melodrama through the eyes of a (fellow) synaesthete
hello everyone! just like lorde herself, i have a strong case of synaesthesia (I get colour visions, but also tastes and scents as well), so this is my attempt to review the masterpiece that is melodrama through my synaesthetical experiences
green light: car air freshener, heated highway and the visions you get when you drive in heat (a la mirages), blackberry-scented cheap shower gel, a pistachio green silk scarf, old school adidas kicks, lemon juice drops on fresh summer salad, beige satin, old black cars (a la classic cadillacs and jaguars), maple syrup, the heat of cairo at around 11 am
sober: ripehoneydew, the smell of guitar wood varnish, red satin ribbons, smudged glass coffee tables, spilled lemonade on said tables, peach vodka, the feel of white plaster in old museums where security guards are very strict, cough syrup (both the colour and the flavour), artificial smell of mint, mint gum, velvet red carpeting in old and badly aired town halls, the humidity of rainforest
homemade dynamite: 4 am sunrise straight after a storm with torn dark grey, nearly black clouds being ripped, smell of gasoline, deep puddles in cracked pavement, dimmed street lights about to go out, magenta, white musk perfume from the body shop, deep indigo of the nearly sunrise of mid may, that walk home from a rowdy night out when everyone is more or less sobered up, but not sober enough to feel shy yet, still drunk enough to be honest with affection and cursing and slightly slurred speech
the louvre: bamboo blinds, bamboo shoots, bonsai trees, flowing honey, varnished birchwood, sunlit old halls in ugly grey
soviet buildings, silver hellium-filled balloons, white shiny doors between a party-filled room and a closet where hook-ups and one-night stands take place, old oil paint, the sunny, lemon yellow butterflies, muddly skies of july, edelflower syrup in a glass of white wine, edelflower flower crowns, an expensive pool in a mansion-like house in hollywood hills, the eerie comfort and anxiety of the opening credits of twin peaks
liability: massive bouquets of lily of the valley, white lace curtains knitted by a grandmother, greyness of a sunday in a village on a last warm october day, a single light in an office on a late night in a massive skyscraper, dried flowers, drops of nosebleed on a crystal clean white sink, grey that turns into pastel lilac, the feeling of ripped paper
hard feelings/loveless: faint sunrise shining through the windows of a manhattan apartment in a skyscraper, all shades of orange spilling onto a hi-tec kitchen, cointreau liqueur, sunny warm nights on ocean beach, lukewarm bathtubs when the bath foam has fizzled, bonfires and burned marshmallows, just the beginning of feeling buzzed (like a glass of wine in), tender shades of yellow, rustiness of old heavy doors into a basement, scaffolding sounds, first sunniest days of spring after a heavy winter, sunset in the ocean, heavy fluffy sweaters / neon diner signs, anime eyes, porcelain dolls, peach-flavoured bubblegum, glass bowls
sober ii (melodrama): colour of crimson, heavy red velvet couches, smudged matte red lipstick, glass shards, ripped pearl necklaces and scattered pearls on sticky floor, red limelight, stilettos, tight black bodysuits, smoky-eyed tall models in revealing tight and latex dresses, marble furniture with golden decor, fistfights during a party, ripped suits and thrown ties and unbuttoned white shirts on boys with wealthy fathers
writer in the dark: light parakeet green, whitewashed starched tablecloths that crunch, old wooden tables, rusty cages for canaries, Advocat liqueur, big pearl necklaces on black dresses, big sunglasses (a la Audrey’s in Breakfast at Tiffany’s), sunny Sunday mornings on a patio with a cup of fancy tea, sunday clothes, white churches in greece, silver tears and crying in the backseat after a breakup, wilted flowers in a vase with dirty water
supercut: light green and orange, Love Is bubblegum, peaches, apricots, mint, Mojitos, fairy lights above people at a rooftop party, roadtrip one takes after a breakup with all thier belongings, flavoured water that doesn’t quench thirst, sparkling water with lemon and ice cubes, worn down picnic blankets, fancy dresses girls wear to the entrance into a nightclub, folding chairs, chilled champagne
liability (reprise): cold winter wind of february, the feeling on the tip of the tongue from scolding hot tea, big white rooms in museums, light green, light smoke of e-cigarette that smells like peppermint, the smell of sunscreen, the stillness of a swimming pool at noon in heat
perfect places: red wine, swinging chandeliers, red plastic cups, glass grand pianos, the last summer party in august, that warm feeling at the end of the party where everyone’s buzzed and affectionate and there’s a lot of kissing and hugging and swinging, big fake golden earrings, summer fruits, fancy hotels and luxurious lifts/elevators, skinny dipping, black velvet dresses that touch the floor, uncontrollable laughing in comfy sweaters
I imagine walking in a summer dress with open toe sandals prancing around like a princess. The breeze hits my face right. My nails are painted with red varnish. The sky is the bluest of blues. And I’m in love. With the world. You. The stillness of the Hudson River is calming as we watch ferries go down, down, down. Twirling around, prancing with joy. Teasing you with child - like antics. The wait was worth it. The pain although apparently didn’t compare to the joy that was coming.
Keith woke up suffocated in warmth. He didn’t have to open his eyes, taking in a breath that was distinctly Shiro. His shoulders rose and fell with his exhalation, the air bouncing off of Shiro’s neck and coming back sticky and hot. They always fell asleep side by side, getting closer dream by dream. Their legs intertwined, Keith on his side trying to feel as much of Shiro as he could, tucked into the space between his head and shoulder.
Shiro mumbled in his sleep, his head falling to the side and into Keith’s hair. Keith slung an arm over his wide chest and snuggled in closer. Shiro murmured, shifting as he woke up. Keith groaned in displeasure.
“Too early,” he murmured into Shiro’s neck.
Shiro’s laugh was a deep rumble under his ear. It shook his eyes open.
He immediately regretted it, squinting against the light that happened to spill between the blinds and right into his crusty eyes. Shiro peeled himself out from under Keith, stretching in the early morning light. Watching the muscles play under Shiro’s scarred skin, Keith no longer regretted it.
Shiro turned to him with a lazy smile, stripes of light streaking across his face like God’s brushstrokes.
“It’s a whole new world, Keith. We can finally do what we want.”
The first two seasons of The Crown span nearly two decades, meaning that [makeup designer, Ivana] Primorac was responsible not only for transforming Claire Foy’s Princess Elizabeth into Queen Elizabeth II—refining the simple, uniform look that the Queen has maintained throughout her life—but also for progressively aging the actress and her onscreen counterparts as the series proceeds. With prior credits in the film world including Pan, Steve Jobs, and The Imitation Game, Primorac confronted extreme challenges on The Crown, primarily due to the logistical complexities of television series shooting in multiple countries at once.
Speaking with Deadline, Primorac explains all the visual elements that went into creating the Queen. [x]
hopscotchlondon is a cool minimalist UK-based shop, and they sell a bunch of vegan beauty and bath and body items like these bath salts and nail polish. super pretty, hey? and a great gift idea for any vegan.
It had been a slow day,week…okay month. Colin had been on my case all day about getting him whiskey and new smokes. Begrudgingly I dragged myself off of the chair sat in my small apartment. Grumbling I got into the elevator, surprisingly I wasn’t alone, my neighbour who I’d never really interacted with was stood looking at me with wide eyes. She looked equally as tired and downtrodden to be awake at this late hour as I was.
I stilled at the sight of him. He met my eyes briefly before looking away; his hand coming to the back of his head as he awkwardly cleared his throat.
This was how our exchanges usually went.
“Going down?” He questioned gruffly.
I nodded quickly; before realising he wasn’t looking at me, “Er, yes, sorry.”
He nodded before pressing the button for the bottom floor.
“So…going to work?” He questioned, finally breaking the awkward silence that had taken over us in the small elevator.
I looked down at my red American Diner uniform, my cheeks blushing as I cursed myself for not wearing a coat to cover my monstrous uniform. Bigby was also in his uniform; although his just consisted of a pair of black pants, a belt and a wrinkled shirt. I tried and failed not to notice how good his shoulders looked in the tight white material.
I realised that he was watching me now and I wanted to face-palm at the fact that he caught me ogling his physique.
“Yeah I am. That’s all I seem to do lately.” I grumbled tiredly.
The diner had been giving me forty hours a week and I hadn’t had a minute to breathe let alone sleep.
“I can understand that. Long shifts are my life.” Bigby ran a hand over his face and I noticed the dark rings under his eyes, “Work never seems to end.”
“I’m sure being the Sheriff means you never really get a day off.” I assumed. I had often seen Bigby around Fable Town, strutting around, beating people up and smoking those awful cigarettes. I had heard the rumours about Bigby, to say he wasn’t well liked was an understatement. I had heard he was rash and cruel but I had never seen any evidence that these rumours were true when it came to our interactions.
“This elevator is moving awfully slow.” Bigby noticed, pressing the ground floor button once again.
I frowned when I realised that the elevator was not moving.
I looked at the woman stood beside me, her face seem to drain of colour. Am I really that bad to be alone with?
“I think it’s busted.” I said as I pushed the button one more time.
She started frantically pacing around the lift, running her hands through her hair in panic.
“Great, just great.” She whispered to herself.
I’m not sure if she intended for me to hear what she had said, but It stung a little.
“I’m sure it will be working again soon.” I mumbled.
She slumped against the wall of the elevator, a loud escaping her lips.
“This is all I need.” She moaned as she put her head in her hands.
“Look, I’m sorry you’re stuck in here with me but…” I began snapping at her.
Her head flicked up to look at me, pain flickering across her eyes.
“What? Why are you sorry?” She sounded surprised.
“Well, I mean…I’m not the most…pleasant person to be around.” I said curtly.
“I never said that, It’s just my manager’s been on at me about being late recently.”
“Oh.” Was all I could say.
“It has nothing to do with you…you’re fine.” I told him softly.
He raised his eyebrows, “Fine?”
“Well I mean this situation isn’t exactly ideal.” I laughed, “But you’re not the worst company a girl could have.”
Bigby chuckled; it was a throaty sound, “Thank you.”
“No but seriously…you’re not as intimidating as I thought you were.” I confessed without meaning to. I cleared my throat as I realised what I had just said and suddenly became very interested in my red nail varnish.
“You thought I was intimidating?” Bigby questioned.
“Well…a little. You do have that whole big bad wolf thing going for you.” I bit my lip to stop myself from laughing, “Not to mention that I’ve seen you stumble into your flat with a broken nose and bruised knuckles more times than I can count.”
“So you’ve been watching me then?” He teased, amusement clear in his dark brown eyes.
“Not watching…I prefer the word observing.” I defended myself.
“Well…I’ve noticed you coming home late at God knows what time in the morning,” He scratched the back of his head awkwardly.
“It seems we have both been watching each other.”
“It seems so.” He smiled, a rare for Bigby.
We fell into another awkward silence however this one felt different. The air was thick with tension and I noticed that he had taken a few steps closer. For the first time he was actually looking at me; and I found myself not being able to take my eyes away from him either.
Suddenly there was a loud clunk of metal as the elevator shifted sharply. I lost my footing and fell backwards, my hands grappling at something to steady me. I heard a grunt and looked up to see Bigby sailing towards me; having lost his own footing. His hands hit the wall either side of my head, his torso coming slamming against me. He pushed back slightly, his eyes searching over me as if to check if I was still in one piece before they met my own.
“You ok?” He asked faintly, his breath hot on my face, the slight smell of whiskey washed over me.
“I’m fine.” I whispered, my hands clutching at the fabric of his shirt.
His eyes flickered over me, the slight tinge of gold clouding his usual brown irises. His chest pumped heavily as he took in our proximity and how my body was brushing against all the right places.
My heart pumped in my chest, she was so close, and she smelt so sweet, her perfume drawing me in ever so more. I hadn’t intended to get so…close. Her eyes searched my face, as If expecting something more, I knew what I wanted, but was unsure of whether it was fear or desire, that was pulling me in. The fear that the wolf inside of me could hurt the small creature stood pressed against the wall in front of me.
“I…I’m sorry.” I attempted to brush the awkwardness of the situation away.
She almost looked disappointed, but quickly dismissed the ridiculous idea from my mind.
“I…I…it’s fine.” She stuttered as she smoothed out her hair.
I sighed aloud.
I pushed her against the wall, moving her hair out of her face, and collided my lips with hers. The sweet taste of raspberries on her lips. I kissed her ferociously, an animalistic growl escaping my lips as I felt my wolf shift inside of me. Her hands gripped my tie, tugging me even closer to her. Her hands found my hair, her fingers tugging at the brown strands eagerly.
My hands explored her collarbone, brushing over her smooth skin. I was surprised when I felt her bite at my bottom lip, tugging the skin back with her teeth before bringing her lips back to mine in a heated kiss. The gesture drove me mad and suddenly I was tearing at the buttons of her uniform until I was practically ripping it from her frame. She mimicked my gesture, her hands working at the buttons of my shirt before she discarded it to the floor of the elevator.
He took me in his arms, pulling me toward him passionately. He ran his hands over my body while his lips attacked my neck, nipping and sucking, I was sure he would leave marks for everyone to see. I gasped when I felt his fingers stroking the skin above the waistband of my underwear, my hands tugged at his hair as I impatiently anticipated what I desperately wanted.
The sound of a bell dinging caused us both to glance upwards, our eyes wide as we took in the open elevator doors and Colin stood in the doorway, a cigarette dangling from his mouth.
Bigby quickly moved me behind him, in attempt to protect my modesty, however it was clear by Colin’s smirk that he had a very good idea of what had just been taking place.
“Colin-” Bigby warned threateningly.
“So…” Colin drawled, “I guess you didn’t get my whiskey then?”
I have another full length fic which is about ready to be posted, but it didn’t feel right for the solstice. I’m really feeling those renewal vibes this year, so I wanted to post something happier than what I’ve already got written. Sunshine and daydreams and new starts. This is a karabita fic, but I’m considering writing a soriku one, too, once I get back from the doctor. We’ll see.
Completed restoration project. The project consisted of the restoration and repair of a model based on Joshua Humphreys’ designs of the first six ships built for the U.S. Navy. The model was built around 1922 by a Grandfather while he served in the U.S. Navy and is being passed on to his Grandson and namesake, who is currently serving in the Navy.
To prevent the model from decay, dust and moisture in the future, a custom Douglas-fir display case matching the model base was built to protect her. The base and display case were both stained in red oak and varnished to a satin finish. Quality low heat and low voltage LED spot lighting was also added to the case and the lights were carefully positioned and angled to create optimum highlight and shadow effects.
Request: It’s Wednesday here!:) Can you do one where you mean the
winchesters on a hunt and Dean (of course) is immediately attracted to you (you
dress similar to Abbadon and kind of have the same charm and personality
besides the fact that she’s nuts and you’re nice and you have black hair not
red) and they come in to witness you kill a bunch of vamps or whatever,
basically you’re seriously bad ass and could probably beat up Dean or Sam and
it turns fluffy/smutty
Word Count: 1,038
This was awesome, I love writing badass characters! If you guys can see
a part two, let me know!! Thank you<3
They’ve never seen you before –
Dean is adamant of it, because I’d
remember a face like that, Sammy. Trust me. So, naturally, they’re
intrigued by you – as it goes, it’s not so often they see a female hunter on
her own. And, Dean insists, they’ve never seen one as hot as you.
“Can I help you?” Before either
of them know what to do with themselves, you’ve placed yourself on the barstool
beside Dean and are frowning at them, tapping blood-red nails against the
“Uh… no.” Dean flounders,
disgusting himself, “I mean- you’re a hunter.”
You don’t seem to react to his
statement, apart from the sly grin that passes over your rouged lips, “Nicely
spotted. Y/N Y/L/N.”
“Dean Winchester. This is my
You smile then, as if a fat,
juicy challenge has just been laid out in front of you, “Oh, the Winchesters.”
“You’ve heard of us?”
“Who hasn’t?” You chuckle, “I’ve been told time and time again, stay away from those boys, Y/N. They’ll only
“I take it you’re not the type
to listen to them.” Dean can’t help looking you up and down – it’s not in a
weird way. He’s just so surprised by you; by your carefree but serious
demeanour; by how… normal you seem. You’re a Class One badass, but he could
tell that from a mile away. It’s the other details it’s harder to pick up on,
but he’s had practice – your jacket is slightly scuffed, and the necklace hung
around your neck has a name engraved into it. A sibling, maybe, or a parent.
Not a lover, he suspects.
“Never have been. Sorry, boys.”
“No complaints here.” Dean
grins easily, finding it easier and easier to talk to you. You cross one leg
over the other, cementing a clear barrier between you, and stand up.
“Well, I mean, it was great
meeting you guys, but I have plans to make. I’m heading up to the old factory
about eight, if you fancy meeting up there.”
“We wouldn’t be anywhere else.”
Eight P.M rolls around, and Sam
and Dean have already been parked in the wasteland outside the factory for the
better part of a half hour. You haven’t shown up, however, and the brothers are
starting to wonder if you’ve left them in the wrong location, or stood them up
entirely. When it gets to quarter past, Dean gets pissed and storms out of the
“What the hell kind of game is
she playing?” He hisses, gathering his ammo and stomping through the muddy
grass toward the building, “This is bullshit. She should be here.”
“Maybe she’s late.” Sam
reasons, receiving a sardonic glare from his brother in response.
“Or maybe she’s dicking with
us. Come on, let’s investigate.” He prompts, heading for the building. Sam
follows, gun in hand – as they get through the door, which had been left ajar,
they begin to hear the telltale sounds of a fight.
“You have got to be kidding me.” Dean melts into the shadows and takes off
for the source of the noise, figuring that they have a new victim. He’s
probably left it too late at this point, he presumes, but you shouldn’t have
waited so long. This one is on you.
When they get to the fight,
however, they’re met with a scene like something from a horror film, even by
their standards. Two figures tussle in the darkness, the last two standing
after a fight which seems to have knocked out over a dozen others. Blood coats
the air, stinging their noses like a harsh rain.
After what seems like a
lifetime, one figure goes down, brutally stabbing the other multiple times in
There’s no beheading, so it
wasn’t a vampire, and no orange glow, which means it wasn’t a demon. Neither
brother saw the weapon, and all they can presume is that the monster won.
Sam runs in first, but the
figure – who, oh-so-helpfully is hooded and in the darkness, unrecognisable –
fights him off. Within a few seconds, the younger Winchester is tossed
mercilessly against a metal beam and knocked out – that’s when Dean gets really
He runs in, taking a kick to
the gut. He stays up, however, and lands a few hits. He shoots a few times, but
none of the bullets seem to reach the target and the gun ends up being knocked
out of his hand, skittering away over the bloody floor.
The fight seems to last
forever, and when Dean finally takes the hit that knocks him down, he’s panting
heavily, adrenaline pure in his veins. The figure sits atop hip, straddling his
waist to keep him down. At least it’s lost its weapon, he reasons, and he
should be able to-
“Dammit,” He hisses, “What the
hell are you?!”
He’s seen those movies, that
trope – everyone has. You pull your hood down, letting your hair fall out and
settle around your shoulders.
“Bloody hell, Winchester, it’s
you!” You shake your head disbelievingly, “You have got to be kidding me. Oh, and that’s your bro- shit.”
“Yeah, shit!” Dean agrees, rolling
his eyes, “What the hell were you doing?”
“Well I was killing shifters, but there you go.”
“Then how do you know I’m not-“
“I punched you with a silver
ring,” You say, climbing off of him and offering him a hand to get up. He
ignores it, however, and races straight for Sam, who is just coming to.
“What the hell were you
thinking, coming here alone?!” He demands, eyes narrowed with irritation. You
shrug, looking over them both.
“I got a little over-excited.”
You admit, “No biggie. It wasn’t too dangerous, anyway.” You brush him off, “Sorry
about your brother.”
“You’re sorry?!” Dean, although he appears angry, is more fascinated (and,
though he wouldn’t admit it, aroused) by your nonchalant demeanour.
“Yeah, sorry. Tell you boys
what, you ever need anything, you call me.”
“I don’t know your number.”
“I slipped it into your pocket
at the bar.” You shoot him a wink, “See you around.”
And with that, you’ve
disappeared into the shadows, leaving two concussed, dumbfounded brothers
staring after you like they’ve just seen the second coming.