Untitled

[ultrafacts]

Source 

[hellkatsally]

These dudes are fucking legit.  They don’t just show up one day in court, either, they actually make friends with the kids and let them know they have a support system and that there are people in the world who care about them and will always have their back.  And less important, but also cool, is that the few times a couple of them have come into my cafe, they’ve been super friendly and polite and when I told one of the guys that I noticed his Bikers Against Child Abuse patch and wanted him to know how awesome I thought he was because of it, he got kind of shy and blushed and said, “The kids are the awesome ones, we just let them know they’re allowed to be brave.”

[bebinn]

The source is long, but so, so good. These men and women are available in 36 states, 24 hours a day to stand guard at home, in court, at school, even if the child has a nightmare. Many of them are survivors of childhood abuse as well, and know what it’s like to feel scared and alone.

In court that day, the judge asked the boy, “Are you afraid?” No, the boy said.

Pipes says the judge seemed surprised, and asked, “Why not?”

The boy glanced at Pipes and the other bikers sitting in the front row, two more standing on each side of the courtroom door, and told the judge, “Because my friends are scarier than he is.”

[lesbian-moon-gf]

Actual tears.. hnngh

[bee-whistler]

Show me more of people like this, world. I give up on humans too easily.

[groovypirate]

where do i sign up for this,i want to be in this gang

[ultrafacts]

[haydengisearchive-deactivated20]

This is fucking amazing. It may be out of character for me to say this but rock on

[clatterbane]

Bikers Against Child Abuse was founded in 1995 by a Native American child psychologist whose ride name is Chief, when he came across a young boy who had been subjected to extreme abuse and was too afraid to leave his house. He called the boy to reach out to him, but the only thing that seemed to interest the child was Chief’s bike. Soon, some 20 bikers went to the boy’s neighborhood and were able to draw him out of his house for the first time in weeks.

Chief’s thesis was that a child who has been abused by an adult can benefit psychologically from the presence of even more intimidating adults that they know are on their side. “When we tell a child they don’t have to be afraid, they believe us,” Arizona biker Pipes told azcentral.com. “When we tell them we will be there for them, they believe us.” ( Article)

More about BACA, from their site

[uriesays]

My parents are a part of this organization and they are metal af

They go on runs to protect the child if they feel even the slightest threatened no matter where. If the child needs them to go on vacation with them, they do. Bikers come from across the nation to watch over and take shifts for these kids. And the best part is once you’re adopted into this family as a BACA kid, you’re always one. Even when you’re 40 and the perp gets released from jail, they’ll come meet with you and find your best options for avoiding the person and maintaining the life you’ve built for yourself. Once a BACA child, always a BACA child. In Florida, there’s 100% rate for identifying the perp based on the child’s testimony. Why? Because BACA stands with the child and supports the child so they feel comfortable enough to point out their attacker.

What’s better than a badass biker gang being on your side???

[kikithegirl]

NATIVE AMERICAN CHILD PSYCHOLOGIST WHO IS A BIKER AND NAMED HIMSELF CHIEF HELL YES I’M HERE FOR THAT AND BIKERS BEING BAD ASS TO PROTECT KIDS. HELL YEAH.

[birdungehrl]

it’s back! I will always reblog BACA

[your-uncle-dave]

Damn good people.

[rowsdower-saves-us]

I know they wouldn’t consider themselves such, but these people are freaking heroes and the world is a better place because of them. 

[racethewind10]

Hey folks, it talks about this in the article but its not mentioned in this post, BACA is a 501 © (3) charity that depends in part on donations to help pay for stuff like gas for their bikes. If you want to help, consider donating. 

[drgaellon]

@copperbadge You like posting about heroes, Sam. Seems like this would be up your alley.

[copperbadge]

I love these folks! I’ve reblogged them before but it’s wonderful to see the donation information has been added. 

[galaxy-of-stories]

Always reblog. Keep doing what you’re doing y'all.

[hurtlittleboy]

Guys? This post changed my life. I saw this post. Forever ago. And thought it was only in america… and wished desperately that they could help me. But then I saw it again, during a bad episode, and checked their site. They aren’t just in the USA

They’re in Canada as well and probably other countries. I met and talked with a native guy who runs the place near me. His name is Shaman. I got in, and I’m considered a BACA child now. Despite being 17, turning 18 when I talked to them. They spent time with me when my abuser was over, they gave me therapy resources. They give you something called a ‘level 1′ where they go to your house with as many bikers as they can, i shit you not a solid 20-40 bikers came from even out of province, and met me. I got to choose my biker name and I got a vest with patches on it and my name on it. They all hugged a Teddybear before giving it to me, and told me if I ever felt the BACA bear was running out of love, to give them a call and they’d refill it for me, and then I got a ride on one of their bikes. Just a day or so ago I went to an annual party with them and they we ate food one of them cooked and had a lot of laughs. 

I’ve never felt as loved as I did being a part of the BACA family. They also gave me dog tags with the names, and phone numbers of my 2 workers.  So I can call them whenever I feel scared. 

BACA is an absolutely wonderful group that will do everything in it’s power to help any child whos been abused. 

And it doesn’t end when you’re 18 either. As long as you get in contact/get your level 1 before you’re 18? you’re ALWAYS a BACA kid. I’m 18 now and they still invite me to parties, ask me if I’m okay, and are there for me. They’re still trying to find me resources for therapy. 

BACA has changed my fucking life. 

I hope you all can read this, and reblog it knowing from someone who fucking been with them, that they are absolutely amazing. 

[feanor-the-dragon]

If I ever don’t reblog this, it’s because I am physically being restrained against my will.

[furious-blueberry0-deactivated2]

Padawan braids should be far more decorated I don't care

I want them to have beads and bows and jewels and rings and bells and-

I want them to scream culture, to scream tradition, to scream history!!!

[furious-blueberry0-deactivated2]

Eheheheeh here is my redesign for the Padawan braid!

Oh and the bells aren’t actual bells, they make no sound, they are called bells due to an old tradition no longer in use

And if anyone wants to use this idea, or some aspects of it, DO IT!!! Use this concept however you like!! Go and create your own braids!!!!!!!!

[denelian]

tumblr always confuses me - hope this reblogs correctly...

[writing-prompt-s]

They stole you from your world when you were but a young girl, and they forged you into a magical weapon that has been feared across the cosmos. Now that the war is over and you’ve won, they send you back to the moment before they captured you. The skills, PTSD, and memories? Those never fade.

[writerben01]

Teardrops stain my drawing, smudging the crayon markings that are as blue as drowned lips eating birthday cake.

“Are you going to have another tantrum?” Miss Daisy asks. “I thought you had gotten used to mommy leaving?”

Of course I cried that morning. It was the first time seeing my mother in decades and she had nothing on her mind but the early meeting she could not be late for. “I’m sorry, miss.”

She hands me a tissue. “Big girls don’t cry.” She looks at the picture. “Are you drawing a dolphin, dear?”

I shrug. I’m not sure what I’m doing. In Alfheimr there was no use to drawing. My fingers are so used to writing letters and numbers that I find it hard to draw. But the colour speaks to me.

I remember a birthday cake, covered in blue frosting and topped with seven candles. Susan smiled as she blew them out. Nobody needed to guess her wish but we made silly guesses anyway. We were laughing in the hollow expanse of Alfheimr’s dining hall, and for a moment we forgot about the thousands of other tables in the hall celebrating birthdays that day. It was just the twenty of us, formed into unbreakable hær, making a home for ourselves.

But then I’m also thinking of Susan turning white under icy waves when her önd was not strong enough to keep her warm. Nineteen terrified hands reaching for her as she sunk away, her smile now as permanently etched on her face as in my memories of her.

We begged our seggr to slow down and she refused. We cried that we just needed more time to learn. But time was the one thing that was in short supply. The loss of life was not only a calculated risk, but a guaranteed expectancy. No gradual awakenings for us. We were thrown into the deep and we would either sink or swim.

There were so many girls, and they needed only one queen.

Keep reading

[stilessderek]

“You didn’t think you’re doing this without me, did you?” “Without us?”

[crimsonclad]

okay I’m sorry but there is still something so fucking funny about Jeff Davis accidentally creating a pairing so mesmerizing that it basically became a SEISMIC EVENT in fandom, something he stumbled across by taking a chance on a kid from YT and casting a former child actor who couldn’t share a scene with him without reorienting all his awareness towards him, just shockingly compelling found treasure onscreen and off, and Jeff Davis has NEVER EVER STOPPED BEING ANGRY ABOUT IT. Do you know what other directors and show runners would do to have one tenth of this impact? And he ran from it and gets mad when people bring it up bc— and this is the kicker— it was NOT WHAT HE INTENDED and he’s still furious people became fixated on his almost cartoonishly incoherent show for what he considers to be the wrong reason. God. What a legacy. “I reshaped the modern internet and arguably the publishing industry by tapping into psychosexual napalm and shut up shut up SHUT UP ABOUT IT”

[denelian]

it's even worse than that - I mean, *someone* made that ad, you know the one, where the two actors are on a boat and being all snuggly. To win some MTV award (best ship, maybe? I don't know, I'm the wrong generation to watch MTV anymore, I'm 48...). And it's not like Tyler and Dylan made up the interactions from whole cloth - someone *wrote* their banter and their physical interactions! Someone wrote Derek pushing Stiles into a wall in a manner we *all* know from dozens of pre -sex scenes in action flicks!

Now, I don't pay the most attention, because I'm in the Sterek fandom and not the Teen Wolf fandom (I've only seen 1 episode, but I've read hundreds of Sterek fics) but I've a theory based on internet rumors I've accidentally stumbled across; Jeff Davis apparently modeled the character of Derek after an ex of his (which is why he keeps ADDING to the horrific hell of Derek's life, to at least metaphorically punish said ex) and Stiles is supposed to be on *Scott's* team, and JD has set them as somehow rivals or enemies (Derek and Scott, that is) so if Stiles gets together with Derek, he's "betraying" Scott. Because Derek is, after all, "evil" because he's based on JD's ex. Derek cannot, in JD's head, have nice things - and Stiles is MORE than nice, he's integral to any wolf *surviving* in Beacon Hills.

I've been bitching about the structure of this show since I read the first 2 seasons' recaps - generally, the POV character in a show is the newcomer or the outside. So it makes sense for it to be about in the first season, he was the newcomer. But after the first season, when there are more wolves, and Stiles is the lone human running with them? (Because Lydia isn't human and Allison isn't really with them, even before Gerard twists her up.) from that point, Stiles should be the POV character. He's certainly a better fit for it, given that he *doesn't* betray everyone time and again, then mysteriously become an alpha... Then betray his best friend more times than I can count (and I quit paying ANY attention to the show about the time Scott believed some random dude he knew for a few months back in grade school over STILES, to the point that he *didn't even ask Stiles what happened*, just believed that random dude.)

Like, you could have a GREAT show about morality vs ethics, power corrupting, abusing loyalty, there's MEAT there! But no, JD *tells* is that Scott is some Paragon of virtue (and doesn't do any research or give any thought to what *fallen* Paragons are... It how Scott makes much more sense as a fallen Paragon...) and because he TELLS us, he expects us to ignore that he SHOWS us an abusive, controlling ass who blames Stiles for *everything*. And has probably been doing so for their entire friendship, tbh...

Which is why I stick with the fanfic. JD doesn't know what he has, and he doesn't WANT it - as he's so loudly proven.

(Do NOT get me started on that mess of a movie!)

[fuckyeahchinesefashion]

how to tie the hoodie straps into simple chinese knots

[writing-prompt-s]

Temples are built for gods. Knowing this a farmer builds a small temple to see what kind of god turns up.

[sadoeuphemist]

Arepo built a temple in his field, a humble thing, some stones stacked up to make a cairn, and two days later a god moved in.

“Hope you’re a harvest god,” Arepo said, and set up an altar and burnt two stalks of wheat. “It’d be nice, you know.” He looked down at the ash smeared on the stone, the rocks all laid askew, and coughed and scratched his head. “I know it’s not much,” he said, his straw hat in his hands. “But - I’ll do what I can. It’d be nice to think there’s a god looking after me.”

The next day he left a pair of figs, the day after that he spent ten minutes of his morning seated by the temple in prayer. On the third day, the god spoke up.

“You should go to a temple in the city,” the god said. Its voice was like the rustling of the wheat, like the squeaks of fieldmice running through the grass. “A real temple. A good one. Get some real gods to bless you. I’m no one much myself, but I might be able to put in a good word?” It plucked a leaf from a tree and sighed. “I mean, not to be rude. I like this temple. It’s cozy enough. The worship’s been nice. But you can’t honestly believe that any of this is going to bring you anything.”

“This is more than I was expecting when I built it,” Arepo said, laying down his scythe and lowering himself to the ground. “Tell me, what sort of god are you anyway?”

“I’m of the fallen leaves,” it said. “The worms that churn beneath the earth. The boundary of forest and of field. The first hint of frost before the first snow falls. The skin of an apple as it yields beneath your teeth. I’m a god of a dozen different nothings, scraps that lead to rot, momentary glimpses. A change in the air, and then it’s gone.”

The god heaved another sigh. “There’s no point in worship in that, not like War, or the Harvest, or the Storm. Save your prayers for the things beyond your control, good farmer. You’re so tiny in the world. So vulnerable. Best to pray to a greater thing than me.”

Arepo plucked a stalk of wheat and flattened it between his teeth. “I like this sort of worship fine,” he said. “So if you don’t mind, I think I’ll continue.”

“Do what you will,” said the god, and withdrew deeper into the stones. “But don’t say I never warned you otherwise.”

Arepo would say a prayer before the morning’s work, and he and the god contemplated the trees in silence. Days passed like that, and weeks, and then the Storm rolled in, black and bold and blustering. It flooded Arepo’s fields, shook the tiles from his roof, smote his olive tree and set it to cinder. The next day, Arepo and his sons walked among the wheat, salvaging what they could. The little temple had been strewn across the field, and so when the work was done for the day, Arepo gathered the stones and pieced them back together.

“Useless work,” the god whispered, but came creeping back inside the temple regardless. “There wasn’t a thing I could do to spare you this.”

“We’ll be fine,” Arepo said. “The storm’s blown over. We’ll rebuild. Don’t have much of an offering for today,” he said, and laid down some ruined wheat, “but I think I’ll shore up this thing’s foundations tomorrow, how about that?” 

The god rattled around in the temple and sighed.

A year passed, and then another. The temple had layered walls of stones, a roof of woven twigs. Arepo’s neighbors chuckled as they passed it. Some of their children left fruit and flowers. And then the Harvest failed, the gods withdrew their bounty. In Arepo’s field the wheat sprouted thin and brittle. People wailed and tore their robes, slaughtered lambs and spilled their blood, looked upon the ground with haunted eyes and went to bed hungry. Arepo came and sat by the temple, the flowers wilted now, the fruit shriveled nubs, Arepo’s ribs showing through his chest, his hands still shaking, and murmured out a prayer. 

“There is nothing here for you,” said the god, hudding in the dark. “There is nothing I can do. There is nothing to be done.” It shivered, and spat out its words. “What is this temple but another burden to you?”

“We -” Arepo said, and his voice wavered. “So it’s a lean year,” he said. “We’ve gone through this before, we’ll get through this again. So we’re hungry,” he said. “We’ve still got each other, don’t we? And a lot of people prayed to other gods, but it didn’t protect them from this. No,” he said, and shook his head, and laid down some shriveled weeds on the altar. “No, I think I like our arrangement fine.”

“There will come worse,” said the god, from the hollows of the stone. “And there will be nothing I can do to save you.”

The years passed. Arepo rested a wrinkled hand upon the temple of stone and some days spent an hour there, lost in contemplation with the god.

And one fateful day, from across the wine-dark seas, came War.

Arepo came stumbling to his temple now, his hand pressed against his gut, anointing the holy site with his blood. Behind him, his wheat fields burned, and the bones burned black in them. He came crawling on his knees to a temple of hewed stone, and the god rushed out to meet him.

“I could not save them,” said the god, its voice a low wail. “I am sorry. I am sorry. I am so so sorry.” The leaves fell burning from the trees, a soft slow rain of ash. “I have done nothing! All these years, and I have done nothing for you!”

“Shush,” Arepo said, tasting his own blood, his vision blurring. He propped himself up against the temple, forehead pressed against the stone in prayer. “Tell me,” he mumbled. “Tell me again. What sort of god are you?”

“I -” said the god, and reached out, cradling Arepo’s head, and closed its eyes and spoke.

“I’m of the fallen leaves,” it said, and conjured up the image of them. “The worms that churn beneath the earth. The boundary of forest and of field. The first hint of frost before the first snow falls. The skin of an apple as it yields beneath your teeth.” Arepo’s lips parted in a smile.

“I am the god of a dozen different nothings,” it said. “The petals in bloom that lead to rot, the momentary glimpses. A change in the air -” Its voice broke, and it wept. “Before it’s gone.”

“Beautiful,” Arepo said, his blood staining the stones, seeping into the earth. “All of them. They were all so beautiful.”

And as the fields burned and the smoke blotted out the sun, as men were trodden in the press and bloody War raged on, as the heavens let loose their wrath upon the earth, Arepo the sower lay down in his humble temple, his head sheltered by the stones, and returned home to his god.

[sameenbyhat]

Sora found the temple with the bones within it, the roof falling in upon them.

“Oh, poor god,” she said, “With no-one to bury your last priest.” Then she paused, because she was from far away. “Or is this how the dead are honored here?” The god roused from its contemplation.

“His name was Arepo,” it said, “He was a sower.”

Sora startled, a little, because she had never before heard the voice of a god. “How can I honor him?” She asked.

“Bury him,” the god said, “Beneath my altar.”

“All right,” Sora said, and went to fetch her shovel.

“Wait,” the god said when she got back and began collecting the bones from among the broken twigs and fallen leaves. She laid them out on a roll of undyed wool, the only cloth she had. “Wait,” the god said, “I cannot do anything for you. I am not a god of anything useful.”

Sora sat back on her heels and looked at the altar to listen to the god.

“When the Storm came and destroyed his wheat, I could not save it,” the god said, “When the Harvest failed and he was hungry, I could not feed him. When War came,” the god’s voice faltered. “When War came, I could not protect him. He came bleeding from the battle to die in my arms.” Sora looked down again at the bones.

“I think you are the god of something very useful,” she said.

“What?” the god asked.

Sora carefully lifted the skull onto the cloth. “You are the god of Arepo.”

[stu-pot]

Generations passed. The village recovered from its tragedies—homes rebuilt, gardens re-planted, wounds healed. The old man who once lived on the hill and spoke to stone and rubble had long since been forgotten, but the temple stood in his name. Most believed it to be empty, as the god who resided there long ago had fallen silent. Yet, any who passed the decaying shrine felt an ache in their hearts, as though mourning for a lost friend. The cold that seeped from the temple entrance laid their spirits low, and warded off any potential visitors, save for the rare and especially oblivious children who would leave tiny clusters of pink and white flowers that they picked from the surrounding meadow.

The god sat in his peaceful home, staring out at the distant road, to pedestrians, workhorses, and carriages, raining leaves that swirled around bustling feet. How long had it been? The world had progressed without him, for he knew there was no help to be given. The world must be a cruel place, that even the useful gods have abandoned, if farms can flood, harvests can run barren, and homes can burn, he thought.

He had come to understand that humans are senseless creatures, who would pray to a god that cannot grant wishes or bless upon them good fortune. Who would maintain a temple and bring offerings with nothing in return. Who would share their company and meditate with such a fruitless deity. Who would bury a stranger without the hope for profit. What bizarre, futile kindness they had wasted on him. What wonderful, foolish, virtuous, hopeless creatures, humans were.

So he painted the sunset with yellow leaves, enticed the worms to dance in their soil, flourished the boundary between forest and field with blossoms and berries, christened the air with a biting cold before winter came, ripened the apples with crisp, red freckles to break under sinking teeth, and a dozen other nothings, in memory of the man who once praised the god’s work on his dying breath.

“Hello, God of Every Humble Beauty in the World,” called a familiar voice.

The squinting corners of the god’s eyes wept down onto curled lips. “Arepo,” he whispered, for his voice was hoarse from its hundred-year mutism.

“I am the god of devotion, of small kindnesses, of unbreakable bonds. I am the god of selfless, unconditional love, of everlasting friendships, and trust,” Arepo avowed, soothing the other with every word.

“That’s wonderful, Arepo,” he responded between tears, “I’m so happy for you—such a powerful figure will certainly need a grand temple. Will you leave to the city to gather more worshippers? You’ll be adored by all.”

“No,” Arepo smiled.

“Farther than that, to the capitol, then? Thank you for visiting here before your departure.”

“No, I will not go there, either,” Arepo shook his head and chuckled.

“Farther still? What ambitious goals, you must have. There is no doubt in my mind that you will succeed, though,” the elder god continued.

“Actually,” interrupted Arepo, “I’d like to stay here, if you’ll have me.”

The other god was struck speechless. “…. Why would you want to live here?”

“I am the god of unbreakable bonds and everlasting friendships. And you are the god of Arepo.”

[vmohlere]

Always reblog Arepo and his god

[denelian]

and sequel!

[regina-bithyniae]

I think being in pain at night is making me reliably have low-tier nightmares. Had these multiple days in a row now.

[denelian]

yup - chronic pain = chronic nightmares...

[buffy-summrs-deactivated2023100]

every padme amidala outfit  — attack of the clones (2002)

[denelian]

To be clear, not a bot

[anxietyproblem]

[senatorgana]

[didyouknowmagic]

The slow surrender of his hand is everything. 

[becks-tea-blog]

This video gave me life

[thesewordsofm-i-n-e]

@luke-shywalker

[fialleril]

#now imagine this happening at an imperial center or something and all the senators are freaking out#IMAGINE IT BEING A SMALL LEIA WHO WAS FOR /SOME REASON/ DRAWN TO THIS SPECIFIC PERSON#dammit i have too much to write already (via @forgedobsidian)

Oh no.

Oh no, more Double Agent AU fodder.

[grand-duc]

: ekkreth visits alderaan for that one ekkreth and breha team up and meets bitty leiawho is the opposite of afraid of him she’s fascinated her parents are worried but also kind of touched and anakin is devastated and trying so hard not to show it

For maximum hurt:

Leia is fascinated and keeps staring at him with wide eyes whenever they’re in the same room. At some point, her parents and nanny’s attention waver away from her just long enough that she can slip from her seat. 

And she makes a beeline for Anakin, with the unwavering trust of a small child and grabs his hand. And suddenly Anakin goes from seeing the ghost of his unborn daughter when he looks at her to seeing the ghost of the slaughtered younglings (who also blindly trusted him, who thought he was there to save them).

He…. has to leave. Just turn and leave whatever function it was he had been dragged to. Leia makes a discontent/distressed noise and it’s a good think he doesn’t eat anymore, because he would have thrown up in his helmet. 

[mitigatedchaos]

Clearly the solution to all this boy/girl nonsense is to genetically engineer all children to be androgenous, and have a hormonal sythesis implant when they're of age

The year is 2056.  My name is Kal Royan, and I’m a gender hunter.  My job is to bring those who traffic in illegal modifications of the gender synthesis implant to justice.  Or at least, what they call justice.

- opening lines of Clint Manstock’s The Manhunters (1972)

[mitigatedchaos]

The year is 2056.  Masculinity is considered toxic.  Following the formation of the North American League in the aftermath of World War 3 - a war started between the exclusively male top leadership of the United States, China, and the Soviet Union - the remaining ruling coalitions cobbled together from what was left of various regional governments agreed to strict limitations on the role of men as part of new arms control treaties.

Ninety percent of citizens in North America are flats - sterile, androgynous human beings engineered for emotional stability, economic production, and lack of aggressive behavior.  Several years after each flat is first removed from their birthing pod, a gender synthesis implant is embedded in the back of the neck.  This implant allows for the tight regulation of hormonal secretions in order to keep flats emotionally level and guide their development along predetermined paths… but for the elite of this society, the implant allows a transformation into one of the two traditional sexes.  About eight percent of the population are promoted to women, the ruling caste of the post-war society, while a mere two percent become part of the highly-regulated male caste, who officially serve mostly as entertainers.

But not everything is going according to plan.  Underground groups smuggle code that can be used to break into the gender synthesis implant and reprogram it to produce their desired sexual characteristics.  While some groups do this for recreation, it is believed that other groups, in the recovering wilderness outside the sleek cities of the coasts, may have begun ‘stockpiling masculinity’ in order to rise up and overthrow the government.

Kal Royan is a ‘gender hunter’ - more specifically, a flat, and a field enforcement agent for the Department of Congruity, selected (or more accurately, sentenced) for her comparatively high level of natural aggression.  But one day, she sees something in the city’s redevelopment district that leads her to start doubting her superiors in the government.

- extremely long back cover text, Clint Manstock’s The Manhunters (1972)

[denelian]

is this REAL??? I’ve been trying to find the book, or at least the writer, for hours... help?

[lectorel]

A Bunch of Family on Tatooine Canon

1. What is Obi-Wan doing? 2. Does Kitster know that Darth Vader is Anakin? Does Kitster know about Leia? 3. What are Owen and Beru doing? Are they in any way involved with Luke and Kitster? 4. Does Kitster die like Owen and Beru? Or does he live long enough to find out what happened to his friend? 6. Was Alderaan still destroyed? 7. Can I know more about these rogue clones?

(Beware, this is a long post - almost 2k words)

Keep reading

[denelian]

i just stumbled on. and i’m BLOWN AWAY by it all, from the meeting on the death star to Luke taking the scanner as his weapon of choice.

is this written/posted somewhere as a full fic?

[either way, thank you for writing and sharing!]

[denelian]

HELP

i need to turn off safe search. “help center” tells me to “unlock the padlock on the far right”  -  WHICH I CANNOT FIND WHERE IS IT HOW DO  DO THIS???

[mysharona1987]

[pentag0nal]

This is my friend TJ, wearing a costume she made for Halloween, 1977.  She was 16 at the time. Now, keep in mind: there was no internet to search for images.  She could not have rented and paused the movie, because it wasn’t released on video until 1982.  No, TJ just went to the movie a bunch of times, took notes with a flashlight, drew a bunch of sketches, and put this together. In 19-fucking-77.  So let’s bury this bullshit about how women didn’t grow up on Star Wars.

[ziraseal]

TJ is our hero

[sourwolfstories]

sourwolfstories top 10

getting together fics (by request)

1. Dude Werewolves by mysecretashes

Stiles gets partnered with Cora for a history project, and they become bros. Also, he kind of falls in love with her older brother, Derek.

2. between the click of the light and start of the dream by thepsychicclam

A twig snaps, and then Stiles hears breathing and the rustle of leaves. He strains to get a better glimpse into the darkness, but it’s pointless. There’s nothing but a black void.

It’s Stiles’ senior year, and he’s trying to concentrate on normal things - like the lacrosse championship, spring break, prom, graduation (and definitely not Derek) - when he starts having nightmares and waking up in the middle of nowhere. Oh yeah, and he’s being haunted by a hag. Great.

3. I Ran (So Far) by thepsychicclam

“But, you don’t run,” Derek pointed out, confused.

 “People can get new hobbies,” Stiles snapped. “Geez, if I’d known it was going to be this big of a deal, I’d have called you first. Want me to give you my workout schedule? That way you can coordinate your nose accordingly?”

In which Stiles’ summer starts off so badly he starts running, gets pelted by paint balls, and decides he is, in fact, going crazy if he willingly wants to hang out with Derek Hale.

4. Just to See You Again by MellytheHun

A sterek college!AU where writing student Stiles specializes in love letters, runs a blog about it and can be commissioned to write love letters on behalf of lovers who are at a loss for words.

He makes some cash, he’s good at what he does (especially when he gets to be a little more explicit in his letters), it pays for his textbooks and that’s all he’s really looking for and life is fine. That is, until someone anonymously commissions him to write a love letter to mathematics student, Derek Hale.

5. Of Course It’s Fairies by HelloWhyTheFuckAmIHere

While still suffering from the after effects of the Nogitsune, Stiles and the pack stumble upon and save a trapped fairy. The boy’s parents, not wanting to be in the pack’s debt, offer each member of the pack who assisted in the rescue, the opportunity to bring a loved one back from the dead.

Having been blissfully reunited with several of their once-lost friends and family members, everyone must work together to figure out how to function as a new pack, and how to defeat a new incoming threat.

6. There’s a cup with his name on it by hellodickspeight

The sight before him is breathtaking. Wide opened whiskey eyes searching above his head, pink lips slightly parted, tongue wetting them as he considers his choice, messy brown hair sticking in every direction, moles dotting a pale skin, Derek can’t wait to ask for his name.

A soulmate AU where people have the first name of their soulmates written on their body.

7. Growing Up With You by WhereAreTheBreaks

It all started with a strange scent in the grocery store, and now Derek can’t imagine his life without the hyperactive little shit that is Stiles Stilinski. He didn’t know why he always felt the need to be close to the boy but his mom’s knowing looks certainly weren’t helping.

8. and i’ll just keep on stumblin (right now it feels too humblin) by dee_lirious

Derek Hale is pretty much the worst person in the world to hypothetically develop a crush on, being a murder suspect, a dangerous werewolf, a weirdo who stalks people from the treeline, and also living in a train car, Jesus Christ.

(In response to jennova’s prompt: Five times Stiles tries to make Derek smile and one time he succeeds but doesn’t notice because kissing or something.)

9. When the Dust Settled by halcyon1993

After the night in the warehouse, relationships are strained and everyone is unsure where they stand. Stiles is angry at his best friend and doesn’t know why his thoughts are being taken up more and more by a certain Sourwolf. Derek also doesn’t know why Scott’s betrayal isn’t as painful as the prospect of Stiles knowing about it. As they try to mend fences and acclimate Jackson to life as a werewolf, both discover that there may be more to their feelings than they are willing to admit.

10. Love Thy Neighbor…He’s Hot by Triangulum

Derek and Laura seriously lucked out with Stiles as their neighbor. Yeah he can be loud, but he keeps it to normal hours, and he brings them food, they have movie nights, he’s so beautiful, and okay, Derek might be pining. The only problem is, Stiles has a girlfriend. And Derek HATES her.

OR

The one where Derek and Laura live next door to Stiles, and Derek has a completely out of control crush. A Sterek as neighbors one shot AU that got wildly out of control.

Honorable Mentions

Special Order by bleep0bleep

To Build a Home (Of Sorts) by nogitsune_lichen

The Predictability Of I Told You So’s by crossroadswrite

in this twilight (i can’t see shit) by Anniely

i wait for you like a lonely house by bleep0bleep

[asafo2020-deactivated20171024]

http://m.dailykos.com/story/2015/08/03/1408341/-Psychologist-openly-admits-he-trains-police-officers-to-shoot-first-and-ask-questions-later S-I-G-N-A-L B-O-O-S-T

[blackkidzen]

No. YOU DON’T GET TO DO THIS AND SLIP UNDER THE RADAR. Anyone who’s seeing this, I beg you to reblog. I want as many people to see this shit as possible.

[shortheaux-deactivated20161030]

this is really true tho!!! my uncle was a cop in NY & FL and they taught him to shoot first if he had to. anytime a cop feels threatened (and they basically teach cops they’re always threatened) they can shoot. its rlly sick psychological torture shit to help create a police state tbh

[cosmic-noir]

W H A T

[cydonianmystery-deactivated-dea]

He should be put on trial for crimes against humanity.

I’m not even joking.

He’s a mass murderer.

[onlyblackgirl]

[prismatic-bell]

This man is the devil.