Starstrucklighttimemachine - I Don't Even Know Anymore

OBI-WAN KENOBI (2022)

STAR WARS: EPISODE IV - A NEW HOPE (1977)

all of tumblr:

We’d like to volunteer.

“ Stardust …”

I feel like the characters from Rogue One need more hugs, Yes?

"Get out before I suffocate you with hairspray." - this totally made me think of a rebelcaptain Broadway AU :O also if you post on ao3, my username is starsniper :) psst congrats again and you're wonderful for doing these!

DID YOU JUST SAY BROADWAY AU. Really, though, you have no idea how happy mentioning “Broadway” makes me, little long giving me the excuse to write about it, so thanks for that excuse ;) Thank you so much for the prompt and for following :) 

So I just lovingly threw these two into my personal favorite Broadway ship-that-never-sailed: Les Mis’s Marius Pontmercy and Eponine Thenardier :) The opening lyrics are from “A Little Fall of Rain”, Cassian sings “A Heart Full of Love”, and Jyn finishes with “On My Own”! (And I’m completely biased, but I would suggest listening to them!)

Thank you for 2.5k followers! Send in a prompt so I can say thank you :)

AO3

You’re here, that’s all I need to knowAnd you will keep me safeAnd you will keep me closeAnd rain will make the flowers grow.

“Jyn,five minutes.” One of the stage hands – Luke, maybe? He’d been there less thana week so Jyn wasn’t sure – pokes his head into her dressing room to give herthe warning.

“Thanks,darling,” she replies absently, dusting blush over her cheeks. Her makeupartist would likely flip, not in a good way, if she saw Jyn doing her own touchups, but Jyn likes the finished project to have her own touch and flair.Staring into the mirror, Jyn takes a deep breath to steady herself; she may bea veteran of the stage, but stage freight knows no limits.

“A heart full of love, a heart full of song,”a voice sings from the hallway. Jyn feels the tension in her shoulders drain asCassian Andor appeared in the doorway to her dressing room. “I’m doing everything all wrong.”

“Yes,my dear Marius, you are,” Jyn tsks athim, though a smile plays on her lips. “Because you should be singing thosewords to your precious Cossette. Eponine is far too lowly to capture yourfancy.”

“Ah,”Cassian walks into the room, stopping just behind her chair, his hands restingon her shoulders. “Then they should have chosen you to play Cossette, my love.”

“Tobe helpless in my love?” Jyn scoffs as she applied her final coat of neutralcolored lipstick. “I’d much rather die on the battlefield by your side thanstay away from the action.”

“ThenMarius is stupid. Such a woman clearly shines brighter.”

Theireyes meet in the mirror and Jyn cannot stop herself from getting lost in hisdeep brown eyes. The beard Cassian grows between productions has been shavedoff and his normally messy hair has been tamed with gel to transform CassianAndor, actor and singer and her beautiful lover, into Marius Pontmercy, astudent and revolutionary and her unrequited love. Jyn sees much more ofherself in Eponine – a girl raised in rags who dreams of an escape and a chanceat love – than Cassian in Marius, but he slips into the foreign skin so easily,the true mark of a great actor.

Shespins in her chair to face him, his face now centimeters from her own. “Notevery man can be as smart as you, my love.” Jyn can feel, more than see,Cassian’s answering smile as he presses a quick kiss to her freshly paintedlips.

“Two-minutewarning!” Another stage hand shouts from the hallway. “Places, everyone!”

Jyngives Cassian’s shoulder a quick shove. “Getout before I suffocate you with hairspray.”

“Yes,ma’am,” Cassian salutes, joining the rush of actors in the hallway heading onstage for the second act of their production of Les Miserables.

Witha quick flick of hairspray over her messy curls, Jyn follows them, singingunder her breath.

“All I see is him and me,forever and forever…”

i have so many hobbies and interests but each day the four horsemen (instant gratification, shortened attention span, procrastination, exhaustion) grab me by the throat and shake me until i collapse in my comfy bed

oh to be manhandled and pounded roughly by a stark 🥰🥰🥰🥰

the realization this brought me made me cry actual tears.. [not mine]

                         “ sometimes you gotta RUN before you can WALK. ”

riz ahmed as tony stark    —    ( insp. )

I don't care if religion is real or not and it has probably been said here before, but if I were Mary, I would've stopped believing in God the second I saw my son being almost dragged through the streets by the Romans.

God promised he would be the savior, that I would carry His son and give birth to him.

I gestated him, I felt him in my womb, I felt him kick. Blood of my blood, flesh of my flesh.

And when the time came, I held him when he took his first breaths, when he wailed after being born, when he was still covered in my blood, when he was but a small helpless newborn.

And I comforted him, and I nursed him, I gave him everything he would ever need. I loved him. I raised him.

I tended his wounds while on childhood. Probably taking care of his scrapped knees, maybe some splinters when he was learning to be a carpenter. Cleaning his tears after a nightmare, holding him tight after he got lost in a crowd.

I saw him perform his first miracle, my brain remembering how all those years ago, that angel promised my son to be not only the savior but also the son of God. The happiness of knowing he will be safe because he's the son of God, isn't he? God would never allow anything to happen to him.

See him grow, performing more miracles, watching him gather crowds and followers. Hearing him teach those same crowds, inspire people, help the poor, heal the wounded, resurrect the dead...

After 30 years, I would probably would have felt secure that God would never allow anything to happen to him. To his son. To my son.

I imagine how heartbreaking would have been to Mary to hear that he had been betrayed. That he was imprisoned by the Romans. That he was in danger.

And she probably prayed and prayed, begged God to take care of her son. Her child. Her baby. She was restless, trying to find ways to get to him.

She probably kept her faith and tried to keep a strong belief in God. After all, He's the creator, supreme being that would help keep His son safe.

And then she sees it, the verdict delivered by the hand of Pilate. Her son must die on a cross. And I imagine her faith waver, thinking that no, it has to be a mistake. God will save him. He has to. Her son is not only the savior but also an innocent man.

Yet there he was. Carrying a cross. A crown of thorns over his forehead, the same she had kissed goodnight so many times before. His frame holding the heavy cross, the same frame she had hugged goodbye, probably less than a month ago. His back bloodied by the lashes that the Romans delivered onto him, the same back she rubbed to take the burps out when he was a baby.

And God doesn't help him. He doesn't intervene. He doesn't save her precious little boy. He doesn't hear her begging.

They crucified him, they put nails through his wrists, blood dripping down, the same blood she has running through her veins. And she hears him wail in pain, but she can't hug him and tell him he'll be fine.

She sees him up there, suffering, barely conscious for three consecutive days. Three days when the Romans poked him with a spear, cutting the same ribs, she probably massaged when he was sick as a kid.

And I honestly believe that she would've lost all her faith. She wailed in pain and despair, screaming to the sky in anger, clutching her heart because her baby, the supposed savior, was dead. They took him from her.

She had given her body, her milk, and now her tears, to a God that could not even bother to give her son a merciful end, to take his pain away. She gave everything of her and still lost him.

So I don't think she would've kept being faithful to God or even keep believing in Him. He used her, and it was only then, only when she could see her son being tortured, that she started realizing it.

Birth & Death of Christ

The Virgin of the Lilies † Pietra by William-Adolphe Bouguereau