i talk to walls

anonymous asked:

do you have any favourite voltron au's? c:

yesssss! I love altean prince lance and blade of marmora keith!!! or any variation in which keith is a galra soldier and they meet by circumstances (peace negotiations, political visits exc) and fall in love 

anonymous asked:

We're moving into a new home soon. A friend that lives in this new neighborhood has become increasingly unhappy with her new home the closer ours gets to completion. She has begun using decorating ideas from our future home ( I stupidly shared what my interior designer/decorator wants the finished rooms to look like). I'm not talking wall colors or carpet but key unique pieces of furniture that we are planning on putting in our home. I know it sounds silly but I'm pissed? How do I handle this?

Don’t get mad, get even.

If you should be the last autumn leaf hanging from the tree

I’ll still be here, waiting on the breeze, to bring you down to me.

And if it takes forever, forever it’ll be.

And if it takes forever, forever it’ll be.

Why don’t boomers understand

You.

Can’t.

Just.

Walk.

Into.

A.

Building.

And.

Get.

Hired.

Just.

Cause.

You’re.

Physically.

There.

And.

Dressed.

Nicely.

That’s.

Not.

How.

It.

Works.

Anymore. 

8

Once Upon A Time ♔ second generation

Live so that when your children think of fairness, caring and integrity, they think of you.

  • Queenie: What do you think of my sister?
  • Newt: She's okay.
  • Queenie: MORE LIKE YOU THINK SHE'S GORGEOUS AS HELL AND YOU WANNA KISS HER!
  • Newt *falls off chair and runs into wall*: FDAQWSJWOKW I DONT KNOW WHAT YOU'RE TALKING ABOUT! NIFFLERS. BOWTRUCKLES.

Did anyone else notice this?

I am the girl who wears rose-colored glasses. Child-hearted, with birds inhabiting my ribcage and the porcelain rungs of my spine. Flowers grow out of my eye sockets and mouth. I breathe out lavender, I breathe out poppies, I breathe out violets. At night, I put my rose-colored glasses on the nightstand. I feel like an empty milk carton, remains curdled. I talk to the moon, I talk to the butter yellow ceiling, I talk to the sway-swaying trees that cast shadows on the walls that look like long, spindly arms that want to snatch me away. I can feel my heart, vibrating and shaking and alive. I grit my teeth. My heart feels like a wide open mouth, feasting on youth that tastes like bubblegum and spit. And in the morning, I put on my rose-colored glasses and I am a lamb, a saint, a good witch.
—  Zoë Lianne, “a lamb, a saint, a good witch”