#icons denver

[clubhoops]

RIP Dikembe Mutombo, the son of the Congo ♥️🕊️

[marina-na-na]

[herigo]

[rickeajacksons]

[officialfoxsquadron]

rising, falling

972 words | my ao3

rating: general audience

summary: Aunt Beru's son is growing up. He is in danger. This, she has always known.

When Luke’s toys came crashing around him, she cursed him again. Not her nephew-no, never him. She cursed his father, Obi-Wan, the whole damned lot of them. They were sandstorms, these men-destroying everything in their path, not caring who they hurt or what they left behind.

Obi-Wan, at least, had the decency to stay close. She knew, eventually, that there would come a day when he would take her nephew-her son -away, and she would have to let him.

But that didn’t mean she had to trust him. Any of them, these sandstorm men who reached for the suns, tried to bring them crashing down. It wasn’t that she didn’t believe in the Force-it was hard not to when your son woke from his nightmares with toys floating around him. She just never understood why they had to mess with it.

“Aunt Beru,” His voice was small, quiet, and shaky, but Luke sat bolt upright. She felt her husband rush behind her, his hands ghosting her back as she clutched her collar. She had screamed, she realized. She shouldn't have done that.

He's growing like a weed, she thought dully. He'll need new clothes again. “Uncle Owen. I had a bad dream-��

“It’s alright, son,” her husband said, in that gruff voice of his. He brushed past Beru, smoothed his nephew’s blanket, laid him back down. “Just worried it was raiders, that’s all.”

“Bu-but-”

“It’s alright.” Owen said-no, insisted. He wordlessly walked to the other side of Luke’s room and picked up his bantha plush, placing it back in Luke’s hands. “Just go back to sleep, we’ll fix it in the morning.”

“Okay.” Luke said, squeezing the toy near his chest, voice already dipping. “Just a bad dream?”

“Just a bad dream.” Owen confirmed, stroking his son’s hair as he fell to sleep.

Beru was still frozen in the doorway. She wanted to comfort her son, but Owen was always better at this part of parenting. He would rush in when fear made your heart leap into your throat. 

She did not want to be scared of him, her darling boy, who always knew how to make her laugh. But seeing the contents of his room floating around him, the pained noises that were in his throat-

“We love you, Luke,” she said, quietly, still trying to regain her breath. Luke was already asleep, but she hoped he heard her. “It’s alright. Go back to sleep.”

Owen wrapped his arm around her, her whole body still shaking, after he closed Luke’s door. He held her until they were back in their room and guided her to sit on the edge of their bed. He wrapped a blanket around her, wordlessly, and found the bottle of liquor they kept hidden for moments like these.

“Thank you, Owen,” she said, her voice clawing its way out of her throat. She took a sip-she hated the stuff, but her nerves were overactive all these years. “I’m sorry I didn’t-”

“Stop,” Owen said gruffly, taking her hand. He held it between his, rubbing his thumb along her palm. She felt the fear, the anger, the hatred die down for a moment, enough to regain her senses.

“How did you know to go to him?” Her husband rarely asked questions of her. She turned, looked into his eyes. They were blue, so blue, calm and silent.

“I dunno. I couldn’t sleep.” It was the truth. Sleep had never come easily to her, and she always made sure to peek into Luke’s room when she could. Just to make sure he was breathing. That’s when she saw it, the contents of the room floating above him. "I screamed, Owen. I should have never done that, he'll think-"

"Stop," he said again, kissing her forehead. "It's not your fault. You can't always control how you react to...something like that."

She thought-not for the first time, and certainly not for the last-of stories Shmi would tell her, of dreams and nightmares that led to a quickening in her womb. She thought of Luke’s mother, the beautiful woman from very far away. She had been so sad, even then, when she was supposed to be young and in love.

She gave Beru a smile when they parted, an odd little smile. A reassuring one. An apologetic one. It was one that twisted Beru's stomach.

She thought of the smile now, her parting gift from her sister-in-law. It was a gift women gave each other often; when they went off with bad men, when they hoped against hope that things would work out. She had given it to her, so that when reports of a massacre came in, Beru wouldn't scream. She would try and remember. She would try and control herself, hold still in a sandstorm, because the men were playing at gods again.

Her husband smoothed her hair, kissed the side of her head. She put the glass down and rested her head on his shoulder, letting herself melt into his familiar warmth. He guided them to lay on the bed, and she leaned into him, wrapped herself around him.

He sighed, in the way he sighed right before he said something he thought was terrifying. “He’s growing up, Beru.”

“I know,” she replied, and traced his jaw, his nose, the lines on his face. How did they get there? They were young once.

They didn’t need to say anything else. They never did. Her husband’s heartbeat, the rise and fall of his breath–it was a song she knew, a lullaby, and she let it calm her fried nerves. He fell asleep, and soon, she would too, despite herself.

We’ll fix it in the morning, she thought. Luke is growing up, and the sandstorm is coming, but there’s nothing for it now. We’ll fix it in the morning.

[previouslyondaysofourlives]

[dejonariel]

photo dump from denver

[modernmanblues]

oh the perversity of inanimate objects.

-John Denver

[farmersmarketlesbian]

the strap on my jumpsuit broke right before taking these but YVIE ODDLYYYY 😮😮😮

[biblicalhorror]

THE Dr. Angela Davis speaking at the student encampment on Auraria campus in Denver this weekend.

"I want you to know how important it is that you are taking this stand and this moment," Davis said, addressing the protesters. "I want to emphasize what this means for history. As you imagine this period being narrated 10 years, 20 years, 50 years from now, you will be the historical actors who made it possible for a breakthrough for the struggle against Zionism and the struggle for a free Palestine."

Civil rights icon Angela Davis speaks at Auraria campus in Denver after 40 protestors arrested

Please take the time to donate to the Colorado Palestine Coalition and the encampment here if you can!

[lucky-strike-14]

TAKE ME HOME, COUNTRY ROADS | Bass Singer Cover

"you can take the girl out of the country, but you can't take the country out of the girl"? Fuck that. The girl doesn't want to be taken out of the country. She wants to be put back there

[rodspurethoughts]

National Pickleball League Announces Denver Iconics as First Team in Colorado

The National Pickleball League™ (NPL™) has recently announced that it has entered into a team purchase agreement with the Denver Iconics LLC, co-owned by Chris Montgomery and Mario Boschi. The Denver Iconics will be the first team in Colorado to represent the league, which already has two other teams, Naples JBB United and the Boca Raton Picklers. Pickleball is a sport that has gained a lot of…

[intheupside]

Crosby has privately and publicly said on many occasions — most recently for this article from The Athletic — that he intends to finish where he started in the NHL. Fenway Sports Group, which owns the Penguins, views making Crosby a Forever Penguin as its top priority.

If an extension isn’t announced on July 1, it’ll only be because Crosby might still be shrugging off another disappointing season by vacationing in Europe.

If he signs for three seasons, Crosby will play through the ends of current contracts belonging to Evgeni Malkin and Kris Letang— the two teammates with whom he is closest, not to mention the ones he pushed for the team to re-sign a couple of years ago.

The point is that Crosby isn’t going anywhere else to play NHL games.

If that upsets pot-stirrers who have gone out of their way to push this “Crosby deserves better” than what the Penguins have become — oh well. It might be tough for some people to accept, but they don’t get to decide what’s best for Crosby.

The Penguins are best for Crosby. Full stop.

I’m old enough to have been there when Lemieux didn’t even make it halfway through his 17th season with the Penguins. It was Crosby’s rookie season. Granted, Lemieux was four years older than Crosby is now. Still, he recognized then — as did former Penguins coach Michel Therrien — that Crosby, even at 18, was ready to lead the franchise on and off the ice.

Crosby is still the only guy for that job.

Before Crosby, the Penguins’ brand was built around star power, flashy scorers and high-end skill players. All those aspects remain, but Crosby infused the franchise with a blue-collar sensibility that Pittsburgh fans crave from their teams — even if several generations have passed since the city was a gritty, lunch pail, steel town.

The way Crosby plays changed what it meant to be a Penguin. His skill was obvious, but he hardly relied on God-given gifts. He worked his massive posterior off to win every puck battle, set up each or score each goal, and lift the Cup three times.

Doing that work — setting an example that the best and most popular player is also the hardest working and concerned with the team above the individual — made Crosby an icon. He’s still doing that work, even without a chance for his team to compete at the highest level.

As a student of history, but also someone who is studious when it comes to the franchise he’s shepherded for almost two full decades, Crosby is wise enough to know the chance — even if slight — to shape the next great Penguins team is more interesting than chasing a fourth title somewhere else, even if that somewhere is in Denver with his pal MacKinnon.

It won’t be easy. It might not happen.

But since when is Sidney Crosby not up for a challenge?

from the athletic