#postcard: 01

[makgeolii]

we expanded the house!

#postcard legacy #postcard: 01 #the sims 4 #sims #ts4 legacy #ts4 #sims 4 #simblr #sorry this is a filler #everyone finally has their own room #im moving like in 2 days #so packing my pc tomo night #*sierra #*sonya #*keoni #*iverson #*kaleek

[gemmageluz]

[Project progress] Postcard series: Poverty Island Lighthouse, Lake Michigan. The sky, lake and a bit of the island has been colored. I like how the shallows along the coastline turned out. I'm enjoying my new Kuretake-Zig marker set. Half of the markers I'm using is from my new 30-set. ... Tonight's supplies: @kuretakezig_usa markers: 24-set, 30-set B Blues + Greens, individual markers, blender - Clean Color Real Brush Furukawa Watercolor Postcard Nichiban artist tape @derwentartofficial line marker 1.0 Graphite @sakuraofamerica Micron pen #01 Swatches in my @moleskine watercolor album pocket size ... www.gemmageluzdesigns.com Patreon.com/GemmaGeluzDesigns #GemmaGeluzDesigns #latenight #painting #markers #povertyisland #lighthouse #island #forest #lakemichigan #lake #projectprogress #kuretake #cleancolor #postcard #furukawa #derwent #sakura #moleskine #imadethis https://www.instagram.com/p/ClVp0RqO5Zb/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

#01 #gemmageluzdesigns #latenight #painting #markers #povertyisland #lighthouse #island #forest #lakemichigan #lake #projectprogress #kuretake #cleancolor #postcard #furukawa #derwent #sakura #moleskine #imadethis

[gentlebeardsbarngrill]

01/17/2024 Crew Recap

Well, today was once again a day of new and exciting things happening, and some fun progress on all fronts. Anything I missed -- as always please add. Links to all the threads are in the pictures so please visit them, I want to make sure people who actually posted them are credited :) I realize this is a lot, so if you don't wanna read it all, please at least hop to the bottom for a special message.

===Today's Impact===

Petition Status: We broke 58,000 Signatures! Great job everyone!

Our Flag Means Death Status on Television Stats -- Numbers went up a bit!

#SaveOFMD Trending #4 in Hungary, way to go friends!

Source

Wondering if your calls are working? THEY ARE! Apparently they are cataloging and categorizing calls.

Warner Bros Discovery Inc is still trending downward!

Our Flag For Palestine - Care for Gaza Fundraiser is up to $7535!

The team on this is pretty great about transparency, feel free to check out the twitter thread here

===Cast / Crew Sightings===

Chaos Dad, David Jenkins posted about the 35th Annual Glaad Media Awards Nominating Our Flag Means Death for Outstanding Comedy Series!

Con O'Neill started posting stories on IG with #SaveOFMD and also he showed up in a Screen Rant Plus interview! Our Flag Means Death Interview: Con O’Neill On Izzy & Blackbeard In Season 2

And our Pirate Queen Ruibo Qian was reposting save ofmd art on IG!

=Latest Twitter / Other Platform Insanity=

So apparently someone updated the Our Flag Means Death Wikipedia page to say one of the Production Companies was Astroglide, you cheeky little fuckers.

Source

Squishables joined the fun with Astroglide.

Astroglide Announced a Live Reaction Video to OFMD they'll be doing on Friday. Thanks to IG: _Irene_Adler for bringing this to my attention! Somehow I missed it looking at this post this morning.

===Articles===

1. Could HBO’s Beloved ‘Our Flag Means Death’ Jump To Another Ship After Cancellation?

2. Our Flag Means Death's "numbers weren't there" for renewal says MAX's boss - but it is welcome to sail to another platform

3. OUR FLAG MEANS DEATH CANCELED AT MAX, BUT IT COULD FIND LIFE ON OTHER PLATFORMS

===Ways to Help===

So I found of a new way to keep engagement up that I hadn't heard of before-- I apologize if you all already know about it and I'm repeating it! Daily Clicks to help with Engagement: Clickable Links below:

Our Flag Means Death Wikipedia Page Google Search for Our Flag Means Death Google UK Search for Our Flag Means Death Our Flag Means Death IMDB

Fundraiser for LimbPower

Looks like another fundraiser going on by our fellow OFMD Crew, right now is by For Our New Unicorn, that benefits LimbPower. This has been going on since December but has had some ramp up since the cancellation announcement. If you're looking for somewhere to donate, seems to be a good cause!

Calls / Emails / Faxes

I don't believe anything has changed in terms of calls and emails but here's the latest info in case you're just joining us, there's a lovely post over at @renewasacrew's post.

Postcards / Outside the US Fans

@renewasacrew has the following awesome post about how to send mail from outside the US: Are you outside the US and looking to send Warner Bros. Discovery CEO David Zaslav a letter? 🏴‍☠️

Petition

As usual, sharing the petition with posts is super helpful, and @merryfinches has a cool guide on how to get additional email addresses if you want to help send more signatures here

Hashtag Updates from yesterday

#RenewAsACrew #SaveOFMD #TheNumbersWereThere.

================================================

❤️❤️Lastly because even if you are tired of hearing it, I'm going to keep saying it, so suck it up buttercup here comes some love ❤️❤️

================================================

Every single one of you is enough.

If you bust your ass for this campaign, YOU ARE ENOUGH.

If you signed the petition and that was it, YOU ARE ENOUGH

If you lurk and keep an eye on things, YOU ARE ENOUGH.

If you do nothing at all, and just take care of yourself, YOU ARE ENOUGH.

There is NOTHING in this world that you could do to make you not enough.

Remember that.

You are amazing-

and beautiful-

and everything you do every single day is wonderful-

and YOU are worthy of love.

You are doing a great job just being you. Keep doing that.

We are so lucky to have each and every one of you here on this planet with us.

Remember to drink some water, and take care of yourself if you can. Even if it's just a few minutes a day. You got this, and you're loved. 🥰

Love you crew. Have a good night/day, wherever you are on this little blue dot. <3

#ofmd #our flag means death #renew as a crew #save ofmd #thenumberswerethere #saveofmd #save our flag means death #our flag means us #ofmd daily recap

[despairenteredmysoul]

BTD ZINE preorder

⚰️Good evening, guys⚰️ Today, we are happy to announce the start of preorder for the BTD ZINE!

Preorders will be available till 01 april

You can get the Zine or any other merch separately. Or you could get the whole set (If you would like to purchase merch together with the Zine PLEASE SPECIFY)

Set "The human bites a dog"

the Zine (1 piece per set)

Sticker packs (2 pieces of your choice)

Badges (2 pieces of your choice

Postcard (1 piece of your choice)

PRICE:17

Set "Cannibal terror"

Zine

Sticker packs (2 pieces of your choice)

Postcards (2 pieces of your choice)

Badges (3 pieces of your choice)

Bookmark (1 piece of your choice)

Keyring (1 piece of your choice)

Swap-card

Poster PRICE: 25

Set "bloodthirsty butcher" (This set includes everything from the zine merch)

Zine

Sticker packs (5 pieces)

Postcards (4 pieces)

Badges (4 pieces)

Keyrings (3 pieces)

Bookmarks (2 pieces)

Swap-card

Poster

Acrilic stands (2 pieces) PRICE: 80

You can ask to see the merch a bit more detailed in the DMs. Shipping to USA is gonna cost_(the shipping price can vary depending on the country) Please order only in our DMs.

To order please tell us your me messages;

Full, legal name.

Shipping adres (country, city, street, house, apartament number)

Postal number

The set/merch

Phone number

Email delivery 15$

#zine #fandom zine #btd #boyfriend to death

[hellolovers13]

Lonely Cards Club

by hellolovers13

Louis Tomlinson/Harry Styles | Chapter 25/25

tags: Christmas fluff, strangers?/exes?/friends? to lovers, idk but it's one of those

Harry's life in Cardiff is rather uneventful. Until he receives a strange Christmas postcard. It gets even stranger when he finds another one the next day. 💌 An Advent story about missed opportunities and second chances.

💌01💌 💌02💌 💌03💌 💌04💌 💌05💌 💌06💌

💌07💌 💌08💌 💌09💌 💌10💌 💌11💌💌12💌

💌13💌 💌14💌 💌15💌 💌16💌 💌17💌 💌18💌

💌19💌 💌20💌 💌21💌 💌22💌 💌23💌 💌24💌

💌25💌

#my-fics #larry stylinson #hlcreators #hltracks #hljournal #thelarriefics #trackinghome #trackinghappily #larry fics #hlficlibrary #tracksintheam #ficsfor4am #1dficvillage #yourlarrysource #allwaswell16 #1dsource #alwaysxlarrie #ao3 feed larry #hlsource #advent fic 2023 #posting this so i will actually follow through with posting

[kaijumilf]

FOB8 SLEUTHING

i need everyone to know i’m losing my mind about the fob8 ARG thing they’ve got going on right now. and i need you all to know that the date January 1st is so extremely important.

so there is a field of dreams quote popping up,  a baseball movie. the only song i can think of with an explicit baseball reference is Headfirst Slide Into Cooperstown.

so, if you happen to go to the youtube playlists on their channel to find the playlist for Folie, you’ll notice that one: all playlists have been updated within a week ago. but more importantly you’ll notice that two: all of the songs on the Folie playlist have had their description edited to say released on 01-01-2008

and no. there is no way this is correct. the album was recorded in the summer and as we all know, released on December 10th.

THEN, if you went on the website to sign up for the postcard thing, youll have noticed the Our Lawyer Made Us Change The Name Of This Song So We Wouldnt Get Sued reference with the lyrics “Do not open before Christmas”.

So imagine my shock at the moment i went to check the description on the From Under The Cork Tree playlist and, sure enough, its been changed in the description of all those songs as well to January 1st. Again. this is very incorrect.

I dont know what this means, i doubt anything will be released on that day. However, Something is going to happen i fucking bet on it. Theres probably more clues and references im missing and maybe someone already beat me to this but. i thought this was important to share just in case.

#newt speaks #im going nuts but i dont think im nuts enough to imagine this. #fall out boy #fob #fob8 #folie a deux #from under the cork tree #please is anyone listening to me im screaming into a void #fall out boy 8 #ALSO I PREDICTED THIS WAS GOING TO BE AN ARG FROM THE MOMENT THE TRIBUNE AD DROPPED #ask my friend jay i never posted about that but i DID sksks

[telekinetictrait]

It wasn’t too big of a surprise when Miss Myra Beckett left her Papa’s tobacco farm following her twenty-fourth birthday. Mister Myron Beckett always said his daughter was an independent spirit, and her Mama — may God rest her soul — always said she was too much trouble to ever marry. Nowadays, Myra lives in New York with her closest companion, an up-and-coming artist called Rosetta Nelson. Postcards sent to the remaining Beckett children say that Myra acts now, and has found more solid employment in a library. They say that Rosetta is the best painter since those Italian men of the Renaissance, and that her unkind husband walked out on her, and that she and Myra have recently gotten a puppy together. Ain’t that something? Well, Mister Beckett says over tea, at least she’s not living with a man unmarried…

"maybe i'll use them for something else one day,"

i said, immediately falling in love with them. well. you know the drill, cc links and creator tags under the cut!

check my resources page and genetics tag for genetics

hair/eyebrows : simadelic’s georgie curls – serawis’ 1920’s brows // saturngalore’s harlem pinup locs – ceeproductions’ snatched baby hairs

everyday : zurkdesign's cloche hat conversion – pixelunivairse's wendy earrings 04 – christopher067's prism cloud necklace – adrienpastels solitaire dress (a billion thanks to @simfuldelights to reuploading it for me <3!) – blueraptorsden’s vintage stockings – waxesnostalgic’s cuban heel mary janes // sunflower-petals’ kasi earrings – happylifesims’ 1920s day dress 01 – simlasya’s pearl flower ring – blueraptorsden’s vintage stockings – waxesnostalgic’s cuban heel mary janes

formal : laeska’s zita earrings – happylifesims’ roxie court dress – blueraptorsden’s vintage stockings – simsfromthepast’s 1920’s shoes // thelpethondiel’s pearl choker – happylifesims’ queenie dress – dancemachinetrait’s pemberley gloves – simsfromthepast’s 1920’s shoes

athletic : waxesnostalgic's short sleeved armistice blouse – waxesnostalgic's trousers – lehgames bow oxfords // waxesnostalgic's short sleeved plain blouse – waxesnostalgic's trousers

sleep : happylifesims' accessory duster coat – caio-cc’s ballet flats // largetaytertots’ bonnet add-ons – happylifesims’ 1920s nightgown with robe – simlasya’s pearl flower ring – caio-cc’s ballet flats

party : delis-sims’ marlene headband – glitterberrysims’ jade dragonfly earrings – ladybolet’s old hollywood eyeshadow – evazetta's gwen lipstick – flowermilksims’ clover and pearl necklace – retropixels' starlet dress – kumikya’s sheer gloves – akrsims' bow pumps b // simstrouble’s notte headpiece – someone-elsa’s tassel earrings – ladybolet’s old hollywood eyeshadow – evazetta’s ingrid lipstick – ms-marysims’ isabel necklace – happylifesims’ 1920s evening dress 08 – kumikya’s sheer gloves – gohliad's mary janes

swim : plumbobteasociety’s vintage knit turban – hypergnomesimblr’s soft serve tennis dress // plumbobteasociety’s vintage knit turban – waxesnostalgic’s androgynous swimsuits – simlasya’s pearl flower ring

summer : happylifesims’ boater – pixelunivairse's wendy earrings 04 – christopher067's prism cloud necklace – happylifesims’ 1920s day dress 09 – blueraptorsden’s vintage stockings // pixelunivairse's wendy earrings 0 – christopher067's prism cloud necklace – retropixels stenographer dress – simlasya’s pearl flower ring

winter : moon-simmer's asuncion cloche recolor – pixelunivairse's wendy earrings 04 – standardheld's scarf 03 – moon-simmer's mercedes coat recolor – dancemachinetrait’s pemberley gloves – plumbjam’s wool leggings // happylifesims' miss fisher cloche – pixelunivairse's wendy earrings 04 – zurkdesign's fur coat – dancemachinetrait’s pemberley gloves – plumbjam’s wool leggings

sugar : sforzcc's fetching stuff – nolan-sims couronne de fleurs for pets

thank you to @simadelics @serawis @saturngalore @ceeproductions @zurkdesign @pixelunivairse @christopher067 @blueraptorsden @waxesnostalgic @sunflower-petals @happylifesimsreblogs @simlasya @laeska @simsfromthepast @dancemachinetrait @lehgames @caio-cc @largetaytertots @delis-sims @flowermilksims @kumikya @simstrouble @someone-elsa @ms-marysims @plumbobteasociety @hypergnomesimblr @moon-simmers @nolan-sims and anyone not on tumblr/not-taggable!!

#my sims #1920s #sims 4 1920s #ts4 1920s #sims 4 1920s lookbook #ts4 1920s lookbook

[netherworldpost]

Experimenting with acrylics. Raven and skull session 01, Gelatinous Cube base to dry, details to be worked on in session 01.

Making notes on what to do, what to change in next painting.

Fundamentally we are going to be a greeting and postcard company with a few bits and bobs extra.

My goal is not become huge or powerful or anything to that extent. My goal is to be DELIGHTFUL to folks who stop by for a card and to similarly live a big, bright, beautiful life.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Google makes millions on paid abortion disinformation

Google’s search quality has been in steady decline for years, and Google assures us that they’re working on it, though the most visible effort is replacing links to webpages with lengthy, florid paragraphs written by a confident habitual liar chatbot:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/16/tweedledumber/#easily-spooked

The internet is increasingly full of garbage, much of it written by other confident habitual liar chatbots, which are now extruding plausible sentences at enormous scale. Future confident habitual liar chatbots will be trained on the output of these confident liar chatbots, producing Jathan Sadowski’s “Habsburg AI”:

https://twitter.com/jathansadowski/status/1625245803211272194

But the declining quality of Google Search isn’t merely a function of chatbot overload. For many years, Google’s local business listings have been terrible. Anyone who’s tried to find a handyman, a locksmith, an emergency tow, or other small businessperson has discovered that Google is worse than useless for this. Try to search for that locksmith on the corner that you pass every day? You won’t find them — but you will find a fake locksmith service that will dispatch an unqualified, fumble-fingered guy with a drill and a knockoff lock, who will drill out your lock, replace it with one made of bubblegum and spit, and charge you 400% the going rate (and then maybe come back to rob you):

https://www.nytimes.com/2016/01/31/business/fake-online-locksmiths-may-be-out-to-pick-your-pocket-too.html

Google is clearly losing the fraud/spam wars, which is pretty awful, given that they have spent billions to put every other search engine out of business. They spend $45b every year to secure exclusivity deals that prevent people from discovering or using rivals — that’s like buying a whole Twitter every year, just so they don’t have to compete:

https://www.thebignewsletter.com/p/how-a-google-antitrust-case-could/

But there’s an even worse form of fraudulent listing on Google, one they could do something about, but choose not to: ad-fraud. For all the money and energy thrown into “dark SEO” to trick Google into putting your shitty, scammy website at the top of the listings, there’s a much simpler method. All you need to do is pay Google — buy an ad, and your obviously fraudulent site will be right there, at the top of the search results.

There are so many top searches that go to fraud or malware sites. Tech support is a favorite. It’s not uncommon to search for tech support for Google products and be served a fake tech-support website where a scammer will try to trick you into installing a remote-access trojan and then steal everything you have, and/or take blackmail photos of you with your webcam:

https://www.bleepingcomputer.com/news/security/google-search-ads-infiltrated-again-by-tech-support-scams/

This is true even when Google has a trivial means of reliably detecting fraud. Take the restaurant monster-in-the-middle scam: a scammer clones the menu of a restaurant, marking up their prices by 15%, and then buys the top ad slot for searches for that restaurant. Search for the restaurant, click the top link, and land on a lookalike site. The scammer collects your order, bills your card, then places the same order, in your name, with the restaurant.

The thing is, Google runs these ads even for restaurants that are verified merchants — Google mails the restaurant a postcard with a unique number on it, and the restaurant owner keys that number in to verify that they are who they say they are. It would not be hard for Google to check whether an ad for a business matches one of its verified merchants, and, if so, whether the email address is a different one from the verified one on file. If so, Google could just email the verified address with a “Please confirm that you’re trying to buy an ad for a website other than the one we have on file” message:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/24/passive-income/#swiss-cheese-security

Google doesn’t do this. Instead, they accept — and make a fortune from — paid disinformation, across every category.

But not all categories of paid disinformation are equally bad: it’s one thing to pay a 15% surcharge on a takeout meal, but there’s a whole universe of paid medical disinformation that Google knows about and has an official policy of tolerating.

This paid medical disinformation comes from “crisis pregnancy centers”: these are fake abortion clinics that raise huge sums from religious fanatics to buy ads that show up for people seeking information about procuring an abortion. If they are duped by one of these ads, they are directed to a Big Con-style storefront staffed by people who pretend that they perform abortions, but who bombard their marks with falsehoods about health complications.

These con artists try to trick their marks into consenting to sexual assault — a transvaginal ultrasound. This is a prelude to another fraud, in which the “sporadic electrical impulses” generated by an early fetal structure is a “heartbeat” (early fetuses do not have hearts, so they cannot produce heartbeats):

https://www.nbcnews.com/health/womens-health/heartbeat-bills-called-fetal-heartbeat-six-weeks-pregnancy-rcna24435

If the victim still insists on getting an abortion, the fraudsters will use deceptive tactics to draw out the process until they run out the clock for a legal abortion, procuring a forced birth through deceit.

It is hard to imagine a less ethical course of conduct. Google’s policy of accepting “crisis pregnancy center” ads is the moral equivalent of taking money from fake oncologists who counsel people with cancer to forego chemotherapy in favor of juice-cleanses.

There is no ambiguity here: the purpose of a “crisis prengancy center” is to deceive people seeking abortions into thinking they are dealing with an abortion clinic, and then further deceive them into foregoing the abortion, by means of lies, sexually invasive and unnecessary medical procedures, and delaying tactics.

Now, a new report from the Center for Countering Digital Hate finds that Google made $10m last year on ads from “crisis pregnancy centers”:

https://www.wired.com/story/google-made-millions-from-ads-for-fake-abortion-clinics/

Many of these “crisis pregnancy centers” are also registered 501(c)3 charities, which makes them eligible for Google’s ad grants, which provide free ads to nonprofits. Marketers who cater to “crisis pregnancy center” advertise that they can help their clients qualify for these grants. In 2019, Google was caught giving tens of thousands of dollars’ worth of free ads to “crisis pregnancy centers”:

https://www.theguardian.com/technology/2019/may/12/google-advertising-abortion-obria

The keywords that “crisis pregnancy centers” bid up include “Planned Parenthood” — meaning that if actual Planned Parenthood clinics want to appear at the top of the search for “planned parenthood,” they have to outbid the fraudsters seeking to deceive Planned Parenthood patients.

Google has an official policy of requiring customers that pay for ads matching abortion-related search terms to label their ads to state whether or not they provide abortions, but the report documents failures to enforce this policy. The labels themselves are confusing: for example, abortion travel funds have to be labeled as “not providing abortions.”

Google isn’t afraid to ban whole categories of advertising: for example, Google has banned Plan C, a nonprofit that provides information about medication abortions. The company erroneously classes Plan C as an “unauthorized pharmacy.” But Google continues to offer paid disinformation on behalf of forced birth groups that claim there is such a thing as “abortion reversal” (there isn’t — but the “abortion reversal” drug cocktail is potentially lethal).

This is inexcusable, but it’s not unique — and it’s not even that profitable. $10m is a drop in the bucket for a company like Google. When you’re lighting $45b/year on fire just to prevent competition, $10m is chump change. A better way to understand Google’s relationship to paid disinformation can be found by studying Facebook’s own paid disinformation problem.

Facebook has a well-documented problem with paid political disinformation — unambiguous, illegal materials, like paid notices advising people to remember to vote on November 6th (when election day falls on November 5th). The company eventually promised to put political ads in a repository where they could be inspected by all parties to track its progress in blocking paid disinformation.

Facebook did a terrible job at this, with huge slices of its political ads never landing in its transparency portal. We know this because independent researchers at NYU’s engineering school built an independent, crowdsourced tracker called Ad Observer, which scraped all the ads volunteers saw and uploaded them to a portal called Ad Observatory.

Facebook viciously attacked the NYU project, falsely smearing it as a privacy risk (the plugin was open source and was independently audited by Mozilla researchers, who confirmed that it didn’t collect any personal information). When that didn’t work, they sent a stream of legal threats, claiming that NYU was trafficking in a “circumvention device” as defined by Section 1201 of the Digital Millennium Copyright Act, a felony carrying a five-year prison sentence and a $500k fine — for a first offense.

Eventually, NYU folded the project. Facebook, meanwhile, has fired or reassigned most of the staff who work on political ad transparency:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/08/06/get-you-coming-and-going/#potemkin-research-program

What are we to make of this? Facebook claims that it doesn’t need or want political ad revenue, which are a drop in the bucket and cause all kinds of headaches. That’s likely true — but Facebook’s aversion to blocking political ads doesn’t extend to spending a lot of money to keep paid political disinfo off the platform.

The company could turn up the sensitivity on its blocking algorithm, which would generate more false positives, in which nonpolitical ads are misidentified and have to be reviewed by humans. This is expensive, and it’s an expense Facebook can avoid if it can suppress information about its failures to block paid political disinformation. It’s cheaper to silence critics than it is to address their criticism.

I don’t think Google gives a shit about the $10m it gets from predatory fake abortion clinics. But I think the company believes that the PR trouble it would get into for blocking them — and the expense it would incur in trying to catch and block fake abortion clinic ads — are real liabilities. In other words, it’s not about the $10m it would lose by blocking the ads — Google wants to avoid the political heat it would take from forced birth fanatics and cost of the human reviewers who would have to double-check rejected ads.

In other words, Google doesn’t abet fraudulent abortion clinics because they share the depraved sadism of the people who run these clinics. Rather, Google teams up with these sadists out of cowardice and greed.

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

https://pluralistic.net/2023/06/15/paid-medical-disinformation/#crisis-pregnancy-centers

[Image ID: A ruined streetscene. Atop a pile of rubble sits a dilapidated shack. In front of the shack is a letterboard with the word ABORTIONS set off-center and crooked. In the foreground is a carny barker at a podium, gesturing at the sign and the shack. The barker's head and face have been replaced with the Google logo. Within the barker's podium is a heap of US$100 bills.]

Image: Flying Logos (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Over_$1,000,000_dollars_in_USD_$100_bill_stacks.png

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

#pluralistic #abortion clinics #forced birth #disinformation #medical disinformation #paid disinformation #google #google ads #ad-tech #seo #kiin thai #locksmiths #abortion #dobbs crisis pregnancy centers #roe v wade

[motherserieszine]

Preorders are open now! From the 1st of June to the 1st of July, you can snag yourself one of our bundles. If you’re one of the first 50 to order our early bird bundle, you’ll get a holographic magnet!

For more details regarding our bundles, see below!

☆FULL BUNDLE☆

This full bundle ($50) includes:

1x Physical/digital zine book

1x Sticker sheet

5x Buttons

7x Stickers

3x Double sided postcards

1x Keychain

*Eligible for stretch goals

☆HALF BUNDLE☆

This half bundle ($40) includes:

1x Physical/digital zine book

1x Sticker sheet

5x Buttons

*Eligible for stretch goals

☆ZINE BOOK☆

This zine book bundle ($25) includes:

1x Physical/digital zine book

*Eligible for stretch goals

☆PDF ONLY☆

This pdf bundle ($15) includes:

1x Digital zine book

*NOT eligible for stretch goals

☆STRETCH GOALS☆

As we receive more orders, our super secret stretch goals will unlock! These will apply to all physical orders.

#earthbound zine #mother zine #mother series #earthbound #mother 2 #mother #mother 3

[makgeolii]

sunday mornings

#postcard legacy #postcard: 01 #the sims 4 #sims #ts4 legacy #ts4 #sims 4 #simblr #*sierra #*sonya #*keoni #*iverson #*kaleek

[hanraja]

MINI SET 53

Enjoy!

BGC

Furniture/ Decor

CORKBOARD 01

CORKBOARD 1X1 NO FRAME

MODULAR DESK SET

POSTCARD 01-11

ROUND DINING TABLE 05

Custom thumbnail

GIF previews were taken in-game on laptop mode

Made in 2022

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 @maxismatchccworld @sssvitlanz @mmfinds @faaeish @ts4ccfinds @ts4wcifind

#ts4 #ts4cc #the sims #the sims 4 #sims 4 #sims #ts4cc maxis match #ts4 maxis match #ts4ccmm

[somejazzinthemorning]

tightrope. 02

Pairing: Carlos Sainz x Original Female Character Warnings: Language Word Count: 10.329 Previous chapter: 01.

“It’s nice to have you at home, mija.”

My mom picked us up at the airport and now, driving home, sunglasses over her eyes and a classy beige jumpsuit accentuating her figure, I could tell she was happy and at peace. Rio had fallen asleep in the back seat, his snoring almost as loud as the radio, and I distracted myself with my phone, posting photos from the previous day's celebrations on my Instagram. Her voice brought me back to the present.

"It's nice to be home," I smiled at her. The sunset was casting a beautiful golden shadow on her face, illuminating the wrinkles around her green eyes and lips painted in a delicate shade of pink. "And I'm so excited about your birthday party!”

She looked at me for the fraction of a second, her eyes widening. “Really?”

“Is that so surprising? It's not every day my mom turns 60 looking this pretty. Of course, I'm excited!”

She laughed, a sweet reaction to my flattery. I wasn’t lying. She was pretty.

Blonde hair cut in a bob, light make-up (but always wearing make-up), delicate voice, always so soothing. Ageing had always been something that scared me, something I was not prepared to face. But looking at her, and seeing how naturally she embraced the passing of time, planning a grand celebration to welcome a new decade, I began to look at the concept of ageing with a newfound perspective. She wore her age like a badge of honour.

"About that," she extended her right hand to my tight, patting it repeatedly to make sure my attention remained on her. "I'm counting on you to help me until you have to go back to Italy."

"Sure, I..." I lay my phone down on my lap, my mind wandering over my mental calendar, recalling all the tasks I had to take care of. "I have some work things to handle, but sure," I said with a nod.

“Great,” she said, focused on the road. "The first item on the agenda is tomorrow's brunch.”

“I thought we had the catering settled?” I asked, feeling a bit confused.

“We do, honey. We’re going shopping with Reyes and the girls afterwards, I need to pick a dress and it’s an amazing excuse to meet up again. Plus, it’s at that cute little bakery you adore.”

“Oh, I—,” I couldn’t say no. “Let’s do it, then.”

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Madrid was looking beautiful that morning, a living postcard. The sun was shining brightly, casting its rays on the buildings and busy streets below, almost as if to welcome me back. Work and racing made me spend far too much time away.

As soon as we stepped out of the Uber, the smell of pastries and fresh coffee invaded my senses. In a pink, flowy dress, my mom rushed across the street and I followed suit. Under the big sign on the door, where one could read "El Retiro" in big, bold letters, Reyes waited with her arms open; Ana and Blanca were by her side, distracted in a conversation.

“I hope we didn’t make you wait for too long,” my mom said, already wrapped in her arms, in the interval of kissing both of Reyes’ cheeks.

"Not at all," the woman, about the same age as my mom, said as she turned to me. It had been a couple of months since I last saw her. "It's so nice to see you, my love.”

I stepped in for a hug, comforting and homey, just like all the things and people in Madrid. Reyes stroked my back with her hand, up, down, and up again, just like Carlos used to do. They were too much alike, and yet, not at all, at the same time. I blinked, forcing the idea of him to vanish from my mind. It was not the time or place to think about him.Blanca was next in line, but Ana, the younger sister, was already beaming at me when I stepped away from Reyes. Her arms were outstretched, ready to embrace me in a hug. It had been since the previous Christmas that I had seen her, when we had met up with a group of mutual friends for a night out in the city.

“Oh, I've missed you so much,” she said in a whisper, before planting a kiss on my cheek and pulling me into a hug.

“I've missed you too,” I replied in a whisper, before turning to greet Blanca. “We need to plan something.”

As I remembered from the last time, the place was small and cosy. The decoration, a mix of vintage and modern with a lot of wood and plants, gave the place a natural and warm feeling. We headed outside, to the terrace, accompanied by a young girl with long curly hair who would be our waitress. She sat us at one of the tables under a pergola covered in vines, which the small breeze made rustle.

“How’s work?” Reyes asked. “You’re still working with that communication agency, right?”

“Oh, yes. Trying to balance both things,” I said as I sat next to Ana. My mom was in front of me and Reyes at the other side. Blanca sat at the end of the table, between her mother and sister.

“How’s that working out for you?” Blanca asked.

“Tough, as you may imagine,” I replied. “I’m still learning in both fields, so most of the time I just feel a little lost.”

I laughed off the discomfort the reality brought me. There is nothing like doing what I love the most; there's no feeling like what I feel when I strip my work clothes and get dressed in my race suit, transforming into someone else. But that doesn't mean it isn't overwhelming.

Ana turned her body to me before speaking. “I saw the season is going amazing.”

“It is,” I nodded. The image of Carlos in my garage suddenly appeared in my mind. “Two races left, but I can win the championship if I get a podium in the next race and Pulcini doesn't win.” They had great smiles on their face, hearing what I had to say. “Maybe I’ll have a pretty trophy to show you when I get back from Imola.”

“Wouldn't that be amazing?” My mother's tender voice brought a big smile to my face. “I'm so proud of you, Evita.”

“Thanks, Mama.” I placed my hand on hers and caressed it while blowing her a kiss.

The conversation flowed easily as if no time had passed since our last gathering. The warmth of their presence and the nostalgia that weighed on every word we shared was palpable.

Without realizing it, I had isolated myself from these women who had supported me throughout my adolescence and helped shape me into the woman I am today. I had acted out of fear of being misunderstood, or of being forced, even unintentionally, to quickly heal the bitterness I felt towards Carlos. But looking at them, at the smiles they exchanged and the ease with which they could make each other laugh, I realized that, in some way or another, these women were my family.

My attention was brought back to the conversation when I heard his name. My mother's plate had been pushed aside, and in its place was a small notebook.

“So Carlos is coming?” Her pen hovered above his name, highlighted in pink. Pink for family. Orange for friends. Green for colleagues. Carlos' name was in pink. “That makes me so happy, I miss having that sweet boy around.”

I didn't even have time to think about the implications of Carlos in a nice suit walking around my backyard before Blanca's eyes drifted to me.

"Since Luisa brought up his name..." she started, her voice so low and slow that I could tell nothing good could be in its way. "He mentioned you were together. This weekend."

My mother fixed me with her gaze; her bright green eyes and pink eyeshadow begging for details. Reyes? Well, something told me she also knew about our encounter, but she pretended not to know it. She knew my mother hated to be the last to know about things. Ana looked at her sister, frowning, ready to discuss how, or rather why, that matter had gotten to the table.

“"When were you planning to tell us about that?" asked my mother.

"I wasn't, actually," I said, taking a sip of my mimosa. I called the waitress and asked for another one; I knew one wouldn't be enough if we kept this subject on the table. "It was meaningless. Not worth it to talk about."

"But what happened?" My mom asked, her gaze burning into me.

"He showed up at the track, at the garage," I said, pausing. My mom and Reyes both tilted their heads slightly, their curious expressions trying to get more details out of me. "We talked, and he left. That was it."

"That was it?" Ana asked, her eyes still focused on Blanca, almost as if she was making sure Blanca had heard the same. Blanca's face was a mix of curiosity and annoyance, her brow furrowed as she asked, "What did he say?"

Reyes stepped in and said, "Venga, don't meddle in their business." She glanced at me with a reassuring smile.

The girls didn't take their mother's request, as their eyes just glanced at me, full of curiosity and hunger to know more. All the alcohol in the world wasn't going to be enough to calm the storm inside me if I had to go through this conversation. Love and disappointment. What a killer duo. I forced a smile at the waitress, who had just laid a new cup in front of me.

“Nothing worth showing up the night before a race,” I had a sip of the mimosa. A big one. “Messed with my head and he didn't bother to show up to see me win it.”

Messed with my head. I think Ana read between the lines, because her eyebrows gently lifted up, and a hint of a smile appeared on her lips. I feared she would talk, make a joke, or ask another question, but Reyes interjected.

“Oh, dear… Didn't he tell you?” Reyes shifted in her seat like she was trying to get a little closer to me. “He came back to Madrid in the morning. But I assure you,” she paused. “He watched the race, he was seeing it on his phone, on the way home from the airport.”

Reyes' confirmation made more doubts settle down at my core and so, so many questions. Questions I didn't want an answer to, because, frankly, everything would be easier if he continued to be a villain in my story. Another sip of the drink. If it wasn't the morning I would absolutely order something stronger.

“He saw it?” Reyes nodded, his sisters seemed as surprised as me. “Jesus…”, I exhaled, leaning against the back of the chair. “And I called him and lashed out at him.”

Blanca cleared her throat and without moving my head, I just looked at her like a child afraid of being called out.

“You need to talk,” she said. My gaze shifted to my hands, to the candles on the table, the plate in front of me, of which I barely had eaten from. “Eva, you know that he has always cared about you, right?” Vague words my mother always repeated, in desperate attempts to make us solve our issues. “I know you two are stubborn, but he already did his part. Don't let this get worse because of some miscommunication.”

“Miscommunication is not the right term, to be honest,” I said. “Try lack of communication.”

"Eva," Reyes made me look at her again. I remembered to breathe. They wanted the best for me and for him. They wanted normality back. "Either way, you will end up regretting not talking to him. I assure you." She paused. "You will hate that way more than putting your pride aside and listening to him."

And despite it making me mad, she was right. I had collected enough what ifs for a lifetime already.

My mother had that look that all mothers seem to share; her eyes were filled with so much thought and emotion, and her lips were sealed, for she knew that I would comprehend her words without her having to speak them. Reyes' eyes almost corresponded to the same emotion. I just looked down, defeated in some way.

"I'll try to talk to him," I paused. "I'll make an effort. I promise."

"Good," my mom said, satisfied. Blanca and Ana had victorious smiles on their faces and I tried to pretend not to have seen them. For a short moment, I felt like that had been an ambush. "Now, let's move on to another topic before we get too old talking about this. And, on the topic," she giggled, "we need to pick the cake!"

We ate, we drank and he didn't talk more about him. At the back of my mind, I formed an image of Carlos watching my race.

To be honest, that conversation got me through the day with a feeling I hadn't felt in a while.

Perhaps it was the effect of the mimosas, the nostalgia in action or the image of Carlos in the backseat focused on my race. Either way, I felt lighter.

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"Fish?" My niece's voice brought me back to the table. Her tiny hand was extended to me, her fingers holding a piece of the grilled fish.

"I'm sure Aunt Eva doesn't want your icky fish, amore," Rio said with a tender smile, cleaning his kid's hand.

"Dad's right, Liv," I said, wrinkling my nose and helping Rio keep the toddler's hands out of her plate. "I have my own fish, look."

Rio smiled at the scene, busy cleaning his hands with a napkin. "See? I told you," he told the little girl, as he deposited a delicate kiss on top of her ginger strands of hair. "Let's just eat and don't make a mess, okay?"

After rubbing her eyes and tilting her head to the side, a long yawn escaped her lips. Sleep was already softening her body and her twin, Grace, was almost asleep in her highchair.

As usual, during the summer, we had dinner outside that evening. Rio and his family had visited during the afternoon, mainly to take advantage of the pool, but my mom had insisted that they stay for dinner. So, that night, instead of the usual three, there were seven of us.

I noticed I had stopped eating to observe the twins and try to understand their sleepy mumbling. They looked a lot like Marjorie, my brother's wife. Ginger hair, tiny freckles, sweet disposition, and a lot of good humour. From Rio, they got the deep green eyes and the never-ending energy.

My mother used to say they were a half-Scottish copy of Rio, but my dad would disagree. Even though I didn't want kids of my own, or at least not in the near future, I envied the love Rio had found and what he had created. He used to say "love at first sight" all the time, especially in the early weeks of their relationship, and then they would look at each other with the most endearing smiles.

I remember meeting Marjorie in my kitchen one Friday morning, still in my pyjamas, while they were having breakfast. Rio introduced us and left for class, leaving her alone at home like we were already family. It was only then, after almost an hour of talking with her, that I learned that she was an exchange student and they had met that night, in a bar.

“I need to find a way to make her exchange Edinburgh for Madrid, for real this time,” he told us at dinner that night. And he managed to do it. From that night out, from what would have been a simple one-night stand, had born a family.

That was what I envied—the simplicity, how they had found their way to each other with no detours. Rio never had to make her exchange Edinburgh for Madrid, because since the beginning she knew it was meant to be in Madrid. With him. For him. For the family they were meant to build.

Meanwhile, I felt utterly and completely lost.

I was so confused as to what to do; whether I should accept the destiny that we had set for ourselves or take a step back and hear what he had to say. I had made a promise; I would try to talk to him, but each time I imagined him in front of me, I could feel my heart sink, a void consuming me from the inside. And looking back at that night, the way he just fit inside my garage and seemed so right walking around my car, and how quickly all the emotions and feelings had resurfaced, just trying to speak with him seemed like a terrible decision.

I owed him an apology for last Sunday's call; nothing more. There was no point in going back beyond that weekend. As I had taken years to learn, he didn’t owe me anything. I had learned to live with the choices we had made; there was no point in rethinking them.

But I had made a promise.

I drank a bit of my wine, my eyes roaming around the table, my body relaxing again as the warm breeze ran across the table.

By the time we had finished our dinner, the sun had already set. Taking my glass in one hand and the small plate with ice cream in the other, I made my way towards the small blanket my mother had spread next to the pool. I sat down between Marjorie and Rio, both busy feeding the kids their ice cream, as both of them struggled to keep their eyes open. It didn't take much until they fell asleep in the blanket, with their bellies full and chocolate stains on the pretty sage green dresses they were wearing.

The smell of freshly cut grass and the familiar aroma of homemade ice cream took me back to my childhood. That, along with the arrival of people I thought would stay in the past, and maybe the glasses of wine I drank at dinner, left me feeling overwhelmed. Too many opinions, too many expectations.

I tried to distract myself from all that.

Rio was attempting his best to try and persuade my father to invest in a motorsport team one of his driver friends had recently joined, and Marjorie was there to listen attentively by his side. Her ginger curls were a beautiful contrast to her pale complexion, which was lightly kissed with freckles. As I lay down on the ground, I couldn't help but be mesmerized by Olivia's tiny curls, as my hands played with them gently. She smiled during her sleep, a look of contentment on her small face.

"That won't help me, Fabrizio," I heard my father say with a sigh, shaking his head. "Neither will help you. We drive and work with real cars. I don't need or want to support that electric car crap."

Marjorie giggled, "Told you so, babe." She patted him on the back, trying to cheer him up.

"Your grandparent would scold you if you talked about that near him," my father said, taking a sip of his wine glass before putting the glass back on the table near his outside armchair.

I couldn't help but chuckle at his comment, happily being on the other side of the conversation, just listening, not in the mood to talk about my own issues. But my brother, Rio, seemed to take my father's words as a personal challenge.

"Look at Formula-E, papà!" He gesticulated, like a true Italian. "In a couple of years, these new branches of motorsport will take off. It's a good investment. And there's a lot of potential in the market."

"It's not about investment," my father said, his voice full of conviction.

"Eva! Tell him supporting electric motorsports is marketable!" My brother turned to me and I could see the frustration on his face. When I looked back at my dad, he had both his eyebrows up, ready to listen to my opinion.

"Sorry, Rio," I said, trying to lighten the atmosphere. "Nothing about Dad is marketable. He's just a grumpy old man."

My dad chuckled, a smile spreading on his face as he reached for his wine glass and took a sip. "Eh, I'm not that old," he said, his eyes twinkling with joy and a hint of amusement.

Rio looked at my mom as if he was waiting for her to save him, but she just smiled and patted him on the shoulder on her way to my father’s side. He let out a deep sigh, accepting his defeat.

“Fabrizio, you know your father doesn’t care just for the numbers…” she said in a soothing tone.

“Tradizione, patrimonio…” I said, looking up at them. Those words served as a motto in our home.

My mom was standing behind my dad, both her hands on his broad shoulders, a big smile on her lips while she nodded to my words. Her French tips were hidden by my father’s hands, which he positioned over hers in a reassuring gesture.

“Exactly,” he nodded slowly. "Heritage, family…” He paused for a second, his gaze turning a bit more solemn as he continued. “It’s about staying true to my roots and the traditions of my family, and my country, and not getting carried away with all these new trends. You know that, Fabrizio."

“Also,” I said. “Dad’s main business is wine. Sponsoring a racing driver would be a… choice.”

“You are a racing driver.” My brother pointed. “Dad sponsors you.”

“Because I’m his daughter, not because I’ll be a moving billboard for his company,” I said, taking a sip from my glass. “Dad can offer support in other ways, but I don’t think it will look good to do it your way.”

My father nodded, a small smile on his lips. "I can help the guy move into a real Motorsport series and not that vegan car crap.” The smile on his face grew as Rio got more annoyed. “It’s so easy to get to you, boy.” An actual burst of laughter erupted from the old man, and my brother tried to battle a smile. “Send me his number, I’ll talk with your friend.”

Rio nodded, satisfied with his victory, and naturally, the conversation moved on to other topics. I continued to observe my family, my gaze lingering on the toddlers sleeping between us lulled by the laughter and casual banter between the older members of the family.

The first to move was my father, leaving his armchair empty and my mom took his place. Soon after, Rio and Marjorie decided to go home. My mother offered to help them as they made their way out, carrying on her lap one of the kids, while Marjorie held the other. I tried to stand up, but the wine had definitely taken its toll on me.

I decided to stay for a bit more.

An empty glass sat by my side, my feet touching the fresh grass. Only the chirping of crickets and croaking of frogs could be heard from a lake a few meters away. Again, I was transported to the past, to the lull of days that passed without any responsibility, and when I was nothing but innocent and naive. And then, upsetting the melody, my cell phone vibrated.

“My mom missed you. She was all smiles when she got home.”

I smiled at my cell phone and looked at the horizon, at the birds that flew across, still painted by the dwindling twilight, oblivious to all this.

“I missed her too. I’m glad I could put a smile on her face.”

“As you always used to do.”

I hated to admit it, even to myself, but I liked the texts. Not the texts themselves, but to be able to talk to him. To know he was just a text away; that he was, once again, reachable.

That thought alone was enough to make me angry at myself. Deep down, I knew I wanted him back in my life. I wanted to be able to open my door and welcome him back into my home, to be able to have him around and sit with my family. I wanted to have him talking about wine with my father, discussing engineering with my brother, and charming my mother with words that never failed to make her smile. I missed him – more than that, I missed the person I was when he was around; the person who he inspired and encouraged me to be. I could try.

I could try. I had to try. I made a promise.

We could try to be friends. I could try to lower the expectations and look at the world from a more realistic point of view, setting aside my rose-tinted glasses. I could try to look at him, talk to him, be around him and not let anything resurface. Not the love or the angst.

I glanced down at my phone, the screen was still on. The little telephone icon in front of his name stared at me, its monochromatic colours prompting me to take action. My finger trembled as it hovered over the button and I pressed it, the action fueled by my too-many glasses of wine.

He picked up almost immediately.

“Eva.” His voice, both familiar and strange, filled my ears. Deep, hoarse and warm. I felt a shiver down my spine.

And suddenly, I was aware of the silence filling the air, a silence almost oppressive.

"Carlos." A smile tugged at the corner of my mouth. "Hi."

"Hey."

I swallowed dry.

"Hi.” Again. He chuckled softly.

"Do you need anything?"

"Yeah,” Fuck. “I just wanted to apologize. For the other night—morning, I mean."

"It's okay," he chuckled softly, his voice gentle and soothing. The shiver extended from my spine to my arms. "You were upset and you had every right to be. It was stupid to show up like that. But, he made a pause, and I could almost feel the weight of his cheeky smile in my mind. "I got to experience drunk Eva. Although, this version was way less fun than that 16-year-old version that I got to know some years ago at my birthday party—".

I couldn't help but let a small chuckle escape from my lips as the memories mingled with the wine. God, that night was a mess. Embarrassed by the memory, and the sudden burst of laughter the memories had prompted (and that was probably thanks to the wine, too), I felt my cheeks warming up.

"Yeah, I'm sorry about that, too." I could hear him laugh and my stomach twisted. "I was a hot mess."

"Something says me you're still the same."

His words made my heart skip a beat. I didn't know if it was the alcohol or the fact I was talking to him again, or the memories he had brought back, but I felt something sitting inside of me. It was not love, not even close, but was definitely something scary. Something I had been trying to ignore for a long time.

“I'll have to disagree,” I answered hesitantly, forcing a firm voice I was not sure I could pull off.

“Really?” I hummed a confirmation back. “We should have dinner, then. Just so I can confirm or deny that.”

“Dinner sounds great,” and I regretted my words the second I spoke them.

“I need to travel to France Thursday morning, so… tomorrow? An early dinner?” Although half my mind was screaming against the decision, I found myself agreeing. “I'll pick you up.”

“Okay. It's a date then.” I paused, recognizing the words that had just left my mouth. “Not a date date.” I said, quickly correcting myself. “You know what I mean.”

He chuckled. “I know, Eva. But I will pretend it’s a date date, anyway.”

“Ah, don’t get ahead of yourself, Sainz.”

“Fine. It’s settled, then. And it’s not a date.” He said. “See you tomorrow.”

“Not a date,” I repeated. “Have a good night.”

I couldn't get on with my night without my attention being pulled by the fact that I would be alone with him and only God knows when that last happened. It's not a date, I reminded myself. And I knew it wasn't, there was no reason to be that nervous, but I couldn't help the wave of nervousness that swept over me. Perhaps, all of this was my body re-entering its old habits, returning to the mannerisms that his presence provoked.

I had spent years trying to build a life without him in it, and I was determined not to let those feelings resurface and draw me back in.

That night, I fell asleep repeating those words in my mind. Reminding myself that I couldn't, better, that I wouldn't give into those recently awakened feelings and fall deeper into a trap I had spent years getting out of.

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Self-discipline was important to me. Both Rio and I had been brought up to think so. We didn't always follow my father's teachings to the letter, but we did our best not to fall short of the maxims he had transmitted to us. So, the next day, I focused on annihilating every item on my to-do list, using my productivity against the anxiety caused by my "non-date."

My trainer had sent me a new workout regime a few days earlier, so it was the first order of business. I ran through the neighbourhood, waving at neighbours who occasionally passed by, mumbling the lyrics to a song from the playlist I'd been listening to serially for a couple of weeks. I stopped at a children's park halfway home, which was surprisingly empty, and turned it into my personal gym.

"You're going to be the death of me, someday" I sent it to Rocco, my trainer, along with a picture of my sweaty (but smiling) face, giving him a thumbs up, and then I headed home. Still running, listening to the same songs, mumbling the same lyrics.

When I got back, the house was empty, so the rest of my day was spent respecting my own time. I'd left the windows open, embracing the hot summer breeze, put music on the speakers and, line by line, annihilated my to-do list.

"8.30? Does it work for you?" Carlos sent, mid-afternoon. "We'll eat here. Need to show you what Italy has taught me."

He's cooking? I stared at my phone and re-read the text twice, to make sure I'd understood it correctly.

"Should I call poison control in advance?" I texted back. Enter. "Also, don't need you to pick me up. I'll be there."

"Funny." And, in true Carlos fashion, he added an eye-roll emoji. "See you later."

I think that's when I was taken over by insecurities again.

Sitting in my living room, laptop on my legs, the doors and windows open, I looked around and imagined us there: our younger versions, when being a Formula 1 driver was still a dream and the days passed slowly.

I remembered when I used to wake up and run downstairs to see if Carlos was here and if he wasn't, then I'd go out to the front garden and sit on one of the sofas, reading or studying, so I could watch Reyes's car approach our driveway. And then, as subtly as I could, I would say "Holla, Carlos" and pretend to ignore him as I walked around the house. Other times, I would sit on the living room couch next to my brother and I would feign interest in whatever game they were playing.

Rio would shush me and attempt to force me out of the couch, whereas Carlos would go out of his way to patiently explain the purpose of every button on the remote and the intricate plot of the game, even providing details of the backstory of every single character. I couldn't blame myself for having a crush on him, could I?

He was my brother's best friend, a good-looking guy who happened to be a racing driver, something that, not surprisingly, appealed to female attention. I didn't even dream that he would one day actually make it to Formula One, not that I doubted his talent but back then, in the fever of adolescence, he was just that boy.

When I realized I really liked him, he started travelling more, until he eventually spent more time away than at home. The first punch to the stomach. I stayed on that tightrope forever, thinking about what it would have been like if he had stayed in Madrid, and gone to college like a normal guy. Over time, over the long phone calls and the short encounters here and there, he slowly became a best friend.

He stopped being that boy, to become the boy.

I wanted to be around him. I wanted to drive in the same series as him. I wanted to be near him. Because he was sweet and patient and loved racing and loved to see me race. Because even after he became an F1 driver, fame didn't change him. And lastly, because he showed me that it was indeed possible to achieve even the most daring dream.

Until he ceased to be even that to me.

And now, I wouldn't be having dinner with the guy I dreamed of having a future with; I would be having dinner with the man who insisted on leaving everything in the past.

So, there was no reason for this anxiety.

From what I knew, he was nothing more than a stranger.

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Looking in the mirror, I tried to find reassurance in myself and in the lines of the dress I'd picked. Soft, fresh and simple. I didn't want to cross any lines Carlos had drawn in his mind and at that point, I didn't know what lines I bore in mine.

The second I stepped out of the house, the warm breeze welcomed me with a tender embrace. As I looked up, I could see the sun slowly beginning its descent, and the sky was slowly being coloured in a dim orange hue, replacing the bright and clear blue sky of earlier in the day.

"On my way."

I quickly typed out a message to him as soon as I settled into the Uber and then left my phone to rest on my lap, allowing my mind to settle into the familiarity of the route I had taken so many times before. The journey was brief: in less than ten minutes I could already see him standing outside his door, anxiously checking his phone.

Handsome as ever. Button-down shirt, white pants.

Short hair. Shorter than last Sunday. He looked so fresh. So manly.

I felt like a stalker, admiring him from the still-moving car, as he waited for me at the arch of his own door, pacing around. That eased my mind; he was just as nervous as I was. He raised his empty hand up to his hair, passing his fingers through it. A few strands fell onto his forehead, and he gently swept them to the side.

I grabbed my phone, the movement making the screen light up. "Can't wait." He had texted moments before.

And then the car stopped, and his gaze rose from the ground to the car I was in. His eyes would have met mine if not for the tinted window that separated us, as he crossed the path from the door to the sidewalk, rushing to open my door.

Carlos thanked the driver and then turned to me. His face taken by the golden hue, the big eyelashes casting a long shadow on the top of his cheeks. Still lost in his looks, perhaps so lost he could have seen it in my expression, I found my way back when he touched the small of my back.

A kiss on the cheek. A stroke with his hand, just like his mother had done the day before.

“Shall we?” I finally said, breaking the silence.

He was quick to agree and direct me inside, in front of him. I knew the way, of course. I could draw this house from memory.

When I was almost at the door, he hastened his steps and I noticed a sudden burst of energy in him as if he had remembered the courtesy he had momentarily forgotten. He then hurried to open the door for me. As I stepped inside I felt some memories flooding back.

The house looked the same. Large, spacious, high ceilings, beautifully ornamented. It was a home. You could tell a lot about the Sainz family from the way the house was decorated. The fragrance in the air, fusing with the smell coming from the kitchen, embraced me and filled me with bliss. I looked around, as I walked behind Carlos. Small frames everywhere. I spotted one of my favourites — Carlos, Rio and me in Australia, on the day of his F1 debut. I smiled. I had that frame in my house too, right on the mantel.

"Still the same, no?" He said, his voice interrupting my thoughts and I realized I had stopped to watch the frames.

There was one photo that was new, a picture of Carlos standing proudly with the golden Silverstone trophy in his hands. My eyes lingered on that one—his big smile, the hair whipped by the wind.

"Yeah," I nodded. A brief pause. Just enough time to remember why I was there. I twisted around on my feet and turned back to him. "What did you cook?"

He motioned me to follow him and I obliged. Through the hallways I knew so well, he directed us to the kitchen.

"Pasta. From scratch." He said with a smug smile on his lips. Carlos then turned back to me, standing near the two plates laid on the counter.

Just by looking at them, I understood why Carlos had blended so fast into the Ferrari crew. The smell and the perfectly arranged piles of pasta, drizzled with an orange sauce, told me everything I needed to know about how well he had acquainted himself with Italy.

"I can't promise it'll be the best you've ever tasted," he said, carefully balancing both plates in his hands. "But it has the most important ingredient, so it won't be too bad."

I walked to him, stopping in front of him and attentively studying the plates.

"I don't see any cheese on it," I said teasingly. When I looked up at him, I drew my eyebrows together, but his grin and the lightness of his expression made me immediately smile. He laughed a deep chuckle that rumbled through the kitchen, stripping away all my shields.

"I meant love, Eva." He circled around me in a couple of rushed steps, the plates not even moving.

"Does that taste as good as Parmigiano Reggiano?" He rolled his eyes, making my lips curve involuntarily. I missed his cheesy jokes and I hope he missed me teasing him about them. "Did you pick a good wine, at least?"

"Nah. That's your only task for tonight," he said, before leaving the room. His voice echoed from the hallway, "You know where to find the bottles."

I knew exactly where to find them. Turning the corner of the hallway, I headed to the pantry. My steps resonated between the walls and, for a second, I felt comfortable. Light. The interior of the pantry still had the same smell and the shelves were organized the same way.

Nostalgia hit me hard in the chest.

Carefully arranged at the end of the pantry, the bottles were standing in the same order they had been standing in for years, as if time had frozen inside. In the dim light, I could make out the familiar labels; the same collection of wines, in the same order, neatly arranged. I grabbed a bottle of vintage red, one of the bottles from my father's winery. It would pair perfectly with the pasta and the occasion.

Stepping into the dining room, I held up the bottle in my hand. “Is this one too fancy?”

Carlos quickly turned towards me, a kitchen cloth over his immaculate shirt. I knew his mother would scold him for that.

“Not at all,” he said. “It seems fitting.”

The tall glasses were already arranged on the table, near the plates. Underneath them, white linen placemats were tinged with the twilight that crept inside, casting golden shadows from the large glass doors behind the table.

“Do you mind?” He extended his hand and I gave him the bottle.

His hand easily encircled the dark glass. Slim fingers worked to open the bottle. With a firm grip, he pulled the cork out with a single tug, producing a loud pop that reverberated through the room. My gaze shifted from his hands to his face, taking in the multitude of emotions that a single look of his could convey.

I picked up the cups and let him fill them, admiring the glint of sunlight reflecting off the glass as he laid the bottle on the table. I propped my hand on the back of a chair, leaning in and taking a deep breath as I moved the glass in front of my nose, inhaling the sweet aroma of the drink. I took a sip, and I was content with my choice.

“I knew I could trust you for that,” he said, with a warm smile on his face. “Some things never change, huh?” he added, almost as if to himself. I nodded in agreement, giving him his cup.

He gestured towards the plates and I took my seat, waiting for him to do the same. We ate in silence, the only sound being the sound of cutlery against porcelain. It was strange, but comforting to be here again, with him. I felt like time had stopped and we were back to the days when we were just friends, before all the changes that had been made.

Carlos didn't say much, but I could tell he was enjoying the food. He smiled at me every now and then, and sometimes I caught his eyes lingering on me while I ate.

“It’s not bad, you know?” I broke the silence, taking the napkin to my lips. “Parmigiano would work better than love, but it’s the chef’s choice, I guess.”

He let out a deep chuckle. “Maybe. But the chef is still learning, so he's open to suggestions.”

“I’ve made my suggestion. Go get us some cheese.”

He laughed again and rose from his chair. “I'll be back in a few minutes.”

In his absence, my eyes traced the lines of the curtains, the table, the walls, and the door that just half an hour ago had been the barrier between us. I heard Carlos' steps coming back down the hallway before I saw him. In his hand, a bowl of freshly grated Parmigiano.

“Brought this home a few weeks ago,” he said, with a note of pride in his voice. “One of the mechanics gave this to me in Maranello.”

“I think it will do the trick,” I took the bowl in my hands under his focused gaze and, with the help of a spoon, I sprinkled our plates with the cheese. He immediately took his fork and had a bit of the pasta. His smile grew. “See? You can’t make this without the cheese.”

“In my defence,” he leaned back, hands up in surrender. “I didn’t want to overpower the other flavours.”

“Right,” I replied, a hint of irony in my words. “Just like I don’t add mint to my mojitos because I want to taste the rum…”

He laughed, his eyes twinkling in the dim light of the room. "Okay, guilty as charged." Feeling the familiarity of the moment settle in, I went back to my pasta, now sprinkled with cheese. And God, now you could taste the love.

"Now, I have to admit. This is really good."

Carlos smiled and nodded, a pleased expression on his face, a hint of pride transgressing the glint in his eyes. He leaned forwards, resting his elbows on the table and intertwining his fingers. I looked up, from the big hands to the caramel-coloured eyes.

"Do you remember the first time we went out to dinner?" He asked, his voice soft and calm. “Just the two of us?”

“I do,” the memories were fast to arrive. “It was the day you passed your driver’s test, wasn’t it?” He nodded. “Rio was still sick from that shady sushi place.”

The broad grin he used on his face turned into a hearty laugh, no doubt remembering my brother’s awful food poisoning episode which had kept him in bed for a few days. Despite my resistance to joining Carlos alone, that night turned out to be amazing. If I closed my eyes, I could picture the restaurant and view from the table we sat at; it was scary how imprinted that moment was in my mind.

“You drove like an old lady,” I teased him. “I’d never seen you that nervous.”

He shook his head, his laugh seeming to still linger inside, as his lips stood open, curved up. His eyes twinkled in the dim light of the room, getting a bit darker every minute. “That was because one,” he held up one finger, “I didn’t want to get a speeding ticket and two,” he held up another, “I wanted to make a good impression.”

"And here we are, what? Ten years later?" I said, taking a sip from my wine glass. "And you still drive like an old lady."

"About that, I can disagree.” He put his hands together and rested his chin on them. "But I am still trying to make a good impression, though."

God. This man. I looked at him, truly taking in his face, his eyes, his lips, his hair. He was more handsome than ever. I could see the emotions playing on his face, regret and sorrow walking hand in hand until they reached his eyes and a dark gaze seemed to appear over them. I realized, then, I had dropped my smile.

"It truly doesn't matter if you can make a good impression today," I said. "No matter how hard I try, these last years won't disappear."

"Why did you decide to come here, then?"

"I promised your mother I would try to mend things," I noticed the words didn't sit well with him. "Why did you invite me?"

"Because I wanted—want to mend things. I miss having you around."

I shook my head, feeling my frustration grow. My restless fingers held tightly to the brim of the placemat, my body twitching with tension as I tried to find the right words. I leaned back, meeting the back of the chair, my eyes on his face. He dragged his hands over his face, stopping at his chin, where the fingers lingered in.

"Go ahead." He finally spoke again. "Tell me everything you've been saving for these last years. I deserve to hear it."

His eyes were soft, his face open and honest. I could see the sincerity in his words and it made me pause. A part of me wanted to tell him everything I had been feeling all these years, to finally let it all out and show him how much he had hurt me. But another part of me, the part that still held a flame of hope, was afraid.

"No," I said, my voice barely a whisper. "I don't think that's necessary. I guess we just grew apart, that happens to people."

“That’s the polite answer, Eva. Just—” I heard a sigh, not an impatient one. It was rather a hesitant one, not knowing what to expect. “Just tell me what you feel. Or rather, what you felt.”

I looked at him for a second. A sheer second that I regretted with my whole body and soul. He had a powerful stare, which was one of his strongest details. The stare, the way his gaze pierces in and invades one's mind... Trying to escape it, I glanced at my glass, feeling the need to drown myself in the red wine.

“If it’s liquid courage you need,” he moved his hand to the bottle.

“I don’t need to be drunk to talk to you.”

“To talk about this,” he filled my glass and I brought the cup to my lips. “Not to talk to me.”

“Semantics.”

"I won't fight you on that," he filled his own glass and then, as the end of the bottle met the table, he raised his eyes up to mine. "I've done my part, now do yours. Try."

"You had a different life." I started. "I will never understand what you went through and how that universe of yours works. I never understood and never will." I paused. "But I tried to. Believe me, Carlos, I did. But I got so tired of all the excuses and being put on the second plan. Always coming in second." The noise he made when he got up, his cutlery clanking against the plate and the chair dragging on the floor, made me look at him.

He walked until he reached my side of the table and pushed a chair. He sat by my side, chair turned to me, his legs apart, just enough that I could turn to him and fit right there, without our knees bumping. I looked down, at his hands lying on his tights.

"Eva." His voice was soft, full of regret. Once again, my heart sank. His hand moved gently, touching my arm. I turned to him, slightly, and then his hands went back to his lap.

"The person you became was so insensitive. And it was so... not you." I looked up, finding strength in his eyes. Hurt and curious in the same measure. "And looking back, you hadn't been yourself for a while before I decided to just... step back. I don't blame you. Life got in the way. I just got hurt. I held you to such high expectations. And that's on me."

Silence. The damned silence said so much. I didn't dare to look away from him and he didn't move an inch, didn't say a word.

"Silverstone," I recollected the image of the colorful frame, the one that had grabbed my attention before. I turned to him, now completely. "I can't tell you how much it hurt because I was so happy for you." My heart kept sinking, tears rising in response. My heart could explode. "I was so proud of you. I wanted to text you, but I couldn't. I mean, I could." He was nodding at every sentence. His gaze was on mine. I don't know how I didn't cave in right there, in front of him. "I could, right?" He answered me with silence. "I could have texted you but I sincerely thought that you didn't want me to. I think that's it." I shrugged. "I just understood you didn't want me around and that was almost too tough to swallow."

We sat in silence, both of us lost in our thoughts, thinking about all the things we used to do and I was committed to trying to understand why we became these people. These strangers.

"I had to let you go." The words echoed in the room. "I was giving you half, or a third of what you deserved. It was not good for any of us. We were stuck in a place where none of us was getting the things we needed and deserved. I think you understand that. And the way I did it, just running away from a talk, forcing you to back away... I was selfish."

A third was enough. More than enough. I wanted to say.

"I had my fair share of selfish actions, don't worry." A sad smile emerged on his face, as he saw mine. "I believed you owed me something. Deep down, everything I did was because I wanted you to give it back. The support, the love, the attention..."

"What do you mean?"

"I did it because I was in love." Was. I repeated the words in my mind. My throat was twisting into a knot as I poured out my feelings. I felt so vulnerable and exposed. "I wanted to be loved back. Maybe you knew that and decided to step away, but—"

I trailed off. No more words in my mind, just a void that seemed to consume me. He was looking at me, expression hard to decipher, which didn't happen often. Silence.

"No." He finally said, his voice soft. "I had no idea." I looked up, a watery smile on my lips. When he spoke again, his voice was a whisper. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay." I shook my head. "It doesn't matter anymore."

"It does matter." He insisted, I looked at him, confused. "Because I think I might have loved you, too."

God. What?

What was that that I was feeling? Relief, joy, and a million other emotions I couldn't put a name to. I couldn't seem to understand his words and make sense of them. I shook my head and took a deep breath. My whole body was restless.

“Ever since that trip to the Alps. The cabin in Switzerland.” He slid his hands on his thighs until he stopped on his knees, torso slightly leaning forward. I looked down, our knees almost touching, his fingertips almost touching the bare skin of my knees. “I remember the storm, you know? Even now, that night is my dearest memory of those trips. Not the day I learned how to ski, or the landscapes. It's...” He looked at me. “It's how you felt safe just because you were holding my hand.”

“I wanted to keep being that person to you.” He continued. “The one that makes you feel safe. But I couldn't do that living in the UK, or being away for more than half of the year.” A pause. The knot in my throat tightened as it got harder to get back to those memories and the emotions they always carried with them, especially with his voice triggering them. “This was not the first time I tried to make things right, but every time I tried, it was harder. I had made more damage. And now, looking at you, I see how much I failed you and failed myself.”

“Carlos,” I whispered, placing my hand on his knee. Our fingertips touching.

His hand took mine and squeezed it gently. I looked at him, my heart opening up to the man standing so close. I had been afraid of this, of this bare moment. I had been living looking back to what I had lost but never to what I could conquer. A third wasn't more than enough. I knew that because back then I would have done everything to have him a bit more than that.

Carlos leaned closer. I closed my eyes. His cologne intoxicated me, taking control of my senses. Without even noticing, I parted my lips. I wanted him, always had. He cupped my face in his hands and brushed his thumb over my cheek. Every inch of me was begging for him. And then I felt the gentle touch, the soft and hesitant brush of his lips against mine.

“Please, don't.” I murmured. I put my hand on his face. My fingers felt the caress of his beard while they traced the line of his jaw. I stopped when my thumb reached his chin, and then his lower lip. I was incapable of moving and creating a gap between us.

We stood like that. Dangerously close. He just nodded to my request but did not move.

“I'm sorry, I-”

"Shhh." He cut me off, as he caressed my cheek. "It's okay."

And so, we stayed suspended like that: in uncertainty, in a half-taken step. Floating in time. Doing nothing wrong but far from doing the right thing. We clung to a version of ourselves that we had never experienced before and which was now opening, unfolding right in front of our eyes, a door we didn't know we wanted to open.

I opened my eyes slowly, taking in the image in front of me unhurriedly. My thumb found his lower lip and stroked it lightly. His eyes were still closed and his lips parted. God. I needed to escape that. How pretty he looked under the dim light, in such a vulnerable state.

"I should go." I didn't want my voice to sound like a whimper, but I believe it did.

His back met the back of the chair, a muted thud invading the silence. I got up. I felt my heart hit the floor as I saw him run his hands over his face. I couldn't read what was going through his head. The pair of tired, anguished eyes that stared back at me pulled the ground from under my feet. So dark. Covered by a haze that wasn't there when we shared memories of our best years and he was looking at me with bright eyes and a wide smile on his face.

How did we get here?

To this despair, this yearning for something that no longer exists?

I wanted to rip out, in cold blood, all the negative connotations that time had attached to his image and that clung to me like parasites, totally consuming me.

I took a deep breath and shook my head. He just nodded, as if he heard the apology my mind was muttering just by looking at me.

"Do you need me to take you home?"

“No!” Breathe. I reminded myself. “No, you don’t need to.”

“Let me rephrase that.” He got up. "Please, let me take you home."

Somehow, the trip hadn't been as bad as I'd thought it would be. We drove in silence, but our bodies spoke for themselves. I couldn't deny the energy that pulled me to him, that redirected my gaze to his face or his big hands on the steering wheel. It was impossible to resist the urge to look at his reflection in the rearview mirror and study his eyes to see if, like mine, they were betraying the desire we were feeling. If they were looking for me, if the haze was drooping or getting stronger as we, once again, seemed to drift away.

There was no way of knowing what was behind the door our exasperation had opened. It could be our doom.

We arrived in the blink of an eye. The second the car stopped, I unbuckled my seat belt, needing to escape the tension and desperation that was choking me. Carlos did the same. I didn't let him get out of the car before me; I didn't allow him to open the door for me this time.

"I need to apologize," he said, with his hand on the car door, already open. "For rushing things."

"No. I—" I shook my head. God. "We have a friendship to mend first," I explained. The door closed behind me. "That's more important than anything else."

He nodded. It was the first step. A new beginning.

And just like that, I was in his arms. A deep, understanding hug. The first thing I noticed was how tightly he hugged me, the weight of his arms pulling me against him in a massive refusal to let go. And then his cologne. He had been so far away for so long that I no longer remembered the notes of sandalwood and amber that always accompanied him. Cinnamon. And a hit of citrus. And finally, how easily I'd found my place — my face easily finding its place on his chest, my arms wrapping around his torso.

"Eva," my name, so close to my ear, bringing me back to reality. The weight of his arms disappeared. The distance once again grew between us. I turned my face to him.

I nodded. I was so close to breaking down. He caressed my cheek, his thumb brushing over the skin next to my lower lip. I closed my eyes, fighting the urge to kiss him.

"The pasta was amazing." I took a step back. "Good luck for France."

His big eyes stared back at me, the slightest of smiles on his lips. And it was more than enough.

It was the beginning of the tightrope, the fine line on which we found ourselves, each slight step on it reminding us of the ephemerality of what we were living. Purposely or not, we had started a tightrope crossing and this time there was no net to catch us. We had to reach the end of the route. There was no second chance. We both knew it.

"I'll see you soon," he promised, his voice a hoarse whisper.

And then we turned around. He got into his car and I crossed the path to my house. The car was there when I got in and it stayed there when I stood behind the window in the entrance hall and watched it through the stained glass.

My heart was beating so fast, magnified by the phantom sensation of his lips still caressing mine. He drove away and I stood watching until his car disappeared from sight.

The first step had been taken. The tightrope was in front of us.

Next Chapter: 03.

Long-ish chapters are the way. Feel free to leave your thoughts and comments. See you around. <3

#carlos sainz x you #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz smut #carlos sainz imagine #carlos sainz fanfic #carlos sainz angst #carlos sainz fluff #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 one shot #f1 fanfic #f1 x you #fanf1ction #carlos sainz #carlos sainz one shot #carlos sainz jr #carlos sainz ferrari

[hotwaterandmilk]

Series: PQ Angels Artist: Takeuchi Naoko Publication: Nakayoshi Magazine (01/1998) Details: All-Star Postcard Calendar (December) Source: Scanned from personal collection

#pq angels #p-ko #peanut plum #rakkasei piiko #q-ko #kyuuri kishu #nigauri kyuuko #takeuchi naoko #naoko takeuchi #scan: hotwaterandmilk #furoku #nakayoshi #90s manga #shoujo manga #shoujo aesthetic #retro manga #classic manga #vintage manga #christmas #anime christmas #90s fashion #90s aesthetic #i love every piece of pq angels artwork #;o; #manga scan

[putschki1969]

2024/01/30 Blog post by Wakana みんな、明日は何の日か知ってるかい？〜締め切りの日です〜

❗This is Fan Club EXCLUSIVE content❗ ❗PERSONAL USE ONLY❗ Do ❗NOT SHARE❗ on other sites ❗Join her FAN CLUB! Check out my detailed TUTORIAL ❗

Everyone, What Day Is It Tomorrow?〜Deadline Day〜

These are the present postcards and stickers for the people whose messages I read in the previous “Wakana’s Talk Garden”😍 I got New Year's cards and made some Shark-chan stickers in auspicious colours 🥳🎉 Gold, red and white! Aren't they super cute!? 😳 They might be my favourite so far 😊Everyone, please wait for it to arrive 💌

I keep using my failed attempts for myself💻 (Even though I make some mistakes here and there, I feel like I've gotten better at making stickers!!)

Hello, this is Wakana (0￣▽￣0)／

The next episode is scheduled for February 10th, I'll be looking for Valentine's Day cards to send to everyone whose message I read during the podcast~💓 Well, this time's theme is "Valentine's Day Memories"... Everyone! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! So far, there is only a very small number of messages! ! ! 😂😂😂 Only about 1/5 of the usual amount have been sent in! ! ! *laughs* What's happening?~~🥺Everyone, please don't leave me hanging~~🥺🥺 I'm happy with any memories, so please send them to me~🥺 You are gonna make me cry if you don't 🤣🤣

Even if you are the type of person that says they have no memories because they leave all their memories in the past and live comfortably in the present, please just tell me about this year's Valentine's Day ♡ *laughs* Let me know what you want to eat for Valentine's Day, maybe you want to eat ◯◯ instead of chocolate? Or maybe you want to propose to your lover on Valentine's Day?! ← I definitely want to hear about that! Or tell me a random trivia about Valentine's Day! Honestly, anything is fine＼＼\\٩( 'ω' )و //／／

By the way, I recently got in the mood for Valentine's Day and bought my favourite Lindt chocolate 😊 Lindt is probably most well-know for their Lindor round chocolate! ! The first time I saw them was when I went to New York! ! I received this cute round candy-like thing at the entrance of the store, and when I ate it, it was so delicious...😆 Up until that point I hadn't been a huge fan of sweets but Lindt changed my mind! (I like the milk and white chocolate one with chocolate chips in it. The salted caramel one is delicious too! Also, the newly released matcha tea one! LOL) And these thin bars of chocolate are absolutely delicious too😳💕 I will sometimes have a glass of wine and some dried fruits with it, it's like I am in a dreamland😳💕 Of course it also goes well with coffee ♡ By the way, I always keep some bite-sized chocolates on hand for my morning coffee time. Meiji's matcha and strawberry chocolates are delicious (^^) I somehow ended up buying Kiss Chocolate when I went shopping a while back *laughs*. I like white chocolate and chocolate chips (^^)

There is a chocolate other than Lindt that I love, I received it from a fan a long time ago and fell in love with it, so much so that I ordered it myself the following year! But...I can't remember the name anymore😂😂 I am always looking through the department store's Valentine's Day special online store and hope I can recall what the packaging looked like! *laughs* I'm pretty sure it might have been a German chocolate, or maybe not...?🤔

Anyway, everyone, please send me you memories of Valentine's Day! I repeat, “Memories of VALENTINE'S DAY♡”😂😂 The deadline is tomorrow! ! I'm waiting! ! ! ＼＼\\٩( 'ω' )و //／／

I will be uploading rehearsal photos on Instagram for my online live on February 6th, so please look forward to it 😆 Until next time~☆( *'▽’*)/

＊＊＊Wakana＊＊＊

2024/02/02 Instagram post by Wakana

We had a rehearsal for “Wakana 5th Anniversary “Prologue” ~Premium Online Live~” which will be held exclusively for FC members on February 6th☺️🎶 I was joined by Saku-chan on piano🎹📸 After spending a lot of time rehearsing, we look pretty exhausted😇 I'm so sleepy 😇zzz Please take a look at the fun photos of us gradually becoming more and more blurry🤗(Source)

#kalafina #wakana #wakana blog #fan club exclusive content #botanical land #wakana on instagram #I gave in to Wakana's pressure and sent a message XD

[gogmstuff]

Geneviève “Ginette” Lantelme - Four of these photos were posted before. The first pair of images show her wearing furs, the next pair includes a Femina cover posted before and a color image of her wearing a fur-trimmed coat, a set of three images show her wearing a dress, and the final pair of images show her wearing a Paquin dress. A single image of her posted in March 2024 finishes the collection. This image was also posted in a 1911 collection and on its own.

1906 (1 March issue) Les Modes Mlle Lantelme in Chapeau de J. Suzanne Talbot - photo by Reutlinger. From tumblr.com/hauntedbystorytelling/637300249641336832/genevi%C3%A8ve-lantelme-march-1906-atelier?source=share& 1497X1494.

Left 1908 (1 November issue) Les Modes Lantelme Pour 'automobile - photo by Reutlinger. From tumblr.com/fawnvelveteen/158519681047/lantelme-in-les-modes-november-1908?source=share&; fixed spots w Pshop 1265X1751.

Right 1908 Lantelme in fur by Reutlinger. From tacebook.com/GenevieveLantelme/?locale=es_LA; fixed spots w Pshop 586X937.

Left 1910 (1 November) Lantelme on cover of Comedia Illustré. From verbinina.wordpress.com/page/8/; fixed spots & scratches w Pshop 1362X1875.

Right 1910 (November) Femina cover Geneviève Lantelme wearing fur. From Wikimedia 1654X2068.

Left 1910 (November) Les Modes Geneviève Lantelme in Paquin dress photo by Auguste Bert Le Théatre no. 286. From Wikimedia; fixed spots w Pshop 2489X3663.

Right 1910 Ginette Lantelme photo by ?. From tumblr.com/victorianchap/683141954772598784/portrait-of-ginette-lantelme-was-a-french-stage?source=share&; fixed spots w Pshop 1080X1349.

Left 1911 (1 Feb issue) Le Theatre French comedian Genevieve Lantelme. From eBay; fixed bigger spots, realigned & cropped w Pshop 927X1451.

Right 1911 (15 Mar issue) Comedia Illustre Mlle Lantelme créations Suzanne Weiss. From verbinina.wordpress.com/2011/07/25/100-years/ 1429X2008.

ca. 1908 Lantelme postcard, photo by Reutlinger. From verbinina.wordpress.com/2015/01/22/2-postcards-of-lantelme/ 563X875.

Left Geneviève “Ginette” Lantelme by ?. From tumblr.com/detournementsmineurs/187079716131/genevi%C3%A8ve-ginette-lantelme-1883-1911?source=share&; fixed a few spots w Pshop 640X828.

Center Geneviève Lantelme by ?. From facebook.com/GenevieveLantelme/?locale=es_LA; doubled size 800X1066.

Right Mlle Lantelme Capucines par Ricochet - photo by Reutlinger. From retro-vintage-photography.blogspot.com/2012/09/genevieve-lantelme-1882-1911.html 708X1024.

Left Geneviève Lantelme in Paquin dress. From tumblr.com/lostfunzones/159195767564/genevi%C3%A8ve-lantelme?source=share& 670X1024.

Right Mlle. Lantelme of the Vaudeville Theatre. From verbinina.files.wordpress.com/2011/07/theatremagazine13newyuoft_0061a; fixed spots & margins w Pshop 2203X2810.

Left Ginette et Célestine by de Losques. From verbinina.files.wordpress.com/2015/02/de-losques-lantelme-edwards1909-fantasio 1005X1443. She died of drowning. It was ruled an accident, but the incident reminds me of Natalie Wood.

Right Lantelme card by Paul Boyer. From Manuel Palomino Arjona's photostream on flickr; exp. +50% & fixed spots & flaws w Pshop 1033X1600.

Left Geneviève Lantelme by ?. From Isabel Santos Pilot's photostream on flickr 1407X1950.

Right Mlle Lantelme dans le Vieil Homme dress by Paquin - photo by Félix. From facebook.com/GenevieveLantelme/?locale=es_LA 672X1024.

1911 (1 August issue) Le Theatre Mlle Lantelme. From verbinina.wordpress.com/2012/12/05/le-theatre-303/le-theatre-303-1-aout-1911-vkl/; fixed spots w Pshop 1182X1616.

#1900s fashion #1910s fashion #1900s #1910s #1906 fashion #1908 fashion #1910 fashion #1911 fashion #1906 #1908 #1910 #1911 #Geneviève Lantelme #Ginette Lantelme #Paquin #Suzanne Weiss #Reutlinger #Bert #Félix