#||visual: celeste morne||

[mayxthexforce]

I'm forever intrigued by how Karness looks when we see him through Celeste's POV

vs how he looks when we see him through Vader's POV

When seen by Celeste, he's this huge, strong, menacing entity with inhuman features– understandable since she's worn the talisman since 3963, and even when in stasis he was messing with her. While Vader, who is just finding out Muur even exists, sees him as a small, decrepit old man who looks a sneeze away from dropping dead.

[sexypinkon]

Sexypink - JACQUELINE BISHOP, writer and visual artist, born in Kingston, Jamaica, and who now lives and works in New York City. She has held several Fulbright Fellowships, and exhibited her work widely in North America, Europe and North Africa. She is also an Associate Professor in the School of Liberal Studies at New York University.

On one hand, the market woman/huckster is the most ubiquitous figure to emerge from plantation Jamaica. Yet, as pervasive as the figure of the market woman is in Jamaican and Caribbean art and visual culture, she remains critically overlooked. In this set of fifteen dishes, I am both paying homage to the market woman—centering her importance to Caribbean society from the period of slavery onwards—and placing her within a critical context. In particular, I place the market woman within a long tradition of female labor depicted in diverse imagery that I have sourced online, including early Jamaican postcards, paintings of enslaved women from Brazil, the colonial paintings of the Italian Agostino Brunias, and present-day photographs, which I collage alongside floral and abolitionist imagery.

I work in ceramics because all the women around me as I grew up—my mother, my grandmother, my great-grandmother—cherished ceramic dinner plates. These were centerpieces kept in one of their most important acquisitions, a specially made mahogany cabinet. To fabricate the plates, it is important that I am working with Emma Price, a British ceramicist based in Stoke-on-Trent in the former Spode factories. In the realization of the series, that connection imbues them with a meaning that shows the long and enduring relationship between England and Jamaica. For that same reason, British Art Studies is a fitting venue for their first ever publication and partner to create an accompanying film exploring the plates and their themes.

Though the likenesses of none of the women in my family are represented in this series, centering the market woman is my way of paying homage to my great-grandmother Celeste Walker, who I grew up knowing very well, and who was a market woman/huckster/milkwoman par excellence. Celeste was born in the tiny district of Nonsuch hidden high in the Blue Mountains in Portland Parish on the island of Jamaica. Her mother died on the way home from a market, when my great-grandmother was too young to even remember her face. In her adulthood, while my great-grandfather farmed the land, my great-grandmother was the huckster who could easily carry bunches of bananas and baskets of food on her head; the market woman who travelled to far away Kingston to sell in Coronation Market, the largest market on the island. She also hawked fresh fish, and prepared and sold coconut oil, ginger beer, cut flowers, and cocoa beans that were pounded in a heavy wooden mortar. I remember her in my childhood as the milkwoman waking very early in the morning and walking through the district selling fresh cow’s milk. The tradition of huckstering would be passed on to my grandmother who relished the role in her older years. My hope in doing this work is to give much respect to the market women of the Jamaican and larger Atlantic world who have fed, and continue to feed, nations. The market woman is the defining symbol of Jamaican and Caribbean societies.

My work integrates the mediums of painting, drawing and photography to explore issues of home, ancestry, family, connectivity and belonging. As someone who has lived longer outside of my birthplace of Jamaica, than I have lived on the island, I am acutely aware of what it means to be simultaneously an insider and an outsider. This ability to see the world from multiple psychological and territorial spaces has led to the development of a particular lens that allows me to view a given environment from a distance. Because I am also a fiction writer and poet as well as a visual artist, the text and narrative are significant parts of my artistic practice.

Oftentimes I utilize a process of competing narratives to have the viewer participate in the creation of meaning. In my “Folly” series I recount a story I heard as a child, of two tales of a “haunted” house. In time, I researched the history of the house and through a process of photomontage combined photographs I took with archival footage to try and tell the two stories. The ghostly images of the past occupants are integrated into the walls and on the grounds of the present-day ruins. The overall effect is spectral and haunting. I also used this process of photomontage in an ongoing series of ethereal and transcendent “Childhood Memories,” in which characters are often split between heaven and earth. There is a palpable sense of loss in these images as characters seek to inhabit a time and a place long gone.

The “Babylon” and “Zion” paintings are about the Rastafarian ideas of Babylon being a place of captivity and oppression while Zion symbolizes a utopian place of unity and peace. In the Babylon series, I write the lyrics from songs and poems to create text-based drip paintings leading up to the “Hanging Gardens of Babylon,” in which I use popular dancehall posters to evoke the inner-city Babylonian “walls” of Kingston. The Zion series is comprised largely of monochrome paintings to delineate this symbolic paradise. Glitter is present in these works not only as a representation of the paradise that Rastafarians seek in the Biblical homeland of Zion but also as a commentary on the ‘bling and glitter’ culture that has enveloped much of Jamaican society. Consequently, my work is very much engaged with helping me to understand my heritage.

[guinevere-of-smiths]

I may or may not have finally translated one of my fanfics.

Summary: Celeste Hayes had expected her first day at Windcroft Manor to be demanding, but more in terms of making a good impression than of trying to figure out which of her new acquaintances could be a murderer. Balancing both seems hardly possible.

Luckily, she has never backed down from a challenge.

OR: An idea how MC's first morning in England might have looked, still boiling anger at John and all. Takes place between chapters 1 and 2.

Characters: Celeste Hayes (MC), John Somerset, Francis Somerset, Effie Ainsley (briefly)

Pairing: Will in my canon eventually be John Somerset/MC, but can easily be read as Gen

Word Count: ~ 6000 words

Warnings: A lot of mention of murder, grief, some light swearing, mention of someone being run over by a horse (it makes sense in context)

[ohheyitsokay]

I actually wanted to request something for the soulmate au but I couldn’t think of anything 😭 so a real cute one would be whiskey x reader and you can hear you soulmate sing. It was on the list but idk the number

Celeste! Thanks for forcing me to face my feelings about this man having a high school sweetheart in his backstory. Hope you enjoy my take on it!

Wordcount: 1.2k

Warnings: brief mentions of trauma?

>>

It started at a different time for everyone, but that didn’t stop you from wondering if maybe you didn’t have a soulmate at all.

Of course, this phenomenon was so thoroughly beyond reason, that there was no indicator that this would be true. Some didn’t hear the first song of their life partner until they were elderly and built relationships without it.

You best friend first heard her soulmate’s singing when she was just seven, blessed to spend most of her life in connection. She would tell you stories about her soulmate’s voice, how it had become a comfort, even a thread of communication for them. And you were there when they first met, in college, you watched her whip around, whispering “I know that voice!”

When the two of you were young, you’d speculate. Maybe their singing voice was embarrassing? What if they were shy? What if you were a secondary soulmate? It was fun, but over time, she would just squeeze your hand, and wait by your side.

Time had wandered on, and you had come to terms with it. It wasn’t that you were calloused, per se, but you had learned it wasn’t worth losing sleep over. You were working on loving the life you built for yourself, after all, and there wasn’t anything you could do to bend fate. 

But you cried when you first heard him.

Of course, you’d been under your table, trying to grab a runaway orange when the baritone filled your ears. Everyone had always told you the first time was overwhelming, but you hadn’t expected it to give you a mild concussion – you jerked right into the table. The tears weren’t from pain, though, but from joy in hearing it. It was a man, with an accent, and a voice that was warm and gravely and filled you from the top of your throbbing head to you toes.

-

The first time Jack heard you, he cried too.

A second chance? A second soulmate? It had been unthinkable.

But his mind was being filled with something sweet and rich and wonderful and for three minutes, it kept his confusion and guilt at bay.

The exact amount of time he needed to close his files, put everything safely away, and walk to the office of the Statesman’s counselor.

Part of him didn’t want to wait – he had half a mind to quit that day and go searching for you. It didn’t seem beyond reason to try to steal some of the organization’s tech to make it easier either, but after an hour of talking through it, he decided to start a little slower.

Jack made a playlist of all his favorite songs, unable to stop himself from throwing in some silly, fun ones. He would sing to you, first every evening on his way home, and then whenever he could. Once a week, he’d sit down in the little corner office and let himself acknowledge that for the first time in years, the romantic ones made his heart ache in a good way.

Listening to you on in the morning, hearing your voice become less tired, and letting it sink into his soul became his favorite part of the day. It seemed like you didn’t mind the pace, either, happy enough that the ball was finally rolling.

But, as it does, after just five weeks, fate gave it a push.

In the office, there were rooms filled with monitors, and people to watch the hidden cameras all around the world. Jack didn’t spend a lot of time in these rooms, hating the headaches the screens gave him, and the overload of visuals. He needed the information directly though, planning to meet another agent on the street for the takedown, so he was stuck hovering by.

The camera he and the tech were watching was in a taxi. First, the target climbed in, and they turned on the audio as the undercover driver tried to get some information out of him. It went as planned, until another passenger climbed in and Jack’s heart nearly stopped dead. Even through the speakers something about your voice – murmuring your destination – was making his senses scream. His ears burned, trying to determine if the warped voice he was hearing matched yours.

The target and agent were completely ignored as one of his songs came on the radio. He watched, enraptured as you paused, almost like you couldn’t resist, and started singing with it, quietly. The others in your shared space were annoyed, but your voice filled his ears, as well as crackling into the room, and when you added a little twang to one of the worlds it was all over.

Jack had never moved so fast in his life.

He was supposed to meet the driving agent in a minute, anyway, but he flung himself on the streets weaving desperately towards the corner of the block.

You had stopped singing, embarrassed as the two men in the taxi glared at you. It was just a song that gave you so much happiness you hadn’t thought about singing aloud, but there was something clearly going on. The car slowed to a stop at the corner, and you unbuckled yourself, telling the driver you’d just get out here. As you opened the door, however, a handsome, panicked man on the outside pushed it close. Panic rose in your throat, confusion outweighed by the sudden movement of the other passenger. It wasn’t his stop either, but he was yelling and throwing himself out of the car at a sprint.

Your door opened again, and you found yourself face to face again with the handsome stranger, intensity in his gaze.

“Darlin, do not go anywhere,” he said, in the voice you’d been hearing every evening, before he was gone, chasing after his target.

You were frazzled. Cars were honking, at some point your driver had gone missing, too, and you were pretty sure you just met the love of your life. You didn’t know what to do. After a moment of calming breaths and fidgeting, you climbed out of the taxi, closing the doors and turning on the hazard lights. Hovering on the corner sidewalk seemed just as safe as sitting in the backseat of an immobile car on angry streets, anyway.

Then there was a warm hand over your eyes and as you nearly jumped out of your skin, you heard is voice, singing the song you’d been singing minutes before; his song. You grabbed his hand, turning around eagerly, to see the handsome (now slightly scruffier) stranger. Behind him the other two men were trailing, one in handcuffs, but you hardly noticed them.

“Hello,” you said, almost laughing. His eyes were as warm and eager as his voice, which stopped singing, and he was already moving to hold you. “Is this going to be my life, now that you’ve found me?” You gestured loosely.

His broad shoulders shrugged, and the adrenaline must have been wearing off. For all he was clearly a hero who just got the bad guy, he looked awfully nervous. You gently pushing his cowboy hat up and ducked under it, so your faces were close.

“Next time, I won’t go anywhere either,” you said. His smile was broad and happy, both of you well aware of the subtext.

“Thank you, darlin.”

>>

taglist:

@fangirl-316 @0celestialbitch0 @scribbledghost

[they-call-me-nita]

Celeste Ng, author :

“This is a painting I made, which hangs over my desk. It’s actually a passage from Annie Dillard’s The Writing Life. Each color represents a different letter of the alphabet, so the colored blotches can be decoded to read as follows:

‘Every morning you climb several flights of stairs, enter your study, open the French doors, and slide your desk and chair out into the middle of the air. The desk and chair float thirty feet from the ground, between the crowns of maple trees. The furniture is in place; you go back for your thermos of coffee. Then, wincing, you step out again through the French doors and sit down on the chair and look over the desktop. You can see clear to the river from here in winter. You pour yourself a cup of coffee.

Birds fly under your chair. In spring, when the leaves open in the maples’ crowns, your view stops in the treetops just beyond the desk; yellow warblers hiss and whisper on the high twigs, and catch flies. Get to work. Your work is to keep cranking the flywheel that turns the gears that spin the belt in the engine of belief that keeps you and your desk in midair.’

I love this quote, and it’s especially fitting as my office is on the second floor, accessed by French doors, and with maple trees right outside the window. But I wanted it to look visually beautiful too, and this is what I came up with. Whenever I look up from my computer, I see the painting and remember what it says, without getting distracted by words when I’m wordsmithing myself.”

[hyperfixationtimego]

Makoto has rainbow loom

Leon has tech decks

Chihiro has silly bandz

Mondo has his kickass embroidery and Perler beads

Taka has Rubik’s cubes and Perler beads

Hiro has fushigi magic gravity balls (that looks even worse typed out than I thought it would)

Sayaka has lip gloss phones

Aoi has those little things with the water and teeny tiny rings that just float and then there’s the button yk

Sakura has hair chalk and the friendship bracelet kits

Byakuya has a mini etch-a-sketch

Toko has Mad Libs

Hifumi also has Mad Libs, but the fandom versions

Celeste has the little Disney Princess teacup sets that came in a giant teapot

Junko has Lisa Frank bags and stationery

Mukuro has the glow in the dark stars that you stick on the ceiling and worms on strings

HEY I’D DIE FOR YOU?? I LOVE THESE????

yes yes yes !!! Makoto has rainbow loom and I’m not gonna go on another ramble about it but I love that for him I rlly do hdbsbdbdbdb

And!!!!! Yeah yes yeah yeah yeah!!!!!! Oh my god dude tech decks are so cool and fun to fidget with......he’s had so many of them taken away for disrupting class but he always seems to come prepared with like a billion of them hdbdbsbdd nobody knows how he’s able to carry and hide so many hfbfbfb The noise bothers some of his other classmates, so he has to be careful with them, but they rlly are some of his favorite things to toy around with 🥺

Chihiro,,,,,,silly bands,,,,,,,,galaxy brain,,,,,,,sometimes during lunch she just takes off all of the ones she’s wearing and lines them up on the table to look at them bc,,,,,,hdbdbdb pretty shapes and colors,,,,,,,and then forgets to eat unless someone reminds her dhsnsbdbs

Makoto 🤝 Chihiro

their arms being COVERED in bright colored bracelets

Mondo and his embroidery ❤️ we stan a king

And the perler beads,,,,,,,uffbdbdbdbdbd me getting flashbacks to my childhood with all these damn things omg but yeah it’s very calming for him!! it requires a lot of patience, but it’s also repetitive movement and action so he’s kinda just !!! 👀

he and Taka have quiet afternoons where they just both do them (either working together or separately) and it’s so nice n softttt??? Comfortable silence ishimondo,,,,,,,,,m love

And Taka with his Rubik’s cubes oh my LORD he probably knows the secrets to most styles!! he can do them pretty quickly, and usually asks someone else to mess it up for him again, but literally give him like a couple of minutes and complete and total silence and BAM there u go

also highkey he could probably solve it with one hand if u asked him to because that’s just,,,,,literally how much of his spare time he’s spent with these damn things dndnsbdbdw

OH MY GOD THE MAGIC BALLS,,,,,,DUDE OH MY GOD OH MY GOD

highkey the only reason he has one is because he ordered it when they were still in business and adamantly REFUSES to admit that he got scammed hdbdhsbdbdbw

he’s not good at it, per se, but he’s built up some sleight of hand skills, definitely hdbsbdbd also it’s probably just fun to roll around and fidget with (plus it’s weighted!!!)

everyone else watches him playing with it like,,,,wow king I am so sorry

he’s also definitely dropped it on the floor of his dorm room bathroom AT LEAST twice, which ended up shattering the tile (and possibly a ball, as well) so he’s just kinda :’)

AND LIP GLOSS PHONES FOR SAYAKA IS AN ABSOLUTE GODSEND HOLY SHIT

literally just,,,,,her vibes are immaculate oh my god ? she’ll put some on and then immediately call her girlfriend over like “babe come here I need to test something” just to kiss them on the lips bc ./////.

she is just,,,,,so cute I’m gonna die??? she also makes the obligatory “sorry, I need to take this,” joke whenever her lips get chapped and she needs to put some on bbfbfbvbf

I do not know what you mean for Aoi’s but I support it wholeheartedly!!

HAIRCHALK FOR SAKURA?????? IM GONNA GO FERAL OH MY GODDDD SHE LOVES IT SHE LOVES IT SHE LOVES IT SHE PROBABLY DOES PRIDE FLAG COLORS A BUNCH OF THE TIME AND OTHER TIMES JUST DOES HER FAVORITES LIKE????

and friendship bracelets oh my GOD 🥺 she’ll do them if she ever needs to de-stress or relax, because the repetitive movements are very soothing!!! and she’s 100% made a bunch for her classmates, ofc oh my goodness

Sakura 🤝 Makoto

Making bracelets as a coping skill and giving a shit ton of said bracelets to their classmates because they like to see them happy

hdbdvsvdvdv byakuya totally does!!

He hides it in his dorm; nobody must EVER know about it okay if they find out he’ll die. But it’s really really fun to fidget with and he finds himself using it after particularly taxing or rough days!!! Plus the visual satisfaction,,,,,shit can’t be beat

TOKO AND HIFUMI MAD LIBS!!!!! oh my god they have solidarity so they give each other words if other people are unavailable/not cooperating hdnsbsbsv

and they both crack up when the other person reads the story, too 🥺 Like Toko will try to pretend that she doesn’t find it funny, but she’s snorting and trying to keep a straight face by the third sentence. They both get such a nice fluttery feeling at making others laugh, too!

Jill has tamagotchis!!! A bunch of them!!!!! And she’s really good at taking care of them; she acts like they’re her children dhsbdvsbs everyone else in class 78 is always like how are they all still alive you’re not even fronting most of the time???

(asmr Toko checks on them and takes care of them sometimes for her but she’d die before letting anyone else find out about that ❤️)

And Celeste with the disney princess tea cups oh my goddddd 🥺🥺🥺 they’re practically some of her most prized possessions and she’s very proud of them

Kyoko has maybe two or three or so furbies that she carries around with her and treats like her literal children wnnssnnsdbdb she’s literally the embodiment of the “do you care if I take the skin off this furby” meme no I won’t take it back it’s true

she does shit like create long furbies and other weird ass stuff like that because sometimes she’s awake at 3 in the morning and gets Ideas™️

Makoto is horrified ❤️

HELL YEAH junko loves the Lisa Frank aesthetic ngl like????? bright ass colors!!!!! holographic visuals!!!! oh my god she definitely carries around the little backpacks even though they’re too small for her bdbsbsbs

like she can’t fit anything useful in there and then gets frustrated because of it shdhnssbsb Mukuro is just kinda “why don’t you get a normal backpack” “bECAUSE IT’S NOT FUN, MUKURO”

And Mukuro with the glow in the dark starsssssssssss waaaaa oh my gosh she loves them so much they’re so calming to look at ??? prettyyyyy and also she has solidarity with Kaito because he has them too hdbsbdbd

they both find out the other has them and it’s just the Spider-Man pointing meme and *vibrates excitedly*

[ship-wreckedrp]

TASK #5--THE 5 LOVE LANGUAGES

For those who don’t already know, there's a widely accepted concept of there being 5 ways of expressing and receiving love, known as love languages, first introduced by Dr. Gary Chapman, PhD. Because everyone does not express or receive love in the same way, these 5 have been valuable tools in relationships with ones self, as well as with others--romantic partners or otherwise. The 5 love languages are:

Words of Affirmation--People with words of affirmation as a love language value verbal acknowledgments of affection, including frequent "I love you's," compliments, words of appreciation, verbal encouragement, and often frequent digital communication like texting and social media engagement.

Quality Time--People whose love language is quality time feel the most adored when their partner actively wants to spend time with them and is always down to hang out. They particularly love when active listening, eye contact, and full presence are prioritized hallmarks in the relationship.

Physical Touch--People with physical touch as their love language feel loved when they receive physical signs of affection, including kissing, holding hands, cuddling on the couch, and sex. Physical intimacy and touch can be incredibly affirming and serve as a powerful emotional connector for people with this love language. The roots go back to our childhood, Motamedi notes, some people only felt deep affection and love by their parents when they were held, kissed, or touched.

Gifts--Gifts is a pretty straightforward love language: You feel loved when people give you "visual symbols of love," as Chapman calls it. It's not about the monetary value but the symbolic thought behind the item. People with this style recognize and value the gift-giving process: the careful reflection, the deliberate choosing of the object to represent the relationship, and the emotional benefits from receiving the present.

Acts of Service--If your love language is acts of service, you value when your partner goes out of their way to make your life easier. It's things like bringing you soup when you're sick, making your coffee for you in the morning, or picking up your dry cleaning for you when you've had a busy day at work.

The first part of this task would be identifying what your top 1 or 2 love languages would be for receiving love. Additionally, identify what your top 1 or 2 love languages are that you express towards others. Share both of these love languages with your fellow ship-mates!

-The second part of this task would be sharing and expressing 1 or 2 love languages with one other assigned ship-mate. The assigned ship-mates are:

Astrid ⇄ Cisco

Sadhbh ⇄ Emmie

Rodrigue ⇄ Juniper

Khamani ⇄ Luna

Thomas ⇄ Celeste

Frankie ⇄ Bailey

Riley ⇄ Aldrich

Xavier ⇄ Raj

Sebastin ⇄ Antony

REWARDS:

Winner’s choice! Each of you who actively participates in both parts of this task will get to choose between the following rewards:

MOVIE DATE: A day trip to Tahiti for a movie date with a person of your choosing. All ship-mates who opt for this prize (and the person of their choosing) will be flown together for a private screening of Encanto.

CALL HOME: A 1 hour Zoom call home to a friend or family member of your choosing.

THE LOVE SHACK: 4 days, 3 nights in The Love Shack with a person of your choosing.

MONEY: A cash prize of $200

CATERED MEALS: 1 week of catered meals, tailored to your dietary needs (if applicable).

NEW FOODS: 3 new & unlimited food/beverage provisions for yourself and your fellow ship mates consisting of coffee, rice & beans, as well as supplies to cook them in (pots, mugs, cooking utensils, etc.).

OOC DETAILS:

Everyone has the remainder of March to participate in this task. Please try to wrap up any threads by the beginning of April. Any initial posts relating to this task, please be sure to tag ‘swtask’.

If you’re interested in quizzing your character on their love languages, this quiz gives a great percentage breakdown on the love languages one most receives.

As always, if you have any questions, feel free to DM the main or ask in the group’s Discord!

[headcanonspam]

I tend to think that at the beginning, Andy & Quynh weren't worried about losing each other. Traveling together was a choice both of them made every day & while it was possible that one morning one of them might choose to leave the other, that would be on them - not on the world or other humans & certainly not on fate or gods. When Lykon died, death became a new fear, but one common across all of nature; they weren't worried about being torn apart by anything less, because each day they still made the choice to stay side by side. The fear of losing each other could have come when they met Yusuf & Nicolo the first time, whose origins were tied so tight even Andy, if pressed, could almost be convinced the strings of destiny pulled them together, but destiny still felt less powerful, less important than the choice Andy & Quynh each continued to make every morning: to stay together, to travel, to commit. Their fate was the decisions they made. Until the iron maiden.

At the end of the film, what motivates Andy is not the cosmic coincidence of Nile becoming immortal when Andy becomes mortal, but rather the choice that Nile made to come get them: it was a choice and for the first time since Quynh, Andy could see an unexpected choice bear unexpected fruit. Celeste's choice to help Andy without question is also important, but it wasn't enough, on its own: Celeste made a choice, but Andy couldn't yet believe that the choice to help her had any effect on the world beyond her own skin. It was a kindness she wasn't ready to see. And Copley's wall at the end is a visual metaphor for Andy being able to see: yes, she still has choices and those choices have effects.

(I feel like there is an undercurrent here I'd like to believe, which is that part of why their jobs in the present are in connection with the CIA and the like, is that, after Quynh, it became harder for Andy to believe they could effect change on a global level, so she defaulted to jobs with a specific clear cut goal that were get in/get out; she defaulted to taking orders, taking jobs someone else decided needed to be done. She narrowed her scope & stopped believing choices had consequences beyond the obvious end result of the mission. I mean yes: I'm sure part of the direction of their jobs was the fear of discovery for longer term gigs and I'm sure part was picking jobs that had a high chance of getting killed because she was passively suicidal, but. I think it's also because she stopped being able to see the bigger picture & in some ways wanted to stop making her own choices.)

[kindleln]

Ok so I’ve been playing through the Bundle for Racial Equality and Justice on Itch.io and here are my thoughts so far!

Oxenfree

I played this one prior and oh my gosh I love this game. It’s one of my all time favorites and made me fear-cry. It’s a story based game that follows a girl named Alex, as she endeavors to keep her brand new step brother Jonas, her stoner friend Ren, Rin’s crush Nona and a girl named Clarissa who was Alex’s late older brother’s girlfriend, alive until morning on an abandoned island haunted very literally by the ghosts of the past.

Night in the Woods

My sister’s favorite game of all time and for me it is definitely up there. Focuses around a girl named Mae who recently dropped out of college and returned to her home town to try to reconnect with her friends and family and deal with her mental health, but there is something lurking in the woods... also all the characters are anthropomorphic animals and it’s adorable.

Celeste

Harrrrddddd. It’s hard. So hard. But I did it! Celeste is a platformer following a girl named Madeline as she tried to climb Mt. Celeste chased and hindered by her fears and anxieties as she attempts to cope. It’s a very good game but can be very frustrating.

A Short Hike

A short game relatively speaking about a bird girl named Claire who is on an island state park with her aunt and is attempting to get to the peak of the mountain to find cell service for a very important phone call. She can walk, climb and fly in this little open world game and it is very charming. I never got around to catching all the fish cause I have other things to do but maybe one day...

Minit

A very stressful game where you die every minute which is definitely not enough time to do everything but luckily all your progress stays each death, you just end up at your little house over and over. Reminds me of top down zelda games and is completely in black and white. I was tense the entire time but beating the game was such a rush of relief.

Wheels of Aurelia

Aaa so many endings! I got 3 so far to be honest. It’s a visual novel driving game following a woman named Lella and a lady she picked up at a dance named Olga as they travel the Aurelia road in Italy on their way to France for their own reasons. I wish you could slow down the car as well as speed up cause I hit so many people when trying to be careful lol.

Gnog

This game made my computer overheat and shut down! Aaa. Anyway it’s about opening boxes through puzzles and is very neat for what I played before my computer decided to throw a tantrum!

WitchWay

Adorable platform puzzle game playing as a little witch who fell into a ruin and has to find her pet bunnies, get her stuff back and get to the surface. In like every room there’s a eye on the wall that opens when you pass it and it took forevvvveeer to find them all and I’m not even sure what their point was but it was a fun game.

Beglitched

A bejeweled like puzzle game where you find a laptop owned by an apparently infamous user Glitch_Witch who apparently decided to take a break from her internet kingdom and dump it on some rando: you, and left you notes on how to get rid of “hackers” hiding in the puzzle boards. Very fun but the cat levels killed me. So. So hard. It’s a cute game worth a look

Ephemera of Evalynn Cott

I didn’t really “get” this game? It was a little hard to understand but interesting to say the least. I think I finished it and it didn’t take long. It’s about a girl trying to find her missing assignments I think. It’s like Atari graphics which is neat but it was hard for me to tell what was happening, you know, being younger than the Atari and all.

#hasicontent

A pixel game where you take photos of bunnies in a garden in a top down fashion. There’s no real point or anything for this game but it’s cute.

Pikuniku

2d puzzle platform styled game with a cute minimalist design where you play as a little red oval with legs and eyes called Piku who runs around a cute and quirky little island and kicks the crap out of robots. Rather short but very cute and charming, now only if someone would play co-op with me :/

Death and Taxes

I honestly don’t know how I feel about this game. You play as a grim reaper in an office and the main game play is stamping papers with short info blurbs on humans to decide if they live or die. It’s a weird game that suggests the world is better off if some people die and I don’t know how I feel about that. I really don’t.

Lenna’s Inception

A top down Zelda inspired game where the hero dies in the tutorial and school teacher Lenna must step up and conquer the dungeons to save her students from the glitch that made her school disappear. It apparently has three endings which definitely adds to replay-ability and you can switch between 32 and 64 bit styles. It was really fun and I highly recommend it if you like zelda games.

[morethanaprincess-a]

@cadcnce​ said:  "Do you have any games on your phone? Serious question." His may be dead and he may be bored waiting for the plane.

Unprompted IC Asks (that embarrass Sonia by way of otome games) - Accepting from mutuals!

Settled into a firm, uncomfortable seat near the airport gate, Sonia had busied herself with browsing through Instagram. It was a risk, one she'd have to soon shut off on her personal mobile: it would be too simple a thing for her security to track her and that was the last thing the royal runaway wanted. To be found, after she'd made it this far away from her rigid schedule, her rules, her morning green juice and the requisite shell pink nail polish that she'd worn most of her life since she'd turned thirteen. That had come off right before Wylan had come to collect her, when the coast was clear, and left in the hotel suite's wastebin in a pile of damp cotton balls. To her, the alcohol was the sweet scent of freedom and she wasn't even drinking it.

Now, she'd waited him to return from wandering off, something about his mobile and its inefficiency, and peeked into the lives of her friends as she prepared to bunk off: Chiaki was in Seoul at a gaming tournament, Celeste had uploaded a video of a castle with a lilting tone in the background, Teruteru had opened another restaurant, Ibuki had taken a blurry, brightly colored photo from the stage at a recent concert. She'd chuckled and posted a new story, a simple text post: Did you know that before you board a commercial airplane, you're subject to x-ray scans? It's something out of science fiction!, complete with several shocked emoji faces and an alien head. A few friends responded, some apologizing that they were too busy to talk and others lovingly lamenting how sheltered she was. Even Byakuya had chimed in, asking her bluntly why she was having such fun being herded like cattle into a stock car, which was how commoners traveled by air. She was about to respond that there was no need to be rude when Wylan had interjected.

"Games? On my mobile? Like video games?" She repeated, now well and truly distracted from social media as she stared at him. It wasn't the gaming inquiry that gave her pause: it was the fact that Wylan had asked her a serious question. It was so far removed from the ordinary, but then again, she was taking a commercial flight for the first time. Her entire life had stepped through the metaphorical looking glass since she'd entrusted herself to his plans. His care, even. Everything, to her at least, seemed to be a joke to him. Lighthearted, silly, teasing: life seemed to be game for him, until it delivered the result he wanted. She was briefly reminded of the sliced open hand incident and the stitches she'd forced on him: an instance where something clearly hadn't gone his way.

Beneath the veneer of her smile and her surprise, her chest tightened.

"I suppose I have some, but I'm not sure what you're expecting," She continued. If the silence had persisted much longer, it would be more awkward than where her thoughts had wandered off to. "I could never keep up with the popular mobile games in Japan, the sort with the daily logins and the fighting tournaments. Most of what I have are visual novels, I'm afraid. Or things I play with family."

Closing out of Instagram, Sonia handed her phone to him. Even covered in application icons, her background of human skulls formed into a heart embedded in a wall of bones still stood out: she'd taken it herself in the catacombs, a favorite memory. There were her Twitter, TikTok, and Instagram icons, several streaming services, a manga reading app, Spotify (for her podcasts), various shopping apps, and finally at the end of the long scroll, her games. Virtual chess, logic puzzles, scrabble, icons of various foreboding imagery like bats and fangs, and then...

"Oh dear god," She whispered.

Though if she were to be accurate, she should've spoken Satan's name in vain instead. Sonia had forgotten, in her giddiness to explore part of the United States as Sonia Nevermind, not the Princess of Novoselic, with Wylan as her guide, about those games.

The ones where she could romance vampires. And demons. And unfortunately, not in the same game. But both otome offerings were distinctly dark in nature, particularly in the domineering sado-masochistic tendencies of the love interests. Warm and fluffy love confessions were the exception, not the norm, in her choice of dating sims.

"Ah...um, perhaps ignore those!" She pleaded, her cheeks having turned from a pale rose to deep magenta quickly as she prayed he didn't know what those games entailed. Heaven help her if he asked her about them and her favorite routes.

[willamettemountain]

LIFE is ROSEY

I stepped outside the night of the day that the breeze hadn’t stopped whistlin’. The grass felt stiff, crackin under the weight of my heels, the sky looked violent, quickly movin black clouds kept the mountain tops hidden. We had been on a good routine, my lady and me, makin certain that the birds weren’t being prepared for the slaughter by another white toothed farm rodent. Every night the door to the tiny house where the chickens slept was latched closed, another small quarrel settled with a hungry beast. I pushed open the gate and slooped down near the feed bucket where there was a small dark animal laying motionless on the cedar shavings, but the light was dim, shrouded over by a snow cloud nestled around the celeste of the sleeping moon.  I inched closer into the dark figure. Surely it must be nothing, my brain having a shot at my eyes, age playing its merciless tricks. There she was, Rosey, not movin’, head pointed down. I wrapped my hands around her wings and picked her up, the coop smelled like death.  I felt her ribcage expanding and contracting, moving the air, she wasn’t dead, at least not yet. I hurried her back inside. Under the kitchen light I saw her beaten, bloody head split open from the top of her beak to just past the midpoint of her skull. She was breathing, but no eye movement, both shut, terrified (for certain). This red colored lady bird had been livin here for the past 5 years, born just before our baby girl, Millie. Rosey rarely took residence in the area where the chickens were living, instead she took refuge in the goat house, 30 yards north of the area where I had found her.

I found a cardboard box and laid bedding, water, and food down, before placing Rosey in the box. We put water and electrolytes for children in a syringe and pushed it down her throat, turned the light out and waited for morning.

Next day Rosey still seemed unresponsive. We repeated the process of pushing liquids down her throat and added a heat lamp to keep her body temperature up. By dinner time Rosey had started moving a bit, mostly her head and left eye. Her right eyelid had been crusted shut with the blood that had dripped down her head the previous night or day. By day 3 she began opening her left eye, blinking even, but not walking, her toes curled up under her heels. Hope in the house floated that Rosey would recover, even if it took some time. By day 8 Rosey was eating on her own, drinking on her own, both eyes blinking, but with no reaction to anything visual, her feeding was always a miss, she would peck down, looking for food or water, but completely missing the dishes. We would navigate her head toward the food, and she would eventually locate it after direction. For whatever reason it appeared that Rosey was blind, and her toes curled up (still) under her feet. No walking, though the intent to try was strong. She would push up off of her busted feet and try to balance, but with no luck of maintaining.

This system of feeding, inability of mobility and loss of vision continued on for three weeks, with no improvement to either faculty.

It was Christmas Eve, the excitement swirled through the stairwell and the blinds, enveloping all in the house, winding us into a magical top of stories, smells and music. The festivities of the day were filled with wonder, the children soon grew tired and were tucked in with promises of the man in red to visit via chimney to our humble home. Soon the sounds of the evening had hushed into whispers. There were still presents to be wrapped and dutiful closings of coops and animal feedings. As I passed Rosey’s small residence her head was turned inward toward her back and I couldn’t see any signs of movement. I hunched down to feel her chest, no breath, no life, she had gone.

Rosey stayed with us inside for her remaining days, and she brought us together in a different way than we had been in the past with other animals, she required our constant care, and concern, all in the home shared in the duties, and on Christmas we dug a grave and all shed tears as our Rosey left us, as magical and mysterious as the sleigh wielding magician they call Santa.

Missing you and grateful, old friend.

[mayxthexforce]

I hate this old man

[jiminysjournal]

Now that we know what’s coming in the next ACNH update, here’s what I’d like to see in future updates.

Diagonal fences: We can build vertical fences and horizontal fences, but we still can't set up diagonal fences, which can look pretty awkward next to diagonal cliffs and riverbanks. I don't care, if this means creating a whole new set of fence recipes (not unlike the Angled Signpost), they need to be added.

Diagonal pavement: Likewise, we should be able to pave diagonally. While the rounded corners are great, they still creat that "step" look, when they're place in succession. Adding diagonal level between rounded and erased would help this. They could be used as the default next to diagonal cliffs and riverbanks!

I've been staring at the edge of the water, long as I can remember, never really knowing why I'm forced to have a patch of grass between pavement and rivers. Basically, I'd like to be able to pave the riverbanks, as well as the very edges under bridges and inclines. Likewise, when two different pavements touch (including the plaza, the pavements should just join.

The abilty to put different pavement on opposite sides of fences: Just because it would look nicer.

The custom pattern function in the Island Designer needs fixed. Currently, it behaves identically to just laying a pattern down, making the 2,300 Nook Miles kind of a waste. It needs to be patched so it gives the same footprint sound as the pavement it's placed on (rather than a carpet sound). While it does take on the visual properties, if it was even a single pixel of transparency (which I think is also on laying patterns down), it doesn't do much beyond that.

Let us put rugs outdoors. Yes, even right next to building entrances and on the plaza. This would be great for welcome mats.

Move KK Slider. Even if it's just one square down. He's kind of blocking the entrence to RS. Also, does anybody find it odd we have to sit to start the show, then we get right back up, when he starts playing?

Let us put furniture under arches.

Clean up transparency on patterns. It's too aliased.

Some tweaks to the DIY menu: I'm not just talking bulk-crafting but the ability to jump between crafting and customization without leaving the menu.

Some kind of indication your tools are getting worn: Past games had separate icons for worn axes, so it's not unprecidented. Heck, even BotW had worn weapons flash red!

Stacked, manila clams, bugs, and fish: They can take up a lot of space in the storage, and, since they're not being measured at tourneys, there's not much point to keeping them separate.

Some way to access storage from outside: Just a piece of furniture we can place.

Island Ordinances

Each outdoor speaker can get its own song.

An app that lets us use the grid outdoors: I want to be able to put things in the middles of tables. On that note, I certainly hope there's enough apps to justify having two screens, with nine each.

Camera control in the musuem

The ability to put things in our cart at Able Sisters without modelling them

Daisy Mae, CJ, Flick, Sahara, and plaza visitors in the morning announcements: Reserve "nothing to report" for Gulliver, Wisp, and now Redd. Currently, only Celeste gets this treatment by way of the meteor shower announcement.

A proper post office: With Pelly, Phyllis, and Pete. And free postage. Perhaps funded by mailing a certain number of postcards from Dodo Airlines. Which leads me to…

…A Nook Stop in the air terminal. It can replace the postcards. Basically, just to let us buy Nook Mile Tickets right there.

Pro design upgrades: This is something that looks like it may be coming, at some point, just based on the menu itself.

Gloves

Separate ensemble setups for each wand: Mainly, so I can put all the eggshell outfits on the Bunny Day Wand. Whatever you currently have set up can be assigned to whatever wand you used last.

Some kind of use for the bags

[cela-astral-projection]

She floats like a swan Grace on the water Lips like sugar Just when you think you've caught her She glides across the water She calls for you tonight To share this moonlight

Oh, right. Like I wasn’t gonna take off running with that lemon tree business. 18+. Minors do not interact. 

Celeste loved cooking. It was soothing to her. Muriel joked that they would never be in any real danger, in the hut by virtue of her prolific knife collection. Artisan blades, made especially for her hand. She would go into a nearly hypnotic state, laying them out on the table, running their edges along the whetstone.

For the past week, the blades had been given a workout. Bowls and bowls of lemons laid out before her. The air in the hut perfumed from the nearly aerosolized oils emitting from the peels under her touch. It smelled clean, fresh. Careful strokes, removing only the thinnest outer layer. Carefully dissecting each section of the fruit, extracting them from the thin outer membranes.

Muriel was confident he would be sick of the fruit by the time she was through. And every day she had surprised him with a new and inventive dish.

Lemon curd. Lemoncello. Preserved lemons. Lemon confit. Oleo Saccharum. Lemon Poppyseed Chiffon Cake. Candied lemon peels. Every meal: fish, and chicken and vegetables, all making use of the abundance.

While Muriel was still known to snag a whole lemon and bite into it, flesh, pith, and all (Something that always made Celeste cringe, as if she could taste the bitter pith in her own mouth) he had developed some clear favorites.

The buttery, shortbread crust warming in the oven. The sound of the whisk brushing the inside of the bowl as she beat eggs, sugar, flour, lemon peel, lemon juice. The way the mixture seemed to blossom as soon as it hit the warm crust, assaulting his senses, that only seemed to grow with each minute it baked.

Muriel wasn't picky. He would gladly take the still hot, oozing confection as soon as it was removed from the flame. But, Celeste, ever the perfectionist, would request that it cool overnight. Some nights, after she had fallen asleep, he would wake and sneak a bite. Or two. Or three. The moderately scolding look he got in the morning entirely worth it.

However, he did much prefer this. Breakfast in bed. Though, he hardly felt that lemon squares qualified as a wholesome, hearty breakfast. And far too indulgent. For many, many reasons.

Celeste, straddling his lap. Her hair free, falling over her bare breasts. Tiny, bite-sized squares between her fingers. Bringing them to his lips. She would rake the thick, sticky mixture along his lower lip, her own lips parting, beckoning him to follow suit.

When he would accept the morsel, the cloying, sweet powdered sugar melting away and yielding to creamy, decadent, and tart lemon, the crust crumbling and coating his mouth with butter, the faintest hint of salt.

She would lean forward, sweeping her tongue across his lip, licking away the sticky evidence that remained. He would lean forward to kiss her, and she would withdraw, teasing, replacing her tongue with another bite of the treat.

Muriel's hands moved up her thighs, long fingers settling around her hips, pulling her closer, more firmly against his lap. Her belly against his. Breasts against his chest.

Celeste smirked. "Oh, aren't you hungry, love?" she implored, her tone tantalizing.

There was only so much of this he could endure. The way she brushed her fingers over his chest, picking up the stray sugar on her fingertips, bringing them to her lips and sucking them. The way she settled against him. The heat from between her thighs. The way his cock twitched, coming to life beneath her.

There was no more hunger. Not anymore. Celeste kept him fulfilled in every way. Satiated.

The only thing he craved now was her. He always wanted her.

From the first day he met her, she always smelled of citrus and vanilla. He loved watching her in the early morning light, in front of the mirror, pinning her hair up. The tiny pots and vials of color. The carefully selected brushes that she swept across her eyes and cheeks. The perfumes misted on her skin, dispersing on the air. Like magic, that smell awakening him, pushing the last vestiges from sleep from his eyes.

Though he never said it aloud, it was one of his favorite sights. A private show, just for him.  And when Celeste would go in the morning, she would kiss him, leaving a film of clear, sugary sweet wax on his lips. Lemon and coconut oil. Something to tide him over until she returned. Everything about her was perfect for him. Her taste. Her essence. Selected to intice and inspire him. He never had to ask. She was made for him. And that was the beginning and end of it.

Celeste leaned in and kissed him more fully, no more teasing. Her hands on either side of his face, eyes fluttering shut. Her thumbs brushing down over the scruff of his beard. The line of bare flesh of the deep, old scar inhibited its growth. Her lips were soft but insistent.

Muriel tilted his head, deepening the kiss, parting her lips with his tongue. Celeste could taste the lemon and sugar clinging him. Gratifying. Her hands slid to his neck, crossing behind his shoulders.

She could feel his stiffening cock rising to greet her. Celeste shifted a bit to accommodate him, feeling the head prodding at her labia, then slipping between. She rocked, slickening the thick tip with her fluids. She slid a hand from behind his neck, down his chest, seeking the shaft, positioning him at her entrance.

Muriel's breath caught, and he tensed a bit, pulling away from her mouth. He leaned back, shifting down, and guided her onto his length, watching her engulf him as she slowly sank onto his cock. The way her head fell back, back arched. Listening to the hushed, breathy noises she made as he filled her.

When she could take no more, she grabbed his wrist and tensed, holding him tight within her. She rolled her hips a bit, giving quivering gasps. After a long moment, she pushed herself up, then slid back down. Shallow movements at first. Still slow. Gaining speed as her body yielded to receive him in full.

Muriel's hands wandered her body, down her thighs, back up to her belly, to her breasts. Tender, reverent touches, admiring her form. The way that she moved. Undulating, waves of pleasure rippling through her. He watched her long fingers seeking out her clit. The visual of her rubbing echoed by the clench and shuddering of her walls around him. The feeling of warmth and wet that gushed from her core, eliminating any resistance or friction.

Muriel moaned, his eyes rolling back as she bobbed and swayed, taking him deeper with each dip of her hips.  Celeste smiled to herself at the noises of pleasure, and she bit her lip, slowing a bit, changing the rhythm, which elicited a new cry. She looked down on him, his muscles tensed, lip trembling. He was so damned gorgeous. His hair splayed out on the pillow. The furrow of his brow. The moments of clarity, where his brilliant green eyes met hers, and then the lips would flutter shut as pleasure retook him.

His body began to arch and thrust up into her. He had her by the hips again, moving her the way he needed her to go. She could hear each strike as their bodies met, the wet sounds coming from her cunt as he moved within her. He hit her deepest and most sensitive spots, and with each assault on her core, the world faded away until there was only him. She whined his name, each letter a prayer. Her body begging for relief. For him to give her orgasm. She felt her muscles tense and release. Warmth pooling in her belly, spilling down her thighs.

Muriel was close, so very close. The way she cried hs name always brought him closer. The way it sounded in his ears. Such love and adoration. It was in these moments that he could not doubt how much she loved him. The way that her body called out to him, her mind forcing everything else away but him. She always cried out for him. Muriel.

He shuddered as he came, and he felt his come as it coated him, flowing out of her body and back onto himself. She clenched around him as if she was trying to hold it all inside, her walls clamping down. He could feel the way Celeste shuddered as she came, her teeth chattering as her body shook, wracked with orgasm. Spurts of his come being pulled from him, jets of hot, thick and creamy fluid spilling into her, down her thighs. A white, sticky glaze on her tawny skin.

She nearly collapsed. Thankfully, Muriel was able to find the wherewithal to catch her and carefully disengage himself from her warmth, settling her down onto his chest. They lay together, panting, slick with sweat, their hands still searching each other's bodies. Her lips, soft and reverent, kissing every inch she could reach in her exhaustion.

In the afterglow, when they were sufficiently recovered, they took turns running a cool, damp cloth over their bodies. They would go to the waterfall and bathe together properly, later, when their legs could carry them. But, for now, they weren't ready to get up. Celeste was gathered to his side. Fingers tracing the muscles of his chest, his abdomen, the trail of dark hair that lead down to his cock. It did twitch a bit, still sensitive, but he was not quite prepared for another round. His head lolled back, enjoying the featherlight touches.

"Gods, you're fucking amazing," Celeste muttered. It was nearly a lament. 

Muriel blushed, but he smiled.

He reached over to the plate and brought a bite of the lemon square to her lips. She accepted the morsel gratefully and made a noise of satisfaction as she savored it. He ran his thumb along her lower lip, fingers hooked under her chin. He drew her into a kiss. 

Tart and sweet. 

[myincubusupdate]

Studios on the Park's art show takes inspiration from rock 'n' roll. ANOTHER SIDE The Way Is Out is an original watercolor piece by Incubus lead singer Brandon Boyd. - PHOTO COURTESY OF STUDIOS ON THE PARK The I Love Rock 'N' Roll exhibit, which features work by and inspired by musicians, is on display at Studios on the Park in Paso Robles through Sept. 1. Visit studiosonthepark.org for more information. Almost everything is better off with a good, solid soundtrack, whether it's the morning commute to work or the latest superhero movie. Curator and artist Celeste Hope wanted to bring the power of music to visual art, in more ways than one with the I Love Rock 'N' Roll exhibit. The collection of works, which features art by or about musicians, is currently on display at Studios on the Park in Paso Robles. "They're such anthems and represent a fun summer vibe as well," Hope said. Hope, who used to be a full-time concert photographer in Austin, Texas, before she relocated to the Central Coast with her husband (owner of Hope Family Wines), featured her own music photography last year in another rock 'n' roll-themed show. The concept was so popular that Hope decided to bring it back again, but she opted this time to focus on the role of curator so she could display the works of other artists. "Just bringing that rock culture to Paso is different than the other shows at Studios each month," Hope said. https://m.newtimesslo.com #brandonboyd #brandonboydart #incubus (en Studios on the Park) https://www.instagram.com/p/B0n19PPhEzV/?igshid=iv92brue68ts

[prettylittlelyres]

Inside the Writing Process

Part 6: Writing in a Colour Scheme

This Inside the Writing Process post is all about how I’m writing my setting descriptions in She Has No Name, doing my best to bring across a certain colour in the reader’s mind.

Aesthetics are important to the visual enjoyment of a written piece, and infusing a section with colour is a good way to achieve that. For me, this isn’t particularly to do with symbolism, but I do like to assign certain characters to certain colours, so it has a lot to do with association.

We meet again later on, in the kitchen our flat shares. It would be a bright, airy sort of space, a well-lit common area for breakfasts in the sunshine, morning light streaming in through the window, a huge great pane of glass that opens the wall, floor to ceiling, for several feet. A table with four chairs sits in from of it and I can imagine the long shadows their legs would cast over the terracotta-tiled floor… if this weren’t the South-West.

As I push open the kitchen door I realise that, in spite of the gigantic window, the only real light in the room comes from the recessed lights in the ceiling, and from the lamp on the extractor fan. I feel like I could get used to it, though, to the plantpot-coloured light hanging in the room, vermillion like the skin of a pomegranate.

Rosie is standing at the hob, leaning on a lipstick-red walking stick as she cooks, but she turns around and grins as I come in. “Hey, Celeste,” she says, “I’m making some soup for supper. Do you want some? It’s tomato and lentil, with red onion.” She taps her wooden spatula against the rim of the pan, rests it on a plate on the work-surface, and digs a spoon out of her cutlery drawer. Then she offers me a mouthful, and, oh, wow, the soup smells so amazing that I couldn’t resist walking closer and sipping it off the spoon if I wanted to. And why would I want to?

I step close, and Rosie’s delicate hand cups my chin softly as she feeds me the still-steaming soup.

The bright fire of chopped onion and black pepper spreads across my tongue, and I blink as Rosie’s fingers slip away from my skin.

“Good?” she says, holding the spoon handle between her fingers like a cigarette.

“Good,” I say, grinning, “And, yes, please. Shall I go and fetch some bread? There’s a supermarket not too far away—”

Rosie twitches violently and grips her stick harder as she sways on the spot. “Could you get my wheelchair from my room quickly, please?”

“Um… Uh… Yeah, yeah. Are you OKK?” I hold her shoulders gently and try to get a look at her face, but her head’s bowed, her neck bent, and all I can tell is that she’s gone from pink to white in the last few moments. But I can feel her pulse leaping even under my hands, even in her shoulders, her arms.

“Stood up for too long,” she mumbles, and I barely catch it. But I know she’ll know more of what’s going on that I do, so I don’t ask any more questions. Gently, I let her go, and then run to her room, knocking the door open and grabbing her wheelchair from where it’s parked under the desk, like a swivel chair. I push it clumsily down the corridor back to the kitchen.

Rosie’s lying on the floor when I get in, stick beside her, limbs lax, but her eyes are open, just about, and she looks up with half a smile as I cross the room with her chair. “Thanks,” she says, lips barely moving.

“Are you OK?” I say, crouching beside her and taking hold of her hands, “Has this happened before?”

Very slowly, with my help, Rosie manages to sit up, and then to clamber from the floor into her wheelchair. “I lose count of how many times. It’s OK. I just spent too long…” She grips the arm-rests of her chair and squeezes her eyes shut, breathing deeply through her nose for a few moments. “…Too long on my feet… and had a little spell. It’s called POTS.” She fumbles for the dials on the hob controls and turns off the halogen under the soup-pan.

Rosie’s colour is, of course, red (which is also why she’s called Rosie, rather than her full name, which is actually Rosemary). Celeste’s colour is blue, and Suzette’s colour is yellow (but we haven’t met Suzette just yet).

That’s why her wheelchair’s frame is red, why she uses red walking sticks, and why this whole scene (which centers on her despite being told from Celeste’s point of view) is full of references to the colour red.

I like writing colour schemes into my descriptions, so, in my writing journal, I have a double-page spread with lists of things which are those colours, as well as the names of different shades, so that I can incorporate them into the scene I’m working on.

I started these lists looking at the colour thesauruses on WritersHelpingWriters, and then started adding my own entries to them, including some emotions the colours bring to mind.

blue: ocean - sky - robin egg - denim - cornflowers - ink - sapphires - curaçao - storm clouds - cold - forget-me-not - lavender - Delft tiles - willow-pattern - ice  topaz - hyacinth - bella luna blue tea - dawn - tartan - soft - calm - water - night

yellow: butter - sunflower - lemons - gallia melon - citrine - fallen leaves - mustard - sunbeams - rapeseed fields - honey - oil - amber - mahonia - daffodil - buttercup - gold - marigold - mango - goldfinch - cornfield - peaches - cableknit sweater - legal pads - canary - warm white fairy lights - moringa

green: pears - grass - pine trees - beize - pistachio ice cream - moss - mould - algae - courgette - lichen - aloe - river-water - ficus - peas - lentils - sage - shrubbery - holly - ivy - apples - lime - mint - mojito - matcha - herb garden - oak leaves - flower shoots - heather - rainforest - hedgerows - tea

red: pomegranate - wine - scarlet - roses - Maltese cross - blood - ruby - blood orange - apples - gerania - lipstick - red velvet cake - rosehip syrup - strawberries - raspberries - gingham - red&black notebooks - Rosie’s coat - Rosie’s wheelchair - sunset - bricks - terracotta - plantpots - cinnamon - nutmeg- ladybirds

At some point I’ll make lists of other colours, to have on hand when I want to incorporate them into other scenes, but for now I’m happy with these lists, and to keep adding to them where I can think of new entries. Once I have them set down, it’s just a case of slipping them into scenes where I want to create the sense of a particular colour, and it’s really quite a fun part of writing, because I suddenly have a way to explain that everything that goes on has a kind of aura about it.

I have lists of words for particular atmospheres as well, but I’ll get to that in another post!