Hawks And Handsaws: Nico Has Vibes That He’d Be Dooku’s Ex-husband, And He Sometimes Drops By The

Finally finished the video I've been working on for months! It's an hour and 21 minutes and I make 3 different leaf bolero vests in it.

I'll post more pictures later but right now my eyeballs are very tired and I need to go do non-screen tasks for a while.

also i literally do not care whether you prefer pads or tampons but the fact that in almost every situation where free period supplies are available, they’re tampons, and this is just assumed to be fine (or people like campaigning for “free tampons” rather than “free menstrual products”) upsets me bc there are a lot of people who use pads who cannot use tampons and i don’t understand why tampons are considered not just the default but the only option worth mentioning

“My body, my choice” only makes sense when someone else’s life isn’t at stake.

Guys look at this GIANT millipede!! Free pattern from Projectarian! 🐛✨

Definitely want to make one myself!

Watch: Regular women and celebrities, many of whom have survived sexual assault or harassment, are banding together to tell Trump “It’s not okay”

In the cases of all the women who spoke out in the video, there was no justice. Their assaulters and harassers walked free because either nobody believed them or there was nothing they could do. The Trump tape was one of many final straws. "We’re not gonna take it any more,“ Amber Tamblyn said. “Like, for real, we’re not.”

Gifs: Humanity for Hillary

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A collection of Ways to Tie a Necktie

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How to fold a shirt

Choosing a suit that fits

6 ways to tie a Scarf

for the first of my new audios, @reparo-live-soul​ sent me this comic by @dakt37​, from an AU where Obi-wan has somehow been de-aged to younger than he was in TPM

keep the requests coming! I wouldn’t want these new audios to be in short supply!

Can you imagine how many people. Jedi and Vode, who'd be drawing up plans to hunt down Dark Woman if Jon got de-aged (sans older memories, at least at first)? Like, this tiny terrified 8-10 (tiny for his age of course) year old who ALREADY HAS SOME OF HIS WORSE SCARS and /flinches/ but tries to puff himself up like a cornered kitten, and he doesn't kno who any of these people are and there's Jedi but they aren't anything like his Master and people keep slipping him bits of food?

“Cody,” Obi-Wan says, and there's a note of contained panic in his voice that has never boded well for Cody's steady increase in grey hairs. “How far out are you?”

Kriff. There’s no good reason for that question, especially when Obi-Wan was just supposed to be on an exploratory mission in the forest here. Something about the Force, and resonance, and Ventress vanishing into this place and not being seen since, but—Cody will admit some of the more Force-related things went right over his head when Anakin and Obi-Wan were talking about it.

“Five minutes, sir,” he promises, and jerks his head at Waxer. With a grimace, Waxer waves the rest of the squad on faster, then gets on the comm, probably to Anakin or Rex.

“Oh, good.” Obi-Wan sounds exhausted, and worry prickles down Cody's spine. “If I could ask it of you, Commander, try not to look…alarming when you approach.”

Well, Cody thinks with a sinking feeling. He’s probably being held hostage. Or he tripped over some previously undiscovered natives and is trying to broker a peace deal with them despite a language barrier and having grievously offended their queen. That’s just about how this day—how Obi-Wan’s life—is going.

“Sir?” Waxer asks, and Cody makes a couple of rapid calculations and tips his head.

“You're with me,” he says, because Waxer is one of the nicest people he knows, and that carries through in his mannerisms. And…well. Cody doesn’t particularly want to include Shank, but if Obi-Wan is hurt, they’ll need him. “Grab Shank. And Boil.” Because Boil at least won't let anything happen to Waxer, and Shank can take care of himself, which leaves Cody to protect Obi-Wan if things go south. When things go south.

“Oh no,” Waxer says, with rather more good humor than Cody is capable of. “What did the general get himself into now?”

What hasn’t the general gotten himself into, Cody thinks is the better question. He sighs a little, and Waxer laughs at him, then gestures for the rest of the unit to hang back as they approach a moss-covered bank. A moment later, Boil and Shank are both pushing through the ranks, falling in behind them, and Cody pauses just long enough to give them both a look.

“General said to come in as non-threatening as we can,” he warns. Shank probably makes a face at him. He knows Boil rolls his eyes, because Waxer elbows him like he’s a shiny and not Cody's second-in-command. But—that’s their dynamic. Cody's keeping his nose out of it.

“Come on,” he says, resigned, and shoulders his blaster, climbing up the soft bank and over the lip of it. Narrow, leaning trees form a natural arch, and Cody steps through it, then down a rough, green-filmed set of stone steps into a small hollow. He catches sight of his general immediately; Obi-Wan is seated on a fallen log that’s sprouting ferns, facing away from them. His head is ducked, and Cody can hear his voice, pitched low and soothing. A new pathetic lifeform acquired, to paraphrase Anakin, Cody assumes with a flicker of relief that bleeds into amusement.

“General Kenobi?” he asks, and Obi-Wan lifts his head. Glances back, his own relief filling his face, and then rises to his feet with far more care than normal. Cody can practically hear Shank come to attention, but before he can bull his way forward and demand to see to the general’s health, Obi-Wan turns.

There's a child with him.

Cody doesn’t quite falter, but it’s a near thing. The general has a little boy with him, Human or near-Human, with dark hair and pale eyes and a wide scar across one cheek. He’s wrapped in a robe that’s too dark to be Obi-Wan’s, and he’s small. Cody's got a skewed sense of ages, given how quickly the clones age, but this kid can't be more than eight.

He’s also not clinging to Obi-Wan, which is strange. Any other kid, seeing four big, armed men in faceless armor approaching, would hide behind the nearest familiar adult. This one doesn’t, though; his eyes dart to them, widen, but he holds himself stock-still, one polite step away from Obi-Wan, without even trying to touch.

“Cody,” Obi-Wan says, and he’s more relieved to see Cody now than he usually is in the middle of a firefight. Cody raises a brow, but comes to a halt and nods.

“General,” he says. “Having fun, sir?”

The curl of Obi-Wan’s mouth is rueful. “Always, Cody. But I believe I figured out what happened to Ventress, given that it almost happened to me.”

“Sir?” Cody asks, alarmed, and Obi-Wan quickly raises his hands. The kid flinches, immediate and instinctive, and then freezes, and Obi-Wan does too. He eyes the kid sidelong, then takes a strained breath, lowers his hands, and gives Cody a strained smile.

“I'm fine,” he says, and unlike in most cases, Cody is almost inclined to believe him this time. “Master Antilles saved me before the—the beings here could take exception to my poking around.”

Cody blinks. He wasn’t aware of any other Jedi in the area, and that’s generally the kind of information that crosses his desk. “Antilles?” he asks. If there's a general by that name, he’s never encountered a reference to them before.

With a faint grimace, Obi-Wan takes a step back, then slowly, deliberately drops a hand on the kid’s shoulder. “Jedi Master Jon Antilles,” he says formally, and then his mouth twists. “Or, well. He was. I believe this is the initiate version.”

“Padawan,” the kid says, so soft it’s hardly even audible. When Obi-Wan glances at him, he ducks his head and says, “Sorry, Master.”

“That’s quite all right, Jon,” Obi-Wan says gently, though Cody can see a trace of something in his face that means things are wrong here and he doesn’t like them. “Thank you for correcting me.”

Jon doesn’t so much as lift his head. If anything, he ducks it further, practically sinking into his massively oversized robe, and doesn’t say anything.

There's a look on his face, though, something Cody recognizes. Just a flicker of it, but—

It’s strange, to see a brother’s expression of a Jedi.

Slowly, deliberately, Cody sinks down to one knee in front of the kid, reaching up to catch his helmet. He pulls it off, then rests it on the ground beside him, and gives the boy his best smile. “Hey,” he says. “I'm Cody. Jon's not your name, is it?”

Quickly, the kid shakes his head, and Cody can hear Obi-Wan’s breath catch in alarm. He doesn’t look up, doesn’t waver, just watches the kid’s eyes trace over his own scar, his armor, his lax hand where it rests on his knee.

“No, sir,” the kid finally says. “I don’t have a name. If I had one, I’d own myself, and Jedi don’t own anything.”

Obi-Wan is a good diplomat, with hardly any tells, but over the months of the war Cody has learned to read him. He can see the faint tensing of his shoulders, can hear the indrawn breath, the way his fingers twitch with barely-contained anger. Not a normal Jedi thing, then.

“That makes sense,” Cody says evenly, and it does, in a terrible kind of way. It’s looking at names the way a clone does, but denying a sense of self rather than embracing it. “Is it all right if we call you Jon, though?”

The kid pauses, like he’s weighing his response, and then nods solemnly. Cody smiles at him, holding out a hand like he would with another clone, and when Jon gives it a curious glance, Cody says, “It’s a Mandalorian greeting. You clasp my wrist, and I clasp yours, and that means we’re allies.”

“Oh,” Jon says, and carefully, tentatively slides a hand out of the pile of robe around him. There are more scars on his arm, pale but not yet faded, and Cody breathes in, keeps his emotions as steady as possible and buries the flicker of rage deep down. He takes Jon's hand instead, gripping his thin wrist, and then rises to his feet.

“It’s a long walk back to the camp,” he says, and when Jon looks up at him, ghost-pale eyes in the gloom, he gives him a grin. “Want to hitch a ride with me, Jon?”

Jon's gaze flickers from Cody to Obi-Wan and then over to Waxer, Boil, and Shank, still waiting at the top of the hill. “I can walk,” he says carefully.

“I know,” Cody says without hesitation. “But I’d like to carry you, if you're okay with that.”

It takes another moment of consideration, another wary glance, but Jon finally nods. Cody leans down, and says, “Thank you. All right, put your arms around my neck.”

Jon does so, still cautious, and Cody gently wraps an arm around his thighs, hauls him up, and he’s small and light and completely swallowed by the robe he must have worn as an adult. As soon as Cody has a solid grip on him, he buries his face in Cody's neck, and there's a fine tremor running through him, a whispered mantra that Cody can only just hear. A Jedi mantra, and his heart kicks behind his ribs as he curls a hand over Jon's back, holding him firmly.

“Hey,” he says softly. “It’s okay. We’re allies now, right? Nothing will happen to you with us. General Kenobi looks out for the people around him.”

There's a long pause, and then a breath. “Master says I need to not be afraid,” Jon says miserably.

“Jon,” Obi-Wan says, then picks up Cody's helmet and steps around him to face Jon squarely. There's a smile on his face, and he reaches out, tugs the oversized hood up and over Jon's head. “Your Master is a well-respected woman, but she is in seclusion right now, so I’ll be taking over your training. At least for the time being. Is that all right?”

There's no sound, no visible reaction, but Cody can feel something like relief ease through Jon. “Okay, Master Kenobi,” he whispers. “Thank you.”

“No, Jon. Thank you,” Obi-Wan says, and puts a gentle hand on his shoulder. “You may not remember it, but you saved my life.”

Jon ducks his head again, hiding under his hood, but this seems like it’s more embarrassment than uncertainty, so Cody chuckles. He hitches Jon up a little higher, then says, “Ready to head back when you are, sir.”

“Thank you, Cody.” The truth of it is in Obi-Wan’s eyes, relief and chagrin. “I believe I need to comm the council as soon as we return. This place is…certainly unique. And they’ll need to know that the reports of Jon Antilles’s death was incorrect. Again.”

There’s definitely a story there. Cody snorts, but trails his general up the hill, to where Shank is practically vibrating and Waxer is speaking into his comm, every line of his body looking deeply concerned.

“Waxer?” Cody asks, that sinking sensation deciding to reassert itself.

“Sorry, sir,” Waxer says, chagrined. “But…Captain Rex says General Agen Kolar just showed up at camp with Ventress. But she’s a padawan. A Jedi padawan.”

Oh.

Cody slants a glance at Obi-Wan, who looks very, very tired. “I will most definitely comm the council,” he says ruefully. “All right, off we go.”

The head resting against his throat turns, just a little, and Cody breathes out, presses a hand to his back. “Just a little further,” he tells Jon, and tips his head at Shank. Shank’s not exactly good with kids, but he’ll figure out what to do. “Then we’ll get you checked over and find some clothes that fit you, all right, Jon?”

“Okay,” Jon says quietly, and small fingers curl against Cody's armor. “Can—can I call you Cody?”

“Of course you can,” Cody says firmly, and follows his general out of the hollow, Jedi padawan on his hip.

[On AO3]

I told Miyazaki I love the “gratuitous motion” in his films; instead of every movement being dictated by the story, sometimes people will just sit for a moment, or they will sigh, or look in a running stream, or do something extra, not to advance the story but only to give the sense of time and place and who they are.

“We have a word for that in Japanese,” he said. “It’s called ma. Emptiness. It’s there intentionally.”

Is that like the “pillow words” that separate phrases in Japanese poetry?

“I don’t think it’s like the pillow word.” He clapped his hands three or four times. “The time in between my clapping is ma. If you just have non-stop action with no breathing space at all, it’s just busyness, But if you take a moment, then the tension building in the film can grow into a wider dimension. If you just have constant tension at 80 degrees all the time you just get numb.”

Which helps explain why Miyazaki’s films are more absorbing and involving than the frantic cheerful action in a lot of American animation. I asked him to explain that a little more.

“The people who make the movies are scared of silence, so they want to paper and plaster it over,” he said. “They’re worried that the audience will get bored. They might go up and get some popcorn.

But just because it’s 80 percent intense all the time doesn’t mean the kids are going to bless you with their concentration. What really matters is the underlying emotions–that you never let go of those.

— Roger Ebert in conversation with Hayao Miyazaki