stole my shit

  • luke skywalker is terrifying. 
  • no, shut up, come back.
  • you have to understand:
  •  to you or me he may not be; he may be all sunshine smiles and corngold hair and the biggest eyes this side of the galaxy, but imagine you’re Dagger (stormtroopers don’t get proper names), firing at a boy, only the bolts never hit. They sing to the side. You think that there’s something wrong with your blaster, maybe, but none of your friends can hit him either. Finest shots in the Empire, you are, but you can’t hit this boy. And he cuts you down. He wields a weapon whose name you’ve never learned and he cuts you down into smoking bloodless bodies and your friends die before you – only he leaves you. Knocks you out with a blow of the Force – and isn’t that a nightmare of its own, unseen hands blotting out your thoughts – leaves you there in the cooling blood of your squadmates.
  •  Imagine that you’re Cara Ilhyre and you’re a dancer for the Hutt and you hate it, of course you do, but it is a living, a living, and this boy comes in, fresh-faced and young and he says surrender or be destroyed only he and you both know that the Hutt do not and never have surrendered and when he says destroy there’s this grin on his lips, thin and sharp, and he’s kind, of course he is, but –
    • so you’re Cara Ilhyre and you’re a native of tattooine and like many of your specis you are force-touched and you were a girl, once, a very little girl, and your mother told you tales of krayt dragons who slumbered beneath the sands and gentled their young to their pearl-heavy breasts. krayt dragons are tender mothers, she had said, and it was meant to teach you something of the duality of nature, or to fear those with young to protect, or something; but all you can think is this boy, how he smiles as kind as your mother did, once, but you’re convinced that if you were to cut him down the middle you would find dragon-pearls in his ribs and fire instead of a heart
    • the boy cuts downs jabba’s goons like they are nothing, nothing, and afterwards, afterwards, you sense his sorrow. and somehow that makes it worse.
    • because you say, later, to your mother’s ghost (maybe) or to the desert, he knows that killing people is hard and that weighs on him and he does it anyway and –
    • and, you say, it isn’t as simple as: he makes the hard choices. he knew the hutt would fight. he wanted to burn them down, oh he did, and that sister of his –
Your fave is problematic : Jaal Ama Darav
  • Way too cute to be alive
  • Probably purrs when you pet him
  •  “Ahm….mother”
  • Crying is manly
  • Big Thighs™
  • Looks like a cat and a squid at the same time
  • Once you romance him there’s no turning back
  • “Fuck over”

Tfw when you bend over backwards to get dolled up for your boyfriend only to remember last minute that he’s mostly blind without his visor
Wouldnt matter if he cld see anyways cause Jack is absolutely smitten for Gabe in whatever form he takes


Movements are in the making 🙌🏿 

So life ended up giving me that push to go and do something great with myself. That push came in the form of my co-worker.

This is Nathaniel and he likes slow walks on the beach.

He basically came ‘round to tell me about this idea he had banging around his brain for a while. He wanted to start up like a youth club, get it up and running for kids so they had something to do outside of school instead of hanging around the place and getting into trouble or anything like that. Which was understandable, I remember going to one with my brother after school which was just life, it was like an escape from the fuckries going on around us ya know?

His thing was that he didn't know where to start or who to talk to first so found his way to mine to ask for an opinion. I felt semi special. We ended up spending a good few hours researching the steps to take and things we should/shouldn't be doing. I was mad excited when he said that he was serious about getting this done and would have time ago if he had the funding and motivation. I honestly thought it was good little idea he had so asked if I could hop on it. We are now business partners so to speak haha. 

So this marks the beginning of our journey? Eh I don’t know. I just hope that this whole thing works out. I feel like this could really go places…

Also slightly off topic but somebody please direct this man to a decent barber.


I have a new favorite comic version of Bucky. Thank you Juanan Ramirez. Also, those boots. I love his undercover look but with those boots.

Also, he’s having a conversation with some kids offscreen, who he later eats popsicles with while watching Fourth of July fireworks.

If you have Marvel Unlimited, or can find it elsewhere, give this one-shot a read. Its got sexy shirtless Bucky, Bucky being cute with kids, Bucky having a secret stash of Steve related items that he tears through a crap ton of Hydra to recover. No really, not kidding. A newspaper clipping of The Invaders, his old dog tags (or Steve’s, its not really specific), the shells from the bullets that killed Steve during Civil War, and the star from Steve’s old uniform.

Also he talks about his shit constantly. ‘Someone stole my shit. I gotta get my shit back. You shouldn’t have taken my shit.’

Just go read it okay Bucky/Stucky fans?

A Year of Marvels: July Infinite Comic #1 (2016)

The barricade, June 1832...
  • Soldier: WHO GOES THERE?!
  • Enjolras: Fre...
  • Combeferre: *covers Enjolras' mouth and looks at Bahorel*.
  • Bahorel: *high voice* Jean, my son this is your mother! Why are you out in the rain without your warm coat go home at once!
  • Les Amis: *holds breath*
  • Soldier: mother! Why are you on a barricade!
  • Bahorel: *blank look*
  • Courfeyrac: *high voice* because one of these little shits stole my table! Go home, Jean! I'll be back soon!
  • les Amis: *continue to hold breath*
  • Soldier: *looks longingly at canon*.
  • Enjolras: *death glares everyone*
  • Grantaire: *high voice* SON I SAID GO HOME DONT MAKE ME THROW MY SLIPPER!!!
  • Soldier: sorry, mother! Come on boys, let's go get a pizza or something

Whenever I see someone say “Artists only live to create so they should be honored their work is good enough to steal/ripped off/etc” it makes me want to punch them in the face and then say that they should see it as an honor that I deemed them worthy enough to bruise my knuckles over. 

Originally posted by madlen93

ways in which i’ve described Bakugou:

  • a fascinatingly complex kid who’s simultaneously very aware and yet constantly in denial
  • a kid with the emotional range of a teaspoon 
  • an angry frustrated little pomeranan who needs a hug but would refuse it if given the chance
  • Denial Child™
  • an emotionally constipated kid who has no idea how to reciprocate affection
  • a kid with a millionty different problems all wrapped together in a small, angry, explosive burrito 
  • a tiny little rage machine