#symbolic gestures

[aventurineswife]

❤ The Language of Flowers | 021

❤ | Your options shall be: Noah, Sunday, Aventurine, Dan Heng, Veritas Ratio, Boothill, Jing Yuan, Blade, Phainon, Mydei, or Moze. Whoever you think suits this prompt.

❤ | Flower & it's definition: Sylleblossom | symbolize hope and romance. Giving someone Sylleblossoms can mean you want to take the next step in your relationship. Its Japanese name is "flower of zeal". Zeal is dedication or enthusiasm for something, often meant for devotion to God or another religious cause.

The Language of Flowers

Tags: Noah (OC) x Reader, Sunday x Reader, Aventurine x Reader, Romance, Slow Burn, Emotional Depth, Symbolism, Slight Angst, Introspection, Subtle Fluff, Mutual Pining, Confessions, Symbolic Gestures.

Warnings: Themes of Trauma & Emotional Baggage, Psychological Complexity, Mentions of Blood (Noah's part), Survivor’s Guilt (Aventurine's and Sunday's parts), Power Imbalance.

[Header credits]

The dark elegance of Noah’s presence filled the dimly lit parlor, his single amber eye gleaming as he regarded the bouquet in your trembling hands. The Sylleblossoms—rare, violet-tinted petals blooming in delicate fervor—seemed almost too soft for his world of blood and justice.

"You know what this means, don’t you?" His voice was smooth, edged with a dangerous amusement as he leaned back in his throne-like chair.

You swallowed, fingers curling around the stems. "I do."

The air grew taut, silence stretching between you like the space between stars. Noah tilted his head, assessing you, his sharp-toothed grin widening.

"Hope? Romance?" He let the words roll off his tongue, testing them like a fine wine. "I wonder… do you understand the weight of offering these to someone like me?"

You met his gaze, refusing to shrink beneath it. "I wouldn’t have given them to you if I didn’t."

Something shifted in his expression—a flicker of something raw, dangerous, but undeniably intrigued. Slowly, he reached forward, plucking a single Sylleblossom from the bouquet. His fingers brushed yours, a fleeting touch that sent a shiver down your spine.

He twirled the flower between his fingers, watching the petals sway. "Taking the next step in our relationship, are we?"

Your heartbeat quickened. "If you'll let me."

Noah chuckled darkly, standing fluidly, his sheer presence suffocating and intoxicating all at once. He tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze.

"Then be prepared," he whispered, lips ghosting against your skin. "Because devotion to a God of Justice… is absolute."

The floating Sylleblossom petals shimmered under the Astral Express’s gentle glow, their meaning woven into the quiet tension between you and Sunday. He stood by the observation window, bathed in celestial light, his hair shifting as he turned to face you.

"You brought me flowers," he murmured, eyes tracing the bouquet in your hands. His voice carried its usual softness, but there was something deeper—something hesitant.

You nodded, stepping closer. "Do you know what they mean?"

Sunday's fingers brushed against a petal, his wings behind his ears fluttering slightly. "Hope. Romance." His tone was unreadable, yet his gaze lingered on you with an intensity you weren’t used to.

For a moment, you thought he might reject them. Sunday had always been distant, lost in his philosophy, reluctant to tether himself to emotions he believed transient.

But then—his hand covered yours.

"You surprise me," he admitted, almost to himself. "Offering something so… zealous to someone who has doubted love itself."

You swallowed, watching his expression shift—wistful, almost yearning. "Maybe… you need someone to remind you that love isn’t just a dream."

A soft chuckle escaped him, tinged with disbelief. "And you think you can be that person?"

You hesitated, then smiled. "If you'll let me."

Sunday closed his eyes briefly, exhaling as if releasing a weight he’d carried for too long. When he opened them again, something softer had replaced the guarded melancholy. He accepted the flowers fully, fingers lingering over the petals before carefully tucking one behind your ear.

"Then let us see where this dream takes us," he whispered.

"Ah, what’s this? A gift?" Aventurine’s smirk was effortless, but his eyes flickered with something more as he plucked the bouquet from your hands.

You crossed your arms, feigning nonchalance. "It’s not just any flower. Sylleblossoms symbolize—"

"Hope and romance," he finished smoothly, twirling one between his fingers. "Taking the next step in our relationship, are we? Bold of you."

Your heart hammered in your chest, but you kept your voice steady. "I figured you'd appreciate a gamble."

Aventurine laughed—a genuine, rich sound. "You know me well, sweetheart." He leaned in, so close you could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin. "But tell me, are you ready for the stakes?"

You met his gaze, unwavering. "Are you?"

For the first time, Aventurine faltered. It was slight—barely noticeable—but you caught it. The charming, ever-confident gambler was used to controlling the odds, but this? This was a risk even he couldn’t fully calculate.

Then, with an unreadable smile, he tucked a Sylleblossom into the folds of your attire. "Guess we’ll find out," he murmured, his fingers grazing your collarbone before pulling away.

His grin returned, playful yet tinged with something deeper. "Just don’t be surprised if I make the game more interesting."

[Navigation]

[exilley]

I do sort of wish western anime fans would analyze anime and manga from a framework of japanese historical and cultural context. Specifically a lot of works from the 90s being influenced by the general aimlessness and ennui that a lot of people were experiencing due to the burst in the bubble economy and the national trauma caused by the sarin terrorist attack. I think in interacting with media that’s not local to our sociocultural/sociopolitical sphere it’s easy to forget that it’s influenced and shaped by the same kinds of factors that influence media within our own cultural dome and there ends up being this baseline misalignment of perception between the causative elements of a narrative and viewer interpretation of those elements. It’s a form of death of the author that i think, in some measure, hinders our ability to fully understand/come to terms with creator intent and the full scope of a work’s merits

[karribabytarot]

Honoring Father's Day Without Your Father: A Path to Healing and Empowerment

### Message to the Audience Father's Day can be a challenging time for many, especially if your father is absent from your life. However, this day can also be an opportunity for healing, reflection, and personal growth.

Father’s Day is traditionally a time to honor and celebrate fathers and father figures for their contributions and influence in our lives. However, if your father isn’t present in your life, there are still several reasons why acknowledging him on Father’s Day might be meaningful: Biological Contribution: Regardless of his involvement, your father contributed to your existence. Recognizing this…

[mindblowingscience]

Birds are famous for communicating vocally, but many have other options, too. Some communicate by dancing, for example, or by showing off their feathers. And according to a new study, at least one bird species does something more often associated with humans and great apes: symbolic gesturing. A songbird called the Japanese tit (Parus minor) uses fluttering wing movements to signal "after you," the study's authors report, similar to the way humans extend one open hand to let another person go first.

Continue Reading.

[asvidema]

a bit late, but i decided i'd give it a shot anyway

hansry day 1 - flowers

[halflifebutawesome]

disjointed freehoun nonsense & a couple barneys from recently

[aroaceleovaldez]

Annabeth's cats and Piper's dog are the most forgotten pets in the series

[hinamie]

hhmmmmm uh im dusting the cobwebs off my brain trying 2 come up w something interestinf uhh.......anything non spoiler-y you can discuss w regards to geto in the atla au perchance?

hi rin !!!!! tysm fr sending i hope u r doing well <3

atla geto lore fr u courtesy of sam:

he's a waterbender from the northern water tribe. he can bloodbend but finds it distasteful

he gave gojo the betrothal necklace/proposed to him when they were 20 (all of the adult characters are aged up in the fic vs jjk canon ages)

all of his decisions are driven by a desire to lighten the burden placed on gojo's shoulders

aaaaand atla geto draws fr u courtesy of Me :3

jjk atla!au with @philosophiums

[zev-zev]

having more silverv thoughts and i have to share them.

i know the scene at johnny’s grave is THE silverv turning point, with johnny and v both showing off how much they truly care for each other but—that moment at the hotel with johnny when he decides to give v his dog tags???? god i love that moment too. esp with how johnny calls the tags “proof” of him turning over a new leaf; where he intends to save v instead of just letting them die. and i really think it’s such a HUGE gesture, especially coming from johnny! and not even solely because of his physical promise to v but because of what the dog tags once represented.

johnny fought in the corpo war. he was a blind follower under arasaka’s boot for a long time. hell! his robotic arm is arasaka made. he was a soldier. he tells v how he rotted inside that hotel room for days, or even weeks, realizing what a terrible human being he’s become under arasaka and just how horrible corpos truly are.

and yet— something he resents so much, he changes into something for the better. the dog tags once were proof of his rage. his blind, ignorant rage for arasaka, for the war, but mainly the rage he felt towards himself. johnny truly hated himself at this point in his life. it was his own pivotal moment in life where he, then and there, would take a stand against corpos. so much rage embedded in the metal tags but there he is; offering them up, his own twisted hate, to v. but with an entirely new meaning.

he offers the tags not only in proof of wanting to save v but in proof that he cared more for them than he let on. changing the tags meaning from his promise of rage to turning them into something v could have to think of HIM. to think of him at that moment. where any time the metal lay flat on v’s skin or when v would absentmindedly fiddle with the tags; johnny wanted them to not think of how angry he used to be, or how much he genuinely despised himself—he wanted v to think of this new side of him. this softer, caring side where he promised to give up his own “life”(so to speak ofc) so that v may live. the greatest sacrifice anyone could accomplish and johnny was willing to do it, for v! never rouge or alt or kerry or anyone else that mattered in his life, no, for v.

and it’s almost funny how johnny shows his feelings before this moment too. how as soon as v had passed out from the relic induced seizure, his first thoughts were to, not only save v, but to take them to the hotel where he had stashed his rage. knowing in that moment that he wanted to give up his tags as proof of his literal physical devotion to v. and god he was entirely devoted to v the minute he dragged the body to that hotel room. not only to serve as a place where v would be safe while they were incapacitated from said relic malfunction—but to also prove to v how much he was willing to change FOR v. because he cared so much about them even if he couldn’t really find the right words to say it.

knowing he took what was once his rage for arasaka, the war, the loss of the people closest to him during this time; took it all and instead turned it into his desire to protect and save v. and his rage is definitely not something easily given up on, which is clear throughout the game.

and ugh idk. just getting to see these little moments of where johnny changes but specifically changes for v drives me insane. every little moment between them feels so much bigger than it really is when you know that they’re meant to be soulmates.

[aventurineswife]

The Language of Flowers

Tags: Sunday x Reader, Aventurine x Reader, Jing Yuan x Reader, Blade x Reader, Fluff & Angst, Romance, Introspection, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Symbolism, Metaphors, Emotional Depth, Established Relationship/Developing Relationship, Soft & Subtle Gestures of Affection.

Warnings: Mentions of Trauma, Survivor’s Guilt, Internal Conflict, Moral Dilemmas, Philosophical Themes, Themes of Immortality & Loss, Mild Manipulation, Mentions of Violence, Combat References, Yearning, Emotional Suppression.

Tagslist: @smoochi-modest, @themiddletenmasibling

The clematis flower sat between Sunday’s fingers, its violet petals softly brushing against his glove as he studied it in quiet contemplation. You watched as his eyes traced the delicate veins running through each petal, the navy-blue pupils reflecting something distant—something that lingered between the past and the present.

"You brought me clematis," he mused, voice gentle as ever. "A flower that speaks of resilience and artifice. Do you believe me to be a man of deception or of ingenuity?"

You hesitated before answering, sensing the weight in his question. "Neither," you admitted. "Or perhaps both. The way you see the world, Sunday… it's different. You find beauty where others see illusions, and yet you fear the dreams you once nurtured. I suppose this flower reminds me of you—always reaching, always entwining with something just out of grasp."

Sunday’s wings fluttered, an unspoken emotion stirring behind his composed mask. "I have spent so long questioning whether my dreams were worth the cost," he murmured. "But you…" His fingers curled slightly around the stem. "You offer me a kindness I do not know if I deserve."

You reached for his hand, your warmth seeping through the fabric of his gloves. "And yet, you accept it," you said softly. "That’s a start, isn’t it?"

For the first time in a long while, Sunday smiled—not for the world, not for an ideal, but for himself.

Aventurine twirled the clematis flower between his fingers, his usual smirk playing on his lips. "So, let me get this straight," he drawled, leaning back against the lavish lounge seat, "you’re giving me a flower that symbolizes both ingenuity and trickery? Darling, I’m flattered. Truly."

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. "I just thought it suited you. The way you weave your words, how you always seem to be three steps ahead of everyone else… It reminded me of you."

His eyes glinted as he leaned forward, closing the space between you. "And here I was thinking you liked me for my winning personality," he teased, plucking the flower from your grasp and tucking it into the lapel of his blazer. "But I suppose I'll take what I can get."

You crossed your arms, feigning exasperation. "Must everything be a game with you?"

His expression shifted, just for a moment—a flicker of something unspoken beneath the bravado. "Life is a gamble," he murmured. "And the trick is knowing which bets are worth the risk."

His fingers brushed against yours, lingering just long enough to send a thrill through your veins.

"And you," he whispered, voice quieter, more sincere, "are the one bet I don’t mind losing."

Jing Yuan’s eyes traced the clematis flower nestled in his palm, its delicate form a stark contrast to the battle-worn hands that held it. The gentle rise and fall of Snowmoon’s slumbering breaths filled the quiet garden as you sat beside him, watching his contemplative expression.

"A flower of mental strength and artifice," he mused, tilting the stem slightly as though testing its resilience. "You must think rather highly of me."

You chuckled, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. "More like I know you, Jing Yuan. You carry the weight of the Xianzhou with such ease, making it look effortless—even when I know it isn’t."

A slow, knowing smile curved his lips. "Ah, so I am a performer now, am I?"

"In a way," you admitted. "But there’s an artistry in what you do—maintaining peace, guiding your people… it’s not deception, but it requires a certain kind of ingenuity, don’t you think?"

Jing Yuan hummed, turning the flower between his fingers before tucking it carefully into the folds of his coat. "Then I accept this gift," he said, "as a reminder that even a man of strategy must appreciate the beauty of unpredictability."

His gaze softened as he looked at you, the warmth in his expression melting away the distance between you. "And," he added, voice lower, "as a reminder that even the dozing general must stay awake for the things that truly matter."

Blade’s fingers hovered over the clematis flower you had placed before him, the deep violet petals stark against the cold surface of the table. His red eyes flickered toward you, unreadable.

"You think this suits me?" he asked, voice devoid of mockery, yet tinged with something akin to disbelief.

You nodded. "The flower represents mental strength and ingenuity. Both things you have, whether you believe it or not."

Blade exhaled slowly, picking up the flower with deliberate care. "Strength," he murmured. "And deception. I have known both intimately."

You reached across the table, resting your hand over his. "Not deception," you corrected. "Artifice. The ability to create something from nothing—to survive, even when the universe has tried to erase you."

His grip on the flower tightened slightly. "I am not whole," he admitted, a rare confession from a man who had long since discarded the need for such vulnerabilities.

"You don’t have to be," you whispered. "Even a clematis vine blooms with fractured stems."

Blade stared at you for a long moment, then, slowly, he brought the flower to his chest, resting it against his heart.

"Then perhaps," he said at last, "I can learn to bloom again, too."

[Navigation]

[mintypsii]

guys i love them i promise i just have the urge to put them through the grinder sometimes

umm on the bright side here's the alternate good ending version lol!!!!!

[aingeal98]

So I know Cass gave Steph Batgirl and bounced right before the reboot due to editorial interference trying to push her out of the family. But it made me think of what an actual passing of the mantle would look like on Cass's terms. Because if she's actually ready to give Batgirl to Steph it's because she's either got the Batman mantle or her ideal next step on the road to being Batman.

So Cass is ready, but she also knows Steph. And she wants Steph to feel confident in taking it. And because she's Cass she's not going to use her words and give Steph an uplifting speech about all the ways she knows Steph will make her legacy proud.

No, she's diving into her deep catalogue of reality trashy TV knowledge and creating The Ultimate Batgirl Trial. Survivor meets Ninja Warrior meets Total Wipeout meets the Chase but if the Chaser catches you due to you messing up questions she punches you in the face. With a splash of Love Island thrown in there because it's important to know how to read people and play them if needed.

Barbara is in charge of monitoring everything to make sure Steph doesn't die. Cass has complete faith in her best friend because she designed this all knowing Steph's abilities. Steph looks at the swinging axes with razor sharp edges and wonders if perhaps she accidentally exaggerated her CV to Cass somehow.

(She passes of course. And only throws up twice. Tim, Damian and Duke all attempt it once they hear about it and none of them make it past the fire breathing dragon statues. Tim gives up at the hologram of Lady Shiva, Damian fails the height requirement to swing on the lava rope and not fall in, Duke actually makes it a respectable amount but again those fire breathing dragon statues are just too vast and uh. Flamey.)

[sainteclectic]

Soul likes the control.

It's something he'll never admit, even to himself. He likes the way his Mind and Heart flinch whenever he catches them arguing. He likes how every room goes silent when he enters. He likes the weight of his trident in his hands, knowing its presence will quell the Cacophony, if only for a moment.

There are very few things Soul has control over. He can't stop Concord from ending. He can't break the cycle of Cacophony. He can't even control himself, because his life is not his own. He's just a placeholder, a shard of a shattered window, a sacrificial lamb who can never quite die.

There's one thing he can control, though.

Fear.

The fear of regicide. The fear of pain. The fear of consequence.

Soul doesn't think he's a cruel person. {He likes to think that, at least. Likes to imagine himself without sharp teeth and bloodied claws.} Is a starved lion cruel for hunting humans? Injured and hungry, unable to catch anything else?

He thinks a lot about symbiosis. He calls the others parasites, feeding off their host. Draining him of sympathy. Soul prides himself on mutualism instead. He gets the power of being the host, a sliver of freedom in this helpless loop, and in return, he keeps trying again and again to become one.

{He thinks about how mimicry is a form of symbiosis. How mimics can be parasites too, powerless creatures leeching off the image of another to be feared instead of afraid. Is he Batesian or Müllerian?}

Yes, Soul relishes control. But what else does he have left?

[c-kiddo]

thought u_u ... level 20 caduceus design with braided hair decorated with jewellery like his dad

[yea-baiyi]

i just posted but i feel INSANE hua cheng’s entire appearance in the ghost groom arc is just symbolism.

when xie lian is alone (having sent everyone away, in danger but perfectly capable of fighting his way out), hua cheng steps in front of xie lian, offers his hand, and guides xie lian through the woods to where he needs to be. monsters cower before him, magical barriers don’t stop him, he steps on the skulls of enemies and crushes them so thoroughly that xie lian behind him feels like he is walking on flat ground. he doesn’t just swoop in without asking — he offers his hand, and waits, and xie lian willingly reaches out and lets himself be guided. and his grip is featherlight, even as he steers xie lian through danger and darkness. his blood rain warns away all who would dare harm them, but xie lian doesn’t get hit by a drop. and hua cheng does this all in his true form, not in disguise, because he’s not playing a character or trying to achieve anything, this is just him. despite not being confident enough to face xie lian directly, hua cheng has already shown him exactly who he is.

(now excuse me while i gnaw through an entire wall because how was this not glaringly obvious to me all along)

[cutest-silly-nb]

Things I got for writing and directing a play recently:

- Substantial congratulations

- One nonfunctional cartridge of Earthbound????

- 5 hugs at once