#first flush

Red roses... the flowers of romance and courage.

“For you. And... you can have my heart too, if you want.”

When he steels himself and presents you with both flowers and his feelings.

The First Flush of Spring.

A bouquet appears before you as if by a magic trick—so fast that the naked eye can’t quite catch where Ace pulled it out from. The air? From behind his ear? Out of his ass? All possible options, given his impish tendencies, that cheeky smile on him he presents the flowers with a flourish.

There’s no uniformity in the arrangement. Rather, Ace has picked an assortment of wildflowers. It’s an explosion of shapes and colors, reminding you of fireworks or confetti set free from a party popper. An act of rebellion and free thinking, a perfect expression of everything Ace. (What? Nooo, he definitely did not pilfer these flowers from the Heartslabyul gardens—)

You’re admiring the flowers when you notice that one of them looks a bit... odd. A single white daisy amid the rainbow, so fat and shiny they look more like plastic than petals. You squint at it, wondering what’s up—and the daisy spits out a stream of water, dousing your face.

Bewildered, you make to dry yourself off. Ace’s unmistakable laughter fills your ears, and you find him smirking at you. “Man, I can’t believe you fell for that. You should’ve seen your face! I totally made your heart race just now!”

He retracts the bouquet, resting it squarely on his shoulder. His expression softens into something more bashful as he glances off to the side, too shy to make direct eye contact. “You know... I could make your heart race like this every day. Just say the magic words, and I’m alllll yours.”

Deuce takes it upon himself to handpick the flowers he thinks best represent his feelings for you... dandelions! (The poor boy doesn’t realize they’re technically weeds, he just trails around the school yard plucking as many of them up as he can during his lunch break.)

He’s straightforward about his reasoning for the dandelions. They’re a sunny yellow color (like freshly hatched baby chicks!), which reminds him of how you make him feel: all warm and fuzzy on the inside. Plus, they’re everywhere--plentiful, a sign of how abundant his love for you is.

Deuce practically shoves the flowers (well, weeds) at you, his face bright pink and his mouth trembling. Still, he faces you head-on, his peacock green eyes blazing with earnest as he stammers out his words.

“Th-These are for you!! So... I-I hope you like them!!” When you accept them from him, he slaps his arms to his side and gives a stiff bow, a silent thanks. Deuce lifts his head again, and, upon seeing your smile, he feels a fresh surge of courage welling up.

“I noticed that dandelions can grow almost anywhere. They’re pretty tough flowers if you think about it!” He grins, closing a hand around a fist. “That’s the kind of strength you give me. I can do anything, face anyone, if you’re there. You... You make me want to be a better man.”

You find a little potted cactus placed on your desk one day. It’s short and stout, with a little bud yet to bloom sitting on top like a hat. There’s no indication of the sender, no note or message that might give you a hint as to who left it... is what you would say, if you didn’t glance over to Jack and catch his tail anxiously wagging.

Your eyes meet, and there’s a mutual realization that you know. Then your eyes tear apart, Jack staring at the wall and you staring at the cactus. Neither of you sure of who should make the first move, of who should break the ice. Your breaths still, and so does the moment.

“It doesn’t need much to thrive. Just the bare essentials. Soil, sun, and water every other week,” Jack says at last. His advice is as blunt as usual, but he speaks them to the wall, unwilling to show his face in full. “Take care of it. Protect it. And it’ll blossom.”

There’s a sense of urgency and seriousness instilled in his voice, as though Jack isn’t just talking about the cactus, but about something more. He pauses, ears twitching, then mumbles something else out. When you don’t respond—you can’t hear him—Jack glances at you over his shoulder, revealing darkened cheeks and a shy expression.

“... You too,” he says quietly. The angles in his gruff voice softened, smoothed out. “I’ll take care of you and protect you if you’ll let me, if that’s what you want. But... I’m happy just watching you bloom.”

If it’s a confession, it’s gotta be under an apple tree! It’s a superstition from Harveston—vows of love become everlasting if they’re sworn under the branches of an apple tree. With that in mind, Epel asks for you to meet him in the school courtyard, where a great old apple tree sleeps.

He initially wanted to gift you something simple or practical, but was talked out of it by Vil. (“Offering a pocket knife is no way to court someone, he had been told by his dorm leader.) And so, Epel had spends an afternoon climbing trees like a little hooligan (well out of Vil’s sight), snapping off branches heavy with apple blossoms.

Epel secures the flowers with creamy floral paper and red ribbon and , thinking of the paper like fruit flesh and the ribbon as peeled apple skins. It looks like Pomefiore’s aesthetics lessons have really paid off, because the final product looks absolutely beautiful, a contrast to all the cuts and scratches on Epel’s delicate hands from all his efforts.

He rushes to you with the apple blossoms in hand, his skin shimmering with sweat and colorful bandages on his fingers. Epel hands the flowers over with a confident grin and a laugh. “They’re yours now!” he cries happily, dumping the bouquet into your hands. “These flowers and... my feelings!”

“Apple blossoms will turn into apples someday, right?” Epel’s large eyes glitter in the sunlight. “I hope... that we can be like that, too. I hope that this love can bear fruit.”

The obvious choice of flower to gift (at least to Sebek) is the rose, the Briar Valley’s symbol of national pride. No less than five dozen of them, big and bold and blood red, just to be on the safe side!! (... until Silver suggests that maybe Sebek scale back on the amount so as to not intimidate you.)

He’s a bundle of nerves right before the confession, pacing endlessly down the halls of Diasomnia and loudly rehearsing his lines. It takes a collective intervention from Malleus and Lilia (plus a special blessing from the prince himself) to reinvigorate Sebek and to send him off on his merry way, full of newfound pep!

According to the Briar Valley courtship traditions (exposited by Lilia), confessions should be done late in the month, in a park, and on the night of a full moon—and that’s exactly the kind of appointment Sebek sets up. He shows up in a well-pressed suit, his hair slicked back with so much gel that his head looks like a shiny boiled egg. In all of his years as a warrior, he has never faced a challenge as daunting as this.

With a deep breath, Sebek drops to one knee and brandishes a bouquet of red roses. “HUMAN!!” His words carry across the entire park, clearing even the stars and the moon. “It appears... that I’ve become quite fond of you, in spite of that humanity. Thus!! I ask this of you...!!”

Summary:

Ooshiba hugs his pillow close to his chest. “We...” The rest is an unintelligible mumble.  “You what?”  “We, uh—“ Ooshiba ducks his head, an awkward gesture for someone his height. “We met with Aiba, and… we held hands on the way back.”  “Oh.”  Ooshiba nods, blush coming back in full force.  Not anger, Satou thinks. That’s good, and then he realizes, Oh no. This is terrible. This is the nightmare scenario.  or: satou and suzuki deal with the agonies of kimishita and ooshiba's developing relationship, and come to a few realizations of their own.

Zu gern gibt sich die moderne Bürgerlichkeit der Tugend der Wertschätzung hin(Achtung:Werte werden geschätzt ). Sie mahnt die Wertschätzung von Qualität an, die durch romantisch-ökologische Nachhaltigkeit, eine sakrosankte Tugend der Konservativen, begründet wird. Aus dieser Ecke wehte nun wellenweise der Föhn der Teepackungsansprache den Anwesenden ins Antlitz, derer zufolge jener ein ganz besonderer Tee sei, den sie aus ihrem Urlaub in Sri Lanka vor ein paar Wochen (um Missverständnisse zu vermeiden, wiederhole ich für die Normalsterblichen: „SRI LANKA“) mitgebracht hätten und natürlich nicht einfach dort gekauft, sondern unter den besonders authentischen Umständen einer Teeverkostung auf der ihrem Hotel gegenüberliegenden Teeplantage erstanden und, ich glaube mich zu erinnern, mit Kenntnis der Namen und Personen sämtlicher an der Herstellung des Inhaltes dieser Tüte Tee beteiligten TeepflückerInnen, denen sie schon morgens, wie sie barfüßig zur Arbeit gingen, achtungsvoll grüßend begegnet seien! Vor meinem geistigen Auge läuft der durchidealisierte Werbespot. Ich könnte meinen, gehört zu haben, dass die ArbeiterInnen sogar auf dem Pflückzertifikat namentlich erwähnt seien. Es fehlte nur noch der Hinweis, dass die ArbeiterInnen dafür bezahlen, dort arbeiten zu dürfen.

So wechselte dann diese „Tüte“, nein, dieses Couvert erlesenen Tees seinen Besitzer und wenn ich der neue Besitzer gewesen wäre(Neid?), hätte ich vor lauter Demut diesen Tee, einem Kunstwerke gleich, niemals anrühren, geschweige denn anbrechen können und es entzündete sich ein Familienkrach, wenn der erste Konsument auch nur den Hauch einer Nichtwertschätzung ahnen liesse, so wie es Jugendliche manchmal gedankenlos tun: Das sei doch schließlich der Tee aus Sri Lanka von Onkel T., höre ich ich mich schon mahnen, den könne man doch nicht einfach offen stehen lassen! Wobei mir dazu, um von mir abzulenken, wert-und nichtwertschätzungsmässig, die Geschichte einfällt, mit der dann dieser denkwürdige Vor-Weihnachtsnachmittag beschlossen wurde und deren märchenhafter Inhalt sich anlässlich der aufgeflammten Flüchtlingskrise zutrug und sich nun über uns ergießen sollte.

(via https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m7-aFK9C4es)

It’s Shincha time! The first harvest and first flush of the year for premium Japanese green tea.

Our team went to Yame (Fukuoka pref., Japan) to watch amazing ladies hand-pick fresh tea leaves that will be used exclusively for making the kind of green teas: gyokuro. We are proud to collaborate with Takaki san, the owner of those fields, and bring his wonderful and award-winning teas overseas!