it was not working for him

I woke up early to do some homework but instead I got distracted by photos of Aaron judge. Then fell back to sleep and woke up looking at more photos of Aaron Judge.

2

Tyson Hesse is a gift

It’s really interesting to me that what is arguably Lance’s greatest strength is also his biggest source of insecurity. 

Like, this boy is so adaptable. You can throw him into space, into a war, into a new lion, and he’ll essentially shrug his shoulders and slot himself into place. What makes the kid a powerhouse is that you can put him in any circumstance and he’ll find out where he fits and pretty much be able to hold his own there. He can integrate himself into basically any group dynamic (see: rebel mermaids, Hunk + Lance + BoM, and Team Voltron after Shiro). What Lance brings to the table is an ability to do what’s needed, to fill roles that need filling, and to mesh with anyone. 

But, for someone who values standing out, that would be seen as a negative trait. Lance wants to carve out his own place in the group– it’s why he’s so attached to the idea of being the “sharpshooter” (though, that does appear to be a niche of his!!). To him, it seems like everyone else around him has this “thing” that makes them special and unique– and, since he doesn’t (or, at least, he thinks other people don’t think he does) he feels sort of average and unskilled by comparison. 

The creators have said before that Lance’s character is about “providing what’s needed at the time” and like. Exactly. His “thing” is that he can essentially take on any “thing” you need him to and do it at least decently. That’s what makes him unique, and I can’t wait to see him realize it.

5

I HAVE THE BEST HUSBAND.

All other husbands have to step up their game.
I AM PUTTING YOU ALL ON NOTICE.

Because this is what Werepenguin just gave me. He saw the commission that the amazingly-sweet and wonderfully-talented @yliseryn did for me of Allura in my wedding dress, and this idea began to form in his mind.

And this? This isn’t just Allura in my wedding dress. It’s Shiro in Werepenguin’s suit & tie. That’s OUR cake with OUR cake topper. And then Louise, being the utter sweetheart she is, added the b&w images. And then Werepenguin asked her for color versions of THOSE.

And, on top of all of this, I now have a 20x30 METAL PRINT of that top image that I can hang in our home so everyone can see it. Because this is how happy the memory of our wedding day makes him, even 8 years out. (Well, almost 8 years; he gave this to me as an early anniversary present because he couldn’t stand to sit on it any longer.)

I cried when he gave it to me. I’m crying a bit now. I married the most wonderful man and he is absolutely the best thing in my life and if there’s anything that proves that it’s that I cannot come up with the words to describe how I feel.

@joshkeaton @thebestlaurenmontgomery @bext-k

anonymous asked:

Kat,,,,,,,keith Cries,,,,,,,,,fanon keith is dead,,,hes,,,,,emotiONAL,,,

Dude. Dude, I know. Here’s some great stuff about Keith that fandom can no longer deny:

  • when asked to describe himself he first comes up blank
  • no mentions of his talents whatsoever?? he’s not arrogant
  • in fact he has no trouble admitting that he’s bad at something
  • keeps saying that he pilots the black lion but refuses to say that he’s the black paladin
  • he thinks that being part Galra might be why he has always been bad at connecting with people 
  • automatically plays around with his knife when the Galra part gets mentioned
  • THE STUPID CHEER FROM S1 IS STILL ON HIS MIND
  • is very straightforward and wants to avoid complicated stuff as much as possible
  • apologized twice for blowing up; he’s self-conscious about his temper
  • [voice crack] “I don’t know why I’m that way”
  • is aware of his abandonment issues
  • is also aware that he puts some walls up
  • tries to compose himself by rubbing his fingers together
  • knows when he is about to cry and promised himself not to do it ((in front of the camera/a potential audience at least))

HE’S. SO GREAT. SO SO GREAT. He’s much more self-aware than fandom gives him credit for. I LOVE HIM SO MUCH ;A;

6

We all love Nicole, and there is no way in hell that she is dying today.

Bonus:

I am in my own Harry Potter AU hell.

And just because I can:

“Dad…” 

Malfoy looked up from his desk, quill poised over the parchment as his son hovered by the study door. Aware that he was frowning, Draco lifted his expression into something more neutral. He was vaguely aware of his own father always frowning whenever he’d tried to talk to him as a boy, and he didn’t want Scorpius to one day think the same about him.

“Come in, come in. Shut the door, you’ll let the heat out.” 

The Greengrass estate was a crumbling ruin compared to Malfoy Manner, with only half the library and none of the artifacts Draco had spent the last few years archiving and putting safely away behind spelled glass. But for now it was home, chilly stone walls and all.

“Did you want something?”

“Yes.” Scorpius replied, pausing to tug at the hem of his dark shirt. There’s still a bruise under his eye, faded to be sure, but the mere presence of it made Draco’s heart skip a beat. When he’d seen Severus Potter crawling out of the rubble, face covered in blood and no sign of his own son, he’d known terror like no other.

And Draco Malfoy was intimately familiar with the machinations of terror. He’d been hugged by it once.

“Well,” he prompted, setting aside his work entirely and giving his full attention to his son. “What is it?”

“I want my friends to come visit.”

Draco blinked. Whatever he’d been expecting, it wasn’t that. “Your…friends?”

“Albus Potter and Rosie Granger-Weasley. I would like them to come stay.”

Draco blinked again. Later he’d laugh—somewhat despairingly into a decanter of fire brandy—at the absurdity of the notion that his boy, Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy, was best friends with a Potter and the hybrid off-spring of a Granger Weasley, but the threat of impeding hysterics was quelled under the defiant gaze of his son, narrow chin lifting at some unspoken challenge. 

“I see. For how long?”

“A…a week…maybe two…They’re going to France for the Quiditch Cup Primaries…” he glanced down and Draco spied the curled up parchment hidden up his sleeve. “So it wouldn’t be for long.”

Draco glanced at his desk, to the fireplace, then back to his son. “I don’t…”

I want my friends…friendshow often had Astoria lamented his lack of playmates as a child, how often had she fretted that Scorpius’ only interaction had been with adults—or books, or enchanting his own toys for someone to play with. And how quickly had Scorpius’ face crumpled at the utterance of two simple syllables. 

“…know if two weeks would be wise, given your mother’s health. She’s still recovering from the move. But I shall discuss it with her, and see what can be done.”

Scorpius stilled, the beaming smile on his face reigned in to something calmer, even now, not wanting to get his hopes up too much. “Thank you. For what it’s worth, we will be good.”

Draco snorted at that, remembering the last time a Malfoy, a Potter and a Granger and a Weasley had been together at their age. “Somehow I doubt it. Go on off you go, go see what your mother is up to. She’s enjoying having you home.”

“And I am enjoying being here,” Scorpius replied, in that curiously courteous and stiff way of speaking he’d always had, even as an infant learning his words. “I am happy to be here, with you, and mother.”

“I’m…very glad to hear it.” Draco replied, unsure what else he was supposed to say to such an open admission said so politely like one was discussing the weather. “Now go on, off you go, I need to finish this manuscript before I lose the thought.”

“You’ll talk to mother though, wont you?” Scorpius pressed from his space by the door. “You’ll ask…”

“Yes, yes.” Draco waved a hand, “I’ll ask if the Potter spawn can come stay with us. Just for a little bit. To say thank you for…everything.”

Reassured, Scorpius left, closing the door behind himself with a firm click. 

Draco waited several more moments, counting to a hundred before opening up the top desk of his drawer and pulling out his correspondence folder, flipping through them until he found the appropriate manila envelope, writing the address of the Ministry Neatly to the front. 

Clearing his throat politely, he composed himself, then tapped it to life with his wand.

“Hello Potter,” he spat with a vicious familiar glee, unable to keep from laughing, “I’m not sure which one of us is going to be more surprised by this turn of events, but I swear to gods if you break my son’s heart by saying no, I will personally send you a red Howler on the hour every hour till the day one of us dies. Now, about dates, the last week in June works well for us…”