“I’m   not   a   particularly   picky   eater,   so   you   can   just   make 

“…Then I’ll stretch, maybe sketch, take a climb… sew a dress!”

⇢ 🌸 STATUS ﹕ open. ⇢ 🌸 TAGGING ﹕signe + utp !! ( @palmviewstarters ) ⇢ 🌸 DETAILS ﹕ at the friendship bracelet station.

Signe   sat   cross-legged   at   the   friendship   bracelet   station,   brow   furrowed   in   quiet   frustration   as   she   tried   to   untangle   a   note   that   definitely   wasn't   supposed   to   be   there.   "You'd   think   this   would   be   easier,"   she   muttered,   half   to   herself.   She   sewed   clothes   for   fun,   and   yet   she   was   being   completely   made   a   fool   of   by   a   few   pieces   of   string.   The   embarrassed   flush   of   her   cheeks   was   hidden   in   the   shadow   of   the   bonfire   behind   her.   Another   moment   and   she   let   out   a   frustrated   sigh,   she   turned   to   the   person   beside   her   with   a   sheepish   smile.   "Care   to   save   me   from   myself   and   help   me   get   this   thing   untangled?"   she   said,   holding   out   her   tangled   mess   of   string.   "I   think   it's   a   lost   cause   frankly.   I   should   probably   just   start   over."

⇢ 🌸 STATUS ﹕ closed. ⇢ 🌸 TAGGING ﹕signe + sigrid!! (@ofelation) ⇢ 🌸 LOCATION ﹕ palmview university.

Signe   made   her   way   up   the   familiar   staircase   of   the   humanities   building   with   a   to-go   iced   coffee   in   one   hand   and   a   wax   paper   bag   in   the   other   containing   a   cinnamon   bun.   A   peace   offering,   if   she   was   being   honest   with   herself.   Signe   didn't   visit   her   mother's   office   often,   not   because   she   didn't   love   visiting   her   mom,   but   because   Sigrid   Holmström   was   a   consummate   professional.   The   girl   had   always   felt   guilty   about   disrupting   her   mother's   crisp,   orderly   and   polished   world   at   the   university.   Switching   the   coffee   to   her   other   hand,   she   knocked   twice   on   the   office   door   before   opening   it   without   waiting   for   a   reply.   “Professor   Holmström,”   Signe   began,   her   voice   full   of   playful   formality.   “I   come   bearing   caffeine   and   carbs.   And   maybe   a   bit   of   daughterly   guilt.   You   free   for   a   little   break?”

Signe   smiled   at   the   warmth   on   the   woman’s   expression   at   the   mention   of   her   aunt. “Made   of   lot   of   friendship   bracelets   in   your   time?” she   asked,   jokingly.    She   pondered   her   comparison   to   threading   a   needle   and   hummed   to   herself.   Her   eyes   followed   her   nimble   fingers   as   they   steadily   worked   on   the   knotted   mess. “I   guess   I   see   the   similarities,   even   if   my   fingers   haven’t   quite   grasped   it   yet.”

“i  have  my  aunt  to  thank  for  that,”  she  smiles  at  the  other  softly,  nails  hard  at  work  on  the  tangled  mess  of  string.  most  of  her  fond  memories  of  london  include  sitting  around  the  table,  beading  jewlery  with  her  aunt  and  cousin.  those  days,  though,  were  long  gone,  living  in  fleeting  moments  of  memory  yet  still  held  just  as  dear.  a  light  chuckle  at  her  joke,  looking  up  from  the  mess  for  only  a  second.  “isn't  string  just  plastic  thread  ?  once  you  figure  out  how  not  to  drop  it  every  five  seconds,  it's  basically  like  threading  a  needle  over  and  over  again.”

Signe   observed   the   unfamiliar   man   curiously,   his   easy   smile   and   warm   energy   holding   the   kind   of   casual   charm   that   made   friends   out   of   strangers   quickly.   His   accent   caught   her   attention   first,   and   then,   finally,   she   registered   the   question.   She   laughed   softly,   shaking   her   head   sending   her   wild   curls   flying.  “No,   no,   this   isn’t   my   medium,”  she   replied,   a   polite   smile   gracing   her   lips.   Although   he   didn’t   say   she   was   in   his   way,   Signe   stepped   aside   anyway   to   give   him   a   better   view.  “It’s   gorgeous   though.   I   was   just   thinking   it   reminds   me   of   something   my   mom   studied   –   she’s   an   art   history   professor.   I   can   already   hear   her   commentary   in   my   head.”   She   cleared   her   throat,   slightly   embarrassed   that   it   took   her   all of two   seconds   to   mention   her  mom   while   talking   to   a   handsome   stranger.   Signe   tucked   a   piece   of   hair   behind   her   ear   and   refocused   on   the   painting.  “You’re   right   though,   it’s brilliant.   I’ve   been   trying   to   figure   out   how   they   got   the   colors   to   look   like   that,”  she   murmured   the   last   part   almost   to   herself,   once   again   losing   herself   for   a   few   too   long   moments   before   she   resolved   to   experiment   later.   Signe   glanced   back   at   the   man,   curious   now.  “Are   you   into   art,   or   just   wandering   by?”

There was little Charlie loved more than having a free day before his shift at the restaurant. He'd spent time in some of the most beautiful places in the world, but the charm of his new home called to him. On days when he didn't have to be in until dinner he'd sleep in, cook himself a ridiculous breakfast, and pick an area to roam. Today's pick was Mango Bay, considering it was the same neighborhood as his job.

He'd already gone to a few shops before walking towards the art district. While Charlie did have a few talents, art was not one of them. He hadn't grown up in an area where it was appreciated, or at least not in his house. His mother spent the majority of her time working to pay for his blossoming career and when his father was around, the last thing they'd speak about was art. But on days when he'd walk home from training, he'd always stare at the murals; the ones left by graffiti artists that would be painted over soon enough, and wonder who'd made them.

Now, living somewhere that art had been celebrated, he'd tried to immerse himself a bit more. He hadn't realized that his mind was wandering, his eyes stuck on a canvas, until he'd heard a voice speaking to him. "Wh- Oh! Oh, nah, sorry." Charlie's head shook quickly, lifting his hand to point at the painting she'd also been admiring, "It's brilliant, innit? Did you paint it?"

“Oh,   you’re   a   life   saver!”   she   grinned,   carefully   accepting   the   untangled   bracelet   back   like   it   might   somehow   tangle   itself   again   if   she   wasn’t   gentle   enough.  “Thank   you,”  Signe   said,   offering   him   a   polite   but   genuine   smile.  “I   owe   you   one   —   you   saved   me   from   a   pretty   public   meltdown   over   here.”   Signe   taped   one   end   of   her   friendship   bracelet   down   and   straightened   the   pattern   outline   that   she   had   been   following.   It   was   probably   a   bit   more   complicated   than   what   most   attempted   as   a   first   try,   but   she   also   figured   if   these   were   crafts   for   children,   surely   she   should   be   able   to   handle   a   slightly   more   complex   pattern.   Her   fingers   fiddled   with   the   threads   and   gave   him   a   side   glance. “You’re   not   wrong   about   us   being   our   own   worst   critics,”  Signe   tucked   her   hair   behind   her   ears.   She   had   a   lifetime   of   that   lesson   that   she   was   trying   to   undo.  “It’s   easier   to   show   other   people   grace   than   ourselves,   right?”   She   laughed,   quiet   but   sincere,   when   he   mentioned   keeping   his   crafts.  “I   think   that’s   actually   really   cool,   though,”   she   said   after   a   moment.  “Keeping   them   even   if   you’re   not   exactly   proud   of   them.   It’s   proof   that   you   at   least   tried,   right?”   The   thought   was   encouraging   enough   for   her   fingers   to   set   work   again   on   the   strings.   “So   you   do   this   sort   of   thing   often?”   she   asked,   gesturing   towards   the   bracelet   in   front   of   her.

"If that is true, I think I'm only doing slightly better." He said responded with a soft chuckle as he continued to work on the knot. Isaiah lifted his eyes from the bracelet in his hands for a moment to offer a warm smile, "It's no problem." His attention returned to his hands as he weighed how much to say. While he wasn't too hard on himself when it came to creative endeavors much as this, there were many other instances where he would hold himself to an unrealistic standard. "I've found it's a reminder we could all use from time. We're our harshest critics, right?"

Another chuckle came from him as he finally finished untangling the knot and handed it back to the other, "I tend to feel the same way whenever I go to any of the more creative free classes the community center sometimes offers. At this point, I'm surprised my apartment isn't overflowing with some mediocre crafts." As much as he'd like to, he never immediately chucked the failed craft in the garbage, feeling as if that might be rude to whoever was instructing the class. Even if he failed at the objective, he didn't want it to seem like he didn't appreciate the instructor's time.

[ … ] ❀ you’re not from around here , are you? i figured because you totally just missed { CELINE ANH DONNELLY } walking by. don’t tell me you don’t know who { SHE } is ? they kind of look like { MAGGIE Q } and i could be wrong but i think that they might be { 45 } years old right now. they’ve been living in palmview for the last { 8 YEARS }. and i don’t know if anyone has ever told them this before but they kind of remind me of { TBA } from { TBA }. if you stick around the town long enough you might catch them in action working at { SEAGLASS HOSPITAL } as a { HOSPITAL ADMINISTRATOR }. you see this town isn’t really that big of a place, some folks like to call them the { THE JADED FLAME } of palmview! they took a liking to the name too after a while, go figure. oh crap, they must have heard me yapping. they’re coming this way. i got to warn you though, rumor has it they can pretty { GUARDED } at times. i wouldn’t take it too seriously though, from the times i’ve spoken to them they seemed pretty { RESILIENT } to me. we see each other all the time since they live in that { 3 BEDROOM } apartment beside me over in { OCEAN’S LANDING }. i better leave you to it. it was nice meeting you!  { KRYS. 32. SHE/HER. EST. }

𝓲. 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚝𝚜

name: celine anh donnelly (formerly waller) nickname(s): cel, cece, lina, b (only by jack) age: forty5 birthday: 12 august 1979 gender/pronouns: cis woman + she/her sexuality: undefined occupation: hospital administrator at seaglass hospital residence: ocean's edge ( 420 ocean dr ) time in palmview: 8 years

𝓲𝓲. 𝚝𝚕𝚍𝚛

celine was born to a vietnamese immigrant mother and an irish american father. she grew up in los angeles and always had a flare for the dramatic. she grew up with three brothers and very quickly learned how to stand up for herself. she moved to new york to pursue a dream of acting on broadway and it was in the city that she met jack wallen. the two had an unusual courting and romance but soon found themselves pregnant and quickly married. celine retired from acting and focused on getting more steady work so as to better provide for their daughter. jack found a job at the local university and moved them to palmview, florida. they built a lovely life together or so celine thought. a little over a year ago, jack came out to her and the two divorced. it was a painful, but necessary process. the two still co-parent their daughter together, sharing custody. now, at forty five, celine is left wondering what comes next.

full bio here.

𝓲𝓲𝓲. 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚗𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜

✨ brothers ✨ old friends from los angeles & nyc ✨ neighbors ✨ current crushes ✨ new flame ✨ work friends/coworkers ✨ parent friends ✨ i'm up for anything!! just DM me!

@anchorsfm

Warrior Nun Season One Episode Five

Isaiah 30:20-21

Signe   didn’t   consider   herself   extremely   bold   or   wild   by   nature,   but   there   was   something   about   the   way   Charlie   responded   to   her   teasing   that   just   lit   her   up   from   the   inside   out.   Thoroughly   pleased   to   have   affected   him   with   just   her   words,   Signe   had   settled   into   the   sofa,   waiting   expectantly.   He   asked   about   the not-so-mild   playlist   and   she   smirked   to   herself.  “I’ll   see   what   I   can   do   for   you.”   The   food   smelled   absolutely   intoxicating   and   she   found   she   was   growing   more   and   more   excited   to   try   his   food.   Of   course,   he’d   prepared   semla   for   her   on   their   first   date,   but   dessert   was   very   different   to   an   actual   meal.   She   watched   as   Charlie   carried   their   plates   over,   her   eyes   lingered   on   the   tattoos   of   his   arm   before   focusing   on   the   meal   and   enticing   scent   wafting   around   then.   “It   smells  divine.”  Signe   offered   him   a   playful   smile   as   she   accepted   the   plate,   leaning   into   the   kiss   he   pressed   to   the   top   of   her   head.  “Since   you   listed   yourself,   does   that   mean   you’re   on   the   menu   too?”  she   asked,   cheekily.   She   giggled   as   he   came   to   sit   beside   her,   thighs   pressing   together   and   she   hummed,   pleased   at   the   closeness.   She   was   about   to   dig   into   her   plate   when   Charlie   took   the   plate   back.   She   barely   had   a   chance   to   protest   when   he   cupped   her   face   and   kissed   her   senseless.   A   soft   noise   of   surprise   escaped   her   before   she   eagerly   responded   to   the   kiss,   truly   melting   into   it.   He   was  everywhere   –   his   taste   on   her   lips,   his   touch   on   her   cheek   –   and   then   he   had   the   nerve   to   pull   away   like   he   hadn’t   just   set   her   entire   nervous   system   on   fire.   Signe   barely   registered   the   movie   title   that   blinked   on   the   screen   as   she   let   out   a   slow,   stunned   breath   trying   to   calm   her   heart   galloping   in   her   rib   cage.  “Now   we   can   eat?”  she   echoed,   incredulous.   She   turned   toward   Charlie   with   narrowed   eyes,   playful   yet   dangerous.  “Because   …   what?   That   was   the   appetizer?”  Signe   reached   for   her   plate   once   more,   steadying   herself   with   a   rather   large   gulp   of   wine.  “I’ll   get   you   back   for   that.   I   thought   you   said   no   more   teasing.”   She   smirked   at   him   before   taking   a   bite   of   the   salmon   on   her   plate   and   then   groaned   in   satisfaction.   “Oh,   that   is  fantastic,”  Signe   said,   covering   her   mouth   to   finish   chewing   before   focusing   on   Charlie.  “You  made   that.”   Her   eyes   were   wide   with   wonder   at   his   ability   to   bring   together   ingredients   in   a   way   that   complimented   each   other   so   well.  “You   really are   good   at   this,   aren’t   you?”

Charlie’s laugh echoed from the kitchen, warm and full-bodied, the kind that spilled out with no filter. Deep, surprised, and slightly unsteady. He stood there with a ridiculous grin, plating their food like it was a Michelin tasting, even though all he really wanted was to abandon the counter, cross to the other room, and kiss her until he forgot what restraint tasted like. He finished up the salmon and vegetables, trying to focus on not burning his fingertips or slapping down the garnish too aggressively, but it wasn’t easy. Not after that voice from the living room, all cool and tempting and laced with just enough heat to short-circuit his self-control. He shook his head, biting down on his bottom lip as he tried to refocus. "You’re tryin’ to corrupt me, love," he called back, the words slightly breathless. "That was the mild playlist? Christ." He paused, smiling as he laid down the last bit of glazed salmon with practiced precision. The smell was incredible, citrus and spice and garlic and that slight sweetness from the honey, but all he could really think about was the way her voice had wrapped around those words like a dare. Discipline, Hughes. She deserves dinner. "I’m also gonna need a link to that one. For scientific purposes."

Once everything was set, he wiped his hands and took a quiet second to breathe. Then he grabbed both plates and made his way back toward the living room, shoulders relaxed, steps easy, but eyes locked on her. He walked in, sleeves still rolled with tattoos peeking out from under, carrying their plates carefully in each hand. The way she was curled into his sofa, waiting for him not just politely, but eagerly, sent something twisting in his chest. "Alright, alright, no more teasin’," he said, presenting the plates with all the air of a man delivering a masterpiece. "Spiced glazed salmon, garlicky roasted veg, and a chef trying very hard not to get distracted by the fact that you’re actively ruining him."

He handed her the plate like it was sacred, balanced and perfect, even adding a soft "Enjoy" under his breath. He bent to press a kiss to the top of her head, one hand lingering briefly on her shoulder as if to ground himself. Then he circled around, setting his own plate down before sinking into the couch beside her, closer than before. Their thighs touched, and he didn’t bother pretending it was accidental. He picked up his own plate, but only for a moment. Then, in a sudden, quiet decision, he set it back down. He turned to her, gaze steady and lips tugged into a smile just shy of smirking. "Actually," he said, reaching gently to take her plate from her hands, catching her gaze with something more heated now. Something inevitable. Before she could respond, he gently set it down on the coffee table without ever breaking eye contact. Then he leaned in, swift and sure, cupping her face with both hands as he kissed her. Properly. No teasing. No testing. Just all of it. Want, gratitude, affection, need. Like he’d held back long enough and decided, finally, to let it land. He hummed into the kiss, his thumb brushing lightly across her cheek, savoring the way she responded. It took effort, actual, physical effort, to pull away. When he did, he rested his forehead against hers for a beat, catching his breath, smiling like he’d just won something he hadn’t realized he was competing for. "Right," he said, voice low and a little hoarse. "Now we can eat." Charlie leaned back, lips tucked in, still biting down a grin as he reached for the remote. He hit play, finally, but he didn’t move away. His thigh stayed resting on hers, plate now in his lap, ready to experience her favorite movie, and whatever else this night would bring.

Signe’s   face   lit   up   when   Charlie   pulled   out   the   photos   and   moved   closer,   warmth   blooming   in   her   chest   the   moment   their   shoulders   brushed.   She   clutched   the   photos   gently,   giggles   escaping   her   with   each   new   picture   she   flipped   through.   Signe   let   their   shoulders   stay   pressed   together,   grounding   herself   in   the   feeling   of   his   heat   against   her   skin.  “Oh, Charlie,”  she   breathed,   laughing   especially   hard   at   the   sight   of   the   bold   prints   and   the   sunglasses   that   looks   ready   to   swallow   his   face.   She   held   the   prints   in   her   hand   as   if   they   were   precious   artifact.   “Your   mom   might   be   my   new   favorite   person   if   she   can   keep   supplying   me   with   these,”  Signe   teased.  The   way   that   Charlie   listened   to   her   and   didn’t   dismiss   her   feelings   cracked   something   inside   her   chest   wide   open.   He   spoke   in   soft   and   gentle   tones,   not   trying   to   make   the   words   anything   more   than   what   they   were,   and   it   made   the   back   of   her   throat   tighten.   Not   from   sadness,   but   from   such   total   acceptance   –   from   being   so   quickly   understood   by   this   strange   and   wonderful   boy.   Her   fingers   tightened   as   he   held   her   hand   and   confessed   he   wasn’t   all   charm   and   jokes,   and   that   he   was   scared   too,   and   that   he   was   still   trying,   still   chasing   the   things   he   wanted   even   when   it   terrified   him.   And   then   he   started   talking   about   himself   –   little   things,   mundane   things,   some   slightly   more   important   things.   Signe   blinked   repeatedly,   swallowing   the   sudden   burn   in   her   throat.   She   let   out   a   shaky   break   and   shook   her   head   before   looking   at   him.  “You   make   opening   up   seem…less   scary.”  Her   thumb   brushed   along   the   back   of   his   hand,   mirroring   the   way   he’d   been   touching   her.   Signe   took   a   moment   to   gather   herself   and   then   nodded,   smiling   faintly.  “Okay.   My   turn.”   “I’m   Signe   Holmström.   My   mom’s   name   is   Sigrid,   dad   is   Søren   …   Don’t   worry,   I’ll   help   you   with   the   pronunciation,”  she   smirked   to   herself,   already   imagining   Charlie   struggling   with   the   task.  “They’ve   always   given   me   everything   they   could,   and   while   my   head   understands   they’re   proud   of   me…part   of   me   feels   like   I   need   to   be…better?   Successful?   In   order   to   be   worthy   of   all   that   they’ve   given   me.”    She   hesitated,   the   shine   in   her   eyes   flickering   for   just   a   second   before   she   pushed   forward   with   a   small   smile.   “My   favorite   color’s   green   –   but   like   a   pastel,   sage   green.   I’ve   lived   in   the   States   for   ten   years   now,   but   I   still   miss   Malmö   every   winter   when   we   don’t   get   any   snow.”   Her   eyes   met   his   and   she   fought   a   smirk   as   she   continued.  “I’m terrible   at   running,   I   was   always   more   of   a   swimmer   if   I   had   to   pick   a   sport.   Hot   cheetos   are   my   guilty   pleasure   snack.   I hate   olives,   can’t   stand   ‘em,”   Signe   wrinkled   her   nose   in   distaste.   “I’m   a   little   bit   of   a   perfectionist.   And   like…scary   organized.   You   should   see   my   closet   sometime.   I   hate   when   a   house   or   room   is   too   quiet,   so   I   sing   to   myself.   I’m   God   awful   at   board   games,”   she   let   out   a   watery   laugh,   wiping   any   tears   with   her   fingers.   “You’d   absolutely   destroy   me.”  “But…I’m   trying   too,”   she   whispered.  “Trying   to   be   brave.”

Charlie laughed, the sound warm and easy as he watched her light up at the mention of his past questionable fashion choices. At her excited invite, he didn’t hesitate to slide closer, closing the small space between them as if it were the most natural thing in the world. He reached into the bottom of the basket, pulling out the folded stack of photos. “These were the only ones I could dig up from my football days,” he said, nudging his shoulder softly against hers as their arms touched. “But Mum said she’s got some tucked away back home, reckons they’re too good to keep to herself, so I’m sure you’ll be gettin’ those soon enough.”

Their shoulders stayed pressed together, the nerves he’d carried into the evening long gone now, replaced by something calmer, easier. He handed over the photos, loud designer prints, bold patters, shorts and shoes that did not match the top half of his outfit, sunglasses far too large, and immediately covered his face with one hand, peeking at her through the gaps between his fingers. “Listen, I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my life—but these outfits? Top of the list.”

When he felt her pinky hook into his, his hand dropped, eyes catching hers just as her smile softened and her expression shifted, just enough that if he hadn’t been paying attention, he might’ve missed it. But he was paying attention. His brow knit together slightly, quieting, leaning into the moment as she spoke. “That’s what a date’s supposed to be, yeah?” he said gently. “Gettin’ to know each other. The whole picture, not just the bits we like showin’ off.” The smile on his face softened, not playful now but real, open. When she mentioned him only knowing the charming version of her, he let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head.

“You think this is me all the time?” He tilted his head, gaze steady on hers. “I promise. I’m not all charm and jokes. We’re all a bit fucked up underneath, aren’t we? It’s just about findin’ someone you can be fucked up with.” He shifted, leaning in just slightly, not to flirt, but to assure, “There’s no tellin’ what we’ll learn about each other. But you don’t have to worry about scarin’ me off. No pressure here. None at all.” He paused for a beat, his voice somehow softer now. “I’m scared too, y’know… a lot of the time. About work, about leavin' home and me mum behind, about what comes next.. But I’ve been tryin’ real hard not to let it stop me from goin’ after what I want. Not after missin' out on football.. I won't make that mistake again.”

Then, because the air felt a little too heavy for a second, and because lightening it was as much habit as it was care, he bumped their shoulders together, grinning. “Besides, I’m from Moss Side. Some of my mates were proper bad news. I don’t scare easy.” His grin widened, teasing. “I can sit through all of Nightmare on Elm Street and only have to cover my eyes, like, twice.” The tension eased between them again as he laced his fingers fully through hers, linking their hands together without rush, without asking. Just sure.

“Well… Hughes is my last name,” he started, his thumb gently stroking her knuckles. “Mum’s name is Wendy. Dad’s Charles.. yeah, I’m a Jr. But no one’s allowed to call me Charles. Been Charlie since I were a baby.” He smiled at her, eyes crinkling at the edges. “Favorite color’s blue.. but it’s a very specific blue. I’ll point it out when I see it.” “My injury was already ten years ago now, but I have some nerve damage, so long shifts in the kitchen can be hell on it. And runs, but I still go on 'em.” His lips pressed together for a second before the smile returned, a little sheepish. “I love video games. Hate broccoli. Tried, can’t do it. Absolute sucker for sushi, though. And I’m annoyin’ to watch football with ‘cause I get loud like I’m right there in the stands.” He gave her fingers a soft squeeze. “I’m a bit uptight in the kitchen. I mean, my coworkers would probably say very uptight.” A chuckle pushed past his lips. “And I’m ridiculously competitive. Doesn’t matter what it is, cards, board games, coin toss.. I hate losin’.” Charlie leaned his head to the side, considering her with a smile that felt steadier now, more sure. “But I’m workin’ on it.” His thumb brushed lightly across her hand once more, his eyes meeting hers fully again. “Like I said… determined sort of guy.”