(Source: weloveshortvideos.com, via starwarsisgay)
imagining rey bringing gifts back from her ‘find luke’ trip for finn really warms my heart
Rey trying to think of how she’s gonna present it to him, like,
“Finn, no big deal but I found this rock and it was so beautiful and it gave me a warm feeling that made me think of you, so… too strong. That’s way too strong.
Um… Finn, this stone symbolizes constancy through adversity and love in spite of… Still too strong, ohhhh why is this so HARD…”
In the end she flings the gemstone into his lap.
“Got you a rock.” She says.
Finn LOVES it.
(via punkrockpatroclus)
I hate linguistic anthropology. Why? One of the most influential experiments in linguistic anthropology involved teaching a chimp asl. One of the most influential linguistics is named Noam Chomsky. You know what the chimp’s name was?
Nim Chimpsky.
Fucking monkey pun.
And this is in textbooks, in documentaries, everywhere. And everyone just IGNORES THIS GOD AWFUL PUN cause of how important the experiment was. But
BUT LOOK AT THIS SHIT. FUCKING NIM CHIMPSKY. I HATE THIS WHOLE FIELD.
Its not just the linguistic anthropologists.
There’s a group of very important genes that determine if your body develops in the right shape/organization… they are called the hedgehog genes, because fruit fly geneticists are all ridiculous. The different hedgehog genes are all named after different hedgehogs. And then someone decided to get clever and name one “sonic hedgehog” because this is just what fruitfly geneticists do.
Well sonic hedgehog controls brain development, and now actual doctors are stuck in the position of explaining to grieving parents that their child’s lethal birth defects or life-threatening tumors are caused by a “sonic hedgehog mutation”.
And this is why no one will invite the fruit fly people to parties.
Biogeochemical scientists, upon discovering the complex mechanisms that govern the storage and use of molecular iron on our planet, decided to call this cycle “the ferrous wheel”. We groaned about that for at least five solid minutes.
The phenomenon of sneezing when exposed to sudden bright light is called an Autosomal-dominant Compelling Helio Opthalmic Outburst. ACHOO.
Half a byte of data is a nibble.
I LOVE US
(via ailleee)
But what if they just happened to cast Andrew Garfield as the boyfriend in Deadpool 2, and someone in the movie is like, “hey, you look just like Peter Par-” but Deadpool tackles them before they can finish and then just looks directly at the camera and is like, “this is my boyfriend, Pete Parkley, and he is definitely not Spiderman because that would be a serious breach of licensing rights.” and then he just grabs Pete and tows him away by the suspicious red spandex collar poking out over the top of his T-shirt
Someone get this to Ryan Reynolds stat
(via yea-lets-do-this-shit)
D O Y O U H E A R T H E P E O P L E S I N G ?
Anonymous Asked: So what would the story be for your modern Les Miserables AU?
It would literally be the same exact story. Valjean commits a minor crime. He ends up spending 19 years in prison for said minor crime. He ultimately turns his life around, meets a prostitute, and raises her daughter, all while a community of oppressed people are rising up against police tyranny.
The film opens up with a few great shots of New York City.
It finally settles on a high-security prison.
The inmates, mostly black, are all singing ‘Look Down.’
We learn that the one prisoner stole a loaf of bread when he was a teenager and has been in prison ever since. The white cop refers to him as 24601, among other slurs.
Valjean is finally able to escape.
He wanders the city during a montage, while sad music plays. He’s shown applying for several applications. He has to check ‘Yes’ every time that the question asks if he’s ever been convicted. He’s shown renting a crummy apartment. He’s shown buying a phone and putting the number down on applications. There are several back-to-back shots of him filling out applications and the phone not ringing. He’s finally kicked out of his apartment.
He’s seen wandering the streets until a kind man invites him into a homeless shelter. (For some reason, I can see this man being played by Morgan Freeman.) The man gives him something to eat and lets him sleep on a cot for the night. Valjean wakes up, steals something of value, and runs away. He gets about, oh, a block or so before the cops catch up and start brutally beating him. The owner of the homeless shelter races out and vouches for Valjean. Cue ‘What Have I Done?’ which is sung as a shocked Valjean wanders through the streets of New York City. At long last, he decides to turn his life around. His phone rings.
Transition!
It’s a few years later.
We see shots of rundown buildings and alleyways filled with the homeless.
The camera finally rests on a really over-crowded factory. It zooms into a window. All of the workers are black. All of the workers are exhausted.
‘At The End Of The Day’ plays.
There’s a fight as the workers slut-shame Francine.
The owner assaults her and fires her when she says that she’s going to sue.
She goes to a lawyer anyway but the lawyer becomes too preoccupied as he recognizes one of the cops in his hallway. Fantine leaves and we get a bunch of really sad shots of her being forced to sell herself. (’Lovely Ladies’ and ’I Dreamed A Dream’)
Meanwhile, Valjean has become a moderately successful lawyer (just roll with me here) who is shocked to learn that he has to work with Javert. Javert doesn’t recognize him. Things are still tense. When walking home one night, Valjean stumbles upon Javert arresting Fantine for assaulting a white guy who “must have taken a wrong turn”. Valjean realizes that he turned down her case and that this is his fault. He takes her to a low-income hospital.
Meanwhile, Javert says that they finally caught Prisoner 24601. He sends Valjean an email asking Valean to prosecute. Valjean is thrown into an existential crisis. (’Who Am I?’) He finally replies that he cannot and admits everything. He quickly packs up and has just enough time to stop by the hospital and say goodbye to Fantine before Javert shows up.
There’s a fight and Valjean escapes.
He runs through the streets of New York City before finally finding an address that Fantine told him. It turns out to be a rundown foster home owned by two drunk, abusive, jerks. Cosette is seen sadly singing ‘Castle On A Cloud.’ Valjean takes her away.
Javert is seen walking across the rooftops of New York City, singing ‘Stars’.
Transition!
Okay now’s where it gets really fun!
You see a bunch of black college students getting together and talking about how much the police brutality is escalating. (’At The End Of The Day Reprise’). They finally decide that they need to do something about it. (’Red and Black.’) Show one of the students, Marius, falling in love with a now grown Cosette. ‘A Heart Full Of Love’. Meanwhile, Eponine walks through the rainy streets of New York City and sings ‘On My Own.’ But who cares about her lonely soul, we strive towards a large goal! Meanwhile, the cops know that this group of students are going to start protests so they’re seen preparing this outrageously militaristic equipment. Show a bunch of back-to-back shots of the students preparing their nonviolent strategies while the cops basically create an army. Have them sing ‘One Day More’.
Cut to the next day.
The black college students are having a non-violent sit-in on the streets. They sing ‘Do You Hear The People Sing?’ Tear gas is thrown by one of the cops. All hell breaks loose. It’s basically a battle-scene. They’re shown running through the streets, facing the horrors, dropping like ‘flies’. The police even kill Gavroche. You see shots of social media and the news crews covering what’s happening. The audience is saying, “Wait…” but it’s all happening so fast that their suspicions cannot be confirmed. Valjean is able to get Marius and Cosette to safety. Javert realizes the horror that he has caused and he jumps to his death. Everyone else is killed by the rest of the police.
Transition to a few months later but the brutality is still going on. Valjean dies (”Epilogue”) while reports are being played of the senseless violence that these unarmed black teenagers faced.
It takes the audience a moment to realize that the reports aren’t fictionalized.
The movie literally ends with real reports by CNN, FOX, ABC, NBC, etc. You see footage of real cops brutalizing real people. All of this is happening as ‘Do You Hear The People Sing (Reprise)’ is playing…..
Brings a whole new meaning to “Do you hear the people sing? / Singing the song of angry men / It is the music of a people / Who will not be slaves again”, doesn’t it?
I need this in my life.
(via lupinatic)
this is that one post that i’ll always reblog
It’s back
the teacher killin it
HOW IS THIS 6 SECONDS
This is literally one of my favorite vines, a masterpiece really and I will always reblog it and it’s just - I love so many just wonderful LOVING TOUCHES about it and it’s
- The beautiful facial expressions and flawlessly communicative gestures the likes of which would be at home in my college-level dramatic arts classes
- The universal relateability
- The technical video and sound editing that’s DIRECTLY on the song beat, absolutely A+ timing and that shit is not easy to do
- The amazing dramatic use of slow-motion that tells like - this is some Shakespearean drama story - conflict, BETRAYAL, this is Julias Caeser, this is The Iliad
- The freaking teacher being in on it and being convinced to shake it down now
in case nobody’s seen the sequel:
WHY HAVE I NOT SEEN THIS BEFORE
(Source: vinebox, via cthulhu-with-a-fez)
the most implausible thing about superhero movies is that these guys make their own suits, like seriously those toxic chemicals did NOT give you the ability to sew stretch knits, do you even own a serger
I feel like there’s this little secret place in the middle of some seedy New York business neighborhood, back room, doesn’t even have a sign on the door, but within three days of using their powers in public or starting a pattern of vigilanteism, every budding superhero or supervillain gets discreetly handed a scrap of paper with that address written on it.
Inside there’s this little tea table with three chairs, woodstove, minifridge, work table, sewing machines, bolts and bolts of stretch fabrics and maybe some kevlar, and two middle-aged women with matching wedding rings and sketchbooks.
And they invite you to sit down, and give you tea and cookies, and start making sketches of what you want your costume to look like, and you get measured, and told to come back in a week, and there’s your costume, waiting for you.
The first one is free. They tell you the price of subsequent ones, and it’s based on what you can afford. You have no idea how they found out about your financial situation. You try it on, and it fits perfectly, and you have no idea how they managed that without measuring you a whole lot more thoroughly than they did.
They ask you to pose for a picture with them. For their album, they say. The camera is old, big, the sort film camera artists hunt down at antique stores and pay thousands for, and they come pose on either side of you and one of them clicks the camera remotely by way of one of those squeeze-things on a cable that you’ve seen depicted from olden times. That one (the tall one, you think, though she isn’t really, thin and reminiscent of a Greek marble statue) pulls the glass plate from the camera and scurries off to the basement, while the other one (shorter, round, all smiles, her shiny black hair pulled up into a bun) brings out a photo album to show you their work.
Inside it is … everyone. Superheroes. Supervillains. Household names and people you don’t recognize. She flips through pages at random, telling you little bits about the guy in the purple spangly costume, the lady in red and black, the mysterious cloaked figure whose mask reveals one eye. As she pages back, the costumes start looking really convincingly retro, and her descriptions start having references to the Space Race, the Depression, the Great War.
The other lady comes up, holding your picture. You’re sort of surprised to find it’s in color, and then you realize all the others were, too, even the earliest ones. There you are, and you look like a superhero. You look down at yourself, and feel like a superhero. You stand up straighter, and the costume suddenly fits a tiny bit better, and they both smile proudly.
*
The next time you come in, it’s because the person who’s probably going to be your nemesis has shredded your costume. You bring the agreed-upon price, and you bake cupcakes to share with them. There’s a third woman there, and you don’t recognize her, but the way she moves is familiar somehow, and the air seems to sparkle around her, on the edge of frost or the edge of flame. She’s carrying a wrapped brown paper package in her arms, and she smiles at you and moves to depart. You offer her a cupcake for the road.
The two seamstresses go into transports of delight over the cupcakes. You drink tea, and eat cookies and a piece of a pie someone brought around yesterday. They examine your costume and suggest a layer of kevlar around the shoulders and torso, since you’re facing off with someone who uses claws.
They ask you how the costume has worked, contemplate small design changes, make sketches. They tell you a story about their second wedding that has you falling off the chair in tears, laughing so hard your stomach hurts. They were married in 1906, they say, twice. They took turns being the man. They joke about how two one-ring ceremonies make one two-ring ceremony, and figure that they each had one wedding because it only counted when they were the bride.
They point you at three pictures on the wall. A short round man with an impressive beard grins next to a taller, white-gowned goddess; a thin man in top hat and tails looks adoringly down at a round and beaming bride; two women, in their wedding dresses, clasp each other close and smile dazzlingly at the camera. The other two pictures show the sanctuaries of different churches; this one was clearly taken in this room.
There’s a card next to what’s left of the pie. Elaborate silver curlicues on white, and it originally said “Happy 10th Anniversary,” only someone has taken a Sharpie and shoehorned in an extra 1, so it says “Happy 110th.” The tall one follows your gaze, tells you, morning wedding and evening wedding, same day. She picks up the card and sets it upright; you can see the name signed inside: Magneto.
You notice that scattered on their paperwork desk are many more envelopes and cards, and are glad you decided to bring the cupcakes.
*
When you pick up your costume the next time, it’s wrapped up in paper and string. You don’t need to try it on; there’s no way it won’t be perfect. You drink tea, eat candies like your grandmother used to make when you were small, talk about your nights out superheroing and your nemesis and your calculus homework and how today’s economy compares with the later years of the Depression.
When you leave, you meet a man in the alleyway. He’s big, and he radiates danger, but his eyes shift from you to the package in your arms, and he nods slightly and moves past you. You’re not the slightest bit surprised when he goes into the same door you came out of.
*
The next time you visit, there’s nothing wrong with your costume but you think it might be wise to have a spare. And also, you want to thank them for the kevlar. You bring artisan sodas, the kind you buy in glass bottles, and they give you stir fry, cooked on the wood-burning stove in a wok that looks a century old.
There’s no way they could possibly know that your day job cut your hours, but they give you a discount that suits you perfectly. Halfway through dinner, a cinderblock of a man comes in the door, and the shorter lady brings up an antique-looking bottle of liquor to pour into his tea. You catch a whiff and it makes your eyes water. The tall one sees your face, and grins, and says, Prohibition.
You’re not sure whether the liquor is that old, or whether they’ve got a still down in the basement with their photography darkroom. Either seems completely plausible. The four of you have a rousing conversation about the merits of various beverages over dinner, and then you leave him to do business with the seamstresses.
*
It’s almost a year later, and you’re on your fifth costume, when you see the gangly teenager chase off a trio of would-be purse-snatchers with a grace of movement that can only be called superhuman.
You take pen and paper from one of your multitude of convenient hidden pockets, and scribble down an address. With your own power and the advantage of practice, it’s easy to catch up with her, and the work of an instant to slip the paper into her hand.
*
A week or so later, you’re drinking tea and comparing Supreme Court Justices past and present when she comes into the shop, and her brow furrows a bit, like she remembers you but can’t figure out from where. The ladies welcome her, and you push the tray of cookies towards her and head out the door.
In the alleyway you meet that same giant menacing man you’ve seen once before. He’s got a bouquet of flowers in one hand, the banner saying Happy Anniversary, and a brown paper bag in the other.
You nod to him, and he offers you a cupcake.
Have you read The Tailor? It’s a Batman fan comic by TerminAitor on Deviantart and it’s a fantastic little piece about the tailor who makes some of the costumes for the criminals of Gotham… whether he wants to do it or not. Great stuff.
The costuming thing in general seems like it would make for a great one-off or miniseries. Or a book of shorts including stuff like kyraneko’s seamstresses. Someone has to be making this stuff… and not breathing a word of it to anyone.
There actually was a comic in one of the Spiderman titles about the 90-years-older-than-dirt Jewish tailor who makes all the superhero and villain costumes, telling them how to update their look as he does so. So, yeah, it’s canon.
It’s also canon that every superhero and villain except for Spider-man (who yes, did painstakingly teach himself how to sew and mend spandex) knew about him. He sees villains and heroes on alternating days, and no one dares to break that truce or show up on the wrong day looking for a fight because they’re all afraid of losing his services.
(via allgreymatters)
But what if they just happened to cast Andrew Garfield as the boyfriend in Deadpool 2, and someone in the movie is like, “hey, you look just like Peter Par-” but Deadpool tackles them before they can finish and then just looks directly at the camera and is like, “this is my boyfriend, Pete Parkley, and he is definitely not Spiderman because that would be a serious breach of licensing rights.” and then he just grabs Pete and tows him away by the suspicious red spandex collar poking out over the top of his T-shirt
Someone get this to Ryan Reynolds stat
(via academicfeminist)
I discovered a nice little coffee shop near my apartment, and instead of thinking “this is very convenient,” my first thought was my life’s coffee shop au is about to begin
Update: I was at the aforementioned coffee shop and this guy sat down next to me near the window. A pretty barista came over with his drink, and she said to him: “This isn’t right. You’re supposed to sit at the counter! You’re supposed to tell me stories!” And the guy laughed, and they both looked at the counter (where all the spots were taken) and he was like, “We could kick someone out.” And she was like, “I would do that! Which one?” And they joked around a bit more, and then she went back to the behind the counter, and as soon as someone vacated their spot he moved all his stuff over to the counter, and I realized, this is not my coffee shop au. I am in their coffee shop au.
Be the best supporting character you can
(via princehal9000)
I’M JUST GONNA TITLE THIS ONE ‘THE EXPERIMENT’.
WHAT IS AIR?
YOU GOT YOUR SEX ADDICTS
YOU GOT YOUR GEEKS
YOU GOT YOUR FOREIGNERS
YOU GOT YOUR ALIENS
YOU GOT YOUR BASKETBALL PLAYERS
YOU GOT THE PEOPLE WHO THINK YOU’RE HIGH WHEN YOU’RE JUST FROM TUMBLR
YOU GOT YOUR VOLDEMORTS
YOU GOT YOUR INDIAN PEOPLE WHO THINK OMEGLE IS A GAME SHOW
AND LAST BUT NOT LEAST YOU GOT YOUR FELLOW TUMBLR TROLLS
YOU GOT YOUR CAPTAIN OBVIOUS
You got your Voldemorts
(Source: natchioslektra, via lupinatic)
