beyond and farm

Valentine’s as a holiday is garbage, but Jim and Spock hanging out to watch the sun rise on a farm is not.


Sansa and her “Stark connection”

Since the fandom is always saying how Sansa is not a Real Stark ™    I wanted to  make a post in which I explain why Sansa, born in the Winter (unlike Arya or Bran or Rickon born in the long Summer), in Winterfell (unlike Jon or Robb born in the south) will always be a Stark ( no Lannister or Baelish or whatever…), no matter who she is forced to marry (to survive I might add..). 

 In AGOT Sansa (before her father died, and when she was meant to marry joffrey) is already very proud of her Stark origins. 

Alyn carried the Stark banner. When she saw him rein in beside Lord Beric to exchange words, it made Sansa feel ever so proud.

While prefering The Seven (like her mother) she does admire the poetry of the old gods. 

Besides, even if she could leave the castle, where would she go? It was enough that she could walk in the yard, pick flowers in Myrcella’s garden, and visit the sept to pray for her father. Sometimes she prayed in the godswood as well, since the Starks kept the old gods.

By the time she reached the godswood, the noises had faded to a faint rattle of steel and a distant shouting. Sansa pulled her cloak tighter. The air was rich with the smells of earth and leaf. Lady would have liked this place, she thought. There was something wild about a godswood; even here, in the heart of the castle at the heart of the city, you could feel the old gods watching with a thousand unseen eyes.

While she is called little bird, or little dove (when people want to undermine her), she is called wolf  too.

Tyrion found himself thinking of his wife. Not Sansa; his first wife, Tysha. The whore wife, not the wolf wife.

“Your Grace has forgotten the Lady Sansa,” said Pycelle.

The queen bristled. “I most certainly have not forgotten that little she-wolf.” She refused to say the girl’s name.

And Sansa herself when she is in put  a hard position takes courage in her Stark origins. Its something that gives her  strength:

Do as you’re told, sweetling, it won’t be so bad. Wolves are supposed to be brave, aren’t they?

“Brave. Sansa took a deep breath. I am a Stark, yes, I can be brave.

"Winterfell?” Robert was small for eight, a stick of a boy with splotchy skin and eyes that were always runny. Under one arm he clutched the threadbare cloth doll he carried everywhere.

Winterfell is the seat of House Stark,” Sansa told her husband-to-be. “The great castle of the north.”

“Do you require guarding?” Marillion said lightly. “I am composing a new song, you should know. A song so sweet and sad it will melt even your frozen heart. ‘The Roadside Rose,’ I mean to call it. About a baseborn girl so beautiful she bewitched every man who laid eyes upon her.

I am a Stark of Winterfell, she longed to tell him. Instead she nodded, and let him escort her down the tower steps and along a bridge. 

 Petyr put his arm around her. “What if it is truth he wants, and justice for his murdered lady?” He smiled. “I know Lord Nestor, sweetling. Do you imagine I’d ever let him harm my daughter?

"I am not your daughter, she thought. I am Sansa Stark, Lord Eddard’s daughter and Lady Catelyn’s, the blood of Winterfell.

"As was bringing me here, when you swore to take me home.”She wondered where this courage had come from, to speak to him so frankly. From Winterfell, she thought. I am stronger within the walls of Winterfell.

I will tell my aunt that I don’t want to marry Robert. Not even the High Septon himself could declare a woman married if she refused to say the vows. She wasn’t a beggar, no matter what her aunt said. She was thirteen, a woman flowered and wed, the heir to Winterfell.

.His seamed and solemn face brought back all of Sansa’s memories of his time at Winterfell. She remembered him at table, speaking quietly with her mother. She heard his voice booming off the walls when he rode back from a hunt with a buck behind his saddle. She could see him in the yard, a practice sword in hand, hammering her father to the ground and turning to defeat Ser Rodrik as well. He will know me. How could he not? She considered throwing herself at his feet to beg for his protection. He never fought for Robb, why should he fight for me?

From the high battlements of the gatehouse, the whole world spread out below them. Sansa could see the Great Sept of Baelor on Visenya’s hill, where her father had died. At the other end of the Street of the Sisters stood the fire-blackened ruins of the Dragonpit. To the west, the swollen red sun was half-hidden behind the Gate of the Gods. The salt sea was at her back, and to the south was the fish market and the docks and the swirling torrent of the Blackwater Rush. And to the north …She turned that way, and saw only the city, streets and alleys and hills and bottoms and more streets and more alleys and the stone of distant walls. Yet she knew that beyond them was open country, farms and fields and forests, and beyond that, north and north and north again, stood Winterfell.

but personally my favorite line about Sansa being always a Stark and belonging North in Winterfell  (Never a Lannister! , no matter who she marries) is this quote by Ned: 

When it was over, he said, “Choose four men and have them take the body north. Bury her at Winterfell.”

“All that way?” Jory said, astonished.

“All that way,” Ned affirmed. “The Lannister woman shall never have this skin.

Sansa whole story (to me) is about her journey retaking her Stark origins which were stolen from her in the worst of way, just like they killed her wolf Lady. But just like Lady remains, Sansa place is and always will be in the north, as a Stark of Winterfell. 

Like Limbs and Hearts, Entwined (Prologue)

Summary:  When the woven birch crown appears in the Sacred Grove, the village elders know that The God of Field and Forest, The Lord of the Ancient Wood, has decided to take a Bride.  The most beautiful girl in the village, chosen by him and blessed with his grace, is to perform the marriage rites on the First Summer Moon, thus ensuring a bountiful harvest and continued prosperity for the community…  And you are so very certain and so very thankful that it could never be you!  

–This prologue takes place about ten years or so before the events of the main fic.

A/N:  The summary is a little… meeeeeh, so we’ll see if it changes.  This is the Cernunnos!Seb x Reader nobody asked for haha  Out of respect for my pagan brothers, sisters, and variations there upon, he’s not strictly Cernunnos, but a fertility god and a religion I adapted for the AU.  And FULL DISCLOSURE: you don’t see a whole lot of Seb in this fic until the end, when you see absolutely all of him!

Warnings: future smut, mentions of blood/bleeding

Sitting with the other girls, listening to a village elder regale the group with tales of The Lord of Nature, the God of Field and Forest, you wished you could be just about any place else.  The quiet spot on the river you discovered seemed to call you on the warm summer day.  Or perhaps the meadow beyond your family’s little farm, littered with wildflowers before reaching the deep, ancient wood.  It just seemed ridiculous to be hearing these legends of wild things instead of being out there experiencing them.  You were only there now because your parents said a girl your age ought to be interested in these sorts of things, learning the ins and outs of the rituals your village held.  In truth, they had been interesting… the first several times you’d heard them in your eleven short years of life.  And as you had no intention of ever being a part of any of the rituals, aside from providing for the offerings as was required, you weren’t exactly sure why you had to keep hearing about them.

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We Bet You Can't Tell Which of These Is Real Meat

Meat comes in all forms. Can you tell the difference between the “real” thing and the animal-friendly version? (Answers at bottom)

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“Walk with me,” Joffrey commanded, offering her his arm. She had no choice but to take it. The touch of his hand would have thrilled her once; now it made her flesh crawl. “My name day will be here soon,” Joffrey said as they slipped out the rear of the throne room. “There will be a great feast, and gifts. What are you going to give me?”

“I … I had not thought, my lord.”

Your Grace,” he said sharply. “You truly are a stupid girl, aren’t you? My mother says so.”

“She does?” After all that had happened, his words should have lost their power to hurt her, yet somehow they had not. The queen had always been so kind to her.

“Oh, yes. She worries about our children, whether they’ll be stupid like you, but I told her not to trouble herself.” The king gestured, and Ser Meryn opened a door for them.

“Thank you, Your Grace,” she murmured. The Hound was right, she thought, I am only a little bird, repeating the words they taught me. The sun had fallen below the western wall, and the stones of the Red Keep glowed dark as blood.

“I’ll get you with child as soon as you’re able,” Joffrey said as he escorted her across the practice yard. “If the first one is stupid, I’ll chop off your head and find a smarter wife. When do you think you’ll be able to have children?”

Sansa could not look at him, he shamed her so. “Septa Mordane says most … most highborn girls have their flowering at twelve or thirteen.”

Joffrey nodded. “This way.” He led her into the gatehouse, to the base of the steps that led up to the battlements.

Sansa jerked back away from him, trembling. Suddenly she knew where they were going. “No,” she said, her voice a frightened gasp. “Please, no, don’t make me, I beg you …”

Joffrey pressed his lips together. “I want to show you what happens to traitors.”

Sansa shook her head wildly. “I won’t. I won’t.”

“I can have Ser Meryn drag you up,” he said. “You won’t like that. You had better do what I say.” Joffrey reached for her, and Sansa cringed away from him, backing into the Hound.

“Do it, girl,” Sandor Clegane told her, pushing her back toward the king. His mouth twitched on the burned side of his face and Sansa could almost hear the rest of it. He’ll have you up there no matter what, so give him what he wants.

She forced herself to take King Joffrey’s hand. The climb was something out of a nightmare; every step was a struggle, as if she were pulling her feet out of ankle-deep mud, and there were more steps than she would have believed, a thousand thousand steps, and horror waiting on the ramparts.

From the high battlements of the gatehouse, the whole world spread out below them. Sansa could see the Great Sept of Baelor on Visenya’s hill, where her father had died. At the other end of the Street of the Sisters stood the fire-blackened ruins of the Dragonpit. To the west, the swollen red sun was half-hidden behind the Gate of the Gods. The salt sea was at her back, and to the south was the fish market and the docks and the swirling torrent of the Blackwater Rush. And to the north …

She turned that way, and saw only the city, streets and alleys and hills and bottoms and more streets and more alleys and the stone of distant walls. Yet she knew that beyond them was open country, farms and fields and forests, and beyond that, north and north and north again, stood Winterfell.

“What are you looking at?” Joffrey said. “This is what I wanted you to see, right here.”

A thick stone parapet protected the outer edge of the rampart, reaching as high as Sansa’s chin, with crenellations cut into it every five feet for archers. The heads were mounted between the crenels, along the top of the wall, impaled on iron spikes so they faced out over the city. Sansa had noted them the moment she’d stepped out onto the wallwalk, but the river and the bustling streets and the setting sun were ever so much prettier. He can make me look at the heads, she told herself, but he can’t make me see them.

“This one is your father,” he said. “This one here. Dog, turn it around so she can see him.”

Sandor Clegane took the head by the hair and turned it. The severed head had been dipped in tar to preserve it longer. Sansa looked at it calmly, not seeing it at all. It did not really look like Lord Eddard, she thought; it did not even look real. “How long do I have to look?”

Joffrey seemed disappointed. “Do you want to see the rest?” There was a long row of them.

“If it please Your Grace.”

Joffrey marched her down the wallwalk, past a dozen more heads and two empty spikes. “I’m saving those for my uncle Stannis and my uncle Renly,” he explained. The other heads had been dead and mounted much longer than her father. Despite the tar, most were long past being recognizable. The king pointed to one and said, “That’s your septa there,” but Sansa could not even have told that it was a woman. The jaw had rotted off her face, and birds had eaten one ear and most of a cheek.

Sansa had wondered what had happened to Septa Mordane, although she supposed she had known all along. “Why did you kill her?” she asked. “She was god-sworn …”

“She was a traitor.” Joffrey looked pouty; somehow she was upsetting him. “You haven’t said what you mean to give me for my name day. Maybe I should give you something instead, would you like that?”

“If it please you, my lord,” Sansa said.

When he smiled, she knew he was mocking her. “Your brother is a traitor too, you know.” He turned Septa Mordane’s head back around. “I remember your brother from Winterfell. My dog called him the lord of the wooden sword. Didn’t you, dog?”

“Did I?” the Hound replied. “I don’t recall.”

Joffrey gave a petulant shrug. “Your brother defeated my uncle Jaime. My mother says it was treachery and deceit. She wept when she heard. Women are all weak, even her, though she pretends she isn’t. She says we need to stay in King’s Landing in case my other uncles attack, but I don’t care. After my name day feast, I’m going to raise a host and kill your brother myself. That’s what I’ll give you, Lady Sansa. Your brother’s head.”

A kind of madness took over her then, and she heard herself say, “Maybe my brother will give me your head.”

Joffrey scowled. “You must never mock me like that. A true wife does not mock her lord. Ser Meryn, teach her.”

This time the knight grasped her beneath the jaw and held her head still as he struck her. He hit her twice, left to right, and harder, right to left. Her lip split and blood ran down her chin, to mingle with the salt of her tears.

“You shouldn’t be crying all the time,” Joffrey told her. “You’re more pretty when you smile and laugh.”

Sansa made herself smile, afraid that he would have Ser Meryn hit her again if she did not, but it was no good, the king still shook his head. “Wipe off the blood, you’re all messy.”

The outer parapet came up to her chin, but along the inner edge of the walk was nothing, nothing but a long plunge to the bailey seventy or eighty feet below. All it would take was a shove, she told herself. He was standing right there, right there, smirking at her with those fat wormlips. You could do it, she told herself. You could. Do it right now. It wouldn’t even matter if she went over with him. It wouldn’t matter at all.

“Here, girl.” Sandor Clegane knelt before her, between her and Joffrey. With a delicacy surprising in such a big man, he dabbed at the blood welling from her broken lip.

The moment was gone. Sansa lowered her eyes. “Thank you,” she said when he was done. She was a good girl, and always remembered her courtesies.

Sansa VI, A Game of Thrones.


Get to Know the Rulers of Wasteland

Immortan Joe (formerly, Col. Joe Moore of the Australian Army): leader, believed by his people to be immortal, and ruler of The Citadel.

Corpus Collosus: eldest son of Immortan Joe, and the brains of the day-to-day operations at the citadel.

Rictus Erectus: youngest son of Immortan Joe, more brawn than brains.

Scaborous Scrotus: the middle, favored son of Joe and His emissary in the Wasteland, former ruler of Gastown. (canon; Mad Max: the game, and official comics).

The People Eater: Former Investor and Big Business Tycoon and not-so-honest businessman, and Cannibal. He and Joe have a strictly symbiotic business relationship which is water and guzzoline.

The Bullet Farmer AKA “Major Kalashnikov”: served with Immortan Joe in the Military before becoming a gang of outlaws in the events of the Gas and Water Wars. Was given The Bullet Farm as a gift for his years of loyal service before and after the world fell.


-One time, when Luke was small, he got lost in the desert beyond his farm.

-Obi-Wan, never being far behind, saved him of course. But instead of taking him straight home, he was distracted by the cloying, trusting little boy who wanted to play with his long robes and scraggly beard. 

-”We have to get you back, little one,” Obi-Wan says, tugging a sleeve free from the iron grasp of the 3-year-old. “Your aunt will be worried sick.”

-But somehow, Obi-Wan spends the entire afternoon in the speeder with Luke, playing peek-a-boo with him, patty cake, burbling words to make the little boy laugh. Luke is fascinated when Obi-Wan levitates some rocks around his head. Luke laughs so hard he starts to cough and then laughs some more.

-Obi-Wan finds that his smile is rusty, but it is still alive. He hasn’t smiled like this in years.  

-He brings Luke back when the sun starts to kiss the horizon. Luke’s exhausted aunt and uncle are worried sick but grudgingly grateful to the hermit of the desert for finding him. There are much, much worse people to be found by on Tattooine.

-Years and years later, when Luke sees Obi-Wan again for what he thinks is the first time, he has an indescribable urge to smile.

Flor Pálida

Summary: Peeta Mellark is the son the wealthiest sugar cane plantation in Arecibo, Puerto Rico. Katniss Everdeen is the daughter of a poor farm laborer. When fate conspires to separate them, Peeta is certain he will never see her again. Many years later, their paths cross, but both are now a little older and more jaded. Can Katniss and Peeta overcome the traumas of their past to find love again? Chapters 1-3 Here .

Rating: Mature

Author: titaniasfics (A/N at the end)

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Ag-gag laws are bad for animals and free speech

On Jan. 1, North Carolina became the latest state to outlaw taking photos or video with the intention of exposing abuse or criminal activity in the private spaces of any employer in the state. Known as “ag-gag” laws for effectively criminalizing attempts to report malpractice in the agriculture industry, such legislation is raising concerns among animal-rights groups and First Amendment advocates who fear a chilling effect that could go well beyond farms and feedlots.

In collaboration with @pivottv

How to help new hunters


-Teach them the ropes

-Show them proper hunting lobby etiquette (don’t join and post, etc.)

-Answer questions

-Provide advice

-Aid with farming a monster to get rare drops

-Encourage them to party up with people of their own skill level

-Help them help themselves


-Carry them well beyond their skill levels

-Farm entire sets of armor for them, well beyond their HR

-Supply them constantly with items, even when they forget every single time

-Provide unrealistic expectations of what other hunters are there to do for them

-Let poor behavior slide, or let them take advantage of you

We’re all here to help, as this is a community-based game, but remember that there’s a difference between helping and carrying. Someone who is Gold Crown G-Rank with an HR of 75, wearing Rarity 10 armor and triple carting their group isn’t helping anybody. Also remember that your time is valuable, too, and it’s not your job to be at the whims of newbies. Help when you can, but don’t forget your own plans and goals. If you don’t keep learning and growing, how can you help anyone?

Ok pros and cons of new trailer


  • My babies are back! !! !
  • Orci and JJ are g o n e (evil laughter)
  • Bones and Kirk drinking bourbon 
  • Bones giving helpful and life advice to both kirk and spock 
  • cool aliens! !
  • if you look very closely you can see Uhura beating the sh*t out of some fuckboi alien
  • pew pew


  • the enterprise gets destroyed! again! stop hurting her she has done nothing wrong!
  • Kraal seems boring. Common villain motif and motives. Not impressed.
  • Sulu’s ok right? Sulu’s ok.
  • Lots of action! Don’t worry, none of us forgot about the motorcycle scene, you didn’t have to replay it!

Guys, The Princess Bride is on, and I’ve always sort of pegged Derek as Buttercup and Stiles as Westley (his witty banter later on is more Stiles’ style, and if Derek’s Buttercup then Humperdink can be Kate, and Humperdink is so Kate), but at the beginning Westley is so Derek it’s ridiculous. I’m dying. I’m also beyond in love with Farm Boy Westley.

I need to write this AU immediately, possibly both ways.