Meet The Artemis Team Returning Humans To The Moon

GUYS THIS IS REALLY IMPORTANT PLEASE DON'T SCROLL PAST IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I’m doing a persuasive speech and this would really help me out.

If you think animals should be adopted from shelters, reblog.

If you think animals should be bought from pet stores, like.

Teddy Lupin’s hair was always Bubblegum Pink

From the first time Teddy ever saw a color photo of his mom, he’d kept it that way. For the first couple of months after that, his whole head looked like he’d stuck it in a cotton candy machine. Some people tried to say something about it (mostly muggles who couldn’t believe someone would let their seven year old do that with their hair), Harry and Ginny ‘politely’ ignored them. Even after he started experimenting with different colors to find something he liked and that felt like him, there was always some part of his hair (roots, tips, one whole half of his head, or even just a single little strip somewhere only really he knew about) that stayed bright pink in his mother’s memory.

(McGonagall nearly broke down in tears his seventh year when Teddy walked in sporting light brown hair. The only way you could tell it wasn’t Remus was the random bits of pink streaked everywhere.)

Iron in the Butterfly Nebula : Can stars, like caterpillars, transform themselves into butterflies? No, but in the case of the Butterfly Nebula – it sure looks like it. Though its wingspan covers over 3 light-years and its estimated surface temperature exceeds 200,000 degrees, C, the dying central star of NGC 6302, the featured planetary nebula, has become exceptionally hot, shining brightly in visible and ultraviolet light but hidden from direct view by a dense torus of dust. This sharp close-up was recorded by the Hubble Space Telescope and is reprocessed here to show off the remarkable details of the complex planetary nebula, highlighting in particular light emitted by iron, shown in red. NGC 6302 lies about 4,000 light-years away in the arachnologically correct constellation of the Scorpion (Scorpius). Planetary nebulas evolve from outer atmospheres of stars like our Sun, but usually fade in about 20,000 years. via NASA

@lenle-g I finally got your art from RedBubble. Granted it was last week, but I've only just figured out how to use tumblr (sort of). :)

To everybody who follows my writing, and is waiting for the next instalment of ‘The Monsters They Made Us’ series, I’m still writing it. I’m so sorry that it’s not up yet, but I’m almost finished. This photo is just some of the writing from Chapter 9 - and there are only 10 chapters in the whole of the story. Not including the two and a half pages that are still yet to be typed up - with at least another 5, if not more, to go - the story is currently 30,195 words. Chapter 9 itself currently stands at 4,883 words. The chapter will probably be close to 9,000 words. Thank you for your patience, because I thought I’d have the story finished last month, but things just got in the way. So keep your eyes peeled for ‘The Ghost of You,’ which will hopefully be up next month. T.C

It’s important for the alpha’s mate to pass essential life skills on to the pack. It’s probably not as important to inform the alpha about said skills.

Console Jockey

The official title this is saved under is ‘John post Spider Smashing V2′ but tbh it probably works for most John-gets-into-trouble-in-space/with-gravity/assorted-evils kind of things… I’d love to have...

@lenle-g Here’s the fic. Sorry if I didn’t link right. Also, sorry if you don’t like the name. :)

   I hadn’t liked that he had gone to help Captain O’Bannon in the first place, but he had been so adamant about going. He was used to being a ‘console jockey’ as Alan had said, only participating in the ‘rescue’ part when he had to. Alan could’ve easily gone up in Thunderbirds 3, but John had insisted on going himself, even joked with our youngest brother.

   Did he feel like he had to prove himself to the rest of us? Cause if that was the case, we were going to be having words. He didn’t have to prove himself to anybody, especially not his family.

   And then, to make matters worse, his comms started cutting out; giving us only snippets of what was being said. Before they went out again, it sounded like they were in trouble.

   That’s when I sent Alan up. John only had his Exo-pod suit and whatever O’Bannon had on her, which I didn’t think was very much. At least there was equipment on board Thunderbird 3.

   So as soon as I lost communication with Alan, I regretted not going up with him. I knew the two of them were more than capable of looking after themselves – and each other – but not being able to reach them, talk to them, worried me. Anything could happen, and I’d have no idea.

   My pacing always annoyed my brothers, but it’s something I automatically did in times of trouble, and this was definitely one of those times.

   In my mind, the amount of time that had transpired without comms had been longer then it actually was. It had only been about half-an-hour, but it felt like hours.

   They were bickering about ghosts – and not telling Kayo or I about how they were scared – when I finally got an uninterrupted feed from the two of them. I didn’t even realize I was holding my breath until I saw them, and release it.

   Even though holograms were amazing with sound and seeing people, I couldn’t tell if they had any injuries; major or minor.

   “We’re just gonna drop off our passengers, and then head home.” Alan told me, pushing a few buttons in his ‘bird, “Should be back within the hour, so no need to go all Smother Hen on us.”

   It was such a relief seeing them, that I didn’t even tell him off for using the nickname that John gave me years back.

   After they cut the link with the Island, my pacing resumed until the tell tale sound of Thunderbird 3 coming into land breached the otherwise quiet of our home. And when the smoke cleared from her landing, I knew it would only be a couple of minutes before they made their way back to the lounge.

   Sure enough, just as the last of the smoke disappeared, the seats from Thunderbirds 3 appeared from the floor. Alan seemed relatively okay, apart from the little wince he gave when the seats jolted into place. John was better at hiding his pain, but he couldn’t hide his visible injuries.

   He was wearing his worn NASA t-shirt and jeans; his pale skin marred with cuts on his cheek and newly forming bruises on his forearms, biceps, and hairline.

   “Before you ask, Scott, I’m fine. Just a bit banged up.” John said, getting up from the chair and walking over to me, holding out his arms, “See? Perfectly fine.”

   He couldn’t say anything else, because I almost leapt across the lounge before pulling him into a hug. I didn’t care if he was taller than me – damn gravity making him slightly taller after long periods in space. After a couple seconds of his awkward ‘what the hell do I do?’ he gently patted my back.

   “Oh, don’t mind me. I didn’t do anything, did I?” Alan huffed affrontedly, but he was smiling at the two of us.

   “Why did you do it Johnny? You could’ve let Alan go in your place.” I asked him, being as gentle as I could in my question and hug. I’d just caught sight of more bruises forming on his back.

   “I’ve been asking myself the same question, and I don’t know.” He didn’t even mention the fact that I used a nickname he hated.

   “Were you doing it to prove yourself?”

   “Probably not consciously.” He shrugged the best he could with me clinging onto him like my life depended on it, “I guess I could’ve been on some level, but I wasn’t meaning for it to look like that.”

   I held him out at arms length after a couple of minutes, taking every little detail about him in; from the slight bags under his eyes, to the way his shoulders slouched, to how he held himself.

   “Don’t ever scare me like that again. I can’t afford to be going grey at my age.”

   “Too late for that, Scotty.” Alan commented, wiggling his way between us, “You already have a few grey hairs.”

   We all started laughing, bringing each other in for another brief hug.

   “Alright you.” I pointed at John, “Time to get you looked at. And you’re Earth-bound until further notice.”

   “Come on, Scott.”

   “Don’t argue with me. When you’re healed up a bit, you can go back up, but until then, it’s time to stay on Earth for a while.”

   “Fine.”

   We started making our way down to the med-bay, when I just had to say one other thing to my immediate younger brother.

   “You know, you did pretty well for a console jockey.”

:O

Longhand writing

Why do I do this to myself? I write loads longhand, and then have to type it all up. Why do I create more work for myself?