Boots, Beards and Communicators

BOOTS * BEARDS * COMMUNICATORS

160,271 notes

actorswithactionfigures:

ambergoesclick:

merryweatherblue:

I took my little brother (who falls on the autism spectrum) to see Guardians of the Galaxy and after this scene he lit up like a Christmas tree and screamed “He’s like me! He can’t do metaphors!” And for the rest of the film my brother stared at Drax in a state of rapture. 

So for the last 6 days I have heard my brother repeatedly quote all of the Drax lines from the movie verbatim (one of his talents), begin studying vocabulary test words, and tell everyone he knows that people with autism can also be superheroes.

Now I am not saying that Drax the Destroyer is, or was ever, intended to be autistic. All I am saying is that it warmed my heart to see my brother have an opportunity to identify himself with a character known for his strength, badassness, and honor. And that is pretty damn awesome. 

So while I adored Guardians of the Galaxy as a great fun loving film with cool characters I can do nothing but thank Marvel Studios and Dave Bautista for finally bringing a superhero to the screen that my little brother can relate to.

I really hope James Gunn sees this.

Pinging @jamesgunn

(via janinekspendlove)

329,596 notes

barricadefairytales:

fidefortitude:

isenseanunquenchablethirst:

is this what responsibilities look like

can i just

so bill nighy was wearing a motion capture suit and screaming at johnny depp

and johnny depp had to scream back

without either of them laughing

just imagine that. two grown men, one in pyjamas with balls on his face, and the other in a pirate costume, screaming at the top of their lungs at each other

acting

Act-ing!

(Source: sothoros, via i-stole-a-time-lord)

4 notes

An Innocuous Piece of Metal

Written as a response to a Star Trek Online fiction challenge in the STO forums.

It was just an innocuous little piece of metal.

She drew her fingers over the fragment with care. It was small, gnarled and heavy; smooth and refined on some of its curves – buff and muted on others, intermingled with tiny, rough points and counterbalanced with razor-sharp lines. Yet it sparkled – its pits of polished surface reflected the lights with such ferocity it seemed more a jewel than wreckage.

She thought it was rather amazing that an end to ones existence would result in remnants of such disturbing beauty.

But still, it was just a hunk of twisted metal.

Keep saying that to yourself Beth. It’s “just a hunk of metal.” You know damn well it means more than that. Worse, you’re becoming quite the collector of “hunks of metal” and that’s what’s got you so angry now. How many do you have? Ten? Twelve? Fifteen? Pretty morbid paperweights don’t you think?

Beth swallowed back her pain and opened the small drawer in the bureau in her quarters, letting her eyes rest upon a line of small, metal blobs.

Anyone who would see them would think of them as a strange collection of clutter – silvery metal shards of junk – but she could tell every single one of them apart. To her, each one was spectacularly different from another.

The one with the jagged little hook – that was Futs-Lung. The one with the sweeping, curving blade was Chan’iel. The one with the spikes that ran down the length of its pressed-globular form was Norel. The one that somehow her mind always saw as being in the shape of a Celtic harp? That was Brian. And the one in her hand? The one that sparkled with pits and dents of brushed tritanium? That was Carrie.

Every single little lump of fuselage in that drawer was her personal mausoleum – the only tangible evidence that her friends had ever taken up space in this universe; her reminders that she was still here and still had a job to do just like everyone else who was still here and still fighting.

She set the sparkling trinket back into the drawer but she did not shut it. She stood there and let herself remember each person and their crews. She promised them all she would never forget…

“Captain, long range sensors have picked up an Orion squadron on an intercept course,” the voice of her Executive Officer broke the silence in her quarters.

She closed her eyes in resignation, closed the drawer to her bureau and turned away – phantoms of the slight metal shards still burned into her retinas.

Once again it was time for her to try to keep herself and her crew from ending up being represented by a small metal blob in the drawer of a friend’s bureau.

“On my way.”