I hardly see any heroic posts about Muslims on here, so here you go.
I love that it takes the time to specify that his attack of choice was a flying kick
The hero the world needs
I remember this. But I feel we’re missing some key points. When it happened, he was out jogging with his puppy:
He heard screams and sprinted towards them. He jumped a fence, saw a man pinning a woman down and immediately fly-kicked him in the face, knocking him out. He then gave the woman his jacket because her dress was ripped and got her a taxi home. She only managed to get in contact with him and tell the papers cause she later found his driver’s license in the pocket of the jacket.
“If I see a person in danger then I will intervene. I would not want to ignore it and then read the next day that a woman had been raped or murdered.”
And his message to the attacker:
“He is a coward and a man with no morals. I won’t forget his face.”
Glaswegians will always fly kick someone I swear. Good on him.
Something else I love about this is that they’re calling the rapist a “beast” because that is an appropriate word to use for someone who would do something that horrible instead of showing him any form of sympathy or humanizing him
being gay before the invention of lube must have been a pain in the ass
according to my history professor this is actually a huge contributing factor to the popularity of olive oil in Ancient Greece
this is the best possible thing that i will ever learn and i thank you for that
The people of Ancient Greece loved that ancient grease
I am begrudgingly reblogging this for the first time in like four urls for this, the first comment on this post to actually make me laugh in literally years
There’s a quote in a letter from some poor Roman stationed out in like, fucking Ukraine, basically saying it’s the worst place to live in the entire world because they grow neither olives nor grapes.
AU where John Winchester loved his boys just a little bit less and put them up for adoption and they were raised in a healthy, functional home.
They’re good boys. Mischievous, too smart for their own good, scrappy, practically attached at the hip, but good boys. Dean had a hard time adjusting at first, nonverbal and nightmare-ridden from post-traumatic stress, prone to panic attacks when alone, but their adopted parents found the best child psychiatrist they could afford and in time he began to heal, began to break out of his shell. Even when he wasn’t talking his empathy was remarkable, and as he’s grown a whip-smart analytical intellect developed to supplement it.
Dean remembers their birth parents like looming figures seen through smoke, but Sam, Sam grew up in this life, and their adoptive family is the only one he’s ever known. He has a rebellious streak a mile wide and it frustrates no one in the world more than it does Dean (still prone to hovering over or trailing behind him with a dreamlike missive ringing in his ears like the last audible echoes of a scream – Look out for Sammy), but he’s smart and strong and driven, independent and devoted all at once. He has these fits at times, though, and Dr Margaret (now the family psychiatrist) calls them rage attacks but they feel like blisters of thick oil growing and bursting inside him from gut to teeth. Over time he learns to swallow them down til he can go somewhere quiet, like the creek where the brothers chased frogs barefoot and shot BBs at old cans, to give in to the festering dark where he can’t hurt anyone else. Everyone knows sweet, sweet Sammy is the one with the temper. It gets chalked up to adolescence but he knows damned well it’s always been this way and probably always will.
They love to spar. Dean’s fondness of sports shooting tapers off in favour of wrestling and team sports (he loves the rush and competition but not so much the hurting-people part), while Sam is kind of scary good at Krav Maga once he finds a trainer for it (the discipline does him good).
At eighteen Dean is buried in scholarship offers – engineering, business, sports, he has heart and brains and beauty enough that the sky’s the limit – but passes up the Big Important Offers for the chance to stay in town close to home. Maybe he’ll do MIT later on but he just wants to stretch out his time close to family as long as he can. That’s where he’s happy. That’s where he’s safe.
(And, Sam suspects, it might also have something to do with wanting to stay near that one friend he’s been so close to since junior high. He’s been placing bets with himself on when his brother will nut up and ask the guy out for years.)
He takes a summer job as a volunteer firefighter. He has a panic attack the first time he has to go in. Even though Dean’s too old to see Dr Margaret as a patient she helps him through it, helps him overcome, but he decides discretion is the better part of valour. The family supports him in quitting as much as they did when he took the job: “You already saved me from the fire,” Sam tells him, “you don’t have to prove anything.”
Two years later Sam cashes in on his bet. Mom and Dad are a little shocked but Eric’s been like a third son for so long that when he comes over for dinner with Dean and they’re lacing fingers together instead of trading playful punches it’s just another layer of family, just another kind of love.
One year later Sam nearly hyperventilates over his acceptance letter from Stanford. It’s a full ride though their parents would have put up all they could afford and help shoulder his loans even if it wasn’t. Dean’s heart breaks a little, but Sam’s joy is like wildfire and they promise to visit each other even though Palo Alto is so far away. They make good on it, trading off driving (Dean) or flying (Sam) on breaks, keeping tabs in email and, later on, Skype. Sam brings a girl home with him for Dean’s graduation. They all love Jess, of course, instantly, and she’s instrumental in talking Dean into going after his MSE after all. Dean starts placing bets with himself on how long it’ll take til she’s wearing a ring.
They were good boys, and they become good men. Stalwart, too clever for their own good, not so attached at the hip anymore but still close, still mischievous, but good men. Dean soaks up love and radiates it back into everything he does and everyone he knows. Sam harnesses the dark inside him and turns it into a driving passion to do good and right wrongs, and doggedly ignores the nightmares that seem to come out of nowhere – Jess is there to soothe him when he wakes. Neither of them are marksmen, neither have Latin chants memorised; they don’t fear the night or the fire, nor go looking for trouble in them.
So when Azazel comes for Sam six months after his twenty-third birthday none of them are prepared to put up a fight.
“so you kids think the french government and military are corrupt? how about i MAKE you work for us instead. how do you like that? who is corrupt now??”
Friendly reminder that France is still in a state of emergency and hence in effect a really blatant police state.
Just gonna reblog this out of gratitude because I actually did forget…
Fffffffff let me get right on that.
and then reblog for the next forgetful son of a bitch
I’m so great full for everyone that is reblogging this. I totally forgot to take mine
I think that there is some sort of unspoken fairy godparent thing where you see this, realize that you forgot your meds, and rebagel it because if you forgot someone else must have. And in our turn we all take care of each other, even if we don’t know it.
that feeling when you see someone wearing a jacket with a shit-ton of patches and you need to get closer so you can tell what type of punk they are
counterpoint: girl scouts
Are you trying to tell me that girl scouts aren’t a type of punk?
SHIT fuck you’re absolutely right
Actually, I totally have something to add to this.
So walking home from work yesterday, I passed a girl scout and her big sis selling girl guide cookies, and I was like: Score! I just got kickback money, so for once I have money on hand, and they never come to my house!
As I’m walking up, I hear the person at the door they’re currently at …let’s say he was berating the poor girl for being brown.
So when he slams the door, the little one just turns to her sis and cheerfully says something like ‘That’s another one for the list. I think he’s at least a two!’
And I’m already behind her at this point with my $10 out for two boxes of thin mints, and she’s all like ‘ah thanks!’, and I ask “What’s this list …?”
“My big sister is keeping a list here of racist fucks and she’s going to break their windows and stuff on halloween!”.
Anyways, girl scouts are precious little angels.
Oh right, this.
I checked around the dude’s house late halloween night.
I really cannot get over this cats fucking face it’s so round and conveying an emotion that I simply am not equipped to understand
I WAS AT THIS MEETING, I MET THIS CAT. I forget his name but he was soooo sweet, I think it was Councilman Clark who brought him in! This was at the very first meeting in Denver to decide whether to ban declawing (the ban succeeded!)
Update: I emailed this post to councilman Clark, subject line “your kitty is famous”
Update 2: Councilman Clark responded, he thinks this is awesome and his cat’s name is Kit Kat
Thank you Kit Kat for protecting the cats of Denver!
I think the emotion on Kit Kat’s face is democratic engagement.
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