sorry the quality was horrible in the video

youtube

(via https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HAtjYmqDHiM)

(sorry for the horrible quality) (and my stupid voice)

it’s impossible to find anything mlp related in my country, this is why I flipped when I found some cute pony keychains

but of course, I didn’t find any of the main six, or even any background ponies
at least I can finally say that I have just one mlp related merchandise for once


has anyone else done this yet?

youtube

LOOK WHO FINALLY WAS ABLE TO UPLOAD THE MADS MIKKELSEN Q&A

I’m sorry the quality is not as great as it originally was: the file was very large, and kept crashing all of my dad’s programs, so he had to convert it down so that we could upload it in a reasonable amount of time.

This is pretty much the entire panel, so enjoy it!

youtube

[FLIPACLIP TUTORIAL] #1 Bases (Vocal on)

Some peoples asked me to do some tutorials of FlipaClip and after a long time thinking about it, I decided to do a lil one first talking about bases.

Also, sorry about the quality of the audio and my horrible French accent, it’s the first time I record my voice and I hate it. But anything for you all! I also had a lil problem in the beginning of the video, sorry…

Music:
Svtfoe ending instrumental
Marble Soda - Shawn Wasabi
Pusher - Clear

Tools:
FlipaClip on Android device
Edited with FilmoraGO
Recorded with AZRecorder

smowkie  asked:

"#also i am thirsty for some ballerina!Stiles #like secret dancer Stiles that nobody except scott knew he practice twice a week" I mean, I dont think anyone would mind if you wrote a fic or a headcanon about it... just saying. ;) ♥ (ilu and I've missed you, but i hope you had a great time and that you're doing well despite the world being horrible and people like trump & pence existing)

Here my dear :) I tried! This was written really fast during the night, so I’m sorry for the crappy quality. Hope you enjoy this little headcanon anyway :D

Originally posted by englishballetandtea

Originally posted by redfar

(Thank you to the great Sergei Polunin, who will always be the perfect dancer!Stiles to me. You can find one of his video here. Enjoy :p)


There was a black and white picture at his nana’s house, small and slightly crooked, lost in an old frame. Stiles was only a kid when his grandmother took it off the piano to show to him for the first time.  
The girl inside the picture was tiny, thin, with dark hair severely pulled back in a tight bun. Her face was turned to the side, her arms held high over her head in a graceful arch. She was wearing a tutu but the other details of her silhouette were blurred into yellow hues by the years.

Fascinated, Stiles sat near his nana and listened to stories of her youth in Russia. Of cold winters and women with warm blood and laughter. Of the peaceful studio with its dark wood and unending mirrors, and of the beautiful girls and boys that worked there every day to turn their bodies into art.
His nana kept getting more pictures out of old books, clips of newspapers in an unknown language or beautifully lit shots of dancers on stage. In the photographs, she was only a young girl, frail and beautiful and flying with the grace of a bird.

That’s how it all started.

In his nana’s living room, with her standing tall and proud on her old, damaged feet. At seventy years, she still looked tiny and weak, but she spun him around the room without effort, her feet quick and light. Her white hair floated and her smile was the most beautiful thing Stiles had ever seen.
On the sofa, his dad was clumsily trying to hum some classic melody, all eagerness and no rhythm. His mom laughed at them all and clapped, her enthusiasm and happiness intoxicating the room.

At five years old, Stiles bought his first ballet shoes. They were tiny, shiny and pink, and they didn’t make a sound when he walked shyly into Ms Muller’s dance studio. The wood in the room was bright and glossy, and light spilled all over the floor from gigantic windows. They were only seven other kids in the room, and all of them were girls.

Stiles didn’t care.

Ms Muller’s hands were strict and demanding, never treating them like the children they were, but her voice was warm and full of compliments. The weeks passed, and while Stiles started to tame his body into the foundations of grace, his brain stopped trying so hard to pull him in every direction at once.

In the studio, in the middle of the terse French words, the glittering music and the soft sounds of slippers on wood, Stiles discovered for the first time what peace felt like.
 

At seven, he swirled on the playground, arms held high in the air like his nana’s pictures. A kid pushed him hard into the mud with a sneer before calling his other friends to laugh at him.
From there on, Stiles decided to keep his love for ballet and his school life separate.
 
Scott was the only point of intersection. From the first moment they met, Scott was sincerely interested. He came to many of Stiles’ practices, sitting quietly in a corner of the studio and looking at them with big, brilliant eyes. Ms Muller often tried to convince him to join but Scott always refused, blushing and babbling excuses about his asthma.
The girls still got him to dance with them sometimes, dragging him along to join them in silly warming exercises. Scott once received Ms Muller’s congratulations on his fourth position and Scott had beamed at midair for three days straight.
 
Then, Stiles’ mom left them after months of terror and tears.
And Stiles danced.
 
He danced in the studio, in the dirt of the forest, between the suffocating walls of his room.
He danced for hours, pushing, bending his body.
He twirled fast enough to keep the world spinning, jumped high enough to keep breathing, learned to bow low enough to keep from breaking.
At night, his feet bled, his knees screamed in constant pain and his body turned into one big hurt.

But his mind was blank and he was able to sleep.
 
He didn’t dare ask for more.


 Keep reading