#*mine: TL Scene

[arachniasbride]

Two tropes I love equally. ♡ 

[samwpmarleau]

JAMIE & KEELEY            ↳ 1.04 For the Children

[thelassoway]

Ted Lasso S01E01 Pilot || Ted Lasso S03E03 4-5-1 & S03E07 The Strings That Bind Us

[waddingham]

hey ted? hey? one of your best friends is next to you trying to help you? she's trying to tell you how much you've meant to her before you leave? if you could maybe share a little bit of yourself with her back to comfort her? even a little bit? since you're pretty good friends? and she's finally ready to talk about the thing you wanted to talk about? hello?

[deus-ex-mona]

when freedom is in sight!!!!!!!!

[remxedmoon]

You should tell us about color psychology that sounds cool as hell

YES… HA HA HA… YES!

GGGOD I WISH I WASN’T OUT OF THE HOUSE RIGHT NOW. but i’ve been thinking about colors literally all day so you all get to be subject to my madness! sorry this is long and rambly wauaua. nightmarishly long post under the cut.

okay. first things first, a few basics. color theory and color psychology tend to get confused a lot in discussions, but they usually refer to different things. color theory is more about we physically perceive colors (color wheels and color schemes the like), while color psychology focuses on our emotional response to colors. if you’re familiar with the children’s hospital color theory post, that poster wasn’t actually talking about color theory, but color psychology (and also it’s incredibly surface level and heavily misunderstands the subject because in what fucking universe does the quantity of positive associations with a color matter more than the context it’s used in and sorry i have personal beef with this tumblr post).

color theory is also a special interest of mine but i’m not gonna touch on it too much here because it’s not entirely important. mmmaybe another time…

essentially, certain colors (and color combinations) have associations in our brains and that affect our behavior and emotions. these associations are also very much affected by the context a color is used in. colors don’t exist in a vacuum! so while red can symbolize passion and love when used in something like a dress or a bouquet of flowers, it has a very different connotation when it’s, say, splattered on the walls or smeared on the ground in a snail trail.

or for a less Children’s Hospital Themed example, i’ll put my euphrasie and king designs here!

(of course the saturation and brightness of these blues play a massive part in how they’re perceived but this is not a post about color theory this is n)

and, of course, combining colors in a piece can also change their meanings!! i’m about to get real fucking normal.

i’m gonna be focusing on the color combo of red and yellow here because it’s the one that’s most relevant to my art (and also it’s really interesting.) basically, seeing these two colors together activates the part of our brain that controls our appetite, making us actually feel hungry. this is why so many food companies use red and yellow in their branding! it’s neat stuff!!

also, if you’re familiar with it, this is why the mv for butcher vanity uses this color palette!! along with red’s general associations with danger and blood, the color combo also physically induces hunger. pretty fitting for a song about cannibalism!

(there is also red’s association with lust and passion and how that intersects with the double meaning in the lyrics but i cannot derail this post into being an analysis of butcher vanity i’m sorry. we’d be here all week. maybe another day... wipes a tear from my eye)

and i think this might be the reason why some people feel hungry when they see my art, even when i’m not drawing food. while i don’t tend to use red outright, most of my art has very warm undertones (red-oranges and yellows especially), which could be activating that hunger response??

(ah fuck color theory managed to weasel its way into this post again)

admittedly this part is just speculation on my end. i think my rendering style and Shapes also play a role in it, but it’s interesting for me to think about!!

this is only scratching the surface of how complicated colors can get. i was going to go on an entire tangent about color grading and how green lighting can make a scene feel unnerving but this post is already Too Fucking Long. aaaa super sorry if this is Rambly or hard to understand!! i’m not Entirely sure how much the average person knows about color theory and psychology so if there’s any confusing terms here i’m fine with adding stuff for clarity!

wauauuaa thank you so much for asking!!!! i love talking about colors.

tl;dr colors have a bunch of different emotions and meanings tied to them, but you’ve gotta pay attention to the context in which it’s being used. so maybe take a step back before you put that thick red trail on the floor of your children’s hospital.

[hannahhook7744]

Why Franklin and Maryann Portman are the Worst™ (Part 1)!;

I want to preface this by saying that I know that by no means Franklin and Maryann Portman are the actual worst parents in fiction or in this series even. 

Of course they aren't. 

But that doesn't mean that I can't still refer to them as the worst™ for them being shitty. Even if I do believe that on some leave that they do care about/love their son. 

I also wanna point out that it's been awhile since I read the books so I'm going off my memory and the wiki for this. So I may forget some context of why this or that happens, and if I do that, feel free to comment it down below respectfully. And if I forget something that you find shitty that they did, also feel free to reblog or comment it down below because I would love to talk about these characters and fandom more.

Am I saying that Abe Portman is 100% perfect and did nothing wrong whatsoever? No, that would go against how his character is betrayed in the books—as a flawed traumatized man who did his best to be there for his family and keep them and himself (as well as others) safe and went about some things the wrong way. 

 Now that that's out of the way…

According to the wiki:

“Jacob was born on Halloween, and up until he was eight years old was convinced by his parents that trick-or-treating candy was birthday presents (something apparently revealed in Hollow City).” 

These people are rich. 

R-I-C-H. 

Rich enough that Jacob’s dad can study birds and volunteer and write mine books that he never publishes without the worry of them not having anything to eat. 

R-I-C-H enough that Jacob comments that “I did love her, of course, but mostly because loving your mom is mandatory, not because she was someone I think I'd like very much if I met her walking down the street. Which she wouldn't be, anyway; walking is for poor people.��� And rich enough that they gave their kid their four year old sundan so that they could get a brand new car. 

And for eight years, they had their son believing that candy was a birthday present. 

1. Now, look. I get it. Birthday shopping is hard, especially for a little itty bitty kid but not actually having the money to buy your only kid gifts and choosing not to because people are handing out candy on that day anyway? That's not a very nice thing to do for that long. 

They let him go through three years of school thinking that and we never learned how he found out that was a lie. That's not even including the fact that the rest of their extended family let this lie continue (assuming they knew). 

Can you imagine if Jacob found out because he mentioned this to his classmates or a teacher? Maybe a teacher or family member could salvage the situation but little kids can be brutal, especially towards other little kids who they think are wrong and considering we know that in that same year, Jacob was pants-ed causing him to stop believing anything Abe said…. It's not entirely out of the realm of possibility tl believe that one of Jacob's classmates got in a fight with him over it and caused some kind of embarrassing, painful memory. 

Though I guess it's a good thing they didn't get Jacob birthday presents that early on considering my second point. 

2. The birthday scene. 

Look at his birthday scene. 

This scene? Shouldn't really exist. 

Not because I hate birthday scenes but because Jacob literally told his parents he didn't want a party which under normal circumstances is a reasonable ask within itself. But these? These aren't even normal circumstances. 

Jacob doesn't want a party because the one person he'd actually want there, in his own words, is his grandpa. His grandpa who died in his arms nine months before and who Jacob has been viciously mourning for said nine months. His grandpa whose death caused Jacob's ‘mental breakdown’. 

Whose house they had also cleaned out recently, doing shit all for the now sixteen year old’s mental health and grief. 

But what do his parents do? 

Throw him a surprise party.

A surprise party.

For their jumpy traumatized son who found his grandpa bleeding out in the dark after getting attacked by a monster (or ‘rabid dogs’) and who has been sleeping in the fucking laundry room. 

Why on earth would going against his wishes be good for him? He said he didn't want a party and under these circumstances, it's even more understandable. If you really want your son to socialize or to celebrate, then get him a cake or some food he likes and invite his friend over. Talk to him. 

Don't throw him a party he doesn't want and don't throw the kid who's been having non-stop nightmares about the monsters who killed his grandfather a fucking surprise party. 

To make matters, in this party:

One of his uncles he’s not close to tries to spring a summer trip to his house on him, listing shit that he likely knows Jacob doesn't like with no previous warning to the kid himself (his parents were just planning to ship him off, whether he wanted it or not). 

They're calling Jacob's apparent disorder ‘his thing’. 

And nobody is actually getting him anything he wants. Just shit they've been gifted and are trying to get rid of. 

Gifts like CD's of country Christmas music or subscriptions to Field and Stream (because his Uncle Les thinks he's outdoorsy, this one I can understand slightly since Jacob did want to be an adventurer but still). 

The only exceptions being:

 1. The key to the family four-year-old sedan, which Jacob is embarrassed to be receiving in front of Ricky (who Jacob hasn't talked to in a long while after a fight they had). 

And 

2. A camera Jacob had been wanting for ages (since last summer) from his parents….who likely only gifted it to him because of his dad's new book.

Which leads to his mom drunkeningly making front of her husband at her sixteen year old’s birthday party…. Real classy. 

Oh and 3. A book that belonged to Abe that Jacob's parental Aunt Susie snagged trom the house when they were cleaning it out. A book titled “The Selected Works of Ralph Waldo Emerson”. 

She gave this to him, saying it was from Abe because he'd written Jacob's name in it. 

Thoughtful right? 

Well everyone else doesn't think so because they go quiet. Jacob's mom, Maryann even while drunk, tries to say it was thoughtful and that she didn't know Abe was a reader.

Meanwhile Jacob's dad, Franklin, is barely hiding how pissed he is. 

Like dude. 

Dude. 

Do you really hate your own dad so much that you don't want your grieving son to have even just a book of poems that the only member of the family who he was close to left for him? Are you still, even after that disastrous day where you cleaned out the fucking house with him there and fought with him, refusing to let him have any ties left?

To be fair, you can say that this is because of his own history with Abe and that it's because Jacob is in a worrying state. But that doesn't really hold up considering that they let Abe babysit Jacob often and fill his head up with stories they thought he embellished  due to his own trauma and because they thought that Jacob was well enough to handle trashing and donating all of his dead grandpa’s stuff. 

Sure, they don't take the book from him but the fact Franklin can't even hide how pissed he is is shitty. 

That's not even considering this little tidbit here:

“My mother leaned toward me and in a tense whisper asked if I needed a drink of water, which was mom-speak for keep it together, people are staring.”

….

Do I even need to say anything?

The fact that Jacob thinks this probably means that his parents—or even just Maryann—have said this to him before. Frequently so, even. To the point where he's trying to escape the room, feeling like he might cry, and instead of thinking that his parents (or anyone in this family) might be able to potentially comfort him in this hard moment, this is what he's thinking. 

It's infuriating.

But not as infuriating as my last point for now!

3. Franklin sent his then fifteen year old son to deal with what he thought was his dementia ridden, war world 2 veteran father having a PTSD attack/episode. 

Franklin gets called when he's volunteering at a bird rescue in what is either early afternoon or night by his worried fifteen year old said who tells him that Abe called him ‘flipping out’. 

He asks if he's taken his pills today and Jacob tells him Abe wouldn't tell him. 

At this point, any reasonable adult would go and help their poor ailing father who may be having an episode or PTSD attack about the war, what happened to his family. The monsters. 

At this point, any reasonable adult would send their son home out of danger and call up a friend or sibling or in-law to go deal with the situation. 

What does Franklin do?

He sends his fifteen year old, who is at his job, to go check on Abe. Who again, Franklin thinks is having an episode. 

Now, even if there was a chance that Abe would still recognize Jacob and wouldn't be a danger to him, who would risk sending their son to check on an ailing relative by himself when there's every chance that when Jacob gets there he'll be having flashbacks to the horrors he witnessed. I mean, it's understandable if you or another adult is there and need help calming the man for you to maybe have your teenage son there. Especially if he may be caring for him one day out of choice.

But sending your fifteen year old there by himself to handle the situation when he probably won't know what to do and when he probably hasn't seen one before?

And doing that when you know that your dad was in a war and still has a sea of weapons hidden away behind lock and key (a key which you have) because you can't be half assed to tell the shelter your volunteering at that there's a family emergency?

Franklin literally sent Jacob into a traumatizing situation that could turn dangerous (for Abe or Jacob, if Abe didn't recognize his grandson) under the assumption that all of his paranoid dad's weapons are stored away. 

And what did Abe die with in his hand?

A box cutter. 

Which just proves that Abe had things lying around that he could use as a weapon if needed. Things he could improvise with. 

Just think for a moment about what could have wrong if Abe wasn't actually in danger from a wight but something he was actually imagining—a memory from his past. Imagine what could have happened to Jacob if Abe had mistaken him for a burglar or a wight or what Franklin thought he was imagining.

Jacob can't fight. 

It's dark. 

Things could easily go wrong.

And what would happen if they did?

Jacob would be hurt and traumatized or dead and Abe would likely be in a horrible place if he wasn't, all because Franklin didn't care enough about his dad to go check on him himself. Hell you can he didn't even care about Jacob enough here, because he didn't care about what Jacob could possibly see if he sent him to deal with his grandfather.

Like, not only is he being incredibly shitty to his son but to his own ailing father who was at the very least convinced he was in danger and who was actually in danger (for all Franklin knew his dad could have actually heard someone breaking in but he didn't even take the time to think about it). 

That's all I have time to write for today but there's several other things that they do that are pretty crappy where their son is involved that I will happily discuss.

Hope this doesn't disappoint, @kallmeweirdhprroe .

[philomelas-tongue-says]

could you please explain how that post about funerals and marriages being the same thing just different is an ancient greek opinion?

indeed I can! thank you for the very polite request, anon; you are in luck because I literally gave a presentation dealing with this this week, so I have quotes at hand and everything!

the short version is that, in evidence we have from ancient greece (especially literature, and within that especially athenian tragedy, but also including things like ritual practice and gravestone inscriptions), sometimes marriage and death are conflated with each other. it's an especially common association for women who die before marriage.

the archetypal mythical association is Persephone, with whom you are likely familiar; she is abducted (and yes, she is abducted, she doesn't choose to go down to the underworld) by Hades, god of the dead, to be his bride. she is, quite literally, married to death. the Homeric Hymn to Demeter is where to go for her story!

another is Iphigenia; she's the daughter of Agamemnon, and she's sacrificed to Artemis in order to allow the Greek army to sail to Troy and kick off the Trojan War. In Euripides' play "Iphigenia at Aulis," her father summons her to the harbor where the Greek ships are stuck using the excuse that she's going to be married to Achilles. toward the end of the play, after she finds out the truth and decides she is willing to be sacrificed, she says: "Sacrifice me, go and sack Troy. For this will be my memorial through a long time, and it will be my children, and my marriage, and my fame." (translation mine, but you can also see a public-domain version in English here.) she explicitly equates her death with her marriage! for her, it's the same thing!

Antigone does this in Sophocles' Antigone, too; when she goes to be buried alive, she addresses the cave where she'll be buried as "o tomb! o bridal-chamber!" and when she's talking about her death in a scene before this, she says, "I will marry Acheron," which is one of the rivers which flows through the underworld.

you can also look to Polyxena, the Trojan princess who is sacrificed to be Achilles' bride in the underworld; in order to be married, she has to die!

the association isn't only mythological; we have evidence of funerary inscriptions (so, text carved into funerary monuments) which talk about those graves being something given "in exchange for" or "in place of" marriage. the most famous one is the Phrasikleia statue.

if you want to learn more about it, Rush Rehm's book Marriage to Death is probably the place to start; it's academic, but IMO written pretty accessibly.

tl;dr: in ancient Greek tragedy (and some other places), marriage and death are often conflated with each other, particularly in the case of young women who die before marriage; hence, the idea that "funerals and marriages are the same thing just different" is an extremely ancient Greek idea.

[karabell]

Color Theory in Cinderella Boy

There’s some silly stuff happening with colors, and in this probably brainrot post, I will be using my art brain to over analyze the heck outta this (for those who are interested, though I find it fascinating!)

**This post includes a scene from todays new ep (53), so make sure you read that first!**

So, I first stumbled upon this discovery sorta by accident. I use Clip Studio Paint for my artwork, and I often end up with an average to 30-50 layers per drawing, and thankfully Clip Studio has an option to color-code your layers to make things more manageable.

For my CB drawings, I defaulted to using green for Chase, purple for Buddy, and blue for Deacon. It made sense to me, because of the casts ‘default’ outfits feature these colors:

We can also see these colors in some book outfits:

Chase’s green outfit in We Need to Talk About Buddy, Deacons shirt in Beach Boys, and the blue accents in All That Glitters

What I noticed though, was that these aren’t the only colors they are seen in, and in fact, out of all the other colors, two in particular stand out

Specifically, pink for Chase, and orange for Deacon

Something to note is that these colors are nearly perfect complementary colors to each other. Even Prunella seems to have this theme, with her red hair and green shirt.

Now, it is generally good for character design for outfits to have good complementary colors to make them stand out, but me thinks that Punko went even further with this.

The thing is, Buddy really only has purple in his color scheme (unless out count every shade of gray and black).

We see him in some other colors, but mainly it’s purple:

Like, a lot of purple.

(Other examples include Toffee Break, Beach boys, Sick Day, etc)

Pretty much all but two of Buddy’s ten outfits have included some element of purple.

But then again, up until recently, he’s only been a villain. A foil to Chase. The black and purple suited him, for a while, because he was only ‘evil’. (This also leads me to believe that future Ex Libris members will also wear black in their outfits to fit on theme. In Dreams by Day, a presumably Ex Libris worker is wearing a black shirt).

But now? It’s Buddy’s story too. He is becoming a protagonist. And that means getting a new color, possibly one that compliments purple.

And what color flowers bloomed when Chase saved him?

Yellow.

This is leading me to believe that Buddy will have a major character shift at the end of season 1 / beginning of season 2, where yellow is included in his outfit colors. And maybe, S2 will feature Buddy’s story more as he becomes a protagonist ‘,:3

TL;DR: Colors are important to CB characters, and Buddy is gonna be a protagonist soon.

I’ve actually been forming this theory of mine since like, the beginning of October, and the amount of serotonin that filled my brain when I saw those flowers, and seeing that my theories may be true could literally flood a city.

Thank u for reading :D

[draculasfavoritewife]

Wild Honey

Summary: Gale is one stubborn son of a bitch, but if anyone could get him to open up, it's always been you.

Pairing: Gale Hawthorne x fem!District 12!Reader

Warnings: ANGST. Idiots miscommunicating and falling out. Heavy tension, sensuality, and implied smut at the end. Also by far the most sexually charged eating scene I have ever yet written, SO sorry everyone, that really deserves its own separate disclaimer lmao. Ye have been warned.

I would like to preface this by saying I know Gale stans sometimes receive hate, and while I do not condone his more problematic actions, I do deeply understand why he is the way he is -- most of my favorite characters in any franchise have done morally challenging things, but I will always fall in love with a survivor, and most times in dystopian fiction survival is messy and comes at the cost of someone else's. It is also worth mentioning that I was watching Hunger Games during one of the most difficult periods of my life a year ago, when a loved one's life was hanging in the balance and Gale became the comfort character I turned to in order to cope. He will always hold a particularly fond place in my heart 🖤

tl;dr -- If you don't like Gale Hawthorne, feel free to not read. No reason to be mean to anyone :)

*Takes place during Catching Fire

He hasn’t been the same since she came back.

That much is clear to anyone two degrees north of blindness. But it could be anything, really. His work in the mines is draining on both body and soul, the added responsibility of being the Everdeen family’s sole provider as well as his own would exhaust anyone.

Yet Gale Hawthorne is probably the only one who could still be standing tall at this point, his proud stride never faltering, shoulders broad enough to hold up all of Panem if he had to. 

The man’s just tired, people say.

Tired and angry at the world, let him be. 

What else is new?

Gale has been wearier than a young man should be and angrier than most could know for as long as you’ve been part of his life.

It’s not that. 

No, it’s the sadness darkening his gray-blue eyes and the new tightness in his full lips that you see setting in whenever he looks at her. Whenever her eyes dart away to seek out Peeta’s instead, or stare straight through him at the phantoms of horrors he would never quite understand. You see him reaching out more often, trying anything and everything to bridge the yawning rift that has opened up between him and Katniss ever since her return, and see how with each misplaced gesture, every time he tries to be soft, another piece of him turns to stone inside. 

And it breaks you, to watch and know you can do absolutely nothing about it. 

You’re surprised to find him hunting alone the next time you go out beyond the fence; you would have assumed she was with him as she usually is. You’ve known Gale at least as long as she has, but perhaps the fact that you don’t rely on him for sustenance has made the two of you less likely to travel together.

And besides, whatever complicated relationship the two of them had, you had never wanted to insert yourself into that mess. 

But for whatever reason, today he is alone, anger and something deeper sharply visible in the movements of his nimble fingers as they field-dress a wild turkey on the floor of the small clearing you’ve emerged into, his brow furrowed and mouth harsh. 

You say nothing for several minutes as you pull your bow and quiver from their stash, testing the pull of the string, fiddling with a crooked fletching on one of your arrows. Your relationship has always been different from what he has with Katniss — you would be lying if you said you weren’t sometimes jealous of how much time she gets him to herself, but you also doubt that he talks to her the way he does to you.

There are pros and cons to not needing him in the same ways. 

“What?” he snaps when you’ve stood there too long; he knows you’re too efficient to need that much time to prepare your gear. 

You shoulder your bow, staring down at those heavy eyebrows, long ebony lashes, and the rainy-sky eyes that are still stubbornly avoiding yours.

“I don’t know, Gale. You tell me.” 

He sighs, long and annoyed. “You’re gonna stand there all day if I don’t, aren’t you.” 

You give a noncommittal noise and make a show of leaning against a tree to keep watch for Peacekeepers while he finishes his work. 

The thanks you get for that is little more than a grunt. “Well don’t get comfortable, I’m almost done. And keep up — I still need more than this or we’ll have a lean few days.” 

“When have I ever not kept up with you, Hawthorne?” You raise your eyebrows at him, playfully miffed. 

There it is, the cocky smirk that pulls one corner of his pretty mouth slightly higher than the other. “That a challenge, Spark?” 

You roll your eyes in mock disdain of the nickname he’s used forever (“because you’re small, but I know you’ve got a blaze in there somewhere” he’d half-teased). “Why, are you gonna try and run away from me?” 

It’s his turn to shrug. “How badly do you want to talk, I guess?” He’s loading the bird’s carcass into his satchel, wiping off his hunting knife and preparing to head out. 

A quick grab and you’ve shouldered the bag instead, ensuring he can’t abandon you now without also abandoning his prize. “Pretty damn badly, I guess.” 

Gale huffs a breath out through his nose. “God, you’re stubborn.” 

“Look who’s talking.” You brush past him, aiming for a deer trail that takes you through some hidden haunts that usually yield rabbits and even some bigger game on occasion. “Now come on, spill. You’ve been acting more pissed than usual, and that’s saying something.” 

“Hm. Very funny.” He easily lifts his own hunting gear once more and falls into step behind you. “Hunt first. Talk later. I’ll be even more pissed if we scare off our dinner.” 

You turn and give him a brisk nod, grinning to yourself when you face forward again. 

It may not sound like much, but that was practically a promise that he will talk to you eventually. 

And you’re nothing if not patient enough to outlast him. 

The times the two of you have hunted together, your ambition and his tenacity tend to be a deadly combination, and as luck would have it, a rare buck deer had crossed your path today, resulting in an even more substantial promise of survival than the turkey. As the two of you worked quickly to prepare the carcass for packing it out, you could feel the tension ebbing away between you, could tell by the way Gale’s strong shoulders relaxed and his jaw unclenched that the immediate worry of ensuring his mother and younger siblings had enough to eat this week had faded.

He would never say as much out loud, but you know it keeps him up at night when they do go hungry, can imagine how he must pace the floors of his house at night, cursing himself for falling short of the herculean standards that the loss of his father set upon him.

He should be able to sleep somewhat peacefully tonight, knowing they will survive another day thanks to him. 

“That was a good shot,” he says after a while of working in silence, and there’s a deep-running warmth threaded through his tone. “You really slowed him down.” 

You shove his shoulder, making him laugh and then scold you for jostling him with a knife in his hands. “Not so shabby on that killing shot yourself, Hawk-eyes. You’ll have food for awhile.” 

“You’re not getting away without some of it,” he insists. “It’s as much yours as mine.” 

And because you know refusing Gale an act of service is a surefire way to start an argument and guarantee his sullen silence again, you agree that you’ll take a sizable portion back to your family when the two of you head back. Placated for the time being, he finally lets his tongue run — about how he’s managing in the mines, what his siblings have been up to, how even in the midst of his exhaustion, he still lives for the end of the work week when he can escape to the forest again. There are new themes of thought that surface and submerge like fish between his words, murmurs of rebellion, thoughts of standing up to the Capitol at last, but they are hushed and quickly moved on from. 

No matter how much you might support him, he doesn’t want to worry you too much yet. 

“What about you and Katniss?” you finally prod, trying to ignore the familiar jolt of envy that tastes so sour on your tongue whenever you say their names together in the same breath. 

He stills; when his eyes flicker up to yours again they’re guarded and cold. “What about me and Katniss?” 

“Well, she’s conspicuously not here with you.” You flick flyaway hairs away from your face in irritation, the damp air making them cling to your skin. “Don’t be like that, Gale. I’ve been your friend long enough to not deserve your cagey act anymore. Let me in. Please.” 

He stares up at you for so long from his position kneeling on the forest floor, you standing over him, pleading him with your eyes to let someone else shoulder part of the heavy load he carries for once. And you’re struck by those traitorous thoughts again in the silvery silence — how unreasonably lovely he is, with that sharply angled jawline, and those softly curving lips, that thick dark hair you’ve always secretly wanted to tangle your fingers in as he leans down, your name on his tongue and a teasing glint in his melancholy eyes — 

“I think I made a mistake,” he finally mutters. “I know I can’t understand fully what she’s seen or who she is now, but is it completely wrong of me to just wish things didn’t have to change?” 

The man who means more to you than anything has never looked more lost and uncertain than in this moment of admission, and you sink to your knees in front of him, suddenly overtaken by a wave of softness that takes a second to fully process. “I’m sorry, Gale, I am. We all change, and I know how it feels to wonder if someone still cares or not.” You shake away your own uncertainties you’ve been having ever since she came back and he’s been chasing her attentions around.

“It’s only natural to want to pick up right where you left off, I get it.” 

His gaze sharpens, though the rest of his face remains calculated and unreadable. “Have I been ignoring you lately, Spark?”

It seems like a genuine question, as if running back through the last few months in his mind he now acutely senses your absence from them. 

You reach out, trailing the tips of your fingers ever so lightly down his cheek. The gesture isn’t novel, you’ve used it to comfort him before, especially when you aren’t sure how much physical contact he wants on a given day, but something feels different about it today, some electric shiver passing between you that makes his mouth twitch and causes you to pull your hand away as if shocked. 

“I need you too, Hawk-eyes,” you murmur, almost under your breath. “I need you.” 

To your dismay, the intimate moment abruptly ends; he tears away from the echo of your touch and is on his feet again in an instant, eyes now pale and hard as ice as he smolders down at your upturned face. 

Reeling with confusion and hurt, you try to understand what just happened. “Gale, wait! What did I —?” 

“It’s that damn word,” he half-snarls, but you hear the raw pain bubbling beneath his attempt at anger. “Need. My family needs me, the District needs me, Katniss needs me to be there when she can’t find what she needs from anyone else. Everyone needs me, Spark.” 

You stare wordlessly into his face, silently begging him to help you understand. His eyelashes glimmer with droplets from the mist and maybe something else, the anger draining away as quickly as it had appeared. 

“I would just like to be here because I’m wanted for once.” 

He’s gone in only a handful of long strides, the undergrowth rattling in his wake. 

And you’re left alone in a space all at once too cold and quiet, wondering what the hell it will finally take to make it through those impenetrable walls and at last touch his solitary wounded heart. 

The sun has sunk lower in the sky by the time you find the fallen tree beside the stream and discover its unexpected bounty. You’re not too far from where you left the deer, knowing neither you nor Gale can pack it out by yourself, but far enough away to give him space if he goes back there first. 

He and his prickly attitude leave your thoughts momentarily, however, when you see the bees returning to the gutted form of the dead tree. Where there are bees there might be honey, and your mouth waters at the distant memory of that sweet, energy-filled delicacy. You swiftly fall to the work of building a small, smoky fire and holding the billowing branches underneath their main entrance, waiting for the buzzing to slow and finally fade out before carefully peeling away some of the cracked wood and extracting your prize, leaving a piece behind of course for the hardworking insects to enjoy themselves. 

Wrapping the majority of the honeycomb in leaves that you know are safe to be in contact with food, you settle at last in a spot looking over the water, ready to enjoy a taste of your labors.

Closing your eyes, you let the first drop of sun-warmed sweetness land on your tongue, and the sound of appreciation that escapes your throat is shamelessly suggestive of something else.

So you freeze for a second in horror when Gale’s familiar voice rumbles through your senses. 

“So is this your little secret, or were you planning to share with me?” 

You compose your thudding heart and suddenly hot face, glancing up at where he now towers over you, arms crossed over his broad chest and a wicked smirk on his handsome face. By the high-tilted eyebrow that asks a sensitive question without really asking, he definitely heard you, and he wants you to know that. 

So you hold eye contact with him, even as the thick honey continues to drip down, painting your tongue in cloudy golden shades of wildflower sugar.

And to your gratification, you don’t think you imagine the way his eyes dart away ever so briefly, or how his own tongue runs across his lower lip. 

“I was gonna share,” you finally say, your own voice coming out slow and sticky after swallowing. “But I didn’t know where you’d run off to.” 

“Hm. I’m not convinced.”

He lowers his tall body to the ground beside you, reaching for your piece of honeycomb, and because he seems to have let go of his earlier flash of annoyance, you let him take it, gaze now glued to the entrancing picture of him as he opens his own mouth and lets the sweet amber substance drizzle between his parted lips, tongue lifting to capture any stray drops that threaten to escape. 

“Don’t be selfish,” you tease, but it comes out strangely heavy, and something kindles deep in your chest as his eyes slide sideways to pin themselves to yours.

It’s an oddly incriminating image almost, though you couldn’t name why, to see him stare you down like that with fresh honey glistening on his lips and fingers; he, however, doesn’t seem to feel any such sense of indignity. 

Without a word, he holds the waxy section out once more, his free hand coming up to your face so that his thumb gently coaxes your lips apart again. 

“You want more?” he asks, a silky hum. 

You have no idea if he’s even talking about the honey anymore, but you nod anyway, too breathless at how close he is, how much bigger he is than you. 

So he complies, trickles the comb’s gleaming goodness into your mouth with an intense focus that you can hear in the roughness of his hot breath as it washes across your skin. His chest is inches away from yours, one of his muscular thighs resting between your legs. You’re aware that your own breathing is turning shaky, and you gasp softly when a splash of honey rolls from the corner of your mouth and starts running down your face. 

Gale is quick, but not quick enough, and though his other hand catches some of the rogue rivulet, he can only watch as the rest rolls to your chest, landing on the stretch of exposed skin right at the tops of your breasts, a single drop of gold hovering just above the scooping neckline of your black shirt, daring him to take some sort of action to solve the predicament he has caused. 

His eyes move up from the now very rapid rise and fall of your chest to your widened, startled gaze.

You look like a wild animal he’s surprised on the hunt, and he now finds that he fiercely hopes whatever comes next doesn’t spook you away. 

“Can I?” he whispers, honeycomb now forgotten and set aside. 

You nod your assent, keeping your focus fixed on his face. 

A hand approaches your body with all of the steady patience you’ve seen him exercise when stalking his prey, and the touch of two fingers to the delicate skin below your collarbone is warm and gentle. His hands are beautiful too, broad and long-fingered, the veins that hint at his great strength clearly delineated in the low-slanting sunlight.

You watch like a fascinated outside observer as those work-roughened fingers swipe the honey away, a shiver fluttering across your flesh as you feel the way he smoothly follows the swells of your bust and the dip between. 

He catches the tremor he caused and pulls away, looking back up at your face even as he licks the honey from his fingertips, and you wonder what’s running through his mind, and if it’s nearly as incendiary as what that simple action sends through yours. 

“Alright?” 

It’s a one-word question that leaves his mouth as something like a purr, though you sense the true concern behind it.

He worries he’s gone too far, and he’d never forgive himself if he pushed you into anything you didn’t want, no matter how small. 

He cares about you too much for that. 

“Yes.” You blink and gather your scattered thoughts. “Better than alright. Gale…?” 

He leans even closer, bringing your faces only a mere breath apart.

The blue-gray eyes have gone as feathery soft as mist in the early morning, and the sight makes your chest ache with something you cannot quite name. 

“You didn’t get all of it. I’m still sticky.” 

Gale searches your expression for confirmation, wary of his next move. “You know what you’re asking?” 

Your hands are on his chest now, and you can feel that despite his much more outwardly collected demeanor, his heart is beating just as hard as yours. 

“I want your help,” you tell him firmly, and you feel the way that simple word, want, finally pierces his armor, makes him twitch like the bite of a gnat. 

So he bends down, and the moment his mouth connects with your chest, time stops. 

It’s a lightning strike, crackling through your entire body. 

His lips are cool, chilled by the evening air, and they’re every bit as perfect as you’ve always imagined. You could stay there forever in the mesmerizing trap of his kiss, but the addition of his sultry tongue, sweeping a slow track along the path his fingers had gone only a few minutes before, is what fully unravels you, sending his name from your own mouth in a whine and prompting one of your hands to slide up his neck and into his hair — and it, too, is everything you’ve dreamed of, dense and wild and begging to be tamed by your grasping desperation. He growls in surprise at the unexpected sensation of your fingernails, but you feel rather than hear it, the vibrations of his voice thrumming deep inside your body. 

You know the entire exchange must only take a few minutes, but it seems like an eternity that he’s there, sucking the honey trail from your skin, his still-sticky fingers leaving behind more prints that he also endeavors to remove. You pull his body closer to yours, until it seems you breathe one breath, share one heartbeat as he rocks you back and forth with the barely restrained desire to push you over until he can cover you completely. 

But it can be deadly to lose concentration in the woods, especially so close to nightfall, and regretfully the pair of you pull away in unspoken agreement, staring at each other and trying to understand fully what just happened. 

“We should get a move on,” Gale finally huffs. “That deer won’t carry itself.” 

Temperamental, taciturn Gale.

Always concerned with the practical side of things. 

No more words are exchanged between the two of you as you pack up the day’s yield and slip back into the somewhat relative safety of the Seam. The meat is stored away at Gale’s house (he knows you’ll come back for your share, or else he’ll find you and force you to take it) and at last there is really nothing more left to do, so you step out the door and into the lengthening shadows. 

When you look back, however, he’s still standing there in the doorframe, and there’s a tentative curiosity written across his face, a reluctance to have this be goodnight and goodbye until his next free day. 

And you could lie and say you don’t feel the same way, but you and Gale have never lied to each other. 

“What?” you tease, echoing his demand of much earlier. 

He opens his mouth, then closes it again and shrugs helplessly. “I…I don’t know, Spark. Where do you want…this…to go?” 

You ponder that, taking in the familiar sight of him with warm fondness. He looks tired, shoulders slouched and face smudged with gray dust from the mines, but there’s something different there tonight, a fragile hope behind his resting sullen expression, some aura about him that pleads with you not to leave him alone tonight. 

Even a man as strong as Gale Hawthorne has his limits. 

So you give in to temptation. 

“The washtub at my house is bigger, you know. And we both could use a hand cleaning up.” 

He steps down from the threshold to follow you back to your home. 

You know what you’re really offering to him. 

And so does he. 

When you wake with first light, he’s already long gone. Only the dip in the other side of your worn mattress remains to suggest another body was actually there. 

You’re not surprised, and not really hurt. He has his job to get back to, after all, a family to feed and a whole village to look after. But you wonder briefly, after having watched him fall asleep with his arms wrapped around you and his face hidden in your chest, long eyelashes leaving butterfly kisses against your flesh, what it would be like to watch him wake up, too. 

You imagine his eyes are even prettier then, hazy with sleep and not yet hardened to withstand the day’s toils ahead. 

Last night feels like a strange dream of lukewarm water and skin on skin, sporadically interspersed with starkly clear images of his well-muscled form and those clever hands traveling across the width and breadth of yours. When you close your eyes you can still feel his heavy weight on top of you, pressing you deeper into the mattress, and you feel oddly empty and untethered now in its absence.

Only the dark blossoms his mouth left behind on your body and a selection of new — but not unpleasant — aches tells you that what you shared was in fact as real as this morning. 

What it means going forward, you don’t know. 

But you don’t regret a single moment of it. 

As you dress and prepare to head out for the day, your mother’s voice calls you into the main room. “One of the younger Hawthorne children brought you something — said it’s from your friend.” 

You see it there on the table, a folded scrap of rough paper and a single daisy, still fresh enough to mean he probably cut it on his way back to his house. 

A small smile creeps across your lips as you unfold the note. 

Spark — 

I don’t want this to be just a one-time thing. At least, not if you feel that way too. 

Sorry I had to go. I wish I could have stayed. 

You may not need me to survive, but you made me realize something. 

I need you. 

— Gale 

Hastily re-folding the paper, you tuck it away into your shirt pocket, close to your heart. 

Stubborn Gale Hawthorne. 

He’d never been much of a talker, so you know just how much those simple three words at the end of his message really mean. 

For the man who needs no one to admit he can’t go on without you?

He might as well rival the old poets in their epic declarations of love. 

Gale is much like the wild honey that started all of this, you realize, as you snatch a piece of the comb on your way out into the harsh world beyond. Once you manage to get past his defensive sting, there are so many intoxicating flavors to taste within. 

And whatever he still needs to work out with Katniss…. 

He doesn’t want this to be a one-time thing. 

[galaxymagitech]

Do you think you could talk about, or point out a previous post, that talks about Jack and Janet’s Canon relationship with Tim?

Fanon ranges from abusive, neglectful, and loving at such a wide range that it can be confusing for people new to the comics.

(Thankyouthankyouthankyou for the ask! I've always wanted to write one of those big canon relationship analysis meta posts!)

So, the answer is: Potentially all or any of the above.

This is going to require...a long explanation, because there is a lot of wiggle room and nuance in the Drakes' portrayals.

TL;DR: Tim's parents were very absent, but affectionate when they were around. They probably ensured he had somewhat adequate supervision by sending him to boarding schools, but because we don't know if they were aware he was unsupervised over school breaks it's unclear how much. They almost definitely didn't hit Tim. While there are a few scenes of Jack that some people interpret as emotional abuse, I personally don't think that Jack is emotionally abusive. Overall, the Drakes weren't parents of the year, but they loved Tim and probably managed to do the bare minimum for him.

Neglect/Emotional Neglect

This has the most basis in canon, especially emotional neglect. It's not nearly as extreme as in Fanon, but...it's present, to some degree.

Fanon: Tim never got the normal family experience growing up.

Reality: True.

Despite seeing his father as family, Tim states that he never felt like part of a family before Bruce. And Tim has some...odd ideas about family, potentially including that kids need to pay their parents back for raising them. Tim feels like his parents didn't raise him--and that's pretty much correct, he was raised by boarding schools.

Fanon: Tim’s parents were constantly off traveling and he often didn’t know where they were. They were rarely in contact with him, and Tim feels like they don’t have time for him.

Reality: Yeah, this is accurate.

Tim’s parents are constantly gone and he doesn’t know where they are. Earlier, there was this discussion:

Bruce: Tim…have you spoken to your parents about your being here? Tim: My parents? Actually…I don’t know where they are now. Dad’s a corporate exec and they go all over the world. They haven’t called in a while. Bruce: Do they do that often? Not call? Tim: It’s no big deal. They’re so busy. I guess they forget.

(Emphasis mine.)

Tim seems to have accepted that his parents rarely contact him, and in fact frequently forget about him. Definitely sad, and definitely going to affect him.

Maybe you consider this emotional neglect, maybe you don’t. It depends on what you consider to be a parent’s duty. Do they have to be around and interact with their child and make him feel like they love him? Or do they just have to provide a minimum amount of adult supervision and guidance, whether them or a boarding school, to keep him taken care of and safe?

Fanon: Tim’s parents left him completely alone to take care of himself, and he had to feed himself and take the city bus to school and couldn't go to the hospital when he got sick.

Reality: Tim was at boarding schools, but was sometimes alone on breaks by 13. It’s unclear how much earlier than that he was temporarily left alone for school breaks.

Now, we can argue that being raised in boarding schools isn’t exactly healthy for a kid, but maybe that’s normal for the Gotham upper class.

So, Tim was mostly supervised throughout the year at boarding school. The “vacation week” (and the future weekends where Tim visits Bruce to train without his parents’ knowledge) is when it gets murkier.

Tim is 13. Can a 13-year-old go a week without being supervised? Or really…was it considered acceptable for a 13-year-old go a week without being supervised in the late 1980s? I’m not sure. It’s also unclear how long this has been going on. Did 11-year-old Tim spend vacations home alone? Or is this a new thing?

EDIT: Apparently leaving a 13-year-old alone for a week without checkins would have been considered neglectful, though not necessarily legally actionable. The Drakes might or might not have been aware that Tim wasn’t at boarding school, but if they were aware, it would have been neglect. Source: My mom.

Later, Tim is training at Wayne Manor during summer vacation, when he gets a postcard from his parents forwarded from his school. That means his parents sent him a postcard to his address at school. So, they believe (whether through Tim’s lies or lack of care) that he is at boarding school for the summer. Maybe they think he’s staying at school for his other breaks as well.

If you want to interpret it as neglect, maybe the boarding school doesn’t offer summer housing and his parents didn’t care enough to think about it—or forgot, just like they forget to call him. More likely? They just signed Tim up for a summer term, but Tim noped out of there.

So, Tim had adequate adult supervision for the most part, but may have been neglected at times.

Love

This is, in my opinion, the most drastic difference between Fanon and canon. Tim's parents absolutely loved him, and it shows.

Fanon: Tim’s parents never touch him or show affection for him. They never allowed him to be a normal kid.

Reality: When present, the Drakes treat Tim with affection, and he appears to engage in Normal Kid Activities. Here’s Jack holding him at the circus, and a nine-year-old Tim playing with trucks on the floor as his parents watch TV.

And that postcard from earlier? Signed "Love, Mom and Dad". Not "Sincerely, Jack and Janet Drake," or "Don't be a nuisance, your mother and father". Simple, caring, normal sign-off. Also, here's Jack telling another parent he loves Tim:

Abuse

It's hard to prove a negative, but the Drakes don't seem abusive to me. Still, there's the occasional scene of Jack being controlling, and one could theoretically argue that Jack Drake was mildly emotionally abusive. It's not contradicting canon, but it's not canon either.

Fanon: Tim’s parents hit him.

Reality: Probably not. Jack, at least, didn’t.

Fanon: The Drakes were emotionally abusive.

Reality: Maybe. It really depends on your standards.

This is the scene most often cited for Jack Drake being emotionally abusive. It’s probably the closest to abuse Jack has come in a comic , and while ripping a TV out of the wall and looming vaguely aggressively isn’t exactly good parenting, I wouldn’t call it abusive. Your opinions may vary.

Conclusion

The Drakes weren't great parents. I don't think sending your kid to year-round boarding school and making him feel like he's never been part of a family is good parenting. Whether it's outright bad parenting depends on your parenting standards, your idea of how long a 13-year-old can be left alone, and your interpretation of a few panels. But the Drakes were definitely not cartoonishly abusive and/or neglectful as often portrayed in fanfiction.

[fakemouthstaticpilot]

Can we talk about how, now that Lou has been seen on the show again, and Tim has told us that he's going to be in the 2 parter, how he's starting to post 911 specific posts again?

None of this "hidden message to my fans to decode" crap.

Also, the fact that from our sleuthing, due to one innocuous little building post, we already figured he was in the 2 parter.

But the fact that it appears that he and Oliver were filming on that building, together, quite possibly alone, at sunset, and a crew member used the song "Love and Sunsets" in their story from that shoot.

I have been burned by song choices before (looking at you "The Night We Met" and 15x20 of Supernatural) but this does feel different.

And I know that the buddies feel over confident about Buddie happening, but what's new?

An acquaintance of mine, who is very GA, and I were talking. She hasn't seen 11 yet, but was so happy to hear that Tommy came back. And she told me "I'm sad Eddie's leaving".

The GA doesn't see Buddie.

The GA likes Tommy and sees that Eddie has left, purchasing a home and giving his lease over to Buck.

Yes, Eddie could come back, and the living situation would have to change, but it was done this way for a reason.

A reason we won't know until the season is over.

Look, if we didn't know what we know about 14/15 and Tommy, maybe I would be worried, but I'm not.

Also, know that Lou doesn't like sex/makeout scenes unless they serve a purpose in the story is really making me think about the narrative the show is writing with those characters.

Tl;Dr I have full faith that Buck & Tommy are endgame.

[sundove88]

Theory: The St. Pastry Order is Worshipping The Five Beasts.

This is gonna be a speculation theory of mine about the five newest characters in Cookie Run Kingdom- The Five Beasts and how they could be connected to the St Pastry Order!

And like always…

SPOILERS AHEAD!!!

First of all, let’s start with Exhibit A- aka that one scene in Cookie Odyssey.

Ya know how Millie-Feuille Cookie was leading a CULT of kids with fragments of the Soul Jams?

Well, I theorize that they were gonna give those shards to the St Pastry Order so they can revive the 5 Beasts for good.

Heck, Mystic Flour Cookie LOOKS like someone from the St. Pastry Order!! Especially with the headpiece and the outfit!

And Eternal Sugar Cookie looks like a fallen Angel- because in her design, she has Angel wings and a halo + devil wings and a devil tail!

And not just that, in Exhibit B, aka the opening cinematic for the Beast Yeast update, they’re all sealed in Forks. And you know what else has forks? The St. Pastry Order!

And you know what that could mean as well? THE ST PASTRY ORDER COULD HAVE A LOCATION IN BEAST YEAST!!!

And not only that, I personally predict they’re gonna return in a future world exploration episode/Special Episode where it’s revealed that the FIVE BEASTS are the ones they’ve been worshipping.

TL;DR: The St Pastry Order is worshipping the Five Beasts.

[yukirayu]

Madarame's Route and the Few of Its Many Mistranslations

I haven't done this in quite some time, but I'll be giving some more TL comparisons between the original JP release and the localization, because an anon from Retrospring shared some tidbits from Madarame's route.

Because they have also explained what nuance got lost, briefly or otherwise, I won't do what I did in my previous posts (compare with MTL) just basically compile each translation discrepancy in a subsequent order, and add their notes in each one.

 Toono: "...Thought he'd never die." 「……しぶとい野郎だ」-> ["......Stubborn bastard."] NOTE: I sense someone is probably holding on to some unresolved resentment, LOL

Towa: "You were always like this. Are you satisfied now that you've ruined my life?" 「あんたは昔からそうだ。引っ掻き回して満足か？」　-> ["You have always been like this. Are you satisfied with the violent chaos you caused?"] NOTE: 引っ掻き回して appears to be an idiom meaning to "disrupt order through violence."

Madarame: "To hang out with friends." 「うろついてる連中と遊ぶんだよ」​ -> ["I'm going to play around with the people hanging around."] NOTE: Madarame has nobody he'd call a friend so the English line seems so out of place that it was easy to notice.

Madarame: "We had a lot more fights after that. Sometimes we came close to killing each other for real. But he still didn't back down." 「それからも喧嘩して、半殺しにしてやった時もあった。だが、アイツはそれでも向かってきた」 -> ["We'd fight from then on, and there was a time I beaten him half to death. However he'd still come at me."] NOTE: Well, someone was envious of Madarame's absolute power. LMAO

Madarame: "Stoop to an idiot's level and he'll beat you with experience, you know. Then after that..." 「馬鹿の相手をしても時間の無駄だからな。そうしたら……」 -> ["Because it's a waste of time to deal with idiots. Afterwards......"] NOTE: The English line is some dumb phrase I've seen on the internet. I get the feeling that the phrase was used against the person who put it there. XD

Towa: "...If I was a chick, I'd have ditched you by now." 「……俺が女なら腰が砕けてるところだ」 -> ["If I was a woman then my knees would have given way.] NOTE 1: 腰が砕けてる seems to be an idiom, it could mean like what it literally says, or to collapse/give up/lose one's nerve/to have one's knee's give way. NOTE 2: Wouldn't be surprised if the people who changed it hated Madarame (that's the impression I get), I just find that hilarious that they'd probably be seething and crying over a fictional character. Madarame ain't real, but he is already giving real people slow damage. LMAO.

I have to say though, it's rather obvious that while the one behind the localization seemed to dislike almost everyone with how their dialogues got butchered, Madarame's route really takes the cake, or whatever is the most unpleasant dish you can think of, in this case.

A JP-fluent of mine also mentioned how Madarame's route got the worst of the questionable translation choices, saying that Madarame's speech doesn't really have him cuss or talk that crassly. And it didn't surprise me that the H-scenes were done poorly, almost deliberately, even.

Now, this was what I replied to that very last statement OP had made, which I felt I should also share here... Even with a proper translation, I can easily see Madarame being divisive among fans either way.

He's meant to be something of an antagonist (not a villain) and while there's an intended goal in his route, said route still isn't exactly the easiest to swallow. Even so, a translator letting their bias affect their translation is already one giant misstep.

[emelinstriker]

{Eternal Servants AU} Nezha ♡ Loyalty

Art drawn by me + the AU itself is mine.

This will just show y'all ESAU!Nezha's character as well as a bit of info on how the servants think/feel about things. The artwork isn't referencing any scene from this one-shot btw.

CW: Descriptions of death and gore

[TL;DR] Ehe, ESAU lore hints wink wink-

♡ ~ Fluff ~ ♡

"That was all her fault for acting so disrespectful! And towards Master's name, no less!"

"I can't argue with that logic. But did you really have to punch her skull in before the torture even started?"

"Well, of course! Her presence was no longer welcomed the moment she called Master insulting names."

Macaque and Nezha were chilling in the torture chamber. The simian was sitting on a table with bloody tools while the celestial was cleaning up some of those tools with a towel. A deceased woman was strapped to the table in the middle of the room. Her skull was smashed, showing how mangled the remains of her brain looked as her head lied in a pool of her own blood.

Macaque sighed, "You can't just eliminate someone before we even tortured them, though. Even if they disrespected our Master while trapped here-" "That's just it! Our Master should always be respected and worshipped! They deserve nothing less than pure adoration!" Nezha cut him off, clearly angered. The dark-furred monkey raised an eyebrow at him, his tail flicking behind him at the surprise of Nezha talking back to him.

"Nezha, I get where you're coming from, I really do. I want our Master to always be respected and worshipped as well." Macaque started as he crossed his arms. "However, see it this way: Would you rather kill those who treated our lovely Master poorly, basically sparing them from pain, or would you rather let them serve their sentence by prolonging their suffering?"

The pink champion froze for a moment as he thought about the other champion's words... The simian was right. It would be a lot more satisfying watching the unworthy suffer by his hands than just simply killing them in one blow.

Nezha groaned as he quietly cussed to himself. Macaque had no problem catching him cussing and chuckled, his tail swaying for a moment in dark delight.

"Well, shit! Guess this is just a wasted kill after all!" The celestial exclaimed. He then heard the other servant 'tut' at him. Annoyed, Nezha turned towards the monkey, glaring.

"I wouldn't say it's fully wasted... This," the simian started as he hopped off the table and moved towards the table with the woman's corpse, gesturing towards her as he continues, "is still our dinner." If Nezha's pupils were visible, his eye roll would've been very much noticeable. He then followed the purple champion over to the table.

Macaque grabbed one of the knives on the way and chuckled darkly. He used it to smoothly cut into the woman's thigh, slicing a big chunk of flesh like a cake. More of the bit of blood she still had inside her body spilled out of the body's new wound and onto the table, the knife, and Macaque's hand. The simian then grinned and held said piece of meat out towards the pink champion. "Well? Go ahead, dig in. It's still fresh."

The pink champion, already used to it at this point, simply took the raw piece of meat and looked at it with a slight bit of disgust. He may have eaten a few remains raw before to prove his worth and loyal devotion to the other champions, but he still didn't exactly like the consistency of the meat. "Thanks... But I think I'll wait till it's cooked..."

The dark-furred monkey shrugged. "Suit yourself then," he said before he shoved the meat into his mouth, loudly chewing on his bloody meal as he already started cutting another piece of the woman's corpse. All while Nezha watched in silence. This little ritual the champions had of eating the remains of the tortured ones always reminded him of how he became his Master's servant himself.

It reminded him of that one demon village that was eradicated off the face of the earth. The huge pile of corpses Macaque made with the bodies of those villagers that disrespected and hurt their Master... And Nezha was the one tasked to set the pile ablaze. Back in that moment, he truly felt awful for taking the torch. But it didn't take long for him to actually enjoy the sight as his vision darkened. Especially once he saw his beloved Master in person again, this time becoming your pink champion. Your touch just felt so addicting to him, as if it was all he needed to forget all the bad he did. Your touch, your love and affection, was all he had ever craved...

No longer was there any guilt or regret. His Master was all that mattered to him. He felt pure happiness he had never felt in all his years of serving the Jade Emperor and the Celestial Realm...

Not that he remembered much about his so-called "past life" anyway.

Ever since he's become one of his Master's eternal servants, he practically forgot all about what his life was like before. He had very limited memories, of which only some were family-related, from when he was just born.

Suddenly, Macaque froze mid-bite. His ear twitched a little before he smiled brightly, joyfully devouring the meat and swallowing it quickly, placing the knife on the table. "Master is calling for me!"

And in a blink, the simian disappeared through a shadow portal that opened up right beneath him. Nezha sighed as he glanced at the corpse of the woman, placing the piece of meat from his hand onto her body. He probably would need to carry her remains to the fridge. After all, he didn't know when the others wanted to eat. He knew Wukong was busy with the palace's guards, Macaque was now gone to answer to their Master's call, and Nezha himself didn't know what to even do. He didn't have any tasks besides torturing that woman, and that already ended extremely prematurely due to his outburst.

"Ugh, fuck! I knew I shouldn't have killed her yet!" He grumbled angrily as he took the knife Macaque used to cut her, and proceeded to stab the corpse's neck in rage. He grumbled out more curses as he twisted the knife around the woman's neck in annoyance. A few minutes passed before he heard a shadow portal open up again. He turned towards it, out came the purple champion again. The simian was about to say something, but then paused and pursed his lips at the sight of Nezha moving the knife inside the woman's neck.

"...You're not supposed to play with your food, pinky. Didn't your friends up in the Celestial Realm ever teach you that?" Macaque teased with a smirk.

The pink champion scoffed in response, pulling out the knife from the woman's neck before slamming it back down, but this time into her eye. Due to his sheer strength, he easily smashed it through part of her skull as well, seemingly ignoring her destroyed eye on the way as her body seemed to weep more blood. "I'm aware of the saying. But what else am I supposed to do? I'm bored!"

Macaque huffed, grinning as he approached the celestial with crossed arms. His tail swayed gently behind him. "If you're bored, then you're in luck! I have a task for you. A very important one..."

Now, due to Macaque having to leave for a mission, Nezha was suddenly happy again. Not necessarily because of the simian being gone, but because of how the celestial was tasked to watch over their Master. Alone. The other champions were busy after all, so their beloved Master needed someone to fill the bodyguard slot for a while. Master's security ink wasn't enough for the monkey brothers. So, Nezha was tasked to be your bodyguard for the time being. And he was ecstatic everytime he was tasked to stay around you. Sure, being bodyguards is like the usual job the champions had signed up for, but Nezha had you for himself in his moment. No other champion could take your attention.

He was standing next to your throne as he stared at you with a soft, loving gaze. You could practically see little hearts floating around his head as his focus stayed solely on you. You looked at him as you hummed in thought. While you didn't mind staying on your throne, you also didn't expect any meeting today. Perhaps you could do something else. You haven't had any alone time with Nezha in a while anyway. And having him stare at you like that for the next few hours wasn't exactly the most entertaining thing. "Sooo... Do you wanna walk around the palace?" You suggested.

Your pink champion seemed to have been caught off guard as he sheepishly nodded. "That would be a wonderful idea, Master. Don't worry, I'll keep you safe the entire time!" He added proudly. You couldn't help but chuckle at his eagerness as you stood up and gently took his hand into yours. Your touch made him smile brightly beneath his mask as he stayed close to you, all while you lead him out of the throne room and down the hall, enjoying your conversation with him. Occasionally, there were a few servants on the way, who all bowed to greet you, but the halls were generally pretty quiet today.

However, that was only until you walked through the activity wing.

There was a sudden bang that startled you and your champion. Nezha quickly recovered from his startled confusion as he took up a more defensive and protective stance, summoning his fire-tipped spear to his side as he shielded you with his body. The loud bang came from down the hall in front of you. When the doors to the library swung open, they swung so strongly that they slammed against the wall, nearly ripping them off their hinges. And out into the hall came a furry beast with six legs. It growled as it moved menacingly out of the library. Then it turned a bit towards you and Nezha... Its four eyes seemed to focus on the celestial in front of you, sensing his energy specifically.

You knew this beast... It was the beast from a book you once read. It was known to be a form of Celestial Hunter. Not much was known about them, other than that they would lure divine entities by copying the voices or looks of someone they love and trust. They would then either  bite and infect, or straight up feast on the victim. However, this beast was seen as just simple fiction... How was is real? Where did it come from?

The beast then tried to appear more friendly as it tilted its head at Nezha. Since the celestial already saw its real form, it probably would be unable to get away with a disguise. However, it seemed to have a plan B...

"Nezha? Is that you?" The beast asked in a female voice you didn't recognize. But Nezha did... It was his mother's voice. He gripped his spear tightly, his eyes widening just slightly.

"...Mother?"

The beast doesn't move as it stares at Nezha, lowering its head a bit to try lower his guard. It was trying to get him into a false sense of security.

"Yes, it's me... My son, what happened to you? You don't look so well... We have to leave and get you out of here. This place isn't safe. Come with me, Nezha... Please, come with me... There is so much darkness here... It's so dark here..." As much as it seemed tempting to follow these voice's instructions, Nezha also was fairly aware of the ominous looking creature the voice was coming from. This wasn't any simple demon. Yet, he couldn't help but shake just slightly at the voice of his mother...

That's when he felt you lightly squeeze his hand with yours, bringing him back to the current situation. He glanced behind him to look at you and saw your worried, helpless expression...

He knew he would be a fool if he ever let that... that thing lure him away from his Master...

The temptation to be lured closer to the beast was now gone as quickly as it came, simply replaced by thoughts of his beloved Master. Nezha glared daggers at the beast. He was stronger than whatever it would throw at him. He knew it. And so did you... And he refused to disappoint his beloved, his true Master.

Your pink champion refused to be manipulated so easily.

Not when he had a job to do.

Not when this job involved serving you.

He was one of your champions for a good reason, after all.

The beast seemed to notice the way the celestial seemed more in focus again, and it quickly realized that he couldn't be tricked like its previous victims. So, it dropped its friendly act and let out a loud, hungry screech before it sprinted in his direction. Nezha, with his extreme speed, let go of your hand and swiftly attacked it with his fire-tipped spear, using his now lit up wheels for an extra boost as he stabbed the beast. He grunted in rage as the beast tries to attack him now with the close range. However, he dodged most of its bites and swipes with ease, using his strength to try bend one of its legs and break it. Only to then realize that it didn't have bones...

Nezha seemingly narrowed his void black eyes at the beast as he let out a low growl behind his mask... If he couldn't make it suffer with broken bones, surely tearing it apart limb by limb would work...

Thus, he held tightly onto his spear, making its flame light up more inside the darkened beast. The fire seemed to be its weakness as it began to let out a painful, or rather, seemingly scared screech. However, it was clear to him that it would not go down without a fight as it continued to claw at him. Yet everytime it would claw at him, he held his cold, angered gaze as he started to rip out the leg that it would use to attack. Despite it having no bone structure, it did seem to at least have some form of nerves. The darkened beast seemingly screeched in agony as Nezha managed to rip off one of its limbs.

The beast attempted to get away from Nezha, but he held his tight grip on his spear, refusing to let that thing go unpunished for what it tried to do... How dare it try lure him away from you, his Master...

Upon noticing the beast's attempt to flee, Nezha let out a maddening laugh as he twisted and turned his spear. The fiery tip moved from one side to the other as he enjoyed the beast writhe in pain beneath him. The celestial then slammed his flaming wheels into the beast's chest, letting its fire damage the beast as well. As he noticed a now giant, gaping hole that went through the beast's entire body, he notice how everything inside it was nothing but mass of what its outside was made out of. But it did hold some veins that glowed a very faint red, which were as red as its blood red eyes.

He scoffed as he slammed the beast onto its side, watching it lose its strength. "Ah, got it. You're one of the Oracle's friends, aren'tcha? Well, at least part of whatever the hell he is..." Nezha slammed his fire-tipped spear down into the beast's neck as he let out another painful wail in agony. The pink champion chuckled darkly as his fire spread inside the beast's body. He could practically see his flames glowing past its darkened shell of a body.

"But whether friend or foe, you just attempted a crime so outrageous, it must be punished by nothing less than death..."

Finally, he pulled his spear out of its neck and slammed it into one of the beast's eyes, stabbing it straight through its "skull" with a mocking grin underneath his mask. Just like how he stabbed that woman's corpse earlier... Soon, the beast fully collapsed and stopped moving as the fire inside its body finally seemed to spread to the outside. Nezha made sure it's dead with some extra stabs before he huffed in annoyance. "...Weak. That wasn't even half a challenge."

As he got off the beast's corpse with his spear in hand, the beast's remains suddenly turned into a black, still somewhat burning puddle on the floor. Then it hardened once more, stopping the fire, before finally turning into some form of black dust that easily spread all over the ground with minimal wind around.

Nezha scoffed at the sight before he moved back over to your somewhat shaken form. Though, you looked more intrigued by what just happened. "Master, are you alright? It didn't hurt you, did it?" He asked with sudden concern as he inspected you for any wounds, cupping your cheeks.

"I'm fine, Lotus Dork", you said a bit muffled as he had his hand on your cheeks, squishing them just slightly, looking at you. He sighed in relief as he blushed a bit at that nickname, letting go of your cheeks. But then he noticed you frown at the sight of his own wounds. There wasn't many or even deep wounds, but he did get a few puncture or claw wounds on his skin. On closer inspection, you could see some black inside his wounds. Probably tiny bits from the beast's body.

"Don't worry, Master! It'll heal itself!" He quickly said. You hummed for a moment before taking his hand and practically dragging him down in the direction you came from earlier. He blinked in surprise as he blushed in embarrassment. It probably looked funny to passing servants, just seeing how easily you dragged your pink champion around, when he could just stop moving. But you were his beloved Master, the one in charge of him and his body. Whatever you wanted to do with him was law. But he was still curious. "Master- Where are we going?"

"To the med bay, duh." You said as you pouted at him, still dragging him along like a dog on a leash going to the vet. "I want to have your wound at least disinfected before anything happens."

Nezha chuckled under his breath, which was even more muffled due to his mask. "As if that could happen twice..."

After you forced him to have his wounds cleaned and bandaged, you asked him to take off his mask for a moment. As he did what you requested, you kissed his cheek, right where his old wound was. He blushed as he felt you reward him for taking action and staying by your side.

There was nothing he wanted more than you.

[ Masterlist ]

[alpaca-clouds]

I still very much like the idea of redeeming Gortash. For one, yes, because I am projecting onto this man too much (on the basis of being autistic and having abusive parents - and no, you will never convince me that Gortash isn't autistic). But also, as I wrote about before: Narratively it is just so much more interesting to redeem him than to kill him.

I wrote a longer blog about that before, which I cannot find because tumblr search is still useless. But tl;dr: Right now the only thing Karlach gets to do in Act 3 for her companion quest is basically to kill Gortash, which you still gotta do no matter whether you have Karlach as a companion or not. You get two more scenes if you have Karlach along, sure, but it does not do anything - nor does it give her story anything interesting. Which kinda overlooks one big thing about Karlach and her Engine: Gortash should know how to fix it. Because he made those Infernal Engines work in the Steel Watch. So, to give Karlach that important story decision that literally any other character has: Make her decide whether she cares more about her revenge - or about wanting to live. Let Gortash live if he fixes her engine.

It would have been so much more satisfying for her story. (I just hate how they dropped the ball on Karlach in Act 3. I hate it so much. My girl deserved so much better!)

However, yes. I also simply am a massive sucker for good redemption stories. Especially as those are rare. (Mostly, because media tends to go with "character does one big good thing, now everyone forgives them and they are redeemed" all the time.) And I... yeah, I am just kinda obsessed with the idea of redeeming Gortash.

Now, I am already writing Kindness Begets Kindness, which is basically just Astarion gay-bitching at Gortash until Gortash realizes that maybe he actually wants to redeem himself. But it ends with that. With Gortash getting to the point that maybe he wants forgiveness.

And it got me thinking about how Gortash could even go about it. Because, you know. Killing hundreds, if not thousands, and enslaving at least hundreds as well... It is hard to come back from, right?

So, here I was talking to a friend of mine.

Me: "Really, the thing that Gortash needs is an autistic nerd as a friend, you know?"

Him: "Well, then write one up."

Me: "Or Barcus."

Him: "Who?"

Me: "Or, he is this gnome, who to me reads also as super autistic."

Him: "Well, there you have your answer."

Me: "... Or I could ship them."

So, I guess I have officially come up with the most insane crack ship for Gortash yet. This is even more crack than my Aurelia/Araj ship, I guess.

But...

I am kinda tempted to write it. Darn it.