#everyone has a voice

[onejellyfishplease]

Maybe the more serious/ lore centric part of the mosquitello tag could be Culicidonnie?

If I am not wrong, Culicidae is the scientific name for a mosquito and feels more serious then mosquitello while still fitting the theme?

It is a bit hard to spell though, so.

Brosquitos also could work (bc. Brother centric mosquitello)

:D

hm, Culicidonnie is a bit of a mouth full...

but BROSQUITOS??? that is so cute!!!

... though im not sure if it fits with the vibe of this side of the au (its gonna be pretty depressing yall, i mean, just look that that colour scheme) it doesnt have to be mosquito themed either, it could be focusing more on the cult theme

if anyone else has any other ideas, we can put it up to a poll? i had quite a bit of fun with the other one lol

[inkskinned]

what is with men being mad any time a woman raises her voice where did that even come from. someone posted a video of a small electrical explosion, and the top comment was of course the woman screams. the second comment is women try not to scream challenge, level impossible. i had to go back and watch the video again. there is, somewhat fainty, a little gasp emitted off-camera, more of a yelp than a scream. it is mostly lost in the crack of the explosion. afterwards, you hear her voice, shaken, say, are you okay?

i am helping one of my friends train her voice pitch lower, because she wants to be taken seriously at work. she and i do each other's nails and talk about gender roles; and how - due to our appearance - neither of us have ever been able to be "hysterical" in public. we both appear young and sweet and feminine. she is cisgender, and cannot use her natural voice in her profession because people keep saying she appears to be "vapid". we both try to figure out if our purposeful voice lowering is technically sexist. is it promoting something when you are a victim to it?

a storm almost sends a pole through a car window. in the dashcam, you can hear the woman passenger say her partner's name twice, crying out in alarm. she sounds terrified. in the comments, she is lambasted for her lack of calm. how is that even fucking helping?

in high school, i taught myself to have a lower voice. i had been recorded when i was genuinely (and righteously) upset; and i hated how my voice sounded on the phone speakers when it was played back. i was defending my mom, and my voice cracked with emotion. it meant i was no longer winning the argument: i was just shrieking about it.

girls meet each other after a long summer and let out a little joyful scream. this usually stops around 12-14, because people will not tolerate this display of affection (as it has the effect of being passingly annoying). something about the fact that little girls can't ever even be annoying. we are trained to examine each part of our lives (even joy) for anything that could make us upsetting and disgusting. they act like teenage girls are breaking into houses and shrieking you awake at 3 in the morning. speaking as a public school educator: trust me, it's not that bad, you can just roll your eyes and move on. it does not compare to the ways boys end up being annoying: slurs in graffiti, purposefully mocking your body, following you after you said no. you know, just boy things.

there's another video of a man who is not allowed to yell in the house, so he snaps his fingers when he's excited about soccer. the comments are full of angry men, talking about how their brother is unfairly caged. let him express himself and this is terrible to do to someone. eventually the couple has to address it in a second video: they are married with a newborn baby. he was trying not to wake the infant up. there is no comment on the fact women are not allowed to yell indoors. or the fact that it could have been really alarming or triggering for his wife. sometimes i wonder if straight men even like women, if they even enjoy being in relationships with them.

for the longest time, i hated roller coasters because it always felt inappropriate and uncomfortable for me to scream. one of my friends called me on it, said it was unusual i'm so unwilling. i had to go to my therapist about it. i don't like to scream because i was not raised in a safe situation, and raising my voice would have brought unsafe attention towards me. even when i am supposed to scream, it feels shameful, guilty. i was not treated kindly, so i lack a basic form of self-protection. this is not a natural response. it is not good that in a situation of high adrenaline - i shut up about it.

something very bad is happening, i think. in between all the beauty standards and the stuff i've already discussed - this one feels new and cruel in a way i can't quite express. yes, it's scary and silencing. but there's something about how direct it is - that so many men agree with the sentiment that women should never yell, even in an emergency - it feels different.

is the word shriek gendered automatically? how about shrill or screech? in self defense class, one of the first things they tell you is to yell, as loud and as shrilly as you can. they say it will feel rude. most women will not do this. you need to practice overcoming the social pressure and just scream.

most women do not cry out, even when it's bad. we do not report it. we walk faster. we do not make a scene. what would be the point of doing anything else? no matter what we do, we don't get taken seriously. it is a joke to them. an instagram caption punchline. we have to present ourselves as silent, beautiful, captivating - "valuable."

a woman is outside watching her kids when someone throws a firecracker at them. she screams and runs towards her children. in the comments, grown men flock together in the thousands: god. women are so annoying.

[timethehobo]

Had the thought of what if Manfred really just pantomimes normally, but because The Lighthouse is in the Fade, he can while they’re in there?

[corpsentry]

pick your battles

[1mm4d13]

Fighting over territory of Godzilla’s back

[crumb-crumblet-s-crumbington]

willingly unloved

[datcravat]

whateverit'snotlikeimadrawingoranything!!!!!!!!!

[blueskittlesart]

Now that you're gone

[ruporas]

the song of humanity will continue to be sung

[freefallintothevoid]

I believe in my heart of hearts that the Lego Batman movie exists in DC and that it was created by the batfamily as a way to throw off the conspiracy theorists

Maybe the superhero forums were getting too close to realizing their identities again. maybe one of their injuries had accidentally gotten spotted by the paparazzi. maybe they were just running out of plausible alibis. maybe they just wanted to be funny.

Bruce gave the world the "do the butts match" meme. His children give the world a cinematic masterpiece.

[blueboybot]

In Your Cold Dead Arms

I don't care! I need to show yall one of my weird pairs.

Twigs and dry leaves snapped under feet that were in a hurry, wind blowing violently enough to feel as though it was one more step from uprooting trees and flinging them carelessly about with its strong might. Rain droplets fell from the dark and cloudy sky, rapid rainfall increasing with every droplet that hit skin and cloth, each one harsher than the other.

Some might find struggle with this kind of weather condition but for him it was way nicer than dealing with someone who could manipulate the weather at will. Luckily for him it was simply an act of nature, no powerful foe was attacking him and he could appreciate that once he got out of said rain.

As he ran his eyes continued to look out for shelter, something he could only hope to find in an area like this. More trees and plants overtook his vision, his temper starting to flare as rain fell even harder, almost feeling as if it were lashing him. Thunder boomed from above and lightening soon followed after, clouds lit up and illuminated the area for a few seconds.

On que, lightening striked next to a tree he was close to making him instinctively dodge out of the way. The tree took major damage, its base split in two and some of its green leaves burnt black. Fire appeared for a quick second before immediately being quelched by the rain. However with the destruction of the tree he was able to see a path, and further in the distance some kind of structure.

With the discovery of shelter he headed straight for the building, his legs picking up speed with the promise of soon being out of rain. Getting closer he saw that the structure was a mansion, an abandoned mansion at that. Not one to be picky he pushed open the gates with overgrown vines, finding them unlocked and bolted straight towards the front door, ready to use his body to force it open only to find out it was also unlocked and opened when his hand pushed on it.

Entering the mansion his first red flag came when he laid his eyes on the interior of the place. It was much nicer on the inside than the outside, the floors were clean and shiny, a chandelier lit up with flames hung high from the ceiling, red carpet and wooden decorations greeted him from where he could see them. Overall, the mansion gave off the vibes that it was well kept and that meant he may have just broke into someone's home.

"HELLO, IS ANYONE HERE?"

He expected someone to come rushing out of a door, cursing him or attacking him for entering their home as an unwated guest but he got nothing.

"Please tell me I didn't walk into some kind of haunted house." He mumbled.

Arsenal stood near the entrance door, wiping his boots on the mat and trying to dry himself with the warmth of a nearby candle. He tried to contact the team but something was blocking his signal, so for now he was stuck here until the rain stopped, but judging from the sounds outside that may take a while. He himself think back to how he got into this situation in the first place.

They were flying in the bioship when they got attacked, while trying to manuver through the air the ship got hit and plunged into the sea. He remembered exiting the bioship to look at the damage, only to be swept away by a current that appeared out of nowhere. He ended up on a beach and tried to contact the others but his communicator didn't work. Leaving the beach to explore the rest of the island storm coulds appeared, then it started raining so he ran to find shelter. Now, he was here in mansion that may or may not be haunted.

With a hesitant first step he continued to explore the mansion, going up the long steps that lead to the second floor. Turning left he was met with a hallway, dark brown with a few candles lighting up the way from which they were positioned from each door. Peaking inside, he saw a room with the same dark brown wood, but this time there were elegant designs carved into some of the walls, soft looking chairs and a rug lay in the center surrounded by bookshelves on the wall, a window showcasing the rainy outside world.

The sound of something falling against the floor in another room caught his attention. He whipped out his bow and readied an arrow, cautiously, he drew nearer toward the sound, stopping infront of the third room on the right that was slightly open. Slowly, he pushed open the door back, coming to halt when he saw nothing but furniture covered in white sheets.

He didn't lower his bow though, and his theory of something being in here was proven correct when movement came from a sheet close to the window. Arsenal stepped closer, arrow aimed directly at what he assumed was its head, whatever is under there could be dangerous for all he knows and he wasn't taking anymore chances. He wasn't about to lose another arm or any other limbs for that matter.

The rustling stopped and the sheet pulled back, revealing the face of someone that was definitely close in age to him. Hair so dark as if it was trying to mimic the void of space looked wet, strands clinging to their forehead. Freckles dusted over their cheeks and nose like they were carefully placed by the gentlest of hands. Blue eyes stared at the bow and then him, looking at him with a hint of curiousity only to turn to fear a second later at remembering that there was a weapon very close to their face.

Those blue eyes intrigued the red head. They were unlike any blue he had seen before, mesmerizing in a way, tempting him into their hypnotic trance. Looking away was becoming more of a challenge the longer he continued seeing into something so enchanting. They reminded him of the ice and a burning blue star. So out of this world that he swore his body was beginning to tingle as those eyes gaze back into him. He was locked in a view so breathtaking that the word did little justice to describe how he felt as he stared.

His trance was broken when the teen scrambled away from him, hitting hard against the underwall of the window, and likely hurting his back if the way he winced was anything to go by. The other boy quickly got up an moved to side, hitting his head into a piece of covered furniture that reverberated with a clang sound.

Aresenal winced, deciding he needed to step in and do something before the teen knocked himself out while trying and failing to get away from him.

"Easy easy!" He put away his bow and arrow, looking at the boy on the floor with his hands up to come across less dangerous "I'm not going to hurt you, I was just curious as to why I heard a noise coming from this room."

The teen looked at him with those blue eyes, accessing him to see if he was lying. He must of taken a gamble and decided to somewhat believe he meant no harm because the boy rose to his feet once again, looking at him with slight caution now.

"Do you live here?"

"No, I was trying to escape the rain and came across this abandoned mansion." He replied, looking away from Roy and opting to stare at the carpet.

"Got a shy one." Roy thought looking over the boy and his body language.

His clothes looked a little too big for him. A white t-shirt with short red sleeves and an oval pattern in the middle, black cargo pants, and red shoes with white lacing. There was also a metalic looking wristband the boy wore on his left hand. Overall, Arsenal took him for a pretty boy who wasn't used to these sorts of situations, one who doesn't do much except for sit in quiet with the popular kids and have everything handed to him without much of a resistance from other teachers or students.

"So do you have a name or do I just call you boy?" Roy asked, trying to lighten the atmosphere.

"I'm not a child!"

Oh he was going to have fun with this one.

Roy's face split into a grin as he waited for the boy to reply. The other teen rolled his eyes at him.

"My name is Danny." Danny looked him up and down, "Did you just come from a cosplay party or something?"

He raised an eyebrow, "I'm Arsenal!"

This time Danny raised an eyebrow at him.

"Protégé of Green Arrow."

The boy's face remained the same as Roy's changed.

"Part of the Young Justice team."

Still no look of recognition.

"The Justice League."

"I literally don't have a clue on what any of those are, is it like some kind of sports team?"

"How do you not know the Justice League?"

"I'm from a small town, a lot of outside media doesn't get through to us." The boy mumbled something with a hint of annoyance at the end.

Roy groaned in frustration, putting his hands up to his masked face. He silently wondered if he was going to have to tell pretty boy here about the existance of aliens and meta-humans.

"Woah!" He heard the boy exclaim, feet that barely made a sound ran up to him. "Cool arm!" Roy spread his arms apart from his face to look at him, seeing that the boy's focus was entirely on his prosthetic.

"What kind of lights did you buy for this?"

" Lights? What no— This is how it is." He growled out the last part, remembering what Lex did still left a sour taste in his mouth.

"No. Way!" Danny's eyes seemed to sparkle with awe. "Can I touch it, please?"

Roy let the other teen poke at his arm, watching as fascination filled those blue eyes. The only other person that showed this much interest in his arm was Bart and the little menace would always ask to look at it or try to wrestle him, resulting in him always winning because there was no chance of him losing to someone with those kind of arms.

"This is amazing, can you wiggle your fingers for me?" Roy did just that and watched as a smile etched onto the boy's face.

"INCREDIBLE! The black metal, the desgin, everything was made to fit you. But, I bet I could do a way better job."

"Oh really?" He raised an eyebrow.

"My parents are inventors and scientist, I obviously picked up a thing or two from being around their equipment for so long." Danny placed his two hands on the prosthetic, providing Roy with the knowledge that he was two inches taller than Danny.

The vigilante catalogued the information given to him for later. Even if Danny meant him no harm that didn't mean he trusted him right away, sue him, but the other's parents being scientist that built enough inventions for Danny to alledgedly make his own made him wary.

"You're not a bad cosplayer." Danny said, leaning his head against the metalic arm while looking at Roy.

Those too blue eyes pierced his soul. Danny had to be a meta or alien of some kind, there was no other explanation for his eyes.

"It's not a cos—"

*SCREECH*

An unholy noise screamed out, sounding like a high pitched call and simultaneously a warning from whatever creature it came from.

Roy quickly grabbed Danny by the waist and pushed the boy behind him, shielding him as he armed himself once again.

[payidaresque]

*in narrator's voice* she was, indeed, not having it

[izzystizzys]

When the 212th collaborates with the 501st, chaos is sure to follow in their footsteps. This has been largely true of every engagement since the start of the war, in Cody’s experience. Had he even an ounce more of a rebellious streak, he might question why and whether the success rate is worth the feral instinct for mayhem his battalion and Rex’ awaken in each other - as it is, he simply fills out the after action reports and then screams into his pillow, which is hard as durasteel and doesn’t warrant the name.

Or, on some days, he steps into the training rooms to work off some nervous jitters only for his foot to catch on someone’s armoured shoulder and faceplant straight into what looks like the entirety of both battalions piled together in a massive cuddle pile.

“What”, he manages between gritted teeth, heaving himself up with one hand supported on Crys’ arm and the other planted in places that make Boil jackknife up with a strangled yelp, “the kriff is this?!”

“We’re watching the Corrie Reality Special, sir”, his own voice calls from somewhere across the room. “The 91st is passing by, so we have satellite access to the Coruscant Broadcast network for a few hours, and we couldn’t settle on a specific show -“

“- so we decided to watch them all”, Rex finishes, sheepishly, where he’s fought his way through wiggling piles, hoots and badly imitated monkey lizard noises. The thought that he shares DNA with these degenerates is enough to drive Cody to the brink of a nervous breakdown some days. “Spopcorn?”

Ah. The Corrie Reality Circuit. When Cody first heard of it, he’d thought it was a prank. Then, they were deployed to the middle of bumkriff nowhere on the edges of Midrim space edging on Outer Rim, with a connection so spotty even classified military intel only got through about half the time, and the whole idea got shelved in favour of clankers and keeping his General’s lightsaber in his General’s hand where it belonged.

Now, a gaudy, glittery monstrosity of a logo announcing a Coruscant Rotational special appears on a rigged up screen, which means one of two things: either Fox is pulling the Galaxy’s greatest long con on all of them, or he’s been murdered and replaced with an evil clone (ha!), because there are no circumstances in which he would agree to star on Coruscant Reality TV.

Cody tilts his head consideringly. Rex smiles at him sheepishly. Tilts the spopcorn bowl at him, invitingly.

“Oh, dank farrik, sit your shebs down!”, someone (Fives, probably) yells out, fed-up…ly.

Cody sits his shebs down.

“Good morning and welcome all of Coruscant to the Great Coruscant Rotational Special: Our Boys in Red Edition!”, a bright red Twi’leki man announces on the screen amidst cheerful jizz music and loud hooting from the training room. “My name is Braham Horton, and I will be your exalted host for this fine, fine late night cycle!”

“And now, gentlebeings of the metropolis, I present to you the images that have driven us all to laughter, joy, and even tears at times over these past few weeks - whodathunkit, that the CSF media project would enthrall a whole Galaxy of viewers and cause the largest recorded peaceful civil protest of all time?!”

“The sorry what now”, says Cody, suddenly thinking back to the urgent meeting General Kenobi was currently in with Generals Windu and Yoda - passing by on the Venator in orbit. “Uhm”, says Rex. Braham Horton, unfazed by the commotion he’s causing lightyears away, chatters on.

“- many hours, so we’ve compiled an introductory little best-of for you, exalted viewers! And what better best of to start off on than the hottest entry of the most explosive bombshell into the villa - please give it up for Commander Thorn and how he stole all of our hearts on Love Island!”

A garish, club-tech jingle Cody has so far only heard buzz through the walls of establishments that generally didn’t allow clones thrums through the training room, followed by what can only be described as the sort of noises spiced up banthas might make. Thorn appears on screen, more oiled up and half-naked than Cody remembers, though just as bleach-blond, hair slightly longer than regulation and smile blindingly perfect.

“I’m Commander Thorn, baseline twenty-four years humanoid - during daytime I might be the scourge of Coruscant’s criminal underworld, but at night I don’t mind playing good cop for you!” He punctuates it woth a sleazy wink and fingerblasters that have Rex honest-to-god gagging, and Cody seeing his life flash before his eyes. If Alpha-17 finds out about this…

Suddenly, Thorn’s smile drops in favour of what might almost be called a scowl on even his handsome face, and the music cuts out. “There, got your soundbyte. Can I go back now? I’m supposed to be on shift.” Indistinct, off-screen chatter and a captioned oopsie… appear in a shower of glitter. Thorn’s face does something complicated. “For HOW MANY MONTHS?!”

Cut to a montage of what Cody can only describe as beaches, oil and abs galore, Braham Horton narrates and extremely close-up shot of what Cody tries very hard not to identify as Thorn’s crotch. His own crotch, in a way. Oh no, that’s weird, stop that train of thought immediately-

“Although our favourite bombshell’s entry into the villa wasn’t without its hitches and hurdles-“, emphasized by a zoom-in on Thorn’s form in a speedo huddled away from a partying crowd of softcore-kriffing contestants on a yacht, “- as well as all know, he would soon find his place in the villa - or places, rather!”

Two crying humanoid women appear on screen, with eyeliner smudges down to their knees. A hoot goes through the room. Cody watches with a sense of impeding doom. “You slept with her after I chose to match up with you instead of Chad?! How could you!”

Thorn, still oiled up with both blasters out for the world to see, winces. “I didn’t me-“

A hysterical gasp, a camera swerve. Three more people stand by the doorway, all clutching their chests with wide eyes. A broad, green Twi’leki man raises a finger to point accusingly. “You were sleeping with them too?! I thought I was the only one!”

“Dear Force”, Cody murmurs, unable to look away from the building speeder wreck on screen. Braham Horton laughs good-naturedly at his misery. “Ah, good times! And who could forget the all-out brawl of the following matching night, where a record number of every single other contestant attempted to physically fight the others for the right to match up with Commander Thorn! Including a somehow returned Chad, who nearly won thanks to the element of surprise. I wish we could show the footage, but then we’d have to slap several warnings on it and probably still get taken off the air.”

“I didn’t know Corries kriffed like that!”, someone (Fives, let’s be honest, it was definitely Fives) calls out into the room, receiving snickers and a well-aimed pillow to the throat for his trouble. He goes down with a choking scream.

“Someone who was less impressed by the hot’n bothered beach weather was Commander Thire, who found himself Less than Impressed by his co-contestants inability to keep it in their pants on Too Hot To Handle!”

Thire’s face, identical to Thorn’s in every way except the ones that matter, appears on screen. His black hair is cut in a cropped mohawk, arms folded over a button-up he’s carefully pieced together with… safety pins? Where are the buttons on it?

“These people are pathological and pathetic and I will spend not a second longer on this farce of an attempt at ‘entertainment show’”, says Thire, air-quotes so sharp they could cut stone. His scowl might be permanently etched into his face, Cody can’t tell. “Unlike literally everyone else, I have an actual job to do. Now move.”

A brief pause, in which cheerful jizz music plays over what is obviously a producer begging off-camera, followed by an eyeroll so hard it hurts Cody’s brain to watch. Thire throws his hands into the air in defeat, marching off into the sea behind him still fully clothed.

“When they didn’t find him until the last episode, I’ll admit, I thought he’d died too!”, Braham Horton cuts in cheerfully. “But would you look at his little lonely island lair - now that’s a fulfilled man, and too many coconuts for my taste! We’ve had to blur his hands out as he discovered the cameras just moments before these holos were taken, unfortunately. And, dear viewer, who could forget this exit-interview for the ages!”

A considerably more clothed Thire appears on screen, eyeing a microphone like he’s about to use it to stab out his own eyes. The reporter clears their throat in audible anxiety. “C-commander, how would you describe your reality experience in one word?”

“Demeaning”, says Thire, blandly.

Silence.

“Um, o-okay”, squeaks the reporter.

“Would you like some more words?”, asks a dead-eyed Thire.

“No, um, I think - I think we’re alright.”

“Because I have many words. Mostly for whoever the *bleep* thought this was a *bleep* good idea, and *bleeeeeeee-*”

“We’ve had to censor most of the Commander’s on-screen appearance, dear viewer, for your sensibilities”, says Braham Horton, eternally and painfully cheerful. “And speaking of sensibilities, who could forget Commander Stone honouring his name in several challenges on ‘I’m A Holostar - Get Me Out Of Here!’”

Soulful violin music fills the gym, overlaid with images of a bald vod Cody surmises must be Stone. Stone stares stonily into the void, glass of bright green something raised to his lips and already half-empty.

“Memorably, he downed a pint of acklay urine within seconds-“

Horrified screams are followed by an image of Stone chewing, yet another thousand-klick stare.

“- or when he ate Tauntaun anus -“

Rex doubles over gagging, and Cody slowly puts his handful of Spopcorn back down.

“- of course the ten minute worm-bath challenge cannot go unmentioned -“

“FORCE PLEASE NO!”, screams someone (Echo) tearfully. Commander Stone, buried to the chin in wiggling orange worms, looks less impressed.

“ - and who could forget his encounter with a horde of ginntho spiders and nests of vexis snakes!”

A remote goes sailing past the screen, missing by a mile, as images of Stone with his whole arm stuck in various boxes fly past. Someone is retching. It might be Cody.

“We would show the infamous butchery challenge wherein the Commander found himself drenched in nexu guts and sandworm brains, but once again, this is family friendly programming and we are not allowed. Nevertheless, a win well-deserved. And now, please welcome the one, the only, the awe-inspiring, the unbelievable: Marshall Commander Fox!”

Another Force-awful jingle, big, blocky letters, and Cody chokes on his own spit when Fox’s scowling face appears on screen. He’s thinner, greyer and angrier than the last time they saw eachother in person. Only the last one is really a surprise.

“I am neither naked nor afraid”, says Fox, arms crossed firmly, foot tapping impatiently on the ground. “I am, however, quickly losing my patience. Explain to me again the point of spending my valuable time undressing in the middle of bum-*bleep* nowhere on the Midrim instead of doing my job as the head of planetary security in the middle of a Galaxy-wide war?”

Several beats of silence follow. Fox grows less impressed with each. Cody knows that look well. Usually, it precedes handcuffs and a cold sonic blast to the face.

“Um… you signed a contract?”, says a producer’s voice uncertainly off-screen. Fox barks out a harsh laugh. “I’m legally classified as military property, my signature holds less weight than if I’d had one of the Guard’s massiffs shit on that contract for me.”

“Ouch!”, calls Crys.

“Gettim!”, adds Longshot.

“But… don’t you sign off military documents all the time for the Senate?”, sputters the producer.

Fox smiles with far to many teeth. It’s also a look Cody knows far too well, and even lightyears away it has a shudder going down his spine.

“Really makes you think about the technicalities of that definitely-not-slave-army, doesn’t it?”, he says, dryly.

“Although considerably less naked and afraid than all other contestants, Commander Fox left us with many memorable moments - such as when he saved the entire crew from an angry Acklay!”

Most of the next holovid is blurred out, though Cody can (unfortunately) guess at the why and how. So can most everyone else, judging by the collective groan.

“Down, boy”, says Fox, flatly, to a hissing Acklay twice his size. It rears its fanged head, and a shudder goes through the room. Fox simply crosses his arms and nails the beast with an unimpressed look. “You are making a fool of both of us. Cut it out.”

Chastised, the Acklay blinks at him, slowly lowering itself back down with a confused hiss.

“No kriffing wonder all the Corrie shinies are such hardasses”, mutters Rex, whom Cody is hard pressed to agree with. “I came from a tube and that look gave me daddy issues.”

“Yes, dear viewer, who could forget these heart-warming moments of good, quality television!”, sighs Braham Horton, dreamily. “Not Coruscant anytime soon, that’s for sure! We are now entering the twentieth rotation of the sit-in protest of a petition to allow the Commanders of the Coruscant Guard to compete on Dancing With The Planets, Coruscant Rotational’s epic dance competition!”

“Dear bum-kriffing Force”, whispers Rex, wide-eyed and awe-struck. “Does Fox know about this?!”

Cody, who’s already dialing the kriffer’s comm-code, wipes a singular tear from his eye. “Not a clue, but kriff, am I going to enjoy telling him.”

[fridgrave2-0]

ugh since my adhd is against anything i do and i won't finish it i'll just post my sudden hyperfix on "scylla" from epic the musical. but instead of scylla it's turbug. highly recommend you to listen to the whole song and the second half of it in particular (so you can see my vision and know what i wanted to make)

it was supposed to be a "bad ending" thing with more disturbing turbo-bug, body horror my beloved. idk i enjoyed the process even tho i did only 10 frames lmao

[kaiserouo]

i cannot express enough how much i absolutely HATE him

[starflungwaddledee]

some rather strong first impressions were made.

required reading for the magical "voice" headcanon and another for starstruck's signature in particular. asked by @trainerbob23 !