御薬園

鶴ヶ城 茶室麟閣

鶴ヶ城

✨ Project Highlights | February 2026 ✨

A look back at some of our featured projects completed in February. Our team delivered a wide range of décor and greenery installations, including artificial trees, artificial plant arrangements, live plant arrangements, Preserved moss Walls , live green walls, and event décor.

We also completed hotel interior décor featuring artificial rock elements and preserved plant installations, all crafted using high-quality materials to ensure lasting beauty and impact.

Every project was installed by our professional team, carefully executed to match each client’s vision and design requirements.

A big thank you to all our clients for trusting us to bring your ideas to life. 🌿✨

🌐 www.greenartfactory.ae
☎ Voice/WhatsApp: +971 56 95 88 315 / +971 50 127 8530
📧 info@greenartfactory.com

Rouge, 1987 / Boris Godunov, (1986) / Lastfm

February / Fevereiro

• Yi yi (2020)
• Red Shoes (1948)  🎬 
• Rouge (1987)
• A Story of Floating Weeds (1934)  🎬 
• Sorum (2001)
• War and Peace, Part III: The Year 1812  (1967) 🎬 
• Samurai Spy (1995)  🎬 
• Last hurra for chivaly (1979)  🎬 
• Star Trek (2009)
• Boris Godunov (1986)
• Hard to be a god (1989)
• Red River (1948)  🎬 
• The Tenant (1976)
• Rosemary’s Baby

Bold = Top three, Green = The Criterion Challenger (8/52)

Some notes:

xxx

| Follow my Letterboxd | follow my Twitter | follow my IG |

February 2026

February 28th: Hugging

Up And Greatfull 🙏🌄🌞

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February 27th: Surprise

Weekly Wrap Up

Red River / The Tenant / Rosemary’s Baby / Lastfm

Last.fm / Letterboxd

Red River (1948)

8/31

February 26th: Yearning

So i

relationship. partybeetle or pest x partynoob (platonic)

word count. 1.6k

rating. SFW. implied heavy drug use, drinking, everyone has weird-ass gender

A/N. Taking a break from being online, but i’ll post things i write since that is less mentally taxing bc it takes a lot longer and sharing them makes me happy even if they flop. idc. they are for me.

A comfortable buzz rushes over Partynoob like a wave, as if their back is pressed to the cold, damp beach with seaweed curling at their feet. They are not at the beach, however. The closest one to them as of now is somewhere deep in the Regretevator. Their apartment is miles behind them as they shuffle towards the closest 24-hour convenience store, their fourth cigarette strangled between their teeth. 

Partynoob passes the smoke above their head like a train, and Pest faux-gags behind them. Pest insisted in hissed English that they hate Partynoob’s parties, and their snack tables, and their cake selection…And walking three miles out to the one store in the area that sells a specific drink Poob likes—with them. If they think Poob is weird and obnoxious and cagey, they know where Pest <em>actually</em> finds those qualities.

“Give it.” Pest hisses, reaching around to swipe at the cigarette in Partynoob’s hand. They pass it.

Partynoob slows to match Pest’s saunter, the sidewalk just too thin to be comfortable. Pest turns their nose up, sucks in the smoke between their mandibles, and exhales through their nostrils like a bull. They look at Partynoob, smiling without their eyes, then flick their gaze abruptly towards the wires overhead. There’s shoes tied in knots tossed over the thick cables. Each pair, eight in total, sways gently in the night breeze.

“we shuld go 2 the beach.” Partynoob says absentmindedly, “and den we can hav a summr party.”

Pest grumbles something in Japanese. Partynoob will send an invitation to them anyway. They know they’ll come.

“…i wanna host tmrw.”

“Then do it, I don’t really care.”

They’ll grab a couple of those three-inch apple pies that went missing at their last party.

When distant fluorescent lights break through the fog, and the pair dodge some very deep potholes in the parking lot between them and the automatic glass doors, they know they’ve made it.

The heavy air conditioning punches their dewy bodies as the doors slide open before them like the gates of heaven. They break off to different corners of the store

Partynoob slips into the closest aisle to the door and plucks a pair of visor shades from a kiosk near the door. They glide effortlessly through the aisles, piling large bags of chips, assorted treats, candies, and party-sized bottles of soda into their arms. They see Pest’s head over the top of the aisle entering the back labelled “BEER CAVE”. 

Their heart rattles something anxious under their skin, so they patter towards the register with their bounty. They open their arms and let everything fall onto the counter, sodas bubbling under their plastic flesh. Chips and beer and fizzy mixers

The cashier, this dark-eyed younger guy with patchy acne across his forehead and an it’s-my-first-time-shaving beard, begins dragging the scanner over each barcode.

The music overhead is coming through a beat-to-shit speaker, so the singer’s vocals are difficult to parse over a static fuzz blanketing the higher frequencies. The rhythm of scanning the barcodes stings against Partynoob’s ears.

“…can i get da,” They point toward a red pack of cigarettes with a horse on the front. “nono no, to da left.”

The cashier goes back and forth for a few moments before plucking the correct box. Scanning them doubles the total. Partynoob hums and pulls out their wallet and hands over a plastic debit card. Their eyes shift away as Emerson (as it reads on their name tag) handles their card. Where did Pest go? Poob watches another fridge door open and close. There they are.

“Uhh, sorry. Your card’s been declined?” Emerson says (just a touch too loud).

Partynoob snaps toward Emerson, then chuckles dryly and trades the debit card for a credit card. 

“Yeah, no. Your card’s been declined.”

Partynoob’s eyebrow knits tight as they fish around in their wallet. Another credit card.

“Oh, give me a break.” Pest chitters, putting a case of soju on the counter, pulling out a thick wad of cash over Partynoob’s shoulder.

Pest nabs a few plastic bags and hastily stuffs Partynoob’s belongings inside. They grab their soju and leave Poob at the counter. The other grabs their bags frantically, giving a pleasant goodbye to the cashier, then jogging to catch up.

…

If someone were to ask Pest what their favorite thing to do on a Friday night was, it would be drinking soju while working a piece-of-shit machinery they found in the dump, maybe listening to a few CDs they found as well. But on a clammy Wednesday? They don’t mind bumming around, soaking up Partynoob’s AC while watching them run around trying to set up a party on their own. Maybe kicking their feet up on the coffee table, shoes off of course. (They may have their opinions about the party-freak, but they wouldn’t be caught dead wearing shoes indoors. They have limits. They’re mean, not a <em>monster</em>.)

They pour a healthy amount of apple-flavored soju into a plastic cup, steep it in a handful of ice, then top it with sparkling water. They pop in a straw and take a long, slow sip. It’s better than TV, watching Partynoob balance dangerously on a stepstool while trying to hang decorations off their ceiling lamps.

Partynoob’s voomba tries to sneak by underneath Pest’s legs, humming gently like a fly. Pest eyes the other figure in the room before grabbing the thing and stuffing it into their backpack. They chuckle.

“whuh? sumtin funny?”

Pest scowls and hisses. Partynoob takes the hint and keeps hanging streamers over their fridge.

The voomba squirms inside Pest’s bag. They put the bag down beside the couch while guests begin to pile in. Despite the sudden invitations, guests seem to be filling in. Pest stuffs their case of soju out of view, but watches as a few people start pouring booze into cups.

The music gets cranked up louder, and Pest abandons their spot on the couch to take refuge in a quieter room. Not without slipping their claws into a stranger’s back pocket and pulling out a heavy handful of coins. 

The quieter in this side room. Pest throws himself down on one of the two sofas and nurses the remaining bottle of soju on its own. When they crane their neck back to finish off the bottle they spot Partynoob leaning out of the window. They have two cigarettes in their hand; one burning, nearly finished through; and its fresh sister, ready for a burn.

Pest watches them press the tip of the unlit cigarette against the butt of the lit one, the embers catching the paper.

As Partynoob pulls the fresh cigarette to their lips, fingers trembling, a pair of clawed hands snaps out from their grasp. They push out a protest, swiping vaguely and weakly in Pest’s direction as they bring the same cigarette between their mandibles. The silence from Partynoob, only a response being a flick of their heavy eyes, makes Pest’s stomach turn.

Pest wears a practiced smirk, blowing their smoke outside. “Shouldn’t you be out there getting totally shitfaced?”

Partynoob curls down against their knees, hands on the lip of the window. They hum to themselves, squeezing their eyes shut.

“Stop doing that—what the hell is wrong with you?” Pest snaps, unable to look at Partynoob being so small. Being so fucking quiet.

Partynoob is always so loud, abrasively so, and full of energy twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. Three hundred sixty-five days a year. Pest contemplates trying to hit them to see if that fixes it, like an old TV. Pest pushes their fist down to their side instead, craning their neck to look anywhere else.

“Pest,” Partynoob mumbles into the crook of their elbow. “…’m done.”

A bubbling, disgusting sensation grows in Pest’s gut, and they can’t hold back the deep sourness all over their face. They rub their mandible with their thumb and forefinger, sucking in a deep, frustrated breath. So stupid. Stupid as fuck. Pest knows they should feel bad and want to help, but there has always been a disconnect. They know how they should feel, but they don’t, and they don’t know how. 

Partynoob unfolds from their melted-ice-cream slouch to something upright. Just barely upright. Pest at least has the wherewithal to drag Poob to the near sofa. They try to resist being dragged like a sack of scrap, but once Pest gets them to sit they seem to lose what little energy they had left.

Their eyes, upon closer inspection, are deeply sunken in. Weak breaths slide between cracked, dry lips. Poob is practically melting out of their skin and into the couch

“…What do you want?” Pest spits out, tired of the only noise coming from the next room.

They reach vaguely for Pest. They sit.

They let Partynoob hold their hand. They even let Partynoob be quiet. Pest perks their hearing to listen to the music in the other room. Partynoob hiccups, tears sliding quietly over their chin. 

Pest tolerates their sniffling until it dies quietly in the back of their throat.

“You should go back.” Pest looks across as Poob wipes their face, “‘Cuz you’re the host.”

“…Ya.”

“Then go.”

Partynoob braces their palms on their knees, pushing up and standing taller. With more spine. They nod to the beetle, then move toward the door. They twist the knob and slide into the noisy gap. The door clicks shut, returning the cacophony of bass and chatter to a dull buzz. Partynoob never looked back. 

…

Hearing the rattle of a dozen different conversations is like fresh ecstasy. When a loud echo of laughter bounces off the walls, Partynoob wishes they could bottle up the sound and keep it forever.

Party guests stumble towards Partynoob, drunken bliss heavy in their voices as they thank Poob for hosting. They grab their coats from the floor next to the couch.

“…h3Y…H4ve u s33n mY w4ll37?” the Robloxian asks their buddy.

“Aw, snaps! Nah, dude. Where’d my coins go?” A neon-clad fruitaur replies. Wait.

Partynoob pats their back pocket, their wallet obviously too thin.

…Man, whatever.

Just Be Competent | W.I.P.

I Am Me ‼️🇳🇬✅👍♥️🌈♐🏳️‍🌈

#IAmme #SelfPersonality 👑 #BE
Happy 4th Sunday 🌞in #February2026
💚It’s another solemn #Sunday,
May God grant us grace and More #Opportunities 2 come #Amen ✅

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Sunday, February 22 2026

Instead of reading City Sense by Paulo Alcazaren here I am on tumblr.com seeking solace from my rampaging thoughts. No, I did not reconnect with Mr. Furst Date. And no, the lingering feelings or thoughts of ‘what if’ I had with Jade died after February 14. And also no, the Delos Santos Medical HR guy I talked to did not hold any real possibilities after the first date. That man was the grain of creatine monohydrate that broke my fucking back.

I remember walking back to Maui and listening to whatever song that made me cry that time. I don’t remember. What I did remember was my lamentation of Pol, and the things that could have been. Man, he really set the fucking standard for dates. I think that’s why I teared up coming home, because the date I just went to made me feel like a fucking therapist. And I used to do that when I was a whore, but atleast back then I had the privilege of having sex with them first.

I am writing now because there is an other guy. Yes, everytime I write it’s because of a man. You got me. He’s my replacement in the dorm. There seems to be a sort of social feature between us dormies of evaluating our possible dormers, primarily on how hot they look on their profile. And this man, Jay, well isn’t he something. He talked to Rhomer first, my roommate, since Rhomer was the one that put up the listing. When Jay came to visit, I was at QC. He decided to take the deal, and consequently asked for me so that the process of replacing the dormer is smooth as possible.

What’s funny, is that Rhomer remarked about how talkative this guy was, inasmuch as saying, “if we keep talking I might fall for him!” What an odd thing to say to someone you just met, and whose profile is locked. Rhomer sent him my way. He was insistent on chatting immediately, even coming back to Rhomer to tell on my tardiness to his message request. I was coming back from a mercury drug trip when this all happened.

And I do admit, he was cute. I replied to his chat, and immediately, I knew he was somebody that I could maybe do something with. The conversation started as being about the dorm. When do you plan to move in? When can you pay your rent? Then it moved to surface-level personal questions. What’s your major? What province did you come from? He was indeed talkative. And most importantly, we both seemed to be curious about each other. I think this was the moment I realized that I might be fucked.

Fucked, how so? Well, reader, when Rhomer first introduced his chat to the main groupchat, it only took a thousandth of a second for me to realize, and say,

“he looks like Seiji.”

So, I was fucked. I seem to have grown a unique curiosity to this charming man, and I haven’t even seen him in person nor stalked any of his socials (he kept everything locked). I am uniquely fucked because I have the belief that I could maybe do something with him. And is that not fucking scary? The possibility confounds me. I invited him to take a look at the unit again, this time with me and when there’s daylight. He happily acceeded that invitation. I am uniquely fucked, journal.

In all honesty, he could have been charming and talkative as he wants, but without looking like how he looks on his profile, I could not have given a damn. His face and its similarities to somebody who used to mean a lot to me just adds to this sense of mystery that just begs to be uncovered.

It reminds me of that Pansy Division song that goes like this

You’ll see them again / In the faces of younger men / When you least exepct it you’ll see them again

I just didn’t realize it’d happen so soon.

I’m not getting my hopes up. Anything could happen on Monday. I don’t know what I should expect. I certainly don’t like what I want to expect. Please, let’s not give the thought a chance to breathe in its own space.

Oh, and probably the most important interview I’ll be doing for my career at the City Planning Department of the Quezon City Government is happening on Monday. So, wish me luck.

February 22nd: Baking

📜 Weekly Verse

In this week; you shall see the strength and wisdom of God made manifest in your life. (IJPN!). Key_In 🚩

#Faithverse

#verseoftheweek

📜 Weekly Verse

February 21st: Lovebirds