juxtapositions

Okay but honestly? The tea ceremony scene was just as intense as Ashi’s rampage against the hoard. They were both spectacular and intense in their own completely different ways.

Ashi’s is a stellar action sequence, and your heart races as you watch her stand tall against a literal army, turning their own weapons against them, dodging death at every turn, and visibly sweating from the stress and exertion.

And then it hard cuts to Jack, sitting perfectly still, eyes closed, preparing tea for a monk with a level of care that can only be described as reverent. No music, no dialogue. You hear only the sounds of the utensils as Jack works in silence. There’s a whole other kind of intensity to that, and putting it side by side with Ashi’s battle really makes it shine.

And just when you think the juxtaposition couldn’t get any better, Genndy takes it a step further, as Ashi’s mother and Jack’s internal demon return. Now they are both fighting their worst enemies: Jack fights himself as he attempts to come to terms with his struggles, his anger, and his suffering, while Ashi finally stands up to her mother, the final link to her own past, and brings her to task for the lifestyle she forced on Ashi. And when both are defeated, Jack returns not only to his body, but to his old self - to the person he left behind when he let his anger take control of him. And just like Ashi, he transforms physically to represent that.

This series is an incredible work of art, and I can’t wait to see how Genndy pulls it all together in the end.

XCVIII - Small Thoughts

Yet another absolutely amazing episode. The juxtaposition of Jack and Ashi fighting their inner demons was perfect. It is amazing how they can have two completely contrasting scenes and have them work well together. They served as a great metaphor for balance. Ashi defeating her mother gave her much needed closure on whether or not she’s doing the right thing. The opening sequence was great for showcasing how Jack managed to go off the deep end and give full context as to how he lost his sword. Jack searching for the right path to find his sword worked well to say he needed to find the path to himself. Ashi was a complete badass. It works because she’s not stronger than Jack but she still has a lot of cruel training under her belt to say she is a force to be reckoned with. The fight was great because she clearly had some frustration to let out. This episode, like all the other episodes, was pure perfection and a great way for our heroes to get closure.

Originally posted by doafhat

3

Wild Theory Saturday!

Throughout Voltron: Legendary Defender, Shiro and Voltron are shown interchangeably - first in S1E1 when Voltron attacks Sendak’s cruiser, followed by S1E3 in which Shiro and Voltron fight the same Robeast (simultaneously), and most noticeably during Voltron’s last attack upon Zarkon in S2E13. 

Shiro fought and defeated several warriors before becoming the Black Paladin, but this juxtaposition of robot and man shows Shiro is the decisive head of Voltron isn’t just a paladin. He’s the actual spirit of the GoLion, the original robot who attacked a goddess centuries ago AFTER he, GoLion, defeated several “Beastmen.” 

baebae-goodnight  asked:

" forget I even asked you" ...... Jackson Wang. 🙏🏼✌🏼😘

fakedating!au

“Do you want to make this real?”

It is in the middle of the night that he asks you, quiet and wary in such a juxtaposition to his usual confidence that the question almost doesn’t register.

Jackson’s bedroom is comforting, the smell of his shampoo clinging to the pillow your head rests on, photos of him with family and friends at different ages scattering the walls, a row of childhood trophies standing proudly on a shelf.

Three days ago, when you and Jackson had set your bags down by the wardrobe and rubbed at the stiffness in your necks after the journey, he had sheepishly apologized for the size of his room. You had brushed him off, not fully realizing at the time just how close to two of you would be for the next week.

He is next to you, his body a little stiff with anticipation for your response.

It was two days ago that you kissed for the first time. Jackson had been summoned for his suit fitting as well as last minute wedding duties and had pressed his lips to yours in a chaste goodbye for the benefit of his family. His beaming smile was aimed at you, however, when he left a few seconds later, and you found yourself entertaining the possibility of it happening again in a less voyeuristic, theatrical sense. Then his mother had asked your opinion on earrings so you let the thought fall from your mind, tips of your ears still reddened.

You shift on the bed to face him, the proximity causing your chest to graze his arm. He doesn’t look at you, his gaze steady on the ceiling above him.

A day ago Jackson had held your hand as the two of you went shopping. You had both convinced yourself that it was a part of the act, despite the fact that you were alone. Better get into habits, you had suggested. When Jackson had pressed a kiss to your cheek you had smiled sweetly and kept your whirring thoughts to yourself, pressing them to the back of your head to deal with after the week was over.

Jackson clears his throat. “Forget I even asked you.”

It was barely a few hours ago that Jackson had relayed the story of your relationship with his family when his uncle asked. The room had been crowded, all seats taken. It was only efficient, and in keeping with the charade, that you perched on his lap. Jackson had laughed fondly at your surprised gasp as his arms had wrapped around you and pulled you in. You took it in turns talking about where you first met, the coffee shop you frequent enough for the barista to no longer ask for your names, when you knew you had fallen for each other. At some point, you had realized you weren’t lying at all.

“I don’t want to forget. Of course, I want it to be real.”

The next time you watch FOTR, I highly suggest putting the subtitles on after Gandalf enters Bag End so you can read what Bilbo is saying in the background.

Gandalf: *discovers the map Bilbo has treasured for 60 years as a remembrance of his life-changing adventure*

Bilbo:

Moon Sign & House Overlay

(This post is about synastry. May also apply to Venus signs. All planets count, but the malefics [Mars, Saturn, Uranus, Neptune, Pluto] will lots of need work. As always, there can be exceptions depending on the rest of the chart.)


Aries moons should be in relationships with people who have planets that fall in their 1st house. It fulfills their need for competition, confrontation, validation, camaraderie, openness, excitement, liveliness, and encouragement.

Taurus moons should be in relationships with people who have planets that fall in their 2nd house. It fulfills their need for indulgence, pampering, leisure, homemaking, patience, dependability, shared values, and pragmatism.

Gemini moons should be in relationships with people who have planets that fall in their 3rd house. It fulfills their need for intrigue, conversation, humor, silliness, teasing, communication, wit, a mental bond, and gossip.

Cancer moons should be in relationships with people who have planets that fall in their 4th house. It fulfills their need for comfort, nurturance, privacy, sympathy, closeness, familiarity, safety, rapport, sensitivity, and stability.

Leo moons should be in relationships with people who have planets that fall in their 5th house. It fulfills their need for passion, entertainment, delight, creativity, attention, affection, romance, creativity, and gratification.

Virgo moons should be in relationships with people who have planets that fall in their 6th house. It fulfills their need for care, help, appreciation, relief, teamwork, support, selflessness, acknowledgement, and being listened to.

Libra moons should be in relationships with people who have planets that fall in their 7th house. It fulfills their need for an other half, completion, balance, juxtaposition, self-discovery, being complemented, and being understood.

Scorpio moons should be in relationships with people who have planets that fall in their 8th house. It fulfills their need for depth, intensity, passion, mystery, power dynamics, intimacy, extreme connection, and being discovered.

Sagittarius moons should be in relationships with people who have planets that fall in their 9th house. It fulfills their need for adventure, recklessness, openness, abundant possibilities, and philosophical/intellectual stimulation.

Capricorn moons should be in relationships with people who have planets that fall in their 10th house. It fulfills their need for recognition, being believed in, motivation, fortification, progress, and worldly presence/impact.

Aquarius moons should be in relationships with people who have planets that fall in their 11th house. It fulfills their need for community, friendship, unity, purpose, acknowledgement of potential, hope, faith, and mutual goals.

Pisces moons should be in relationships with people who have planets that fall in their 12th house. It fulfills their need for spiritual union, magic, fantasy, illusion (or disillusion), contact with the soul, revelation, and self-analysis.

10

Bibliothèque Nationale de France in Paris

The historical and structural studies, conducted by Bruno Gaudin Architectes to discover the issues specific to the structure, brought to light an extraordinary juxtaposition of spaces within the structure. The assessment also revealed the necessity of including multiple areas within the intervention to restore Bibliothèque Nationale de France to its use and splendor. 

To launch the project for the rehabilitation of the Richelieu Quadrangle was therefore, to accept the challenges of a polymorphic building whose architectural strata required the elaboration of not one but several different projects: one aimed at the great scale of the site, one concerning distribution and reception; and multiple projects targeting the renovation of specific rooms, each having its individual issues and requirements.  The team of Bruno Gaudin Architectes and Virginie Bréga developed different typologies of “weaves”, which set up a dialog between Architecture, History and Techniques. A vision that guided the necessary and profound changes the structure underwent.

Follow the Source Link for image sources and more information.

6

Birds Painted on Pharmaceutical Packaging by Sara Landeta

Madrid-based artist Sara Landeta is using an unexpected canvas for her paintings… unfolded pharmaceutical boxes! 

Titled Medicine as Metaphor (referring to Susan Sontag’s ‘illness as metaphor’ writings), Landeta paints the animal often associated with freedom — the bird —  onto these boxes, creatively drawing parallels to medicines holding patients in captivity. 

“This juxtaposition of the natural and synthetic interprets the patient as a captive animal, and the bird as its metaphor,” explains Landeta. See her works up close here.

Instagram.com/wetheurban

i’m not sure how to articulate this at all, but the juxtaposition of harry having all these iconic firsts at the beginning of his solo career–being interviewed by paul mccartney for his first solo magazine, cameron crowe for a rolling stone cover for his first album, his first live performance on snl, his first film directed by christopher nolan–because he’s already Somebody and him choosing to take them on, to take these huge risks and put himself out there? choosing to stand up, nervous and shaking, for the first time as a solo artist on live television on a show that famously makes or breaks people’s cares is just amazing to me? 

like i keep thinking of gemma’s quote in another man:

Everything he does seemed to be effortless, even now; watching him leap around a stage in front of thousands of people, he seems untroubled and free from self-doubt. It’s easy to be jealous - he’s one of those people who are just good at things, we all know one - but to assume this means he takes it all for granted, or doesn’t worry, or try, would be oversimplifying him unfairly. His bundles of talent are a mixture of natural ability and intense heart.

it would be so easy for him to coast by, but that’s just not who he is. it’s not effortless, even if it seems that way. he’s so brave and careful and he works really fucking hard. he wants to be honest and make something real, something that he thinks is good and not just for the money. he doesn’t take the chances he’s been given for granted, and he doesn’t take one direction or the fans who helped get him here for granted, no matter how he gets treated in return. he’s just such a lovely person, and i’m so proud of him for being exactly who he is.

The Kissing Booth

A SnowBaz fanfiction


Simon

Once a year, usually in the spring, Watford stages a carnival for the students.  It’s usually quite humble, mainly consisting of booths selling small magic trinkets, or snacks like cotton candy, sweets and other classic carnival fare.  There’s always the tiny petting zoo over near the Cloisters, and some years Watford even scrapes enough together to bring in a carousel.  Most of the booths are run by student volunteers, and though everything is by donation, all proceeds go to whichever charity the student body has voted on.

           I go every year, mostly for the caramel apples and sweet cider, but this is the first year I’ve been behind the scenes of the carnival and helped at a booth.

           In truth, I didn’t even sign up for it, but Agatha hadn’t had a break all day and needed some cotton candy of her own.

           I should have told her to find Penny, or Trixie or even Minty.  Anyone but me.

           It doesn’t take long for the word to spread that Simon Snow has taken over the Kissing Booth, and mortifyingly the line has doubled in length.  Mostly first or second-year girls, blushing and stammering or swaggering up to the counter with a pronounced sway in their step, with the odd boy interspersed through the line.

           It’s not the worst thing that’s ever happened to me – that honour goes to the time in second year that Baz stumbled upon a spell that made my clothes slowly dissipate, garment by garment, in the middle of the dining hall – and after the first two or three quick, cold kisses I start to calm down, but I’m counting the minutes until Agatha comes back.  How she endured hours of this, I cannot comprehend.  That’s just Agatha, I guess.

           A redhead drops her donation into the tin and her eyes flit around, meeting me for only a split second at a time, her cheeks aflame.  I try to look as non-threatening as I can and lean forward enough that she can close the rest of the space.  She darts in with a kiss that’s no more than a peck before running over to a giggling pair of who must be her friends, a triumphant grin on her face. She must have been dared.  Poor girl.  I hope I wasn’t her first.

           “Well, well, well.”

           My stomach lurches at the cold drawl I know only too well.

           “What are you doing here, Baz?” I say in as civilized a tone as I can manage.

           He stands there with his arms crossed over his chest, his mouth in a twist that’s a bit too amused to be a sneer.  “When I heard that the Chosen One had taken over the Snogging Booth, I simply had to see it for myself.”

           “Well, now you’ve seen it, so now you can go.”

           “Saving the World of Mages one kiss at a time,” Baz murmurs with a chuckle.  “Not exactly what I was envisioning.”

           “I’m only covering for Agatha,” I retort, “she’ll be back in five minutes if you’re wanting her services.”

           He scoffs.  “I’d rather not snog your girlfriend, thank you very much.”

           “She’s not my – forget it,” I shake my head.  I’ve told him at least a dozen times, but it never stops him.

           “She must have been really desperate for a break to put you in charge,” Baz drawls on, his voice smooth like honey but with too much of a bite to be sweet.  “You’d think she’d at least pick someone attractive for the Kissing Booth.”

           It stings, but I don’t flinch.  “What, someone like you?” I spit back too fast.

           His eyebrows shoot up in delighted surprise as I realize my mistake.  “You flatter me, Snow,” he purrs, and I feel my cheeks heat up, but I furrow my brow tighter and hope it passes for anger.

           “Is there a reason you’re still here?” I growl as the burning spreads from my cheeks to my ears.  

           “As a matter of fact, there is,” Baz says, and his gray eyes look cool enough to staunch the flames at the tips of my ears, but the more I glare into them the more the fire rages.  “I’m here to torment you.”

           “Great, well you’ve done that.”

           “I wanted to see what you’d do.”  He leans on the edge of the counter, bringing his face far too close to mine for comfort. “What would the Mage’s Heir do if his nemesis showed up at the Kissing Booth?”

           “You can torment me any time,” I shoot back, “you’re holding up the line.”

           “Oh, yes, well,” he feigns conern, “I wouldn’t want to keep anyone from their kiss.”

           “Then go away.”

           His eyes narrow and he pretends to think.  “Mmm, no.  I don’t think so.”

           “Baz, I’m warning you.”

           “Terrifying,” he drones, “but this is too much fun.  Besides,” his eyebrow flickers up, “don’t you owe me a kiss?”

           I flash him a smirk of my own.  “Aw, Baz. If you were so desperate for a kiss, you could’ve just asked.”

           Baz, to his credit, doesn’t bat an eye.  “You think of that comeback yourself?”

           “There’s a fee, you know,” I ignore him, barely having to raise my voice above a murmur for him to hear me, he’s so close.  “You haven’t paid the fee, so I don’t owe you anything.”

           He doesn’t drop his eyes from mine, and the cool gray takes on the spark of a challenge.  Out of my periphery I see him reach into his pocket, and there’s the clatter of coins dropping into the tin.

           I should punch him.

           I should spit in his face.

           I wanted to see what you’d do.

           I take him by the lapels and crush his mouth under mine.

           He makes a muffled sound of shock.  To be fair, so do I, but mine is more angry than it is surprised.  I kiss him hard and rough, and it’s a bit of a juxtaposition because his mouth is oddly soft.  A face like his, you’d expect his lips to be made of marble, cold and unmoving, but he’s the farthest thing from unmoving.  I can’t tell if he’s struggling or if he’s kissing me back but his lips are so, so soft and I want to bruise them, mark them, bite them…

           I only stop when a series of wolf whistles reminds me that there are at least ten people watching us.

           Trying to salvage the illusion of control, I break away harshly, still gripping him by his collar.  The cocky smirk has dropped from his smooth features and now his face mirrors mine, a matching scowl, like I’ve crossed a dangerous line.  I probably have.

           “Was that what you wanted?” I growl.

           He doesn’t answer, just holds my gaze another few seconds before pushing back from the table, his lapels slipping out of my hands, and stalking away.

*** 

I don’t see Baz at the carnival after that, and I stay as long as the booths are open, perusing the same counters and feigning interest even after having looked through their contents three times.  I keep Penny company where she mans the popcorn booth, drizzling caramel over every few cartons, and I even get bored enough to hang around Agatha back at the Kissing Booth for a little while, until one too many patrons have asked if I’m available for service.  When she and Penny are freed we pet the goats at the petting zoo, the ones that Ebb has graciously volunteered for the event, and take a few spins on the carousel.  Only once the light has begun to fade and the signs are being lowered from their booths do the three of us part ways.  Even then, I offer to help Ebb get her goats back safely.

           Basically, I’m doing anything I can to put off going back to the room, but eventually I can’t avoid it any longer.  I’ve wandered the grounds enough times that the sun has properly disappeared behind the distant hills and I can barely see the ground in front of me. Even then I’m tempted to consider crazy alternatives like spending the night at Ebb’s place, but I’m pretty sure that would be against school rules anyway, and besides, I’ll have to face Baz eventually.  There’s no undoing what’s happened.

           When I finally trudge back into the room, he’s staring out the window at the moat, presumably trying to intimidate the merwolves, but he turns at the sound of the door.  His expression, though I don’t see it for long before I look away, is hard to read. Wide eyes and a furrowed brow, like he’s still mad at me for my stunt earlier, but there’s a bit of a questioning edge there, too.  Almost a where were you edge.

           Normally I have to start any type of conversation, but tonight he wastes no time. “What the hell was that, Snow?”

           There’s no question as to what he’s referring, and I can’t help but get angry again.  “Me? You’re the one who had to start something!”

           “Well, you didn’t have to react so drastically,” he mutters, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall by the window, the moonlight casting its glow on his skin and making him even paler than usual, almost transparent.  I half expect fangs to slide out from his lips for no reason and complete the picture.

           His soft, soft lips.

           “You were egging me on,” I seethe, the memory igniting the rage that I’d felt in the fractured moment before kissing him, “it’s your fault anything happened.”

           “Proud little hero,” Baz says with the slightest smirk, “can’t back down from a challenge.”

           “You know I can’t, not in front of people.”

           “Wouldn’t want them to think the Heir is a coward.”

           I feel like a balloon in me is swelling and deflating at once.  “But that’s just it, Baz,” I insist, anger momentarily aside.  “If they think I’m afraid, what reason do they have to hope?”

           He doesn’t answer right away, and for a second I think maybe he understands. I want so badly for him to understand.

           “No reason,” Baz eventually says, turning to look out the window again, “not with someone like you as the Chosen One.”

           I want to groan, to kick something, to shake him by the shoulders and make him look me in the eye and for once not fight me.  Have we ever in our lives made eye contact without there being some challenge between us?

           “Why did you have to get in that line?” I shake my head.  “There are so many other ways of tormenting me, lower-stakes ways.”

           “To be fair, I’ve already exhausted most of those,” Baz murmurs with a little shrug of his shoulders.

           “When have you ever been fair?”

           “Touché.”

           I’m tired of standing here at the door, so I kick off my shoes and sit down on my bed, trying not to think about how much closer I am to him now, still at the window, looking as vampiric as ever.  His gray eyes are positively silver in the moonlight, and the black of his hair looks silkier than ever, as if it’s soaking the rays directly into him. He almost glows.  I have to laugh a little, because more than once Baz has mockingly compared me, with my bronze curls and sky-blue eyes, to the sun, but he himself wears a halo of night.  If I am the sun, then Baz is most certainly the moon.  Distant, cold, mysterious, almost too pristine to touch.

           His gaze returns to me suddenly.  He raises an eyebrow in a wordless inquiry, and I realize I’ve been staring.

           “What exactly was it you expected me to do?”

           “At what point, Snow?” he gives a humourless laugh.  “You had more than one opportunity to react.”

           “When you paid the fee.”

           His tiny smile disappears.  “It doesn’t matter.”

           “It does.”

           “Drop it, Snow,” he says, the hardness returning to his eyes, and I know I’ve cornered him.  Drop it is Baz’s way of betraying himself, of saying there’s something that he doesn’t want to tell.

           “Was I supposed to kiss you?” I ask.  For some reason I have to know.

           “No.”

           “Then what?”

           “I don’t know, Snow, punch me.  Push me. Beat me to the ground.  Something.”

           My brow furrows in confusion.  “Wait. You wanted me to hit you?”

           He shrugs, more with his head than his shoulder.  “One of us has to get hurt, right?”

           I rise to my feet, and I’m face-to-face with him again, only his eyes are different this time.  Whereas at the booth he had betrayed no hint of doubt at our closeness, now there’s a flicker of something in the silver, something that feels a lot like the way my heart is racing in my chest, and it dawns on me.  He was putting on a show at the carnival, acting like nothing I could do would get to him, just as I had been.

           If they think I’m afraid, what reason do they have to hope?

           One of us has to get hurt, right?

           And suddenly it makes sense.

           There’s only a few inches between us, so it feels almost natural when I lean in and press the gentlest of kisses to his lips.

           He doesn’t kiss me back this time, but he doesn’t move away either.  “What was that for?” he asks when I draw back a second later.

           “You act like we’re so different,” I say wonderingly, “but we’re the same.”

           “How?”

           “What do you think we’d be if we didn’t have to fight each other?”

           I don’t miss the split second of longing in his eyes.  “Keep dreaming, Snow.”

           “Because I bet it would involve a lot more of this.”  I bring a hand up to his neck, my fingers instantly lost in the wavy tips of his hair and it’s exactly as soft as it looks bathed in moonlight.

           Baz closes his eyes like he has to collect himself.  “You’re the hero.  I’m the villain.  What more do I have to say?”

           “Fuck that,” I chuckle, “we both know that’s not true.  You’re a boy, and I’m a boy.  That’s all.”

           “Tell that to the rest of the world.”

           “I don’t care about the rest of the world,” I shake my head adamantly, “I want to know what you think.”    

           “About what?”

           “If there was no act, no reputation, no role to play,” I murmur, “if we were just two boys, what would you do?”

           Baz returns my gaze a moment, searching my eyes.    

           Then his lashes close and he’s kissing me, and my eyes drift shut again like I’m sighing in relief.

           I let my fingers tangle higher up in his hair while my other hand grips the front of his shirt like earlier, only without the anger of the afternoon.  He angles his head further and guides the kiss deeper, his hands gently gripping my waist and pulling me closer.  I melt against him, my mouth moving with his, my head swimming with his citrusy scent, and I can’t hold back the moan that escapes my throat when he takes my bottom lip between his teeth in a gentle tug. Suddenly I’m floating, weightless, and Baz gives a muffled sound of surprise when I press back a little harder.

           When we finally break apart, both of us gasping and dizzy, I immediately want more, want to line his neck with my mouth, want to feel his breath hitch when I reach the base of his throat, want to hear my name in his sigh.  Would he sigh Snow or Simon?  I want to know.

           “Please,” I whisper, dotting a kiss to the corner of his mouth, “can’t we just be two boys?”

           When I meet his eyes, they’re full of more longing than ever.

           In response, he kisses a soft, slow triangle pattern on my cheek, and I recognize the pattern of the three moles by my eye, and I can’t help but smile.

“We can try.”