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taylorgrape · 11 months ago

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Mariah's Characters as Taylor Swift Songs.

I am still so sorry. @sweet-sweet-petunia

PETUNIA RHUBARB AS FEARLESS "I'm tryin' so hard not to get caught up now." i have to be so real. this ties into junior's which we will see shortly but. i HAD to pick fearless bc bro!!! all the crimes she's committed with an underage asparagus!! she really do be fearless!! ofc there's also the like very sweet and cute energy of this song which gives larry and petunia vibes. but mostly it's abt committing crimes with an underage asparagus. Other notable lyrics that give me Petunia vibes: "So baby drive slow, 'til we run out of road. "You pull me in and I'm a little more brave." "I'd dance in a storm in my best dress, fearless."

JERRY GOURD AS MIRRORBALL "I can change everything about me to fit in." So while this song is inherently about trying to change everything abt urself for the sake of an audience I think for Jerry it's a little different. he changes not bc he has to but bc he is simply vibing. he can be reflective of the people he's around and while he does want to fit in like we all do, he truly is just trying to be everyone's friend bc he literally has no reason not to be. Other notable lyrics that give me Jerry vibes: "I'll show you every version of yourself tonight." "When no one is around, my dear, you'll find me on my tallest tiptoes." "I'm still trying everything to get you laughing at me"

ESTHER AS A PLACE IN THIS WORLD "I'm just a girl, trying to find a place in this world." This was another one that as soon as I knew what this project would be I was like oh this is SO ESTHER. she really is just trying very hard to figure her shit out and live her life and she knows that that's just how life be!! this song also gives me hot normal vibes and that mixed w esther's whole gay thing i'm like yeah this is the song for her Other notable lyrics that give me Esther vibes: "I don't know what I want, so don't ask me, 'cause I'm still trying to figure it out." "I'll be strong, I'll be wrong, oh but life goes on." "And tomorrow's just a mystery, oh yeah, but that's okay."

FRANCOIS BLUEBERRY AS THE LUCKY ONE "And the camera flashes make it look like a dream." a song that is abt the romanticism of hollywood and how it's actually not all that romantic and kind of sucks but ppl would still sell their soul for it. however, francois hasn't reached that second part yet so for me he is the romanticism of this song and show business. he moved far away to live his dream and GOOD FOR HIM. he could never do anything wrong ever. also this is one of my fav songs from one of my fav eras so obviously it had to go to the special little guy. Other notable lyrics that give me Francois vibes: "Another name goes up in lights, like diamonds in the sky." "Now it's big black cars and Riviera views." "It was a few years later, I showed up here." BOB THE TOMATO AS LAVENDER HAZE "I'm damned if I do give a damn what people say." LET'S GIVE IT UP FOR BOBBERRY ARE U KIDDINGGG obviously the song abt the color PURPLE was for them but also!!! so many of these lyrics are so bob coded to me in general?? and then when u add in the megan aspect?? it all came together so beautifully. also this is another one that goes hand in hand with another (bet u can not guess who) but genuinely i am so proud of myself for thinking of this one lmao (also it took everything in me to not make one of the lyrics "the only kind of tomato they see is a one night or a bride lmaaao) Other notable lyrics that give me Bob vibes: "And you don't really read into my melancholia." "I've been under scrutiny , you handle it beautifully, all this shit is new to me." "I just need this love spiral, get it off your chest, get it off my desk."

DAD ASPARAGUS AS CARDIGAN "And when I felt like I was an old cardigan under someone's bed, you put me on and said I was your favorite." okay so obviously a decent amount of this is due to the whole mom asparagus trauma. dad has been through a lot and it SHOWS. but also he is SO the type to use romanticized ass lyrics like this to describe his feelings. also idk if dad wears cardigans?? but he seems the type that would so i associated that with him as well. anyways as we know this is perhaps my absolute fav taylor song and so he should be honored to have it. (also notable mention to the fact that i almost added "leaving like a father" as a lyric just bc) Other notable lyrics that give me Dad vibes: "I knew you, your heartbeat on the high line, once in 20 lifetimes." "Chasin' shadows in the grocery line." "And I knew you'd come back to me." ARCHIBALD ASPARAGUS AS MY TEARS RICOCHET "And if I'm dead to you why are you at the wake?" this one makes me feel CRAZY!!! ARE YOU FOR FUCKING REAAAAL archibald's whole thing w his brother and lovey and oh my GOD this song was immediately perfect. obviously i take a lot of influence from the whole lovey thing but truly like... this whole song describes that situation to me and i am frothing at the mouth about it. i wish i could put every single lyric but PLEASE listen to it bc it's perfect!!!! Other notable lyrics that give me Archibald vibes: "And I can go anywhere I want, anywhere I want, just not home." "You had to kill me, but it killed you just the same." "And you're tossing out blame, drunk on this pain, crossing out the good years."

GOSSIP GOURD AS MASTERMIND: "I'm only cryptic and Machiavellian 'cause I care." OBVIOUSLY gossip gourd is a mastermind!! they know so much!!! also disclosure i know who gossip gourd is (figured it out watching vt w mariah irl so u know) but that was part of my reason for picking this song specifically. it fits SO WELL but also to me with or without knowing who it is this song is perfect for gossip gourd imo!! also mariah is an absolute mastermind for picking who she picked lmfao. Other notable lyrics that give me Gossip Gourd vibes: "What if I told you none of it was accidental?" "I laid the groundwork and then just like clockwork, the dominoes cascaded in a line." "If you fail to plan, you plan to fail, strategy sets the scene for the tale."

#fearless #mirrorball #a place in this world #the lucky one #lavender haze #cardigan #my tears ricochet #mastermind

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cto10121 · 2 years ago

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There is always that tendency of some people—antis and some fans alike—to characterize R&J as idealistic characters. But I don’t think that’s entirely true.

Oh, sure, they idealize each other. Tons. Juliet could literally step on him and Romeo would thank her. And Romeo could kill her entire family and Juliet would still be like “but he’s so hot tho 🥺.” When it comes to each other, R&J are proud, unabashed clowns.

But do they idealize their love? Do they idealize love itself? The answer is no, I think.

Quick denotative definition of idealism: “The cherishing or pursuit of high or noble principles, purposes, goals, etc.” I suppose the principles and goals may not necessarily be high or noble so long as they are thought on as such, but this still does not define R&J’s attitude towards their love, themselves, or their world.

For one thing, we have literally zero canonical evidence as to their attitudes towards the feud. They make no grand statements about their love overcoming their family’s feud, or even about the feud in general except in hard, practical terms. There is Romeo’s pointed “Here’s much to do with hate, but more with love,” and Juliet’s “If they do see thee, they will murder thee” and other practical considerations. Other than that, they don’t engage with the feud at all. So R&J are not idealistic in that sense.

What about in the sense of their love? R&J do romanticize each other: They are each other’s lord and lady, sun, angel, falcon. But that doesn’t stop them from fearing the worst from each other: Romeo fearing that Juliet would abandon him because of his killing Tybalt and Juliet’s balcony hangups over the possibility of Romeo just being in it for da sex. They both weigh these logical and real-world considerations. They both expect the other to act within the social rules of their established universe.

Romeo’s love for Rosaline, by contrast, is characterized as idealistic—as in, he likes the idea of her better than the reality (although even there, Romeo’s frustration with Rosaline’s chastity and her denial of him and sex are very much pointed). Even then Romeo quickly abandons this idealized love when immediately faced when something much more real. His language changes on a dime, becoming rich and original, but he also continues his theme of repudiating chastity—which is, of course, the ideal of virginity, of abstaining from sex.

R&J’s rather myopic pragmatism, in fact, even contributes to their tragedy. Had R&J been more pie-in-the-sky, our-way-or-the-highway type of characters, they probably would have left Verona on their own or come up with the crazy plan on their lonesome. As it is, it doesn’t even come up.

In Shakespeare’s source for his adaptation, Brooke’s Romeus and Juliet have a long discussion where Juliet suggests escaping Verona with him by disguising herself as a boy. Despite the fact that this employs one of Shakespeare’s most beloved tropes, this discussion is nowhere to be found in Shakespeare’s adaptation. No doubt because Shakespeare’s R&J are way too smart even to entertain such a dumb, reckless plan. But it’s also because they are so narrow in their pragmatism it doesn’t even occur to them that they, er, need not be separated. They could just…you know, go.

All in all, I’d say R&J are not inherently idealistic characters. On the contrary, they are pragmatic characters in the throes of real, transformative romantic love. Their inherent pragmatism does not fade and is even reflected in their love language. And of course, that pragmatism rises to the level of utter ruthlessness when Romeo finds out Juliet is dead and makes immediate plans for his death and when Juliet discovers Romeo is dead and immediately ends her life with stoic resolve.

The characters that are (arguably) idealistic, though? The Capulets and the Montagues. After all, what is the feud but a natural result of upholding the ideals of honor and pride? Even of love for one’s own house and family? Just because the narrative shows the feud for what it really is doesn’t mean that the characters themselves are not acting from these ideals.

And the one character that does believe in the ideals of the feud the most? Tybalt. The heads of houses, especially the Capulets, are mostly operating out of a sense of tradition, I feel: They are the enemy, so we hate. It is what it is. But Tybalt does believe in the ideals of the feud and society, its honor and pride. Mercutio even mocks him for being so molded to his ideals of honor that even his dueling style is by-the-book. And in the end, Tybalt pays these ideals with his life.

#romeo and juliet #rj meta #r&j meta #cristina metas #also we see them bending the rules and turning against their parents’ ideals #sorry to end on a tybalt feel ouch ouch

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lightpeak · 11 months ago

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We Won't Watch The Sunrise - Script

Someone out there will decide it’s a good choice to love me. I’m not gonna tell you whether I think that’s congruent with their happiness or not. What I will say is that you will be disappointed in some way. For example, we won’t stay up all night to watch the sunrise. The sun blinds me.

I was born, like most people, beneath blinding lights; thrust into a world that was huge and boundlessly intimidating. The only difference for me, is that the lights never stopped being blinding, and the colors never came into view.

They call it Achromatopsia. Etymologically, its origins are Greek. A, for without, chroma, for color, and opsia, for vision. Without color vision. Though there is much more to this condition than meets the eye.

Moving on from that horrific pun. Achromatopsia is characterized by a lack of functioning cones in the retina. Cone cells being the photoreceptors that are responsible for color vision. They also provide the means to effectively filter light based on intensity. This is the reason your pupils dilate or constrict depending on your surroundings. Once you remove the cones, or their ability to function correctly, the pupils remain rather wide, or can react oppositely to what is expected. This can be a rather alarming symptom to the uninitiated, as this can be a sign of significant brain trauma, tumor, or stroke.

The tangible experience of this, when exposed to bright light, is white-out. I’d like to set the scene for likely the closest analog a non-sufferer would experience. Imagine it’s the middle of the night. It’s pitch black in your home, and you wake up to go use the bathroom. You switch on the bathroom light, and your eyes become overwhelmed, and you’re blind for a moment, only seeing white. That’s what I would experience, perpetually, should I walk outside during the day without my specialized sunglasses.

There’s also the fact that I can’t see color. At all. I am completely colorblind. I only see in shades of black, white, and gray. Or at least, that’s the only comparison that can be made. Because that’s what makes sense to you. But that’s more going into a philosophical view on the matter.

All of this is to say that I’m not normal. Though there are many more reasons for this notion, this is the one that feels the most visceral in my life. I have a rare visual disability that dictates many facets of my life. I can’t drive, because my vision is too poor, even with the specialized sunglasses. The possibility of losing my sunglasses during the day is effectively a death sentence. Or at least an inability to live for myself. I would need to ask someone for help until I either find them, or make it home.

I wouldn’t be able to pick someone up on our way to our date. I wouldn’t be able to watch the sun set or rise with them. Only just after, or just before. I romanticize dusk and dawn like they’re the only times I feel comfortable. Because they are. Just after the sun has gone down, but its influence still radiates across the sky, it is just dark enough that I can take off my glasses, but not so dark that it’s fallen into night. That’s my favorite time of day. That’s when I’d want to spend my time with whoever it is that decides to love me.

I experience the world inherently differently than pretty much anyone else. Other than people who also have Achromatopsia. But it’s still lonely. After all, when I describe my lack of color vision, I simply state three names that mean nothing to me. Just names, the same as there are names of dead presidents, or countries that no longer exist, or superheroes. They are just names that mean nothing to me. Yet I still speak them, because I find myself colorless in a colorful world.

Someone out there will decide it’s a good idea to love me. Although they will be disappointed. Because while they’re watching the sunset, I’ll only be watching them. And I suppose that’ll have to be good enough.

youtube

#achromatopsia #youtube #love #relationship #Youtube

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agent-cupcake · 4 years ago

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Garreg Mach Café

Episode One: Dead Eye (Dimitri x Reader)

Yes this is a coffee shop AU and yes I intend to do a few of these because I am basic and this is fun to work on while violently procrastinating and yes I’m a little sorry. Just a little.

From the moment you keyed your employee code into the machine and clocked in until your shoes met the cracked pavement covering the parking lot out back, the hours you spent selling coffee and faking smiles were slotted into a strange fugue state in your mind. Existence in only the most technical sense.

Morning shifts were the worst for that sense of customer service depersonalization. After the initial rush, which you usually got through with the crutch of obscene amounts of caffeine and focus, weekdays always fell away into an exhausting kind of lull. You might as well have been living in a private world where only you, the radio with a station you weren’t allowed to change, and a minifridge of overpriced mineral waters that needed restocking existed. Which was pretty fine, all things considered. The downtime was nice.

Until you were disturbed by the swooshing sound of the opening door, a rush of cold outside air, and the distinctively familiar jingle of bells. At this point, you were pretty sure that perky tinkling sound activated some sort of twisted fight or flight mechanism deep in your gut. Despite that, you stood up straight from organizing the display and put on your best service smile, sidling up to the register. Just in time to have the air knocked right out of your lungs.

Well, not literally. You were pretty sure that cliché was a line used in books to convey the inherent frailty of the female condition. There was no such romanticism to your reaction. It would have been more accurate to say that your caffeine-hyped brain shorted out when you got a good look at the customer who had just come in because you were simple and weak and that amount of handsome on your abysmal amount of sleep made you forgot how to breathe for a moment or twenty.

The most obvious and immediately striking aspect of the man was the eyepatch. Not some basic pastel goth kind of white bandage attached with ribbons, but a properly utilitarian black piece that cut harsh lines of black across his pretty blond hair. Had you ever seen somebody in real life wearing one? Your spastic thoughts lingered on that for a second before deciding it didn’t really matter. It was barely even a factor in your undoubtedly impolite staring. You dealt with exhausted people from every demographic while selling, making, and serving coffee. Snappy, loopy, mean, giggly, you knew sleep deprivation in nearly every form and function. Never did you realize in full that it also came in its premium form: devastatingly handsome.

He was gorgeous. Like, drop-dead level gorgeous. So, yeah, maybe it wasn’t too corny for you to say that this tall blond with a sharp jaw, nice cheekbones, and broad shoulders covered in a dark blazer/blue sweater combo of expensive if understated business casual took your breath away. You were, after all, occasionally subject to the frailty of the female condition.

Be professional! Your sane mind —or at least the part that wasn’t dominated by the giddy mix of shy nerves and creepy admiration— urged.

Right. Professional.

“Good morning!” you greeted him with belated cheerfulness, managing to pull your jaw up from the floor before he stopped in front of the counter. “Are you ready to order, or do you need a moment?” He didn’t respond at first, which almost made your smile falter. His eye, ringed in the telltale shadow of a sleepless night, was blue. Really, ultra blue. You forced yourself to keep up the act, to stick to the script. “If this is your first time here, I could walk you through the menu.”

The man cleared his throat, shaking his head a little as he glanced —awkwardly, like he wasn’t actually looking but he needed a reason to avert his gaze— up to the menu. He’d gathered about half of his longish hair into a tail in the back, but the shorter strands framing his face fluttered with the movement. Did you have a thing for guys with long hair? You couldn’t remember, but you were pretty sure you did now. “No… Thank you,” he replied somewhat apologetically. His voice was low, holding this kind of rough, husky tone. In other words, it was nearly enough to send you right back out of your customer service mode and into a swooning catastrophe. “Could you make a dead eye?”

The request was made, accepted, and then it registered. And, really, you liked to think you were a good person. You really, really did.

“A dead… eye…” you repeated slowly, internally screaming at yourself to not stare at the glaring black eyepatch covering his right eye or crack a smile at the horrible joke. Good Lord. You didn’t like to think that you were a bad person, or a mean person. You were a professional, you’d dealt with a lot while keeping a straight face. So you cleared your throat. “A black coffee with a triple espresso shot, right. Is that to go?”

“Yes,” he agreed with a sharp nod, ready with cash and very obviously not realizing the dark humor of what he’d ordered or the reason you were trying very, very hard not to make this all very, horribly awkward. No, he looked exhausted. And attractive. You were a very bad person. So you told him the total and broke the twenty and quickly turned to make the drink because a good cup of coffee was just about the only way you could apologize for your wicked, terrible thoughts.

Since there were no other customers queuing up, he was fine to wait at the counter, watching you make the drink. You pretended like you couldn’t feel his intense gaze, bobbing your head to the piped-in indie music playing in the background. The song was awful, truly, you really didn’t think there was anything you wanted to hear less than some young nobody with a guitar butchering the English language in an ode to their unrequited love. At the very least, not at ten-thirty in the morning on a Tuesday. At least you didn’t mess up, so there was something to be said for your so-called professionalism.

“Here you go,” you said as you handed him the to-go cup with as wide of a smile as you could muster all the while working very, very hard not to think that it was a dead eye for a dead eye. You were going to hell.

Ignorant to your thoughts, he met your gaze intently —his iris wasn’t any sort of bright, intimidating electric blue, but something softer like cornflower or powder or the dreamy gentle pale afternoon sky— and accepted the cup with a black gloved hand. “You have my most sincere thanks.”

You heard yourself laugh a little in response, but it was a bright and overly jittery sound, not only because you were trying desperately to be polite but because you couldn’t help but feel a bubble of strangely excitable disbelief that he would be so serious about something that was so mundane. Not to mention the fact that he was so handsome or that his voice was as candid as his words implied and gruff in a way you really liked. At the very least, it drove out all intrusively poor taste jokes.

“Oh, it was nothing,” you said, the words coming from your lips without so much as a thought that it was definitely not apart of the preapproved corporate script. “Wait ‘till you see what I can do with the mixed drinks.”

He considered you for what felt like ages before finally nodding. “I will look forward to it.” Despite the lack of irony, there wasn’t even a hint of a smile playing on his lips to match your own. Just more of that discomforting, intense sincerity that you couldn’t tell if you liked or not. And that was basically the end of that because you had no idea what to say other than to wish him a good day. He left, your handsome strange customer, the bells jingling merrily behind him.

After the door closed to the temperamental winter air, you melted, bracing your arms on the counter as you felt jittery nerves work through you. It took a moment to collect yourself, but when you did, you realized that he’d left a great tip, too. Fantastic tip, actually. Which, ultimately, was what got you. There was something uniquely sexy about rich guys who were kind to the underpaid and overworked wait staff.

That comforting customer service fugue state didn’t return after that. You were too caught up wondering about his name, or why he was so tired that he’d need such a potent drink, or if you were to take his words to mean that he was coming back. You probably shouldn’t have hoped for that as much as you did, but you could blame it on the inherent frailty of the female condition.

#fire emblem three houses #fe3h #dimitri alexandre blaiddyd #fe dimitri #fire emblem dimitri #dimitri alexandre blaiddyd x reader #fe dimitri x reader #fire emblem dimitri x reader #my writing #this is dumb #i don't care #yuri or felix next #probably #maybe #who's to say #i've been reading rhythm of war and it's TOUGH so i need cute

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grahamcarmen · 3 years ago

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Weathering with you au lowkey living in my head

Because that movie really said

This guy who ran away from home almost commits a serious crime to help an orphan girl (who chews him out for it but still sees him as the decent sort) who is capable of bringing sunlight to a place that keeps having rain. together with their makeshift equality and trust, bring sunlight to people while that very skill she has comes with unseen consequences because the girl has the biggest heart ever

...and the boy is like 🙃lmao

you >world

And as I was asking how I could make this about RC the entire time(as I was making it about RC the whole time)

Boom

They said the inherent romanticism of falling through the sky with the one you love, with every intention to keep them safe no matter what

...!!!!! [Also lol those handcuffs on the guy]

I want you more than any blue sky

The weather can stay crazy

And

I've chosen this world

I've chosen her

Like omfg yall remember when gray just throws his whole career, his employers, and himself under the bus for carmen to just be herself again. And the VILE thing and him being complicated with her again was just low on the consequences list for him because it was about Carmen first and foremost?

Like he was "winning ". He was on the "winning" side and he said its not winning if carmen is lost

How acme will really be good guy this good guy that and he's just like yeah yeah CARMEN needs to be ok. Not carmen sandiego inspiration to us all * CARMEN

And he's just left with a brand new path to follow

I'd need to tweak a lot but I can work with this mindset put my 👐 little RC hands on it

#red crackle thoughts #red crackle #text #that man loves her i cant believe it like wow #it just breaks my brain ev r y time i think about how selfless it is

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fatfemmefreaquency · 4 years ago

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I desperately want people to understand that you can love something and be mindful of its pitfalls at the same time.

I’m a devoted communist. I’m conscious that many times when socialism/ communism has been implemented in the past, it’s been under authoritarianism or has developed into authoritarianism. As an anarchist, I’m naturally deeply disturbed by that pattern.

I love cottagecore. It’s an escapist fantasy of mine, it brings me great joy as an aesthetic and a set of values/ desires. I can hold that in tension with the fact that as a settler, my land-owning fantasy has an inherent violence and isn’t necessarily a healthy way to envision my relationship to the land I live on.

I fucking love cookies. But if I eat all the cookies I want, that’s not a healthy life choice.

I enjoy watching copaganda shows. They’re pure, escapist fun for me. Procedurals of all kinds (legal, medical, cop, etc) are my favourite type of tv to watch. But cop shows romanticize law enforcement. They’re pure fantasy, and they are designed to instil in us the belief that cops are good and fair. The police also constantly break the law in these shows and that’s consistently portrayed as a good thing, not human rights violations.

Medical procedurals are often ableist as all get out. Legal procedurals make lawyers seem like scrupulous and Justice oriented individuals.

These are deep and significant flaws, and/ or serious ethical conundrums.

And they all affect things that I find to be primarily escapist or pie-in-the-sky probably won’t happen values/ ethics/ dreams of mine.

Doesn’t mean the criticism isn’t still important.

#discourse #cottagecore #food mention #copaganda shows #copaganda #procedural tv shows #procedurals #ancom

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songofclarity · 4 years ago

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There is such inherent romanticism with Lan XiChen and Nie MingJue recognizing one another at the garden of the Damsel of Annual Blossoms in Tanzhou. It is the parallel of spirits waiting to be reminded of the one they love and the broken pieces of an abandoned garden where once everything was grand and beautiful.

Lan XiChen is night hunting not far from this garden before the scene takes place. With the hope of running into him, Wangxian and the juniors pick it as a campsite.

The garden was big and majestic yet had no-one to care for it...

In the garden, there was a pavilion and a few fences, a table and a few stools, all made of stone, for people to enjoy the scenery. However, through years of wind and rain, one corner had fallen off the pavilion and two of the stools had toppled over. There were no plants or flowers in the garden, only brittle branches and withered leaves. This garden had been abandoned since a long time ago.

[Ch. 45, Exiled Rebel Translations]

The place is now in a sorry state. Abandoned, beaten, gone to ruin. Where once a few stools stood, just as three sworn brothers once stood, now only one remains. There is no lovely scenery to enjoy any longer, however, and so no one comes here anymore.

And yet it was once “big and majestic” and no doubt beautiful in its prime once the legend surrounding it is shared:

[Lan SiZhui,] "Ten years ago, an endless number of people would come to this garden." [Ch. 45]

Ten years ago is also within the realm of when Nie MingJue died. Both Nie MingJue and the garden had returned to the Earth since then, but that is now and this is then:

[Lan SiZhui,] “The legends have it that the earliest owner of the garden was a poet. He planted these flowers himself and treated them as friends, reciting poetry here everyday.” [Ch. 45]

Lan XiChen who planted the start of friendship. He no doubt desired companionship for himself like he would later desire someone to offer companionship to his little brother. To his new companion Nie MingJue, he played music. And not just any music: Lan XiChen found one of the more obscure and difficult pieces of music in the Lan collection, practiced and perfected it, and played it for Nie MingJue’s sake. He wanted Nie MingJue to live, to thrive, to bloom for years. It is a song like no other. A song played in an act of pure love.

Nie MingJue does not know much about music, just as a flower does not know much about the sun, but he senses the serene love endowed in those notes all the same. It is warm and beautiful and bright.

Consider then the parallel roles to this legend: the poet is Lan XiChen, the poems are music, and the spirit/damsel is Nie MingJue.

[Lan SiZhui,] “Affected by the emotions of the poetry, a spirit crystallized from the flora of the garden and became the Damsel of Annual Blossoms.” [Ch. 45]

Nie MingJue is effected by emotions the most out of anyone. By Baxia's fury, by the Song of Clarity's calm, by the Collection of Turmoil's chaos, by his own desires. As a fierce corpse, his body is animated by his spirit alone, effected solely by emotions. It is resentful energy which drives him now, but that was not always the case.

No one would accuse Nie MingJue of being flower-like, but his realm has always been a garden where he has protected green and growing things. It is no accident that the two most artistic characters with elegant hobbies, Lan XiChen and Nie HuaiSang, are the two people closest to him.

So Nie MingJue is like the Damsel who is not technically a flower, either, despite being in the garden.

Both Nie MingJue and the Damsel have also become spirits who know only how to show love or wrath. There is no middle ground.

[Lan SiZhui,] “When someone came, if their poetry was decent and allowed her to remember the one who planted her, she would be happy and give them a flower.” [Ch. 45]

“Under the moonlight, if one should recite poetry, when she deems it fine, she grants them an annual blossom, the fragrance of which persists for three years.” [Ch. 45]

Poetry that allows the Damsel to remember the poet.

Music that allows Nie MingJue to remember Lan XiChen.

“Under the moonlight,” the legend says, is when this meeting should occur.

Lan XiChen arrives at night and brings his music with him.

[Lan SiZhui,] “If the poetry was wrong or did not sound pleasing, she would emerge from the bushes and hurl a flower onto the person’s face. The one who had been attacked would faint and realize that they had been thrown out of the garden after they woke up.” [Ch. 45]

Both the Damsel and Nie MingJue possess a savage temper. There are no more flowers in this garden for throwing, however, which calls upon other means should the offering not suit. The smashed tree is evidence of that.

Three men approach with music: Wei WuXian, Lan WangJi, and Lan XiChen.

Lan WangJi and Wei WuXian are the first to offer their music to the spirit of Nie MingJue:

Taking out his guqin, [Lan WangJi] looked down and curved his finger, plucking one string. As if it was a formless arrow, the sound whistled as it whipped toward the corpse. The headless corpse slashed with the sword and fractured the note into pieces. Lan WangJi strummed downward. All seven strings vibrated, singing with even greater power. At the same time, Wei WuXian pulled out his bamboo flute and accompanied with an abnormally shrill pitch. It was as though the sharp blades of swords and sabers rained down from the sky!

The headless corpse lunged again. [Ch. 46]

It’s no good. Nie MingJue also wields Bichen at this point so his power is second to none. Their music isn't pleasing to him. It has no effect on him. Their music reminds him of no one. It is aggressive and fierce and battle ready, so he fights back. He moves to strike them down, to knock them out, to cast them out of the garden.

Once Lan XiChen recovers his senses, he offers his music next.

Even after a decade when such memories ought to have blurred and faded, he recognizes Nie MingJue by the shape and movement of his body. Rather than attack, his music is soothing. It is serene. It is kind when Nie MingJue has only known fury.

Nie MingJue is an angry spirit, a corpse standing in the graveyard of a once majestic garden, but Lan XiChen’s music reaches out with a gentle touch because this is the spirit of the one he loves, the companion who was always by his side, the one he had played for everyday when the garden was lush and full and they were together.

Raising Liebing to his lips, [Lan XiChen] started to play as well. Wei WuXian didn’t know if it was only his imagination, but as soon as the soft, serene tone of the xiao appeared, the corpse’s movement paused. For a moment, he seemed to have stood still and listened, then turned around, as though he wanted to see who was the one playing the music. [Ch. 46]

Nie MingJue knows this music. The music, the poem, that reminds him of his musician, his poet. Unlike Wangxian’s music, there is no mention that this music has any special technique. It could very well just be a song.

A song played by Lan XiChen for Nie MingJue.

Nie MingJue, who lacks a head, does not need ears to know this song is as pleasing as it is familiar. Lan XiChen’s music is part of Nie MingJue’s very spirit, a part of his very soul. Lan XiChen had planted a seed deep in Nie MingJue’s heart long ago and it lies there still, forever ready to grow.

And there the musician and his spirit meet again, but not as they once were. The once beautiful garden lies broken in the wake of their absence just as Nie MingJue will in moments lie broken, too, in the absence of Lan XiChen’s music.

Broken but not forgotten. A flower needs sunlight to grow and love cannot thrive on its own, but even abandoned it is not forgotten. This is a garden under Gusu Lan jurisdiction. Lan XiChen night hunts nearby. He will have seen this barren, broken place time and time again. A place for two lovers to sit and enjoy the scenery, to enjoy each other's company, before finally returning home.

And after ten years of the garden lying in wait, ten years after they lay apart, it is in this place that Lan XiChen gets to play for him again, and it is in this place that Nie MingJue's spirit once more falls in love with him.

#nielan #nie mingjue #lan xichen #mdzs quotes #mdzs thoughts #nmj surrounded by flowers: i love to see it #except the flowers are all gone by now #except the one lxc carries in his heart #this kind of went off but #i love my nielan crumbs #the strongest memories are tied to smell #once upon a time nmj and lxc in the garden #and even with the flowers gone lxc still remembers

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maryqueenofmurder · 5 years ago

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Impulse x Grian x Ren

Part 1: Impulse x Grian x Ren

Part 2: Impulse x Grian x Ren

Part 3: Impulse x Grian x Ren

Part 4: Impulse x Grian x Ren

Part 5: Impulse x Grian x Ren

Ren had been ecstatic to hear about “Grian’s” invitation on a “date”. He’d been so happy, he didn’t bother to wonder why Impulse had been talking to Grian, or how fishy the whole thing sounded. When would Grian get the time to make spaghetti? The two were clearly meant for each other.

The daylight is fast fading, however. Impulse headed to the hippie camp and whips up some spaghetti. Mmmm, pasta. He puts down one big plate with two servings on it, puts one serving on a seperate plate, then adds sauce to both.

Impulse sends a longing look at the table. He could imagine Grian and Ren sitting there so vividly he could almost see it. He wished he could be there with them.

Not like on a date or anything, Impulse hurried to clarify to himself. Just. The idea of them without him feels wrong. He’s probably having Grian withdrawals. Spending time apart has simply made him long for the other all the more. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, and all that.

Impulse shakes himself out of his stupor, and heads off. He’ll leave them alone for this. He can just watch the sunset by himself. Eating his plate of spaghetti alone. He let out a sigh that he couldn't understand. Why is he feeling this way? Does missing them so deeply mean their friendship is strong, or fragile?

-----------------------------------------------------------

Ren and Grian arrived at the hippie camp around the same time, barely missing Impulse, who had hung around almost too long. Each assumed the other had set up the date, had stepped out to do something, and just returned. Ren sat down first, staring at Grian giddily. He could hardly believe this was actually happening.

Grian also took a seat, never taking his eyes off Ren. Until he looked down at his plate. He instantly noticed the singular dish. Remembering how it often turned out in movies, Grian went bright red, and squeaked.

“S-So, how was your day?” Grian asked, internally cursing his own awkwardness.

“Better now that I’m with you.” Ren winked, smiling in a way that made Grian’s heart flutter and his face grow redder. Ren reached out and took Grian’s hand in his own, linking their fingers together and setting their now joined hands on the table.

“So how was your day, sugar?” Ren smirked. Grian was sure he was going to melt any moment now. A flirty Ren is no small matter, but Grian chose to rise to the challenge, and woo Ren as well.

“I have been counting the seconds until I saw your gorgeous face, darling." Grian purred, the pet name slipping off his tongue easily. Ren’s smile grew, and his eyes grew even brighter, but Grian wasn’t done yet.

“The sunset itself, in all its beauty, could not compare to you.” Grian said. This compliment was more personal, meaningful. Grian had, on many an occasion, remarked on the awe of witnessing a sunset, of its inherent romanticism, of the appealing nature of its colors.Ren, fittingly, went red, resembling the sunsets he loved so much.

Ren, not one to be outdone, twirled some spaghetti onto his fork. Instead of eating it himself, he brought it to Grian’s lips, giving him a sly smile. Grian’s eyes flicked down at the fork, then back up to Ren. Grian leaned forward, and slurped the spaghetti. His eyebrows rose, showing his surprise. He hastily chewed his mouthful, and swallowed.

“This is good!” Grian twirled some spaghetti onto his fork, and poked Ren in the mouth with it. “Dude, try some!” Ren ate the spaghetti off the fork, then made a pleased noise. He put spaghetti back on his fork, and gave it to Grian.

That was how they ate their meal. Grian would feed Ren, and Ren would feed Grian. They unfortunately didn’t get their romantic spaghetti kiss, but they shared many laughs over their unorthodox way of eating.

“So.” Grian set down his fork. “I can’t tell you what I did, because it was Sahara business, but could you tell me what you did? Got to keep up to date on hippie business.” Grian said with a wink, as if it wasn’t just a thinly veiled ruse to listen to Ren. Ren was just so passionate in everything he did, including talking. Ren scooted his chair over to Grian, and rested his head on Grian’s shoulder.

“I woke Impulse up at six in the morning after I watched the sunrise so we could get stuff we needed, but he went to bed at two in the morning.” Ren sighed guiltily.

“A day with Impulse? Lucky. Anyway, if he agreed to go with you, he should be fine, Babe. Go on.” Grian said nonchalantly, though he knew Impulse always needed all the sleep he could get.

“Ok, so we started off by going to the shopping district. We bought the stuff on the hippie list, then restocked some shops. Impulse was kind of grumpy at first, but he cheered up quickly! He got really enthusiastic. Then we ran into Doc and Mumbo, who let me know how you were doing. He looked a bit down during it. Probably ‘cause Doc accused you of sneaking into Area 77.” Ren rambled, paying attention to the way Impulse had acted during the trip.

“Sounds like something I would do.” Grian chuckled.

“Then we afk’d at some farms to get the rest of the supplies. Impulse was a bit awkward, but we talked a lot. After that we grinded for a bit, then went home for lunch. …You know the rest.” Ren blushed slightly, remembering the events of earlier.

“Yeah?” Grian replied hesitantly, also going a bit red.

“Right, then Impulse dropped by and said you invited me on a date.” Ren continued, oblivious to Grian startling slightly.

“We went on our date, and now we’re here.” Ren finished.

“Impulse told you that I invited you on a date.” Grian asked tonelessly. Ren looked at him, noting the change, and nodded.

“Well he told me that you invited me on a date.” Grian finished, his eyes darting to Ren, and then to Impulse’s R.V.. Ren sat up from where he was lying on Grian’s shoulder.

“Did he ask you how you felt about me?” Ren inquired.

“I’m guessing he asked you too.” Grian realized. “He set us up.”

“I, for one, don’t really mind.” Ren admitted.

“Neither do I.” Grian smiled at Ren, admiring the way the moonlight hit his eyes, seeming to make them sparkle. Oh, the moon was high in the sky already.

“It’s getting late.” Grian said reluctantly. “I’ve got to go. We can watch the sunrise together, if you want? We can make it a date.” Grian got up, intending to hit the hay in his own R.V.. Ren grabbed his sleeve.

“Before you go, this is the most fun I’ve had in a while. I really felt a connection.” Ren hesitated, then forged ahead. “Do you want to be my boyfriend? Grian looked at him, then smiled a breathless grin.

“Yes.” Grian said. Then he headed off for the night. Ren stared at his retreating figure, framed in the moonlight. He then followed suit, and went to his own R.V..

Somewhere far away, moonlight hit Impulse as he sat by the cliff, causing the tears running down his sleeping face to gleam.

#impulse x grian x ren #hermitcraft #hermitship #grian #rendog #ren #impulsesv #grian x impulse x ren #impulse #renthedog #sorry this took so long #just #stuff #i'm lazy #that's stuff #plus writing flirting is somehow simultaneously easy and hard

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grelleswife · 3 years ago

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I'm reading some of your sebagni fics and I'm just 💕💕💕💕💕💕😭😭😭😭🎉🎉🎉🎉 it hits me right in my fluff loving heart "moonlight" "sunshine" "white rose" ya killing me and I love it! It's especially delightful because my partner calls me sunshine! I call xir starlight, because the love I get from xim is like the comfort from the night sky, to be wrapped in the light of a million celestial bodies, the ordeal of being know is not so horrifying. Now xir says I bring xim joy and all that good warm stuff the irony being I am lobster lady in sunlight kfjghg

Anyway enough gushing (oops I do that too often) it got me thinking about the love of sebangi, (maaaybe projecting too much hehe.) How the sun and moon love so tendey but fleetingly, an eclipse is the only time they seem to meet and yet we, mere observers stand in awe. The heavens and earth witness and we are pleased and delighted. Care not for the millions that see, let them rest.

I also love the potential long distance vibes. The sun sends light to the moon, always, like love letters with pressed flowers across the ocean. 🥺 imagine a slight AU where they are writing to each other, agni might not know Victorian flower language but he is receiving declarations of love in the pressed sprigs of flowers, little drawings of kitties, I AM WEAK

Okay I've rambled too long imma yeet myself 💖💖💖 thank you for the fluff!

Thank you for the sweet message!!! 😍💕😍💕 I like my Sebagni with an extra side order of fluff, and it’s great to know that other people enjoy that interpretation, too!

And YESSSSSS I am WEAK for thought of Sebagni love letters and the power of a bond that time, space, and their fundamentally different natures cannot sever. The inherent romanticism of flower language is an added bonus (and Sebas doodling little cats—AWWW 😻). I’m not sure if I’ll ever get around to writing it, but I had an idea for a modern human AU along similar lines where Agni and Seb meet over the Internet (because they live on separate continents), which forces them to conduct their long-distance courtship through phone calls, messaging, etc. (pretty sure “Kiss Me Through the Phone” is the working title I had in mind 🤔)

Thank you again for the note; I love to gush about my OTPs! And all the best to you and your partner—it sounds like y’all have a beautiful relationship. 💖

@squirreltastic

#submission #🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤#i’m grateful for the support! 🥰

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architectuul · 4 years ago

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FOMA 36: Unorthodox Neoptolemos Michaelides

Born in the 1920s, Neoptolemos Michaelides is considered till today one of the first representatives of modern Architecture in Cyprus.

Facade detail on the Michaelides residence. | Photo © Farhan Aljuboori

He studied Architecture in Milan, in the 1940s, under the mentorship of Gio Ponti and Bruno Zevi. After his studies he returned to Cyprus, building excessively across the county, regardless of the unstable political conditions of his time. In the 1970s, he became the first president of the Pancyprian Organization of Architectural Heritage. Poetic simplicity, structural expression, austerity, bioclimatic concerns, incorporating locally sourced materials with modern architecture principles, the absence of decorative elements are some of the attributes that have been used to describe his work ethos.

View of Theodotos Kanthos residence. | Photo via Architektoniki 55 (1966)

Today, Michaelides and his legacy though embraced by the general public, is often misinterpreted and romanticized by contemporary architects, reduced to structural complexity, formal grammar and aesthetic style, rather than understanding the architect’s fundamental role in the formation of contemporary conceptions about modernism and locality in the Cypriot context. On the other hand, there is a great lack of documentation regarding his work between the 1970s-1990s, with no proof as to whether his methodology and approach evolved through time. After his death, a lot of his buildings have either been neglected or unorthodoxly modified with irreversible interventions, raising concerns regarding the preservation of historic and cultural heritage in Cyprus.

The architect’s first projects, an abandoned Municipal Market, a Polykatoikia in the center of Nicosia, a house overlooking the Pedieos River and a Greek Orthodox Church. Based on archival research and critical analysis, this article will investigate the complex character of Neoptolemos Michaelides and unexplored aspects of his work, with the goal of uncovering his personal approach on modernism and regionalism, as expressed through his projects within a time span of twenty years.

Plan of Theodotos Kanthos residence. | Photo © Neoptolemos Michaelides

Although still a student, he designed the three bedroom house and atelier for the artist Theodotos Kanthos (1949), which is considered to be one of the first examples of buildings in Cyprus that incorporated the values and overall principals of Modern Architecture such as the use of pilots, no ornamentation, the clear distinction between structural system and non load-bearing elements and the functional separation. Interestingly, the residence’s ground level, was designed as a series of rooms: the artist’s atelier, the living room / kitchen and the garden connected through a sequence of different types of thresholds, that form spatial and visual continuities. The cantilevers and balconies of the upper level have a multidimensional purpose, bioclimatical and experiential. They control the natural light within the house and create an in-between space on the ground level where the exterior becomes part of the interior and vice versa. The adaptation of the building to the local climate conditions, the typology deriving from vernacular architectural references by Phokaides (2007), along with the use of local materials such as wood and local stone, was fundamental in Michaelides work.

Municipal Market in Athienou. | Photo © Politis Newspaper

Though abandoned, the Municipal Market in Athienou is another great example built in the 1950s, that combines the local limestone bricks with an exposed concrete structure. The building, as an urban entity, is situated in front of a church, connected by a square. Internally the building is characterized by a very clear typology.

The abandoned market. | Photo © Φ-Filippos-Κ via Flickr

It is shaped by the two parallel strips of vendor’s storage rooms and shops that surround an open plan space as an extension of the square, making references to the scale and typology of the traditional town markets. Prior to the division of the island, the building was the center of trade and commerce for the Mesaoria area, an area known for its agricultural fields.

Demetriou Apartment Building. | Photo © Constantinos Sideris

In 1957 the architect designed the Demetriou apartment building, situated in the center of Nicosia, next to the Venetian Walls. The ground level was used as an exhibition space and the owner’s offices, whereas the upper levels were comprised out of three residential apartments. The rooftop, a covered terrace, was left unfinished for the possibility of future expansion.

Demetriou Apartment Building | Photo © Haris Hadjivassiliou

The emblematic exposed concrete structural frame of the building with the repetitive horizontal elements that extent to sun protective louvers and balconies, create microclimatic conditions both in the external and internal space. This is more apparent in the street elevation of the building where the façade was designed intentionally for bioclimatic reasons with small openings and not the contrary as many would expect with a view of the old Town of Nicosia (Fereos, Phokaides, 2006). After the 2012 renovation of the building, this condition has changed, when the local architects in charge were asked to reconfigure the building to accommodate one luxury apartment in each level with a panoramic view of the city.

The renovation of the building where in each level a luxury apartment with a panoramic view of the city is introduced. | Photo © Costas Mavrokordatos

Michaelides designed and built as well his own house for him and his wife in mid 1960s. It is situated next to Pedieos river in Nicosia. After visiting the house, has Haris Hadjivassiliou written in Domus “The project’s form and ‘gestures’ are dictated by the elongated site on which it rests. Upon seeing this villa for the first time, one soon experiences its power to transfix and wonders at its inherent beauty. It is a home like a Minoan palace: majestic

House View From the Street / West Elevation | Photo © Georgakis

and yet humble; complex yet beautifully plain. It appears almost to float above the horizon, cushioned softly in its verdant surroundings. The receding white walls and projected grey slabs create horizontal zones and give the space its human and generic scales, which titillate the eye. There is a regularity, a rhythm to its structure and a refined, measured proportion to its composition”.

Neoptolemos Michaelides residence | Photo © Helene Binet

The house is developed in three levels, integrating in the design process, elements of the surrounding landscape. The common spaces and guest rooms are situated in the ground level, whereas the owner’s bedrooms on the second floor and on the third floor, lays the office, overlooking the river.

Ground and second floor of the residence. | Photo via Farhan Aljuboori

The common spaces extend to the exterior space through patios while cantilevers and balconies control the natural light and create resting spaces within the garden. | Photo via Farhan Aljuboori

The concrete, marble, steel and wood are used in a very precise systematic way. The vaulted roof, the staircases, characterized by plasticity and the wooden railing, left untreated and used in its exact raw form, create a visual dialogue with the exposed structural system of the house and the architect’s clear and simple design guidelines.

Beyond the bioclimatic principles that are evident, one could argue that Michaelides house was designed from within. The detail used for the making of the interior space, had very much to do on the one hand with incorporating his art pieces, installations and historical artifacts and on the other, to best take advantage of the river and garden views as his way to embrace the local context.

An exterior view of the Church. | Photo © Municipality of Strovolos

In the mid-1970s, the architect was commissioned by the Greek Orthodox Church of Cyprus, to build the Church of Apostle Varnavas and Saint Makarios in the entrance of Nicosia. The building, made entirely by fairfaced concrete and limestone, consists of three continuous vaults that create dramatic height variations in the interior allowing natural light to enter the nave and become part of the religious practices, as it induces the sensorial experience of the structures.

The curves studied for the design of the section, are expressed also in the plan of the building, with curved walls embracing the altar and pouring light, not only vertically but horizontally as well, in a cross shaped way. The roof, which becomes part of the exterior walls and the apparatus for the experiential journey of the visitor reflects upon the architect’s method of reinterpreting local and historic references. In the case of the church it is very much evident, that he was influenced by the Basilicas. The matroneum, designed like an elevated amphitheatre, has a panoramic view of the altar which is also raised. On the south-east part of the church, the triangular shaped bell tower, as an autonomous element, points to the sky contributing to the building’s apparent monumentality.

An interior of the Church. | Photo © Haris Hadjivassiliou

Despite the Architect’s vision, the assigned church’s council raised concerns regarding the “unusual” aesthetic approach and with the consent of the Greek Orthodox Church of Cyprus made irreversible interventions to the building’s interior and exterior. Most of the surfaces were plastered, destroying the exposed concrete and decorated with religious drawings, replicating the Byzantine tradition. Chandeliers were placed to improve the lighting conditions for when recordings take place in religious cerenomies. A pair of crosses was also positioned in the exterior and the fenestration was replaced with stained glass. Despite the protests and campaigns of both the Architects Association of Cyprus and the Pancyprian Organization of Architectural Heritage, the Greek Orthodox Church of Cyprus ignored their position regarding the preservation of the building as one of high historic and cultural importance.

The plan view of the Church. | Photo © Neoptolemos Michaelides

Undoubtedly, the case of Neoptolemos Michaelides is exceptional within its own terms. The idea of locality, as interpreted by the architect, is not a stylistic choice but a deeper reflection on the adaption of modernity in the context of Cyprus. For Michaelides, locality was a matter of interest beyond materiality and bioclimatic principles as many may argued in the past. His interest in what constitutes locality contributed to the reinvention of traditional typologies which became more apparent in his projects thoughout the years. In an age when the philosophy of: Less is More is mainly understood as an aesthetic principle (Aureli, 2013), as would Pier Vittorio Aureli argue, the Church of Apostle Varnavas and Saint Makarios will always be an example on how unorthodox visions of minimalism and austerity, as ideological attributes, deriving from the economical, historical and sociopolitical sphere, can project alternative ways of understanding the art of living and therefore ourselves.

***

References:

Fereos, Phokaides. “Architecture in Cyprus Between the 1930s and 1970s” in “Modern Architecture in the Middle East” edited by E. Altan Ergut and B. Turan Özkaya, Docomomo 35, 2006.

Phokaides, P. “Cyprus: of islands and otherness” in “Other Modernisms: A Selection from the Docomomo Registers” edited by M.Kuipers and P. Tournikiotis, Docomomo 36, 2007.

Hadjivassiliou, H., Loizides, C. “Neoptolemos Michaelides | Dynamic in ecclesiastical architecture”, 2009.

Michael, A. “The Bioclimatic Dimension in the Architectural Work of Neoptolemos Michaelides”, Architecture Bulletin CAA, 2005.

—

#FOMA 36: Constantinos Marcou

Constantinos Marcou (London, 1988) is a writer, an architect and an urban designer. He studied Architecture at the University of Cyprus, continuing his studies at UCL where he received his Masters Degree in Urban Design. Following his studies, he became an editor for a local architectural magazine in which he wrote his column titled: “Chorographies”. His research projects investigate the complex relationship between architecture and socio-political reform in the context of emancipatory struggles. During the last years, he has been engaged with several projects, for which he received international recognition. One of which is the Bamiyan Cultural Center Design Competition organized by Unesco, the Republic of Korea and the Republic of Afghanistan, in which he received second prize runner –up, and the "Next Helsinki Competition" in which his project titled: Baltic Tale of Nothingness was shortlisted. He also competed at the “Europan 13” competition with the project: “Grounds for the Common” which was selected as one of the shortlisted entries. More recently he wrote the illustrated story “The Great Island of Replicas” that received an honorable mention at the 2019 Fairytales Competition, organized by Blank Space. In 2015 was invited to take part in the Tallinn Architecture Biennale.

#foma #forgotten masterpieces

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impliedscamp · 5 years ago

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some good jonmartin for the soul

The Sky Turns Green by Mugatu

Rating: Mature - Words: 5.7k - Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

AU where Jon and Martin confessed their feelings before the Unknowing and I am killed dead by the inherent romanticism of saying goodbye after the Tube’s turnstiles

The Pull Of You by redredred

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences - Words: 3.7k - Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

How Martin and Jon find their way back to each other. Any Martin POV will make me go absolutely feral, but this one in its simplicity feels so visceral that I had to pace around the room afterwards

one more thing by bramblecircuit

Rating: Mature - Words: 5k - Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Martin asks “Those things I make you feel…can you tell me one more of them?” and this kills the woman (the woman being me)

Office Party by whatdoyoumeanionlygetoneotp

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences - Words: 8k WIP - Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

At their first holiday party together, the archival assistants play snog, marry, avoid. It brings up things Martin would rather it hadn’t.

heaven-sent T.N.T. by sandpapersnowman

Rating: Explicit - Words: 3.6k Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Jon uses his beholding powers for naughty purposes hehe (Martin is Very okay with it *wink emoji*)

A Measure Outside the Lines by Rend_Herring

Rating: Explicit - Words: 23k - Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

What can I say that hasn’t been said by literally everyone else who had their asses handed to them by a 20+ thousand words character study with added sexy sexy height differences huh

La petite mort by luftballons99

Rating: Explicit - Words: 5k - Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Jon and Martin reap the rewards of being loved.

seen everything to see by dicaeopolis

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences - Words: 2.2k - Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Martin’s recovering from top surgery and asks for help. Jon comes running.

Under a light of my own by elephantastic

Rating: Explicit - Words: 2.7k - Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

TENDERNESS.

Style Choice by whatdoyoumeanionlygetoneotp

Rating: General Audiences - Words: 2k - Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

The intimacy of giving your loved one a haircut… unparalleled

look around, i need you by sandpapersnowman

Rating: Mature - Words: 1k - Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Snog the apocalypse away.

and cool their tea with sighs by palmcitrus

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences - Words: 4.8k - Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Sweaterboys make me fucking insane.

that sanguine expectation by witching

Rating: Mature - Words: 3.2k - Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

They are so disgustingly in love and nothing hurts also check part 2 for more sexy martin doing The Lift 👀

#fic rec #jonmartin #tma #pls enjoy

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chwetuan · 5 years ago

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coffee bean - ten x reader (a, f)

Coffee Bean: In which Ten turns your lonely life into something so much sweeter - like the taste of coffee and cream that lingers on his lips. college!au + exchangestudent!ten.

+ wc: 3.2k

+ genre: soft angst, fluff

+ song pairing: imported - jessie reyez ft 6lack

+ a/n: this fic is my baby. a few months ago when my writer’s block was intense, this was all i could work on. overtime, i went back to it whenever i felt my inspiration lacking. i hope you can feel my emotion through it, and above all, i hope you like it <3 - Z

You don’t think he meant to spill coffee on you. At least, you desperately hope not, because he was — honestly, to whatever higher power there was — the most beautiful human being you’d encountered in the mere two hours you’d been awake.

It’s shameful, how easily you can become infatuated with a stranger. You figure it’s all the books you read, all the stories about love at first sight and meeting “the one” — your inherent hopeless romanticism.

The reaction is delayed. You’re slow in plucking the napkins out of his hand and pressing them against the now ruined fabric of your shirt.

“Oh, my god - I’m so sorry. I’m sorry-“

He’s rushing to speak and stuttering an apology, awkwardly, as he picks the coffee cup off of the ground. His eyes are darting around your face, flicking downwards to the stain and the movements of your hand.

If it were anyone else, you wouldn’t be concerned about the the dryness of your lips or the pimple on your forehead. But, he’s cute, sloping nose and blonde-haired glory kind of cute.

“It’s fine. I don’t like shirts anyways.”

The words fly out of of your mouth faster than your mind can process them.

You want to facepalm yourself. You almost go to do it, but then you remember that there’s a pimple on your forehead and your hand is kinda sticky from the dried coffee.

“I mean, I like shirts, not just this shirt. I know I bought the shirt but it’s not my favorite or anything, you know? So it’s fine.”

The recovery is hardly smooth.

He smiles, and his eyes crinkle into little crescents, half-moons so beautiful you forget it’s broad daylight.

“I mean, the shirt is kinda cool, so I’m sorry about the coffee thing.”

“It’s just a white shirt. I can buy a 5 pack of Hanes shirts for like 6 bucks.” You take the empty coffee cup from his hand, stuffing the used napkins into it and shoving it in your backpack, mentally noting to throw it away later.

“I know, but you look cool in it.”

The more he talks, the more you pick up on an accent. Your geography is shit, and you can’t really guess where it’s from, but he’s definitely not from around here, you’d know if he was. I mean, you knew he wasn’t from the start, being that cute and that well-dressed — not a chance.

“So, what’s your name?”

“5 times 2.”

“Ten?”

“Ten.”

“Cool.”

~~~

The next time you run into Ten, it’s in the campus library. You look much different than you did on the day he spilled coffee on you. Instead of a white t-shirt and pair of jeans, you’re dressed in a bulky cardigan and a pair of leggings that scream cold weather with a chance of rain.

You take the gently-used book from his grasp.

“Ten.”

“T-shirt girl.”

The corner of your mouth tilts into something similar to a smile as you add the name of the book to his account. The edges are frayed, and the cover is worn. It’s called “The Vision of Modern Dance”, and on the cover is some woman frolicking. That’s the only way you can describe it. The program takes long to boot up, because the operating system is old as hell and the university hasn’t upgraded the library’s electronics since the early 2000s.

You wonder if you could ever be that graceful frolicking across a stage.

“Modern dance, huh.” You stall.

You wish the computer was modern. “Yeah. Never saw you as the librarian type, but somehow it’s very fitting.”

“Thanks.”

“Yeah, no problem.”

You hand the book over to him after a few minutes of slightly awkward silence.

“It’s yours for two weeks.”

He has a crossbody bag slung over his shoulder, it’s worn like the book he holds and he smiles as he puts it in his bag.

“See you in two weeks.”

~~~

You bump into Ten before the two weeks. To be precise, it’s a week later, on a boring Friday night outside of a convenience store about a block away from campus.

“T-shirt girl.”

It’s an odd way to continue addressing someone, but it still makes you smile.

“Ten. Have you forgotten my name?”

In the glow of the street light, his eyes twinkle and you can see the red color that’s settled on his cheeks. Maybe it’s the night air. He shakes his head.

“Beer?”

It’s only then that you notice the six-pack he’s holding, glass bottles clinking as he sets the case on the table in front of you.

“Okay.”

He nods and sits across from you, handing over a bottle and watching you open it on the edge of the table. It’s the cheap kind — the kind that reminds you of your teenage years, when you were less broke than you are now and much more stubborn.

“How’s your dance book?”

“Boring. Kinda good, but mostly boring.” He takes a sip. “What are you studying?”

Psychology.”

His brows raise momentarily. “Cool.”

“Thanks.”

He shrugs and it’s quiet again. It isn’t awkward, but you’re trying so hard not to stare at him and to stop yourself from grimacing as you sip the beer. It really does remind you of your teenage years.

The night air is chilly. You can hear the sounds of people talking and music playing faintly coming from inside the store. The sky is clear, because you’re nowhere near the city, and you can see the stars and the half-moon that remind you of his eyes.

You break the silence. “Where are you from?”

“All over.”

“Elaborate.”

“Well, Thailand.” He pauses, sipping again and leaning back in his seat. “But also Korea and China, for a bit.”

“How’d you end up here?”

He runs his fingers through his hair. It’s grown a bit since you first met him. The blonde is fading, melting into the color of honey, and his roots have started to grow out.

“I felt like I needed to push myself more. Be on my own. I won a few competitions back home-“

“Which home?”

He laughs, airy and mysterious like the person he is.

“All.”

You nod, sipping from the nearly empty bottle.

“It felt like everyone knew me. I couldn’t tell if the people around me wanted to be there because of me, or because of the attention. So, I left.”

“Good.”

“You think so?”

“Yeah, I mean,” You start, sitting up a little straighter. “My home life is pretty shit. I don’t go home during holidays and I don’t talk to my parents. My younger sister does good for herself, and it isn’t her fault everyone uses her and her money. I’ve tried to tell her that they are, but we always end up fighting. She doesn’t listen. I tried to tell her to leave. She’s young, and she’s more stubborn than I was. My family hates me for it. I wish she would leave, though.”

“You’re a good person.”

“Aren’t we all, at first?”

“We are. But not all of us say that way.”

“You’re right.”

“Beer?” He asks again, and the night continues on like that.

~~~

At the two week mark, Ten’s back in the library.

He’s wearing a university hoodie - the one that everyone buys during freshman year. Mid-terms are approaching, and the signs are seen on his face. He looks tired, bags under his eyes and all, but he still smiles that smile that could make anyone do anything.

“Hey, Ten.”

He nods in greeting, fishing into his shoulder bag and taking the book out. He’s playing with the rings on his fingers. You’ve counted four, three silver and one gold.

He’s looking at you like he wants to say something, and you know he does, because you’re a psychology major and while you may not be good with words, his body language says it all.

Whatever he wants to say is left unsaid. You don’t push and he leaves with a polite thank you and a shy smile.

~~~

It’s your birthday.

It’s your birthday and you’re crying in the bathroom.

Your shift ended four and a half minutes ago, but the tears keep falling.

No one calls you. Not even your sister.

You’re reminded of how lonely you are — classes all week, working in between, and nothing but the books to keep you company.

You wipe your tears and take deep breaths, and you feel stupid. You feel like your teenage self, and no one should feel like her, ever.

You feel like she’s watching you, with a sad smile on her face. She wants to reach out to you and hug you, tell you that she’s sorry and that it’s okay, because she knows how you feel and that no one has ever done that for her.

No one knows you better than yourself.

Eventually, you make your way out of the bathroom, head down watching your feet as you leave the library.

You’re only a few steps out of the exit when you bump into someone. You’re about to rush a sorry, but the person speaks before you do.

“We keep meeting like this.”

You freeze. It’s his voice and you freeze.

You don’t want to talk. Your throat is hoarse from silent crying and you don’t trust your voice. You look up briefly, giving what you hope is a smile. To Ten, it’s the saddest attempt he’s ever seen and he feels his heart sinking.

“Why are you crying?”

His reaction is instantaneous — a series of actions so smooth, you’d figure he’d done this a million times. He cups your face and wipes your tears with mittened fingertips. “Why are you crying?” He asks again.

He sounds hurt. He sounds like he just witnessed someone kick an innocent puppy, or a child who dropped their ice cream. He sounds that way because he’s a good person and he doesn’t want you to cry.

“You’re a good person, Ten.” Your voice cracks and you pull his hands away from your face, holding onto him and trying to calm yourself down.

“Please tell me why you’re crying.”

It’s almost like he’s pleading.

In the moment, it doesn’t occur to you that you hardly know this man.

“No reason. It’s okay-“

“People don’t cry for no reason.”

“Ten-“

“Where’s your coat? You don’t even have on a coat.” He begins fussing over you, because he doesn’t know what else to do. He’s never seen you like this before and it’s bothering him. You’re the closest thing he has to a friend in this unfamiliar town, even with your limited number of interactions.

It doesn’t occur to you that Ten is lonely, too.

He pulls you close to him and brushes stray hairs out of your face and he keeps rambling.

“You don’t cry for no reason. And you’re a psychology major so you definitely know that people don’t cry for no reason. Even if it’s for some underlying reason that doesn’t make itself obvious at first. And I’ve never seen you cry. You didn’t even cry when I spilled hot coffee on you. And it was hot.”

You push feebly at his chest. There’s no real effort because he’s warm, and no one has held you with such care in your entire life.

His fussing dwindles into quiet mumbling as your crying dies down.

~~~

Ten takes you to the 24-hour diner a few minutes away from campus.

He walks you to his car, a black sedan with leather seats that smell like vanilla and is filled with empty coffee cups and cd covers piled in the back.

Before you walk into the diner, he forces you into a hoodie, because, you don’t even have on a coat and it’s freezing outside.

He slides it over your head. “It’s clean, I promise.”

It’s the same university hoodie from a few weeks ago. It smells like soap and laundry detergent.

You sit at a booth in the far corner. Right next to a window. He sits across from you and orders your pancakes, and you watch as his earrings twinkle in the terrible lighting.

You can just barely make out your reflection in the window. You see your red nose and puffy eyes and fiddle with the hair tie around your wrist.

Like shit. You look like absolute shit. But you haven’t felt this shitty in awhile.

Ten stays silent. He watches you with his head resting in his palm. He nudges the warm drink towards you.

The smell of coffee is strong as you wrap your fingers around the mug, warmth settling into your fingertips.

“It’s my birthday.”

He nods.

“It made me realize that I’m lonely.”

Silence settles between you too as you focus on the coffee in front of you. You take a sip, the bitter liquid burning your tongue.

“I’m sorry.” You’ve heard that line more than once, sitting in this exact same diner. It’s never been sincere.

He’s being genuine— you know he is. He isn’t like the other guys that have taken you to this diner; The ones who don’t care about anything other than getting you in their beds, meddling their way into your heart and splitting it open when they leave.

“You don’t need to be.”

He reaches for your hand, running his thumb over chipped nail polish and the lines of your palm.

“Someone should,” He starts. “Someone should be sorry that a girl like you is lonely and hurting.”

You eat your pancakes in silence.

~~~

After that night, Ten, for lack of a better description, doesn’t leave you alone.

It’s not unwelcome — not in the slightest. A little overwhelming at times, because you’re not used to having someone look after you the way he does. He makes you nervous at times, with his attention to detail and the way that nothing ever slips past him.

Most nights, he meets you after your shift at the library is over, coffee cup in hand and the smell lingering on him. He walks you to your apartment and tells you about his day; the classes he’s taught, the songs he’s danced to. Some nights, you go to the diner. Others, you take his car and drive to the edge of town, watching the faraway city under starlight as soft music plays from his speaker.

The best nights are when he lets you come back to the practice room with him, where you sit on a pile of makeshift blankets and pillows in the corner and watch him with fascination until your eyes grow tired.

Some days, he brings takeout to your apartment, and you sit and talk until the sun goes down. He tells you about Thailand and all the places he’s been. Other days, you wander into the heart of town during markets and thrift sales.

The best days are when you curl up on the couch of his apartment, feet in his lap and that stupid freshman hoodie on as you watch reruns of old movies and tv shows.

And little by little, you stop feeling lonely.

~~~

Fall blends into winter, leaves no longer cover the limbs of trees, and somewhere along the lines, you feel a shift in your feelings. It’s hardly anything big, hardly anything obvious, but it’s just enough for you to know that something is different.

It’s small - the way you brush his bangs from his eyes, tuck the tags of his shirts in, and hug him a little longer than usual.

You don’t think he notices, and if he does, he refrains from bringing it up. You figure that it’s for the best; keeping the words unsaid like it’s your little secret.

It’s another one of those days where you’re cooped up in his apartment. But something is not right. He’s quieter than usual, knees pulled up to his chest as he stares at the tv screen. He’s not really paying attention, the way his gaze seems kind of far off.

“Hey.” You call softly, voice only a whisper above the movie. You’re only half an hour in, and at this point, it’s just become background noise while you stare at his profile in the dim lighting of the room.

He hums in response, turning to face you and stretching his legs.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah.” He nods, eyes tired and a slow smile coming to his lips. “I’m okay.”

“Okay.”

And the night goes on like that.

~~~

Ten wonders if lying is for the better when feelings are involved.

He isn’t lying, not necessarily. He is okay — he’s just confused. Conflicted.

He wants to tell you how he feels, but he’s scared. He’s scared of losing the security you guys have built around each other.

But it drives him crazy, little by little.

The way your hug him a little longer, the way you brush his hair out of his eyes.

~~~

It happens suddenly.

“Are you happy?” He questions one afternoon, eyes trained on your silhouette as you stare out the window of his apartment.

You don’t answer immediately, letting the question settle in the silence between you.

The answer scares you, because you are happy, and it’s been so long since you were.

The reason behind that scares you even more, because you’re happiest when you’re with him.

When the smell of coffee lingers in his apartment, when he makes you laugh so hard that tears prick the corners of your eyes.

When he absently brushes the hair from your face, when he reaches for your hand, or when he smiles at you with that smile that feels like it’s only for you.

You lose yourself in your thoughts, snapping out of it when you feel Ten’s palm gently, almost hesitantly, rest on the small of your back.

“You make me happy.” You mumble - words like a whisper, a secret you’ve never told.

The answer is simple enough, if you remove the extras and think about the way he makes your heart race, or the way you look for him when your world turns blue and grey.

The answer has always been simple. The answer has been four little letters etched onto the canvas of your heart. Four little letters you thought you’d never find — in yourself or in anyone else.

Four little letters.

In that moment, when you turn to face him, eyes finding his own and heart beating fast, you make the decision.

Your hands reach for his shirt, tugging him closer to you.

They travel across the planes of his chest, and find each other at the nape of his neck. He wouldn’t have stopped you, even if he needed to.

His arms wrap around you, warmth engulfing your bodies as his eyes find your own. He sees the universe inside of them.

You kiss him, letting your lips tell him all of your secrets and all things unsaid.

~~~

He’s a fool, he thinks, to have fallen so quickly in only a few months.

But, he knows. He knows that when the spring melts the ice on the river, winter fading into a distant memory while the world reverts to its color, he knows that together, you’ll bloom like the flowers around him.

You find those four little words in each other, and the rest turns into a memory, like the fall before winter.

And all that’s left is you and him, and the smell of coffee in the morning.

#nct scenarios #nct imagines #nct reactions #wayv scenarios #wayv reactions #wayv imagines #wayv fanfic #nct fanfic #kpop fluff #kpop reactions #kpop scenarios #ten x reader #nct x reader #wayv x reader #whew that was a long ass ride 2.0 because tumblre deleteed EVERYTHING i did #anyways am nervous to post sthis bcs it is not got7 #but regardless i hope you love :'(

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