colour shifted

Deoxys is gonna be three different nights, because each form is sufficiently distinct and cool-looking. Also I just like this one. Went a little weird with the shading, not sure how I feel about it.

For personal reference when I do the other two, I colour-shifted the red to +11 hue to make it more orange.

Some guy I didn’t recognize stopped me on the street to catch up with me like an old friend. He gave me a fistbump. I was scared and bewildered the whole time.

3

How “Chameleons” change color

Many chameleons, and panther chameleons in particular, have the remarkable ability to exhibit complex and rapid colour changes during social interactions such as male contests or courtship. It is generally interpreted that these changes are due to dispersion/aggregation of pigment-containing organelles within dermal chromatophores. 

But, combining microscopy, photometric videography and photonic band-gap modelling, we show that chameleons shift colour through active tuning of a lattice of guanine nanocrystals within a superficial thick layer of dermal iridophores. In addition, we show that a deeper population of iridophores with larger crystals reflects a substantial proportion of sunlight especially in the near-infrared range.

 The organization of iridophores into two superposed layers constitutes an evolutionary novelty for chameleons, which allows some species to combine efficient camouflage with spectacular display, while potentially providing passive thermal protection. -src

Giffed by: rudescience  From: This video

6

She’s alive.

Lars and the Plant Symbolism

It’s been a while since I’ve written a theory or analysis post and I just wanted to kinda jot this down while I was thinking about it because I’ve been amused at the amount of surprise there is with the current arc and how it’s played out so far.  


It is my hope that this will finally disprove the popular theory that humans are ‘just filler’ and not important to the plot, because as we’ve been seeing lately, they are more involved in what’s going on. It’s been a bit disheartening to see so many people assuming that the gems are the only characters who matter on Steven Universe, even after all the emphasis from the crew - and from the actual in-episode content - that the humans are important in Steven’s story.

So, why are they important?  Well, I have a huge long potential theory write up for how the humans will ultimately lead to the salvation of not only earth but gems as well (granted as a joint effort), but this is not the time or place for that.  Instead I’m going to talk a bit about Lars.

Rose talked about how important and special being human is, and many other gems - including Peridot - have made note of how unusual the earth is compared to the other planets/colonies they have.  The fact that things grow and change is baffling to gems.  Not to mention that humans are impervious to a lot of the technology specifically meant to deal with other gems, so it seems like humans would have an advantage in that respect (as shown with Lars in the recent episodes)

Another thing I’m hoping this brings up to people is that a lot of the blatant plant symbolism has been in the show for a long time - not surprising given that Rose’s magic was related to plants - and I don’t see a lot of discussion about.


Take Lars for example.  When his full name was revealed, a lot of people fixated on the “tears of love” meaning, which is valid, but I remember also being fascinated that it’s also a french surname/placename that means “canopy of leafy boughs”, specifically because of the inherent plant symbolism with Lars.

Going back all the way to “Lars and the Cool Kids”, they have drawn comparisons between Lars and plants.  In that episode, it was specifically comparing him to Rose’s moss.  I feel this episode was also the strongest foreshadowing for the events of the most recent set of episodes.

To recap, they encounter a type of moss that Rose created that was aggressively growing over/consuming things.  The moss is characterized as ugly and rather pointless, but as we see, it actually has a lot of potential that just needs the right circumstances to be seen.

Steven himself compares Lars to the moss in his angry rant about his mother “I know she saw beauty in everything.  Even in stuff like this (the moss) and even in jerks like you”.  Direct comparison between Lars and the plant in question.  Also note that in this episode, Lars is wearing green, which is frequent in his colour scheme.  There is an entire green/pink shift (or in a general sense a cool colour/warm colour shift) going on with Lars at various points in the show that seemed to implicate something deliberate.

At the end of this episode, Lars chooses to help Steven rescue the cool kids and yet he is ‘consumed’ by the moss.  This is analogous to dying, as the rest of the scene has ‘rebirth’ tones, with the moss not just changing slightly… but turning from GREEN MOSS into PINK FLOWERS as it reaches the true potential that it’s been struggling toward since the beginning of the episode.

It’s hard to not see the comparisons between the moss and Lars in these latest episodes, right down to the change in colour scheme.

There have been several other instances of the colour/tone shift with Lars, specifically when he’s in ‘neutral’ position/presentation, he tends to be wearing purple(as with the Big Donut uniform), while when he’s displaying ‘negative’ behaviours he tends to be wearing darks or cools (blacks, greens and sometimes dark blues).  After Steven takes over his body in “The New Lars” and he makes an effort to change his behaviour, he is more often seen in the warmer tones (like the pink shirt)

As a note: Ronaldo also has a similar colour/tone shift with various circumstances going on, something I wish to address again in more detail in another post as I feel both that and the plant (and general) symbolism with Ronaldo are also strong.

To sum it up: I really think the entire thing with Lars has been telegraphed for some time and that several of the other humans have also had telegraphed arcs moving forward.  I think we’re going to see a lot more of that coming into play in the future.

Hopefully this will also lead to a greater respect and understanding of the human characters on the show.

magical communities across the globe

i love harry potter (as do we all) and like most im incredibly disappointed with the lack of multiculturalism in it and i havent been able to stop thinking about how wizarding communities in different cultures might evolve. some cultures are much more in touch with spirituality and magic, so the wizarding community doesnt have to be as repressed everywhere as it is in england. so… think about it?

  • spell casting in different languages!! tonal languages like chinese. if i know anything from 5 years learning mandarin its that intonation can change your meaning completely… a transfer student attending the beijing wizarding school. theyre doing charms and accidentally get the tones wrong. the only thing you hear is their chinese classmates yelling “nO NO NONONO-” before they all get turned into frogs
  • big wizarding families with ancient lineage having had generations living in hidden hutongs across chinese cities!
  • what about all those stories of old emperors sending envoys out to search for the key to immortality - and this brings up the interesting possibilities of intersections between magic and traditional medicine!
  • you know how bats are a symbol of good luck in china? and black cats are symbols of good luck in japan? yeah
  • also screw the gross western conflation of blackness with evil, with corruption. screw the death eaters with their “dark marks”. many cultures see white as death, as emptiness, and black as richness, as life. wizarding communities finding power in the darkness of the night
  • what about indian wizards and witches? theyre big on scientific magic (unlike the incredibly scientifically backward communities in england) bc for centuries india and the middle east had the greatest scientific developments in the world
  • indian wizards/witches making breakthroughs in astronomy through their charmed instruments and maps that rotate with their view of the skies!
  • hindu wizards using mehndi to form magical symbols on their skin
  • and what about tattoos and piercings across cultures! so many communities across africa and south america and the pacific that have long histories with tattoos. imagine tattoos glowing while they spellcast. 
  • young witches and wizards earning tattoos as they grow… the tattoos grow organically and shift and change
  • and its incredible bc all different cultures would have completely different approaches to spellcasting at all!! what if wizards across the world dont generally use wands? some use staffs or their bare hands or scrolls or even their eyes!
  • inuit magical communities!! conjuring fire for warmth. keeping seals and wolves as familiars. using ice and water in their magic and hunting in the icy waters by transforming into animagi 
  • wizards and witches in the amazon who are hidden from the rest of the world. they use plants to their advantage by merging into foliage or slipping into shadows, leaving no trace behind at all. they nurse their ecosystems back to life
  • east asian wizards using martial arts to strengthen their magical abilities or to duel
  • and what about the possibilities in art across different cultures!! old japanese woodblock prints that oscillate and move around. wall carvings in hindu temples dancing and walking around
  • kashmiri and pakistani wizards with eye colours that subtly shift and change depending on what magic theyre performing
  • hieroglyphics in ancient egyptian wizarding communities!! they often have cat familiars too 
  • nomadic communities living in scorching deserts… wearing shimmering fabrics, almost appearing to be mirages themselves bc they can bend and twist light
  • viking wizards exploring the world on ships!! powered by wind they harness themselves by performing incredibly powerful coordinated spells. especially strong norse wizards could harness lightning
  • maori magical communities and southeast asian communities and pacific islanders taking care of reefs. they can manipulate air and water to travel deep below the surface of the ocean
  • magical communities atop the himalayas in monasteries. they protect muggle climbers from avalanches and heal climbers who have been wounded
  • wizards/witches in the swiss alps who are animagi. they transform into saint bernards and form strong bonds with explorers

im just in love with wizarding communities across the globe evolving separately and having different relationships to spirituality because!! nothing is ever black and white but the world is vast and diverse and there are ten thousand sights that could blow you away and how tiring that the only glimpse into wizarding communities we receive is the drab and repressed one in the UK

orukamachi  asked:

Sending this to all of you, to see what happens: minific prompt: grass.

The planet was awash with tall stalks of swaying green grass; with each ripple of wind, the colour shifted, a delicate sage swirling into a forest green. The Paladins hovered at the edge of the castle walk way, perplexed. 

“It’s like a cornfield,” Lance said, crouched down as he brushed a hand over the stalks of grass. “We’re gonna lose Pidge the moment we walk inside.”

“I resent that,” Pidge snapped back, crossing her arms. Keith shuffled his way over to Pidge, shared a quick glance with Hunk, and the two of them lifted her up seamlessly between them. Her squawk of outrage turned to a yelp when they dropped her off the other side of the Castle’s platform. Immediately, the grass swallowed her up. 

“I hate all of you!” Pidge called from within as she poked a hand out of the grass. Hunk, snickering, helped her back up onto the walk way. 

Ballad of Campus Accomodation Shaw

(A short piece, inspired by Elsewhere University, based on the Ballad of Minepit Shaw)

The bellow of a brass hunting horn broke the chilly night air, echoed by the baying of hounds as Suzie and Kath sprinted across the building site waste ground in front of Pelham house. Suzie held her high heels in one hand, and a bottle of vodka which was not hers in the other, while Kath had dropped her shoes a few metres back, and clutched two bottles of what she had assumed were fancy coloured spirits. They shifted in their bottles against rhythm of Kath’s run.

“Fucking Pelham house!” Kath panted. “Party flats my arse!”

“Of course he’s a fucking Gent!” Suzie groaned in exasperation. “Of course he is!

Neither of them risked a look behind them, but they both swore they heard thundering hooves and slobbering hounds. In their panic, they had made a bee-line for the muddy expanse where builders were already sinking the piles for the new Shaw House accomodation. Kath spotted a large bulldozer and grabbed Suzie’s shoulder, pulling her towards it. They ducked under it’s backhoe and pressed themselves against the shadows behind it.

They stood there holding their breath, hearing pad of paws against soft earth drawing closer. Suzie muttered and mumbled what sounded like prayers, fiddling in her purse for a packet of salt, or a bolt, or some little iron trinket. Kath leaned towards the edge of the bulldozer, about to risk a glance around, when a hand clamped on to her shoulder.

She was too startled to scream, but Suzie wasn’t, letting out a short, sharp squeak of terror. A man stood before them, dressed exactly like a campus security guard, except for the fact that every inch of clothing on his body was green. He wore a green cap, green shirt, green slacks, green boots, forest green hi-vis, even his maglite cast a pale green light over the two girls.

“Goodness, you’re in a mess aren’t you?” he said, almost off-hand, as though commenting on the weather.

Suzie looked fit to scream again, but Kath spoke first.

“Please, you have to help us. There’s a guy out there hunting us!” she said, her voice almost cracking with fear, both real and exaggerated.

“Sounds like Lord Pelham,” the green guard said with a little grimace. “A powerful lad and no mistake. Getting suspended would be the least of your troubles. You must’ve done something pretty bad to rile him like this.”

Kath frowned, shifting the bottles awkwardly in her hands.

“Well, okay. We did something pretty stupid. But please, we’ll do anything.”

Suzie shot Kath an appalled look, and Kath sighed.

“Alright, I’ll do anything.”

The green guard smiled without showing his teeth.

“Lucky for you I’m no friend of Lord Pelham. Although, it would certainly be nice to have some kind of recompense for my magnanimity….”

Suzie (a Biomed student) frowned, but Kath did Literature. She laid her bottles on the ground, and nodded for Suzie to do the same.

“Well, I’d say that’s an ample gift. Step this way.”

Kath and Suzie stepped forward, and plunged into absolute darkness. Kath felt her hip bump into something hard, like a metal table edge.

“Ugh!” Suzie said, somewhere nearby. “What’s this?”

“Just my little home. You’ll pardon me keeping it dark, but power bills are atrocious for my thousand crystal chandeliers,” came the voice of the green guard.

Suzie felt along the table edge and hopped up on to it, sitting on the edge.

“Not much in the way of furniture,” she said, shifting uncomfortably.

“I apologise,” came the guard’s voice. “I’ll admit that solid gold furniture inlaid with precious stones tends to be a little hard on the backside. I’ve only arrived recently, and haven’t had time to unload my thousand silk cushions.”

Suzie and Kath were silent for a moment. Kath ran her hand over the tabletop, feeling little lumps and bumps across its surface.

“It can’t really be gold, can it?” came Suzie’s voice.

“Even if it isn’t,” said the guard, “you’re a long way away from Lord Pelham, aren’t you?”

Kath didn’t respond. She supposed she owed him that much. She lay down on the table and closed her eyes, for all the difference it made in the dark.

When light came, it was harsh and hard. A bright autumnal morning dawned across the campus, bringing a cold breeze that blew across Kath’s sleeveless arms. She leaned up and looked around, and saw where she was. Then she let out a laugh.

She and Suzie had tumbled in the night and fallen into one of the pilings for Shaw House. She’d spent the night lying at the bottom of a muddy hole on a half-buried I-beam, and she could already feel the bruises where its rivets had dug into her. Suzie roused herself beside her, mumbling darkly about a headache.

At the top of the piling pit, a human head in a hard hat shouted down to them.

“Oh thank God!” it said. “I thought you were dead!”

“No!” Kath shouted up, smiling. “Although my friend may wish she was.”

* * *

It wasn’t until later that Kath got back to her room. On her desk was a note dotted with rhinestones and written in glittery green gel-pen.

It simply read, “Whether he was a security guard or a Gentleman, remember: ‘there’s more things told than are true, and more things true than are told’.”

At the bottom it had been signed by a ‘Lord Shaw’, in long looping handwriting.

(J)

DA2 Character Hands

Aveline’s hands are not special at a glance. Average, but perhaps broader than you would assume a woman’s to be. At a closer look they are lined, dry, discolored by bruises and calluses that are years old. Her nails are broken, ragged and one is an off colour. The veins show in the back of her hands and when she makes a fist you can see the muscles flex. When the hand is brought up for an arm wrestle you can sense the history and training in the palm stretched challengingly towards you.

Aveline’s hands twist in her lap worriedly, tap against the table impatiently, they soothe over the back of a guard recruit who has just experienced his first loss. They smell of affordable lotions made from elfroot, used to ease the sore skin and muscles, and they smell of armour polish and fresh baked bread. Her hands are generous and loving but shy and awkward, all at once. And yet, her hands seem just as comfortable embraced with her lover’s as they do holding a blade.

Merrill’s hands are small, her fingers thin and long. Bird-like somehow especially when she folds them to her chest or lips, fans her fingers in the air as mana whisps around them. They are soft, touches fluttering and short-lived, her palm closes before you can see the scar that no magic will lift from her skin. She won’t open her hand while you are looking, not ashamed, but unwilling to have misunderstanding looks cast upon it.

There is dirt under her finger nails, her hands smell of earth no matter how long she lives in the alienage. They are marked with ink, with a droplet of dried jam, a finger cut from when she pricked it against something sharp and only sucked on the wound mindlessly as she continued. She touches everything, her own skin, her clothes, her staff, she fidgets with a coin in her hand and folds a piece of found paper over and over again until its soft as cotton. Her fingers transform, rendering things into something new, they never mend. She shies from touching others, worried she will break them too.

Isabella’s hands are generous, friendly, they touch at your shoulder, your back, your arm before you notice her moving. She caresses and squeezes as she talks, her hands expressive in their pressure and how they slip away from you easily. They are not too small or too big, nothing particularly remarkable at a glance, forgettable if it wasn’t for the touching. Her nails are long, clean, suspiciously so, formed into soft points that occasionally tear from her prying at things.

She will give you her hand, palm up with curling fingers inviting. The skin on her palms is rough, callused, even though you can tell from their scent that they are treated with softening creams often, the flowery smell only just covering the copper and sea salt beneath. Dried brown blood is collected in the lines on her hand, caught against the raised scar on the back of her hand and when asked she tilts her gaze at it and wonders aloud who exactly it came from.

Anders’ hands are healers hands, mages hands, but they do not match the descriptions and expectations attached to those labels. His fingers are long, knuckles knobbed awkwardly, his skin is dry, the veins in the back of his hands dark once they are close and bunching under his pale skin. A finger on his left hand seems out of place, out of line somehow, and when asked he explains how it was broken and set wrong. His hands are warm until healing magic glows from his palms, cool and soothing as the mana collects and heals.

His finger nails are chewed, the back of his hand marked with small scratches and small bruises. They fidget and rest on surfaces, walls, objects, as if their touch tells Anders something that you do not know. He stretches his fingers and cracks knuckles and you can see the colour in them shift as the air around Anders changes, static over his skin as the fair hair on the back of his hands stand and they change. Somehow his hands are no longer his, void of the softness and history they held only a moment ago.

Fenris’ hands are long and narrow, as most elves are, but like Fenris they are completely unique. Few people see his hands, and those that do may only have a glimpse before they vanish under a tavern table, fall to his sides, or are tucked back into the gauntlets that armour and hide them. His hands feel vulnerable, too soft and thin for a strong warrior, but when held they reveal their history all too quickly. The lyrium lines running along his fingers are raised, sensitive, they bulge slightly when Fenris closes his hand. The bones underneath the lyrium have slight ridges in places, tell tale signs of magic healing bones that broke and strained.

Fenris’ hands smell like leather, sweat and blood on a bad day. On the better days they smell of fireplaces, red wine and the citrus soaps he prefers. Fenris’ hands are tensed and prepared when outside, slack and unfeeling when he feels safe. They stay on his lap, at his sides, the gestures say I cannot touch.When he speaks they move freely, easier to express with them than with words. When he finally touches he hesitates, then lingers, soft, his hands were once only weapons and now he tries to reclaim them.

Varric’s hands are broad, his palms lined deeply with an untold history, the back of his hands tanned and scarred just enough to catch in low tavern lights. They are never dirty, not really, although they almost always smell of wood polish and iron. His right index finger is calloused from nights of writing and Bianca’s trigger, ink catches in the cracks no matter how much he washes. His nails are blunt, one or two are torn and catch on the silky texture of his shirts.

He is always expressive and affectionate with them, all his friends are familiar with its weight upon their backs or shoulders. Varric drums his fingers on table tops, rubs condensation on his tankard mindlessly, runs them along the familiar planes of Bianca’s frame. He crushes his fingers when he clasps his hands together thoughtfully, makes himself jump when he accidentally cracks a knuckle.

The Moments In-Between

Summary: Ryan is hopelessly in love with Gavin. It just takes 500 years to get together - literally.

Prompt: 3 times Ryan and Gavin had to pretend to dance, and 1 time they did it of their own accord. (Immortal FAHC AU)

For @kahnah23, thank you so much for all your kindness and support! <3

AO3

1. 1566

“Relax,” Gavin whispered. “You look suspicious as hell.”

Ryan grimaced, shifting uncomfortably as he pulled at the grotesquely ruffled collar of his jacket. He felt uncomfortable in these stiff silk robes, and horribly out of place among all these noblemen.

“I am suspicious,” he hissed back. “One look at me and they can all tell-”

“No, they can’t,” Gavin cut in. “Confidence, Ryan. Confidence is the greatest disguise of all.”

“I’m not supposed to be here.”

“Thieves usually aren’t,” Gavin replied, and smirked so wickedly that after a moment Ryan couldn’t help but smile a little, too.

Keep reading

No matter what pain you’re going through, pretty places and magical little pretty things are everywhere. Look for the sunlight and the shifting colours in the sky. Beautiful things are hiding everywhere.

I did not want to think about people. I wanted the trees, the scents and colours, the shifting shadows of the wood, which spoke a language I understood. I wished I could simply disappear in it, live like a bird or a fox through the winter, and leave the things I had glimpsed to resolve themselves without me.
—  Patricia A. McKillip
Swooning

A/N: based on a prompt I found and it was suggested I write it as Sirius. The prompt has been slightly changed as it was originally written in the third person. Enjoy! Please!! 

Also completely unedited as it is late and i’m tired!!! If there are any flaws feel free to let me know and I will fix them as soon as possible.

Tags: a-smol-snake

Warnings: Uh playing with feelings? May be a trigger to some

Word count: 1600+ roughly (got a little carried away)

Sirius Black.

He had been after you for weeks now. And you had no idea why. Or at least that’s how you played it with him. It seemed that that pesky James Potter and Peter Pettigrew had engaged Black in quite the dare, a dare that revolved highly around you. He had to seduce you. That seemed to be the aim of this whole big thing. The reason he followed you around Hogwarts and stopped you in the halls. Why you had caught him staring during class and why he stood so awfully close to you when he spoke. But you wouldn’t let him. No, he couldn’t win this. You were not going to just be some new bet.

Potions class had ended and you were off to find Lily, to be away from the boys and their testing and teasing. You had just about had it with the looks you received from Potter, almost a knowing glare, you couldn’t grasp how Lily handles it so well. The swish of robes on ankles, sound of footsteps on the hall floors, chattering on the staircases passed you by and suddenly a hand wrapped around your wrist. You were spun suddenly against a chest breath knocked out of you as you stumbled back to look at who it was that had grabbed you. Thick raven hair flooding down to rest on his shoulders and grey eyes that seem to only serve the purpose of pulling you in. “Y/n.”

“Sirius” you responded in as cold a manner as you could manage.

“I see I’m already taking your breath away” a smirk spread over his features and he stepped towards you not allowing you to move as the grasp on your wrist only tightened.You only rolled your eyes. “I hear there’s a party tonight.” He states simply.

“Yes, you would be the one with that knowledge.” A response perhaps lacking emotion but that was the only way you could approach Sirius without showing hints of how you really felt. “Oh, sassy are we? I like it” a wink sent your way

“What do you want Black?”

“For you to accompany me to this evening’s events and be mine”

“Oh really? And I believe I have made it very clear I will not be swooning for you.”

“Well I want more than that of course but it is a starting point” another wink as he tugged you closer. Mint, a fresh strong mint filled your senses while the fog of his misty grey eyes pulled you in and for a moment your eyes flicked to his lips. A whistle from a passer-by and you noticed your surroundings pushing him back clouded with disgust “Well, I was thinking about going but as I can see you are intent on it I think I actually have study plans.” For a brief moment, something in his eyes changed. Almost disappointment. Almost sad. But they returned too quick to make a note of. The grip on your wrist loosened and by now you were sure there would be a bruise but it moved swiftly to a strand of hair that rested over your shoulder twirling around his finger, purple bruises evident on his knuckles no doubt from some stupid prank he had played. “Well let me know if you change your mind princess.” A smug look graced his features before he strutted away.

“Ugh, pig.” you muttered pushing off into the opposite direction.

You found yourself pacing back and forth in the common room debating on whether or not you should go to this stupid party and see that stupid boy. Eventually, you threw on a dress and some heels heading out of the common room with a few friends without a second thought. Managing to convince yourself that you needed a night off anyway and you should be looking out for Lily who will no doubt be hounded by James tonight. Especially if alcohol is involved. Only shortly after you had arrived you had lost her in the crowd winding up alone not quite feeling the beat of the evening. Colours flicking around the room, music pounding in your ears, bodies heated and moving together.

Parties weren’t exactly not your scene, in fact, you didn’t mind them at all but you just couldn’t help but stay stuck on the thoughts of a certain leather-jacket-wearing wizard. Deciding your mind would be better off cleared you grabbed a drink and headed to the floor chatting and dancing with various minorly acquainted witches and wizards watching the colours shift over bare skin as the material of your dress drifted through the air. A heavy beat, a buzz from the liquor, the soft feeling of fabric against your thighs as the dress moved freely. A familiar hand wrapped around your wrist. A drag, tug, a pull. A slight trip over your heels. And suddenly a less crowded place and a numb ringing of music through a door, fresh air. “Good evening princess.” He murmured into your ear pulling back just enough for you to see his face, take him in, breath in the scent. Whiskey. Firewhiskey. A sudden shiver ran down your spine as you realise he had dragged you from the room, up the stairs to the top of the tower with no windows. A fresh breeze blowing past over your knees and shoulders making your dress dance with your hair. He shrugged off his jacket handing it over an ever-present smirk resting on his lips as he raked a hand through his hair overlooking the stars. “Thanks…” you mumbled almost hoping he wouldn’t hear. But he did. Of course, he did.

“Don’t mention it doll,” he chuckled the whisky becoming more evident in his breath “always thought you’d look hot in my clothes,” he spoke as the 5th wink of the day towards you crossed over his face. “Oh don’t start that Sirius,” you tried to hide a smile as he gripped your waist but from then it was all so quick.

Your heart raced as he pressed you against the wall, wrists pinned above your head in an instant. Grinning at each other. “Still not swooning,” you dared. “But by all means, if you want to concede that you’re just not that-”

The kiss came feather-light. A brush of lips. Entirely not the crushing, heated, frantic thing you had expected. And, maybe, just maybe, your knees turned to jelly a bit.

Fingers slipped through hair before his free hand finding its way under his jacket he had bestowed upon you. A slight gasp, a smirk and a laugh. His hand moved. From your waist to your hip, up again to below your chest and round to your back resting on a silver zipper hidden below the leather. The moment stopped as you gulped for breath but this was short lived before you pressed your lips together once again. Releasing your wrist he allowed you to brush your fingers through his thick hair and both of his moved to your back and low waist heat and redness rising up your neck to your cheeks.

A chuckle, some tipsy footsteps, group laughter. They were not yours, neither you nor Sirius were drunk despite the strong smell about him. You broke apart pushing him back hoping to see some intoxicated Slytherins and be done with it. But as you saw the three boys stood before you horror flashed in your eyes as the laughter broke out once more this time beginning from the grey-eyed boy beside you.

“YOU DID IT PADFOOT!”

“GOOD LORD PADS YOU BLOODY WELL WON!”

“SHIT BLACK! HOLY SHIT!”

Oh no. No no no, please no. A glance at him, hoping to see something, hoping to see sympathy, sadness even rage. But you saw nothing. Nothing but happiness. Nothing but winning Nothing but the bright eyes of a boy who had tricked you into swooning. Nothing but a boy who had tricked you into showing, you were swooning.

It was all a bet. A dare. A hoax. A game.

His laughter rang out through the tower the howls of the other boys breaking out the silence through the school grounds. Suddenly the cold air felt even colder inside of you than it did out. A wetness on your cheeks, a numbness in your lips and fingers. A sound of shoes on stone as he stepped passed you joining the infamous gang. James Potter, Peter Pettigrew and Remus Lupin. Part of you wanted nothing more than for them to leave but the other part wanted nothing more than for Sirius to turn back to you and engulf you in a hug. In his warmth. To wipe away the tears and to tell his friends to just back off and let you be. But he kept walking. Reaching the top of the stairs as they laughed only more at the sight of your damp cheeks.

But he didn’t turn back. The cold air swept through harsher now than ever. They all walked. Talking of other girls, of booze and parties. When suddenly he stopped, and in that moment so did you heart. He turned. Black hair swishing. Grey eyes piercing. You took in a sharp breath. But that smirk was still there, that look of winning had not left. His eyes looked you up and down once before connecting again with your eyes as you self-consciously wrapped your arms around yourself. “Oh and uh, I’m gonna need that jacket back y/n, that shits not cheap.” tears welled up faster water breaking from a dam would have less pressure. “See ya round sweet cheeks!” he yelled as he spun back around laughter once again filling the air.

Nothing but a dare.

anonymous asked:

Hi!! Do you know anything about colour synaesthesia! (or synaesthesia in general) I'm writing a character with it and I recently saw that people with autism can experience it? I've also heard people with psychosis can experience it! I've done a lot of googling and I haven't really found anything concrete on it and what it can be a symptom of and synaesthesia in general Thank you!

Answers courtesy the Scriptshrink consultants!

Snail

With synaesthesia there is a link between different senses, so a stimulus is experiences in an unusual way. If your character has colour synaesthesia, consider which senses are linked to the colours. For example:

  • Robert sees letters in different colours. A is crimson red, B is tangerine, et cetera.
  • Momoko insists that Sunday is aquamarine.
  • Shouq can describe the shape and colour of each of her friends.
  • Elijah loves it when the grandfather clock chimes because the colours shift between oranges and reds. 

Your character might experience synaesthesia in only one area, or in multiple areas. I suggest one of the first things to think about with your character is whether they projective or associative synaesthesia. If they have projective synaesthesia they will actually see colours when they hear certain sounds. If they have associative synaesthesia they will not see the colour in their field of vision, but might describe their best friend’s voice as being “cherry red”.

Your character may or may not realise that their way of perceiving the world is unusual. I have associative synaesthesia between tastes and shapes/colours. To me, flavours have different shapes and colours. However, I did not realise that that was unusual until very recently – I was cooking a meal for a friend and asked what spices she had because I needed to add a spiky orange flavour. It was frustrating when she didn’t understand what I meant. Later, I asked what round brown sauces she had so that I could add a little one of the side dishes. Her response was “well, I’ve got some HP at the back of the cupboard, but that’s the only brown sauce I have”. I clarified that I wanted a sauce whose flavour was round and brown, but she didn’t know what I meant then either. To me it was completely obvious that flavours have different shapes and colours. Ketchup is tall and spiky, in the same way that miso is a wide, shallow arc – they just are. Although I know that flavours don’t literally have these colours and shapes, to me those are undisputedly the colour that they are. It’s the same way that most people would describe Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata ( https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nT7_IZPHHb0 ) as “sad” – it’s just a bunch of notes strung together, but it still makes you feel an emotion. To have someone not understand what I meant when I described a flavour using shapes and colours was like someone not being able to understand me describing a song as sad. “It’s a taste, so how can it be a colour?” is the same as “it’s just sounds, so how can it be an emotion?”

Although I am autistic, you don’t need to have autism to experience synaesthesia. Interestingly, there was a study published recently about the potential link between autism and synaesthesia -  http://www.sussex.ac.uk/newsandevents/index?id=39479

0asis

You don’t need to have psychosis or autism to have synesthesia. I experience grapheme-color synesthesia and I don’t know that there’s any correlation to that and mental illness. It’s just a unique way of looking at things.

Letters have certain colors in my head. People have certain colors. One of my characters is dark blue. I just think of blue when I think of him and it’s due simply to the fact that his eyes are blue. The name of an album is red because the cover is red. Your senses are somewhat crossed anyway - lose your sense of smell, and your sense of taste significantly diminishes. It’s just associating things with other things. It’s deeper thinking, a deeper perspective.

Anon32

Color and visual synesthesia is rare for me, but I get it where sound has a feeling pretty much daily, the road noise of some asphalt makes my teeth hurt. The texture and look of pressed board clipboards is nails on a chalkboard. But I can also sometimes get color to sounds/music, and other color associations, but they are faint and I don’t really pay attention to them because they just, feel normal to me. Like, if my mother is a soft lavender then that’s just part of who she is like having brown hair, it’s background information to me. But the first two things, those are jarring so it’s hard to ignore them.


Followers with synesthesia, do you have anything to add?

Disclaimer 

anonymous asked:

I find the magical plants, tattoos, and paints in Mystic Coffee so cool. I can just imagine Clarke drawing with the charmed paint on Lexa’s back and all the magical effects it would have.

This is such a lovely visual I wrote a thing.

“Is it done?”

“Stop moving.”

Lexa gives an incoherent grumble and rests her chin on her arms, trying to remain still once again.

“You’ve been painting for an hour.” The words come out muffled against the bare skin of her forearms, pressed against her lips.

“Art takes time,” Clarke says distractedly after a pause, eyes crinkled in concentration as she moves her paintbrush in careful strokes along the curve of Lexa’s spine. Clarke lets out the barest of grins when Lexa shivers at the sensation.

The words Lexa says next are incoherent but Clarke just keeps working. Two more details aaaand 

“Done.”

Lexa’s head picks up quickly with excitement. She starts wiggling and Clarke has to move from her position sitting on the back of Lexa’s legs before the other girl tosses her off in her rush to get to a mirror.

Lexa stands and twists her head this way and that to try to see it before quickly giving up and moving to the floor length mirror hanging on the back of the door.

“Oh wow,” she says, when she finally gets a good look.

“Like it?”

“How permanent is this?”

“Not very,” Clarke says, wiping paint from her fingers on a towel and watching Lexa admire herself with a smile. “It’ll set within the next fifteen minutes probably and then disappear.”

“That’s too bad. It’s incredible.”

Clarke hums and steps behind her, watching Lexa take it in over her shoulder.

Clarke reaches out runs her finger gently over the paint, following the streaks of orange and gold over the small of Lexa’s back and tracing up into the dark blues that appear at the base of her neck.

It’s a setting sun, happening in real time. Each passing second changes the shades of colours that fade and shift beneath Clarke’s fingers. It’s ephemeral, the orange already beginning to shift to pink, but the look of awe on Lexa’s face makes it worth it.

10

John Atkinson Grimshaw (1836–1893, England)

Marine scenes

Grimshaw was an English Victorian-era artist, popular both during his time and in the present for his night-time depictions of British cities.

Grimshaw’s earliest influence was the Pre-Raphaelites. True to the Pre-Raphaelite style, he created landscapes of accurate colour and lighting, vivid detail and realism, often typifying seasons or a type of weather. Moonlit views of city and suburban streets and of the docks in London, Leeds, Liverpool and Glasgow also figured largely in his art. The focus on atmosphere, and lack of moral message or historical reference allies his work to some extent with the Aesthetic Movement.

His careful painting and his skill in lighting effects meant that he captured both the appearance and the mood of a scene in minute detail. His “paintings of dampened gas-lit streets and misty waterfronts conveyed an eerie warmth as well as alienation in the urban scene.” Later in life his colour palette shifted from dark blues to golden yellows, and towards the end of his life were hints of a change in artistic direction, with looser brushwork influenced by his friend James Abbott McNeill Whistler, who was quoted saying “I considered myself the inventor of Nocturnes until I saw Grimmy’s moonlit pictures.”

Our Secret - Kol Mikaelson Oneshot

Word Count - 597

Requested by - Anon

‘We have to stop sneaking around like this one day you know’ You spoke softly to your boyfriend, Kol Mikaelson, who as always came out from the shadows as soon as the two of you knew your siblings, the Salvatores. 

'Well, my darling, Y/N, we would not have to skulk around the town like a couple of delinquent teenagers if it werent for you now would we?’ Kol snapped back at you, the smallest traces of resentment in his tone as he pulled you closer to him, holding you at the waist and kissing your nose as an apology for his words.
'You know I’d love to go out with you… be seen with you but we both know damn well that my brothers would kill you if they even caught wind that-’
'Actually, love I think I’d have killed the two of them before they’d even thought about hurting me, or you for that matter.’ Kol interrupted, you knew he was right. There was no real danger for Kol, however that did not make things easier for the two of you to open up about your relationship with the Mikaelson. There had been too much drama and conflict between their family and yours, and while Kol had often been blameless, he was far from innocent.
'Whatever’ You spoke bluntly as you broke free of Kol’s grasp. 'I will tell them, I just need to find the right time, and I’m not spoiling our day together worrying about all the complications that come along with, well, you.’ You spoke honestly, yet hesitantly. You hated lying to your brothers, but you hated fighting with them more still, and as of now lying was the simpler option.
'So where are you whisking me off too today then sir.’ You called over to your boyfriend as you collected your things, in an attempt to change the subject
'You’ll have to wait and see, Y/N.’ Kol smirked as he moved his hand to the small of your back, leading you out of your room, and the Salvatore boarding house.

Kol had taken you to the edge of Mystica Falls, overlooking the lake with the Wickery Bridge standing far into the distance, the two of you had spent the day alone, watching the day pass you by, venturing towards the tops of the hills over the Mystic Falls border before sitting down for a perfectly prepared picnic complete with fresh fruit, home-made cakes and pastries and champagne Kol claimed to be stolen from some European princess you had never heard of. As the two of you sat together, looking out into the lake, towards the Wickery Bridge, your legs outstretched and crossed, your head resting in the crook of Kol’s neck and his arms firmly around your waist, the two of you watched as the sun set. Colours shifting slowly from blue to yellow and orange, to purple before the sun had almost completely disappeared and stars could be seen in the horizon. After a long period of silence you finally spoke .
'I’ll tell them.’ You words quiet and understated.
'What are you talking about, Y/N?’ Kol enquired as he lifter his head from yours and turned to look at you, confusion in his eyes.
'Lets tell them, together, my brothers they deserve to know, and as perfect as today has been. I don’t want to lose you because I’m afraid of my brothers. So lets tell them.’
'I’ve never been happier to see your brothers’ Kol answered, jovially as he moved in to kiss you, slowly and lovingly.

spacequnari  asked:

" you don't have to be alone. "

Reyes’ eyes glowed like embers in the dying light of the fire, and the flickering shadows cast from the flames danced across his features; throwing his face half in shadow. He was as handsome as I remember him, Sirius thought, maybe even more so. 

So handsome that it hurt to look at him.

Up until now she had tried not to, just quick sneaky glances when she hoped he wouldn’t notice. But tonight, with the inky-black night wrapped tight around them and Reyes watching her so intently from across the fire, she couldn’t seem to look away. It was as though a spell had been cast over both of them, and the pretense they had been keeping up of working professionally was melting away under the starry sky and the endless stretch of barren wastes.

They were alone together, and Sirius was helplessly, hopelessly, aware of it.

It was fitting, she thought as she watched the darkness and light chase each other across the curve of his cheek and the fullness of his lips, for him to always be half in the shadows. She doubted Reyes knew how to operate without keeping his true motives concealed from the people around him.

The pain of his betrayal still stung like salt in a raw wound, and her stomach twisted with remembered humiliation; she’d laid herself bare to him, had fallen in love with him, had been honest and open with him, but Reyes had only ever given her half of himself. He was like a tarnished coin found half buried in sand; all she’d seen was the shiny side lying sun up. She’d been blind to his faults. Blind to his imperfections. Blind to everything but that which he had wanted her to see.

Reyes had successfully kept his darker side hidden from her until the damage was done and he had wormed his way into her heart.

Bitterly, Sirius made herself look away from his face and into the flames. He probably laughed at me the whole time we were together, she thought sourly, clinging to her anger when he turned his head at an especially attractive angle and caught her attention again; plainly continuing to watch her with the same intense look. All she had ever been to him was a pawn in his little power play for Kadara; a Pathfinder who was easily manipulative and susceptible to his charms.

You would have supported him anyway, a tiny voice reminded her. Even if you hadn’t fallen in love with him, you would have supported him against Sloane.

She sighed and poked at the fire with a stick. It was true, and more so was the pity. Reyes could have been honest with her and she still would have been by his side supporting him. He hadn’t need to seduce her; to use her.

Sirius’ eyes prickled with tears and she tossed the stick aside. It was too late now. Reyes could say what he liked. He could howl black and blue that it hadn’t been all lies, that he did care for her, but his actions, his lies, said otherwise. She would help him out with the Outcast rebels on Kadara who were threatening her Outpost, and then that was it.

He would never see her again.

“Thank you,” Reyes spoke softly, breaking the silence so abruptly that for a moment Sirius wasn’t even sure if he’d really spoken or if she’d imagined it. “I know you didn’t want to see me again after what happened,” he continued after a moment, “so thank you.”

She nodded stiffly, not trusting herself to speak as her throat burned with words of hurt that she yearned to hurl at him. I trusted you. I loved you. How could you? I hate you!

“I know you don’t believe me after I lied to you so often, but I meant what I said the day you left; I only lied because I was scared of losing you-”

A sharp bark of angry laughter escaped before Sirius could hold it back. “Well, that worked out great for you, didn’t it?” she snapped, curling her legs up to her chest protectively and wrapping her arms around them.

Reyes smiled sadly and looked down into the dying embers. “My biggest regret is hiding the truth from you, but at the time I thought it best.” He met her eyes again, the molten colours shifting with the flames. “I know you hate me, but I still feel the same about you as I always did. I miss you, and I don’t want to just give up on us. I tried and … I can’t. When this is over I’m going to find a way to show you how much you mean to me.”

His voice rung with the passion of his statement, and Sirius swallowed, her heart lurching at the familiar way he was watching her and at the small catch in his breath when she didn’t reply. Their eyes met across the fire and the moment seemed to stretch, longer and longer as they watched one another, until just for an instant the impossible didn’t seem so impossible. Until it seemed as though she could reach out and touch Reyes and everything would be like it was.

You don’t have to be alone anymore, the same little voice spoke up again. He’s hurting just as much as you are … .

But an animal roared in the distance and Sirius snapped back to reality. Furious at herself, she beat the futile emotion down, cramming the hope and the desperate lonely longing back inside where it belonged.

“And if it’s too late?” she asked, her nails digging into her palms, the pain helping to ground her as she waited for his reply; her heartbeat pounding in her ears.

Reyes gave her a determined smile that made her poor heart hammer, and pushed himself to his feet. “I’m a romantic, Bluebird. I came 600 years and all the way to a new galaxy chasing my dreams.” He gave her a long look, something other than firelight burning in his eyes. “Besides, it’s never too late for love.”

He melted into the shadows before she could reply, and Sirius was left gaping in the flickering light staring after him. Her heart fluttered, her mouth ran dry, and her thoughts tumbled uselessly over each other as she flopped backwards into the sand and stared up into the blue-black Andromeda sky. A single thought managed to worm through her tangled brain to land with ringing clarity in her thoughts.

Reyes Vidal loved her.

namelesssteve  asked:

On blue transform I think that people's opinions on it might skew with their preferred format. In standard, modern and legacy a vanilla 2/2 or 3/3 can block or trade with many aggro creatures or threaten cards like pyromancer or monastery mentor. There is a cost to using as removal. In commander a vanilla 3/3 is nothing, making Pongify and Hybridization colour shifted Swords and Path. It fits flavour but you've repeatedly said blue removal should be counters or only tempo plays.

I finally get it. It’s not a color pie issue. It’s a Commander format issue. We don’t control Commander, so you want to talk to the team that oversees it and talk to them about the need to possibly ban some of the more egregiously (for the format) pushed transformation cards.