the thing about variety describing warner bros discovery making "unsuccessful attempts to sell the unprofitable fandom" is that this shifts all the blame on the audience. how are you gonna try that with a fandom that crowdfunded films on a record-breaking scale, raised millions for extra life for years and years, and spawned their own fucking convention because RT was so goddamn popular?? insane that poor business restructuring and shitty company practices from WBD is being spun into "our audience didn't give us enough money so unfortunately, we have to sell RWBY (a western show that enjoys enormous popularity in japan despite not being a homegrown anime) and RvB (a show which pioneered machinima as both a genre and medium)"
Lucifer: “heyyy char-char” waves to her
Charlie: notices prominent bite mark on Lucifer’s wrist “did something bite you?”
Lucifer: “well-I-uh-I’ve-“
Charlie: “did SOMEONE bite you?”
Lucifer: •-•
Charlie: exasperated “did Alastor bite you???”
Lucifer: 😅😀😳 (going through the five stages of grief)
Charlie: “is that a yes?”
Lucifer: “…yes?”
Charlie: “well I appreciate you not wanting to get him in trouble but he really needs to stop doing that”
Lucifer: “huh?”
Charlie: “ya know- trying to eat people”
Lucifer: “… yeah that, the uh-cannibal thing😅”
Andrew: here's something you need to understand, Neil. I would burn this whole damn world for Aaron. I'd give him my kidney or my liver if he needed it. I'd murder anyone who hurt him, break the hand of any bastard who dared to try and hit him.
Neil: you tried to stab him when he stole one of your fries literally twenty minutes ago.
Andrew: you're damn fucking right I did. Those are my fucking fries.
He never deserved your skin's tender caress,
nor the warmth of your whispered desires,
the silk of your laughter, the flame in your eyes,
he didn't deserve your curves, your poetic soul,
or the sweet scent of your lingering presence.
He wasn't worth the passion you once shared,
the poetry woven in your every touch,
the way your lips danced like poetry on his,
or the secrets whispered in the moonlight.
He wasn't worth the softness of your touch,
the way you'd trace constellations on his back,
or the way you'd lose yourself in his gaze.