#daisy chain lane

[landoftheocsmegablogformyocs]

The Sunnytime Crew Show Kind Of Reminds Me Of A Live Action Show From The 00's Transported To The 80's

Seriously, I have seen a lot of live action types of shows and it feels like it would be more 2000ish.

meets

meets

If people still remembered the show it probably could have had a revival in the 00's with a new cast and crew. And Zaira would have been of the preschoolers tuning in. And again I think this another reason why she takes to Jack because again emphasis on it reminding her of the shows she loved as a child and makes her feel comfortable. And again lets her not feel she has to be this grown woman who can't enjoy anything kiddy.

[caffeinewitchcraft]

Ghost Eater

Summary: You don't like exorcists. They don't much like you either.

-----

You’d always thought big restaurants like the Brownie Industry only did well in small, midwestern towns like the one you came from. A year working in LA has taught you that, no matter where you go, people will always love garlic bread and sugar.

It’s your day off which means you’re pulling a double shift. You haven’t had time to wash your hair for the past two weeks so it’s frizzing out of your claw clip and flying wild around your face. The lighting is so dim that you’ve tripped over two black purses already, luckily not while you’re running food. The big dining room sounds like an apiary with the tittering laughter of the later adult crowd that’s filtered in from the theater across the four lane road. The main difference between the Brownie Industry here and the one back home is size. The ceiling soars overhead, supported by a series of concrete pillars separating the dining area into three sections.

Normally it would be three servers per section. Today, it’s just you in yours.

One more hour. That’s what the manager promised you. It might even be true if the host stand quits seating you after the table you’re approaching.

There are three people at the table. A woman whose hair might be light blonde or gray in the light of day, her eyes light and piercing. Her face is soft from age, emphasized by the tight, lace collar of her off-season sweater. She reminds you strongly of your mom’s nemesis on the HOA board. The man couldn’t be more out of place next to her despite their equivalent age. He’s wearing a leather jacket – again, it’s not cold here – and a Norwegian metal shirt underneath. His hair is definitely white, so white it almost glows. He’s frowning at the teenager across the table as if she’s touched his motorcycle without permission.

The teenager might be the first you’ve seen all night who doesn’t have their phone out. She’s decked out in what you consider grandma florals – a t-shirt scattered with daisy chains, a bucket hat made out of nana’s carpet bag, and a hand-crocheted scarf in pastel.  You can’t really see her face under the shadow of her hat and there’s an odd, blurred quality to the way she fiddles with her napkin. You let your eyes skip past her and back to the two adults. Teenagers don’t pay the bill.

“Welcome to Brownie Industry!” you chirp. You’re sweaty and red but the faded yellow light hides that. You’re a service industry pro so none of your exhaustion shows on your face when you ask, “Is this your first-time dining with us?”

If you weren’t so burned out, you’d have noticed before you introduced yourself.

“Are you Grady?” the woman asks. Her voice is more posh than you expected even with her lace collar. “Grady Pace?”

Fuck. There’s a noticeable temperature differential now that you’re close to them. The restaurant is warm from the number of bodies, maybe even warmer than the summer air outside, but stepping up next to their table feels like walking into an ice rink.

“I’m your waitress,” you say. You don’t have time for this conversation. You’ve got five minutes in your cycle to take their order and then you’ve got food to run. “If you need any other services from me, I have a website.”

“We messaged you,” the man says. His lips thin to the point his thick mustache covers them entirely. “You never responded.”

Because you’ve been making more money at the Brownie Industry than your other job. “I’ll take a look at it tonight.”

“Wait,” the teenager says, sitting upright. She looks from you to the adults and back again. When she smiles, there’s no humor in it. “This is why we drove eight hours to have dinner at the Brownie Industry? For her?”

“Katie, be polite—”

“I’m sorry,” Katie says, “It’s just—I found a priest, you know? An actual exorcist priest and you guys want to trust a waitress over him?”

“Ugh exorcists,” you say. The memory of sour cabbage is so heavy on your tongue that you stick your tongue out in disgust. When you see Katie’s look, you backtrack. “Effective! Definitely effective.”

“Your mistakes have cost us too much already,” the man says, shaking a finger at her. “We are not converting just for an exorcism.”

“I normally don’t agree with your father,” the woman tells Katie, “but in this case I would like to leave conversion as a last resort.”

“We wouldn’t actually convert,” Katie says, rolling her eyes.

“Pretty sure exorcists can tell when you lie,” you tell Katie. When her scowl deepens, you clear your throat. “Did you all need another minute to think about the menu?”

“We need you to help us,” the dad says. He scrubs a hand over his face. “Look, I know you’re at work and I’m sorry we’re bothering you.”

“We’re desperate,” the mom says. She reaches for her purse. “We’ll pay you. Triple the rate on your website or even quadruple. We need that thing gone by tonight.”

Katie covers her face. “Mom. You’re embarrassing me. Terry isn’t that bad.”

“Oh, he’s bad, young lady,” the dad says sternly. “A bad influence.”

“We caught her trying to perform another séance yesterday,” the mom confesses to you. She leans forward with a pinched expression. “So Terry’s friend Larry could visit too.”

“Interesting,” you say. The food bell rings, but you think you can ignore it for another minute. You study Katie’s blush. “Why did you do that?”

If she was being compelled, she won’t have an answer to your question. You’ve dealt with a lot of ghosts in your time, but so few are sentient enough – or powerful enough – for compulsion.

“Go on,” the dad says, gesturing at you. “Tell her.”

“Leroy, she’s embarrassed enough,” the mom says.

“No, she’s not, Sarah.” The dad – Leroy – gestures to you again. “Tell her.”

Katie huffs, clearly resistant. But when her dad huffs back, she caves. “So,” she says, “I have this YouTube channel—”

“I’m off in an hour,” you interrupt. You don’t care that you’re being rude. Your patience ran out as soon as she said YouTube. “I’ll meet you in the parking lot.” You turn to go.

“A moment!” Sarah shakes out her menu. “How’s the nicoise salad?”

Of course they’re going to order. They’d better tip too if they want you to help them with their ghost problem.

----.

“You said an hour,” mom Sarah says when you leave out the employee entrance. She’s shivering next to her daughter. Leroy is off smoking behind his motorcycle, parked next to the Tesla Katie is leaning on, but he stubs out his cigarette on the asphalt when you walk up. “It’s been two.”

“I had side work,” you say instead of it would have been one if not for you. You rub your bare arms when the familiar ghost chill washes over you. You want nothing more than to go home and wash the scent of garlic and brownie batter out of your hair. “Was there something wrong with my service?”

“No?”

You try to make your voice light. “I see.”

Sarah frowns at your tone anyway. “Why?”

“You tipped five dollars.”

Katie jolts like a scalded cat. “Mom!”

Leroy scrubs a hand over his face. “Sarah…”

“What?” Sarah throws up her hands. The parking lot lights catch on her Swarovski charm bracelet. “I tipped!”

“Like ten percent,” Katie says. She pulls her bucket hat over her eyes for a beat and then peeks at you from under it. “I’m so sorry. It’s not you, she’s always like this.”

“It was actually a six percent tip,” you say. You’re getting a clearer picture of this little family now. It’s becoming more and more understandable why Katie might have started summoning ghosts. “If you want to be precise.”

Leroy reaches for his back pocket. “Let me.”

Sarah swats at his hand. “We’re about to pay her a lot more than that!”

“For a completely separate job,” Leroy says. He pulls a twenty from his wallet and hands it to you with a grimace. “Sorry, Grady, I should’ve checked.”

“You should’ve paid if you cared so much,” Sarah retorts. She folds her arms over her chest. She taps her cheek and widens her eyes. “Oh wait… you never pay.”

“Sure,” Leroy says. This time it’s his turn to throw his hands in the air. “Sure, Sarah. I don’t pay for anything to do with our daughter’s private school or her dance classes or her health insurance—”

“If the court hadn’t mandated—”

“You make twice as much as me—"

“Guys!” Katie says loudly. Her mouth is a thin line of upset when she says, “Argue about what an expensive burden I am later when we don’t have an audience, okay?”

Her parents speak at the same time.

“You’re twisting my words,” Sarah says. “I never said—"

“Sweetie, you’re not a burden—”

“Can you just get this ghost out of me?” Katie asks you. She goes for nonchalance and falls short. “My parents haven’t been in the same room for the last five years for a reason.” She fakes whispering. “They don’t play nicely with others.”

Sarah bristles. “Katie.”

“God, I know how that is,” you say. The whole interaction is giving you the worst case of sympathy for Katie. Before her parents can say anything else, you change the subject. “How long have you been haunted?”

“Six months,” Katie says. She fiddles with her bucket hat so that you can see her eyes for the first time. They’re brown, like her dad’s, and have heavy bruises underneath. She shrugs. “They only noticed a month ago though.”

“I noticed your behavior had changed,” Sarah defends. Like her daughter, she fidgets. She plays with her bracelet and clears her throat. “I thought it was a teenage thing.”

“What signs did you notice first?” you ask the parents. They glance at each other and then away.

“Let’s just say we noticed different things,” Leroy says dryly. He pulls out his phone.

“Moodiness,” Sarah says. She ticks them off on her fingers. “Laziness. Disrespect. Over-sleeping.”

“Those are just teenager things,” Katie says with an astounding level of self awareness. She shrugs. “I’m a senior now. They’re lucky it didn’t start sooner.”

“I,” Leroy says, “noticed this.” He turns his phone towards you.

“Ah,” Sarah says, “Yes. That.”

You examine the picture. It’s of Katie on a small dirt bike. She’s wearing a helmet in the picture, but you recognize the fashion sense in the floral boots she’s wearing. The scene behind her is of the hills, low scrub brush recognizable to someone who’s lived in LA for the past five years. On the bike behind her is a smudge. It could be a cloud of dirt blown into frame or maybe a camera glitch. It could be if it weren’t for the leering face emerging from the cloud right behind her head.

“I just want to say I did not agree to getting her a motorcycle,” Sarah says.

“Mom, not the point,” Katie says.

“Look how close that creep is to my daughter,” Leroy says. He jabs a finger at Katie’s waist in the photo where you can see a ghostly hand. “I want him gone.”

“Dad, he didn’t mean anything by it!” Katie turns to you earnestly. “Terry never rode a bike before and I thought, like, what if he moved on after he got a chance to? It was a philanthropic effort!”

“Plant a tree if you want to be a philanthropist,” Leroy growls. “I want this guy away from my daughter.”

“He doesn’t mean any harm really,” Katie says. “He would move on if he could! He says he’s stuck to me because of how I summoned him. He’s like, really sorry. He even spelled out Sorry in the bathroom mirror once.”

“What,” Sarah says in a dangerous voice, “was Terry doing in the bathroom with you, Katie?”

Katie splutters. “Mom, don’t be gross!”

The family descends into bickering. You have heard about ghosts being stuck to a person before, but usually that’s when the person has some sort of psychic powers. Katie’s wearing crystal in her ears, but they aren’t charged. She might develop some talent later in life, but right now she’s a normal girl.

The parking lost is nearly empty now. You recognize a few employee cars, but very few customers. The kitchen will be cleaning for another half hour before they’re ready to go home.  The reality is that, if Terry is stuck, you might not be the best way to handle the situation. If he’s not…

Well.

It’s time to talk to Terry.

Opening your ghost sense is hard to describe. Some psychics liken it to a third eye, right in the middle of their forehead. You’ve always thought that sounded really cool like maybe the world gets cast in a blue hue when they do it and the dead appear like they do in movies. You’ve met other psychics who say it’s like a sixth sense. They know where the ghost is and it’s like they download all that information until their minds can just sort of conjure their image.

For you, it’s like letting your body remember it has a second mouth. Cats have an extra sensory organ on the roof of their mouth that lets them detect scents better. Your second mouth is a bit like that. You can still smell brownies and garlic and the city air of LA, but you can also smell/taste something else.

Something like…pepper?

Your eyes water and you sneeze so viciously that your eyes close. When you open them again, four people are staring at you in surprise.

“Gesundheit,” Leroy says.

“You sneeze like Dad does,” Katie says.

“Did no one ever teach you to cover your mouth?” Sarah asks in disgust.

“I wish you would’ve sneezed on her,” Terry says, nodding to Sarah. “She’s such a bitch.”

“Thank you for the commentary, everyone,” you say. You wipe your nose with the collar of your shirt as you consider Terry. It’s dirty anyway. “Terry. Interesting name for a ghost.”

Terry hasn’t noticed that you can see him yet. He’s floating behind Katie, one arm casually flung over her shoulder. It’s hard to place when he died based on his appearance alone. His hair is chin length, emphasizing the width of his jaw. Squire cuts have been popular for several decades and the bowling shirt he’s wearing could either be a modern fashion statement or a dated uniform. He looks to be in his mid-twenties, sun-kissed and with the air of someone who tells a lot of jokes at the expense of others. His arm around Katie strikes you as possessive, the glare he gives her parents venomous.

“I didn’t name him,” Katie says. “He said it’s short of Torrance.”

You blink. “Wouldn’t he be Torri then?”

“That’s a girl’s name,” Katie and Terry say at the same time. Their cadence is so close that it actually sounds like Terry’s baritone comes out of Katie’s mouth. For a moment, his arm flickers, clipping into her shoulder like a bad animation. When it does, Terry’s form grows brighter, more solid. Then Katie shivers and he’s forced out of her.

You and Terry click your tongues at the same time.

You remember how Katie’s hands seemed to blur at the dinner table. Terry’s not just haunting Katie. He’s trying to possess her. You wonder if that’s why Katie looked up an exorcist rather than a simple spiritual cleansing. Did she know how much danger she was in?

“Okay,” you say. You tear your attention away from Katie and Terry for a moment. Business first. “Sarah. Leroy. Who was it that found my site?”

“I did,” Sarah says. She raises her chin when you can’t hide your surprise. “When Katie was looking up exorcists—”

“She didn’t mean it,” Terry says. He pats Katie’s hat. “Right?”

“—I looked up alternative solutions,” Sarah says, not having heard Terry. Her confidence falters for a moment and she rubs her arm. “I have had some… negative experiences with exorcisms. I don’t want my daughter to go through that.”

Katie’s head whips towards her mother. “What? I didn’t know that.”

“It was a long time ago,” Leroy says. For the first time, he reaches out and hugs Sarah with one arm. You don’t know what surprises you more; Leroy hugging Sarah or Sarah leaning into his side. “When Sarah told me, we decided to put our differences aside. I vetted you through some of my contacts and they all agreed you’d be a safe bet.”

“I am,” you say. You’re not bragging either. You’re probably the safest bet in half the western states besides your older sister. “There are some…peculiarities in my method.”

“Charlatan,” Terry whispers in Katie’s ear. He’s grinning now. “Only charlatans are that confident. Look! She can’t even see me!”

Katie looks doubtful.

Usually, you’d try to talk to Terry at this point. Sometimes spirits can be negotiated with. They can be encouraged to move on or to take on a less aggressive form of haunting. Those that are truly stuck can be helped with the right sort of ritual work. But the way Terry’s affecting Katie’s mood and that fucking arm around her shoulders…

You don’t really want to talk to Terry.

“We can ask Terry to move on,” you tell the family.

“Nooooooo,” Terry says and flips you off. “Pass!”

“Sometimes spirits don’t realize how deeply they’re affecting their hosts,” you say.

“You don’t even know how deep I’m about to be,” Terry jeers at you.

“Many ghosts are confused when they’re called to interact with the living,” you say. “It can blur their understanding of death and, as a result, they cling to life. If they stick around long enough, their presence will affect the living like what’s happening to Katie. It’s not always malicious. It can be a symptom of that confusion.”

“Katie, tell her to piss off,” Terry hisses in the teen’s ear. “I’m not confused, I’m bored.” His voice deepens. “Tell her we don’t need her help. Tell her we’re going home.”

Katie opens her mouth robotically. “That’s…” Her brow creases as she tries to figure out what she was going to say. “It seems like we don’t need help then. Terry will move on when he’s ready, like I thought.”

“We aren’t paying you for a ghost therapy session,” Sarah snaps. It’s only because you’re really focusing that you can see the unease under her anger. She’s noticed something wrong with Katie. “Katie, Terry is going away today.”

“Fuck you,” Terry says.

“Fuck you,” Katie says.

Leroy’s head rears back. “Katie, you don’t use that language with your mother!”

“Fuck you too,” Katie and Terry say. The parking lot lights flicker.

“No, fuck you, Terry,” you say, stepping between Katie and her parents. Leroy starts like he’s going to pull you out of the way, but he doesn’t.

“Terry?” Leroy asks. He looks scared. “Terry said that? Is Terry possessing my daughter?”

“Not yet.” You eye Terry’s arm and the way his fingers are sinking into Katie’s arm.

“Oh fuck,” Terry says. He doesn’t look scared. Not yet. Instead, he grins. “You can see me.”

“Not every ghost is malicious,” you tell the parents without taking your eyes off Terry. “But some are.”

“I’m not malicious.” Terry runs a hand through his hair, still grinning. The parking lot lights flicker overhead again. “I care about Katie a lot.”

“Terry’s never hurt me,” Katie says.

You ignore her. She’s not even shaking Terry off now. Her gaze is dull on your face when you say, “I don’t mean to sound like I’m some sort of ghost therapist. However, it’s important to differentiate between malicious and non-malicious hauntings in my practice. My methods are unconventional and, if used indiscriminately, I can get in a lot of trouble.”

“We won’t tell anyone,” Leroy says. He steps into your periphery. His gaze flicks from you to the spot you’re staring at over Katie’s shoulder. “We want Terry gone.”

“Not a soul,” Sarah promises. She comes up on your other side. “Please help our daughter.”

“Terry,” you say. Your second mouth is yawning wide somewhere in the back of your brain. The taste of pepper isn’t as overwhelming now. “Last chance. Renounce your claim on Katie’s soul and slither back into whatever hole you came out of.”

“We’re soulmates,” Terry says. He bares his teeth at you. “Go on, Charlatan. Call on your God to banish me. I’ve been around for decades and no exorcist has ever been able to put a scratch on me. And when they manage to push me out?” He laughs and the temperature drops another ten degrees. An unholy light flickers in his eyes. “I just come right back.”

“Then I guess I won’t feel guilty,” you say.

“Guilty?” Katie asks.

You walk forward two steps and grab Terry’s face. Terry’s skin is soft and jelly-like. His facial bones undulate like rubber under your grip. “Hi, Terry.”

Now Terry’s afraid. “What the fuck, you can touch—?”

“Bye, Terry.” You drag him towards you. His fingers pop out of Katie’s arm with a wet sucking sound, and he claws at your wrist.

“Wait! Waitwaitwaitwait--”

You eat Terry.

People come from all around to eat at the Brownie Industry. They love the density of the desserts and the heaps of garlic spread over home-baked (shipped frozen) rolls. It’s a treat to know you’re always going to enjoy the meal even if you’re far from home or eating at the same location a hundred times. It’s consistency, sugar and butter. An easy addiction to have.

Eating ghosts is like that for you. They fizz in your second mouth like champagne and melt like fudge. It’s hard to describe and the ephemeral quality of it sends shivers down your spine. Somewhere Terry is screaming in anguish, maybe crying. You think that the family you’re helping is screaming something too, but the sensation of eating is so consuming you can’t hear the words.

Terry is younger than other ghosts you’ve eaten. He doesn’t have the depth of flavor you’d once been addicted to back in Illinois. The best ghost you’ve ever eaten had been like a six-course meal with all the centuries she’d been carrying. In comparison, Terry is like a bag of pepper chips. Interesting, but gone in a moment. Still, he hits the spot.

When you’re done, you burp a purple cloud of ectoplasm into the still night air.

Leroy is the first to speak. His eyes are so wide you can see the whites all around them. “Pay her, Sarah,” he says breathlessly. His hands shake as he reaches for Katie, steadying her on her feet. “Now.”

You smack your lips and graciously accept the wad of cash Sarah hands you. You raise your eyebrows. “This is more than three times my rate.”

“Consider it a tip,” Sarah says. She’s more composed than Leroy, but still pale. She studies you. “That was…revolting.”

“You didn’t have to watch,” you say. You put your money away and then perk up at a sudden thought. “Hey, if you can, can you leave me a review on my site?”

“I thought you didn’t want us to tell anyone?”

You wave your hand. “Secrets are bad for business. Besides, Terry deserved it. I’m sure they’ll understand if you write that in your review.”

“They…?”

You smile and don’t answer.

The family don’t ask many more questions after that. The parents promise to leave a review and Katie just stares at you as if concussed. You assure the parents that she’ll be back to normal as soon as the soul-shock wears off. 

“And if it doesn’t?” Sarah asks.

“Message me,” you say.

“You don’t check your messages,” Leroy says.

“Oh,” you say, patting your stomach, “I’ll be checking them a lot more often now.”

You’re hungry again.

---

(Patreon)

[urhoneycombwitch]

hands of love

Eddie Munson x greenwitch!Reader

foreword: omg been so long since I wrote for greenwitch!reader she’s baaaack. thx for reading if u do <3

cw: greenwitch!reader, R dresses very femme, referred to as ‘girlfriend’ once

wc: 1.5k

___

It’s the first sunny spring day in Hawkins, so when Eddie’s cursory call goes straight to your answering machine, he’s not worried. Wherever there’s sun, you’re sure to be found- dozing on his front porch like a cat in the sun, making daisy chains with rings sparkling on your pretty fingers, anywhere but indoors.

He hums along mindlessly to the radio on his way over, plucking at the neck of his cut-off tank for airflow. Metalhead fashion is a killer during warm months; he’s already regretting the choice of black ripped jeans over more weather-appropriate shorts.

Your dad’s house is just off Cornwallis, nestled in a forested area, gravel service road for a driveway that’s easy to miss. Eddie swings his van with a practiced wheel-flex, tires crunching down the lane when something catches his eye and he hits the brakes, hard.

Just off the gravel, sittin’ pretty in the dirt, is you- deep green tank top hugging your chest, bare feet poking out of a long patchwork skirt, gold and silver jewelry dripping from your ears, sliding around your neck and wrists, glinting in the sun. 

You’re a fucking vision. Eddie swears, softly, then throws the gear shift to park and pockets his keys.

At the sound of the van door closing, you look up from your spot sat on the ground, the little crinkle of focus between your brows smoothing out into a devastatingly radiant smile- for Eddie. All for him.

”Hey! Was just thinkin’ about you!”

Eddie’s careful not to disturb the gardening tools spread out in haphazard array when he walks over, bending to his haunches for a kiss. 

You taste like fragrant oil and sunshine. He gives you another for good measure, then pulls back, bracketing your face between his palms- “You were thinkin’ about little ol’ me?”

“Always.” An honest grin for an honest answer. “I was making you a present and then wishing you’d show up, so it’s kind of like I manifested you. With my mind.”

“Freaky,” he replies, indulgent, giving you a forehead kiss then dropping to sit at your side. “Good thing I have a witch for a girlfriend, hm?”

“Uh-huh. Good thing.” 

He’s already lost your attention to the trowel you’re plunging in the dirt, churning up the earth, loamy smell filling the air. Used to chasing after your trains of thought, Eddie asks, “Whatcha doing? 

“In a minute.” The reply is kind but distracted, a sort of coded rhythm that Eddie’s good at breaking- I want to tell you but if I try to find the words, my focus will slip.

Your focus is a precious thing- especially when it comes to your craft. Unintentionally, you’ve taught Eddie more about the virtues of shutting up and taking the world in these past few months than he’s ever cared to learn before.

After reaching past him for an open mason jar, you carefully shovel in about an inch of dirt, hold it up to the light for inspection, then repeat the same motion for the other nearby jar. 

Eddie waits patiently, leaning back into his hands, watching you work. It’s soothing, seeing you interact with the nature that runs through your veins; having been on the receiving end of many of your gifts, he wonders if it’s a spell jar. Or a planter. Or-

“Terrarium.” As if responding to Eddie’s internal questions, your full attention envelops him, suffocatingly, wonderfully close as you lean in. “Was gonna make it for you as a surprise, but now that you’re here… wanna make it with me?”

Eddie’s still reeling from the steadiness of your eyes on his, the soft slip of bare arm pressing against his own. With a slow, dazed head shake- “Hold on. Give me a second.”

Your turn to be patient, jar of soil held at the space where your bodies are joined, paused, lashes sweeping with each curious blink.

Eddie blows out a breath, only half-joking as he says, “Goddamn. Really unfair. Thought you promised not to get prettier?”

Compliments only land with you half the time, so when a bashful smile pulls at the edges of your pretty mouth Eddie mentally fist pumps.

“I made no such promise.” The jar is thrust into his waiting hand, and you turn to pick up your own. “This one can be for your windowsill, maybe in the kitchen? It’s gotta have some light, but not too much. If Wayne likes it, maybe you can share-”

“Not sharing shit with that man,” Eddie says, grand in his petulance. “Wayne can get his own jar of dirt.”

Your squint straightens him out. Eddie folds easy for you, always has.

“Gotta find some moss,” you say, eyes still unerringly on Eddie’s, “That’s the substrate layer. And then little plants, maybe some grass, whatever we can forage that’s small enough to fit. Oh, and isopods, if we can find ‘em.”

“Iso-what?” Eddie asked, alarmed, but you’re already standing, moving past the edge of the forest in search of terrarium treasures while he scrambles to catch up.

There’s an easy, graceful lilt to your movements when you’re outdoors, as if you’re meant to be there- moss reveals itself to you faster than Eddie would’ve thought possible. One overturned rock later and your gleeful exclamation rings bright through the woods.

“Sheet moss!”

“Oh, sheet,” he jokes, lamely, but you laugh anyways.

A circular patch of moss gets pushed into the jars. Eddie’s fingers feel bulky and clumsy in comparison to your dexterous ones, but the praise you give him once the layer is settled makes it worth it.

He happily trails after you in search of more small greenery, listening to your lengthy explanations of each new addition, huffing in amazement when you come up with the scientific name for crabgrass.

“Christ, sweetheart.” He whistles low as soon as you’re done, reaching over to brush some sticky pine needles off your hip. “So fuckin’ smart. Would’ve killed to have you as my teacher back in the day, might’ve actually graduated on time.”

“I don’t think Hawkins High has a botany program.” Your reply comes distracted, but this time it’s because Eddie’s hand has found a home on the strip of skin between your skirt and top.

He rubs a thumb into your bare hip, moss jar hanging loose from his other hand as he pulls you towards him. “Yeah. Probably for the best. I think they frown on students who sleep with teachers. Couldn’t keep my hands off’a you.”

Chin tilted to meet him halfway, you give him a real good kiss, lips soft and smooth over his, parted slightly until the thrill of your wet tongue presses into his eager one.

“Gotta show you the best part.” When you pull back, sounding a little out of breath, you slip your hand into Eddie’s and lead the way to your original spot.

Two flat metal disks are procured from your pile of things; you hold one out for Eddie in your palm, explaining as he takes it- “Made this one special for you. It goes on top, like this-” you rotate the other disk until it slides into place over your jar. “Like a lid. But I had to make my own from scrap pieces ‘cuz the original mason lids didn’t take the markings.”

Eddie flips the homemade lid over in his hands to find a five-pointed star hugged by a circle, raised and tamped by hand into the metal. He blinks up at you, in awe. “You did this?”

“Yeah, it’s-” you must misread his wonder because the words spill out like you’re nervous, fiddling with the sides of your jar like you don’t want to see his expression anymore. “It’s a pentacle. Like from your Judas Priest poster? But this one’s not upside-down like his, so I meant it more for protection and prosperity. Y’know. To help keep your little world safe. And make it grow.”

Gently, a little unsure, you clink your jar against his in the sweetest cheers he’s ever seen.

Eddie swears again, achingly in love, then spins the lid tight over his new terrarium and grins at you. “I’m gonna marry you one day.”

There’s no room for a buffer as a smile nearly splits your face in two, giggling, delighted with his affection. “Over a jar of dirt? Man, can’t wait to see what you promise me when I give you an even better gift.”

“I’ve got some ideas.” His voice pitches low, taking the jar from your hand to join his on the ground so he can wrap you up in his arms, properly. “Gonna have to come over a lot more and make sure I’m keeping it alive. Think of all those tiny ocelots depending on you.”

“Isopods,” you correct in a whisper, letting Eddie nuzzle into the crown of your hair, warm and smelling faintly of your bergamot shampoo. “And it only needs to be watered like, once a month, but I’ll come over way more than that.”

“You better.” Eddie puts on his best threatening tone. “I get crazier every hour we’re apart. Swear.”

He feels the curl of your smile against his sternum, and you let him hold you and sway in the afternoon sun. 

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Twinkfrump Linkdump

I'm touring my new, nationally bestselling novel The Bezzle! Catch me in CHICAGO (Apr 17), Torino (Apr 21) Marin County (Apr 27), Winnipeg (May 2), Calgary (May 3), Vancouver (May 4), and beyond!

Welcome to the seventeenth Pluralistic linkdump, a collection of all the miscellany that didn't make it into the week's newsletter, cunningly wrought together in a single edition that ranges from the first ISP to AI nonsense to labor organizing victories to the obituary of a brilliant scientist you should know a lot more about! Here's the other 16 dumps:

https://pluralistic.net/tag/linkdump/

If you're reading this (and you are!), it was delivered to you by an internet service provider. Today, the ISP industry is calcified, controlled by a handful of telcos and cable companies. But the idea of an "ISP" didn't come out of a giant telecommunications firm – it was created, in living memory, by excellent nerds who are still around.

Depending on how you reckon, The Little Garden was either the first or the second ISP in America. It was named after a Palo Alto Chinese restaurant frequented by its founders. To get a sense of that founding, read these excellent recollections by Tom Jennings, whose contributions include the seminal zine Homocore, the seminal networking protocol Fidonet, and the seminal third-party PC ROM, whence came Dell, Gateway, Compaq, and every other "PC clone" company.

The first installment describes how an informal co-op to network a few friends turned into a business almost by accident, with thousands of dollars flowing in and out of Jennings' bank account:

https://www.sensitiveresearch.com/Archive/TLG/TLG.html

And it describes how that ISP set a standard for neutrality, boldly declaring that "TLGnet exercises no control whatsoever over the content of the information." They introduced an idea of radical transparency, documenting their router configurations and other technical details and making them available to the public. They hired unskilled punk and queer kids from their communities and trained them to operate the network equipment they'd invented, customized or improvised.

In part two, Jennings talks about the evolution of TLG's radical business-plan: to offer unrestricted service, encouraging their customers to resell that service to people in their communities, having no lock-in, unbundling extra services including installation charges – the whole anti-enshittification enchilada:

https://www.sensitiveresearch.com/Archive/TLG/

I love Jennings and his work. I even gave him a little cameo in Picks and Shovels, the third Martin Hench novel, which will be out next winter. He's as lyrical a writer about technology as you could ask for, and he's also a brilliant engineer and thinker.

The Little Garden's founders and early power-users have all fleshed out Jennings' account of the birth of ISPs. Writing on his blog, David "DSHR" Rosenthal rounds up other histories from the likes of EFF co-founder John Gilmore and Tim Pozar:

https://blog.dshr.org/2024/04/the-little-garden.html

Rosenthal describes some of the more exotic shenanigans TLG got up to in order to do end-runs around the Bell system's onerous policies, hacking in the purest sense of the word, for example, by daisy-chaining together modems in regions with free local calling and then making "permanent local calls," with the modems staying online 24/7.

Enshittification came to the ISP business early and hit it hard. The cartel that controls your access to the internet today is a billion light-years away from the principled technologists who invented the industry with an ethos of care, access and fairness. Today's ISPs are bitterly opposed to Net Neutrality, the straightforward proposition that if you request some data, your ISP should send it to you as quickly and reliably as it can.

Instead, ISPs want to offer "slow-lanes" where they will relegate the whole internet, except for those companies that bribe the ISP to be delivered at normal speed. ISPs have a laughably transparent way of describing this: they say that they're allowing services to pay for "fast lanes" with priority access. This is the same as the giant grocery store that charges you extra unless you surrender your privacy with a "loyalty card" – and then says that they're offering a "discount" for loyal customers, rather than charging a premium to customers who don't want to be spied on.

The American business lobby loves this arrangement, and hates Net Neutrality. Having monopolized every sector of our economy, they are extremely fond of "winner take all" dynamics, and that's what a non-neutral ISP delivers: the biggest services with the deepest pockets get the most reliable delivery, which means that smaller services don't just have to be better than the big guys, they also have to be able to outbid them for "priority carriage."

If everything you get from your ISP is slow and janky, except for the dominant services, then the dominant services can skimp on quality and pocket the difference. That's the goal of every monopolist – not just to be too big to fail, but also too big to care.

Under the Trump administration, FCC chair Ajit Pai dismantled the Net Neutrality rule, colluding with American big business to rig the process. They accepted millions of obviously fake anti-Net Neutrality comments (one million identical comments from @pornhub.com addresses, comments from dead people, comments from sitting US Senators who support Net Neutrality) and declared open season on American internet users:

https://ag.ny.gov/press-release/2021/attorney-general-james-issues-report-detailing-millions-fake-comments-revealing

Now, Biden's FCC is set to reinstate Net Neutrality – but with a "compromise" that will make mobile internet (which nearly all of use sometimes, and the poorest of us are reliant on) a swamp of anticompetitive practices:

https://cyberlaw.stanford.edu/blog/2024/04/harmful-5g-fast-lanes-are-coming-fcc-needs-stop-them

Under the proposed rule, mobile carriers will be able to put traffic to and from apps in the slow lane, and then extort bribes from preferred apps for normal speed and delivery. They'll rely on parts of the 5G standard to pull off this trick.

The ISP cartel and the FCC insist that this is fine because web traffic won't be degraded, but of course, every service is hellbent on pushing you into using apps instead of the web. That's because the web is an open platform, which means you can install ad- and privacy-blockers. More than half of web users have installed a blocker, making it the largest boycott in human history:

https://doc.searls.com/2023/11/11/how-is-the-worlds-biggest-boycott-doing/

But reverse-engineering and modding an app is a legal minefield. Just removing the encryption from an app can trigger criminal penalties under Section 1201 of the DMCA, carrying a five-year prison sentence and a $500k fine. An app is just a web-page skinned in enough IP that it's a felony to mod it.

Apps are enshittification's vanguard, and the fact that the FCC has found a way to make them even worse is perversely impressive. They're voting on this on April 25, and they have until April 24 to fix this. They should. They really should:

https://docs.fcc.gov/public/attachments/DOC-401676A1.pdf

In a just world, cheating ripoff ISPs would the top tech policy story. The operational practices of ISPs effect every single one us. We literally can't talk about tech policy without ISPs in the middle. But Net Neutrality is an also-ran in tech policy discourse, while AI – ugh ugh ugh – is the thing none of us can shut up about.

This, despite the fact that the most consequential AI applications sum up to serving as a kind of moral crumple-zone for shitty business practices. The point of AI isn't to replace customer service and other low-paid workers who have taken to demanding higher wages and better conditions – it's to fire those workers and replace them with chatbots that can't do their jobs. An AI salesdroid can't sell your boss a bot that can replace you, but they don't need to. They only have to convince your boss that the bot can do your job, even if it can't.

SF writer Karl Schroeder is one of the rare sf practitioners who grapples seriously with the future, a "strategic foresight" guy who somehow skirts the bullshit that is the field's hallmark:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/03/07/the-gernsback-continuum/#wheres-my-jetpack

Writing on his blog, Schroeder describes the AI debates roiling the Association of Professional Futurists, and how it's sucking him into being an unwilling participant in the AI hype cycle:

https://kschroeder.substack.com/p/dragged-into-the-ai-hype-cycle

Schroeder's piece is a thoughtful meditation on the relationship of SF's thought-experiments and parables about AI to the promises of AI hucksters, who promise that a) "general artificial intelligence" is just around the corner and that b) it will be worth trillions of dollars.

Schroeder – like other sf writers including Ted Chiang and Charlie Stross (and me) – comes to the conclusion that AI panic isn't about AI, it's about power. The artificial life-form devouring the planet and murdering our species is the limited liability corporation, and its substrate isn't silicon, it's us, human bodies:

What’s lying underneath all our anxieties about AGI is an anxiety that has nothing to do with Artificial Intelligence. Instead, it’s a manifestation of our growing awareness that our world is being stolen from under us. Last year’s estimate put the amount of wealth currently being transferred from the people who made it to an idle billionaire class at $5.2 trillion. Artificial General Intelligence whose environment is the server farms and sweatshops of this class is frightening only because of its capacity to accelerate this greatest of all heists.

After all, the business-case for AI is so very thin that the industry can only survive on a torrent of hype and nonsense – like claims that Amazon's "Grab and Go" stores used "AI" to monitor shoppers and automatically bill them for their purchases. In reality, the stores used thousands of low-paid Indian workers to monitor cameras and manually charge your card. This happens so often that Indian technologists joke that "AI" stands for "absent Indians":

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/29/pay-no-attention/#to-the-little-man-behind-the-curtain

Isn't it funny how all the really promising AI applications are in domains that most of us aren't qualified to assess? Like the claim that Google's AI was producing millions of novel materials that will shortly revolutionize all forms of production, from construction to electronics to medical implants:

https://deepmind.google/discover/blog/millions-of-new-materials-discovered-with-deep-learning/

That's what Google's press-release claimed, anyway. But when two groups of experts actually pulled a representative sample of these "new materials" from the Deep Mind database, they found that none of these materials qualified as "credible, useful and novel":

https://pubs.acs.org/doi/10.1021/acs.chemmater.4c00643

Writing about the researchers' findings for 404 Media, Jason Koebler cites Berkeley researchers who concluded that "no new materials have been discovered":

https://www.404media.co/google-says-it-discovered-millions-of-new-materials-with-ai-human-researchers/

The researchers say that AI data-mining for new materials is promising, but falls well short of Google's claim to be so transformative that it constitutes the "equivalent to nearly 800 years’ worth of knowledge" and "an order-of-magnitude expansion in stable materials known to humanity."

AI hype keeps the bubble inflating, and for so long as it keeps blowing up, all those investors who've sunk their money into AI can tell themselves that they're rich. This is the essence of "a bezzle": "The magic interval when a confidence trickster knows he has the money he has appropriated but the victim does not yet understand that he has lost it":

https://pluralistic.net/2023/03/09/autocomplete-worshippers/#the-real-ai-was-the-corporations-that-we-fought-along-the-way

Among the best debezzlers of AI are the Princeton Center for Information Technology Policy's Arvind Narayanan and Sayash Kapoor, who edit the "AI Snake Oil" blog. Now, they've sold a book with the same title:

https://www.aisnakeoil.com/p/ai-snake-oil-is-now-available-to

Obviously, books move a lot more slowly than blogs, and so Narayanan and Kapoor say their book will focus on the timeless elements of identifying and understanding AI snake oil:

In the book, we explain the crucial differences between types of AI, why people, companies, and governments are falling for AI snake oil, why AI can’t fix social media, and why we should be far more worried about what people will do with AI than about anything AI will do on its own. While generative AI is what drives press, predictive AI used in criminal justice, finance, healthcare, and other domains remains far more consequential in people’s lives. We discuss in depth how predictive AI can go wrong. We also warn of the dangers of a world where AI continues to be controlled by largely unaccountable big tech companies.

The book's out in September and it's up for pre-order now:

https://bookshop.org/p/books/ai-snake-oil-what-artificial-intelligence-can-do-what-it-can-t-and-how-to-tell-the-difference-arvind-narayanan/21324674

One of the weirder and worst side-effects of the AI hype bubble is that it has revived the belief that it's somehow possible for giant platforms to monitor all their users' speech and remove "harmful" speech. We've tried this for years, and when humans do it, it always ends with disfavored groups being censored, while dedicated trolls, harassers and monsters evade punishment:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/08/07/como-is-infosec/

AI hype has led policy-makers to believe that we can deputize online services to spy on all their customers and block the bad ones without falling into this trap. Canada is on the verge of adopting Bill C-63, a "harmful content" regulation modeled on examples from the UK and Australia.

Writing on his blog, Canadian lawyer/activist/journalist Dimitri Lascaris describes the dire speech implications for C-63:

https://dimitrilascaris.org/2024/04/08/trudeaus-online-harms-bill-threatens-free-speech/

It's an excellent legal breakdown of the bill's provisions, but also a excellent analysis of how those provisions are likely to play out in the lives of Canadians, especially those advocating against genocide and taking other positions the that oppose the agenda of the government of the day.

Even if you like the Trudeau government and its policies, these powers will accrue to every Canadian government, including the presumptive (and inevitably, totally unhinged) near-future Conservative majority government of Pierre Poilievre.

It's been ten years since Martin Gilens and Benjamin I Page published their paper that concluded that governments make policies that are popular among elites, no matter how unpopular they are among the public:

https://www.cambridge.org/core/journals/perspectives-on-politics/article/testing-theories-of-american-politics-elites-interest-groups-and-average-citizens/62327F513959D0A304D4893B382B992B

Now, this is obviously depressing, but when you see it in action, it's kind of wild. The Biden administration has declared war on junk fees, from "resort fees" charged by hotels to the dozens of line-items added to your plane ticket, rental car, or even your rent check. In response, Republican politicians are climbing to their rear haunches and, using their actual human mouths, defending junk fees:

https://prospect.org/politics/2024-04-12-republicans-objectively-pro-junk-fee/

Congressional Republicans are hell-bent on destroying the Consumer Finance Protection Bureau's $8 cap on credit-card late-fees. Trump's presumptive running-mate Tim Scott is making this a campaign plank: "Vote for me and I will protect your credit-card company's right to screw you on fees!" He boasts about the lobbyists who asked him to take this position: champions of the public interest from the Consumer Bankers Association to the US Chamber of Commerce.

Banks stand to lose $10b/year from this rule (which means Americans stand to gain $10b/year from this rule). What's more, Scott's attempt to kill the rule is doomed to fail – there's just no procedural way it will fly. As David Dayen writes, "Not only does this vote put Republicans on the spot over junk fees, it’s a doomed vote, completely initiated by their own possible VP nominee."

This is an hilarious own-goal, one that only brings attention to a largely ignored – but extremely good – aspect of the Biden administration. As Adam Green of Bold Progressives told Dayen, "What’s been missing is opponents smoking themselves out and raising the volume of this fight so the public knows who is on their side."

The CFPB is a major bright spot in the Biden administration's record. They're doing all kind of innovative things, like making it easy for you to figure out which bank will give you the best deal and then letting you transfer your account and all its associated data, records and payments with a single click:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/21/let-my-dollars-go/#personal-financial-data-rights

And now, CFPB chair Rohit Chopra has given a speech laying out the agency's plan to outlaw data-brokers:

https://www.consumerfinance.gov/about-us/newsroom/prepared-remarks-of-cfpb-director-rohit-chopra-at-the-white-house-on-data-protection-and-national-security/

Yes, this is some good news! There is, in fact, good news in the world, bright spots amidst all the misery and terror. One of those bright spots? Labor.

Unions are back, baby. Not only do the vast majority of Americans favor unions, not only are new shops being unionized at rates not seen in generations, but also the largest unions are undergoing revolutions, with control being wrestled away from corrupt union bosses and given to the rank-and-file.

Many of us have heard about the high-profile victories to take back the UAW and Teamsters, but I hadn't heard about the internal struggles at the United Food and Commercial Workers, not until I read Hamilton Nolan's gripping account for In These Times:

https://inthesetimes.com/article/revolt-aisle-5-ufcw-grocery-workers-union

Nolan profiles Faye Guenther, president of UFCW Local 3000 and her successful and effective fight to bring a militant spirit back to the union, which represents a million grocery workers. Nolan describes the fight as "every bit as dramatic as any episode of Game of Thrones," and he's not wrong. This is an inspiring tale of working people taking power away from scumbag monopoly bosses and sellout fatcat leaders – and, in so doing, creating a institution that gets better wages, better working conditions, and a better economy, by helping to block giant grocery mergers like Kroger/Albertsons.

I like to end these linkdumps on an up note, so it feels weird to be closing out with an obituary, but I'd argue that any celebration of the long life and many accomplishments of my friend and mentor Anne Innis Dagg is an "up note."

I last wrote about Anne in 2020, on the release of a documentary about her work, "The Woman Who Loved Giraffes":

https://pluralistic.net/2020/02/19/pluralist-19-feb-2020/#annedagg

As you might have guessed from the title of that doc, Anne was a biologist. She was the first woman scientist to do field-work on giraffes, and that work was so brilliant and fascinating that it kicked off the modern field of giraffology, which remains a woman-dominated specialty thanks to her tireless mentoring and support for the scientists that followed her.

Anne was also the world's most fearsome slayer of junk-science "evolutionary psychology," in which "scientists" invent unfalsifiable just-so stories that prove that some odious human characteristic is actually "natural" because it can be found somewhere in the animal kingdom (i.e., "Darling, please, it's not my fault that I'm fucking my grad students, it's the bonobos!").

Anne wrote a classic – and sadly out of print – book about this that I absolutely adore, not least for having one of the best titles I've ever encountered: "Love of Shopping" Is Not a Gene:

https://memex.craphound.com/2009/11/04/love-of-shopping-is-not-a-gene-exposing-junk-science-and-ideology-in-darwinian-psychology/

Anne was my advisor at the University of Waterloo, an institution that denied her tenure for fifty years, despite a brilliant academic career that rivaled that of her storied father, Harold Innis ("the thinking person's Marshall McLuhan"). The fact that Waterloo never recognized Anne is doubly shameful when you consider that she was awarded the Order of Canada:

https://nationalpost.com/news/canada/queen-of-giraffes-among-new-order-of-canada-recipients-with-global-influence

Anne lived a brilliant live, struggling through adversity, never compromising on her principles, inspiring a vast number of students and colleagues. She lived to ninety one, and died earlier this month. Her ashes will be spread "on the breeding grounds of her beloved giraffes" in South Africa this summer:

https://obituaries.therecord.com/obituary/anne-innis-dagg-1089534658

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/13/goulash/#material-misstatement

Image: Valeva1010 https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Hungarian_Goulash_Recipe.png

CC BY-SA 4.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/deed.en

[slowthunders]

🧛🏻‍♀️ hello hello hello!

౨ৎ ˚⋆ name: cheri thunders

╰┈➤ [BASIC INFO] - she/her. intp. thirties. mexican. bisexual. slow as fuck. sagittarius ☼. cancer ☾. pisces ↑. grumpy. always tired. on the autism spectrum. add and dcd. grunge cowgirl groupie. with a taste for complex and messy characters. a box of useless information. i have a fucked up moral compass.

╰┈➤ [IDOLS] - daria morgendorffer. billie joe armstrong. buttercup. marianne faithfull. makoto kino. mark lanegan. marilyn monroe. claudia cardinale. jane birkin. nellie laroy. jane fonda. saphire and polexia from almost famous. nicki minaj. kat stratford. karen sirko. elaine parks. nancy downs. fiona gallagher. og disney princess belle. kim kelly. william miller. anita pallenberg. clair standish. john bender. nancy thompson. blair waldorf. samantha jones. disney's rapunzel. bebe buell. heather holloway. billy hargrove. brian slade. kurt wilde. maxine minx. elton john. mick jagger. andrew wood. scott weiland.

╰┈➤ [INTERESTS] - music. writing. books. photography. cinema. witchcraft. horror. fantasy. goth stuff. americana. bohemian/boho chic core. pop culture of the 60s 70s 80s 90s and 00s.

╰┈➤ [BOOKS] - the master and the margarita. the haunting of hill house. rebel heart: an american rock and roll journey. i'm with the band. the naked lunch. house of spirits. faithfull: an autobiography. salem's lot. fall to pieces. daisy jones & the six. everybody loves our town. please kill me. meet me in the bathroom. up and down with the rolling stones.

╰┈➤ [CRUSHES] - layne staley. chris cornell. jerry cantrell. johnny knoxville. ryan dunn. nick drake. bryan ferry. meg white. michael hutchence. angelina jolie. izzy straddlin. david gilmour. john frusciante. david from the lost boys. trent lane. marilyn monroe. st. jimmy and whatsername from the mv of green day's jesus of suburbia. bill skarsgård. dane dehaan. liam gallagher. albert hammond jr.

╰┈➤ [SOCIAL MEDIA] - instagram and discord, i'm as slowthunders too!

╰┈➤ [ARTISTS/BANDS] - alice in chains. britney spears. green day. roxy music. alanis morissette. the rolling stones. nicki minaj. lana del rey. soundgarden. pink floyd. marianne faithfull. sabrina carpenter. prince. hole. stone temple pillots. inxs. black sabbath. divinyls. the velvet underground. avril lavigne. lou reed. nine inch nails. the stooges. mc5. elvis presley. the clash. lady gaga. the smiths. television. mother love bone. the dandy warhols. dolly parton. bobbie gentry. mark lanegan. cky. whitney houston. blink-182. korn. the risin' sun. cheap trick. the who. combo musical los caquis. the moody blues. led zeppelin. sly and the family stone. mandy moore. nelly furtado. deftones. amy winehouse. blur. sublime. the cult. jimi hendrix. oasis. marc bolan. pearl jam. mariah carey. kylie minogue. robbie williams. audioslave. roxette. faith no more. janis joplin. nancy sinatra. the allman brothers band. gram parsons. johnny cash. waylon jennings. lil 'kim. bob dylan. beyoncé. mad season. pearl jam. fleetwood mac. the doors. ratt. charli xcx. mitski. pantera. joni mitchell.

╰┈➤ [FILMS] - moulin rouge!. the love witch. x. singles. say anything. the bling ring. beauty and the beast. beauty and the beast: an enchanted christmas. scream. home alone. babylon. performance. daisies. the secret garden. tangled. ten things i hate about you. my scene jammin' in jamaica. the lost boys. the craft. mean girls. casino. don't look now. paris, texas. walk the line. a nightmare on elm street. maxxxine. the breakfast club. trainspotting. almost famous. rocketman. the rocky horror picture show. practical magic. barbie. bram stoker's dracula. the exorcist. the panic in needle park. goodfellas. the shinning. once upon a time in hollywood. texas chainsaw massacre

╰┈➤ [COMFORT PALS] - hello kitty, spottie dottie. keroppi. pochaco. minnie mouse. psyduck. eevee. bulbasaur. winnie the pooh. eeyore

none of the icons, headers, pictures and edits are mine unless stated.

[dear-indies]

Hiya! Messaging to request some fc suggestions please? Needing help finding an fc for my character who will is very southern gothic, Ethel chain's Preacher's Daughter album, bones & all and southern blues inspired, I imagine her as dark haired and between ages of 25 to mid 30s - all ethnicities/races/genders come but if you don't mind me specifying , can I ask for only actors to be listed please? Aka no influences, singers or models etc - thank you so so much in advance!!!

Southern gothic, Ethel cain fc request here again sorry!! Forgot to add but if you don't mind me adding - also ideally someone who gives off messy/haphazard vibes please?? Kinda like they're obviously on the road a lot so have a permanent grease vibe?? So sorry if that's too specific and apologies again for adding this bug again tysm in advance!!!

Annabelle Wallis (1983) - Malignant.

Diane Guerrero (1986) Colombian - Doom Patrol.

Jodi Balfour (1987) - Quarry.

Courtney Bandeko (1988) Nigerian - Legacies.

Ritu Arya (1988) Indian - Lady Parts, Polite Society.

Nadia Hilker (1988) Tunisian / German - in The Walking Dead.

Nico Tortorella (1988) - is genderfluid, poly, pansexual and demisexual (any pronouns) - Fear The Walking Dead.

Rob Raco (1989) - Riverdale.

Hannah John-Kamen (1989) Nigerian / Norwegian - Resident Evil.

Michael Vlamis (1990) 37.5% Lebanese 25% Greek 25% Serbian 12.5% English - Roswell: New Mexico.

Emory Cohen (1990) - Lords of Chaos.

Kiowa Gordon (1990) Hualapai, English, Scottish, Danish, Manx - Blood Quantum.

Sarah Kameela Impey (1991) Indo-Guyanese / British - iWe Are Lady Parts.

Vico Ortiz (1991) Puerto Rican - non-binary (they/them) - Our Flag Means Death.

Joe Keery (1992) - Stanger Things.

Kiana Madeira (1992) Portuguese / Irish, Unspecified First Nations, Black Canadian - Fear Street.

Hari Nef (1992) Ashkenazi Jewish - is trans - Assassin Nation.

Katerina Tannenbaum (1993) - Betty,

Joseph Quinn (1993) - Stranger Things.

Taylor Russell (1994) Black Canadian / European - Bones and All.

Han Sohee (1994) Korean - My Name.

Lily Sullivan (1994) - Evil Dead Rise.

Sophia Ali (1995) Pakistani / Sicilian Italian, Danish, Norwegian, German - Uncharted, The Wilds.

Sasha Lane (1995) African-American, Māori, English, Scottish, Sorbian, French, Cornish, distant German, Italian, Belgian Flemish, Russian, and Northern Irish - is gay and has schizoaffective disorder - American Honey.

Adeline Rudolph (1995) Korean / German - Chilling Adventures of Sabrina.

Sarah Pidgeon (1996) - The Wilds.

Elliot Fletcher (1996) - is trans masc - Y: The Last Man.

Aria Shahghasemi (1996) Iranian - Legacies.

Archie Renaux (1997) English, Punjabi Indian.

Luka Sabbat (1997) Afro-Haitian, Irish, English, German.

Sydney Park (1997) African-American / Korean - There’s Someone Inside Your House.

Daisy Edgar-Jones (1998) - Where the Crawdads Sing.

Julia Dalavia (1998) Brazilian - Pantanal.

Felix Mallard (1998)

Hey anon! This ask was way harder than it should have been so I hope my followers give you more suggestions because I was struggling! Please keep in mind that some of these just give move around vibes.

[potatoes83]

Oh, now see, I had replied to another version, yes, I fondly remember Windows XP... But then someone had to go and raise it to the Commodore 64 (LOAD "*" ,8 ,1), and of course, Windows 3.1 (I actually had 3.11, which was Windows for Workgroups; it had some other special bells and whistles designed for networking)

So if we're going down memory lane, at elementary school we had a slew of Apple IIc in the library, got our first IBM PCs when I was in the second grade (bridge machine with terminals daisy-chained off of that, bridge connected to the server over a token-ring network with absolutely shit physical connections; that thing was ALWAYS going down) running its own proprietary operating system. Middle school saw the advent of Windows 3.1 PCs. In high school we started to get our first PCs running Windows 95/98.

Home, we (and yeah, this is totally backwards), we got my grandpa's hand-me-downs. His department at Chrysler went from metal model molding to CAD, and they were planning on making him redundant; he demanded that they teach him the computer instead, and got one at home to practice on. And he kept his job, and he continued to be very good at it. Mad props to my grandpa Chuck! So that was their Commodore 64 with single disk drive, then their first PC, a Laser 386 (8 mhz turboed to 16!) running PC Geoworks Ensemble over DOS, the Packard Bell 486 (33mhz) with CD ROM drive, running Windows 3.11 over MS DOS 6.22, and the Packard Bell 486 DX (a shocking 66 mhz) running the same bundle. Upgraded those to Win '95, my other grandma then bought us a PC with Windows '98 off QVC, which eventually got upgraded to a bootleg copy of XP that was making the rounds... And by that point, I had castoffs from my friends, I was totally into computer building, so it was any variety of hardware that would run XP, until Vista, 7, and 10 (I've never, or have had extremely limited use of 2000, ME, 8, and 11).

Heh... I feel old now! 🥔

[midwestaesthetics]

Poets Will Become Lovers

Map this confessional out in syllables

And rhyme scheme, I want to trace

Your physical geography and you

Can take your time lavishing physical graffiti…upon me

I’ll adorn you in daisy chain crowns

Plucked from garden lanes, we stroll

And we’ll adore the tulip bouquets

On your nightstand, our feelings more fragrant now

Reading for pleasure, knowledge is both coin

And treasure, our same tastes in the literati

Hike the river bluffs and watch the wakes

Cleave upon sandbars, I’m in your undertow, willingly

Us as in the confluence of you and I

The river delta belle and the lakeside ambler

How do courtship rituals proceed these days

From the written word to liplocks born of mirroring desire

 

Symmetry, Symmetry when you read between the lines

Do you want to slow burn this one or do you want

Cascades of feeling to take us on currents

For every measure of life’s breadth and depth

I’ll await you in dreams, until now unrealized

But we could have it all, in this life, if we want

There are no dueling purposes, just the potential

To take verses and make them tangible as a kiss

[peachedfm]

FEMMES

daisy sullivan , victoria pedretti , 25-28 , antique shop owner .

molly calhoun , cailee spaeny , 22-25 , veterinarian / cattle rancher at her grandparents’ farm .

summer jenkins , 22-25, gracie abrams , cashier at a vintage book store / partial mechanic at her father’s self-operated auto mechanic shop .

francesca ' frankie ' boutros , christina nadin , 26-28 , nightclub dancer .

bridget 'bunny' salinger , sydney sweeney , 23-26 , sports bar waitress .

sloane abrams , odeya rush , 22-25 , beach lifeguard .

caroline gunn , madelyn cline , 22-24 , golf cart girl / skater .

bailey gibson , fivel stewart , 25-28 , personal trainer .

lilia kopovich , kristine froseth , 21-24 , ballerina , owner of a small online crochet business .

lucille cannon , camila morrone , 24-28 , daughter of a record label empire .

odessa grady , freya mavor , 25-29 , ex pageant queen , inherit to father's million dollar motel chain .

marley greer , josefine frida pettersen , 24-28 , sous chef turned gourmet cake decorator .

matilda wolffe , alice pagani , 24-27, host of horror movie ratings podcast , aspiring coroner , exiled preacher's daughter .

quinn rexby , scarlett leithold , 22-25 , bartender at a retro arcade bar .

josephine 'joey' perkins , taylor russell , 24-28 , cashier at vintage record shop , bassist in local band .

briar champion , kendall jenner , 25-29 , high profile nanny / sugar baby .

paige liang , havana rose liu , 23-26 , family law apprentice .

eleanor 'norah' shelby , halston sage , 24-28 , investigative journalist , daughter of a now deceased serial killer .

eden wallace , nicola peltz , 25-28 , tattoo artist .

charley ambrosio , madison beer , 22-24 , dallas cowboys cheerleader . (eh)

marin lester , barbara palvin , 26-29 , daughter of an infamous mob boss , assassin .

daphne lane , daisy edgar jones , 25-26 , neonatal surgeon .

[tomorrowedblog]

Friday Releases for October 6

Friday is the busiest day of the week for new releases, so we've decided to collect them all in one place. Friday Releases for October 6 include The Caine Mutiny Court-Martial, She Came to Me, Foe, and more.

The Caine Mutiny Court-Martial

The Caine Mutiny Court-Martial, the new movie from William Friedkin, is out today.

The Caine Mutiny Court-Martial follows a U.S. naval first officer who’s standing trial for orchestrating a mutiny after his captain shows signs of becoming unhinged and jeopardizes the lives of his crew.

She Came to Me

She Came to Me, the new movie from Rebecca Miller, is out today.

A composer with an unfinished opera, a spiritually conflicted psychiatrist, a free-spirited tugboat captain collide on an unpredictable voyage into uncharted waters in writer-director Rebecca Miller’s enchanting romantic comedy.

Foe

Foe, the new movie from Garth Davis, is out today.

Hen & Junior farm a secluded piece of land that has been in Junior’s family for generations, but their quiet life is thrown into turmoil when an uninvited stranger shows up at their door with a startling proposal. Starring Saoirse Ronan, Paul Mescal, and Aaron Pierre, Foe’s mesmerizing imagery and persistent questions about the nature of humanity (and artificial humanity) bring the not-too-distant future to luminous life.

Dicks: The Musical

Dicks: The Musical, the new movie from Larry Charles, is out today.

Two self-obsessed businessmen (writers Aaron Jackson & Josh Sharp) discover they’re long-lost identical twins and come together to plot the reunion of their eccentric divorced parents, in this riotously funny and depraved musical from comedy icon Larry Charles (Seinfeld, Borat) also starring Megan Thee Stallion, Nathan Lane, Megan Mullally, and Bowen Yang as God.

Reptile

Reptile, the new movie from Grant Singer, is out today.

A mysterious murder. A hardened detective. A truth more dangerous than they could have ever imagined.

The Marsh King’s Daughter

The Marsh King’s Daughter, the new movie from Neil Burger, is out today.

In the tense thriller The Marsh King’s Daughter, a woman with a secret past will venture into the wilderness she left behind to confront the most dangerous man she’s ever met: her father. In the film, Helena’s (Daisy Ridley) seemingly ordinary life hides a dark and dangerous truth: her estranged father is the infamous Marsh King (Ben Mendelsohn), the man who kept her and her mother captive in the wilderness for years. When her father escapes from prison, Helena will need to confront her past. Knowing that he will hunt for her and her family, Helena must find the strength to face her demons and outmaneuver the man who taught her everything she knows about surviving in the wild.

Mercy Road

Mercy Road, the new movie from John Curran, is out today.

After committing an impulsive, vicious crime while searching for his missing daughter, a frantic father (Luke Bracey) goes on the run from law enforcement and soon begins receiving chilling calls from an unknown entity claiming to know her whereabouts. As he faithfully follows the caller’s increasingly unhinged instructions, he is driven perilously close to the edge of sanity while discovering exactly how far he is willing to go to save his child.

The Exorcist: Believer

The Exorcist: Believer, the new movie from David Gordon Green, is out today.

Since the death of his pregnant wife in a Haitian earthquake 12 years ago, Victor Fielding has raised their daughter, Angela, on his own. But when Angela and her friend Katherine, disappear in the woods, only to return three days later with no memory of what happened to them, it unleashes a chain of events that will force Victor to confront the nadir of evil and, in his terror and desperation, seek out the only person alive who has witnessed anything like it before: Chris MacNeil.

The Burial

The Burial, the new movie from Maggie Betts, is out today.

Inspired by true events, when a handshake deal goes sour, funeral home owner Jeremiah O’Keefe (Tommy Lee Jones) enlists charismatic, smooth-talking attorney Willie E. Gary (Jamie Foxx) to save his family business. Tempers flare and laughter ensues as the unlikely pair bond while exposing corporate corruption and racial injustice in this inspirational, triumphant story.

When Evil Lurks

When Evil Lurks, the new movie from Demián Rugna, is out today.

The residents of a small rural town discover that a demon is about to be born among them. They desperately try to escape before the evil is born, but it may be too late.

Pet Sematary: Bloodlines

Pet Sematary: Bloodlines, the new movie from Lindsey Anderson Beer, is out today.

In 1969, a young Jud Crandall is set to leave his hometown of Ludlow, Maine in search of his life’s purpose. Before he makes it out, however, Jud and his childhood friends encounter an ancient evil that has gripped Ludlow since its founding.

Totally Killer

Totally Killer, the new movie from Nahnatchka Khan, is out today.

When the infamous "Sweet Sixteen Killer" returns 35 years after his first murder spree to claim another victim, 17-year-old Jamie (Kiernan Shipka) accidentally travels back in time to 1987, determined to stop the killer before he can start.

Monsters Of California

Monsters Of California, the new movie from Tom DeLonge, is out today.

After discovering research left behind by a missing government agent, Dallas Edwards and his misfit high school friends embark on a righteous and dangerous adventure to uncover a paranormal conspiracy in Southern California that brings them face-to-face with some of the government’s most guarded mysteries.

Ballerina

Ballerina, the new movie from Chung-Hyun Lee, is out today.

Grieving the loss of a best friend she couldn’t protect, ex-bodyguard Ok-ju sets out to fulfill her dear friend’s last wish: sweet, sweet revenge.

Buck Alamo (or a Phantasmagorical Ballad)

Buck Alamo (or a Phantasmagorical Ballad), the new movie from Benjamin Epstein, is out today.

Buck Alamo (or a Phantasmagorical Ballad) is a dreamlike portrait of a modern-day musical outlaw as he duels with Death.

Fair Play

Fair Play, the new movie from Chloe Domont, is out today.

An unexpected promotion at a cutthroat hedge fund pushes a young couple’s relationship to the brink, threatening to unravel far more than their recent engagement.

The Royal Hotel

The Royal Hotel, the new movie from Kitty Green, is out today.

Americans Hanna (Julia Garner) and Liv (Jessica Henwick) are best friends backpacking in Australia. After they run out of money, Liv, looking for an adventure, convinces Hanna to take a temporary live-in job behind the bar of a pub called ‘The Roval Hotel’ in a remote Outback mining town. Bar owner Billy and a host of locals give the girls a riotous introduction to Down Under drinking culture but soon Hanna and Liv find themselves trapped in an unnerving situation that grows rapidly out of their control.

Detective Pikachu Returns

Detective Pikachu Returns, the new game from Nintendo, is out today.

Unravel a series of mysteries across Ryme City with a tough-talking, coffee-loving Pikachu and his human partner, Tim Goodman. When a jewel theft occurs, the case sets this great detective duo down a path filled with mystery. Why did Tim’s father, Harry, go missing? What is causing the Pokémon-related incidents around Ryme City? Answer these questions and more by searching for clues, investigating scenes, and using your case notebook to make deductions.

[captainmdhridoyhossain-blog]

[ad_1] At a lookSkilled’s Score ExecsLeverages two (U.2) to 8 (M.2) NVMe SSDs discretely or in RAIDRapid with the proper SSDs and setupSimple to improveA couple of drives in a single enclosure reduces cable litterSuperbly flexibleConsTool RAID makes use of CPU cyclesCalls for an non-compulsory 2d, $150 caddy to care for greater than 4 M.2 drives.SoftRAID motive force rendered our Home windows check mattress unbootablemacOS problems after SoftRAID motive force removingOur VerdictThis strong two-bay enclosure is solidly built, speedy, simply upgraded, and flexible–permitting you to configure interior drives any means you need by means of the integrated device. An effective way to scale back cable litter when using more than one exterior SSDs. The $300 Mercury Professional U.2 Twin is a Thunderbolt 3 garage field that includes two U.2 (a server/enterprise-level NVMe connector) bays. So as to add as much as the 8 M.2 SSDs touted by way of OWC, you must use a four-slot OWC Shuttle U.2 to M.2 caddy/adapter integrated within the field, after which purchase any other adapter ($150) to max out at 8 SSDs and 64GB. Or you'll be able to purchase it pre-populated from OWC. For 8 drives (quickest) pricing begins at $1,500 for 4TB, and ends at a whopping $12,799 for 64TB. Yup, 8GB SSDs are dear. Word that operating reflected RAID 1 or reflected/striped RAID 1+0 will halve to be had capability. Regardless, the naked field means that you can improve at your recreational and wish, and the integrated SoftRAID XT device means that you can create RAID 0/1/1+0 arrays with any mixture of drives. The SSDs can also be accessed as separate entities, i.e., discrete drives. OWC’s Mercury Professional U.2 Twin can clear up your direct-attached garage wishes, and provides extraordinarily flexible configuration of the drives inside of. The black steel field that's the U.2 Twin measures round 9.25 inches lengthy, 5.75 inches tall (together with rubber toes), and three.35 inches broad. The entrance is composed of porous grills to facilitate airflow in the course of the two bays, with a cast strip of steel up the center that comprises the backlit brand and two task lighting fixtures. The again is house to 2 Thunderbolt 3 ports (Sort-C, one for daisy-chaining), a Kensington lock port, the 12-volt DC jack, and the opening grill for the fan. To get admission to the interior U.2 bays, you merely take away the 2 Philips screws from the panel, most sensible and backside heart. The 2 WD 960GB 2.5-inch U.2 drives that OWC integrated in our check unit have been secured by way of a unmarried screw, although there are 4 holes for three.5-inch drives and the caddies. The again of the sturdily constructed Mercury Professional U.2 Twin is house to 2 Thunderbolt 3 ports so you'll be able to daisy chain your different T3 peripherals. The Commute caddies are pricey however solidly constructed and as discussed, function 4 M.2 slots. The detachable most sensible of a Commute serves as a beefy warmth sink that’s secured by means of 4 screws. There’s a pleasant slab of thermal touch subject matter at the inside the warmth sink, so that you’ll most probably need to press down somewhat onerous directly to align the holes for the screws. Word that the caddies comprises a PCIe transfer. Some PCs with restricted PCIe sources (lanes) won't have the ability to accommodate them. Each iMacs (2015/i7 and M1), in addition to the older a Core i7-5820K/Asus X99 Deluxe (circa 2015) testbed treated them simply high quality. OWC’s all-metal U.2 Commute M.2 caddy is terribly rugged and sheds warmth smartly. The Mercury Professional U.2 Twin is warrantied for a unmarried yr and any drives integrated within the populated variations for 3 years. Efficiency On our M1 iMac operating macOS Large Sur, the Mercury Professional U.2 Twin’s efficiency various considerably relying on what drives have been put in. With the 2 960GB WD Ultrastar DC SN630 U.2 SSDs OWC bundled, sustained switch charges, as proven under, approached 2TB consistent with 2d in each instructions.

This used to be the usage of Apple RAID. With a unmarried M.2 NVMe SSD, this dropped to round 1300MBps in both course. Any some of the M.2 NVMe SSDs we used is able to saturating the Thunderbolt 3 bus to the purpose of just about 3GBps transfers, given a quick sufficient enclosure. I’m guessing there’s a penalty imposed by way of the PCIe transfer at the caddies. Nonetheless, this promised excellent issues ins next checks, then again… Apple RAID (device) with two M.2 NVMe drives within the caddies (striped/RAID 0), slowed considerably to 636MBps writing and 735MBps writing. Ahem. Don’t use Apple RAID with M.2 drives on this field except you don’t care such a lot about velocity. OWC’s SoftRAID with two M.2 NVMe drives used to be a ways quicker than Apple RAID writing, although studying nonetheless lagged smartly at the back of what a unmarried pressure delivered. Word that SoftRAID calls for a kernel extension and your permission within the Apple safety startup software to put in it. It used to be simplest after I reached 4 drives in RAID 0 that the unit crowned 2GBps. Now not as speedy as was hoping, however masses speedy sufficient. Expanding to seven drives simplest bumped up the write velocity to two.2GBps so we unnoticed that display screen cap. OWC equipped a 2d U.2 Commute (caddy/service/go back and forth) so I may just check with the total 8 M.2 NVMe SSDs. Whilst the switch speeds weren’t all that I’d was hoping for, the U.2 twin remains to be simply speedy sufficient for its supposed function. I additionally attempted the usage of person drives besides to change running techniques, any other at hand (very, in my case) use for the U.2 Twin and Commute caddies. SoftRAID means that you can mix the SSDs throughout the U.2 Twin any means you want, which, as famous, makes it outstandingly flexible. Then again, I did run into some problems. After uninstalling the SoftRAID motive force from the M1 iMac check mattress, no longer the entire 8 drives throughout the U.2 Twin have been enumerated in Disk Application, or for that topic, on another laptop. Moreover, seeking to initialize, erase or create an Apple RAID array with the drives that remained visual after the driving force removing both hung Disk Application or failed. OWC’s SoftRAID the usage of seven drives in RAID 0. The 8th pressure used to be simplest 500GB, therefore it’s exclusion from the array. Unfortunately, I by no means discovered the motive, however it’s a post-facto deal and shouldn’t have an effect on many customers. Erasing the SSDs personally the usage of an OWC Envoy Categorical on PCWorld’s check mattress cured the problem. Alas, putting in SoftRAID at the PCWorld Home windows check mattress promptly rendered it unbootable. Fortunately, it created a repair level so the gadget used to be recoverable the usage of Home windows boot media. Then again, this little snafu assists in keeping me from recommending SoftRAID with Home windows presently. It additionally curtailed checking out on that platform for comparability functions. To supply no less than a modicum of context, the quickest sustained switch charges we’ve observed out of an exterior Thunderbolt 3 pressure are round 2.8GBps studying, and a pair of.25GBps writing. Know additionally that device RAID makes use of your laptop’s CPU. This will and can have an effect on garage efficiency if the CPU is tapped out doing different duties. Fortuitously, in my checking out with video transcoding and several other different real-time track programs operating, the drop used to be simplest about 100MBps (from round 1.3GBps to at least one.2GBps on an Intel iMac) with the 2 U.2 SSDs put in. I imagine that insignificant, however will have to you come upon a extra critical drop in efficiency, by way of all manner, let me know. Final analysis Given Apple’s pricey and capability restricted interior garage, it’s great to have a quick, robust, simply upgradeable exterior answer such because the Mercury Professional U.

2 Twin. It’s a superbly flexible and handy means so as to add more than one discrete or RAID volumes with no ton of cable litter. As to the SoftRAID problems, OWC is constantly bettering the product (model 3 of the paid device used to be simply launched), so I be expecting the insects I encountered to vanish in due time. Jon is a Juilliard-trained musician, former x86/6800 programmer, and long-time (past due 70s) laptop fanatic residing within the San Francisco bay space. jjacobi@pcworld.com [ad_2] #OWC #Mercury #Professional #Twin #Thunderbolt #enclosure #assessment #Huge #capability #flexible #speedy #configuration

[whyeverr]

Daisy Chain Lane | 2 bed, 2 bath

If there’s a bustle in your hedgerow, don’t be alarmed now. That’s just the sort of thing you should expect in this dreamy hippie hideaway. Tucked away from Finchwick village and its prim and proper residents, here you can escape to a free-spirited life in the bucolic hills of the Bramblewood. The technicolor splendor of the world around you can be so inspiring—which is why you’ll find that vibrant flower power spirit not just outside in the garden but throughout the home. 

Sure, simple living has its challenges, but after a hard day’s work of gardening, canning, and candle-making there’s still plenty of time to relax and unwind by painting, blowing, erm, ‘bubbles,’ or making friends with the native fauna. While there are only two bedrooms (accessible only by ladder), the attached additions—a cellar-like mudroom and an eclectic greenhouse made of reclaimed windows—add plenty of space for your quirky little family. And, when it’s time to eat, you’ll do so outside in the sunshine or under the stars because there’s nothing more rewarding than living in close communion with Mother Nature. 

Lot details:

Lot Type: Residential 

Price: §91,300

Size: 30x20

Location: Cordelia’s Secret Cottage, Henford on Bagley

This is very much a Cottage Living build but I’ve used from all packs freely here

Download the tray files via the Gallery here or download the tray files via Sim File Share here. Please don’t re-upload or share without credit. Thank you!

[gracefuldisgrace]

TAG DROP #1

⋅  there's a side of me that just won't stop dancing in the flame.  /  tequila. ⋅  there's a side of me that just won't stop dancing in the flame.  /  tequila : ic. ⋅  leave them at the bottom of the grave they dug for you.  /  alex krycek. ⋅  leave them at the bottom of the grave they dug for you.  /  alex krycek : ic. ⋅  i preferred shark teeth to the chains around my neck.  /  carter blake. ⋅  i preferred shark teeth to the chains around my neck.  /  carter blake : ic. ⋅  risen from the ashes - murder and mercy rolled up in one.  /  charlie matheson. ⋅  risen from the ashes - murder and mercy rolled up in one.  /  charlie matheson : ic. ⋅  fault lines tremble underneath my glass house.  /  daisy johnson. ⋅  fault lines tremble underneath my glass house.  /  daisy johnson : ic. ⋅  step one - surrender the idea that you can fail.  /  daniel atlas. ⋅  step one - surrender the idea that you can fail.  /  daniel atlas : ic. ⋅  equal parts sweet honey and dangerous ferocity.  /  ella grace boone. ⋅  equal parts sweet honey and dangerous ferocity.  /  ella grace boone : ic. ⋅  keep your head; heels; and standards high.  /  elle woods. ⋅  keep your head; heels; and standards high.  /  elle woods : ic. ⋅  clever as the devil and twice as pretty.  /  henrietta boone. ⋅  clever as the devil and twice as pretty.  /  henrietta boone : ic. ⋅  what will get you killed first? your loyalty or your stubbornness?  /  jack wilder. ⋅  what will get you killed first? your loyalty or your stubbornness?  /  jack wilder : ic. ⋅  they made you into a weapon and told you to find peace.  /  nick lane. ⋅  they made you into a weapon and told you to find peace.  /  nick lane : ic. ⋅  i sat with my anger until it told me its real name was grief.  /  orm marius. ⋅  i sat with my anger until it told me its real name was grief.  /  orm marius : ic.

[mosaicc-brokenn-heartss]

- aesthetic playlists for specific moods -

r e s e t  &  d e t o x for days where you need to clear your head, heart, mind and soul. move on. welcome the growth and treasure the warmest parts of the past. slow down and breathe.

hanging out with myself when you're on your own, in your own space, with your own thoughts and alternating between being okay with that and not.

summer lovin’ how it feels to be in love with someone in the endless days of heat.

to the seaside salt, sand, sea. you and me. the air is easier to breathe here. 

"in love with my future" for manifesting and holding onto hope for the idealised dream of being independent, happy and stable

green fingers 🌿 a playlist for gardening, planting and watering my plants... to help them grow, feel loved and safe.

what if we hold hands and lay in a field of wild flowers? (plural noun): a flower of an uncultivated variety or a flower growing freely without human intervention. // romantic picnic bitch energy - for getting lost in the long grass and making daisy chains. a blanket. a basket. a nice book. wearing a sundress. a warm breeze.

little adventures for all of life's mini adventures: supermarket trips, museums, getting lost in the countryside, taking detours, walking down quiet streets... climbing, exploring, taking it all in.

young, free and in love with your friends you'll never be this young again. you are free to be whoever you need to be. you can explore. you're filled with premature nostalgia for the moments you are currently living. you love the things and people around you with all of your being. 

your eyes meet across the room you've never seen them before and don't know their name but you want to find out every secret they've ever had. you'd spend the rest of the night at their side. the colour of their eyes is your new favourite shade.

sunset songs tunes for when the sun goes down. time to unwind and process the day.

up to the roof let's climb up as high as this city can take us and look down at the world beneath us. let's remember how small we are and find some comfort in it.

the days when the sadness is quiet it's never gone, not really, but some days your heart feels overwhelmingly lighter, you feel at ease with the hurt and it's easier to breathe. you feel back in your body, brought back to life again.

classics that make me feel something songs you can't remember actually learning the lyrics to, that set your soul on fire.

political angst make your voice heard. fight with everything you have. don’t let them stop your power.

you + me in the backseat in the backseat of the car. your soundtrack drowns out anything but your feelings. fire burns inside you.

memory lane walking hand in hand through the past. shattered fragments of your old self are lodged into your palms. reminders of things you tried to forget haunt you. the nostalgia comes in like a fog. 

not me, dissociating staring into space or back at yourself in the mirror. doubting everything you know. wondering how you'll ever have the strength to rejoin the world around you.

under the stars come sit with me. we'll trace constellations in the sky.

we’re driving and your hand is on my knee the wind is in your hair. the streets are empty. the radio is too loud. all you know is that you're in love with the person in the seat beside you. 

stay close to me for the kind of love you hope stays forever. for the kind of love you never want to put down. 

oh no, i’m in love the penny has dropped. you don’t know how to hold it in. everything feels brighter now. 

slow mornings with you warmth seeping through the curtains. knowing you have nowhere to be. before toothpaste. stillness. contentment. being with your person.

the end of the world the sun is rising over the hill for the last time. you don't have enough hands to hold everyone. all of the hate you once had doesn't matter anymore. you cling onto the memories and take a deep breath.

it’s 2am and i’m thinking about the good and bad i should probably sleep.

slow dancing in the kitchen barefoot in the kitchen, swaying with hips pressed together, noses brushing, comforted by each other's laughs, soft singing voices and declarations of happiness at being close to the other person.

goodbye to us you're unsure how or why you got here, but now it's over and you can't stop feeling. your heart aches. your head is heavy. you can't bear to move.

longing for escape take my hand. we’ve been stuck for too long. let's get out of this town. we won't look back.

rainy daze rainy days and mondays always get me down

eiffel for you a paris summer. you drink coffee and eat a pastry at a café on the seine. beautiful women and couples in love stroll by. the air is crisp and sweet.

eternal (adjective: eternal; noun: Eternal): lasting or existing forever; without end.

ethereal goddess shit 🌙 pov: you are an ethereal goddess and everything you touch and embody is magic.

academia forever for memories of university days and cathedral views.

new city, big dreams a place just for you. boxes of your past life surround you. a new life awaiting. your look out at the city. it's been waiting for you.

bookstore full of dust and secrets bibliophile (noun): a person who collects or has a great love of books.

hometown nostalgia you know every street corner. you remember everything and everyone you loved here.

i'd do it all over again a million times over without regret.

sneaking out to meet you at midnight the thrill of climbing out the window, making you way to your secret hiding place and having a person to pour all your romanticism into waiting for you. 

coffee breath you can tell a lot about a person from the way they take their coffee.

let’s drink wine and feel things 🍷 songs for late night wine drunk dancing, tears and feelings. 

touch starved for when you just really need to be touched.

seething for slamming doors and punching walls. when your blood boils. when you need to be alone.

[beef-bakery]

The Love We Once Shared - Chapter Three

Summary: Loving had never been easy, especially not in the lanes. But somehow you found it with the man of your dreams and it had all been perfect. Until it wasn’t

Rating: Silco/F!Reader - SFW

Tags: angst, estranged lovers, lovers to enemies to lovers, slow burn, death of a child (mentioned)

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As you packed up your things, you pretended not to know what day it was. Keeping yourself busy would help you ignore the mourning in the back of your mind. Pushing down the feelings that were sure to arise, you focussed on one thing; Silco had found you again, and he was confident enough to send someone to seek you out without even attempting to hide it. Perhaps he was getting to be too cocky. Or perhaps it was a fluke, a simple lackey’s accident.

The sun lowered deeper into the horizon, and by the time you checked your watch it was already late.

“Shit. Shit. Shit,” you cursed to yourself, hurriedly throwing on a trench coat over your day dress and locking the nearly empty apartment behind you. You hurried down the empty staircases, which dropped you off into the bustling streets. After all, the Undercity was always more crowded at night.

You walked in silence, accompanied by no one. You had no friends. You were always moving jobs and changing houses, and there was barely enough time to set any roots down. It was the reason you had so few belongings: you knew that you had to take what you needed, what meant the most to you, not silly frivolous items that Silco had previously spoiled you with.

You no longer drank coffee, indulged in truffles from the Topside, or wore the bows you had always worn since being old enough to afford them.

So stuck inside your thoughts, you didn't notice you had already reached your destination. It was a nicer area in the Undercity, where those wealthy enough to afford it could bury their loved ones. The practice was almost out of business, the majority of the citizens opting for the much more affordable cremation services.

St. Olga’s Cemetery was the sign above the field, a barren green plain nearly empty due to the exorbitant prices of graves. Trees grew all around, although flowers were a rarity. Wildflowers grew all around the duck pond, even through the path leading up to his grave. You had wanted him buried around nature, and Silco had obliged you. It was one of the small things he owed you. It seemed to be the only thing he could do for you after all he had done.

You approached a small tree, and next to it an even smaller grave, one fit for a child.

It had been over a year since James had died and yet seeing his grave hurt just as much as it had the first time. Tears pricked the corners of your eyes as you sank to your knees.

“Hello, sweetie,” you said quietly, a lump stuck in the back of your throat. “It's me, Mom.” You sank down, letting your knees hit the soft dirt, and began to talk. “Mommy misses you lots. We all do.” You picked at the wildflowers at the base of the grave and began to weave them together into a daisy chain. “Mommy isn't doing too hot. There's a lot of things on my mind.” You gave a small, dry chuckle. “I doubt you want to hear about adult problems, but that's all I have. I wish I could offer you more than the issues of the working class.”

---

The graveyard was almost empty, ducks long gone. Winter was soon approaching. Silco spied a figure by a tree, and he instantly recognized who it was. He watched you for a while, unsure what to do, fiddling with the white roses he had gotten. It was his son’s birthday after all. He would've been 4.

As he watched you, his heart ached, not only for the smaller one six feet below, but the one beating above without cause or will. He watched your shoulders shake a little, clutching whatever you had in your hands, before gently setting it on the tombstone.

---

You heard your name being called by a familiar voice, and you froze. Some part inside of your animalistic mind thought that maybe if you held still long enough, you'd become invisible. He called your name again, and you refused to look at him. It was only when flowers were set on the grave that you suddenly stood up. You wiped your eyes hastily and began to leave. Silco grabbed your arm and spun you around.

Your red eyes, raw from crying, met his and you immediately turned away. The introduction of his eye surprised you, but you had heard of it long before so it didn't surprise you as much as it could've. He said your name again. “My love, please come home.”

You wrenched your arm from his grasp and hissed at him. “Don't call me that. I'm not yours.” He turned his head, hurt. “And how can you ask me that? On James’ birthday? You ask me to come home after you caused this.” You gestured to the grave.

“If you'd just hear me out,” he pleaded. How odd, Silco was never one to beg, vulnerability was something he had simply never displayed. He was a wreck for you.

“How could I? My words are still the same as the day I left. I will not change my mind and I will never forgive you.”

---

The room was dark and silent, except for the soft breathing of your husband and the silent sobs you held back. This was the only way you could leave. Silently, throughout the night. He would wake up without you, not knowing where you had gone. But only if you did this correctly.

You had already packed one bag, full of clothes and your most precious jewels. Another with coin, enough to last you long enough to get back on your feet. You hadn't worked a real job in a very long time.

Silco turned in his sleep, reaching out for you. You climbed back into bed, swallowing the bile that leapt up your throat as you let him hold you close. He made you sick. You could barely look at him earlier in the evening, refusing supper and heading straight to bed, a plan already brewing in your mind.

After his breaths became even, you slipped out of the bed once more, gathering your belongings. Without a second glance, you left the room, heading towards the front door.

You heard a voice call your name. You froze, turning around to see Sevika.

“Sevika.” you croaked, attempting to disguise the panic in your voice.

“Where are you going?” she cocked her head to the side.

“Oh, I just needed a change of scenery since, well…” you trailed off, not needing to disguise the crack in your voice.

Sevika’s eyes widened with regret. “Oh I'm so sorry, I never should've asked.” she crushed you into a bear hug, her arms encircling you entirely.

“It's okay,” you squeaked. “Really, it's okay.” A new lump began to form in your throat, this one of regret. Sevika was going to be in so much trouble once Silco found out she had interacted with you today. But more than that, Sevika was kind to you; although she was hard on the outside, you had coaxed the soft, squishy bits on the inside out. You were going to miss that.

“I should get going,” you said after she let you go.

“I won't keep you,” Sevika said, holding her arms up.

You gave her a small nod before exiting the building. Taking in a breath of fresh air, you left without looking back.

---

“What words? You never said anything, gave me any closure, anything.” Silco protested.

“Just like the ones I didn't get from James,” you said quietly. Silco kept quiet. “ I'm leaving. Don't follow me, don't send anyone after me. Leave me alone. It's the least you can do.”

[kryptored]

Fall

Would you look at that, huh? I finally finished mine and get to post it for all of you to see, especially @bbwoulfc who I wrote this for and provided me with wonderful prompts.

Here’s to my first time participating in the @lovebugs-and-snakecharmers Valentine Exchange Event 2021. Happy Valentine’s Day!

Cross-posted from AO3.

Organizing his room isn’t something Luka learned from his mother, but it’s what he makes into a habit after living with her his whole life before moving out. His apartment isn’t as messy as La Liberté is after leaving it alone into his mother’s hands, but that doesn’t excuse him from cleaning his own domain every now and then. And so on that’s what he ends up doing on a Monday, free from other obligations that would’ve prevented him from cleaning.

He starts off by clearing out a particular box stained with multi-coloured paint, sitting at the bottom of a shelf in the corner of his bedroom. He wouldn’t have paid too much attention to it on any other day and just made sure to organize the chaotic stacking of whatever’s on top of it, but there’s something about the chaotic joy that emits from the box, calling out to him like a fairy in the forest. And so he sits down, clearing out the surprisingly spacious box filled with so many things. He finds old photos of him and Juleka smiling widely into the camera and showing off their missing teeth, a few forgotten guitar picks obviously painted by himself, some beads of what could only come from his mother’s collection, and an old shirt that he hopes was washed before sleeping in the box for years. But underneath all of those lies an even smaller box painted dark-teal with splatters of pink, rectangular in shape, and with a latch keeping it closed.

The box is small enough that he can hold it with his two hands, but the sound of shuffling tells him that something is hiding inside it. He opens the box carefully, mindful of any stray glitter that he might’ve forgotten about (something he’s learned in the past), only to find something else. He picks up a small notebook that appears to have something stuck in between its many pages, and he realizes they’re pressed flowers – daffodils, rose petals, violets, daisies, and even bluebells. He carefully closes the notebook, making sure that the flowers are left undisturbed, and notices something written on the first page. He recognizes his handwriting and his pathetic attempt at writing his name in cursive, Juleka’s, but there’s a third name that’s written by someone else’s. It looks much neater than his, so it’s easier for him to read it, and his finger gently brushes against the years-old charcoal on paper: ‘Marinette Dupain-Cheng’.

All of a sudden, the name of a long-lost friend unlocks memories of the past. Memories of children spending most of their days together, running around and splashing each other with water and sharing snacks while sitting under a tree. He sees memories that unlock something that has been planted in his heart a long time ago, spending years in silent hibernation, until now.

He blinks his eyes multiple times, trying to shake away the wistfulness and longing of what he thinks is already gone, and puts the notebook back in its place. As he does so, he notices a necklace chain lying at the corner of the small box and picks it up. Strangely enough, nothing is attached to it. He thinks hard on what could have been there, and whether or not it had been lost during one of his previous cleaning before, during, or after moving out. He’ll have to ask his mother and maybe Juleka about that. For now, he pockets the chain and puts the small box right by his bed as a reminder to put it somewhere else.

Not wanting to get too distracted, he quickly and carefully puts the rest of the trinkets away and continues with his cleaning. Despite that, though, he spends most of his cleaning time thinking about the past and a girl he once called Marinette.

While he clears out the dust gathering from every corner, he remembers the softness of her hand whenever they held hands.

While he sweeps the floor, he hums the tune of an unnamed song he remembers singing to her after tripping and scraping her hands and knees.

While he washes, dries, and folds his laundry, he smiles when he remembers the sound of her laugh.

While he cooks dinner, he remembers the smell of grass that lingers around them after rolling around it for hours.

It takes him until he’s lying on his bed, eyes wide open, fingers twiddling with the necklace chain that he realizes it’s always been there. The feelings have always been there, but he was too young to know until now. He closes his eyes to sleep, hoping to at least see her again - if not in reality, but perhaps in his dreams.

He wakes up in the morning, tears staining the sides of his cheeks, and he realizes he’ll never see her again.

A few days after the impromptu visit down memory lane, he walks into an arts and crafts store to buy some special paper to use for his band’s flyers. After asking an employee on which aisle to go to, he hums the same song that reminds him of her, and for now he won’t cry again. But as he turns the corner of the aisle, he halts his steps and his face is frozen with wide eyes and a gaping mouth.

There, standing in the middle of the paper aisle, is who Luka can only assume is Marinette (if he remembers her features correctly). From the looks of the basket she’s carrying filled with paint and paintbrushes, she must’ve been here for a while now. She looks pretty - no, prettier - than how he remembers her, and he wishes he can take a picture of her in case it’s all he has left of her before she disappears again.

She looks pretty (what was wrong with repeating it?) standing there looking at the shelf of cardstock paper, her hair done up in a bun with a few stray strands brushing against her neck and cheeks. She’s wearing a peach-coloured blouse with a ruffled collar and short butterfly sleeves tucked into light-blue high-waisted jeans, and gold-coloured sandals.

Luka changes his mind and thinks that she’s not pretty - she’s absolutely beautiful.

“Marinette?” He calls out to her in a soft voice, unsure if she’ll hear him. Luka remains standing still, his breathing even caught in the moment, and that’s how Marinette finds him when she turns around at the call of her name. She puts on a polite smile, unsure how to address the stranger who knows her name, until she realizes it’s not just a stranger.

It takes her a while to recognize Luka, mostly because of the teal-dyed tips of his hair that apparently suits him well. He’s grown up from the lanky boy she used to grab onto whenever she gets scared, judging by how well the all-black raglan t-shirt clings to his arms. She notices how tall he’s gotten, what with how long his legs look wearing those dark skinny jeans and a pair of low cut white and mint green sneakers.

“Luka? Is that you?”

They simultaneously walk closer to each other, but still wary about whether or not they’re mistaking someone else for their childhood friend.

“It’s been awhile, hasn’t it?” He asks, and his heart beats a little louder and faster when he hears her laugh, the back of her hand covering her mouth to hide her smile and he so wishes to see it again after all these years.

“I guess it has been.”

“So… 15 years, huh?”

“Hm? Oh! Oh, yes!” She laughs again and he loves the sound of it. It sounds even better than he remembers it to be. “I can’t believe it’s been that long already.”

“Yeah, neither can I. So, uh… how have you been? How’re your parents? Do you live around here, too?”

“I’m doing fine and so are my parents. They have a bakery and apartment set up at the 21st arrondissement, so you should come by! They’d love to see you again, you know?” she holds onto one of his arms, and it feels so warm and he doesn’t want her to let go. “What about you? How’re you doing? And Juleka? Your mom?”

“We’re great,” he responds breathily, “I’m glad to see you again, you know? And I’d love to drop by at the bakery. And you said ‘they’ so, does that mean you…?”

“Moved away? Yes, I have.” She lets go, and he feels as if winter has come to hold him instead. “It’s actually not too far from them so, we don’t really miss each other that much.”

They continue with their small reunion, walking around the store while exchanging stories that they missed out on each other. They talk as if 15 years had never separated them at all, until their meeting comes to an end when Marinette sees that time and tells Luka that she has somewhere to be. Sad as it is, he finds comfort when they exchange numbers and have something to hold onto the other - to have something to remind them that they’re not separated anymore.

He waves her off from the store’s door, and it’s only when the same employee he spoke with earlier asks him if he’s found what he’s looking for that remembers he was there to buy paper.

Right, of course.

They spend the entire night after their reunion talking to each other, and it ends with them agreeing to meet up outside of Shakespeare and Company, a bookstore they’ve both been meaning to visit soon. They agree to meet the day after, and it leaves Luka feeling nervous as he picks out what to wear. After 15 minutes (he made sure to wake up extra early today) were spent looking through his closet, he finally decides on a white graphic shirt slightly tucked into light-grey chino shorts with a brown belt to secure it, and blue and white loafers. He grabs his dark-green crossbody bag, checks that everything he needs is already inside, locks his door, and leaves for the bookstore.

When he arrives at the bookstore, he sees Marinette standing outside looking down at her phone, and he can’t help but admire at how adorable she looks wearing a white oversized shirt with drop shoulder sleeves reaching down to her elbows and tucked into all-black shorts, black high cut boots, and a black bucket hat to cover her head from the bright sun. As he walks closer, he notices that she’s left her hair down this time, and the image reminds him of those times she and Juleka would practice different hairstyles on each other. Her other arm holds onto the strap of her own crossbody bag.

Luka coughs into his hand to catch her attention, to which she responds and he’s happy to see how bright her eyes are when she notices him.

“Luka, hi! You’re here!”

“Hello, Marinette.” He greets her, and the way those words leave him feels all too familiar until now. “You ready to go in?”

“I’m excited, actually. But I think knowing you’re spending the day with me makes it even more exciting.”

Unsure whether the weather is getting warmer or not, he clears his throat and opens the door for her. “So am I, actually. After you.”

The day goes well - even better than yesterday - and they spend it like good old friends who leave no time for awkwardness. They touch each other by the arm or by the shoulder, something similar to what they used to do, and yet they’re also more than that. Each touch is warmer and lingers longer than the last, and Luka can only hope that Marinette feels it, too. He thinks she does with how she turns around quickly after they brush their fingers against each other while reaching for the same book. His mind is stuck with the image of what he can only assume was a blush on her face, unable to respond to her squeaking out, “I’ll check the next aisle!”

He only stares at her back, initially scared that she’ll disappear again and never to see him again for 15 more years, but he calms himself and ponders on the tingling that tickles him from inside out. And for the rest of the day, they peek through corners of bookshelves and vacant spaces in-between books, smiling and laughing as they share their finds and decide on what to buy.

They leave the store to eat lunch at a nearby café, doing some more catching up with each other. They talk and talk and talk the entire day away, going from one place to another without a care in the world besides from knowing that finally, finally they’ve found each other again, and it’s like they don’t want to let go of each other again.

The next few days, unfortunately, do not cater to their sudden need for each other’s company, because of their own personal responsibilities. Luka and practicing with his band, writing and composing songs, and visiting his mother and sister while letting them know that he’s seen Marinette again. Marinette, on the other hand, finds herself busy with multiple card orders from her clients, helping out at her parents’ bakery, and definitely letting them know that she’s seen Luka again.

It’s not until a week and a half later that they get to see each other again in person for a picnic. Although they spend the previous nights texting and calling each other, there’s just something about seeing someone special to you without the physical limitations from their phones. Even when it’s summer, the days and nights they spent apart after reuniting could only make them feel like it’s winter.

The picnic was to take place on a field outside of the city, a place recommended to him by one of his bandmates (after some well-deserved teasing when they found out the reason for his asking). Because it was a bit far, Luka volunteered to drive them both there with his car. The lack of the typical urban noises they’ve grown accustomed to only serves as a plus, considering they were both the type to prefer a calm ambience.

Marinette had brought some home-made pastries for them to eat, as well as some water and juice to drink. She also brought with her a sketchbook and some pencils in case inspiration were to strike her and use it for any future cards to make. Asides from those, she also made sure to bring two small bed tray tables for them to place some of the food on. She also decided to wear a light blue V-neck dress just brushing against the top of her knees with circular cap sleeves extending down just before her elbows, and white sandals. Once again, her hair is left down to spread across her back.

Luka, on the other hand, was quite adamant to take responsibility for bringing the picnic blankets that could fit an entire class and more when they first planned the outing. Asides from those, he also brought some foldable chairs for them to sit on if the ground started feeling too stiff for their bottoms, and his guitar to pass the idle time by playing some music for both of them. As for his clothes, this time he went with a light blue button-up shirt with the first two buttons left open, paired with black shorts, and sand-yellow loafers.

After arriving at the field for their picnic, they choose to sit close to a small cluster of trees that would give them more than enough shade to protect them from the sun. They were taking out all of their picnic essentials from Luka’s car while also admiring the scenery in front of them, when Marinette said something.

“This is wonderful, Luka. Please thank your friend for recommending this place, and I really think we should start doing this more.”

“For sure, Marinette. And not that I don’t like it, but aren’t you a bit too early to say that?” He turns around from where he’s busy placing their food basket down, “What if you ended up hating the picnic?”

“Wha - no! As if!” Marinette looks over her shoulder quickly and he sees her eyes going wide, her hands clenching onto the blanket she was supposedly fixing, “Why would I even think that? Why would you think that? This place is perfect, the weather is perfect, the food is perfect, and - ”

“And the company is perfect?” Luka’s question was a gamble on his part, and he hopes that Marinette doesn’t notice the trembling of his voice.

“Yes!”

He also wasn’t sure that she’d even say something back, but he watches as her eyes slowly widen even more, the flush in her cheeks rapidly gaining territory of her entire face, and her mouth shaping into a large ‘O’ until -

‘Yup, there it is.’ He thinks to himself, unsure whether he’s referring to the lovely shade of red on her face or the fact that his childhood friend finally realizes what she’s said.

“I-I mean – it’s because – I wasn’t thinking properly when you – but that doesn’t mean that I think you’re – but you know what I – ” Marinette quickly turns her back on him, her shoulders tense and hunching, and just as Luka’s about to reach out and touch her shoulder for comfort, he’s startled when he hears her muffled scream.

“H-hey…Marinette, come on. It’s okay.” His hand finally makes contact with her shoulder and pats it gently. “I understand, so don’t be too hard on yourself, okay?”

He sits closer to her and gives her a side hug, rubbing her arm to try and console his easily flustered friend. It seems to work when her face finally surfaces from the safety of her hands, face still a little red, her brows scrunched up in worry and her eyes glossy from unshed tears.

“Hey, hey…” he coos at her, leaning even closer to her to the point that their shoulders are practically touching, “It’s alright. I get it. You know you don’t have to worry about embarrassing yourself in front of me. And besides, I am the perfect company after all.”

“Lukaaaaaaa!” she whines and hits him not too hard on the chest, inducing a hearty laugh from him.

“Alright, alright! Easy there, Marinette. How about we forget about this and go right ahead with eating. Sounds good?”

“Mhm.”

“Good. Why don’t you get some of your stuff that’s still in the car, and I’ll set the food?” He gives her the car keys, implying that she can lock the car afterwards. Just as Marinette takes the keys, turns around, and walks away, Luka quickly turns his back towards her to hide his face that’s now rapidly gaining a new shade of red.

‘Magnolia and cherry blossom;’ he thinks to himself, referring to the smell from his friend, ‘like a walk at Champ de Mars.’

Before getting caught, he goes right back to taking the food out from the basket and sets everything down onto the blanket with shaky hands.

After eating and admiring the view, they eventually find themselves leaning onto each other’s back. They make no other noise asides from Luka strumming his guitar and the occasional scratch of charcoal against paper on Marinette’s end. After the slightly awkward chattering from earlier, it worries Luka that there had been little talk between them since then. And even when Marinette would keep on assuring him that everything’s alright, it worries him that perhaps after being separated for 15 long years, not everything goes back to the way it used to be.

Perhaps he is expecting too much, thinking of what ifs and could have beens, and he’s left clueless on how to keep their strange relationship afloat if the day ends on a sour note. Perhaps he should’ve kept his mouth shut, and maybe Marinette wouldn’t feel too uncomfortable anymore and -

A muffled thud rouses him from his deep thoughts, curious to know what could’ve dropped onto the blanket. Just as he turns back to ask Marinette what it was (if she would even answer him at all), he sees something flash from her small and soft hands.

There, sitting perfectly from Marinette’s hand, is what looks like an open pocket watch with its outside the colour of champagne. But as he looks closer, he realizes it’s actually a compass with a sundial instead of a watch with gold-coloured rims. Marinette notices him looking at what she’s holding, and before she can say a word, he beats her to it by asking,

“You still have that? After all these years?”

“Of course. It’s one of the few things I can never let go.”

Instead of saying something back, Luka immediately starts patting his shirt and shorts, before finally putting his hand in one of his pockets to grab something and pull out the same necklace chain he had found in the small box hiding in his room, and holds it out to her.

“This is its chain for it, right? The compass, I mean.”

“Y-yeah. You told me I could have the compass while you keep the chain, so we’d know there’s always a chance for us to see each other again.”

The words ‘and we did’ are left unsaid, but they still knew what it meant for them. What it means for them. No longer able to stop himself, he cups both her cheeks and leans his forehead against hers, close enough to smell the flowers on her again. Close enough to brush his nose against hers. Close enough to just kiss her.

But he doesn’t and she doesn’t. And frankly, they’re alright with what they have right now.

They end their picnic in the late afternoon, with the sun still up and hinting a shade of orange in its yellows. They pack everything back inside Luka’s car in silence, but the kind where they are comfortable and content without the words. They spend the rest of the drive back to the city basking in a new kind of understanding, one that they’ve chosen to keep among themselves, hands bashfully brushing against each other every now and then, and eyes sneaking glances at one another.

They don’t talk again until Luka drops Marinette off, helps her put all her stuff back in her apartment, and stands outside of her door.

“Thank you again for the picnic, Luka.”

“And thank you for the company, Marinette.” Instead of getting flustered at the reminder of what happened earlier, she only offers him a small smile.

“You know you can stay a little longer if you want,” she offers, “surely you must be tired from driving.”

She wraps her hands across herself, her fingers playing with the fabric of her dress. Her hair is now tied into a loose side ponytail, her sandals replaced with soft home slippers in light pink.

Luka scratches his right cheek with a finger, his eyes telling her without words that he is more than ready to accept her invitation. His left hand is hiding within the confines of his pocket, fidgeting as much as possible with his phone.

But just as Luka opens his mouth to verbally accept her offer, they hear something buzz. Luka immediately takes his phone out, sees his mother’s name and excuses himself, walking a few steps away from Marinette. He notices her glancing away, giving him some privacy.

His head is filled with today’s events, even as he listens to his mother’s words through the phone. He can’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, they’re not just childhood friends anymore. That maybe, just maybe, these feelings between them can grow just as they have. But as soon as he comes to that conclusion, his heart drops at what his mother tells him.

He hangs up after bidding her goodbye, puts his phone back in his pocket, and walks back to Marinette. For every step he takes, he dreads of the disappointment he’ll see on her face as soon as he tells her,

“Sorry, but I can’t stay.”

The guilt eats at him as he watches her smile drop, her bright blue eyes looking from up at him to down at her shoes, her brows a little furrowed from -

‘Disappointment. She’s disappointed I can’t stay.’

“So, uh…” he clears his throat, “I really want to stay, but Ma called me to – ”

“It’s okay, I understand.” Marinette finally looks up, and Luka’s glad that there aren’t any tears. “Just tell her and Juleka I said hi.”

“Yeah, for sure.”

He remains standing in front of her, still not ready to leave her in fear that it’ll be the last he sees of her. They remain standing in front of each other in silence, the gaiety from today slowly slipping away until it leaves them with a cold hug. All of a sudden, it feels like winter during a summer night. It doesn’t make sense; not in the slightest, and Luka hates it.

“I guess I’ll just call you when I get home?” He asks her, his arms opening up to invite her for a hug.

“Yeah, of course.” She walks into his embrace, and he’s not even ashamed of letting out a sigh of relief when he feels her hands wrap around him. “Let me know when you’re back home.”

He hums in agreement, even when bites his tongue to not say ‘I am home. With you.’

They separate after a few more seconds, but only enough that they’re still wrapped around each other, Luka looking down at Marinette’s face. He looks into her eyes, and he sees the same blue sky that often smiled upon them when they used to be children, and he wishes to see the same sky now that they’re no longer that young. He looks at the small blush that finds itself spreading onto her cheeks like the picnic blankets they used, and he sees the sunset that used to smile down on them whenever they bid farewell and went back home; before the last goodbye turned into years instead of a night and day.

And suddenly, he has an idea.

He has an idea, and it’s a very bold one. He has an idea that has been whispering suggestively at him from the very corner of his mind, persisting to catch his attention and never going away. He has an idea that persists on calling out to him, screaming at him, telling him to just –

He leans down slowly, his eyes looking into hers before falling down onto her lips. He looks into those lips that he keeps thinking whether they taste just as sweet as the pastries she bakes.

Instead, he gently presses his own lips onto hers, and all he tastes are blueberries and lemon. He thinks he’s kissing pure bliss, but perhaps it’s happiness.

He feels her hand cup his cheek, slightly putting pressure onto the skin and pushing him closer to her, and suddenly happiness turns into elation. Marinette is responding and it’s utterly delightful. Luka doesn’t want to let her go anymore – because he’s finally telling her what’s been gnawing at him – but he pulls away, nonetheless.

He hears her whine in disappointment, and he mentally berates himself for making the habit of disappointing her.

“I have to go now.” He whispers to her, but with where he’s looking, neither knows if he’s telling Marinette, herself, or her pair of lips.

After gaining the confidence to look into her eyes again, Luka believes his knees are going weak.

“I really have to go now.” He tells her, and he leans onto her hand when her fingers start caressing his cheek.

“I know.”

He finally lets her go and steps away, unwilling to turn his back around; afraid that he’ll lose sight of her and never see her again for years. Or ever at all.

“I’ll call you later?”

Marinette can only smile at the boy she once knew 15 years ago, tucking stray hands of her hair behind her ear.

“I’ll wait for you.”

He smiles back at her before walking away,

only to quickly turn back around to kiss her like sunlight with the flowers on fresh, spring morning.