#but its actually blue red then purple with that in mind

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: Dark Blue

Symbolism of Dark Blue

In color symbolism, dark blue color meanings include:

Cool temperatures: All shades of blue, including dark blue, signify cold temperatures. Cool colors on the color wheel include blue, green, and purple. Additionally, blue skin can indicate a low body temperature.

Intelligence: Many people associate blue shades with knowledge, intelligence, and concentration.

Loyalty: Having a “true blue” friend implies commitment and dedication to the relationship.

Masculinity: Historically, the lighter blue tint of baby blue signifies the male gender; however, all shades of blue, including light blue, medium blue, dark blue, and navy blue, suggest traditional forms of masculinity.

Night sky: Whereas you associate sky blue with a daytime sky, dark blue signifies the sky at night. Midnight blue connotes a moonless night, with a heavy saturation of black combined with a deep blue.

Predictability: The phrase “out of the blue” means the occurrence of an event you weren’t expecting. In a similar vein, “once in a blue moon” implies an event that doesn’t happen very often.

Sea: You can use dark blue to symbolize a stormy sea or a deep body of water. Though many shades of blue signify water, including blue-green or aqua for tropical waters, dark blue suggests a more mysterious depth or ominous quality.

Power and authority: Dark blue signifies power and responsibility. Police officers often utilize dark blue or navy blue colors for their uniforms. The slang term “boys in blue” refers to the police.

Sadness: To “be blue” or “feeling blue” means you feel sorrow or despair. In Korea, dark blue is the color of mourning.

Social prominence: A “blue blood” defines a socially prominent person or someone born into nobility.

Though sometimes confused with navy blue, dark blue represents a specific color code.

In the RGB color space, dark blue (hex code #00008B) contains 54.5% blue and no red or green, while

in the CMYK color space, dark blue contains 100% cyan, 100% magenta, no yellow, and 45% black.

Some Pros of Using the Dark Blue in Design

Dark blue implies professionalism and reliability, which explains its use in graphic design by many banks and corporations. In design, dark blue:

Complements darker rooms: Acclaimed interior designer Corey Damen Jenkins encourages you to work with your room’s natural lighting rather than fighting it. When decorating a low-light room, “go for the more smoldering, rich, dark, sexy colors that actually enhance the lighting,” like shades of dark blue.

Connotes authority: Dark blue works well as a design choice if you want to exude strength, expertise, reliability, and trust with your design.

Serves as an alternative to black: If you need a darker shade in your work but want to retain color, a dark blue color scheme offers a workable solution.

Works well in color combinations: Use dark blue with complementary colors such as orange to create an appealing color scheme. Or play with other shades of blue, such as light blue or teal.

Some Cons of Using the Dark Blue in Design

Though you can use dark blue in your designs without worry, keep these possible negative traits in mind as you work:

Absorbs heat: If your project involves something significant in size, remember that dark shades like dark blue absorb heat and can make a room or enclosed space feel warm.

Can fade: Dark blue–painted art or objects fade in saturation over time, particularly in sunlight. Potential fading makes dark blue a better choice for low-light rooms than for rooms with lots of bright sunlight.

Can feel oppressive: Too much dark blue can make you feel as if you’re surrounded by darkness, especially in a small room. Walls painted dark blue can make a room feel more cave-like.

Shows scratches: Like all dark colors, dark blue shows every scratch, chip, or imperfection, and you may have trouble getting touch-ups to match.

A Brief History of Dark Blue

Egyptians first used blue pigment.

They created a lighter blue shade from ground limestone and copper minerals.

Dark blue pigments didn’t appear until the 6th century with ultramarine, a deep blue color pigment made from grinding up the mineral lapis lazuli.

Ultramarine proved popular with medieval European artists for its deep blue quality, but its expense made it accessible only to the wealthy.

Cobalt blue became the more affordable and popular blue pigment amongst artists in the 8th and 9th centuries, particularly in Chinese porcelain and later with Dutch Delft porcelain.

Artificial ultramarine appeared in the mid-19th century, replacing the more expensive version.

Indigo dye became popular in the 16th century, becoming the color of the Beau Brummell blue suit in the 18th century and blue jeans in the 19th century.

The British Royal Navy adopted navy blue (also known as marine blue) for their uniforms in the 19th century.

Prussian blue, a vibrant darker blue, appeared in the early 1700s and became Pablo Picasso’s pigment of choice during his Blue Period.

Source ⚜ More: Notes & References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

[mediocreartist9305]

Meet...

She's one of my favorite of my own lot of OCs, and I'm finally introducing her to everyone!!

She's got two partners and LOVES food.

Enjoy! ^^

(Also read the first four tags lmao 😭)

[t4tdanvis]

me making my 3847573948575839554th au

[summer-o-slider]

Nagato pink-haired girl confirmed

(used this website and this website)

[manticorecure]

ever since zam brought up the possibility of solarflare teaming in s7 i havent been able to get them out of my head again. PLEASEEEEEE COME ON IT WOULD BE PEAK. DO IT FOR ME. PLEASE. IF FOR NO ONE ELSE FOR ME PLEASEEEEE 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

so anyway these are my current pretend s7 designs . if i cant have s7 devotions i WILL manifest purple/red solarflare i swear. my design rationale will go under the cut bc its too long for notes ^_^

the rationale for me giving zam a purple outfit was because 1) red/purple pairings are like. actually just iconic on ls and I NEED MORE SOLARFLARE CONTENT I NEED THEM I NEED THEM and also. 2) zam has had a history of wearing purple at particularly impactful moments of her life- see eclipsefed, void ponies, gay joker, and she has a lot of purple people in her life who have particularly changed her mindset in s6 specifically: subz and wemmbu i think are the first to pop into mind for me, but vi too, and arguably ro is also purple but she hasnt been a big s6 change i just miss s4. i feel like itd fit s7 zam well, if she decides to follow the change of heart her s6 self has just had to go back to purple and show that shes once again rediscovering the paths she wants to take. that miiiight just be me tho. id originally wanted to go with blue to match her realm design more closely but then i remembered her first realm appearance was ALSO in purple... sooooo....

also the flowers in zams hair are forget-me-nots and the purple i picked is deliberately very close to my ro design. i figure i should mention that ^_^

there isnt really much thinking that went into flames fit if im TBH. i just wanted to make him sexy because i like men. my princess gets all the analysis knowledge i got from hl english and flame gets the typical gooner gacha game treatment

[tadpolesonalgae]

Dizzying Kisses

Feysand x reader

a/n: this started out so wholesome idk what happened 😭

warning: love at first sight trope; smut; f/f/m threesome; facesitting; oral (everyone); overstim; cumplay—Rhys using reader’s mouth like a shot glass 

word count: 5,491

——————————————————————————————————————————————

It takes a bit of effort to unstick your eyelids from your lash line, but you eventually manage, rubbing at the sleep that’s crusted itself into an abrasive adhesive. 

The sheets beneath you are soft and smooth, fragranced with something like vanilla and jasmine, a faint citrusy scent clinging to its edge and you wearily peer about, vision slightly blurred by a sleep addled brain. 

Early morning sunlight has painted itself across the floorboards in a watery shade of cool-toned yellow, the diamond shaped panes of the glass windows casting thin, zigzagging shadows. The duvet itself seems to be cream covered, nestled beneath a rouge-rimmed quilt, stitched together with patches of dawn-pink, aquamarine-blue, dusky-orange, and tyrian-purple. Four wooden beams uphold the fabric draped overtop the bed, the curtains a shade of burnt orange on the interior, with a dark-red outside that has panels of maroon gossamer thinly veiling the material. A slight frill of burnished gold accents the hem.

A latch clicks from the far right side of the chamber, and you glance away from the window, blinking rapidly to clear away the fog as a female peers her lovely head around the door. 

Not just any female, though. 

You stiffen, hastily scrambling to sit straighter in the bed as you dip your head in a swift bow. “High Lady…” 

She smiles, entering the room, her slipper-clad feet softly scuffing as she approaches. “You’re awake,” she notes, and you flush when she lays her palm across your forehead. “And better, by the looks of it.”

You blink, looking up at her quietly. “My Lady…?” 

“Feyre,” she corrects, blue-grey eyes twinkling with life. “Please call me Feyre.” 

You watch her silently for a second, attention flitting across her features for a clue to your circumstances—are you in her home? But you dip your head again, obeying her request. 

Her eyes soften, and she pulls her hand away, your brow feeling faintly cool in its wake. “Do you remember last night?” She questions, and you shake your head, unease building in your gut as you worry your lower lip. Tuck your teeth away again. 

Feyre hums to herself, her attention briefly skating over you, having not given herself the chance to beforehand. Skimming over your shoulders, the rumpled fabric of your night-gown, the soft roundness of your fingertips. How they’re dipping into the folds of the duvet. “You kissed me,” she says, glancing down at you, lips still curved gently. Mortification sets your skin ablaze, a delicate flame igniting in your flesh. “I— I kissed you?” You stammer, clutching the sheets as your fingers lock. 

“Well, you kissed both of us, actually,” she corrects. 

Your lips part with a sharp inhale, looking aghast. Deeply apologetic. “I— I’m so sorry, my Lady. I don’t know what must have come over me. Please, forgive—”

“We aren’t angry,” she interjects, holding you gaze firmly. She pries your left hand from the quilt, fingers warm and delicate beneath your own. “I believe it was a mistake on your part—the first time at least. Shall I show you? It may jog your memory.” 

There’s nothing much for you to do besides nod, vaguely relaxing back into the padded headboard as she plies open your mind, slipping inside with ease. 

The music is up-beat, strings playing a merry tune while the faelights shift in colour over head, panels of stained glass being slotted over them to give the illusion of the lights themselves changing. 

I turn my head when I feel weakened fingertips seek out my wrist, gripping gently, only to be met with soft, faintly trembling lips being pressed to my own. I recognise the hint of the illegal drug almost immediately, and my eyes widen in time to watch as the female flinches, recoiling sharply. 

At my back, my mate is swiftly approaching, a sure and familiar presence sweeping across the floor. It seems the female has enough sense left in her to recognise the thrumming power of the High Lord that’s already begun seeping across the floor in warning, other fae bodies instinctively making way so as not to catch his brewing mood. 

Instead of cowering though, the female before me seems to panic briefly, before unsteadily tottering forward, making it just close enough to push onto her tiptoes and press a kiss to the High Lord’s jaw, before her legs give out and I’m catching her as she falls back, body limp. 

Surprised violet eyes meet my own, brows raised as he glances down at the female passed out in my arms, head tipped to the side, laying across my breast. 

Your lips are parted wider than they were last, but you don’t shut them. Instead panicking as the memories filter back into your mind, along with a faint pound of a growing headache. “I’m sorry,” you repeat, words tumbling in a frantic wash. “I— I remember seeing what had happened, and I had worried he might think I was trying to— So I wanted to kiss him to show I didn’t mean— Gods I’m so sorry.” An embarrassed flush heats your skin, simmering wickedly just below the surface of your flesh, head dipped in misery and shame. 

“It’s perfectly okay,” the High Lady assures, squeezing your fingers. “I want you to know the male who drugged you has been found and dealt with—he will not be repeating his actions. We also had our healer check the concentration in your blood to make sure you were okay, and thankfully all you needed was a good night’s sleep to get everything out of your system.”

You flush, glancing to where she’s cupping your fingers, then looking at her again. “I’m still sorry for kissing you—both of you—even if there were external pressures…”

Feyre blinks slowly, her smile losing an ounce of its warmth. Barely noticeable, really, but you feel it. “Do you regret it?” 

“I regret causing you discomfort, my L—” Her eyes harden, and you flush. “…Feyre. And your— and for kissing your mate…” 

“And what about on your end?” She asks, tone softened only a little. You look at her questioningly but are unable to read the emotion in her blue-grey eyes. Cunning but deliberately blank. “Do you regret kissing either of us for your own discomfort?” 

“No!” You speak hurriedly. “It’s an honour. I mean, hopefully that doesn’t make you upset to hear. I simply mean, to have been so close with either of you. I’m just so sorry I did what I did… How I did it…” 

“You would have done differently had you been sober?” She asks, her hold tightening on your fingers, pulling your hand closer into her body. 

You hesitate, fumbling. Glancing where her digits have begun twining with your own. 

Feyre follows your gaze, and sighs, hands settling to the bed. 

“My mate and I are divided on the matter,” she tells you, voice lowering to a hushed murmur. A guilty tug on her pretty pink lips. “He would rather give you space and time to warm up to us, since this meeting has happened so fast.” Fingers again squeeze your own, and she looks up at you with a glimmer in her heavy gaze. “But I’ve been on the end of that before, and hadn’t been pleased with his choices.” 

You scan her features, trying to fit together the pieces but have the distinct feeling you’re missing something crucial. A fragment of memory that perhaps hasn’t yet allowed itself to resurface. Eyes flit to the curl of her digits between your own. 

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I understand?” 

Feyre pauses in thought, then she presses her hand to your cheek, unlacing it from your fingers. Breath flutters in your chest as your High Lady leans in, her head tilted enough so her lips might slant diagonally across your mouth, and a faintly wavy lock of hair slides from her shoulder, tickling against your collar bones. You can feel each faint exhale. Mark how her pupils dilate, lashes flickering as she glances down at your mouth. 

Your breath catches as something tugs at your rib, a small, tender thread wrapped around the delicate bone. 

“Did you feel that?” Feyre questions, thumb stoking the curve beneath your lip, eyes following with each swipe. “What…what was…?” 

It happens again, and your lungs stutter, mouth parting in awe as you stare at her. 

You worry over voicing your thoughts for fear of reaching the wrong conclusion and only worsening your predicament. To be as brazen as to suggest a possibility that would defy logic and reason, when it’s likely fuelled by your own desires… 

Feyre lays her mouth over your own, the flavour of her lips slightly musky with a hint of berry, and you wonder if she delighted in fruits for breakfast. Perhaps would like to swipe your tongue across the seam of her mouth to taste more of her. To sample more of this delicacy you’ll surely never have the chance of trying again. 

A heady sound echoes in your Lady’s throat when you follow through with your fantasy. Her fingers dig into the soft underside of your jaw, both hands cupping your face to leverage her mouth closer, capturing your lower lip between her teeth and tugging on it gently. She’s close enough you can feel the faint flutter of air that her lashes bat your way. 

Blue-grey eyes simmer with heat as she watches you, thumb stroking across the crest of your cheek before falling to the side of your neck, fingers sifting through strands of hair. With great attentiveness, she strokes her tongue across your own, her heart jumping when your body jolts lightly from the intimate touch, a lovely soft sound captured in your throat. 

Her hands begin to wander. 

At first it’s her thumb skimming across your throat, then she’s grazing her fingertips along the ridge of your collarbone, and then before you know it she’s trailed those nimble digits further, tracing the curve of your breast, knuckles skimming beneath the soft, feminine weight. Your lashes flutter against her cheek, before you’re pulling away to gaze down at where she’s touching you. 

Feyre watches intently to see what you make of the touch. Heat warms your cheeks and your lips part on a trembling inhale, spine curving in an offer—one she’ll contentedly accept. The soft pad of her second finger teasingly circles your covered nipple, before clasping it between the sides of her index and middle finger, rolling. Your breathing deepens, sinking down into the pillows, subtly urging her to lay herself over you. 

It’s when Feyre’s knee is pressing between your thighs, her faintly wavy hair ticklishly brushing your exposed skin—where she’s unbuttoned your night gown to bare your breasts to her—that a firm set of knocks are delivered to the door, a warning rather than a request. Your eyes fly open, arms instinctively slapping across your chest to conceal your breasts, nipples sensitive, and freshly-licked. 

Violet eyes calmly take in your own, and the night comes rushing back, how you’d kissed his mate—accidentally, but it had happened nonetheless—then pressed your lips to his own skin, too. 

You open your mouth to apologise, but Feyre’s talented fingers have linked around your wrists, and you squirm when she pushes them aside, so they sink into the pillows you’re lying on. Expelling a gasp from your lips. 

“Looks like the two of your are becoming well acquainted,” the High Lord muses, stepping into the room, pausing beside the bed, gazing down at you with interest. “Do you mind my being here?” He asks, and you realise he’s bothering to question you. It makes sense, you suppose, you just hadn’t considered it. You flush, but shake your head, lungs stuttering when Feyre returns to your breasts, circling the hardened tip of her tongue over the peak of your right nipple, allowing a small amount of saliva to build before letting it unspool onto you, before repeating the circles. 

“You look to be enjoying her mouth,” Rhysand muses, raising the backs of his fingers to gently skim your cheek, thumb idly swiping the corner of your mouth, dipping to the hollow beneath your lower lip. “Are you?” 

Your flush deepens, thighs squeezing together against Feyre’s knee at the softly intimate touch, something fluttering beneath your ribs from the gentleness of the High Lord’s caress. Teeth pull at the interior of your lip, struggling to get a hold of the wild heat they’re igniting in your lower belly, a tingling feeling spreading between your thighs. 

“Getting shy now?” Feyre coos, unlatching from your nipple much to your dismay. “You were perfectly talkative before… He’s not as scary as he looks.” 

“Scary?” Rhys parrots under his breath, a note of incredulity to be found. Feyre raises an eyebrow as she glances over him, as if challenging him to disagree. But his lips fashion themselves into a mischievous, feline grin, capturing your chin with his fingers, directing your gaze upward to face him. “Would I be less scary without all these clothes on?”

Your face burns, lips parting on a softly stunned inhale, staring up at him in slight bewilderment, his words alone giving rise to a series of involuntary images careening through your mind before you can stop from conjuring them. 

“Rhys,” Feyre scolds, “you’re overwhelming her. She doesn’t know what to do with all that.”

“We can show her.” 

“Rhysand,” Feyre warns, but you can tell it’s playful. You want her attention back on you, sliding a little further down in the pillows so her knee is pressed closer between your legs. Blue-grey eyes mark the shift immediately, and you flush at having been caught, grip tightening in the sheets as you find elsewhere to look. Her rosey lips curve, leaning closer until they’re barely brushing your own, a twinkle of mischief in her eyes. “Something you want, birdie?” 

You inhale at her proximity, spine stiffening from how close she is, how bare you are beneath her. How exposed. 

You incline your chin almost imperceptibly. 

Feyre smirks, and leans in, once again sealing her lips over yours, and you think she must be a slice of heaven. Your hands depart from the sheets, travelling up her thighs to her hips, spanning her delicate waist. Her hair tickles your shoulder, trailing away when Rhys’s fingers shift the curtain of silky hair, pushing the locks gently out of the way so he can see how his wife is kissing his…

A small noise is captured between your mouths when something tugs at one of your ribs, a delicate thread being plucked that has you jolting. Pulling away. 

“A second mate is unheard of,” Feyre murmurs, looking at you with a mixture of awe and disbelief. “And yet here she is,” Rhys finishes, making you blink, glancing between the two. 

“You said you were honoured,” Feyre continues, drawing your attention back to her. “Are you still of the same mindset?” You stare at her, comprehension dawning as you accept your belief as truth, fantasy merging with reality. “What she’s asking,” Rhysand clarifies, allowing his fingers to fall from Feyre to graze across you collar bone, tracing upward to your jaw, brushing your cheek, “is will you have us.”

“Yes.” It’s softer than a whisper, shorter than a breath, but they feel it. Feel the acceptance without reluctance or hesitation. Falling into their arms.

Feyre’s eyes go briefly hazy as it clicks into place inside of her, a flush of colour rising to her cheeks with biological satisfaction. “Good,” she breathes, “perfect.” 

Her scent has shifted, floating over to you, and instinct tells you exactly what it means. When her blue-grey eyes return to yours, they’re dilated; hungry. Information you should have no access to flowing into your body, innately understanding their states of being. 

“How are you feeling?” Feyre asks, voice huskier than before, dragging with arousal. A heat has begun sprouting in your body, beginning to simmer and bubble, more prominently than before, abruptly taking off. You swallow. Nod your head. 

“What you’re feeling,” Rhysand supplies smoothly, the only one able to grapple with the biological instincts urging you together as the one who understands it the most, “is the effects of the mating bond clicking into place. Since our bond,”—he gestures between him and Feyre— “is already set in place, the symptoms will make themselves known much more swiftly, while yours may take a few hours or even a day to reveal themselves.” 

Right. The frenzy. 

You flush. 

“Do you—” Feyre swallows, cutting herself off before trying again, having to wet her lips, “do you want to join us?” 

“Join you?” You’re breathless. 

“I’m sure we’ll be able to manage between us, if you would like to rest,” Rhysand supplies, though you have the impression it strains on him to give that safety net. As if reminded of the option, Feyre’s eyes flick to him, hungrily tracing the cut of his figure, watching with a heavy-lidded gaze. You shift your hips against her knee, and they return to you. 

In your periphery Rhysand readjusts his trousers. 

“Will you?” She breathes, her hand rising from the mattress, shifting her weight to her other arm to allow her fingers to coast upward between your breasts, playing with the dip of your collarbone, tracing the outline. “We’ll be careful,” she assures, fingers now tracing across your lower lip, transfixed as her instincts call for her to strip you bare, explore the flavour of your mouth and skin; the taste between your legs. 

“We could start with just one of us?” She tells you, your heart fluttering wildly as her words drip over your skin. “You and me first…”

“Greedy,” Rhys mutters.

“Rhys can watch,” she amends. “We can play in my and his bed—it’s much larger than this one—and I could start with these…” You gasp when she lowers her hand to your breast, circling your nipple with a feather-light touch, tugging on it gently. “Then we could move further…” Feyre takes your wrist in hand, moving to straddle your hips as she brings your palm to her chest, watching you intently as her spine curves into your touch. “And you could try touching me, if you like…? Would you like that? Wouldn’t that be nice?” 

“She needs a chance to respond, Feyre,” Rhys chuckles, leaning against one poster of the large bed. She peers at you intently, rocking her hips almost subconsciously. “You’ll feel so good,” she whispers, bringing your other hand to cup her breast so you have both palms over her. “What do you think?” 

Your flush deepens, looking away, and you can feel Feyre’s grip loosening, crestfallen. 

“I…” You swallow, finding her gaze again, her expression attentive, then glancing briefly over Rhys, nerves wriggling beneath your skin before you look away again, peering at the floor. “I don’t want Rhys to feel left out…” 

You inhale sharply at the stark arousal that blares down the bond, your thighs squeezing together in response, Rhys shifting as he takes down a steadying breath. A noise escapes your throat with the staggering awareness the bond is affording you, able to feel their hunger in your bones, perhaps also affording you a little more confidence than usual. 

“We’re all mates, aren’t we?” You ask, glancing skittishly between them both. When they nod, you continue. “So I’d like…I think it would mean more to be with both of you…all together.” 

————

They make you so dizzy. 

The soft press of Feyre’s narrow lips dragging up the length of your throat, nipping at spaces below your jaw, licking over the bite marks they’ve each put into your skin, forgetting which ones belong to who; the heavy drag of Rhys’ fingers as they dip along the interior of your thighs, palms cupping the round curve of your knees only to slip beneath and delicately raise both legs to your chest; the heat of watching clothes fall to the ground, buttons coming free and ties being loosened, hair pushed back over delicate shoulders and sterling silver bands removed from scar-flecked fingers, flexing before they settle into the rhythm of touch. 

You crawl after Feyre as she pulls away, pushing her second and middle finger to your lips to still you, her own mouth curving with feminine satisfaction. And now the question she’ll ask: “Who do you want next?” 

How many times have they taken turns making you answer that question. How many times have you shamelessly given an answer. How many times have they satisfied your desire only to ask again, “Who do you want next?” 

Always a next; never an end. 

You whimper, clit puffy and sensitive from relentless stimulation, pleasure budding through your body, liquid gold buzzing beneath your skin. How many more touches can you take? 

“Answer me,” Feyre coos, fingers slipping beneath your chin to incline your lips, leaning forward to almost meet you. “Who do you want next?”

“Feyre…” You’re nearly crying, so turned around, so dizzy. So desperate for movement and friction. “Please…” The High Lady beams, cupping your cheeks between her palms and pulling you close enough your noses touch, “mhmm? You want me?” 

“Please…” 

“How do you want me?” Feyre crawls closer, her knees touching your own, “Tell me how you want me.” Your lips part, cheeks flushing. Tongue shifting against your teeth. You’re too embarrassed to tell her. 

Tender claws scratch at your mind, and your walls give a few moments later, tentatively lowering enough for her to slip inside and nestle with you. Watching the image you present her with. 

Blue-grey eyes glitter with hunger, her mouth popping open, blinking away her surprise before grinning. “I didn’t think you’d be so dirty,” Feyre purrs, palms wrapping around your waist to pull you with her as she falls back into the bed, walking you up her body. 

“Are my girls done scheming?” Rhys asks from behind you, effortlessly sending a hot shiver up your spine. His voice alone contains enough power to make your knees buckle. And, my girls. You and Feyre. He’s seeing the two of you together. 

You rest your hands on the headboard, leaning forward enough that Feyre can grin at her mate from beneath you, “We’ll always be scheming, High Lord.” Her legs open, and your mouth waters. “Think you can keep up, Rhys?” 

“Always, for you.” Feyre’s hands begin to loop over your hips to pull you down but Rhysand reaches forward and you gasp when you feel his thick fingers skating up the line of your spine, hairs prickling as you shiver. “You, too,” the High Lord purrs, pushing your hair to one side so he can reach the top of your spine. Your throat closes up, heart fluttering as those deft digits descend down the knots of your back. Stiffening in anticipation when he pauses at the base. “Turn around,” he instructs, clearly. “I should be able to see you, too.” 

The hot breath of Feyre’s moan caresses your inner thigh, and you tighten around nothing. With flushed cheeks you slowly turn, careful of the female lying beneath you. 

Violet eyes glimmer with starlight, and millions of tiny, fluttery wings erupt into motion between your thighs. 

“Better,” he says, quietly. A faint smile on his soft mouth. “Now sit.” 

You part your legs, shakily sinking down onto Feyre’s mouth, Rhysand keeping your eyes locked with him—watching as you settle, watching as your hands find placement on her breasts, watching as Feyre licks up through your centre and you shudder. An adoring smile half-lifts one edge of Rhysand’s lips, his irises softening at their edges as he marks the pleasure unfolding within you. Only then do his thumbs press into the meat of Feyre’s thighs, finding the divot at the interior of her knees to hold them apart, aligning himself, and sliding in. 

You can’t help the way your mouth waters. 

Rhys catches you staring and leans himself forward, grinning as you flush with embarrassment, “Wishing that was you?” 

Your lips part, eyes darting away but he grips your chin lightly, forcefully guiding your gaze back to his. He leans closer and you shudder as Feyre’s lips wrap around your clit, suckling tenderly. Rhysand’s hand cups the nape of your neck, and wild heat fills your skin as he slowly licks over your bottom lip, the tip of his tongue dragging over the bitten area to drag lightly over your top one.  You’re frozen stiff, completely at his mercy. He chuckles, like he finds your awe amusing. Lightly appreciative of your reverence. 

But then he kisses you once on the lips and pulls back, both palms falling to Feyre’s waist, his thumb grazing over the beauty mark that lies a little to the left of her belly button. His hips draw back and slide in, Feyre’s back arching when he meets her all the way, hips held tight to her own. You can’t help the way your fingers fall to graze over her abdomen, able to see the prominent outline of the High Lord nestled within his mate. 

He’s been inside you the same way he’s inside her. 

You have to lick your lips. 

“Move,” you whisper, circling your hips over Feyre’s mouth, almost certainly smearing arousal across her lips; the tip of her rosey nose; her chin. The High Lady moans her agreement, inclining her hips from the bed and you watch as the muscles in her thighs and stomach flex. Feline grace contained within her flesh. You want to taste every part of her you can. 

Rhys begins slowly, languidly moving inside of her, rolling his hips so he slides all the way in to his base. Soon enough he sets their pace, and your eyes nearly roll with the pleasurable warmth that’s being delivered to your body, fizzling and fluttering throughout. Heat is prominent on the High Lord’s cheeks, tan skin flushed with colour and you’re all so sensitive but needing of more that release is swift and fulfilling. Bright flashes of pleasure zipping down your thighs, bursts of heat fluttering in your lower belly, warm-pink flame heating and heating until you’re boiling and bubbling over. 

Rhys grits his teeth, likely trying to cope with the pleasure of Feyre’s orgasm, and you can’t help yourself. 

You lean forward, cunt still seated on the High Lady’s mouth, your palms sloping up his well-muscled chest to wrap over his shoulder to push your lips together, tongue licking against him, tasting him, devouring him. The High Lord’s control splinters, then fractures entirely, a groan of pure, male pleasure delivered to your mouth as he releases deep inside his mate. You want it to be as drawn out as possible, for him to fill her up as much as he can, until she’s dripping. 

It’s only when he’s panting, breathless and with his head lowered that you know he’s finished. 

Teeth prod into your lower lip, fresh arousal dripping from your cunt, cleaned away by Feyre’s tongue. Her fingers drum ticklishly over your thighs, knowing what you’ve been waiting for. You can practically see the smug, satisfied grin on her rosey lips. 

The combined effort of the both of you has you taking her place on the bed in mere seconds, lying on your back with a blinking Rhys now positioned between your thighs. Feyre mounts your mouth like she’s descending onto her throne, thighs parted and facing you so she can run her fingers through your hair. 

Rhysand freezes when he understands what’s going on. Then his warrior’s hands have shackled your ankles and you’re roughly dragged down the bed, swept out from under your mate and you whine, crying out and reaching for her. But there’s heat in his eyes, a wicked smile on his mouth, mischief and hunger twinkling between the starlight. “I did all the work, darling,” he rumbles, the words rough and gravelly from his chest. “The least you can do is let me watch.”

You flush as you’re repositioned: half-way up the bed with Feyre hovering over your face, your mouth open and her legs spread; further up the bed is Rhys, gazing down at you so he can watch every stroke of your tongue, every drip of his cum that’s mixed with Feyre’s own orgasm that you collect on your lips, tasting in your mouth. 

“I should have known what you two were planning,” Rhys drawls, cock hard against his stomach from watching the show. He’s eaten his release out of Feyre before but it’s different watching someone else do it. It’s different having a mate to watch do it. “So dirty indeed.”

“And it was all her idea,” Feyre muses proudly from atop her perch. “You were so shy to show it to me,” she coos. 

“Looks like she’s a wicked one.” Violet eyes flick to Feyre. “She’ll rival you for your mischief.” 

“I think you mean she’ll rival you. You’re the dirty one.” 

Their eyes simultaneously drop, and you flush beneath their attention, hair spread out messily across the mattress, licking Feyre’s cunt whenever you please. Rhys’ fingers trail across your forehead, playing with a few stray strands of hair. “You like that? Tasting us together?” 

You moan softly, licking up and circling Feyre’s clit, causing her to moan. 

Butterflies start fluttering anew when Rhys wraps his hand around his cock, still achingly hard, cum beginning to drizzle down his tip. Your temperature spikes, mouth watering further. Rhys’ eyes twinkle, his mouth curving before he’s shifting onto his knees. “You know,” he muses, looming so comparatively high above you while Feyre keeps you pinned to the mattress, “let’s find out how dirty she is.”

Your thighs have to squeeze together at the blatant lust in his voice, clit pulsing as you rub your legs together.  

Violet eyes meet your own, and you shiver. Rhys grins. “You look pretty happy, down there.” You moan, licking at her hungrily, wanting her to stop hovering and to finally just sit. His hand continues stroking himself to the sign, up and down, slowly building his pleasure again. There isn’t much time you need to wait—you’re all so stimulated, so sensitive to touch. Rhys has to grit his teeth through the first series of strokes before the tension is being released and he’s panting again, muscles flexing in his stomach and forearms. 

“Think you can take some more?” Rhys groans, and you watch with desperate eyes as a bead of cum slips over his head. “Answer me.” 

You nod your head. “More,” you pant, watching him intently. Rhys’ eyes nearly roll, but then yours nearly cross as he shifts his hips, the tip of his cock nearly bumping into Feyre’s clit. He’s intending to finish straight into your mouth. 

You can’t help it, then. Your hand lifts from the bed and trails down your body, fingers slipping between your thighs. It’s a mix between painful and perfectly oversensitive, clit hard and puffy beneath your digits that slide right down your centre, two fingers sinking inside yourself and curling. 

It doesn’t take long from there. 

“Gods, you’re such a good girl,” Feyre praises, biting her lip as she palms her breasts, cupping them and thumbing across her nipples. “Isn’t she perfect, Rhys?” 

“So perfect.” He agrees. “So dirty.” 

You whimper in protest but Rhys cocks a brow and you shut up. He smirks. “So good, and so obedient, isn’t she?” 

“Perfect for us,” Feyre agrees, moaning as she circles her hips faintly, seeking the attention of your tongue which swiftly returns to attend to her, flicking over her clit and licking up her centre. “A perfect little mate to play with.” 

Rhys groans, the noise rumbling in his chest as his orgasm finds him at last, release pouring from his tip, shooting down between your lips and filling you up. His hip buck, his fingers flexing around his cock as pleasure pulses through his body, his eyes shutting tight as his muscles tremble. 

The tip of your finger drags back up over your clit and you come undone. 

Feyre watches, utterly content, as her two mates reach completion around her. She can just make out your eyes, half-rolled as your own high filters through your blood. Then there’s Rhys, whose hand is shaking as he pumps himself, hips seemingly moving of their own accord as he tries to keep himself going for as long as possible, throwing himself into overstimulation for the sake of your pleasure. 

She sits happily on your mouth when he’s done, his blue-black hair falling against her shoulder as hot breath fans down her front. 

How lucky they are to have found such a sweet, mischievous little mate to match them. 

——————————————————————————————————————————————

general taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @slut4acotar @sfhsgrad-blog @needylilgal022 @hannzoaks @hnyclover @skyesayshi @nyotamalfoy @decomposing-writer @soph1644 @lilah-asteria @nighttimemoonlover @mrsjna @acoazlove

feysand taglist: @girlmadeofavocados @zara-aliza08

[serpentface]

A non-exhaustive selection of flowers of value or interest in Wardi culture

(not to scale)

Tantlami - a small bluish or purple flower in the aster family. The origin of its name is uncertain.

It blossoms in early to mid spring, being among the first blooms of the season. The flowers and leaves are edible (though rather flavorless and bitter respectively), with the former often being used as a garnish for food or wine. The flowers are appreciated for their blue hue, associated with wealth and royalty. Its flowers can yield a bluish-gray dye.

In fairly recent history, has been saddled with unfortunate baggage in being used as joke innuendo for the anus, largely in mockery of the figuratively and literally flowery tendencies of love poetry (the idea being 'some of these poets would compare an asshole to a goddamn flower'). The word has not been Fully absorbed into scatological humor, though it is now more common for people to refer to it as 'a yachouy tantlami' (the tantlami flower), and being a child named Tantlami is a more difficult experience than it used to be.

Janaët - a native flowering tobacco. Its name almost certainly stems from or is related to a color word for 'white' (jana).

It contains nicotine, though at substantially lower concentrations than tobacco cultivars first brought from Bur (which do not grow as well here and are very valuable trade goods). It is one of two native plants with notable stimulant effects, either cured with the milder-tasting broülje to chew or smoked on its own. It has significance in herbal medicine, with its effects of energizing the body and mind being attributed in part to regulating proper blood flow and strengthening the heart. It is smoked as a supplement to many medicinal procedures, and its juice and fresh leaves are thought to assist in cleaning wounds and healing snakebites. It is also used recreationally, chewed by laborers and travelers to keep energized and smoked for a calming effect.

The flowers are given some degree of phallic associations due to the shape of their projecting unfurled petals, which in turn grants them association with protection and good fortune. Imagery and actual garlands of the flowers are considered to be lucky. The janaët is a standard well-wishing offering for weddings, expressing hope for vitality and protection within the union.

Camnina etsisima - This flower's name just means 'bleeding bush', owing to the color and the way the petals are initially green and appear to slowly 'soak' red. They are also sometimes likened to the appearance of fire, with its second most common name being a similar 'burning bush'. The plant comes into full bloom during the mid to late spring and is regarded for the beauty of its vibrant red color and sweet scent.

Camnina etsitsima is well adapted to dry conditions and most populous in the semi-arid parts of the region. Its leaves are thick and store significant quantities of water, though are toxic to consume by humans and can be fatal in very large doses. Small amounts are used as an emetic and laxative. It is also a known herbal abortifacient, though is one of the less favored methods due to its side effects, causing severe stomach pain (in addition to the aforementioned) in large enough doses to be viable. Its flowers can yield a red-brown dye.

Camiche - flowers of the camiche tree. Its name is very ancient and of completely uncertain origin.

The flowers have a strong sweet smell and mildly sweet taste. They are used in teas and wine mixes (or to make wine in some cases) and can be eaten raw or cooked. Almost the entire rest of the tree is edible as well- young leaves and shoots can be eaten raw, mature leaves are boiled, dried, and powdered to supplement other foods, the seedpods can be eaten raw young and can be powdered into flour old, and the seeds are edible in all phases and can be pressed for oil. The bark is edible but rather bitter and unpleasant and considered a desperate famine food, but is used in herbalism to ease stomach pain and bring down fevers. The tree itself is among the more abundant sources of wood available, poor for woodworking but valuable as fuel, and the majority of camiche trees you'll find near human settlements show evidence of coppicing or pollarding. It is also highly resistant to drought conditions (though is Not resistant to rarer flood years, and suffers in particularly harsh winters), and can be a fairly reliable source of food in famines.

This tree has monumental historical significance to the diet, and its presence is often indicative of longstanding human settlement and passage (especially given its seeds were also an early form of currency among a wide range of peoples south of the Viper). Both ancient and modern land travel routes by nomads can be identified in part by the concentration of camiche along the way. An unusual density of camiche in the far northwestern Highlands (contemporary White Hills People land) marks the location where the last of the ancient cairn-builder proto-Wardi people died out almost two millennia ago, with many of the trees still growing on their mound graves.

In Wardi culture, the trees are regarded as sacred and notably beautiful as well as useful, and are heavily cultivated in urban settings (also at least in part because their flowers help mask the smells of these urban settings). The camiche is sometimes given the 'gaibenyo haidem' ('great/peerless provider') epithet otherwise mostly used for cattle, God, and/or land to denote something's intrinsic ability to sustain a majority of basic human needs. Like the slaughter of a sacred animal, cutting down a camiche tree is regulated by (though not Prohibited by) taboo and requires additional ceremony and for part of the yield to be given back in sacrifice. Coppicing/pollarding or mass-harvesting of living flowers or leaves requires an offering of sprinkled milk, or your own blood if you're low on milk.

Nyari - nyari is just the word for lotuses. There are two species of lotus naturalized here, but this orange-yellow one is native across lands east of the Mouth seaway and was first given this name.

The native nyari is fairly hardy and its root system can survive periods of drought (though not completely dry conditions), emerging seemingly out of nowhere from near-dry mud when the water returns. In any environmental condition, their blooming signals seasonal return to a time of plenty. Lotuses are potent symbols of creation, rebirth, seasonal abundance, and fertility. They also have associations with cleanliness and purity, as they are perceived as only growing in clean water and are intentionally cultivated in manmade water sources. They are important items as offerings and are garlands for brides, kings, and animal sacrifices. Lotuses are also standard gifts for the well-wishing of a marriage, expressing hope for abundance in the couple's life and the birth of healthy children. Symbols of lotuses are extremely common in decoration, and fabric faux lotuses are frequent features of men's hair ornaments. In most variants of the creation story, God and the first people emerged from the primordial sea either like, from, or as lotus flowers, with the first man Hounyari's name effectively being 'first of the lotuses'.

Their primary value is ornamental and spiritual, though their roots and rhizomes are also edible when cooked thoroughly. Their primary use in herbalism is to assist in female fertility, and their roots are an ingredient for the partly medicinal anaebi soup used to encourage and maintain the health of pregnancies.

Suömitsima - a type of poppy with red-orange or orange petals. Its name is straightfowardly a contraction of 'blood poppy'. In some traditions, the first suömitsima bloomed where the blood of Erub's sons and grandsons spilled in their grisly murders after Imperial Burri conquest. It also appears in a very old animal folktale shared in South Wardi and Cholemdinae oral history where a clan of hyenas and a clan of aurochs fight viciously over a drying spring, with the poppies blooming from the blood of the dead when both parties finally agree to truce in times of scarcity.

It is among the earliest and most prolific springtime blooms and beloved for it, being a mainstay for garlands made for spring ceremonial occasions (or for fun). The likening to blood is also an association with vitality, livelihood, and renewal, and imagery of the flower is highly favorable for decoration and jewelry. Its seeds are used in herbalism as a sedative and painkiller, though their concentration of morphine is fairly low.

Ibriya - this is a type of cat's ear flower. Its name has no obvious origin, though was likely derived either a solar term or the word 'hairy' (rijade) due to the texture of its leaves. It adapts well to a variety of environments and can be seen in bloom well into late summer, when most other flowers have long gone to seed. It has an epithet as the 'beloved of the sun' and is a common figure in romantic poetry as a symbol of long-lasting love.

The entire plant is edible and its roasted roots are appreciated for teas, though its leaves are generally considered famine/peasant food. A yellow dye can be derived from its flowers. In herbalism, its roots are used for digestive issues and are thought to improve the health of the liver.

Cabouri - This is a species of wild rose, and the only one native south of the Viper seaway. The name cabouri is of uncertain etymology but Might relate to the word for 'testicle' (awourim), possibly referring to the swollen rosehips. It fares well in a variety of habitats and is Relatively drought tolerant, though it is less common in semi-arid conditions in which it requires a permanent nearby water source to survive.

Its petals, roots, and leaves can be used for tea, its hips are very nutritious and eaten raw, in teas, or in preserves. Rosewater is a favored beverage, either for drinking on its own, mixing with wine, or to flavor deserts. Perfumes derived from roses are very popular and tend to be considered a more masculine scent, often added to oils used for the beard and hair. Its thorns are sometimes used for bloodletting. In herbalism, its hips tend to be used as a cure-all, especially for inflammation and colds. A mixture of fermented honey and crushed rose hips consumed in wine or tea is taken for illnesses affecting the lungs and throat.

Roses tend to be associated with masculine beauty and and vitality, with the sharp thorns and lovely flowers being compared to favorable qualities of handsomeness and strength. It's also a very common motif in Wardi folktales and poetry for secret lovers to hide themselves from their parents/spouses/etc within rosebushes (often injuring themselves in the process, or leaving torn shreds of clothing behind as evidence), as a symbol for foolhardy love/lust or just as a comedic setpiece. This actually derives from an old Burri myth about the conception of a minor god of flowers and crossroads, whose deity mother and human father had an adulterous tryst hidden in a rose bush and stained the white flowers red with their blood.

[lexicorp]

Honestly just needed what I had in mind visualized tbh-

Soooo I actually have a reason other than just cuz for having Starscream's iris' yellow instead of the typical white p much all other bots got. Its an Outlier thing! Warp's can go a shade of purple pink mid-warp, and thunder's can get a bit blue when he really uses his sonic powers. Also theres a reason why Soundwave always wears his visor, so ya cant try and tell if he be readin ur mind waves.

So with Starscream's Outlier ability, that's at base a super healing thing, his optics will get more yellow whenever it's actively trying to fix damages or during adrenaline jumps.

When it comes to the drama surrounding Megatron forcing Starscream to change his optics from blue to red a bit after the war started-Star fought that shit hard. His blue optics were like the one thing from Skyfire that /hadn't/ been taken from him. But ultimately, he lost that fight. Changed them. Hoped it'd help chill Megs even a bit. It didn't, rlly, which pissed him off even more, but he wasn't gonna jus change em back again for fear of Megs kicking his aft for it again. (later lore when Megatron is out of the picture, Star is hesitant to change em to blue again mainly due to feeling it'd be like, blasphemous now.)

i'm not immune to the SkyStar flavored angst-

[naffeclipse]

A Drive

Reader x Mob Bosses!Sun & Moon

Commission Info

Many thanks to @vixenfoxpup for giving me a go at the mob boss brothers. They are, I'm afraid to say, still dastardly. The mob bosses decide to take you away on a little drive, but they discover something along the dark and quiet city roads, something you're not telling them.

Content Warning for suggestive themes, abduction, implied abuse, and bruises.

———

You step carefully down the street, jacket pulled tight around you, weary of each rattle and grumble from passing cars, and erupting laughter from two men just outside of a speakeasy. The coils of anxiety within you are twining so tightly, you fear something will tear. You are too on edge for a city that is so lively. 

Inhaling the thick fumes of the city, catching oil and smoke and something much more rotten underneath it all, you continue towards your home. It’s been a long day, a long week. The sky is turning red from a bleeding sunset, and the light is quickly fleeting from the dark and dreary streets. 

You might have quickened your stride if you weren’t so exhausted. A heaviness pulses behind your eyes. For several days at your job, you’ve done nothing but struggle with prose and putting together a comprehensive piece for your boss to throw into the newspaper. 

The ghost of pain flares. Unwittingly, your fingers slip inside your jacket sleeve to caress a dark blossom of purple and blue over your wrist. Your skin seems so delicate though it’s not yet broken as it holds back the damage. 

You just have to get home. Taking a corner, the street seems to fall dead before your eyes. What would usually be bustling is not hush with the shadows thickly draping the sidewalk and the slick road. Fire burns in street lamps, solitary beacons in the infant night, as doors are shut and windows drawn close, and you wonder what happened to the businesses in this area. 

The walk home hadn’t seemed so lonely before. There is another you can blame on such a thing but you bite back any accusations and duck your head to stride quickly to your apartment. Maybe you could actually catch some shut-eye and not disappoint your boss tomorrow.

There’s always something to report, something going down, someone murdered and someone found washed up in the river. Corruption thrives in the festering wounds of the city, and you bear witness. 

There has to be something someone can do. On top of your private life struggles, a helplessness sinks down and drags you into the muck of the city. 

The last rays of the dying red sunlight disappear into a deep blue twilight, and you think about lying down on your bed only to twist and turn, fruitlessly chasing some hours of snoozing. Yellow lights guide your way home, and you stare into dark buildings with indifferent streets falling behind you.

Your pulse thrums in your ears. Evening your breath, you force your stride to not show any fear. The wrong person might not like your scent, might see someone without an escort and without any means of protection, and want to try their luck.

You don’t need any more bruises tonight.

At the end of the street, a vehicle rumbles into sight. Turning into view, great big headlights cut through the night and blind you momentarily. Forced to avert your gaze, you catch the deep growl of the engine as it creeps down the street. Your vision settles with two blots of afterimages seared into them, but you catch the dark make and model of the vehicle. It’s black as a hearse and sleek as polished onyx. 

Your heart immediately leaps into your throat. You turn away, immediately walking in the other direction. Squaring your shoulders and holding your head high, you try to not run—it might push them into a chase, like a predator unwilling to allow its prey to escape.

A dozen answers race through your mind: a hit and run, an ordered target, a problem that needs to be solved with lead and gasoline. It was always a possibility in your line of work—and you’ve rocked the boat on plenty of circles within the city from the counselors’ office all the way down to the low life gangsters that seek to keep polluting the people.

Your lungs constrict and deflate. Swallowing back a whimper, you continue striding purposefully down the sidewalk as if the black vehicle isn’t crawling behind you, lights fully placed onto your figure. Your shadow is startled and jumpy, twitching arms unable to decide to prepare for a fight or to run all the way to someone who might bear witness to the crime about to occur. 

You curse quietly in the echoes of your mind. You don’t want to die like this. You don't want to die. 

Behind you, a sudden stutter in the engine sounds as it jerks to a stop. 

Your heart explodes in your chest, adrenaline fueled into the recesses of your limbs, and you take off like an alley cat escaping the jaws of a mutt.

Doors open and footsteps pound behind you. Only a precious few strides closes the distance, and hands seize you, wrapping around your waist and snatching your legs before the familiar scent of bourbon and cigarette smoke reaches your senses.

That does not quell your furious struggle, attempting to kick your legs and claw at your abductors, but they haul you back to the vehicle and stuff you inside as if you were a mere lamb.

Before you can blink, doors slam shut, the vehicle lurches forward, and you’re caught in the darkness behind tinted glass. Fabric rustles before you’re pulled neatly onto the mob boss’s lab.

“Sun,” you utter, your throat thick with panic. Across the plush seats and dingy trails of cigarette smoke, sits his brother. You meet his gaze briefly before lowering it. “Moon.”

“Turtle dove,” a cheerful coo slips into your ear. The solar theme animatronic, crowned with bright yellow rays and a notorious infamy for his underworld business practice, tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. His arms trap you firmly against his chest. “The attempt to fly away from us was precious, but you wouldn’t have to lose your breath if you simply stayed where you were.”

You offer a noncommittal hum, unable to argue but unwilling to concede. 

Across the seat, Moon sits in the darkness, his pale eyes glowing red with a simper. He fixes his fedora with two fingers pinching the brim.

“If you wanted us to chase you, say the word,” his growl is low and saccharine, causing your pulse to jump, “I would have enjoyed giving you a better chance.”

“What chance would that be?” you ask warily. Sun’s hand slips down your cheek with warm, slender digits leaving goosebumps in his wake. 

“Next to nothing,” Moon chuckles, “but it would have had more sport in it.”

“For you,” you murmur, unable to meet his eyes as Sun leans closely behind you. His hand softly wraps around the column of your throat, just under your chin.

“For me,” Moon grins wickedly. Then brusquely, he says, “Sunny, leave enough to share.”

“I’m not overindulging,” Sun’s voice, bouncing and dark, warms your ears until they turn red, “Not yet, anyways.”

His thumb strokes your pulse. Held still in his grasp, you fight the urge to gulp as Sun hums thoughtfully.

“Dollface, we’ve been so worried! We thought you might have forgotten about us!”

“I couldn’t if I wanted to,” you answer meekly. You glance down to his sharp suit. His half-lidded gaze peers around you, his eyes pale and haunting. 

You try to squirm free, to find some space where you’re not overwhelmed by the rich scent of his clothes and the metallic tang that almost hangs like blood in the air, but Sun leaves no room for escape. His arm cinches tightly over your waist. His faceplate is smooth and sleek, and his malleable mouth presses a kiss to the back of your neck, just above your jacket collar. You flinch slightly from the pressure on the sore and sensitive bruise circling your neck like a choker before flailing to cover it up.

“Where are you taking me?” you squeak in fright. Frantically, you up turn the collar of your jacket to conceal the bruises once more.

Sun becomes frozen, and you shift frantically in his lap. You almost turn to see his expression but dread what you will find. His hand falls away from your neck but they hover close to your arms, as if he wishes to grab you and whisk you away somewhere. 

“A little tour of the city,” Moon answers, and seizing his opportunity, reaches across the space and plucks you from Sun’s arms. 

The mob boss slides you onto his lap. The city lights flash past, dulled by the windows, and the night hangs heavier still outside. Your heart thunders within you. Silver and dark hands slip down your sides, rubbing you gently as if to soothe the anxiety boiling over within you. His touch slides down your legs, carefully caressing until you shiver. 

Sun sits strangely silent, as taut as the trigger of a gun. His expression catches on flashes of streetlamps, unreadable, but his eyes are wide and piercing the darkness. 

Moon at last cups your chin and turns it towards him. Attention ripped away from his brother, you struggle to not whimper under his daunting expression. His red glow dusts your cheeks. A frown forms on his face plate. He lifts a thumb and draws it in a half moon underneath your eye.

“When’s the last time you had a good night’s rest?” he murmurs. Your eyelids flutter, wondering how terrible you must look. 

You cage your tongue within your mouth, “Last night.”

His optics narrow into thin slits of red. “Naughty thing. Perhaps I should take you back with us. You would have a proper bed, and peace, and Sun and I to help you drift into dreams. Doesn’t that sound like heaven, my dear?”

You stiffen, and quickly try to deny your sleepless night, but pushing back against Moon only results in your wrist being captured.

Pain pulses, sucking in sharply through your teeth. Moon immediately becomes alert. He releases your chin to rip your jacket sleeve back and expose the dark circle wrapping your wrist like a bracelet. In response, you pull it back down.

“Take me home,” you utter.  

“What happened?” Moon growls. He lifts his head, refusing to release your arm though he grips it gingerly. “Who did this?”

“It was only me,” you answer, but you avert your gaze. “I fell down a step and hit it on the railing.”

“An accident,” Moon rasps, much lower. You fear he doesn’t believe you.

“Yes.” You unwittingly meet Sun’s gaze, and his hands have curled into iron-like fists. He still says nothing. The weight of his expression burns through you.

“Please,” you look at neither of them but plead with both, “Take me home.”

You catch the briefest glance shared between the brothers, silent and stormy. Moon shifts you back to the seat where Sun resides, and settles you between them. The quiet stretches as Sun gives a signal with his hand, and the driver turns a corner on the street. Instead of diving downtown, the vehicle returns to the higher streets where you were abducted. 

Sun’s hands caress your hair softly, twisting the strands between his fingers. A shiver rises up and over your scalp at the sweetness of his playfulness. The burn of his gaze resides on the back of your neck. Likewise, Moon’s touch does not leave your hand. His other strokes your knuckles and slips between your fingers until you shudder from the sensitive traces. 

Your street comes back into view, lonely and quiet and dark. The car parks quietly before your apartment building. A concern of them knowing where you leave is filed away for another time.

For several moments, neither mob bosses move, and you are trapped between them.

Sun grins but there is little joy in it, “We’ll see you again soon, turtle dove.”

“Very soon,” Moon echoes, his eyes darker, almost bordering on black before he at last opens the door for you.

You step out, freed. The black car peels away, leaving a scent of burnt rubber. You stand and stare at the vehicle turning away in the distance.

They shouldn’t have looked too close. Now you sit with a fear that they will go digger where they shouldn’t. It shouldn't matter at all to them.

You rub your wrist before touching the back of your neck. 

Though, this once, it matters to you that they’re involved.

[bluerosefox]

The Flow of Time

Hmmm *has done a lot of deaged Danny prompts/ideas*

Let's shake things up a bit shall we???

Deaged Tim!

Tim, or rather Red Robin, was turned into a child Ra's (to steal and raise him as his evil heir)

And as he's about to be saved by the Bats. He hears what was sound of a ticking clock before he begins to fall.

And he tumbled and fell like Alice falling into Wonderland.

-x-x-

"CW what did you do?" A tired voice asked

"What I had to. Should I had left him there, they would had failed and he would had lead his world from the shadows under the false Immortal's teachings....A world does not need be in ruin to be on its path of horror and destruction, Daniel." Came the response.

"Ancients..." swore the other voice under their breath.

"Raise him well and in due time his once family will find him again. He will awaken confused and questioning, his past foggy to a point in his mind. Just make sure he is ready for it. The flow of time between worlds can be both kind and cruel." We're the words said.

"Clockwork wait! What does that-"

That was all Tim heard as he tried to wake up, but he quickly fell back asleep when a hand gently petted his head, snuggled and bundled up in a dark purple cloak and the sounds of ticking clocks all around him worked like a strange lullaby.

When he woke up next, Tim found himself in a small bedroom, a guest room that once been someone's actual bedroom judging from the glow in the dark stars still on the ceiling above. But it seemed to had been turned into a spare room for guests from how there wasn't anything else personal in the room besides basic stuff.

Tim, confused and wondering where he was and how he got there jumped when he heard the door open and meet the eyes of a young adult with black hair and blue eyes.

"Hello Tim, good to see you're awake. My name is Danny Fenton and... Welcome to my worlds version of Earth I guess."

[fushiguruuzzzz]

V ⊹ ࣪ ˖ For the First Time 

Series mlist 

Tags — mentions of alcohol and marijuana, Megumi being ominous asl 

Words — 1.7k 

When the scent of bitter alcohol and the piercing purple light of the LED’s illuminating the bustling frat house hit you, it was clear you’d be in for a long night. No matter how much you denied the allegations from your friends, you were perfectly aware of your rather low tolerance to alcohol. It wasn’t like it was your fault, you just weren’t a drinker! Sure you’d sip on a beverage every once in a while, occasionally take a joint if it was offered to you on nights where your mind was all too busy for the atmosphere. A party just wasn’t your usual scene, so when you did show up… you indulged. In high school, your presence was a telltale sign to pull out their cameras and hope nothing was broken. It was funny in hindsight, but the excruciating headaches and the embarrassment for the days afterwards made it less enjoyable. 

Most people had already shown up. There were many of them, scattered all around the different rooms and the expanse of the outdoors. They really went all out, though you doubted it was actually the frat boys who did the decorating. Thank goodness for sorority girls and their liking for jocks. There were faux cobwebs strewn about every corner, table, every nook and cranny. There were ghosts and spiders galore, giving the usually blank, testosterone reeking building an air of festivity. 

You glanced to Toge, Yuta, and Maki grouped around you as you made your way to the kitchen. Red solo cups decorated the tables in stacks, inviting you to take a drink. Who were you to resist? 

“We should put a GoPro on [name], document all of the stupid shit she’ll do tonight,” Panda interrupted your thoughts, followed by an overly noisy slurp of his drink. Your eyes narrowing in a glare, sneering at him. You would’ve flipped him off, had your hands not been occupied by the bottle of vodka in your hand. You weren’t that hardcore, though, it was being poured in small doses into your cup filled with fruit punch. 

“Please, if it happens it’s your fault,” Maki rolled her eyes, pushing past Panda to lean against the wall parallel to the drink table. “You just couldn’t resist the cold takeout in the fridge, huh? Now we’ve all got to deal with Kat Stratford Junior.” 

Toge sniggered, his slender hand coming up to cover his mouth. “Maybe he did it on purpose. I didn’t get good enough pictures last time,” he grinned. You made a face at him, rolling your eyes. “Fuck you. All of you,” you said, no actual heat behind your words. Yuta looked at you like a dumbfounded, kicked puppy, to which you grinned and mouthed “not you”. Turning away from them, you grumbled under your breath for a moment, retrieving your phone from your pocket. 

“Where’s Yuji?” you muttered. You were sort of looking forward to meeting his friends, especially the girl. 

“I’m going to say hi to Yuji, you guys wanna come?” you offered, returning your cell to its rightful place in your jacket. The four just gave subtle actions of decline, the shake of a head or the slight wave of a hand. 

“We’ll stick to ourselves for now,” Maki said, eyeing you over the rim of her slender glasses. “We can find you later, though!” Yuta added, that bright smile finding its way on to his face. 

You nodded, severing off from the group. You weaved through heaps of sweaty bodies and costumes that showed far too much skin, almost getting knocked over by what looked like Arthur Morgan in a speedo. Suppressing the grimace on your face, you pushed past the doors and scanned the grassy terrain for a familiar head of pink hair. 

Spotted. Pink tufts of hair peeking out of a royal blue cap, just across the yard. Luckily most people stuck to the inside of the frat, a closer proximity to the alcohol they were all desperate to get their hands on. It was much more peaceful out here, the gentle chill of the night air stark in contrast to the mugginess of inside, all of the body heat and sweat that you were far too sober to ignore. 

You approached the boy, gentle steps leading you right up to him and one other girl. You assumed it was Kugisaki, the girl he’d mentioned was one of his best friends. At least you hoped so, hoped that it was her and not someone Yuji was trying to make a move on. 

He turned around, the blurry figure of blue and yellow showing up in his peripheral. He smiled wide upon noticing you, giving a friendly wave and a “Hey!” 

“Hi,” you said, giving a polite grin and a little wave, eyeing the orange haired girl by his side. He gently nudged you closer, motioning to her. “This is Nobara, I told you about her,” he said. 

She eyed you for a moment, seeming to assess you. She took in your appearance, your energy, your facial expression. She sure stared a lot. Suddenly you wished you’d been dressed as something a little more impressive than Pete the Cat. 

“Hi, I’m [name],” you said, letting out a slightly nervous huff of laughter. You considered yourself to be relatively chill around people, not usually the awkward type unless they were, but there was something about her… 

Her assessment seemed to end, a less intense look in her eyes as a smile tugged at her lips. “I know. Yuji mentioned you. I… I love your costume,” she said, grinning. Though, it didn’t seem like she was laughing at you, just amused. You couldn’t help but laugh along, even if for just a moment. The air seemed to calm in that moment, though it was short lived for you, much to your obliviousness.

“Did your other friend not show?” you asked, turning to Yuji. Nobara glanced at him, as if she knew something you didn’t. She looked almost… anticipated? He shook his head, glancing around. “No, he’s here… where’d he go?” he thought aloud, glancing around with a perplexed look on his face. 

He seemed to spot him, his face lighting up. He jumped up and down comically, waving. “There he is. Fushiguro!” 

Your heart fucking sank. Fushiguro? Like… Megumi Fushiguro? You should’ve known. Introvert, history major, grumpy, the convenient way his name was left out of conversations… all of the signs were there, you just hadn’t taken them. 

You went stiff as a board, not daring to look behind you as the sound of approaching footsteps rang through your ears. Everything else seemed to drown out. The music, the endless chatter of drunk college kids, everything except for the steady thump of feet against the ground. His shadow approached before he did, the spikes of his hair sticking up in all directions, swaying softly with the breeze that blew by. 

“Hey. Who’s-“ he began, but his words caught in his throat. In your peripheral, you saw him turn his head in your direction. 

His eyes widened, lips parting. He was fucking blank in the mind, he felt as if the colour had drained from his face. You. It was you, standing in front of him. The person he’d been longing for since he was fifteen, the tear that hung inside his soul forever. Yet now, he had no idea what to say. It was rare that Megumi lost his composure, but he felt as though he didn’t even know what that word meant in that moment. 

You swallowed thickly. So he knew who you were, obviously. He did remember you. He was just a little shocked to see a friend from middle school again, right? In the back of your mind, you were half expecting him to get you back for that punch. You—excruciatingly slowly—turned to your side, to the empty space that had been filled by him. “Hi,” you managed to croak out. You finally got a good look at him for what felt like the very first time. He’d matured, obviously, his face more slender and defined. He wore that same spiky hairstyle, had that same look in his eye but… softer. His ears were pierced up, too, as well as his eyebrow. It suited him, it suited him too well. He was a spitting image of his past self, just more mature, more handsome, and less fiery. You were almost getting distracted now, you were sure you were staring. Luckily, Yuji (sort of?) was there to save the day. 

He slung an arm around your shoulders, smiling. “This is my friend [name]! I told you about her,” he said, but there was something that lied beneath. A boyish cockiness of sorts. Oh. He knew. He fucking knew. 

You hummed, nodding. “Yep. I’ll uh, I’ll be right back, ‘kay? Gonna get a drink.” You waved your empty cup gently in front of Yuji’s face, slithering out of his grasp and back into the frat house. A pair of eyes followed you the whole way in, their heat lingering with you even after disappearing through the door. An all too familiar, yet all too foreign gaze. 

The moment you were out of sight, Megumi seemed to snap out of his little daze. He turned back to Yuji and Nobara, and when met with the guilty looks on their faces, Yuji was hit so hard that cartoon birds started circling around his head. He was seeing stars. “What the fuck?!” Megumi gritted, though Yuji couldn’t actually answer, it seemed that Megumi had knocked him stupid. Or rather, stupider. 

The drinks went down much easier after that. Soon enough, you were doing beer pong with Yuji while a tense Megumi lingered in the background, along with Nobara who chose to sip on her overly fruity drink and observe. She got drunk on her own terms. The two of you were stumbling around, missing the damn cups every single time, your vision doubling from how much alcohol you’d ingested. It was the only thing that made Megumi’s presence less scary, less… unnerving. Damn, you really were just like your mother. Everything else was a blur, just Yuji and the bright purple lights and the ravenette boy in the corner that you just couldn’t ignore. Maybe a couple more shots and you wouldn’t be afraid. But… what were you afraid of? Him, or what he brought out in you? 

Taglist !¡ —

@meowymeowbreow @1l-ynn @kiss-my-asscheeks @missunrise @starrysho @good-mourning0 @gumims @beaniesayshi @mrowwww @luvvmae @megumislovedoll

Wrote ts in one sitting and didn’t proofread icl guys why am I lwk flopping smh its aight chat oh also sorry about the little mother callout thing that sorta uh… slipped!

[ipso-faculty]

Proposing new meanings for the Disability Pride Flag stripes

I love the design of the disability pride flag made by @capricorn-0mnikorn (in consultation with many disabled people!). It’s beautiful, elegant, and distinct. I love the symbolism of the diagonal stripes.

But the more I think about the meanings of the five diagonal stripes, the more uncomfortable I am with them. So I'll explain my discomfort and then give proposed alternative meanings.

For those unfamiliar, these are the meanings that capricorn-0mnikorn gives:

The White Stripe: Invisible and Undiagnosed Disabilities

The Red Stripe: Physical Disabilities

The Gold Stripe: Neurodivergence

The Blue Stripe: Psychiatric Disabilities

The Green Stripe: Sensory Disabilities

With additional and helpful context here! 💙 Like a lot of disabled people my disabilities don't all fit neatly into these boxes, but I recognize some disabled people see themselves in these categories. I do appreciate the symbolism of it being the most common flag colours / internationalism plus the intent of representing diversity amongst the disability community.

Here’s what doesn’t sit well with me:

The yellow was chosen for the neurodiversity stripe because gold = Au = autism (and also as a fuck you to autism speaks, a sentiment I agree with 💯). 

So autism is used to represent all of neurodiversity. Even though the 2018 AutisticsUK campaign to associate gold with autism was explicitly motivated by the idea that neurodiversity is larger than just autism and autistic people should have our own colour/symbol distinct from the rainbow infinity used for general neurodiversity.

One specific disability is effectively being given a whole stripe (autism) while the other four stripes are based on abstract ideas: red is associated with body -> physical disability, blue is associated with the mind (and is “opposite” to red) so -> mental disability. This is reasonable but it’s inconsistent. (And I am very much the kind of autistic who gets bothered by internal inconsistency 😅)

The Deaf community has been using cyan blue for ages (since at least 1999, probably older) and they have been so vital in disability rights history. I feel if any single disability deserves to get an entire stripe to themselves it should be them.

I appreciate the honestly that assigning green to sensory disabilities was because “that was the color that was left over” but it still feels wrong given how vital blind & deaf people have been to disability history. 

Blue for mental/emotional disabilities also misses that the Mad Pride movement has been using purple as their colour since at least 2013. 

If all five stripes were disconnected from actual disability-specific pride flags I think I’d be okay with it. What sets me off is the inconsistency: autism gets the privilege of its own chosen colour but not other disabilities? (Also: autism isn’t the only disability that uses yellow!)

My proposal for new meanings

I propose each stripe represent a different cause of disability, and the associated model(s) of disability that go with that cause:

Red: disability due to injury / the debility model of disability - e.g. injury due to armed conflicts caused by colonialism, injury due to gun violence in a country which fails to regulate gun safety, preventable illness due to sociopolitical neglect 😡🩸

Yellow: disability due to natural differences / affirmative models of disability - e.g. autistic people who lead lives that take advantage of their autistic traits, DSPS folks who are able to work night shifts and take pride in doing so 😄🌟

Blue: situational disabilities / critical models like the social model, social construction model, political/relational model, and radical model - e.g. a Deaf person who feels their only disability is that people don’t speak their signed language and don’t provide captions/etc 🗣️♿️

Green: disability due to illness / biomedical models of disability - e.g. people with conditions like ME/CFS and Long Covid who actually do want to be treated/cured 🤢🦠

White: disability caused by unknown or other factors / other models such as the human rights model - e.g. somebody with a poorly-understood and/or undiagnosed illness who is fighting for access for accommodations and medical care 👀🤍

People may relate to multiple stripes! Whether it’s for the same disability or for having multiple disabilities. Like the old meanings, the intent is to showcase our internal diversity. 🌈

It’s been my experience of disability community that attitudes about disability tend (in general) to be linked more to when/how we were disabled rather than mental/physical/sensory/etc. For example, people like me who were disabled from a young age tend to understand our disabilities differently than people who acquire disability later in life.

Colour choice justifications:

Red as disabilities caused by injury: keeping with capricorn-0mnikorn’s association of red with the body plus the common associations of red with blood, violence, and anger. I want to explicitly include the debility model of disability because a lot of white disabled people tend to forget or gloss over how disability is used as a weapon against racialized & Global South folks.

Yellow is associated with optimism and pleasure as well as enlightenment (such as in the Deaf flag) and so I connect it to the affirmation model of disability (which is the opposite of the charity/tragedy model). From there I associated it to disability due to natural differences, such as congenital neurodivergence. I want yellow to still be something that fellow autistics could still see themselves in the flag for! 💛 And I want intersex people who see their intersex variation as a disability to be able to see themselves here too because being intersex is natural 💛 

Blue as disabilities that are social/situational in nature, like Deafness being a disability in situations where signed languages are unavailable. I wanted Deafness to actually be under blue this time. 💙 

Blue has also been used for disability writ large for a long time now and so this one being the one associated with the Social Model feels most historically connected to me. I’m also including newer critical/postmodern models like the social construction model and radical model which also posit that disability is a social category rather than a deficiency of individuals’ bodyminds.

The social model is generally contrasted with the medical model - viewing disability as a medical problem. A lot of disability activism is focused on de-medicalizing our bodyminds and challenging the idea that we want to be cured. 

But there are chronic illnesses like ME/CFS, long covid, and cancer where the people who are disabled by them do actively (and vocally) want to be cured! And they belong to the disability community too.  Green was picked for illness because green has been used to symbolize sickness (e.g. the 🤮 emoji). And biomedical models like the traditional medical model and the more recent biopsychosocal model are thematically connected to disability being due to illness.

For white, I want people who are undiagnosed and/or who feel the invisibility of their disability as important to again be able to see themselves in this stripe. 🩶White is also the catch-all “other models” because of white being the sum of all colours in an additive colour model. Models like the human rights model I see as being appealing to disabled people who are feeling invisibilized by society.

For each stripe I've included both a cause of disability and a model of disability. The causes are concrete, and easy to understand. The models of disability are more abstract and not everybody will know them (especially ableds). But a flag gives us an opportunity to teach others about us and I think it's a great opportunity to increase awareness of the different views/models of disability. 🖤

Overall, I tried to keep as much of capricorn-0mnikorn’s reasoning/associations alive in my new proposed meanings as I could. 💜 I hope people who see themselves in a given stripe of the original flag will see themselves in this scheme as well. I hope people who didn’t see themselves in the original scheme find these options more inclusive. ☮️

[weirdmarioenemies]

Name: Malibut

Debut: Mario & Luigi: Superstar Saga

SCIENCE FACT! ⬆️ that's not a fish

Can you tell what you're looking at here? I feel like this sprite is rather busy. Well, it is a red cartoony octopus, wearing a blue nightcap and a brown eyemask, lying on a pillow, with a snot bubble on the top of its big lips. If you encountered this for the first time and got confused, hoping that its name would clear things up... Nope! I'm sorry! This gets a name implying Evil Flatfish!

I don't think about flatfish nearly as much as I should! They are so awesome and silly! To them, they are normal, though! A halibut will look at a human and recoil in disgust, for what self-respecting creature keeps its eyes in one place its whole life? It's unethical to not let them explore! Malibut's design has absolutely nothing to do with halibuts, but I can Halibut Headcanon. Its sleeping mask is brown and mottled, and can be easily interpreted as a halibut itself! A flatfish as a sleeping mask sounds like something a semi-parody mermaid would have on Cartoon Network. I think it is something a funny octopus could do, too!

Oh no! All my exclaimation points have woken it up, and it checked the clock, and it has to be up for work in seven minutes, and that's not enough time to fall back asleep and rest anymore. And boy is it mad! I should compliment it to make it feel better. First of all, I like the purple star on its pillow. Very nice. But most of all, Malibut actually has a good Japanese name! It is named after a sea urchin. I swear it works!

This is the Japanese sea biscuit, whose common name is Tako no Makura, meaning Octopus's Pillow. How whimsical! It is the pillow an octopus would rest its bulbous, squishy mantle upon. Is it unethical to use a living creature as a pillow? Well, keep in mind I headcanon this octopus to also wear a halibut on its face all night. It's rude! It puts the Mal in Malibut!

[mollysunder]

The Medarda Family and the True Goal of Shimmer

Nature has made us intolerant to change, but fortunately, we have the capacity to change our nature. -Singed

For most of s1 the only versions of magic the audience really gets familiar with are visualized through hextech blue and shimmer pink, but we can't trust it to represent what actual magic is like on Runeterra. People from PnZ are incredibly unfamiliar with magic, it was banned for centuries, and they're mostly retracing steps and doing guess work. The best metric to understand how magic works is to look at characters and regions that are actually inclined to magic, and the Medardas may be the best example yet.

When Ambessa accepts the Wolf totem from Lamb one half of dual aspects of death, her body is enveloped in a bright purple transformation before being reforged into a red that resembles the kind her ancestors and the Lamb wear.

It's the same bright purple that consumes Sky in Viktor's last experiment with the hexcore in s1.

I think this purple represents magic at its most malleable state, where it can be refined or change others into final products with a proper catalysts. By s1's final scene, we know that Mel possesses magic and likely uses it through her golden armor. We also know it's possible for magic to be a hereditary trait that can be passed down (not perfectly) through family lines, which is prized in Noxus (and Ixtal?).

So if Mel has magic that likely means the Medardas family in general has latent magic that flows through them naturally, but what does this have to do with shimmer or PnZ in general?

The Medardas are relevant to PnZ because Zaun's leading minds, Silco and Singed, have spent their capital trying to replicate what the Medardas can do!Shimmer doesn't exist purely as a bioweapon, that's frankly secondary to it's point. Shimmer exists as a means to artificially make the users capable of performing magic, or at least shift the user's biology into something that can tolerate magic. Hextech as a solution to the mystery of magic completely sidesteps the relationship between magic and the user by using machinery as middleman, while shimmer takes a more direct route.

Singed can't literally biohack nonmagical people into mages all by himself. Singed instead developed what's essentially a hormone therapy to give users temporary magic abilities by synthesizing shimmer from these mysterious plants that resembles the color of the magic within Ambessa before her deal with the Lamb.

Why didn't Singed and Silco just give people the magic purple plants directly if it's capable turning them into mages? Sky and Rio might be the best examples for why you don't do that. When young Viktor feeds Rio the purple plants we see Rio immediately lose vigor, as an audience most of us assumed that was simply Rio's pre-existing condition acting up, but the relationship is more simple. When Singed said Rio was dying, he said it with surety because Singed KNEW the exposure to magic was killing Rio. And Sky was DISINTEGRATED upon being exposed to the hexcore's magic.

In that vein, Singed used Rio as a work around. From what we see non-mage humans absolutely cannot tolerate exposure to even base magic, but Rio was able to last longer. Instead Singed and Silco exposed Zaun to a version of those magic flowers that was broken down by Rio's metabolism into a version that non-magical humans can tolerate.

The wild thing is that all this effort is to get non-mage users to Ambessa's UNREALISED state, the purple is just the base magic that exists in mages. Even still, Singed seems to have developed the kind of strain of shimmer that's the closest he's ever come to real magic, and Viktor and Jinx used it.

Viktor's own magical transformation has been facilitated by the hexcore in the same way the Lamb facilitated Ambessa's transformation. Do i think Viktor has essentially created his own Aspect through the hexcore? NO.

But in the same way shimmer is facsimilie of magical ability, so too is the hexcore a subsitute for living magic. And by living magic I don't mean unicorns or mermaids, I mean magic that is given consciousness and shape by being tethered to human concepts. And the hexcore's basic purpose is supposed to be magic that thinks and Viktor has tethered it to the human plane with his blood.

This all begs the question about what could exposure to the hexcore do to long term shimmer users? What WILL it do to Jinx? We all know that's inevitable next season.

You see, power, real power doesn't come to those who were born strongest or fastest or smartest. No. It comes to those who will do anything to achieve it. -Silco

Tldr: Shimmer is a large-scale project to turn the population of Zaun into mages, or magically tolerant, by essentially microdosing the population with magic through shimmer.

[ohimsummer]

✎ . . .❝ KISS ME, THEN. ❞

— poly! satosugu verse, satoru x reader, fluff, a first kiss :p, he’s such a lovesick fool My God.

Gojo doesn’t think he’s ever gotten totally lost in someone before; not like he has with Geto, anyway. But that was before he met you, a person who actually kept him intrigued and imbedded themself in his fickle thoughts. At some point after Shoko introduced you to them, he became trapped—blue of his eyes left wandering amidst the hue of yours, mind tangled in the string of your comebacks that rival his own. Gojo’s never met anyone else so good at keeping him on his toes.

“Kiss me, then.”

A lump shoves its way down his throat at your taunt. The sun has almost fully departed, spare edges of it peeping over the horizon to cast a golden light over the empty park. Deep shades of purple and orange cascade throughout the sky, a wondrous sight who’s an expert at captivating—but all Gojo can focus on is your lips, upturned in a smirk and coated in a distracting sheen of gloss.

Admittedly, his confession was bold, an ‘I want to kiss you’ that’s been lingering on his lips the last half hour you two have been talking. And your response was unexpected, as is a lot of your words and actions towards him and Geto. A playful remark to call his bluff, though the way you steadily eye his lips too pushes Gojo to believe you want him to kiss you just as much.

You sense a waver in his never ending confidence. “Well? I’m waiting.”

Blue eyes finally meet yours, and Gojo does an anxious nibble on his bottom lip. “Shut up. Give me a second.”

Aw, how cute, you think. “What, gotta hype yourself up first? Where’d all that confidence go, Satoru?”

The way you flow out his name to be swept away with the wind makes Gojo’s heart stutter. He could never answer your question, because admitting that your teasing words had drained him entirely of self-assurance filled his throat with sand. But if there was one thing Satoru Gojo was good at, it was faking.

He feels you tense beneath his tentative palm, cupping your face and your skin sets fire to his fingers. You’re warm, chasing the cold from his hand as he rubs a thumb over your soft cheek. Despite the playful smirk still gracing your lips, Gojo can recognize the anxiety in your eyes because you’re a faker, too.

Breath hitches, and you watch as he leans in a little closer, your heart pounding faster and faster as Gojo nears you. The faint smell of his cologne dances around in your nose, your restless fingers gently tugging the hem of his shirt. Your lips brush, and then he’s giving you a short peck, fleeting and cute and enough to have red painting him from ears to neck. Satoru lingers for a split second, desireful gaze on your lips still—you’re sweet, like the strawberry dessert he shared with you when you got here, and Gojo so desperately craves another taste. And you give him the perfect excuse to do so.

“Again.”

tagz: @anthoosies @staryukis :3

[intervex]

Can I get a flag for crip? Like crip theory crip. In a pan-disability sense. I don't have any particular iconography in mind, only that it shouldn't give a vibe that this is exclusive to physical disabilities. If you can link it in some way to the Mad & Deaf pride flags that'd be nice.

Thank you!

Crip Pride Flag

This is a flag for crips and those who feel represented by/part of crip theory, crip pride, and/or general cripness. [SVG version on WC]

Crip is a term that is open to people with ALL disabilities (physical or otherwise) and also to groups who share the crip mindset. (Note different spelling from cripple.)

For folks who like details: I'm gonna explain what crip is for those who may be new to the term! Then I'll talk about the flag design how the different stripes represent different models of disability. 💜

What is even is crip?

Like how "queer" is to LGBT+, "crip" is to disabled. It's an umbrella term, a way of seeing the world. Activist reclamation of "crip" goes back to the 1970s, with disabled performance artists popularizing the term in the 1990s.

Crip theory began in the early 2000s by building on queer theory. Expanding on your [QCI's] recent post, its characteristics are:

Understanding disability as socially constructed.

Fuck capitalism: the social construction of disability as we understand it was a result of the development of capitalism.

Fuck eugenics: Ableism and racism have been entwined for hundreds of years and cannot be understood in isolation.

Fuck colonialism: which is itself debilitating. Violence disables people, and Global South activists have been clear it's important to talk about how war, landmines, etc are disabling.

Disabled people are creative. Where queer-ing refers to a way of being critical of categories, cripping tends to focus on subverting ideas of ability. Disabled people ARE the original makers/hackers.

Disabled people are experts: we know shit. It is *us* who should be the epistemic authorities on disability, *not* physicians.

Crip as a term is open to anybody experiencing the violence of eugenic thought, regardless of identification as "disabled".

Fat studies scholars have been locating themselves as within crip theory since day one. Similarly, reading Cripping Intersex by Orr has made clear to me that intersex has always been crip.

Again, drawing a parallel to queer & LGBT: kink and polyamory may not be LGBT but they are Queer. 🌈

Flag details

The design is based on @capricorn-0mnikorn's Disability Pride Flag. In line with newer meanings for the Disability Pride flag, the stripes represent different models of disability associated with crip theory:

Purple represents the social construction of disability and the influence of queer theory. #82609b is from the Mad Pride flag.

Red represents postcolonial understandings of disability such as debility. Understanding that which chronic illnesses receive care and research is *political*. The choice of #CF7280 is a nod to the AIDS flag. I took the red from the disability pride flag and shifted the hue (but not chroma & lightness) to that of the AIDS flag.

Yellow represents the affirmative and identity models of disability. The opposite of the tragedy model. Many disabilities can actually be beneficial! The choice of #f4db75 is a nod to the intersex flag.

White represents how crip pride and crip theory are pan-disability. It stands for models of disabilities not otherwise represented here. The #E8E8E8 white is also a nod to the neurodiversity flag.

Blue represents the social model of disability, the intellectual progenitor of the social construction model (and crip theory in turn). The choice of #83bfe5 is a nod to the Deaf flag.

Green represents eco-crip theory, the eco-social model of disability, and other crip engagements with environmentalism. The choice of #48af75 is a nod to the nonhuman flag. Because being a cyborg (alterhuman) is a proud tradition of crip theory.

The repetition of purple serves to show crip pride & theory exist within a social construction framework. Also it widens the amount of the flag which is stripes, reflecting how crip includes groups not consistently understood as disabled (e.g. fat, intersex).

As with the disability pride flag, the dark grey (#595959) represents the lives lost to ableism and our collective grief.

Tagging @radiomogai @mad-pride @liom-archive for archival. And I wanna acknowledge @scifimagpie for giving me feedback on dozens of prototypes. 💛

Finally: I release this flag design as public domain! 💜