#EVERYONE has such good voices

[ekholocationn]

im so normal about hallownest vocalized im so normal about hallownest vocalized im so normal about hallownest vocalized im so normal about hallownest vocalized im so n

[twilightkitkat]

Really stupid idea but can you imagine if the TVA swore Wade and Logan to secrecy and then they come back and everyone is so incredibly confused. Like? Wade, what the fuck? Who is Logan and why is he living with you and why does he look like a dead superhero?

Especially with the insinuation that the entire movie timeline spanned over a few days. So Wade goes from hopelessly pining after his ex to bringing home this buff, hairy, muscular guy to live with him without warning after disappearing from his birthday party.

Like he just randomly walked out the door after blowing out the candles, then he mysteriously reemerged with this feral look-don't-touch beast of a man. And he's calling him stupid pet names like "peanut" and "babygirl" and the guy isn't biting his head off?

When asked, Wade just responds that Logan was his best birthday gift ever. Logan's ears turn pink and he covers his mouth to hide the small smile on his face. Wade wraps an arm around his shoulder and grins. Meanwhile, everyone thinks Wade left his own party because of a hook-up call that somehow ended with him landing himself a boyfriend.

[datcravat]

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

[ruporas]

the song of humanity will continue to be sung

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

Does

Does Barnaby

Does Barnaby tell the others to get off his lawn when he's angry

psh, who do you think he is, an old man? he'd Bark, like any lively young dog

[bacchuschucklefuck]

Riz has counted four casseroles this week alone. Five, if one goes by the method of cooking, but Yelen's scary when she's crossed, and calling her burek by its proper name is important to her, so Riz does her the courtesy and doesn't include it in his mental tally.

He holds the tupperware over his head to keep it out if the way as he takes careful steps over the piles of notes in his path. The dockman case just closed, relevant documentations handed over to relevant personnels, evidences dealt with as needed; all he has lying around now is just record of the process and traces of himself thinking through it. Unsurprisingly they still haven't invented a surface more convenient for people under five feet who like to pace to put pieces of paper on than the ground.

Actual records go into the case folder with the other documents. Anything else with at least one side still blank is going to the school kids in the block - they chew through an astounding amount of paper just learning arithmetic. The rest is for the recycling basket.

Later. It's his mandated lunch break right now.

Riz sits down in front of the corner file cabinet. In an office often overrun with papers and strings and sometimes even thumbtacks, he's never really managed to clutter up this exact square of surface like every other ones. Ever since the bottom drawer rattled for no discernible reason a day long past, his eyes have always just kinda decided to slide across the space without acknowledging it.

It's years out, now. Riz doesn't know why he thought it such a big deal anymore, back then. He wasn't scared, he doesn't think. Not anymore. Maybe just uncomfortable with the idea that certain things persist despite all efforts to change.

He opens the tupperware. Dame Carabelle's experiment greets him with enough spice in the aroma alone to knock out a small mammal. When he chopped the vegetables for this casserole he couldn't really imagine the eventual heft of it, evident even through just these few ladles' worth, maybe weighing heavier for being still warm. His folk eat more through the smell and the textures and the aftertastes than the taste itself. His folk's meal is really the cooking rather than the eating. The eating is the meal's end.

"Hey," he tells the file cabinet's bottom drawer. "Um."

It's the anniversary. Riz doesn't know the exact date of his dad's death; nobody currently alive does. He and Mom both use the date of the funeral, though as he moved out to Bastion and then got more directly involved with Interplanar he hasn't really been going to Dad's grave as much. Doesn't seem like very efficient use of his time, catching a train or borrowing a car or spending a whole spell slot on going somewhere he knows Dad isn't at. They're sorta coworkers now. They talk on and off every other week between missions. When he goes now, it's just to clean up the place, keeping the landmark tidy and respectable.

Without that work to mark the date he doesn't really know what it serves anymore. But he still remembers it. Still takes note, absently or not, when it comes around.

There's not really a good way to tell the drawer that. Riz looks for another way to start the... conversation, hopefully. The question at play, he'd guess, is why he's doing this. He's been pretty content ignoring all the rattlings and the knocks from inside and the times it sits slightly ajar without him ever opening it himself; hell, he still uses the three drawers on top of it. Space is fucking precious in Bastion.

Precious enough to finally fix this damn drawer so he gets his turn to use it? Riz asks himself. Is that what we're getting to? Then he dismisses the thought - he didn't manage to fix it the times he actually tried, let alone-- now. When he doesn't really care that much to.

That's probably a good place to start. "'s fine if you keep being in there, turns out," Riz says.

The lunch hours are quiet in the block, sleepy and bright with the brief window of sunlight that manages to break through roof overhangs and extended balconies and laundry lines and climbing vines. Riz's work isn't loud here (the loud parts happen away from his office, if everything goes right), but the fragment of early summer heat reflected in the steady warmth his meal still carries compels him to lower his voice even more. It makes the words feel intimate, in a way he's never been familiar with - if he says something he just says it. He doesn't whisper. If he gives his friends something, he gives it open-palm. He's found out, along the way, that people usually don't think of rituals and courtesies the way he does.

Small voice for a diminished monster. "You know why I think so?" Riz asks. "Because almost two decades ago you kidnapped me and almost killed me, and now you rattle a drawer in my office."

It doesn't sound as much like a taunt as Riz wanted it to; the drawer has made a lot of noises again this morning when he checked the calendar, and he was definitely annoyed at it. Now, though, facing it like this after cooking the whole morning with more grandparents and peers from the block than he can count on both hands to cater for a tenant union meeting, he thinks the annoyance has morphed. Changed shape.

It has the shades of something like pity. Riz is not prone to pity, and especially not at these kinda matters. It's slightly maddening that he coheres perfectly outside of this one spot. That he commands his spaces, except for a drawer.

He puts the tupperware onto the floor between himself and the cabinet. "I know we're aware it's the anniversary," he says at the drawer. "You do this every year. You make a ruckus every time I decide to go do my job instead of mooching off my friends' aircon, and every time I get an invitation to some stupid social thing I want to turn down, and every time one of the old people tries to introduce me to a child or a nibling, because being a bachelor over thirty is weird," he pinches the bridge of his nose. "I have three fucking jobs. I love doing my fucking jobs. I'm forcing funds into infrastructures. You're never leaving, are you."

The drawer vibrates lightly. It's a very, very mild acknowledgement, considering the history of reactions Riz has gotten from this thing. Riz thinks it's emanating joyous agreement, or satisfaction.

It only sharpens the pity. Riz doesn't like that, but it's how it is. That's, ultimately, the lesson he's been taught over and over and over again, just by existing as himself, turned every which way by space after space that don't see him eye-to-eye: it's not like he'd quit living over any of it. It's not like any of it can sand off these fundamental pieces of him.

He's outgrown a lot of things, he's found out. Again, and again, and again. A childhood home, a yearly trip, a monster.

"'s probably scary for you, huh?" He asks. "Because I left."

He thinks he hears joints creak that sound like you did. Probably the way a scorned lover would say it, in a movie or a yellowback. He has no more connection to the idea than he did as a kid. Less, because it doesn't even scare him.

"That's what it is, right? That it's the anniversary, and I'll never be like Dad." He raises a knee from the floor, pulls it back closer to him. Slings an arm over it. "You love to remind me. The thing is, Dad also left. He loved Mom and he loved me, and none of us wanted it to happen, but it still did. Because love does fuckall to make anyone stay on its own."

He's long past being bitter about it. It's just the facts. Once upon a time he looked into the future and the specter of his friends' happily-ever-after casted lightless, fathomless shadow over him. Love, marriage, that kind of devotion, to a fifteen-year-old with more solved cases than friends seemed so eternal. Final.

But you can only watch your friends build up apps' worth of jilted lovers for so long before getting over it.

"You know what I learned?" Riz tells the drawer. "Love doesn't make anyone stay. Project management does."

He stands up, and picks up the tupperware of Dame Carabelle's casserole, that he helped make, that he helped share with a block's worth of neighbors and members of a community he's at home with, and goes sit at his desk to eat. "Last chance to get any," he drops an offer over his shoulder as he walks away.

He doesn't eat all of his share in one go. What he's spared he leaves on the desk when going outside for a smoke break. Baron looks the exact same as when he saw them last, when he catches a glimpse; they haven't grown at all. They aren't there when he comes back inside, but the leftover has gone days-old cold, like someone's sucked the future out of it.

[tapefish]

dont worry about me, got all the luck I need

[thordy]

[palilious]

I love that the whole fandom's collective reaction to Quinn's new voice can be summed up as "Oh god he's BRITISH"

[hms-incorrect-quotes]

Soul, holding the trident but its flopping around like jello: I didn't want to believe you cursed us, but the evidence is overwhelming!

Heart, face completely obscured by hair: You made me look ridiculous!

Mind: You made me—

‎

[notbecauseofvictories]

inexplicably sad about the loathly lady. I just can't imagine being brave enough to ask anyone whether they would prefer you be attractive in the sight of their friends, or attractive when they fuck you. that those are the only two options. I can't stop thinking about how there are many other answers to that question, and almost all of them are wrong.

[littlefoxwithbighat]

Me, a few days ago: Aw man, I should really catch up with the new Red Valley miniseries for season 2.

A few minutes into listening: WHAT IS PETER LUKAS DOING HERE!???

Me, a few days later: God, I'm so behind on Re: Dracula. I need to catch up.

Me: PETER LUKAS!???!???!-

[lilfriezatyrant]

More than anything,

more than anything,

I need to save my people more than anything.

[aroaceleovaldez]

finally finished my project of collecting voiceclaims that are as close as i can find for my hcs of the main HoO cast - just for funsies so it's not as perfect as I'd like but whatever, it was a neat exploration and exercise of me trying to think of literally any franchise for voice actors.

Leo got two cause I had trouble of finding good clips for the voiceclaim that's closers to my hcs for him (the second half of his section). Also got to play the fun game of digging through my art for decent doodles of each character.

Also fun fact, I am almost completely unfamiliar with 3 franchises in this video and was just digging for voice clips on youtube. Try to guess which ones.

[densewentz]

hear me out, post-divorce girl!Dad Crowley

im not even kidding you guys, the best thing for Crowley after all this is just for him to be a girl Dad. Go find himself the weirdest most unhinged least likely up for adoption daughter to dump all his love onto. One who thinks snakes are awesome and who screeches happily when Crowley drives too fast and who thinks her Dad's the absolute coolest person on or off earth. She'll constantly be stealing his sunglasses or demanding her own pair so they match. No doubt she's obsessed with fungus and she probably draws the most fucked up stuff that Crowley then hangs around the flat, and she'll yell at the plants too with her hands on her hips. On nights after goofy dinners, Crowley will hoist her up on his shoulders and help her accurately place the glow-in-the-dark stars on her ceiling and softly answer every question she ever has. And it won't even phase her when sometimes her Dad is her Mom or her Parent for a while or vice versa. And she'll be ready to full on throw hands with anyone who gives her Dad sad-face. She probably ends up biting Aziraphale when he eventually staggers back into the picture, and the Angel will have to contend with the fury of a real hellion for a while before she trusts him enough to let him anywhere near Crowley. Also i think her name should be Hanna.

[greenvillainredemption]

One thing I love about mutant mayhem is that Leo has a crush on an April who’s not conventionally attractive. It almost feels like, because of the turtles’ isolated upbringing* he hasn’t been influenced by the popular western beauty ideals and just thinks this ordinary human is beautiful! And I think that’s really cool! Because she is!

*though they’ve clearly been exposed to celebrities and other pop culture so ?? idk lol