#it all goes horribly wrong

[xxplastic-cubexx]

chat i think im gonna be sick

(Powers of X #6)

[ladyofrings]

Annatar & Lothien

Drawn by @drew-winchester

[aroaceleovaldez]

So, in your last post about the Percy Jackson TV show, I felt you lacked a few pieces of information/points. While it is true that the CGI in the film is pore and not constructed well, please note that while they have a large budget Disney has made a lot of restrictions to the show. In the original scrips there was a significantly larger amount of violence that would have needed more CGI. This was latter edited out of the script due to both restrictions and budget cuts for other parts in the show(sadly). Also to bring into prospective Sea of monsters the movie was made 10 years ago. Inflation has juristically affected the way money is used in films. Another thing to note is typically movie budgets are less than TV shows because they only are filming for one larger block of time. TV however they can take years meaning the acters need to be paid even for the time off set. This is not to say movies cannot take years, but it is to show that TV shows are filmed longer. I would also like to say I am genuinely not trying to be rude or unkind about your opinion and thoughts on the subject. I am just someone who has a different insight into the topic because of the things I know about the topic (I myself, am an actor and for the most part I think this is why the CGI was not the best as well as some of the script work). 

I did actually calculate inflation for Sea of Monsters versus the PJO TV show. We know the PJO TV show allegedly had a budget of $12-15 million per episode. For comparison, this is the type of budget Disney+ usually uses for stuff like The Mandalorian. I was doing a generous underestimate for the entire season which comes out to $96mil (12mil per episode x 8 episodes). Sea of Monsters' budget was 90mil. Here's that inflation:

So lil over $120mil. Going for a top estimate for s1 of the show (15x8) that's $120mil. And as far as I'd heard that may also not include stuff like budget for casting for the show. They are still roughly in similar ballparks.

Regardless of this - as an animator, i can tell you there is no excuse for that wonky CGI trident other than it being extremely quickly done. That's literally a transform error, like ctrl+t type stuff. That is a lazy and cheap trident, probably because Disney notoriously overworks and cheaps out with their CGI. The CGI problems in the show are majority because Disney's being cheap about it. This shows in nearly all the CGI in every episode.

If they had to remove violence from the script and so remove CGI scenes with it, then theoretically they should have more room in the budget for more or better CGI where it already is in the show. That money doesn't just vanish. Changing that in the script gives them less of an excuse, actually.

Also, as i mentioned in my previous post - if you don't want to CGI hydrokinesis, don't pick the franchise where the main character's defining power is hydrokinesis. If you can't have much violence, DON'T PICK THE GREEK MYTHOLOGY SERIES WHERE THE MAIN CHARACTER BEHEADS TWO PEOPLE IN THE FIRST BOOK AND IT ONLY GETS BLOODIER FROM THERE. You cannot have PJO without some level of violence. It's kind of very inherent to the series. Rick actually talks in his original Teaching Guide for The Lightning Thief about how, in argument against attempts to ban TLT (in this specific instance for "being too violent"), that monsters in the books poof into golden dust for a reason, because then they haven't "died." There is no blood. They can and will come back. Because it's fantasy. That is the excuse for all the violence. Of which there otherwise technically is a lot of.

If you are doing live action PJO you are going to have to have some amount of violence (and there is absolutely a level that is perfectly suitable for a PG13 audience. The show right now is leagues below that level. PG13 just means parental guidance for under 13 - this majority has to do with concerns about children under 13 replicating behavior on-screen. Past 13 kids know better than to do that, which is why that rating is a thing. There are plenty of film/media/etc that are way more gory and violent and are still PG13). You are going to have to CGI monsters/creatures to some degree regularly (alongside demigod powers like Percy's hydrokinesis even more regularly). And between those two things, characters are going to have to look like they're physically interacting with the CGI at times. Disney is capable of doing this. Disney does have the budget for this for the show. They're not doing it because they're being cheap. Disney has done this before and does it regularly. This is not anything new. It entirely has to do with CGI not having as many unions. They have no excuses. If they didn't expect to run into these problems then they clearly did no planning for what adapting the series would entail and didn't think at all of what the series actually featured before diving into it. And they have no excuse for that! That is step one!

[starry-bi-sky]

I had a thought, dear However scary About that night The bugs and the dirt Why were you digging? What did you bury Before those hands pulled me From the earth? I will not ask you where you came from I will not ask you, neither should you

-------- an extension of this excerpt because I've been thinking of Femme Danny and Jason all week. It's mildly suggestive, but that's really the only heads up needed. --------

Music blaring, bass heavy in her ears, Danny finds him in a ditch at the bottom of the bluff. She was leaving the observatory, and she nearly misses him as she turns out onto the last stretch of road leading back into the city.

She catches sight of him, just barely. A glimpse in the corner of her eye; something reflecting on the light. She thinks it's a deer at first, and instinctual terror that only the idiocy of a deer denting her car can give her, strikes her hard. There's no one behind her, so she slams the breaks.

Her car stops; there's no deer. She looks and looks, but there's no deer, no deer buddy — they always come in pairs. But something still catches her eye; light reflecting off leather, in the ditch below just a few feet in front of her.

"What the fuck is that?" Slips out of her mouth before she can really think it through, and she's pulling off to the shoulder, wheels crunching gravel, before she thinks that through either.

Danny's climbing out of her car within seconds, putting it in park and hitting her hazards as her door clicks open and she stands up on the ledge. The trees block the sky, and there is no moon beholden to brighten the land, only the dull light of the stars and the brights of her car.

There's a man in a ditch. And he's not moving. From the distance, Danny's not sure if he's breathing.

She breathes out for him; "Fuck." She's running around the front of her car, not thinking it through. Her feet crunch the gravel, bugs buzzing at her ears, and she's sliding down the small hill into the ditch to reach his side.

"Please don't be dead, please don't be dead." Repeats in mantra under her breath, she can smell blood; heavy and iron, mixing with the dirt and the grass. Her hands find his side, Danny rolls him over onto his back. Her fingers find his pulse, and she breathes relief. He's alive.

—---------

Danny finds no less than two — no, three guns, four knives, and an actual, goddamn shiv on the half-dead ditch man. But not a single ID or wallet.

The man reeks of danger, even in his unconscious state it lingers on him like a rich cologne. It's the human instinct to be curious, and maybe it's the blood and dirt that tells her he's bad news. Common sense, naturally.

She doesn't know what to do with him. Danny wants to help him, but the ghostly part of her, the one that seeks safety above all else — for herself, for her loved ones. Because growing up in a house of weapons on the tables for sticky, pudgy fingers to play with, and food that needs killing twice, and labs full of half-broken beakers and radioactive substances spilling onto the floor robbed her of it entirely, — tells her to leave him.

He's dangerous. Her core hums cold, freezing the tips of her fingers, making her ears ring. She forgets to breathe, her hands going numb. Leave him for the coyotes to find; for the bugs to feast on; for the mud to swallow whole. Leave him for the land. Nobody carries this many weapons on them unless—

He groans. In only the light from her high beams, his cracked lips split and makes a noise of pain. His chest rises, shuddery and slow, and he doesn't wake. The man slips back down into unconsciousness. But he's alive.

He's alive.

Danny exhales. It's springtime, wreathed in life. It's cold; he's cold. But alive. She shakes the chill from her fingers, resolution warms her lungs.

Carrying him up to her car isn't easy — dressed like fucking Dean Winchester and wearing half as many layers, the man is probably two hundred pounds. But she's been working out and taking boxing classes since sophomore year of high school. She throws him over her shoulder in a fireman's carry, and hikes them both up the hill.

She drives them home. Don't ask her why she didn't take them to the hospital; she can't give an answer. Not one that makes sense. She knows enough first aid to fix almost anything he might have.

Danny blasts the heat and turns the music on low; switches to something softer, more comforting, in case he wakes up. She kicks the passenger seat back far enough so that if he does, he's reclined comfortably.

He doesn't wake up, she can't keep her eyes off him anyways.

—---------

Danny lays him on the couch in her house. He gets blood and mud on the fabric, and she'll need to get a new one because of it. But she takes off his boots, strips him of his shirt and jackets, and flies to the bathroom to get her first aid kit.

He doesn't wake up the entire time she's putting stitches in his side. Nothing is broken, but he's bruised and cut. Some get band-aids, others get bandages.

The man has half as many scars as Danny does. Stabs, cuts, a few burns here and there. Danny has those too, but she doubts the man has been impaled before like she has. The luck of ghosts that they can't die by mortal means. Or curse, depending on how you look at it.

(There's a thin scar on his throat, like someone tried to slice it open. She sees it while she's stitching up a laceration near his collarbone, and Danny can't stop herself from huffing.)

("We match." She murmurs, joking dry and ingenuine. She doubts anyone's survived a botched decapitation like she has. At least his scar is thin and hard to see. That wasn't a good night for her; she had to sew it closed herself, alone out of refusal to let her friends help.)

When she's done, she collapses into the recliner beside him, and falls asleep. She slips in and out of dreams all night.

—---------

When she wakes up, the man is staring at her, sitting up on the couch like an animal listening for the predator nearby. It's a good thing she hid his weapons in the floorboards when they arrived. She stares back at him, eyes half-lidded with sleep.

He's handsome. She thinks, and wakes up fully.

—---------

His name is Jason Todd, he doesn't remember who he is.

That's... a problem.

—---------

She makes them both food, and she'll never stop appreciating the fact that she no longer needs to fight her fridge before the food inside lets her eat. She hasn't lived with her parents in years, and yet the awe still hits her some days.

"I thought I told you to stay seated." She frowns when Jason Todd enters her kitchen, a hand hovering over his bandaged side. They're both tense; awkward and wrong-footed. Off-kilter. It's not a surprise to her. He's amnesiac, she's a stranger.

Jason Todd blinks at her, leaning against the doorframe. From her periphery, he shrugs, only to suck in his teeth in pained regret moments later. "I got bored." He tells her.

"Well, I don't have painkillers," Danny retorts, cheek comes easy to her. Too easy, sometimes. "if you tear your stitches then I'm giving you a rag to bite into while I redo them."

Well, if anything, it gets a snort from him.

—---------

"So, do I have a shirt, or did you just find a half-naked, half-dead man in the woods and decide to take him home?" Jason Todd asks her from the table a few minutes later. She can see, even standing a few feet away, the gooseflesh rising bumps against his skin.

Her cheeks color pink, and she moves to the hallway. "You have a shirt," she says, "you have two actually, and a jacket. I threw the shirts in the wash because they were filthy."

The jacket was leather, so during the night, when she woke up from her many bouts of restless sleep, she got up and cleaned it by hand. "I would've done the same with your jeans, but I can take a half-dead man home," she opens the dryer and pulls out the shirts, "but I draw the line at taking off his pants when he's unconscious."

It gets a short laugh out of him; harsh and brief, and it makes her relax, just a little. Laughter meant just enough comfort to not be tense... most of the time. She returns to his side and drapes the still-warm clothes onto the table.

"What if my legs were hurt?" He asks her, raising an eyebrow even as he reached for the first shirt.

"Then that is called an exception to the rule, ditch man."

—---------

He stays with her. He has nowhere to go — and trust her, they looked. Or they tried to. But he has no social media that shows up under the name ‘Jason Todd’. Oh, there are Jason Todds, but none that match the way he looks — none of them his age, none of them with black hair and blue eyes, no white streak in the curls at the front.  

Well, there was one possible candidate. A Jason Todd-Wayne, infamous adoptive son of Bruce Wayne. But he died the same year Danny did, and unlike her, he didn’t come back. 

“Great.” Jason Todd sighs heavy, “I match with a dead kid.”

“I’m honestly kind of impressed.” Danny tells him, frowning despite her laughing disbelief. She scrolls through every social media she can find, and he just doesn’t show up. There are no warrants out for his arrests, no celebrity interviews with him in it, no missing news reports matching his description. Nothing. “How do you not have any socials? You’re like a ghost.” And she knows a thing or two about ghosts.

It’s equally as suspicious as it is impressive. Who are you, Jason Todd? She wonders, looking over to him.  

He merely shrugs, careful of his injuries, and slumps into his chair. “Don’t ask me, I don’t remember.” 

She gives him the guest room, and they go out and buy him clothes with what budget she can afford. She drags him to a thrift store first, to every thrift store in the city, and they come back with a decent enough haul that he has clothes for at least two weeks. 

—---------

“Danny, what is that?” 

She takes a long sip of her drink, Jason lingering at her side like a shadow. “A smoothie, Tucker.” She says, deadpan like it's the most obvious thing in the world as she slides into their favorite booth with practiced ease. “You know this, I always get one on Fridays.” 

Jason follows her easily, slow and careful, mindful of his sides. He’s back to awkward, tense, acting like an outside looking in. Like he’s not quite sure what to do in the face of her friends. They’ve been together for a week now, and she asked him if he wanted to meet Sam and Tucker with her. 

(“You’ve been cooped up here all week.” She says when he asks her why, her hands shifting the purse at her shoulder. In shorts and a tank-top her scars lay on display for the world to see, and while she's long since shed the worst of her self-consciousness, it still creeps up on her. She can feel his eyes on them, even after a week. “Some fresh air and a change of scenery might do you some good. Maybe even jog that noggin of yours.”) 

Sam and Tucker stare at her, expressions unreading on their faces. Their eyes flick to Jason at her side, and then back to her. Danny takes another longer sip of her drink, and when she lets go with an obnoxious smack, she jerks her head to Jason. “Oh,” she says like an afterthought, an impish smile shadowing over her lips. “This is Jason, I found him in a ditch on Sunday.” 

"You what!?"

—---------

She doesn’t know how it happens. It sneaks up on her like sunlight creeping across the grass, melting away the morning dew and warming the dirt. She loves him. She loves him, she loves him, she loves him. It’s a terrible, choking thing. Wonderfully beautiful, melting her from the inside out. 

She loves him, she loves him, she loves him.

It’s greater than anything she’s felt before. Different from when she nearly dated Valerie in high school — but so, so similar to it at the same time. Warm in its certainty, in its similarity, burning in its difference. 

Danny doesn’t even realize it until half a year living with him, maybe just a little bit longer. But she realizes when she comes downstairs in the early dredges of the morning, sleep clinging to her lashes and sunlight unfurling through the windows, and finds him in the kitchen making food already. 

It’s not the first time she’s woken up to him doing this. But it’s, for some reason, only now that it hits her how fucking domestic it is. With music playing soft through the speaker of his used phone, barefoot in nothing but sweatpants, and humming along under his breath. He’s gotten so comfortable here; he laughs easier now, smiles easier. It was like watching a flower bloom in real time. 

And the sunlight cards through his hair like fingers, caressing over his face in that loving way it does when it wants someone to see the breathless beauty of their eyes. 

Something constricts in Danny’s chest, tight, fond, wanting. Mine, her mind whispers, faint and distant, and knocking the air from her lungs like a fucking train. Her fingers curl tight around the stairway rails, she has half a mind to crack it in two. 

Then he turns and sees her, he always notices her quickly, and Jason smiles at her. 

Somehow, Danny manages to smile back smiling with the ease of breathing, even when her mouth runs dry.

(If she kisses him, will she taste sugar? She hopes not — white sugar is unfilling, sweet but with nothing else to it. If she tastes Jason Todd, she hopes she tastes caramel.) 

—---------

“Want to go throw axes with me?” Danny asks, draping over the back of the couch and hanging her arms off Jason’s shoulders. Her hand finds his hair, and her fingers tangle with the dark curls. She can smell his shampoo when she hooks her chin on the top of his head.

Jason stills, a book in hand — he’s always got a book, and Danny’s never had much artistic talent but she always want s to find a pencil, maybe some charcoals, and sketch the sight down on paper. Memory isn’t enough, she needs it burned into something tangible. She wants to burn everything he does onto paper, wants to remember every little thing about him.

Then he hums, questioning and low, and Danny tries not to shiver with greed to hear it again. She hums back, her next inhale clearing her head. “Well, it’s not just me, but Sam and Tucker too. A new bar opened up downtown and we were gonna check it out, and we have enough time to add another person to the reservation.” 

A silence, thick and thoughtful. Jason tilts his head back to look up at her, and she removes her chin and hand to look down at him. Her hair curtains over them both, locking her into his eyes — impossibly blue, and beautifully so, with teal lining the iris. 

He wears his thoughts on his sleeve, his brows furrowed and mouth puckered in lighthearted thoughtfulness. Quit making me want to kiss you, Danny thinks, and forces her eyes to remain on his face. Idly, her hands trace over his shirt, rising slowly to drag the back of her nail over his collarbone. 

Jason shudders, sighs out slow, and smiles easily. “Sure, what time are we leaving?”   

—---------

Danny sighs as if she aches; she does. Her fingers find Jason Todd’s hair, soft and slipping between her fingers like silk. He’s so close to her face she can feel his breath on her lips, it’s driving her crazy with it. 

“My god.” She murmurs, her voice slipping out without her consent as her fingers drop from his hair to trace featherlight touches down his temples, down his jaw. His eyes haven’t left hers, half-lidded they are, and heavy, staring at her like he might just swallow her whole. 

Please do, she thinks, tilting her head to the side to slot their noses next to each other. His hands tighten at her waist, fingers digging through her hoodie into her skin. He hums, questioningly, low and rumbling like a thunderstorm on the horizon. As if he can’t trust his voice to say something instead. 

Danny chokes on nothing’s heat and runs her thumb over his bottom lip, the flesh catching briefly on her nail. She can’t think straight with him so close to her. Not when he’s so close she can smell his cologne, not when he’s so close she can lean down and sink her teeth into his throat and leave a bruise. She should, it might clear her head. 

Instead, she sighs again, her mouth so close to his that she brushes over his lips when she says; “You’re divine.” 

In the end, she doesn’t need to think about leaving bruises on his throat, because Jason closes that centimeters’ worth of distance between each other and kisses her like he needs air. 

—---------

“Do you have to go, love?” Arms snake around her waist, slipping easily over her dress, and Danny laughs, soft and easy, as Jason pulls her flush against his chest and drops his head into the crook over her shoulder. He dwarfs her in the mirror, capable of curling around her entirely, and she raises a gloved hand to rake her fingers through his soft hair.

Danny hums deeply, tilting to bare her throat as Jason starts pressing kisses to the skin. “Vlad will be upset if I don’t show up.” She wasn’t sure of the importance of this party, but Vlad had promised her a hefty bribe to show up, and call her greedy but damn if she wasn’t going to turn it down.  

Teeth bite gentle at the underside of her jaw, and Danny laughs out of surprise. Jason smiles, indenting it into her skin, and his hand finds the slit of her dress and covers the burn scar on the outside of her thigh. “What about running late?” He asks, something impish in his tone. “I’ve never seen you wear this one; you look good in red.” 

Danny laughs again, turns her head to catch his lips against hers, and kisses him long and sweet. “Yes, he’ll be mad if I’m late.” She says when she pulls back. 

He pouts, and really, how else is Danny supposed to react other than kiss him again? So she does, happily. “Wake me up when you get back,” Jason murmurs against her mouth, chasing after her, “I want to help you undress.” 

—---------

Some days, death creeps up on her, and the phantom pains of it render her coiled into a ball in her bed. She wakes up at three am burning, her starburst scars rooting down to her bones to remind her of the feeling of being torn apart by the atoms and stitched back together again. 

Danny can feel her heart beating in her ears, fast and panicked like she ran a marathon, filling her mouth with iron and the urge to cough out her lungs. There’s a scream stuck in the back of her throat like a spider sac, and she writhes with her head in her arms for what feels like an hour before she forces herself out of bed, mind half-muddled like a zombie. 

Jason is still asleep, Danny doesn’t have half the mind to be grateful, she shuffles herself down into the garage and grabs a compressed canister from the fridge, hidden in a false shelf. She might not keep ectoplasm in the kitchen, but she does in the garage. 

She returns on second nature to the bathroom. She locks the door, shuts the drain, and runs the water to boiling, and doesn’t stop the faucet until the water reaches the little drain in the wall beneath that prevents overflow. The compressed canister cracks open with a hiss, and Danny dumps what’s probably an ounce of ectoplasm into the steaming water.

The effect is instantaneous, the water swirling and turning bright with ectoplasm all the way down. It’s diluted, and Danny only remembers to take off her sleep shirt before she slips into the water. 

Relief sinks into her, and chases away the worst of the pain. She sighs, she can breathe again, and dunks her head beneath the water. 

Then doesn’t get out until she’s freezing again and nearly peeling with wrinkles. 

(She goes downstairs when she’s changed into dry clothes and her hair is damp, and then collapses into Jason’s lap. Her face finds the crook of his neck, and Danny slumps, arms wrapping around his neck.)

(Jason’s hands find her waist, and his thumbs rub circles into her side, slipping under her shirt to run over the raised skin of the burn there. “What’s wrong?” He asks, murmuring low and close to her ear.)

(“Phantom pains.” Danny mumbles.)

(“Where?”)

(“Everywhere.”) 

—---------

When Danny returns home after finding Jason again, she feels numb, she feels cold. Her engagement ring is heavy on her finger and she feels like an outsider looking in when she looks down at it. 

She can’t get the way he looked at her out of her mind. It’s seared into her brain. 

Her back hits the door, and slowly she slides down it, a sob building in her throat. Her lip curling, her heart aching, her heart breaking. Too many questions inside her head for her to try and sort through them, but one is prevalent; Jason Todd is a liar.  

Danny shrieks his name so loud that she breaks her ceiling lights, and takes out the power throughout the entire block. There are dogs howling, cars wailing outside. There’s broken glass beneath her, scattered across the ground, cutting into her palms, and she hurts so much she wants to take the biggest shard and shred herself into ribbons. 

—---------

The memory fades away back into its small star-shape, and floats back up to the ceiling of her lair’s observatory. Danny watches it go, something small and aching still in her chest. Two weeks since she moved into the Zone, and she hates that she still loves him. She loves that she still loves him. 

She hates that she still misses him. She still visits Sam and Tucker, but Amity Park is tainted with the memory of Jason Todd; she needs away from it for a little while. Maybe a long while. She’s not too sure right now, she just needs to stay away. Somewhere where she can’t run into him. 

Danny pulls down another star to watch another memory again. One where they're dancing.

[marshmellowtea]

the thing about the cornley drama society is that all of them have kissed/made out with each other at some point. the other thing about the cornley drama society is that they've all, either accidentally or on purpose, hit each other in the face before.

[fairyroses]

requested by @lexkent: the scene in "Shattered" where Lana sees Lex on the ground in the stable sitting curled into himself, and she looks anguished to see him in such a state, and she's so kind and compassionate to him

+ bonus Lana, after literally almost dying:

[purgatorygrl]

God I was watching this part of the story and my heart broke when I saw how incredibly sad Arthur looked. I mean, it's totally logical. The bank robbery had gone horribly wrong, his greatest father figure had died, Lenny who was probably like a brother to him and he loved had also died, John who was a brother to him was captured along with Charles and Abigail whom he also loved, plus the rest of the band that he didn't know what had happened to them either.

He was on a boat in the middle of nowhere and he didn't know if he was going to get out of there alive and if he would be able to see any of them again.

[iwritenarrativesandstuff]

for a dating sim, I love how aggressively not-romantic hatoful boyfriend is

[phoenixcatch7]

Okay but why haven't we had a time travel/fix it fic where after some shenanigans everyone decides to take down shinra, they split up to take out the important figures, sephiroth obviously takes hojo for any and all of a dozen good reasons.

And then hojo pulls a winter soldier sleeper code on him.

And then everyone is suddenly dealing with a brainwashed sephiroth.

-

Hojo has to have some way to control sephiroth as he grew into his monstrous strength and power, yes? And learned helplessness isn't enough of a reassurance your prized military leader powerhouse isn't going to wake up one day and realise just how easily he could paint the labs walls red with chunks of you. And because hojo is obsessed with total power and control, dealing with a murder machine with huge mental issues, it'd only be fitting he create his own emergency shutdown.

In the most needlessly traumatic and mentally violating way, of course. Would sephiroth even know, if he couldn't remember? Would he have long stretches of emptiness in his memories that never get explained to him, or would he wake up where he'd blacked out, just another day in the labs?

Imagine, his allies watching on the cameras, as sephiroth stalks into the labs, a predator sighting its prey, exchanging a few cold words with hojo, raising masamune... And then hojos mouth opening, sephiroth going stiff like an animatronic, rearranging himself on the floor where he stood, face hidden behind his hair. Hojo leaves the room and he doesn't move, doesn't respond to any comms or passing scientists accidentally rolling a cart over his coat and hair.

Hojo ordering sephiroth to reveal their plans, their allies, their resources. Sephiroth doing it. Hojo deciding to punish sephiroth for the rebellion with lab procedures, or hojo ordering him to hunt down his co conspirators and end the takeover. Sephiroth doing so, heavy in his steps, crashing through walls and doors, heedless now of morals or civilians, silent, unresponsive. So completely unlike the jenova malice they'd been prepared to fight, that sephiroth had been bracing against. No arrogance, no mocking, no dramatic battlefield or hungry glowing eyes.

The puppeteer becomes the puppet, and with it, every trace of holding back. The perfect soldier.

I imagine the first trigger word would be lucrecia.

[moe-broey]

Fellas can you take this somewhere else. Maybe. Just not in the fucking halls. Thanks 🫡

I couldn't resist drawing out these tags I wrote on a dif post LMFAO

Moe just has...... SO many problems.......

Close-ups of my fave shots!

The elusive Líf...

[marigoldbaker]

truly i just think that i can’t imagine giles going for anyone other than jenny or ethan in a serious capacity (bc something is wrong with him) (cannot possibly stress enough something is so so wrong with him)

[fungus-of-death]

Am I actually being irrational or am I going insane. Like sorry I don't want to vent about the countless responsibilities that were put on me since childhood and my inability to cope with the frustrations that come with that to my nephew's girlfriend. Especially when it's about him.

[idyllic-wren]

they can’t ever do anything in peace

[marshmellowtea]

celia hates basically all of chris's friends by virtue of them Being Chris's Friends (it personally offends her that there are people who love him better than she ever could in his life), but she has a special distaste for sandra, who she not only dislikes for being a dirty whore promiscuous, but she's also openly accused her of trying to steal chris from her, an accusation that held no weight when it was first leveled at her cuz sandra hadn't thought she cared about chris like that but it slowly became a self fulfilling prophecy as she spent more time with him and his parents and decided "yeah, actually, i am going to steal your son from you and your creep husband you piece of shit, fuck you celia fuck you fuck youfuck you"

[compassmili]

I kinda really hate how I've been treated throughout my life

[fat-fem-and-asian]

photos for next week's episode!