Ok Let's See What's Been Posted Since I Last Watched Youtu-

Gaud never really fails to give good advice (when they want to) 

I remember an earlier post they made about reading critically and by god I have that post ingrained in my head now every time I do research.

Now here’s another one.

Be angry. But be wise.

Always be wise.

An important thing I am learning is to remember to ask myself "Is there a better target for my anger?"

CNN referred to Native Americans as “something else” on their voter demographic poll last night. The poll on the screen read like this:

White

Black

Latino

Something else

Asian

We weren’t declared as citizens of our own stolen land until 1924. We didn’t get the right to vote (in all states) until the early 1960’s.

And yet non-natives can’t even refer us as Indigenous people when we’re a part of the electoral process.

ni

We live closer to 2050 than 1990

It’s the Little Things

Little delightful things: Cat. Battle. Armor.

So funky it hurts

Please get him a little sword actually

He’s going into the tavern soon to find his next quest

She’s ready for Warrior Cats Part VI: The Cat-O Period

Bonus:

Low Budget Version

imagine getting robbed

i thought that “vein jewelry” was going to be. jewelry designed to look like veins, maybe? jewelry made out of real animal veins, at worst. it’s. it’s not. 

vein jewelry is jewelry you insert into your veins

there should be a german word for when you prepare to experience horror, but are still somehow shocked by how it plays out

me, before The Mandalorian: “huh? Star Wars? Yeah it has a pretty big fanbase, not much one for it though. I guess it’s pretty cool.”

me, after The Mandalorian: SLAMS THESIS “This is my complete documented argument on why without R2-D2, the Astromech, the entire galaxy would’ve gone to shit.”

I made these in response to hate crimes in my community. They are full size and free to download and print if you’d like to use them, too.

battle scenes; swords

Clang. The Soldier drew the sword behind his head. Clash. The screams of battle faded into white noise. Slash. His opponent drops to his knees before him. Shaking hands drop an oranate sword, pressing against the bleeding open wound. With a dull thud, the unmoving corpse falls forward. Never to move, never to breathe, never to live again. The Soldier huffs a pant. The sounds come rushing back. Yells and grunts and battlecries - echoed by the clang of metal against metal against wood. The back of his wrist wipes his sweaty forehead. His armour is slicked with blood and dusted with dirt. Those same elements coated the blade of his sword. He hears more than sees his next opponent. He feels more than hears it coming towards him. A vibration on the ground, beneath his feet, shaking him. Drawing him to the present. He cussed himself, silently. Turned around and pointed his sword- A lithe shadow lands on him from the back of a speeding horse. Sends the both of them crashing to the ground. Panic seizes him. He struggles from underneath the assailant. He struggles to lift his sword. He grunts as he pushes himself free. Staggers to his feet and narrows his eyes. The lithe figure wears the garbs of an assassin. The glint of a hidden dagger confirms this. As do the stealthy way they move. The Soldier groans inwardly. Out of all people, assassins were the hardest to fight. Like grabbing carp with your bare hands. He lifts his sword up again. Angles the tip to point beneath The Assassin’s chin.  To the life-vein he can just barely see. The sounds disappear. Not fade into white-noise, though. It disappears. Everything disappears. Just him. The Assassin. His sword. Beneath the visor of his helmet, the Soldier grins. “Make your move.” The Assassin darts forward. For if a shadow is the absence of light, then how quickly would a shadow move? Very fast, The Soldier finds. He just barely manages to lift his sword up. Block the fatal blow. Force the shadow to retreat. The Assassin does, briefly. Unperturbed, they come back. Shoves a palm towards his chest - a move that The Soldier just barely escapes. The Soldier staggers back a few steps. Places a hand to where he was nearly stabbed. Stares at the pacing, agitated shadow. Still, beneath his visor, his grin grows larger. Finally, finally, he’s found his match. This time, The Soldier moves first.

Reblog if you actually give a shit about anyone who’s suicidal or depressed.

No one should scroll past this

I want kids but giving birth is a no for me! It terrifies me not only as a woman but a black woman.

Why does being black make it scarier for you?