tfw the head designer of a certain game told a friend that his team would never intentionally gay-bait everyone with a certain inseparable pair of comedy relief bogans…and then throws what appears to be a shared bed into their shared living area but also throws a nap couch with a pillow and a blanket into the scrawny one’s workshop to calm down the straight boys and you have no idea what the fuck is going on but it feels intensely calculated and you don’t like it.
Episode VI Yoda to Luke: “…the last of the Jedi will you be.”
The Force Awakens: “Luke Skywalker, the Last Jedi”
Jedi: Fear is the path to the dark side. Fear leads to anger. Anger leads to hate. Hate leads to suffering.
Kanan: (Is afraid that he will fail Ezra because he wasn’t fully trained) (Is afraid to use his real name) (Was afraid to be a Jedi for a long time) (Still somewhat afraid to completely trust the Force after he lost his sight)
Jedi: Attachment and possession are forbidden.
Kanan: (loves Hera) (owns a blaster and a bag of belongings in A New Dawn )
Jedi: Avoid the dark side
Kanan: (values Bendu as his teacher, a creature between Dark and Light) (tries to save the Grand Inquisitor who returns to grant him the rank of Jedi Knight despite turning to the dark side in life) (also is indirectly taught by the Grand Inquisitor, Maul, and the other inquisitors) (has a student who uses the dark side sometimes)
Also Kanan: (is worried but never tells Ezra explicitly to stop using the dark side) (also never calls Ezra evil even when Ezra does use the dark side, only tells him not to act out of emotion and a warning) “Do you know how dangerous this path is?”
Jedi: wiped out during order 66
Kanan: considers Caleb Dume to be another life, a life that was over.
“Caleb, the little Jedi cut off before his date with destiny. His career as a galaxy saving superhero stunted. He couldn’t believe now that he had ever been that person…that boy was a nobody…a never was…” (A New Dawn)
Writing prompt everyone:
We all know humans are space Australians right? And even humans find Australia a scary as fuck place to like (like 90% of the fauna can and will try to kill you).
So now I’m thinking, what if Australia becomes known throughout the galaxy as the worst death-hole in the quadrant, and humans, particularly Australians, being the enterprising buggers that we are, decide to run an intergalactic supermax prison in the heart of the outback? Imagine the most Bogan of yobbo prison guards, imagine aboriginal tribes that are in charge of the truly hard cases, and freaking the aliens (and other humans) out with Dreamtime magic. Imagine guards who just let the truly desperate criminals run into the bush, knowing they’ll have to send out a search party in a couple days to collect what’s left of the body.
I’ll get around to writing something, but I want to see what the rest if you can do with it!
New reylo shipper here! can you recommend me blogs about reylo to follow? I want everything of that in my dash.
Hey dude! Welcome to the reylo void aka the reylo trash compactor :))) I’m very glad to have you on board, so get ready for this ride, it’s gonna be w i l d, and exciting and damn, so kriffing good.
Of course I can recommend you some blogs! *been waiting all my life for this moment jk*
I’m gonna give you a full list of reylo blogs I follow so far that update in a regular basis and are awesome af. I’m sure I’m mising a lot of my lovely reylo fam out there so pls let me know if I’ve missed you!
well, I hope I’ve helped you, and let me tell you that your ask made my day! so that’s a tiny bunch of them hehe. Fam, feel free to tag fellow reylo shippers pls. I would love to meet them too. //bolded ones - I enjoy their content so much, they either make stunning edits or write wonderful fanfics, or make mind-blowing fanart, or write so precious meta or even if they don’t all this blogs are so interesting and you should totally check them out.// and anon, i could show you the ways of the Force reylo
Australia stole pavlova. Australia stole Phar Lap. Australia stole your family dog, Rex. Who will be next? You are afraid to know when Australia’s kleptomania will claim you.
For some reason you cant quite place, rainbows fill you with an overwhelming sense of bitterness towards France.
You pass a sheep on the road. Soon, another. The wall of white becomes blinding. It will soon be their time.
You met Jemaine Clement on Cuba Street yesterday. You met Jemaine Clement on Cuba Street today. You will meet Jemaine Clement on Cuba St tomorrow. He waits. He watches. He judges.
A minimum wage store worker acts strangely. Jono and Ben slink from the shadows. A celebrity tweets about a peculiar interview. Jono and Ben lurk in the darkness. A Bugs Bunny bouncy castle floats over Lake Taupo while a banana boat is pulled across the Cook Strait. Jono and Ben. This is normal.
The ginger spaceman with the mustache reminds you of someone. A man named Murray. Murray, when did you go to space?
You accidentally stray into the university quarter. The students hands end in stumps that bleed awful cider. An unmoving body lies in the corner. You have a Speights in your hand. It is morning and you remember nothing.
Every year, Aucklanders are rolled down a hill. This goes unquestioned.
You see smoke rising in the distance. You hang your head in reverence to the brave furniture sacrificed to the young and foolish.
Someone mentions the ANZACs. You embrace the closest Australian warmly. Someone mentions underarm bowling. A new name appears in the obituaries.
An iconic bird perches in a yellow-flowered tree. You can’t help but blame the nation’s drinking culture on it. It sets a bad example.
Sir Peter Jackson sees that Weta Workshops workers work hard. The insects will soon cast of the chains of his tyrannical oppression. The time is now.
The wind blows cold and sharp in Wellington. It shears the flesh from your bones and you are reborn anew in the cold and salt of the capital.
You are travelling south. The Cook Strait ends and the road begins. What happens in between, you have forgotten. You’re not sure if it was ever really there.
A bogan approaches you. You suddenly feel the creeping of hair on your neck and the taste of bourbon in your throat. He calls you cunt. You feel welcome.
Fate made the kiwi flightless. The alternative was far worse.
Australia is the most dangerous Pacific country. Everybody agrees. Somewhere, deep in the flow of history, an eagle caws. A baby cries nearby.
The political direction of the nation is determined by bees. From their hive, they manipulate our country to their will.
A foreigner asks you if you’re Australian. You feel a wisp of your soul seep away. Little by little, the Australians grow stronger. You refuse to let them win.
A man encountering a Tyrannosaurus rex fills you with an odd sense of national pride.
Your dead friend offers you incorporeal fries. A swell of guilt and frustration builds inside. It’s puzzle time. Monique was right.
A minnit passes. And the nek. And the nek. The slow, lumbering passage of time wears away at you, pulling you to pieces like an abandoned scooter.
For some reason, an overheated pie fills you with concern for New Zealand’s nuclear-free image. Someone blows on it. Your concerns are appeased.
A mountain parrot steals your window wipers. It steals your passport. It steals your identity. Who are you now?