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A lot of the time when I reblog jewellery on here, it’s art nouveau jewellery, because I really like art nouveau. In general, and in jewellery in particular. And most of that is the aesthetic. I like the natural forms, I like the twisty curly bits, I like the use of materials, I like how a lot of art nouveau jewellery is using metals and stones and other materials to create a specific form, an insect or a plant or a goddess or even sometimes nature scenes. I like …
I feel like a lot of the time with jewellery, it feels like ‘I’m going to use this object to show off the size and value of my pretty rock’. And there’s nothing wrong with that. Some of those rocks are indeed gorgeous. But art nouveau feels more ‘I’m going to use these pretty rocks, and several other things, to create the impact of this object’? I just love the use of materials, glass and enamel and colour, as well as precious stones and metals, to create a form or a scene.
Like, you get a diamond ring, it’s a diamond ring. But you get something like a dragonfly brooch (Louis Acoc):
Or a lilypad hair comb (Rene Lalique):
Or a wisteria branch (Georges Fouquet):
And it’s a whole creation. A little wearable piece of art.
And I don’t want to sound too dismissive. I know the craftmanship and skill and artistry that goes into any kind of jewellery making. That diamond ring took skill I will never have. I just.
I like the emphasis on form more than material that you get with art nouveau. Like normally you hear ‘glass jewellery’, ‘enamel jewellery’, and it’s cheap, it’s frowned upon, but in art nouveau it’s what that glass or enamel was used to make that’s the important part:
(Rene Lalique)
(Eugene Feuillatre)
Anyway. In summary, I really, really, really like art nouveau jewellery?
Shang Qinghua created Mobei Jun as his dream man, but also Mobei Jun's dream man is Shang Qinghua, meaning they both find each other irresistible no matter what world
I just realized that Bakugo’s house has at least 2 fucking balconies and is legit 3 stories
I could literally get fucking lost in there, why does no one mention that he lives in an actual McMansion???
Knowing that he grew up in that kinda of wealth(in the same neighborhood as Izuku-King of the paupers??) really kinda repaints the fact that he’s naturally gifted at everything he does too
The absolute biggest thing I've learned as a trans guy: there is nothing more masculine and manly than not caring about looking or acting masculine or manly. Growing your masculinity or manhood takes time and care - you have no obligation to let the world water your garden when you can do that just fine (and you can, even if it doesn't feel like you can!)
You’ll just be casually watching nbc Hannibal and Will graham will suddenly drop the most romantic line you’ve ever heard, and you just have to pause the episode and stare at a wall to digest that shit.
characters: red-haired shanks, gn!reader
warnings: fluff
a/n:
- i'll take requests for more of this "series"!!! i kinda wanna do sanji and ace hehe
- HOLY SHIT HE'S SO FINE!!!! LIKE DAMN- OMG SHANKS??? SHANKS?!?!?!
- feedback is appreciated!
part one (shanks) // part two (ace) // part three (buggy)
when shanks loves you, there is no doubt about it. it's so painfully obvious when he's in love, heart fluttering as if he's an old school boy and butterflies in his stomach erupting whenever you're around him. the blush on his cheeks rivals the shade of red his infamous hair and his tongue turns to lead around you.
"benn, shut up!" shanks whisper-shouts, pressing his hand over his face and trying to cover up as much of his blushing face as possible. his voice is muffled yet anyone could hear the whine in his voice. "y/n can hear you!"
his black-haired first mate simply sighs heavily, resigned to his fate as shanks' cupid. "that's the whole point, captain!"
shanks points at him, cheeks flushed.
"not another word!"
benn only rolls his eyes but shanks could see the glimmer of amusement in them.
when shanks loves you, you learn to love his way of expressing affection - physical affection. whether it is him holding you by the waist in a death grip whenever a storm hits whilst he's steering the wheel or at the quiet moments in the middle of the night and he's the little spoon embraced by you, you learn to love the amount of warmth he emits and the little featherlight kisses he presses on instinct.
"mhmm," shanks sighs and scoots closer to you. he buries himself in your arms, smiling widely. "this feels...nice...."
you pet his hair, and the grin expands. he loves the way your fingers gently ran through his messy red hair, careful to not pull any knots, and the soothing action almost makes him fall asleep.
"you like this?" you tease and even with his eyes closed, shanks could imagine the way your eyes would twinkle.
"yeah," shanks presses a kiss to the underside of your jaw before nuzzling into you. taking a deep breath of your scent, he mumbles something one last time before falling asleep.
"i love it."
when shanks loves you, there is nothing in the world holding him back from showing just how much he loves you. he's an emperor, what's the point of coveting so much berry when he can spend it all on you? there's no greater joy than seeing the look on your face when he comes back, gifts in tow. even though you chide him for spending so much berry on you, you're grinning nonetheless and his heart stops. it's a routine on every island he and his crew stop at, one that he intends to do until he can't anymore.
"shanks!" you run down the plank and tackle him in a hug. his arm cradles the back of your head, pushing it closer to him as if he's trying to mold you together with him. "you're back!"
"always, love," he gives you a light kiss before picking up the almost-forgotten bags. he shakes them, smiling. "got you something."
you sigh playfully but took it in hand. gosh- the way your eyes glittered and the way you kept biting your lip to prevent the big smile from erupting on your face...shanks would do anything to keep it there.
"you can't keep buying me more stuff! spend the berry on your crew!"
although you say this, shanks knows, without a doubt, that you're going to squeal over each item he bought and keep them pristine in your cupboard. including the cheesy (you called it cringe) mug that red '#1 lover!!' and the matching ('cliche' you called it) pair of silly duck shoes., you'll treasure them all.
when shanks loves you, he loves you. heart, soul, mind, body, you can have it all, as long as he can have you in return.
"i like you," shanks says, cheeks blushing as he confesses to you first.
"love ya," he presses a kiss to your head as you wake up, a giant grin on his face as always.
"i love you," shanks cradles your face in his, hand shaking as he realizes that he could have lost you. he would do anything to bring you back if that happened; hell hath no fury like a pirate scorned when he found your murderer. he realizes that the moment the sword descended on you and almost pierced through skin that perhaps...perhaps you were the 'one' that rayleigh mentioned all the time. "i love you, y/n. don't ever leave me...please."
Gold melts into the dirt, bleeds into the very earth that you'd molded by your own hands – a familiarity you do not understand the source of – you know it to be true, yet you do not remember it as Teyvat does. It weeps, in turn, for the way you bleed upon it, the way your lungs strain for breath.
It is fury and sorrow and fear and hatred so raw that your mind buckles.
You will die.
"A dying godling and its judge, it's jury – it's executioners," The voice is hollow and cold, sweeps across your broken body like the first chill of winter, "Archons who saw themselves Gods, now brought to heel by their own hubris."
A cold hand upon your cheek, the brush of a thumb across your lip, the gentle caress of cold across your skin. You know her – you don't remember, you shouldn't recognize her but you do – and she knows you. The cold beckons and you follow, let her kindness settle in the hollow space of your chest. You want to speak, to cry and scream and rage, let the world burn around you in a fit of flames so hot even she cannot contain it – but she silences you, quiets the anger seeping into your blood, quiets Teyvat itself.
"Do not speak, little godling. Guide my hand," She is cold; her hands are not gentle, yet it is bliss compared to the callous, cruel hands that have shattered you. She is cruel and cold and brutal but she is love in the way she kisses the crown of your head. She is love in the way she is the bulwark between you and the world that has scorned you – she is fury in the way she brings them to their knees. "And I shall enact judgement most divine."
They will pray for forgiveness, and they shall find themselves wanting.
"It wasn't our fault!" They cry, but you cannot recognize the voice – it breaks and cracks like glass. "They were too human. How were we meant to know? We– we thought they were.."
Silence.
You watch your judge – the executioner, the blade that shall carve their sins into the very marrow of Teyvat, stand above you like death. As cold as winter and just as brutal. Your temple has been painted in the gold of your divine blood, and she shall complete the masterpiece with their own. The Archons shall become the grandest art in the world – this temple the canvas, their blood the paint and their bodies the palette. The cold that cuts sinew cradles you – it sings to you, whispers sweetly in your ear and carves bone from body in the same breath. The cold presses it's lips to your wrist and it cradles a heart within it's palm – judges them and finds them guilty.
It is her spear that rests between their ribs, her sword that dissects and her dagger that carves – the cold devours.
In the breadth of this divine sanctuary, the Archons dwindle. They become the pieces of a divine work of art, they bleed and bend and break upon her hands. She shakes the heavens and carves mortality into the bones of the divine – your word is Law, and you weave their deaths into the roots of Teyvat itself.
They shall know of their grand folly in every moment henceforth and longer still and they shall weep.
And as the curtain falls, as the world crumbles beneath fist and blade, she cradles your face between hands too cold – as gentle as a shard of ice between your ribs, as brutal as the kiss of gentle snowfall. The world buckles at the loss of six, but she alone does not allow it to break – you will have to mend the wounds of the world when you are well, but today you weep and Teyvat weeps with you.
And alone, the cold remains.
Stone has eroded, the wind has ceased, the flames have been extinguished, the storm has been silenced, the forests have gone quiet and the seas go still.
But the cold remains, bathed in gold.
It wraps you in thick furs, cradles you against the winter storm that brews beneath a veneer of composure. It brings you home – lets the world settle into a stillness and silence that inspires only dread and still she presses a kiss to your brow.
It is cold, but there has never been something so warm.
Where hands have broken you, she drapes you in furs, wipes away the thick gold that clings to your skin. She pieces you back together where you have been shattered, reshapes you where you have been bent – makes of you something new. Not a god and not a mortal but something wedged between them.
But you are yourself.
And you are where you belong.
They shall put you back together and you shall know only the worship worthy of the divine. They shall carve this world into your image, tear out and burn away the rot that festers.
All you need to do is say the word and they shall be your tools to make this world your own.
One word and those who wronged you shall burn, too.
Just one word. That's all it takes, and they shall take away your pain.
I'm sincerely very happy for anyone who is enjoying the show but every time I see takes that the show has improved the book characterizations or that the book characters are underdeveloped in comparison to the show...
I think my favorite thing about Katya/Sofia is the way that, in their final scenes, they end up thematically switching places with one another in how they're set up as foils to one another through the rest of the film
Sofia, who starts off beholden to no one in terms of loyalty, family connections, patronage, etc; who to Katya represents a (very idealized) notion of freedom that she envies but can't access - ends up leaving with the collection of her mother's belongings that she was finally able to buy back (which does incidentally include a watch, where she hadn't been associated with that motif much up until then!). It's a better ending than most (since she, y'know, lives), but even then she's still fundamentally unfulfilled, because the ties she developed to Katya, the ones she wanted to maybe start building a life around, have been irreparably severed.
Meanwhile, Katya has been the nexus of so many personal ties of obligation through most of the film, even as she resents what they've contorted her life into. But she makes her ultimate decision to betray Goncharov and the goals she'd been helping him toward up until then, as a selfish one for nobody else's benefit, giving up the life of prestige she had/was close to having so that she wouldn't be emotionally tied down by the relationship they once had, the system of connections and favors and debts she came from. (Incidentally, this is why I think her plan was to fake her death, even if it's left ambiguous in the actual scene; what else could be a more complete severing of connections that would allow you to become a new, unburdened person entirely?) The fact that she's not thinking of Sofia as affected by her decision, because she's not thinking of her as a part of that same web of connections, is what makes that unintentional second betrayal so tragic! But even so, it means she ends in a place similar to what we first see as Sofia's position - independent and able to make her own way in the world, but having sacrificed something she didn't realize she'd miss for it, until after the deed was already done.