#specific setting

[cactus-writes-things]

The balcony of a small apartment overlooking a bustling street. Potted plants crowd the corners and ivy and pothos cascade down from hanging pots, catching the late afternoon sunlight. Birds chirp, their songs accented by the sound of jazz music playing quietly from a distant radio. A nearby bakery opens its doors and windows, perfuming the street with the smell of pastries. A cold glass of lemonade sits on the wrought-iron railing of the balcony, condensation already forming on the glass. Peace.

[cactus-writes-things]

A lush greenhouse teeming with flora. Sunlight filters in through the glass roof, illuminating hundreds of leaves and flowers. The intoxicating scent of flowers drifts out of the windows, tempting passerby and onlookers alike. Flower vases rest on windowsills, and light filters through the vines crawling up the opposite wall and falls upon them as if through a kaleidoscope. Life radiates from every nook and corner.

[cactus-writes-things]

The branches of weeping willows hang just above the clear surface of a peacefully running river. Its babbling and the gentle hum of cicadas are the only sounds in the still air. Clouds roll in, darkening the sky and bringing electricity into the air. Fireflies flit between the leaves of the willows, small pinpricks of light in the sudden cool darkness that had fallen over the scene. Anticipation.

[cactus-writes-things]

Harsh fluorescent lights shine from the ceiling of a crowded library, reflecting from the edges of bookshelves and falling upon dull gray carpeting. A muffled chatter that envelops the atrium, which is filled with small groups of students gathered at every available table, unaware that the sun had set a few hours ago. Pages turn, pens and pencils rasp on paper, backpacks are dropped on the floor, and books are continuously shelved and reshelved. A sense of anxiety is strong in the room, and the students are all grateful that the library has extended its hours the days leading up to finals.

[cactus-writes-things]

Cast-iron street lamps cast a dull, golden glow onto the cobblestones of a half-empty street, briefly illuminating the silhouettes of passing pedestrians. There are brief crescendos of soft music and laughter when the doors of cafes or pubs swing open, and the occasional car passes by, wheels muted by the residue left behind by the afternoon’s torrent of rain. A mild fog obscures faraway buildings, the dim glow of street lamps like stars that didn’t twinkle being the only indication that there was indeed something beyond that barrier of fog. The scent of petrichor is still heavy in the air, and the buildings and cobblestones seem polished. The silence is comforting.

[cactus-writes-things]

The quiet whirr of an air conditioner muffles the sounds of a busy city that spreads out to the horizon behind a pane of glass. The room smells of coffee and blueberry muffins, and there’s a noir film playing on a television before an Italian rococo sofa. Dark hardwood floors contrast with the crumpled white sheets on the empty bed. An open sketchbook is on the coffee table, displaying a page full of anatomy sketches made up of jagged lines of ink. A sense of quiet urgency.

[discworldwitches]

mitski doing goth covers of jazz songs is just so 🤌🏻

[cactus-writes-things]

The rusted hinges of swings that haven’t been used in a long time creak quietly as the wind pushes them about. There are vividly blood red and bright orange leaves on the pavement, where they fell from the branches of the trees that grow by the walkway leading into the playground. A small group of high schoolers traipse in, shoulders sagging from the weight of their backpacks. They sit in swings, on top of the slides, and perch upon the railings of the monkey bars. Their words and laughter echo off of the long deserted playground structures and the bland walls of a nearby library. There is no one else outside.