front of me was the Ford Assembly plant, my 1/2 way point.  But, it’s a very cruel joke.  You see the plant across the opening of the marina, it’s literally right there!!  Then the realization hits you in order to get to it you need to go around the WHOLE marina.  And as you continue to walk and go around another bend, the sidewalk gets longer and longer and longer.  The Richmond Marina is HUGE. Lovely though.  Large green spaces with people doing yoga;  a ladies bootcamp class along the water; boats coming and going from the marina and two pretty cute restaurants also along the water.  

I finally made it to the Ford Assembly Plant and now Richmond Ferry Terminal.  The assembly plant hosts seasonal events, we’ve been to the women’s roller derby ones.  Nothing like watching tough chicks bully each other on roller skates.  Then there are a few businesses strewn throughout the building.  Dolls Kill, which I believe is a clothing business for those on the freakier side of the spectrum.  And Mountain Hardware!  Quality clothing for the outdoorsy types.  I should have gone in and gotten a windbreaker.  The wind was pretty brutal.  

The best part was of course the Rosie The Riveter museum.  A museum dedicated to the women that left the kids at home and joined the workforce to help build ships during WWII.  This whole area was built for the war effort.  Richmond grew from 25,000 to over 100,000 within three years!!!  Can you imagine?  How does any town build the infrastructure needed to maintain that population?  Grocery stores?  Clothing? Schools?  Highly recommended.  It’s a suggested donation, so don’t be cheap, donate.  You won’t be disappointed.  I once brought Charlotte and a couple of her Girl Scout troop there to meet a real life “Rosie”.  She told the girls her story and it was of course about LOVE!  The trials and tribulations of her and her partner as he was fighting in the war and she was here making the ships that would keep him safe.  Man, where were those 3 ladies!!  

The way back was pretty much the same. I made it!  Now onto Sunday, 4/18. The Albany Bulb!  A Bay Area gem.  Bob & I have been coming here for years.  Way back when it was a landfill full of broken concrete slabs and rebar.  Some artist types took it upon themselves to start living there.  They kept the concrete slabs and rebar and started to make installations out of them.  Giant sized figures;  rows of wooden paintings; mazes and one guy even built a concrete castle along the water facing the Golden Gate Bridge.  Best real estate in the Bay.  They exemplified the phrase “one mans trash is another man’s treasure”.  Of course the stuffed shirts got wind and kicked them out.  But gave the stuffed shirts an idea...Hey, why not make a park out of this dirty unused lot?  Duh.  So before you harass your kid for taking art classes, remember it’s usually the artists who push the rest of society in the right direction.  

It’s also a great place to bird watch and now the wildflowers are a blooming, so it’s quite serene.  If you’re looking for some inspiration, this is the place for you.  

So my posts/weeks are a bit out of order.  Oh well!  It’s my blog and I’ll create chaos if I want to!  

I’ll end on this note:  Love is ALWAYS the answer. 

So sponsor me (hehehe):  https://runsignup.com/tracyalbert/Donate

[yespoetry]

A Selection of Sergei Yesenin Poems Translated by Anton Yakovlev

Translator’s Note: This selection contains a range of poems spanning his full literary career, from 1910 when he was 15 years old, to the last year of his life (1925).

As you will see, many of the poems are untitled, not unusually for Russian poems, and marked with standard three asterisks (and identified by first line in tables of contents, conversation or scholarship). I've included the years of composition under each poem since that might help add some historic context (which of course includes World War I and the Bolshevik Revolution of 1917).

* * *

 High water has licked

The silt with smoke.

The moon has dropped

Its yellow reins.

 Paddling a punt,

I bump into banks.

Red haystacks by the fence rails

Look like churches.

 With mournful cawing

In the silence of marshes

The black grouse

Is calling for vespers.

 In blue gloom the grove

Shrouds the destitution…

Secretly I will pray

For your future.

 <1910>

* * *

 Is it my fault that I’m a poet

Of heavy suffering and bitter fate?

After all, it wasn’t my choice—

It’s just the way I came into the world.

 Is it my fault that I don’t cherish life,

That I love and simultaneously hate everyone,

And know things about myself I don’t yet see—

That is my gift from the muse.

 I know there is no happiness in life,

Life is lunacy, the dream of a sick soul,

And I know my gloomy tunes bore everyone,

But it’s not my fault—that’s the kind of poet I am.

 <1911—1912>

  The Birch

 The white birch

Under my window

Wrapped herself in snow

As though in silver.

 Like snow borders

On fluffy branches,

White fringes of tassels

H    ave blossomed.

 And the birch stands

In listless silence,

And the snowflakes burn

In the golden fire.

 And the dawn, lazily

Walking around,

Sprinkles t   he branches

With new silver.

 <1913>

* * *

 Out came the Lord to test humanity’s love,

Walked out into a field in the guise of a beggar.

An old man sitting on a stump in an oak grove

Was chewing a dry crumpet with his toothless mouth.

 The old man saw the beggar walking

Down the path with an iron cane

And thought, “What a poor, sick fellow—

I bet it’s hunger that’s making him teeter.”

 The Lord walked up to him, hiding his sorrow and pain,

Thinking he couldn’t awaken anyone’s heart...

And the old man extended his hand,

“Here, chew on this... you’ll feel a little stronger.”

 <1914>

* * *

 In the land of yellow nettle

And dried-out wattle

Village huts, like orphans,

Cling to willows.

 In the fields, behind the ravine’s blue thicket,

Among green lakes,

The sand road stretches up to

The Siberian Mountains.

 Lost somewhere in Mordva and Chuda,

Russia knows no fear,

And the people, the people in shackles

Walk down that road.

 All of them are murderers or thieves,

As ordained by fate.

I’ve fallen in love with their sad eyes

And their hollow cheeks.

 There is so much evil and joy in killers.

Their hearts are simple.

But their blue mouths grin

On their blackened faces.

 In secret, I cherish one dream:

That I’m pure of heart.

But I too will knife someone to death

One whistling autumn.

 And on a windy route,

Perhaps on this very same sand,

They will lead me, rope on my neck,

To fall in love with anguish.

 And when I smile, in passing,

Stretching my chest,

The bad weather will lick the road of my life

With its tongue.

 <1915>

* * *

 I’m tired of living in my native land,

Yearning for the vast fields of buckwheat.

I’ll leave my shack

To be a vagrant and a thief.

 I’ll walk the white curls of the day

To look for some wretched lodging.

And, seeing me, my best friend

Will sharpen his boot knife.

 The yellow road is entwined

With the spring and the meadow sun,

And the one whose name I cherish

Will chase me from her threshold.

 Again I will come back to the house of my birth,

Console myself with someone else’s joy,

And, some green evening, hang myself

On my sleeve under the window.

 The grizzled willows by the wicker fence

Will drop their heads a bit more tenderly.

They will bury me, unwashed,

To the sound of barking dogs.

 And the moon will swim on and on,

Dropping its oars into lakes...

And Russia will go on living,

Dancing and weeping by the fence.

 <1916>

* * *

 Swimming in the blue dust,

The moon butts a cloud with its horn.

This night, no one will guess

Why the herons screamed.

This night, she ran through the reeds

To the green backwater.

Her white hand swept her tousled hair

Over her tunic.

She ran up, glanced at the quick spring

And sat down on the stump in pain.

In her eyes, the daisies wilted

The way a swamp light goes out.

At dawn, through the spiraling fog,

She swam away and vanished in the distance...

And the moon, swimming in the blue dust,

Nodded to her from behind the hill.

 <1916> * * *

 Your pensive sigh is calling me

To warm light, to my native threshold

 Where grandmother and grandfather sit on the porch

Awaiting their spirited sunflower-aged grandson.

 Their grandson is slim and white as a birch,

With honey hair and velvet hands.

 Except, o my friend, I see from his blue eyes—

They’re only dreaming of his worldly life.

 The bright Virgin in the icon corner

Beams joy into their darkness.

 With a quiet smile on her thin lips

She holds their grandson in her arms.

 <1917> * * *

 Here it is, silly happiness

With white windows that look into the garden.

The sunset quietly swims

In the pond like a red swan.

 Hello, golden quiet

With your shadow of a birch in the water.

A flock of crows on the roof

Holds vespers for a star.

  Somewhere past the garden, timidly,

Out where the guelder-rose blooms,

A tender girl in white

Sings a tender song.

 In a bluish fog, the night cool

Sweeps from the field.

Silly, sweet happiness.

Fresh blush of cheeks.

 <1918>

* * *

 Country, o my country!

Autumnal rainy tin.

The shivering streetlight reflects

Its lipless head in a black puddle.

 No, it’s best not to look,

Or else I’ll see something worse.

I’ll just keep squinting my eyes

At all this rusted haze.

 It’s warmer this way and less painful.

Look: between the skeletons of houses

A bell tower, like a miller, carries

The copper bagfuls of bells.

 If you’re hungry, you will be nourished.

If you’re miserable, you’ll find joy.

Just don’t look at me too openly,

My unknown earthly brother.

 As I thought, so I did. But alas!

It’s the same every time!

Looks like my body is too used to

Feeling this shivering cold.

 Well, so what! There are many others,

I’m not the only one alive in the world!

As for the street light, one moment it blinks,

The next moment it laughs with its lipless head.

 Only my heart, under shabby clothes,

Whispers to me, who has visited solid ground:

“My friend, my friend, the eyes that have seen

Can only be shut by death.”

 <1921>

* * *

 Don’t torment me with your icy demeanor

And don’t ask me how old I am.

I’ve got a severe falling sickness;

My soul is a yellow skeleton.

 There was a time when, hailing from outskirts,

In a smoke of my boyish dreams,

I imagined riches and fame,

And being loved by all.

 Yes! I’m rich, I’m rich beyond words.

I had a top hat; now I don’t.

All I’ve got left is one shirtfront

And a worn-out pair of fashionable shoes.

 And my fame is no worse:

From Moscow to Paris

My name inspires horror

Like a loud swearword painted on a fence.

 As to love—isn’t it funny?

You kiss me, but lips feel like tin.

I know, my feeling is overripe

And yours won’t be able to bloom.

 Oh well, I’m too young to brood,

And if I’m sad—what of it?

Fresh grass that covers the hills

Rustles with more gold than your braids.

 I’d love to go back to that place

Where, listening to rustling golden grass,

I could sink forever into oblivion

In the smoke of my boyish dreams.

 But this time I’d dream of something new,

Something earth or grass can’t understand,

Something no heart can express in words

And no human being could name.

 <1923>

 * * *

 A blue May. An eventide warmth.

The ring at the gate makes no sound.

Sticky smell wafts from the sagebrush.

The cherry tree sleeps in a white gown.

 Through the wooden wings of the window,

The whimsical moon is weaving

The lace patterns of the fine curtains

And the window frames onto the floor.

 Our living room might be small,

But it’s clean. I’m here at my leisure...

This night I’m enjoying my life

Like a pleasant thought of a friend.

 The garden blazes like a frothy fire,

And the moon, straining all its powers,

Would like everyone to tremble

From the piercing word “darling.”

 In this blossoming, in this smoothness,

Hearing the merry harmonica of May,

I’m the only one who wishes for nothing,

Who accepts everything as is.

 I accept it—come and appear,

Everything that brings pain and relief...

Peace be with you, life that has rumbled by.

Peace be with you, light-blue chill.

 <1925>

Born in Moscow, Russia, Anton Yakovlev studied filmmaking and poetry at Harvard University. He is the author of poetry chapbooks The Ghost of Grant Wood (Finishing Line Press, 2015) and Neptune Court (The Operating System, 2015). His poems have appeared in The New Yorker, The Hopkins Review, Prelude, Measure, The Best of The Raintown Review, The Stockholm Review of Literature, and elsewhere. His book of translations of poetry by Sergei Esenin is forthcoming from Sensitive Skin Books in 2017. He has also directed several short films.

One of the most important Russian poets of all time, Sergei Yesenin (1895-1925) was a founding member of the short-lived but influential Imaginist movement, which stood in contrast to Futurism and was related to Imagism in English. Originally from the village of Konstantinovo, Ryazan Province, Yesenin spent most of his adult life in Petrograd (later Leningrad, now St. Petersburg), but most of his poetry continued to focus on nature and traditional rural life. In 1922 he married the American dancer Isadora Duncan, but their marriage was short-lived. Though he initially supported the Bolshevik regime, the poet became disenchanted with it, recognizing the encroaching and destructive effects of Soviet industrialization on the peasant population. According to the official account, on the night of December 27, 1925, he hanged himself after writing his final poem in his own blood, though many experts, relatives, and friends of the poet have disputed the official narrative.

[softnow]

country road whatever

msr | s4 | general | words: 1k

fictober day 8!

better late than never! this is based on a prompt from @sunflowerseedsandscience, who wanted early msr broken down by the side of the road and mulder coaxing scully into dancing with him to the radio. sorry it took me approximately ten years to fill it! early s4, pre-cancer arc, when everything was beautiful and mulder’s hair was floppy. tagging @fictober and @today-in-fic.

— — —

“Three hours,” Mulder says, dropping back into the driver’s seat. He leaves the door open and tosses his cellphone onto the dash.

Scully blinks. “You’re kidding.”

“‘Fraid not.” He digs a sunflower seed out of the cupholder and worries it between his teeth. “Big wreck on the interstate. Eighteen wheeler. Coupla broken-down Feds on the side of country road whatever don’t exactly make top priority.”

She groans and tilts her head back against her seat. Her door is open too, an invitation for a cross breeze that hasn’t yet been accepted. The trees around them blaze orange, the only hint that it might be mid-October. The stagnant afternoon air is July-hot and stifling. Another three hours sounds like hell.

“Think cool thoughts,” he says, as if reading hers. He’s stripped to his undershirt, arms bare and tawny in the sun. “Antarctica. Ben & Jerry’s. Coca-Cola.”

She closes her eyes against the sweaty flop of hair on his forehead. It is too warm for that.

“Dry ice,” she says.

“Egg salad.”

“Freon.”

“Grape juice.”

“Mm.” She nods, imagining a tall, crisp glass. “Grape juice.”

“No cheating, Scully. H.”

She thinks for a moment. The heat is making her sluggish, sleepy. Three hours.

“Hiver,” she says.

“Show-off.”

“That’s an S-word, Mulder.”

He gives her a half-smile in acknowledgement and the game loses its appeal. It’s too hot to do much for long.

She swipes sweat from her collarbones and takes a deep breath. Her nylons are balled up with her suit jacket in the backseat, but it’s done little good. She roots through the glovebox until she finds a rubber band for her hair. It’ll hurt like hell when she takes it out, but the pain’s worth a degree or two of coolness.

Beside her, Mulder fiddles with the radio. There aren’t many stations to choose from this far into rural Kentucky, but he eventually finds one playing Bob Seger and only a little bit of static.

“Risky Business, Scully,” he says, flicking a sunflower seed onto the pavement.

“Mm.”

They lapse into silence. It would be almost nice if she couldn’t feel herself actively dehydrating. Sweat pools along the waistband of her skirt and beneath her thighs, dampening the cloth seat. It will be a marsh before the tow truck finds them. She grimaces in advance.

When Bob Seger’s had enough of reminiscing about the days of old, the song changes, something slower this time, piano and strings, almost country. That Tom Waits cover, she realizes. Bill had this album in high school. She hasn’t heard it in as many years.

Mulder tosses down another sunflower seed and gets out of the car. She doesn’t pay much attention, used to his restlessness, until he’s leaning in through her open door, one hand on the roof of the car, the other extended to her like he’s trying to help her over a puddle.

She arches an eyebrow and stares at him.

“What?”

“Come here,” he says. “Dance with me.”

Of all the possible things he could have said—let’s stretch our legs, Scully or maybe there’s a diner within walking distance or I think there might be aliens over that ridge there, let’s go see—this is the one she’d never expect. They haven’t—they never—they don’t do things like this. She wonders if the heat has gotten to him so much already.

“Mulder—”

“Not much of a dancer? That’s fine. You can stand on my feet.” His eyes are sparkling with good humor and he looks lucid, not like his brain is boiling in his skull.

“It’s hot,” she says, a lame excuse, but a valid one.

“It is,” he agrees, “and beautiful. Look at that sky. How many more days are we going to have like this? You’re going to be all bundled up in your little coat, complaining about your dry skin before you know it. Come on. Dance with me.”

The sky is beautiful, crystal-blue and boundless. And he looks so sweet there, sweating through his t-shirt, grinning down at her in that boyish way of his, that she can’t help it.

She pushes her feet back into her heels and lets him help her stand. He leans back in for a moment to turn the radio up, then tugs her around to the front of the car. She steps stiffly into his embrace, one hand folded into his, the other on his shoulder like they’re at a high school dance.

Mulder grins. “Leaving room for Jesus, Scully?”

“It’s hot,” she repeats, though that’s only half the truth. The other half is that she feels awkward. The last time she slow-danced was—oh god, Bill and Tara’s wedding? Has it really been that long? And at least then it wasn’t with her work partner, not on the side of some forgotten Kentucky backroad.

“C’mere,” he says and pulls her closer with his hand at the small of her back. His belt buckle presses gently against her belly. He brings their clasped hands to his chest and sways. “See? Not too bad.”

The heat of him is deafening. It blots out all other senses until there is just his hand through her blouse, Don Henley’s rough voice on the radio, the over-quick thrum of her pulse in her throat.

“That’s us, isn’t it?” he says. “Freeway, cars and trucks.”

It takes her a minute to realize he’s talking about the song. She’s preoccupied with his hands. How has she never noticed how soft they are?

“And country road whatever.” She lets herself lean against him just a little bit, just to see how it feels.

Mulder laughs and it rumbles in his chest. “And country road whatever, yeah.”

“Too bad you don’t have Lady Luck along for the ride, though.”

“Hmm.” He shifts, brings his arm more solidly around her waist. It’s so, so hot, but she doesn’t complain. “Who says I don’t?”

“Mulder…” But she can’t think of anything else to say.

He squeezes her hand and rests his chin on the top of her head. Her eyes slip closed and she breathes his humid scent, sweat and dirt and sun.

They’re still dancing half an hour later when a farmer in a pickup truck slows to a crawl and asks if they need a ride.

[tseneipgam]

‘IN PARIS we eat brains every night. My husband likes the vaporous, fishy mousse of them. They are a kind of seafood, he thinks, locked tightly in the skull, like shelled creatures in the dark caves of the ocean, sprung suddenly free and killed by light; they've grown clammy with shelter, fortressed vulnerability, dreamy nights. Me, I'm eating for a flashback...

We sit beside people who show us wallet pictures of their children. "Sont-ils si mignons!" I say. My husband constructs remarks in his own patois. We, us, have no little ones. He doesn't know French. But he studied Spanish once, and now, with a sad robustness, speaks of our childlessness to the couple next to us. "But," he adds, thinking fondly of our cat, "we do have a large gato at home." "Gâteau means 'cake,'" I whisper. "You've just told them we have a large cake at home." I don't know why he always strikes up conversations with the people next to us. But he strikes them up, thinking it friendly and polite rather than oafish and irritating, which is what I think.

Afterward we always go to the same chocolatier for whiskey truffles. One feels the captured storm in these, a warm storm under the tongue. "What aggrandizement are we in again?" my husband asks."What 'aggrandizement'?" I say. "I don't know, but I think we're in one of the biggies." My husband pronounces tirez as if it were Spanish, père as if it were pier. The affectionate farce I make of him ignores the ways I feel his lack of love for me. But we are managing. We touch each other's sleeves. We say, "Look at that!," wanting our eyes to merge, our minds to be one. We are in Paris, with its impeccable marzipan and light, its whiffs of sewage and police state. With my sore hip and his fallen arches ("fallen archness," Daniel calls it), we walk the quais, stand on all the bridges in the misty rain, and look out on this pretty place, secretly imagining being married to other people--right here in River City!--and sometimes not, sometimes simply wondering, silently or aloud, what will become of the world.’

‘WHEN I WAS a child, I tried hard for a time to split my voice. I wanted to make chords, to splinter my throat into harmonies--floreted as a field, which is how I saw it. It seemed like something one should be able to do. With concentration and a muscular push of air, I felt, I might be able to people myself, unleash the crowd in my voice box, give birth, set free all the moods and nuances, all the lovely and mystical inhabitants of my mind's speech. Afternoons, by myself, I would go beyond the garden and the currant bushes, past the lavender-crowned chives and slender asparagus, past the sunflowers knocked bent by deer or an unseasonal frost, past the gully grass to the meadow far behind our house. Or I'd go down the road to the empty lot near the Naval Reserve where in winter the village plow and dump truck unloaded snow and where in summer sometimes the boys played ball. I would look out upon the wildflowers, the mulch of swamp and leaves, the spring moss greening on the rocks, or the boulderous mountains of street-black snow, whatever season it happened to be--my mittens clotted with ice, or my hands grimy with marsh mud--and from the back of my larynx I'd send part of my voice out toward the horizon and part of it straight up toward the sky. There must have been pain in me. I wanted to howl and fly and break apart.’

‘One of the many results of this for me was a tin ear for languages. My brain worked stiffly, regrouped and improvised sounds. For a while I believed Sandra Dee was not only an actress but one of the French days of the week. I sang "Frère Jacques" with the bewildering line, "Sonny, lay my Tina." Knowing that a foreign tongue was often tense marital code, off-limits to the kinder, all forbidden chirp and wind, belonging to the guests, I grew sullen, and vaguely deaf, resentful in a way that was at the time inexplicable to myself’

‘ In the moonlight the sky seemed wild, bright, and marbled like the sea. People alone, trapped, country people, all looked at the sky, I knew. It was the way out somehow, that sky, but it was also the steady, changeless witness to the after and before of one's decisions -- it witnessed all the deaths that took people away to other worlds -- and so people had a tendency to talk to it.’

 ‘my cruelty toward her now in me like a splinter, where it would sit for years in my helpless memory, the skin growing around; what else can memory do? It can do nothing; It pretends to eat the shrapnel of your acts, yet it cannot swallow or chew.’

“All the lying and coffee it takes to get anything done at all,” he says, have exhausted him...“Well, you’re fighting the good fight,” I say. “I’m crying the food cry,” He sighs.

‘Passing cafes and restaurants, I walk through the bright glance of men in love, who, looking briefly away from the lover across from them in order to more perfectly form a sentence, unwittingly cast their gaze across my path like a light. And so, momentarily, to have accidentally caught their desire, swimming across the current of it like that, passing through, I feel loved, in a warm and random way, wandering through it, as if it were a rainbow, that old trick of light, or a place in a pool where someone has peed. There is a sweet, silent rot to it.’

‘even now, on the outskirts of Paris, Africans in bright ski pants work the toxic jobs, the factories and power plants, how Paris is built and running on the backs of these people, on the back of abominable history. The Nazis, well: Everyone knows about the Nazis. There is no place to put such facts, not properly. There is only one’s own monumental horror, one’s worthless moral vanity- which can do nothing. The bad news of the world. life most bad news, has no place to go. You tack it to the bulletin board part of your heart. You say look, you say see. That is all.’

‘You didn't give back to the same people who gave to you... You didn't give it back to the same people at all. You gave it to differnet peoples. And they, in turn, gave it to somebody else entirely. Not you. That was the sloppy economy of gift and love.’

‘I cried for everyone and for all the scrabbly, funny love one sent out into the world like some hit song that enters space and bounds off to another galaxy, a tune so pretty you think the words are true, you do!”

[summaryi]

The Language of Flowers - Vanessa Diffenbaugh

I cried my way through every chapter.

Thank you, Vanessa Diffenbaugh, for this book.

www.camellianetwork.org

Victoria’s Dictionary of Flowers

A

abutilon: meditation

acacia: secret love

acanthus: artifice

agapanthus: love letter

allium: prosperity

almond blossom: indiscretion

aloe: grief

alstroemeria: devotion

alyssum: worth beyond beauty

amaranth: immortality

amaryllis: pride

anemone: forsaken

angelica: inspiration

apple: temptation

apple blossom: preference

aster: patience

azalea: fragile and ephemeral passion

B

baby’s breath: everlasting love

bachelor’s button: single blessedness

basil: hate

bay leaf: i change but in death

begonia: caution

bellflower: gratitude

bells of ireland: good luck

birds of paradise: magnificence

blackberry: envy

black-eyed susan: justice

bluebell: constancy

bougainvillea: passion

bouvardia: enthusiasm

broom: humility

buttercup: ingratitude

C

cabbage: profit

cactus: ardent love

calla lily: modesty

camellia: my destiny is in your hands

candytuft: indifference

canterbury bells: constancy

carnation, pink: i will never forget you

carnation, red: my heart breaks

carnation, striped: i cannot be with you

carnation, white: sweet and lovely

carnation, yellow: disdain

celandine: joys to come

chamomile: energy in adversity

cherry blossom: impermanence

chervil: sincerity

chestnut: do me justice

chicory: frugality

chrysanthemum: truth

cinquefoil: beloved daughter

clematis: poverty

clove: i have loved you and you have not known it

clover, white: think of me

cockscomb: affectation

columbine: desertion

coreopsis: always cheerful

coriander: hidden worth

corn: riches

cosmos: joy in love and life

cowslip: pensiveness

crab-apple blossom: ill-tempered

cranberry: cure for heartache

crocus: youthful gladness

currant: thy frown will kill me

cyclamen: timid hope

cypress: mourning

D

daffodil: new beginnings

dahlia: dignity

daisy: innocence

daisy, gerber: cheerfulness

dandelion: rustic oracle

daphne: i would not have you otherwise

dayliy: coquetry

delphinium: levity

dianthus: make haste

dittany: childbirth

dogwood: love undiminished by adversity

dragon plant: you are near a snare

E

edelweiss: noble courage

elder: compassion

eucalyptus: protection

euphorbia: persistence

evening primrose: inconstancy

everlasting pea: lasting pleasure

F

Fennel: strength

fern: sincerity

fern, maidenhair: secrecy

feverfew: warmth

fig: argument

flax: i feel your kindness

forget-me-not: forget me not

forsythia: anticipation

foxglove: insincerity

freesia: lasting friendship

fuchsia: humble love

G

gardenia: refinement

gentian: intrinsic worth

geranium, oak-leaf: true friendship

geranium, pencil-leaf: ingenuity

geranium, scarlet: stupidity

geranium, wild: steadfast piety

ginger: strength

gladiolus: you pierce my heart

goldenrod: careful encouragement

grapevine: abundance

grass: submission

H

hawthorne: hope

hazel: reconciliation

heath: solitude

heather: protection

helenium: tears

heliotrope: devoted affection

hibiscus: delicate beauty

holly: foresight

hollyhock: ambition

honesty: honesty

honeysuckle: devotion

hyacinth, blue: constancy

hyacinth, purple: please forgive me

hyacinth, white: beauty

hydrangea: dispassion

I

ice plant: your looks freeze me

impatiens: impatience

iris: message

ivy: fidelity

J

jacob’s ladder: come down

jasmine, carolina: separation

jasmine, indian: attachment

jasmine, white: amiability

jonquil: desire

L

laburnum: pensive beauty

lady’s slipper: capricious beauty

lantana: rigor

larch: audacity

larkspur: lightness

laurel: glory and success

lavender: mistrust

lemon: zest

lemon blossom: discretion

lettuce: coldheartedness

liatris: i will try again

lichen: dejection

lilac: first emotions of love

lily: majesty

lily of the valley: return of happiness

linden tree: conjugal love

lisianthus: appreciation

lobelia: malevolence

lotus: purity

love-in-a-mist: perplexity

love-lies-bleeding: hopeless but not helpless

lungwort: you are my life

lupine: imagination

M

magnolia: dignity

marigold: grief

marjoram: blushes

marsh marigold: desire for riches

meadow saffron: my best days are past

meadowsweet: uselessness

michealmas daisy: farewell

mignonette: your qualities surpass your charms

mimosa: sensitivity

mistletoe: i surmount all obstacles

mock orange: counterfeit

monkshood: chivalry

morning glory: coquetry

moss: maternal love

mullein: take courage

mustard: i am hurt

myrtle: love

N

narcissus: self-love

nasturtium: impetuous love

nettle: cruelty

O

oats: the witching soul of music

oleander: beware

olive: peace

orange: generosity

orange blossom: your purity equals your loveliness

orchid: refined beauty

oregano: joy

P

pansy: think of me

parsley: festivity

passionflower: faith

peach: your charms are unequaled

peach blossom: i am your captive

pear: affection

pear blossom: comfort

peony: anger

peppermint: warmth of feeling

periwinkle: tender recollections

persimmon: bury me amid nature’s beauty

petunia: your presence soothes me

phlox: our souls are united

pineapple: you are perfect

pinnk: pure love

plum: keep your promises

poinsettia: be of good cheer

polyanthus: confidence

pomegranate: foolishness

pomegranate blossom: mature elegance

poplar, black: courage

poplar, white: time

poppy: fantastic extravagance

potato: benevolence

potato vine: you are delicious

primrose: childhood

protea: courage

purple coneflower: strength and health

Q

queen anne’s lace: fantasy

quince: temptation

R

ranunculus: you are radiant with charms

raspberry: remorse

redbud: betrayal

rhododendron: beware

rhubarb: advice

rose, burgundy: unconscious beauty

rose, moss: confession of love

rose, orange: fascination

rose, pale peach: modesty

rose, pink: grace

rose, purple: enchantment

rose, red: love

rose, white: a heart unacquainted with love

rose, yellow: infidelity

rosemary: remembrance

S

saffron: beware of excess

sage: good health and long life

saint-john’s-wort: superstition

saxifraga: affection

scabiosa: unfortunate love

scarlet pimpernel: change

snapdragon: presumption

snowdrop: consolation and hope

sorrel: parental affection

speedwell: fidelity

spirea: victory

star-of-bethlehem: purity

starwort: welcome

stephanotis: happiness in marriage

stock: you will always be beautiful to me

stonecrop: tranquility

strawberry: perfection

sunflower: false riches

sweet briar: simplicity

sweet pea: delicate pleasures

sweet william: gallantry

T

tansy: i declare war against you

thistle, common: misanthropy

thrift: sympathy

thyme: activity

trachelium: neglected beauty

trillium: modest beauty

trumpet vine: fame

tuberose: dangerous pleasures

tulip: declaration of love

turnip: charity

V

verbena: pray for me

vetch: i cling to thee

violet: modest worth

W

wallflower: fidelity in adversity

water lily: purity of heart

waxflower: susceptibility

wheat: prosperity

white monte casino: patience

willow herb: pretension

winter cherry: deception

wisteria: welcome

witch hazel: a spell

Y

yarrow: cure for a broken heart

Z

zinnia: i mourn your absence

[vivlives]

Language of Flowers - Victorian

Here is a non-exhaustive list of various flowers and their meanings from the Victorian era. Taken from A Victorian Flower Dictionary. Please use in all your fiction and art for symbolism purposes.

Abutilon - meditation Acacia - secret love Acanthus - artifice Agapanthus - love letter Agrimony - gratitude Allium - prosperity Almond blossom - indiscretion Aloe - grief Astroemeria - devotion Alyseum - worth beyond beauty Amaranth - immortality Amaryllis - pride Anemone - forsaken Angelica - inspiration Apple - temptation Apple blossom - preference Aster - patience Azalea - fragile and ephemeral passion Baby's breath - everlasting love Bachelor's button - single blessedness Basil - hate Bay leaf - I change but in death Begonia - caution Bellflower - gratitude Bells of Ireland - good luck Birds of paradise - magnificence Blackberry - envy Black-eyed Susan - justice Bluebell - constancy Bougainvillea - passion Bouvardia - enthusiasm Broom - humility Buttercup - ingratitude Cabbage - profit Cactus - ardent love Calla lily - modesty Camellia - my destiny is in your hands Candytuft - indifference Canterbury bells - constancy Carnation, pink - I will never forget you Carnation, red - my heart breaks Carnation, white - sweet and lovely Carnation, yellow - disdain Carnation, striped - I cannot be with you Celandine - joys to come Chamomile - energy in adversity Cherry blossom - impermanence Cherry, winter - deception Chervil - sincerity Chestnut - do me justice Chicory - frugality Chrysanthemum - truth Cinquefoil - beloved daughter Clematis - poverty Clove - I have loved you have you have not known it Clover, white - think of me Cockscomb - affectation Columbine - desertion Coneflower, purple - strength and health Coreopsis - always cheerful Coriander - hidden worth Corn - riches Cosmos - joy in love and life Cowslip - pensiveness Crab-apple blossom - ill-tempered Cranberry - cure for heartache Crocus - youthful gladness Currant - thy frown will kill me Cyclamen - timid hope Cypress - mourning Daffodil - new beginnings Dahlia - dignity Daisy - innocence Dandelion - rustic oracle Daphne - I would not have you otherwise Day lily - coquetry Delphinium - levity Dianthus - make haste Dittany - childbirth Dogwood - love undiminished by adversity Dragon plant - you are near a snare Edelweiss - noble courage Eglantine - I wound to heal Elder - compassion Eucalyptus - protection Euphorbia - persistence Evening primrose - inconstancy Everlasting pea - lasting pleasure Fennel - strength Fern - sincerity Fern, maidenhair - secrecy Feverfew - warmth Fig - argument Flax - I feel your kindness Forget-me-not - forget me not Forsythia - anticipation Foxglove - insincerity Freesia - lasting friendship Fuchsia - humble love Gardenia - refinement Gentian - intrinsic worth Geranium, oak-leaf - true friendship Geranium, pencil-leaf - ingenuity Geranium, scarlet - stupidity Geranium, wild - steadfast piety Gerber daisy - cheerfulness Ginger - strength Gladiolus - you pierce my heart Goldenrod - careful encouragement Grapevine - abundance Grass - submission Hawthorn - hope Hazel - reconciliation Heath - solitude Heather - protection Helenium - tears Heliotrope - devoted affection Hibiscus - delicate beauty Holly - foresight Hollyhock - ambition Honesty - honesty Honeysuckle - devotion Hyacinth, blue - constancy Hyacinth, purple - please forgive me Hyacinth, white - beauty Hydrangea - dispassion Ice plant - your looks freeze me Impatiens - impatience Iris - message Ivy - fidelity Jacob's ladder - come down Jasmine, carolina - separation Jasmine, indian - attachment Jasmine, white - amiability Jonquil - desire Laburnum - pensive beauty Lady's slipper - capricious beauty Lantana - rigour Larch - audacity Larkspur - joy to know you, lightness Laurel - glory and success Lavender - mistrust Lemon - zest Lemon blossom - discretion Lettuce - cold-heartedness Liatris - I will try again Lichen - dejection Lilac - first emotions of love Lily - majesty Lily of the valley - return of happiness Linden tree - conjugal love Lisianthus - appreciation Lobelia - malevolence Lotus - purity Love-in-a-mist - perplexity Love-lies-bleeding - hopeless not helpless Lungwort - you are my life Lupin - imagination Magnolia - dignity Marigold - grief Marjoram - blushes Marsh marigold - desire for riches Meadow saffron - my best days are past Meadowsweet - uselessness Mignonette - qualities surpass charms Michaelmas daisy - farewell Mimosa - sensitivity Mistletoe - I surmount all obstacles Mock orange - counterfeit Monkshood - chivalry Morning glory - coquetry Moss - maternal love Moss rose - confessions of love Mullein - take courage Mustard - I am hurt Myrtle - love Narcissus - self-love Nasturtium - impetuous love Nettle - cruelty Oats - witching soul of music Oleander - beware Olive - peace Orange - generosity Orange blossom - your purity equals your loveliness Orchid - refined beauty Oregano - joy Pansy - think of me Parsley - festivity Passionflower - faith Peach - you charms are unequalled Peach blossom - I am your captive Pear - affection Pear blossom - comfort Peony - anger Peppermint - warmth of feeling Periwinkle - tender recollections Persimmon - bury me amid nature's beauty Petunia - your presence soothes me Phlox - our souls are united Pineapple - you are perfect Pink - pure love Plum - keep your promises Poinsettia - be of good cheer Polyanthus - confidence Pomegranate - foolishness Pomegranate blossom - mature elegance Poplar, black - courage Poplar, white - time Poppy - fantastic extravagance Potato - benevolence Potato vine - you are delicious Primrose - childhood Protea - courage Queen Anne's lace - fantast Quince - temptation Ranunculus - you are radiant with charms Raspberry - remorse Redbud - betrayal Rhododendron - beware Rhubarb - advice Rose, burgundy - unconscious beauty Rose, orange - fascination Rose, pale peach - modesty Rose, pink - grace Rose, purple - enchantment Rose, red - love Rose, white - heart unacquainted with love Rose, yellow - infidelity Rosemary - remembrance Saffron - beware of excess Sage - good health and long life Saxifrage - affection Scabious - unfortunate love Scarlet pimpernel - change Snapdragon - presumption Snowdrop - consolation, hope Sorrel - parental affection Spiraea - victory Speedwell - fidelity St. John's wort - superstition Star of Bethleham - purity Starwart - welcome Stephanotis - happiness in marriage Stock - you will always be beautiful to me Stonecrop - tranquility Strawberry - perfection Sunflower - false riches Sweet pea - delicate pleasures Sweet William - gallantry Tansy - I declare war against you Thistle - misanthropy Thrift - sympathy Thyme - activity Trachelium - neglected beauty Trillium - modest beauty Trumpet vine - fame Tuberose - dangerous pleasures Tulip - declaration of love Turnip - charity Verbena - pray for me Vetch - I cling to thee Violet - modest worth Wallflower - fidelity in adversity Water lily - purity of heart Waxflower - susceptibility Weeping willow - melancholy Wheat - prosperity Willowherb - pretension Wisteria - welcome Witch hazel - spell Yarrow - cure for a broken heart Zinnea - I mourn your absence

[likepuppetsonastring]

Echoes (A Middle-of-the-Night Drabble)

Frisk thought they had never seen anything as beautiful as an Echo Flower. It looked almost as if it were a negative image of a sunflower, the colors reversed and strangely fluorescent, blues and whites that seemed to light up the dark marsh around them, otherworldly and wonderful, in the original sense of the word. Their appearance wasn’t even the strangest part of them however. Frisk swore, as they walked past, they heard one of the funny plants talk.

Now, given their previous encounter with talking flowers had been not altogether pleasant, Frisk was understandably cautious about getting too close to the whispering blooms. But Sans had mentioned Echo Flowers, back in Snowdin, and they thought perhaps their caution was unfounded, and that perhaps the echoes might be worth listening to. They had always been a supremely curious child, anyway. So they took a cautious step closer to the nearest flower.

It was surprisingly hard to get to, surrounded by so much vegetation and growth that Frisk was led to believe that it had been a very long time since anyone had stood close to the flower at all. This assumption was reinforced by the faintness of the recording, but it was not impossible to understand what was being said. A young voice spoke up first, the sound of splashing footsteps suggesting two small monsters were passing at the time of the recording. “They say you can make a wish on echo flowers. What’s your wish?” It was hard to tell whether the voice was male or female. Perhaps it was neither, mused Frisk with a chuckle. They wandered on to the next plant, mimicking the long-forgotten conversationalists’ path. “I...don’t wanna tell.” This voice sounded as if it’d come from a young boy. He seemed to be afraid of something. Apparently the other voice had surmised this as well, because they promptly asked what it was he was afraid of. Frisk continued to the next plant, fancying they could see two ghostly figures walking in front of them. In their fantasy, the two figures were silent until they reached the next plant, a few feet down the marsh. “I’m afraid you’ll laugh at me.” “I promise I won’t!” the first voice assured the boy, and in Frisk’s mind, they could practically see the child clap the shoulder of the other confidently. Frisk smiled as they imagined the first voice as a human, like themselves, striped sweater and all. The other, a monster child, Frisk decided, sighed and looked away. “Alright.” He paused for a long moment. “My wish is to see the stars.” The human child seemed to nod, and smile. This turned into a small laugh as they reached the next flower. Another, further on, had the monster child, who had white fur, Frisk thought, annoyed, saying “You promised you wouldn’t laugh!” “Sorry,” the first child said, still smiling, “It’s just funny.” “What?” Frisk seemed to watch them round the corner as the conversation drew to a close, and they ran out of echo flowers. “That’s my wish, too.”

Frisk felt oddly sad, hearing the end of that conversation. It felt faintly familiar to them, as if they’d heard it on some TV show they’d loved when they were younger, barely remembered. But they were sure they’d never heard it before, and wondered at the image they’d seen, the fantasy they’d drawn up. It’d seemed so real, the children seeming like they’d come to life with their voices barely echoed back by the flowers that’d lived up to their names. Had they really imagined it all? Who knew? This whole place was full of magic and strange life. Perhaps more than just their voices had been caught, frozen in time by this strange place.

[saltwater-maple]

1-3 for marsh and cora!! Also uh 13 for marsh bcause i have a feeling that Naughty Boy would use console commands n cheat at ev e r yth i ng N i want to kno if u agree

oh!!! thenks for sending this in omg! will put this stuff under a cut bc dash stretching is quite possible

cora

1) A story for every scar. Do any of their wounds have interesting origins? i imagine shes got a few battle scars, bc shes a bit of a coward and not good at Physical Conflict... she does have one scar under her chin from a fall she’d taken as a little kid tho. but thats the only real Interesting one

2) Three songs that show their character progression. perfect - eleven acorn lane (in context of coras Drama, it ends up way sadder than it sounds)coward montblanc - gumi (ive never stopped lovin this song since 5yrs ago; it got me Thru Some Shit and it works for coras Drama)lullaby from a distant land - forest elves (because im a Hell Man. again in context this is Sad)

3) If they were a god which god would they be? idk if theres really a Specific god for this, but she would definitely be the god of song, sunflowers, and chickens. she really loves chickens

marsh!!

1) A story for every scar. Do any of their wounds have interesting origins? hes got plenty of scars on his back as a result of running away from fights he knew he couldnt win pre-curse! a few on his fingers from attempts at more artisan crafts to add to his merchandise... and matching ones on his palm and the back of his hand when he tried to save a frog from a wolf

2) Three songs that show their character progression. hammer song & the tower of pain - bump of chicken (english translation here! marsh was a miserable little man before Frog Curse)artificial heart - jonathan coulton (theres just. A Lot about this one)odoru rorschach - owarikara (i dont have a translation for this/havent found one yet; i understand a bit of it tho and.. idk. just reminds me of The Boy)

3) If they were a god which god would they be? i imagine he’d think it somewhat sacrilegious to imagine it, considering who cursed blessed him w his current Everything, but he’d definitely want to become a frog deity

13) Playing video games, would they be a completionist, a speed runner, how would they play?um youre absolutely fucking right he is a big fucking cheat. he would at least TRY to play without cheats at first, but that would only last about 10 mins at most before he gave in and started clippin thru walls for easter eggs

this took so long mostly because i had to do so much soul searching to find the best 3 songs for both of these two wtf