Text 19 Sep 3,147 notes

schmergo:

I am not good at confrontation. Unless it’s the song from Les Miserables called “Confrontation.” I am great at “Confrontation.”

Photo 19 Sep 21,713 notes
Photo 19 Sep 42,078 notes raybee:

PIKACHU, use yer bodyslam attaaackkk!!11

raybee:

PIKACHU, use yer bodyslam attaaackkk!!11

via Dat Tongue.
Photo 19 Sep 44,474 notes jackfrostftw:

aeternuslunae:

dastardlyhans:

kioewen:

Prince Hans: The Mirror
In an episode of Star Trek: The Next Generation called “The Perfect Mate,” a woman named Kamala is taken on board the U.S.S. Enterprise. She is a supremely talented empath who, in any condition, mirrors the emotions of the person with whom she interacts.
 Thus, with the brilliant Captain Picard, she is intelligent and adventurous. With the animalistic Klingon, Worf, she is primal. With the womanizing Commander Ryker, she is provocative and flirtatious. And so forth.
That is the true nature of Prince Hans, in Frozen.
This explains why there has been so much confusion about his character. Because he isn’t a character at all — in the sense that there is, as far as the story shows, no essential self to Hans.
Rather, every scene in which Hans appears shows him interacting with someone, and in those scenes, he takes on the characteristics and emotions of the people with whom he interacts. He mirrors them, as if he were an empath, reflecting their feelings back at them. And more than that, he even embodies their projections, personifying their hopes or dreads.
In Hans’s first scene in the film, Anna has just been dreaming of a perfect prince, and there he appears, as if her will had conjured him out of thin air. He seems to be just like her, a little awkward, but sociable, and wholly receptive to meeting someone — as if, like Anna, he too had been dreaming of running into someone new.
She leaves the encounter a little dreamy-eyed and love-struck, and he ends the scene with the same look on his face, reflecting hers.
Then, at the coronation ball, Anna attempts to re-forge a relationship with Elsa, which of course, Elsa cannot do (for Anna’s safety). Thereafter, Anna immediately encounters Hans again, except this time, he mirrors Anna’s desire for a much deeper instant relationship, just as Anna improbably wished instantly to bond closely with Elsa (as if the last 13 years of separation had never existed). Hans now wants exactly what she wants, an open-door relationship with someone, and he seems even to have endured the same hardships as Anna has: being ignored by siblings. He mimics her movements in the clock scene. He echoes her exact words: “Can I say something crazy?” “Can I say something crazy?” In their love song, they sing the same words right back at each other, again and again.
When Elsa unleashes her magic, a fascinating moment follows in which Elsa and Hans exchange glances with one another. Elsa looks up, concerned, and Hans too looks up, with a similarly concerned look on his face. In that one moment, he reflects her emotions precisely.
When Anna resolves to set out after Elsa, Hans’s desire is to parallel her: “I’m coming with you.” But Anna leaves him behind, in her place. In effect, he is to function as her substitute, as her mirror self in Arendelle.
As the governor of Arendelle, when the people approach Hans with kindness, he reflects their kindness in return. But when the Duke approaches him with hostility and attempts to show him who’s boss, Hans mirrors the Duke’s bravura and stares him down, asserting his own authority in turn.
Even at the ice palace, when he confronts Marshmallow, he mirrors the great snow monster in the ferocity of his combat skills. Just as Marshmallow grows ice spikes, so too does Hans grow one — his sword – and defeats Elsa’s mighty snow sentinel by reflecting the snowman’s violence.
When he encounters Elsa in her upper chamber, he echoes Elsa’s very own lifelong dread when he says to her, “Don’t be the monster they fear you are.” In effect, he is speaking for her, uttering her own emotions, as if he were empathically linked to her.
Even his very next action is a mirroring one: when one of the guards raises his crossbow to shoot, Hans, in grasping the guard’s crossbow, shoots with him. The are two suddenly on the same trigger, mirroring each other, performing the same act, shooting the weapon together as if they were twins.
When Hans next encounters Elsa in the dungeon, his tone is identical to hers. He sits beside her and speaks with sadness and worry: “Stop the winter. Please,” saying the lines just the way Elsa might utter them herself. He seems, in that moment, to be as gentle as Elsa. He reflects her emotions and her demeanor.
Next, of course, comes the library scene. And now, one might think that Hans reveals his “true” self. But that’s not the case at all. Here too he performs an act of mirroring — of Anna.
 Consider Anna’s words when she returns:

HANSWhat happened out there?
ANNAElsa struck me with her powers.
HANSYou said she’d never hurt you.
ANNAI was wrong…She froze my heart.

That is, of course, Anna’s selectively edited and misconstrued account of what happened. In truth, Elsa struck her with her magic unwittingly and unwillingly, after having begged Anna repeatedly to leave, for Anna’s own safety. It was Anna herself who caused the situation in which she was hurt.
However, because Anna (due to her characteristic lack of perceptiveness about others and their emotions) does not recognize why the ice-palace incident transpired as it did, she misconstrues the event as if she were the one who had been wronged or betrayed by her sister.
And what does Hans do next? He mirrors this, as he mirrors all things. He wrongs her. He betrays her.
Anna’s projection of an unexpected betrayal from her sister causes Hans to mirror that unexpected betrayal right back at her. Once again, Hans even echoes Anna’s own words to him: “You’re no match for Elsa.” “No, you’re no match for Elsa.” He takes off his gloves when he does this, just as Elsa wore no gloves during the encounter at the ice palace, when Anna believes that Elsa betrayed her and hurt her.
In the next scene, with the ad-hoc Arendelle council, Hans seems grave but resolute, just as they do, seemingly prepared to do what’s necessary to save Arendelle — even something desperate, such as executing the queen. Earlier, they had projected onto him the image of a hero (“You are all Arendelle has left”), just as Anna had yearned to meet “the one” right at the beginning of the film, and Hans reflects their hero projection right back at the council members, just as he initially reflected Anna’s projection of a perfect prince, or later, her projection of a betrayal and injury by someone whom she thought loved her.
On the fjord, Hans once again mirrors Elsa. Observe how wide-eyed and nearly frantic he appears when he shouts at her, just as wide-eyed as Elsa herself appears.
And what identity does he take on in this moment? That of an executioner — which is exactly what Elsa believes that she has become, once she is told that Anna died because of her magic. Elsa believes that she has become lethal, that she is death personified, and Hans, in turn, mirrors that identity, becoming death himself, sword in hand, like the scythe of the grim reaper.
Only at the very end of the film, when he is locked in a cell, is Hans seen alone, for the very first time. At that moment, there is no one to mirror, and he sinks to the ground like a mechanism without a battery, because, like an empath who only exists in relation to someone else, he has no independent existence – or at least, none to which the audience is privy, in this film.
- - - -
No wonder Hans has attracted so many diverse interpretations, all seemingly incompatible with one another. There is no single Hans, no “true” Hans, not even in the library scene. In every moment in which he exists in Frozen, he functions as a mirror to other characters, embodying their emotions or their projections.
It is not that he is not sincere. Quite the opposite. He is entirely as sincere in every moment as are the people he reflects. He is just as genuinely committed to love in one moment as he is genuinely committed to kindness in another and to execution in another. As a fully empathic personality, he becomes whoever he is with.
"Who is this Hans?" Olaf asks. The answer is: not a person, not a character, but a mirror, perhaps even supernatural — a mirror who reflects everyone around him, their loves and fears, their vices and virtues, their lives and, very nearly, their deaths.
(My own extended review of Frozen appears [here].)



I know this is already long enough, but I wanted to point something else out:
in the original story, the main focal point, besides the queen, and love, etc, is a mirror. The mirror that tainted the Queen, the mirror that shattered when an attempt to take it to heaven was made, and a mirror’s shards who have to be gathered to put it back together so it can regain full-power again. In the movie about it (not Frozen, but Snow Queen), they explain that the mirror showed each sister of the seasons (fall, winter, summer, spring) what they most desired - could grant to them if they so desired. It was for all 4 but the Ice Queen, having been corrupted by the image it showed her, stole it (then it follows the shattering, being put back together, etc). My point is, the whole time I was watching Frozen I was thinking “where’s the mirror? If you’re going to use this story, you need to have the mirror, it’s vital." I was disappointed, when leaving the theater (despite loving the movie to bits) that the mirror hadn’t been mentioned, or seen. But the thing is…they did put it in there.I just couldn’t see it, because the mirror was disguised as a person.

jackfrostftw:

aeternuslunae:

dastardlyhans:

kioewen:

Prince Hans: The Mirror

In an episode of Star Trek: The Next Generation called “The Perfect Mate,” a woman named Kamala is taken on board the U.S.S. Enterprise. She is a supremely talented empath who, in any condition, mirrors the emotions of the person with whom she interacts.

Thus, with the brilliant Captain Picard, she is intelligent and adventurous. With the animalistic Klingon, Worf, she is primal. With the womanizing Commander Ryker, she is provocative and flirtatious. And so forth.

That is the true nature of Prince Hans, in Frozen.

This explains why there has been so much confusion about his character. Because he isn’t a character at all — in the sense that there is, as far as the story shows, no essential self to Hans.

Rather, every scene in which Hans appears shows him interacting with someone, and in those scenes, he takes on the characteristics and emotions of the people with whom he interacts. He mirrors them, as if he were an empath, reflecting their feelings back at them. And more than that, he even embodies their projections, personifying their hopes or dreads.

In Hans’s first scene in the film, Anna has just been dreaming of a perfect prince, and there he appears, as if her will had conjured him out of thin air. He seems to be just like her, a little awkward, but sociable, and wholly receptive to meeting someone — as if, like Anna, he too had been dreaming of running into someone new.

She leaves the encounter a little dreamy-eyed and love-struck, and he ends the scene with the same look on his face, reflecting hers.

Then, at the coronation ball, Anna attempts to re-forge a relationship with Elsa, which of course, Elsa cannot do (for Anna’s safety). Thereafter, Anna immediately encounters Hans again, except this time, he mirrors Anna’s desire for a much deeper instant relationship, just as Anna improbably wished instantly to bond closely with Elsa (as if the last 13 years of separation had never existed). Hans now wants exactly what she wants, an open-door relationship with someone, and he seems even to have endured the same hardships as Anna has: being ignored by siblings. He mimics her movements in the clock scene. He echoes her exact words: “Can I say something crazy?” “Can I say something crazy?” In their love song, they sing the same words right back at each other, again and again.

When Elsa unleashes her magic, a fascinating moment follows in which Elsa and Hans exchange glances with one another. Elsa looks up, concerned, and Hans too looks up, with a similarly concerned look on his face. In that one moment, he reflects her emotions precisely.

When Anna resolves to set out after Elsa, Hans’s desire is to parallel her: “I’m coming with you.” But Anna leaves him behind, in her place. In effect, he is to function as her substitute, as her mirror self in Arendelle.

As the governor of Arendelle, when the people approach Hans with kindness, he reflects their kindness in return. But when the Duke approaches him with hostility and attempts to show him who’s boss, Hans mirrors the Duke’s bravura and stares him down, asserting his own authority in turn.

Even at the ice palace, when he confronts Marshmallow, he mirrors the great snow monster in the ferocity of his combat skills. Just as Marshmallow grows ice spikes, so too does Hans grow one — his sword – and defeats Elsa’s mighty snow sentinel by reflecting the snowman’s violence.

When he encounters Elsa in her upper chamber, he echoes Elsa’s very own lifelong dread when he says to her, “Don’t be the monster they fear you are.” In effect, he is speaking for her, uttering her own emotions, as if he were empathically linked to her.

Even his very next action is a mirroring one: when one of the guards raises his crossbow to shoot, Hans, in grasping the guard’s crossbow, shoots with him. The are two suddenly on the same trigger, mirroring each other, performing the same act, shooting the weapon together as if they were twins.

When Hans next encounters Elsa in the dungeon, his tone is identical to hers. He sits beside her and speaks with sadness and worry: “Stop the winter. Please,” saying the lines just the way Elsa might utter them herself. He seems, in that moment, to be as gentle as Elsa. He reflects her emotions and her demeanor.

Next, of course, comes the library scene. And now, one might think that Hans reveals his “true” self. But that’s not the case at all. Here too he performs an act of mirroring — of Anna.

Consider Anna’s words when she returns:

HANS
What happened out there?

ANNA
Elsa struck me with her powers.

HANS
You said she’d never hurt you.

ANNA
I was wrong…She froze my heart.

That is, of course, Anna’s selectively edited and misconstrued account of what happened. In truth, Elsa struck her with her magic unwittingly and unwillingly, after having begged Anna repeatedly to leave, for Anna’s own safety. It was Anna herself who caused the situation in which she was hurt.

However, because Anna (due to her characteristic lack of perceptiveness about others and their emotions) does not recognize why the ice-palace incident transpired as it did, she misconstrues the event as if she were the one who had been wronged or betrayed by her sister.

And what does Hans do next? He mirrors this, as he mirrors all things. He wrongs her. He betrays her.

Anna’s projection of an unexpected betrayal from her sister causes Hans to mirror that unexpected betrayal right back at her. Once again, Hans even echoes Anna’s own words to him: “You’re no match for Elsa.” “No, you’re no match for Elsa.” He takes off his gloves when he does this, just as Elsa wore no gloves during the encounter at the ice palace, when Anna believes that Elsa betrayed her and hurt her.

In the next scene, with the ad-hoc Arendelle council, Hans seems grave but resolute, just as they do, seemingly prepared to do what’s necessary to save Arendelle — even something desperate, such as executing the queen. Earlier, they had projected onto him the image of a hero (“You are all Arendelle has left”), just as Anna had yearned to meet “the one” right at the beginning of the film, and Hans reflects their hero projection right back at the council members, just as he initially reflected Anna’s projection of a perfect prince, or later, her projection of a betrayal and injury by someone whom she thought loved her.

On the fjord, Hans once again mirrors Elsa. Observe how wide-eyed and nearly frantic he appears when he shouts at her, just as wide-eyed as Elsa herself appears.

And what identity does he take on in this moment? That of an executioner — which is exactly what Elsa believes that she has become, once she is told that Anna died because of her magic. Elsa believes that she has become lethal, that she is death personified, and Hans, in turn, mirrors that identity, becoming death himself, sword in hand, like the scythe of the grim reaper.

Only at the very end of the film, when he is locked in a cell, is Hans seen alone, for the very first time. At that moment, there is no one to mirror, and he sinks to the ground like a mechanism without a battery, because, like an empath who only exists in relation to someone else, he has no independent existence – or at least, none to which the audience is privy, in this film.

- - - -

No wonder Hans has attracted so many diverse interpretations, all seemingly incompatible with one another. There is no single Hans, no “true” Hans, not even in the library scene. In every moment in which he exists in Frozen, he functions as a mirror to other characters, embodying their emotions or their projections.

It is not that he is not sincere. Quite the opposite. He is entirely as sincere in every moment as are the people he reflects. He is just as genuinely committed to love in one moment as he is genuinely committed to kindness in another and to execution in another. As a fully empathic personality, he becomes whoever he is with.

"Who is this Hans?" Olaf asks. The answer is: not a person, not a character, but a mirror, perhaps even supernatural — a mirror who reflects everyone around him, their loves and fears, their vices and virtues, their lives and, very nearly, their deaths.

(My own extended review of Frozen appears [here].)

I know this is already long enough, but I wanted to point something else out:

in the original story, the main focal point, besides the queen, and love, etc, is a mirror. The mirror that tainted the Queen, the mirror that shattered when an attempt to take it to heaven was made, and a mirror’s shards who have to be gathered to put it back together so it can regain full-power again.

In the movie about it (not Frozen, but Snow Queen), they explain that the mirror showed each sister of the seasons (fall, winter, summer, spring) what they most desired - could grant to them if they so desired. It was for all 4 but the Ice Queen, having been corrupted by the image it showed her, stole it (then it follows the shattering, being put back together, etc).

My point is, the whole time I was watching Frozen I was thinking “where’s the mirror? If you’re going to use this story, you need to have the mirror, it’s vital." I was disappointed, when leaving the theater (despite loving the movie to bits) that the mirror hadn’t been mentioned, or seen. But the thing is…they did put it in there.

I just couldn’t see it, because the mirror was disguised as a person.

HOLY SHET

Video 19 Sep 36,448 notes
Video 19 Sep 29,027 notes

(Source: dianachu)

via Jiper Snoe.
Photo 18 Sep 7,313 notes nathanielemmett:

Concept art for Hogwarts in winter by Jim Salvati.

nathanielemmett:

Concept art for Hogwarts in winter by Jim Salvati.

Photo 18 Sep 21,736 notes moffatsapprentice:

ASKING THE RIGHT QUESTIONS.

moffatsapprentice:

ASKING THE RIGHT QUESTIONS.

Video 18 Sep 201,022 notes

onestumppeeta:

frankenwhale:

thegoddamazon:

scatterbrainedhypatia:

thegoddamazon:

sk8euzenherb:

cameralinz:

“Is Draco alive? Is he in the castle?” The whisper was barely audible; her lips were an inch from his ear, her head bent so low that her long hair shielded his face from the onlookers. “Yes,” he breathed back. He felt the hand on his chest contract; her nails pierced him. Then it was withdrawn. She had sat up. “He is dead!” Narcissa Malfoy called to the watchers.

In the end, Voldemort’s fate twice came down to the choice of a woman, a mother.

Rock ‘n roll.

Harry Potter as a series repeatedly tells us never to underestimate a mother’s love. Lilly’s love for Harry nearly killed Voldemort the first time, Narcissa’s love for Draco set him up for his real death, and Voldemort’s greatest general was killed by Molly, a mother who loved all of her children and feared losing any more to the magical war.

Bitches. Get. Stuff. Done.

Anyone who thinks Harry Potter as a series isn’t good literature and doesn’t teach important life lessons/points of view about ethics, morality and responsibility, needs to G-O-OUT-DA-DO’.

This had to be the most raw moment in the series because the fact that she was like “My baby is okay that’s all that matters, and I know what will happen if Voldemort wins, so let’s end this.”

I mean, Voldemort lost because he trusted his followers to be implicit in their loyalty, but a lot had changed in the decade since he’d last terrorized the world. Like…the Death Eaters for the most part were calmed down and writing off those dark days as the “wild days of their youth” and shit, so when Voldemort pops back up ready to pick up where he left off, you could see a lot of the doubt in them like “Yo we grew up, son, shit ain’t like it was before.” But they followed out of fear mostly, not loyalty. Bellatrix was just crazy and in love with V so it didn’t matter to her what happened—and it ultimately led to her death.

But Narcissa was raw as fuck because she knew SOMEBODY had to stop him and she knew her husband was too scared to do it himself, so she devised her own on-the-fly plan.

The HP series is way too dope to be written off, and most of the detractors who write it off are just jealous of the hype it gets, but if you really read it, so many themes are covered in the story, chief among them being growing up and the expectations therein.

…am I rambling. I need to stop.

Dang, I didn’t even consider the whole “we’ve grown up” thing, but you’re absolutely right. And to add to that, not only have they grown up, they’ve had children. Being a Death Eater is something that these folks probably thought was hot shit when they were young, but now that they’ve grown up, they’re seeing their children doing the same thing, and suddenly it’s not so cool anymore. They’re deeply unsettled at best, and terrified at worst.

And Voldy literally lacks the ability to see this. He will never understand that love, and love for one’s children, also extends to his cronies. He will never understand that love causes people to take unimaginable risks FOR these children.

He will never understand that love for one’s children is so strong that a woman who’s followed him loyally for years will lie to his face—never mind that he’s THE MOST ACCOMPLISHED LEGILIMENS IN THE WORLD—about his absolute worst enemy. When she was forced to choose between her son and her leader, she chose her son, without even batting an eye.

THAT is powerful.

Exactly. These people have grown up, gotten married, and had children. Voldemort is that dude that was perpetually still trying to be forever young, still going to the same clubs, still doing the same fuckshit, and everybody who used to ride with him is like “For real, tho? We off that, man.”

Harry Potter draws a lot of parallels to the real world despite the story itself. I love it.

I love when Tumblr breaks out into hardcore analysis. 

hardcore analysis is the shit

(Source: margaerystyrells)

Photo 18 Sep 256,722 notes fouur:

psyducked:

stunningpicture:

Failed panoramic.

oh, you know, just casually photographing the apocalypse

This is soo cool

fouur:

psyducked:

stunningpicture:

Failed panoramic.

oh, you know, just casually photographing the apocalypse

This is soo cool

Photo 18 Sep 3,114 notes pleatedjeans:

via
Text 17 Sep 107,928 notes

flashakaviolet:

willsicott:

tuxedoandex:

ugly:

What do you call the security guards outside Samsung shops?

what

Guardians of the Galaxy

Get out

Photo 17 Sep 49,788 notes salparadisewasright:

estufar:

An actual headline from The New York Times in 1919 


I love this so much.

salparadisewasright:

estufar:

An actual headline from The New York Times in 1919 

I love this so much.


Design crafted by Prashanth Kamalakanthan. Powered by Tumblr.