obaewankenope:

mythicalmagistra:

oneandtwotogether:

ponywithafez:

lady-digby-chicken-caesar:

stepharooni:

superboyfriends:

ethelindi:

Everyone probably knew this was coming.

#i legit CRY at this commercial #it actually makes me CRY #boom-dee-ada-boom-dee-ada #i just love the fucking world okay? #sobbing now

I JUST HAVE A LOT OF FEELINGS ABOUT THIS COMMERCIAL

I was just thinking about these commercials and how I wanted one on my tumblr, and now here it is!

Awkward confession time: whenever I feel like the world is shit and I can’t keep dealing with it, I watch this and/or read about cool science things to remind me that it’s not all bad. 

For all of you having bad days

This version has both songs

Especially relevant now

(Source: skythrown-blog, via notanightlight)

inaheartbeat-film:

In a Heartbeat - Animated Short Film (2017)

A closeted boy runs the risk of being outed by his own heart after it pops out of his chest to chase down the boy of his dreams

© Beth David and Esteban Bravo 2017


It’s here! After a year and a half of hard work, we are both so excited to finally share our film with you. Thank you all for your support and encouragement - this film means the world to us, and your kindness and enthusiasm has made this journey all the more meaningful. It is our great pleasure to share with you this labor of love, and we hope with all our hearts that you enjoy watching it as much as we did making it.

<3

(via cthulhu-with-a-fez)

look at me - i will never pass for a perfect bride

shanastoryteller:

so i know i already made a retold mulan post but i just LOVE MULAN SO MUCH so here’s another

in the original myth mulan isn’t really a clumsy fish out of water. she’s strong and smart and the reason she goes to war is because she’s the most qualified person in her family to fight, regardless of gender.

so how about this: mulan’s a fighter. she knows exactly who she is, like in the original myth, she’s knows how to be the blossoming flower and the great stone dragon. she’s still mulan though, so she still doesn’t memorize the silly ways she’s supposed to be a good wife and has little patience for appearing graceful while pouring tea. she’s innovative and courageous and beautiful, but no one is under any illusions about what kind of wife she’ll be.

and the matchmaker is the matchmaker for the li family as well, for this great big part of china. and general li wants his son to be married before he goes off to war, wants his son to have a reason to fight to live, like a wife waiting for him. and the matchmaker reads the stars and the tea leaves and the astrology charts, and no matter what all the signs point to one thing: the honorable li shang is destined to marry the insolent, arrogant fa mulan.

the matchmaker isn’t going to let that happen, she refuses to be responsible for that disaster of a wedding. so she sends her most beautiful girls, the ones that are obedient and quiet and know their roles, the ones that are eager to marry into the li family.

and each of them are entertained and met and sent back. shang is many things, but smooth isn’t one of them, he has nothing to say to these quiet girls who smile at him, feels large and awkward around their polite smiles. so he and his father go to the matchmaker’s village, shang reluctantly and his father to demand she stops messing with them and provides a proper bride.

it’s on the day that mulan and the other girls are parading in the street. shang sees a girl - mulan - hurry into the end of the line, jumping over a bench and darting around a careening wagon to get there, and stifles a laugh.

then there’s no reason to laugh at all, because a group of huns have decided that this village is in their way, and attack.

everyone scatters, women hide, children hide, and most of the men do too. shang and his father join the fight with some of the other men who hadn’t hid, and these men are starved, clearly not with shan yu, so even though they’re outnumbered they’ll likely win.

shang sees a hun go to attack the girl he’d seen earlier, the girl for whatever reason hadn’t run and hid. the hun raises a sword above his head to strike her down, and shang is so sure he’s about to see this pretty girl lose her head.

but she doesn’t. instead she rolls out of the way, and pops up, headbutting him in the stomach. she takes his sword from his now-slack grip and plunges it into his chest. without hesitation or pause the girl joins the fight, swinging the sword expertly and cutting down every man who stands against her. soon they’re fighting back to back, and shang has never felt more in sync with another person. she cuts off the head of the last hun, and shang has never seen anyone more beautiful than this girl, dress ripped and make up smudged and covered in blood that isn’t hers.

“mulan,” one of the other girls says, peaking out of a store front, “is it over?”

the girl, mulan, looks out over the dozen dead men and says, grimly, “it’s barely begun.” she searches the crowd, finding and old man and yelling, “gather the bodies, we’ll burn that at dusk outside of the village. everyone else,” her eyes sweep across the gathered people, and shang is struck by the fact that this girl isn’t well liked. there’s anger and disapproval in many of the faces, but they’re listening. these people don’t like her. but they do trust her. “let’s clean this all up. these were bandits, not soldiers. there’s nothing more to fear.”

“what if there are more?” the other girl asks, arms wrapped around herself.

mulan raises her stolen sword and says, “then i will slice them to ribbons. this is our village, and this is our country. any who would try to take it from us - from me - will suffer the consequences.”

and it shouldn’t be comforting, hearing words of violence from this young girl, yet everyone around them relaxes, and gets moving, gather the bodies and tending the wounded.

“who are you?” his father asks, and someone who doesn’t know him might think he was angry, but shang can tell he’s impressed.

mulan turns to them and bows, “my apologies. i am fa mulan, daughter of fa zhou. thank you for helping us.” she stands, and shang meets her eyes for the first time.

he swallows, and blurts out, “you - you fight good.”

his father coughs to hide his laughter, but mulan’s eyes crinkle at the corners. “thank you. you do as well.”

and they just keep standing there smiling at each other until his father claps his hands and is like okay - they’ll have to report this to the emperor, no time to dawdle, have to go now.

so they take their leave, and shang thinks this is the last time he’ll see fa mulan.

except there’s still the draft, and this time mulan doesn’t take no for an answer, won’t hear of it. her father is injured and old and she is young and fit to fight. she will go in his place.

so she arrives at the camp, prepared to pretend and lie - except she goes to meet her commanding officer and it’s him, that boy who had fought with her. shang’s eyes widen, but they’re in front of too many people. he can see it on her face, her fear, and she hadn’t shown any fear when she was facing down over a dozen huns, but she does now. so he makes his choice and says nothing, pretends he buys her story.

she tracks him down that night and demands an explanation. he says this war is too important to kill good warriors, whatever gender they are. he swears to keep her secret. mulan is his best soldier from the beginning, and means to treat her like anyone else, but it’s impossible. she isn’t like anyone else, is strong and smarter and braver than them. they argue tactics, and she’s the only one who can give him a workout in hand to hand, and he doesn’t have trouble finding his words with her. he finds himself falling in love with her, but doesn’t say anything. she’s not here for love, she’s here for a war. he vows to say something if they survive this, but it’s unlikely that will happen.

they head to the front earlier. they get there in time to provide back up for his father and his army, and it’s a loss but not a slaughter. his father is too distracted to notice ping is the girl from the village. all he knows is this soldier had led the second wave of attacks, and it was thanks to her any of them were alive at all. they prevent half of the huns from getting through the pass, but that’s still an army heading for the imperial city. the general is injured, so mulan and shang lead the army after him.

they find him at the mountain, and just like before mulan uses the cannon to destroy the army. she knew it would spell their death, but it was worth it, for her people, for her country, for her family. this time it’s shang that won’t accept her death, that tries to drag her unconscious body to safety. only he fails, and mulan becomes buried under the snow.

they return to the city, and shang is besides himself - the woman he loves is dead, she saved them all and she’s gone, and he’ll never recover from this. only he can’t tell his father this, their friends. they think he mourns a friend, not the woman he wanted to make his wife.

except mulan survives, and sees the other huns as well. only she kills them there before they can get to the city, and decides this is for the best. fa ping dies honorably in battle, and fa mulan is free to return home to her family.

so general li decides that it’s time to go to that matchmaker again, and demand she stop playing games. the matchmaker confesses that she thought the bride was unsuitable, and the general demands she send her anyway.

so mulan has barely had the chance to settle back home when the matchmaker shows up at her door saying she’s sending her to see a potential husband, but not who. so mulan shows up all made up to li household and shang drags himself into the room, already resigned to a loveless marriage, when they see each other. “mulan?” he demands, and his father is all pleased because it’s the fighting girl from the village.

but then his son starts crying and they run to each other. shang picks her up in his arms and she clings to him, and shang is babbling about how he thought she was dead, and mulan is so overjoyed that she’s with shang, and shang wants her, that she kisses him without explaining.

except now shang’s father demands an explanation. so they give it to him, the whole story comes tumbling out, and he stares hard at her, and remembers her as ping, the brave soldier that had saved them all. he’s not upset - he ecstatic. he goes to the emperor and tells him everything, and the emperor officially offers mulan an officer position in the army. she accepts, as long as shang is by her side. shang seconds this, and they set in motion the plans for the wedding.

fa mulan and li shang get married and lead armies and live happily ever after, just like the stars intended.


read more of my retold fairytales here

(via aethersea)

Anonymous asked: Where does Leia see death?

notbecauseofvictories:

She set out two cups—Alderaanian silver, a gift from those few, miserable and scattered few, who were elsewhere when their world dissolved in fire. Leia’s hands shook badly as she poured out a share of wine into each, and for a moment she was afraid it might spill.

But it didn’t, and the game board stayed immaculately white, pristine as when she had last put it back in its box. Leia set the decanter down, and lowered herself into the chair with a sigh. The games board was not hers either, a gift from Mon Mothma back when they were all holed up on Hoth at close quarters, the abrupt loss of momentum resulting in flashpoint tempers and a restlessness that threatened to drive them all mad. Leia hadn’t touched it in—Force, it would be—

The sound of a chair scraping on the floor startled her out of her reverie.

He was still the same as he had been all those years ago, a young cadet in Imperial grey, handsome and rosy-cheeked. Only his eyes gave him away, the same unholy green as the beam of the Death Star. 

There was blood in his teeth when he smiled. “General,” he said, and his voice was the same awful metallic scrape that made Leia shudder. “It’s been some time since you invited me in for a game.”

“It’s been a while since there was something I wanted to wager for.”

“Your brother?” he asked idly, running a long white finger along the rim of the cup nearest him.

“We already played that game,” Leia reminded him coolly, and he grinned.

“Yes, we did. Best of five, if I remember correctly—one for distal, one for phlanages, one for proximal, for metacarpals and carpals. For your brother’s hand.”

Leia swallowed. She only vaguely remembered that strange and dreamlike night on Endor, the board balanced on her knees because there was nowhere else—Shall we keep playing? had asked with her heart in her throat, because if he said, One more round, that meant Luke was all right and the Emperor hadn’t…that meant her brother was alive. (Alderaan had an old tale like that, a woman who told a story, and the story kept her from dying—Leia had always hated it, wanted that long-ago princess to pick up a blaster and fight, but she was older now. She knew that sometimes, all you could do was sit in the dark, and tell a story that will keep you alive.)

He’s watching her. “Han Solo, then. We are almost at the end of our contract with him, I suppose—”

“You said it would protect him as long as my love lasted!” Leia said, her heart suddenly in her throat. There was no question she loved Han, even now—the width of the galaxy between them and an ocean of bad blood (hers, of course, because when had Darth Vader’s blood not been a curse?) but a broken heart was still a heart, and hers was Han’s. There was no question.

“Your affection, General,” he said quietly, and if those sickly green eyes could hold pity, she suspected they would have, then. “We wagered on your affection for Han Solo. And where your love is steadfast…that has cooled.”

Leia exhaled shakily. “I meant love. You know I did. I was—” The white rooms of Cloud City, the sun bright and high and the sky painful-blue to look at; knowing—knowing—what this feeling was, but unwilling to admit it, even to herself. Not ready to use the word that would make it real.

“That was not strictly the agreement,” he said. His nail scraped across the silver cup, his gaze lingering there. “Does that change your wager?”

“I—no,” Leia said. She had summoned him for a reason, she had to stay faithful to her battle plan.

The awful green eyes flick up, and to her. “Your son, then.”

Leia swallowed. The wine looked tempting, just to steady her nerves, but she could not drink it yet. “Yes. He—left us. I want him back.”

“That is not within my power to grant.”

Leia shot him a withering look. “I want him to be alive long enough to get him back, then.”

“Hm. What terms?”

“You can’t come for him until he is as old as I am.”

“A son will never be as old as his mother, General. I am too wise to fall for word tricks.”

“You can’t come for him until he is returned to the Light.”

“I will not come for him until you hold him in your arms again.”

No,” Leia snapped, choked with sudden awful fury. She was wiser than these games too; she could easily picture her son bleeding out in her arms, the terms of the contract fulfilled. “I refuse. That’s not enough, I want—”

“I cannot offer more, not without more consideration.”

“Then come for me first.”

He threw his head back and laughed, blood trickling out of the corners of his mouth as he shook. (His laughter was a howl, was the sound of wet flesh and metal, and awful—Leia made a soft noise, resisting the urge to clap her hands to her ears like a child frightened of thunder.) 

“Oh, General,” he finally wheezed. “Thank you for that.”

“I am serious,” Leia said, in the voice she had used mostly to frighten senators and lower-ranked officers. “Those are my terms—you have to come for me before you come for Ben.”

His eyes flashed dangerously. When he spoke, his voice was soft too, almost gentle. “You know I will not come for you until you ask me, Princess. We played that game too.”

Leia knew. No board or pieces then, just her in that narrow Imperial cell,   shaking, almost delirious from the torture droid. A handsome young cadet with eyes of green fire crouching down beside her. Stroking her hair, and saying, come with me, I can take you away from this place. 

He had reached out to grab her wrists and Leia had fought him, clawing at his terrible eyes and snarling, kicking. You get that from your father! he had laughed delightedly, cradling her against him even as she struggled, close enough that Leia had been able to smell the stink on his breath.

I will make you a deal, the cadet had finally said, and Leia’s skin had crawled at the fondness in his voice. I will not come for you until you ask. Say yes?

Please let me go, Leia had whispered, half-sobbing, tired and—Please.

Death had kissed her, and his mouth was cold. Deal.

Leia looked at the Imperial cadet, youthful and bloody-mouthed with his eyes like the fire of the Death Star. “Then let him decide.”

“What?”

“You have to come for me before you come for Ben, but Ben can decide when that is. I give the deal over to him. I give—him that choice.”

The green eyes flickered. “You would let your son kill you?”

That didn’t deserve an answer. “Do we have a wager?” Leia asked coolly, picking up her silver cup and holding it out in a silent toast. The wine sloshed, looking like blood.

“If I go to him, there is no telling what games we we will play,” Death said. “There is a reason we had that game so long ago, where you played to keep me hidden from him.”

“I lost that round,” Leia gritted out. “Do we have a deal?”

He looked at her, then picked up the other silver goblet. They drank, and Leia exhaled. She set down her goblet again, letting the tartness of the wine linger on her tongue. “I assume I am the black and you the white?” Death asked, tapping one of the pieces scattered across the board..

“As we always have been,” Leia said, and Death smiled.

shoomlah:

My final piece for Ham4Pamphlet, the Hamilton zine curated by the amazing @jovaline to give to the cast when she got to go backstage this weekend!  I’m so honored to be a part of this project alongside so many other amazing, Hamilton-obsessed artists, aaaaaaand the fact that Daveed liked my piece is most definitely a bonus.

Thanks to @linmanuel for writing these words, and to Daveed Diggs for bringing them to life.  As Arielle said, you guys definitely created the soundtrack for our workspaces. :)

(via cthulhu-with-a-fez)

Anonymous asked: Shmi Skywalker and Padme Amidala, the Force ghosts that never were.

peradii:

  • One day in the future, a girl will ask of her maybe-father definitely-teacher (one is likely; the other is a certainty; she calls him Master because she wants no other family than that she has chosen): where did Skywalker come from. And the Master will say from my father he was a great man and a terrible one and – and the girl will shake her head, chew her lip, say, did he choose it and the Master will frown (a pucker between his brows; a corrugation of his lined, weatherbeaten face) and say, no his mother chose it and the girl will say who was she and the man will say a slave on Tattooine; my uncle’s brother’s second wife and no more. He knows no more. Don’t blame him.
  • Do not blame the teacher-before either. You knew him as an old man, old and strong and lonely, but once he was a boy with a snake-tail of a braid and an empty space under his heart where love once rested. He watches his Master die and he tries to shoulder a burden that is absurd in its immensity. Train the boy who will save everything. Imagine that. Imagine. And, yes, he says this boy must come with us but remember: the Force is endless hunger, an animal. It isn’t willfully cruel – no more than the ocean. But if you do not learn to swim, you die. If a boy strong with the Force is not trained, he will surely perish.
    • (or worse. There are horror stories.)
  • Blame, perhaps, the council, so anchored in their ways that they do not permit the child to see his mother. Blame, perhaps, the Jedi so ancient and so wise who take their Chosen One and tell him that he can save the universe and all he loves, blame them who take a nine year old from his mother and give him weapons to hold instead of hands. Fight fight fight but only when you are told to. Kill without mercy when we say otherwise show limitless mercy. Do as you are bidden always and forever. Save everything. Master your feelings. Have no feelings.
    • From my point of view the Jedi are evil! – what are those but the words of a lost, stupid boy, trusting only in the fierceness of his own heart and the iron surety of his convictions.
  • Blame the boy. Maybe. After all: this was his choice. He did not have to listen to older and wiser heads that said go to war and afterwards tend to your mother. He did not have to cut down children. He did not have to.
    • Children. Definition: the youngsters of any race. Before the younglings in the temple there were the Sand People, the tiny ones, J'Wratha and Taraka and those are only two, sliced apart in front of their mother. He was damned before the temple. Do you understand?
  • If you do not: we return to Shmi. And here she is:

Keep reading

"“Your generation would probably ‘livetweet’ the apocalypse” you say, and you laugh
You mean it as an insult, and I understand,
Or you don’t
because the word lies awkwardly on you tongue, stumbles as it leaves your lips, air quotes visible
You meant it as an insult, so you don’t understand, when I look into your eyes and say “Yes”
Because we would.
It would be our duty, as citizens on this earth
to document it’s end the best way we know
and if that means a second by second update
of the world going up in flames, or down in rain, or crushed under the feet of invading monsters
so be it.
It would mean a second by second update of
“I love you”
“I’m scared”
“Are you all right?”
“Stay close”
“Be brave”
It would mean a second by second update of the humanity’s connection with one another,
Proof of empathy, love, and friendship between people who may have never met in the flesh.
So don’t throw the word ‘Livetweet’ at me like a dagger, meant to tear at my ‘teenage superiority’
Because if the citizens of Pompeii, before they were consumed by fire,
had a chance to tell their friends and family throughout Rome
“I love you”
“I’m scared”
“Don’t forget me”
Don’t you think they’d have taken the chance?"

— Sometimes it hurts when people scorn internet cultre (via azurelunatic)

(Source: demisexualmerrill, via skymurdock)

Anonymous asked: I am curious about what the twins think of their parents in the Empress Amidala 'verse. What are the things they are told to lie to their father about?

suzukiblu:

The twins have four parents. They recognize this fairly early in life, and are mildly surprised when they eventually realize that other children DON’T recognize this about their own parents. 

The twins’ parents are: Empress Amidala, Darth Vader, Padmé [redacted], and [redacted]. They don’t know Padmé’s last name or Darth Vader’s other one, but they know there ARE other names there. Their absence is obvious. 

(once, one time only, one of them catches their father coming home very late and very injured, stumbling into the apartments with his own blood all over himself and his prosthetic smashed and torn and a dazed, distant expression on his face, and on the other side of the room Empress Amidala drops her datapad and Padmé whispers, “Anakin”

They see more of Padmé than they ever do of Anakin (whose name they don’t know, really, honestly, they’ve never heard it once). Amidala has missions for Vader, far-away places to send him for long times, and to the twins, for some time, a father is the kind man cloaked in warm Darkness who drifts in and out of their lives to touch their minds with an overpowering love and show them the proper way to hold a lightsaber and throw a full-grown adult in full armor a hundred yards back with just one push. They always know him in the Force, but he is not often close enough for them to see or speak to, at a certain age. 

And at that certain age, every night that Vader is off-planet Padmé closes the apartment doors and teaches them every secret she knows how to. 

And, very importantly, how to lie. 

The twins don’t always understand why knowing how to lie is so important, and especially not how to lie to their father–about certain thoughts, certain feelings, certain reasons for certain things. Leia thinks it’s just Vader they’re supposed to lie to, because of course the two of them are different men. Luke thinks they’re the same man, just they don’t admit it. Either way, they both know that Mother can be Padmé and Amidala in the same breath, doing the exact same thing for two opposing reasons, but Father is only ever Darth Vader. 

(except when Mother calls him that other name, of course; the one that they don’t know) 

God, can you image what these kids start to turn into as they grow up?