#that's so much grief just encompassing that man

[unfotp]

@mikkeneko your take is correct actually

Swapping JC and LXC's endings is the most obvious WTF, but at least the characters are making(wildly OOC) choices, instead of zoning out thinking about what to have for dinner or something. There's a REASON WWX isn't awake for that scene! I honestly think it would be more in character for him to join in and emotionally destroy JC himself. You can say a lot of things about WWX but you can't say he's PASSIVE.

How do I put this. If CQL WWX had been awake for the golden core reveal, whether he was okay with the reveal or not (nope), the actual scene simply would have been the yunmeng idiots climbing over each other like a couple of hamster-wolverines, slamming each others’ snouts into the sand, and screaming at each other in hypersonic rodent vocalizations. The content is negotiable, but no one would have just been standing there.

[the-artist-grimm]

Did the couple meme finally! Modified the layout just to add more little notes. Also drew Anthea and Narinder having their typical reactions to seeing each other :3

(As a note for the sliders Anthea's color is RED and Narinder's is BLACK)

Also little facts under the cut!

Anthea

Anthea is short as heck and while they complain about it jokingly they do like how Narinder can just encompass them into hugs/carry them around easily

Borrows all the clothes cause comfy

Loves pet-names, if you can't read the text Anthea calls Narinder Nari, but also Honey, Love, Dear, Kitty, and Baby

Pretty much good with people so Anthea is a bit of an extrovert

Affection via words and actions all at once

Anthea and Narinder both confessed on the night they reconciled, at first Anthea had no plans to since they had tried to keep what the gift they'd been working on that caused the misunderstanding vague, but just decided to tell Narinder it was a courtship sash, and both confessions snowballed from there

Anthea feels just a little bad about killing bugs so Narinder's job

Cars don't exist but if they did Anthea would prefer letting Narinder do it most of the time

Can cook just fine

Big on PDA but only if chaste-so little kisses, holding hands, hugs and leaning on each other

Somewhat overprotective but not extremely so

Very much a bi-disaster. This lamb was a bit too young to think of dating while their village was around, then raised by a group of old knuckle-bones playing men while kinda in hiding till their 20s they have ZERO experience with crushes. When followers their age occasional approach with confessions or get a little too flirty Anthea has no idea how to handle it lol

Doesn't really get jealous

Flustered as heck when alone with Narinder sometimes, they were not expecting him to be as forward in private as he can be. Not that they mind of course-they just gotta wrap their head around how Narinder can be all shy in public, but the second they're alone at home he's all in on the sweet words and touches, very needy cat that one. They also are getting used to being put first so it's this wonderful mix of overstimulation

Narinder

Tall as heck and very much pleased about taking advantage of that-he enjoys how easy it is to just hold Anthea

Anthea's clothes cannot fit him but he doesn't mind, they look cute stealing his things-plus it makes them smell like him which scratches an instincts itch in his brain

Uses pet-names but kinda like old-fashioned pet names. Love, Heart, Angel, Dearest, Sunshine

Introverted as HECK this man cannot do social situations

Affection through actions cause he's not always great with words, so giving little gifts or just being next to Anthea

After Anthea revealed the gift they'd planned had been a courtship sash Narinder went through like 20 stages of grief then a rapid-fire desperate 'I need to say something NOW' as they tried to play it off as a 'I know you likely never saw me like that it was a bit more symbolic but-' thing. He just straight up said 'I love you' and it snowballed from there.

Kinda finds Anthea-a god-killer of 5, being slightly afraid of and feeling bad for bugs cute

Would drive the call all the time cause it's just easier

Really likes cooking once he's taught, it's peaceful and fulfilling.

Can be shy but does like PDA, same as Anthea he prefers to keep things chaste though, but does get a little thrill at being able to publicly reaffirm they're his

Overprotective as heck the lamb gets better at not dying but he still hates when they do.

Zero relationship experience AT ALL this man's never even had a crush before. Demi as heck he never got close enough to a person for it, so with Anthea he actually thought he was sick for a bit at first.

Part of him does still worry about being left behind so he does get jealous-he's working on it though. The only people who do not ever make Narinder jealous is the twins because well seeing his spouse and their children just makes his heart go very very soft. Anthea can spend a whole day with just the twins and Narinder's just in the background purring happily at the domesticity.

When it comes to intimacy Narinder very much enjoys seeing Anthea enjoy themselves first since after bottling up his feelings for so long, now that he has the lamb he wants to ensure they know exactly how much he loves them/remind them how much they're cared for

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[abyssruler]

if you don’t love me (lie to my face)

dan heng x gn!reader (past dan feng x reader)

he wants you to see him beyond the shadow that his previous incarnation cast. he wants to push you away, wants to hold you close, wants to hear his name spill from your lips without the taint of another man’s name. he wants you, but you cannot bring yourself to let go of the past.

angst

“Stop looking at me like that.”

You tilt your head, feigning obliviousness. “Like what?”

“Like that,” he huffs, averting his eyes uncomfortably to the horizon, if only so he may escape the longing, almost melancholic sheen that glazes over your eyes whenever you look at him.

“Sorry,” you sigh, but you make no move to tear your gaze away from the sight of him, drinking in every detail, cataloguing which ones are the same and which ones leave you mournful for the differences that shatter the illusion of a time gone by. “It’s just hard, sometimes, to look at you and not imagine someone else.”

He frowns at your words. “I’m not him.”

You smile, something brittle at the edges of it. “I know.”

“He’s gone,” he grits out.

“I know.”

“I won’t—”

“Dan Heng.”

He pauses at the sound of his name, turning his head and meeting your eyes again. You’re smiling, but there’s a fragility to it, like broken glass pieced together haphazardly, threatening to shatter at the slightest touch. It’s maddening to look at you and feel the acute sense of his heart twisting within his chest whenever he so much as catches a glimpse of you.

He doesn’t want to feel this way, hates feeling this way. Any connection to that man, any ties and bonds and whatever emotions you once made Dan Feng feel—he doesn’t want it. He wants none of the headiness and the weightlessness and the warmth that spreads through his body that it feels as though it could encompass the entirety of his soul.

But you make him want to want so fiercely it leaves him breathless and little frightened.

He wishes you never approached him, wishes you never got close to him, wishes you never directed such looks his way.

But mostly, he wishes you weren’t so easy to like (easy to love).

“I know, okay? I know you’re not him, but—” You close your eyes, fighting for composure, and when you open them again, he is met with a gaze full of hope and regret. “But just this once, just for a few seconds, could you let me pretend?”

Dan Heng feels his throat tighten, his heart falling with no one to catch it, because you’re not truly seeing him, no. You’ve never seen him for who he is, only the man who continues to haunt his every waking moment. Even now, he feels the weight of Dan Feng’s past mistakes and regrets heavy on his shoulders with the way you’re looking at him, pleading with him for a chance to relive a time long gone.

He knows he shouldn’t, if only so he may spare his heart, and yet—and yet, he is a fool.

However much he wants to deny this—deny you—he has always been weak when it comes to matters regarding you and the emotions you’ve managed to instill within him.

So Dan Heng nods, unable to look you in the eye, but he doesn’t need to see you to feel the way you slump against him in relief, arms winding around his shoulders in a mockery of a lover’s embrace.

This is madness. A foolish endeavor. He should have said no. Should have vehemently denied any sort of connection with that man. Should have turned you away the moment you began reminiscing your time with that man whenever you became lost in old memories and grief.

And yet, he does none of this, because he is weak, because he has gone soft, because—

Because he loves you.

He loves you, so he lets you hold him the way you must have held that man.

He loves you, so he lets you imagine him as someone else.

He loves you, so he lets you bury your face in his shoulder and murmur a name that isn’t his.

“Dan Feng…”

Dan Heng closes his eyes and dreams of a day where you will finally look at him without seeing another man’s face.

[mystiquesvendetta]

Can we talk about how everyone, Raven especially, sees Charles as this naïve, arrogant and credulous man who hopes for the betterment of the world while being “ignorant” to its faults when in reality if anything he is the LEAST naïve one of them all.

He’s had to grow up and deal with the weight of hearing everyone’s most violent, disturbing, disgusting and innapropriate thoughts and yet he STILL has hope. That’s the complete opposite of ignorant if I’ve ever seen it. He may have unrealistic expectations when it comes to bigotry and equality and all that but how can one still have hope for a world when he sees just how hopeless its society is on a basis?

There was a holiday fic collection I read where on Father’s Day (ode to his comic backstory) he found himself in his fathers study telling Erik about how his father had passed. In this adaptation it was suicide, talking about how he could feel nothing inside the body, the mind, but complete emptiness. It went into how both of them know just as well as the other how deep and harmful the darkness that can encompass one can grow to be. How Charles’ darkness and grief and negative intrusive thoughts could be worse than Erik’s, if anything rival it. Everyone in the original movie series sees Charles as this hopeful, ignorant man wanting to change the word and its ideologies himself, and it pains me that so many people see and write Charles as this truly (in Erik’s own words) naïve man, when in reality he’s the most aware one can be of the humans and society as a whole’s, faults.

This also goes into Charles is powerful as FUCK and could kill anyone in a split second at the stop of a heartbeat but rarely if ever uses that ability. Raven accusing Charles of so much in Dark Phoenix, along with Hank, later, truly breaks me because he’s always been looking out for everyone and never does anything for his own gain.

(Fic is the Father’s Day one in Holiday Fic collection by luninosity on ao3)

Thanks for listening to my daily Cherik rant.

[mokulule]

Trauma Tuesday

This week in Trauma Tuesday I figured why not give Jason some dissection trauma for a change. So warning for that.

DP x DC, dead on main

Next to his parents a man’s body laid on a steel table, chest cut open, ribs broken and sticking up. Everything was glistening red.

“His heart’s not beating,” Nightwing said faintly in horror as they all realized they were too late.

“What have you done!” Danny exclaimed in despair. “Why? He’s human!”

There were lines. Lines he’d hoped his parents wouldn’t cross. Liminal or not, somehow Danny hadn’t expected they’d kill him. Experiment yes, but cut him open so he bled out?

“He’s no more human than you!” His mother snarled.

And that had Danny’s head snapping to the body. Could it be?

He zipped over and pushed his parents away with a shield, instantly they started shooting at him and his shield. He willed it to hold against the ectopowered blasts. Then focused on the body.

If he was no more human than Danny, that would mean- a tiny wisp of cold air escaped his lips as he found it, his core. Small and malnourished and somehow running on the worst ectoplasmic slough-off he’d ever seen; it was fucking beautiful.

“Hey,” he whispered reaching in intangibly cradling his hands around it where it was inside the heart itself. A consciousness shifted inside and Danny felt a wave of relief and he choked on a laugh or a sob, he wasn’t sure.

“He’s alive,” he shouted over the blasts against his shield.

“His heart’s not beating! Even if you could start it-“ Nightwing didn’t have to continue; they could all see what had been done.

But they didn’t understand.

“He’s not gone,” Danny snarled, “Deal with them.” He tossed his head towards his parents. “And I will deal with this.”

He had a core. He wasn’t just liminal. He was like Danny; that was why they’d cut him open.

-

Jason felt floaty, cradled safely in a way that was hard to explain. Distantly in his chest there was pain. It made no sense what was going on?

There was a flash of relief and then a soothing hum met the question, and an echoey voice spoke:

“Try to relax, you’re very bad off.”

Bad off? What had happened?

A shudder of grief ran over him, was the voice crying?

“I’m so, so sorry, they hurt you because you’re like me.”

There was more to the story, a complicated knot of feelings: grief and disappointment, loss, betrayal.

“But look at you, you’re so amazing.” There was a wave of pride and love, large and encompassing and Jason had no clue what to do with it. He felt- he didn’t know how to describe it: Full? Bursting? Like he was about to cry. What had he done to warrant that?

Why? Why would you?

“You are of mine, and that in itself is enough. But you are even like me.” There was a sense of wonder and longing, tickling at the edges of his awareness.

“You are so resilient, somehow you’ve managed to survive even crippled by poisoned ectoplasm.”

He got the distinct impression of a feral smile.

“Let’s see what your core can do with the good stuff.”

It felt like a shock to his chest. A jumpstart and suddenly he felt it. The ball of energy that was him, his essence, his core, and the steady stream of energy being poured in. He was more his core than he was his body.

His body, which he knew wasn’t supposed to be like this, cut open, bleeding, dying. But his body was human and human bodies required so much more than just energy to heal, how was he-

“Don’t worry. Trust, Jason. I’m giving you the energy, just trust your core to know what’s right.”

A frisson of worry shot through him.

What about you?

He felt another smile, and beneath that more affection. Somehow, despite not quite feeling the pain from his gaping chest he could feel fingers tenderly running through his hair.

“It won’t hurt me, I’m also quite resilient.”

-

So as implied here there’s a reveal gone bad in the past between Danny and his parents. They now work for the GIW.

The rest of the story you’ll find out later, there’s probably some other bits here and there that would be good for Trauma Tuesday.

[moonlight-prose]

🎃 LOGAN

AND HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!!! 👻👻🦇🦇

we are all just craving a good halloween night with logan huh. honestly fair. i too would love to spend the entire night eating junk food and watching movies with this man. happy halloween darling!! i went a little horror esque with this one cause why not. tis the season!

You can sense him long before you shut your eyes. The cold chill that runs down your spine, the bitter flavor of burnt tobacco caressing the tip of your tongue. He's there in front of you. He's shadowed along the walls of the room. He's in every crevice and shadow, climbing towards the darkness that encompasses the both of you.

He's stuck within a realm untouched. A place that left him unable to drown his sorrows in the bottom of a bottle. Forever meant to watch, permanently in a state of misery.

He's nowhere and yet...you know he watches you.

The melancholy of his soul strikes against the marrow of your ribs - igniting something dark within you. A shuffle of boots comes from your right, a click of a lighter on your left. He surrounds you with his grief, the petulance of his own spirit forcing you to dig through weeds of despair to find him. To see the man you once knew so well.

"You know where this leads," you mutter into the pitch black empty bedroom. "I can feel you."

A chuckle - deep and familiar and smooth enough to capture you instantly - breathes at the shell of your ear. Forcing the hair to stand at the back of your neck. He has found that toying with you first makes you taste sweeter - the tang of your flavor reaching the nothingness he resides inside.

"Can't make it easy for ya bub," he whispers, the hot air brushing along your cheek.

You want to reach out and touch him, drag him to you like so many times before. But your hand passes through the cold spot where his being remains. This is on his terms now. He makes the rules of the game, you simply play along until he caves. Until the gnawing ache of overwhelming need becomes too much for either of you to handle.

Digging beneath the layers of darkness, you finally spot a flash of light. A flame being used to ignite an oh so familiar cigar. It hands loosely off his lips, smoke unfurling like a cloud around his jaw - eyes shining even in the unfamiliar inky blackness he's grown used to living in. But the grin that curls on the corners of his mouth is all you need to proceed with the game.

"Got you," you sigh, falling into his touch with a whispered exhale of relief.

send me a 🎃+ a character and i’ll write you a short blurb!

[ninyard]

The Jean and Kevin one that made me cry (you know what it is) tell me a little something extra about it if you want <33

oh man i was thinking about the aftermath of it. and like. nobody has ever seen Kevin grieving. The only reaction anyone knows from Kevin is that death = consequences, not that death = sadness, loss, grief. but Andrew walks into that room, and Kevin is blue in the face as he hyperventilates far worse than he's ever seen, so badly that even Andrew considers calling Abby, or an ambulance, convinced he's going to give himself a heart attack if he keeps going.

But Jean. He's Jean.

He remembers feeling this way when his mom died, but not clearly - and maybe that makes things worse. That the terrible feeling of loss in his heart is almost familiar, but just out of reach. He remembers crying when he found out she was dead. He remembers quickly sucking it up when the Master told him to man up. He remembers the feeling in his chest when they lowered her body into the ground at her Catholic funeral. But less so does he remember the pain, less so does he remember how all encompassing grief truly is - he was too young to know what it meant. He still doesn't really know what it means, but for a second before he can even process it all, it feels like the world has just fallen on his shoulders and the weight of death is a burden far too heavy to carry alone.

Andrew has never seen this side of Kevin - pure devastation, not fuelled by paranoia or fear of something hypothetical. This was real, and raw, and Andrew doesn't know how to comfort him.

I wonder how the news of it would break. I wonder would Andrew tell the others so Kevin doesn't have to. I wonder would Andrew insist on accompanying him to the funeral, or would he insist on him going alone? I wonder how Neil would feel. I wonder if Kevin wishes he could shout from the rooftops about Jean Moreau, because all of these people paying their respects didn't know him. They didn't know Jean-Yves, brother to Elodie, who wanted to be a writer, who missed the sun. They didn't know the millions of stitches Kevin had fixed for him, or the million stitches he'd fixed back. They'd never heard him speak his native tongue like it was a crime. They'd never seen him smile.

I wonder how Kevin would deal with Jean's death - would he blame himself? Would he feel guilt for how they'd fallen apart as friends, would he feel guilt about leaving? Would he ever look Riko in the eyes and tell him how much he hated him for pushing Jean to do such a thing?

I always think of the after. I always think of the what-comes-next. Who is Kevin Day without Jean Moreau, when he'd been without Jean Moreau for so long?

[chiefdirector]

Drinking | Tim Bradford | The Rookie

Act Two

Two weeks from now: 

Tim Bradford was known to be many things. Hardass, stickler for rules, vengeful, angry. Words like these had been tossed around tirelessly to describe him. None of these words could describe him now. If one were to say anything about him, they would say he was burdened by grief, a man destined to be encompassed by the negatives in life.

—----

Tim shivered as he moved throughout the house, not used to the cold feeling that had settled into the walls. He supposed he should be used to it by now, the place did seem a lot bigger when it was only him after all. It seemed like nobody lived there at all, the only sounds which indicated anyone existed within the walls was the tv playing an old tape of an NFL game and Kojo’s soft snores.

It took all of his willpower to not scream and shout just to scare off the quietness that surrounded him. It felt almost as if it had him in a chokehold, firmly compressing all the oxygen he had from his lungs. He couldn’t stay like this, not with the weight on his chest. He needed something, anything to ease his body and mind.

He decided to forgo the glass as he reached fo the near empty bottle of scotch that rested on the kitchen counter. Moving to the living room, he let his weight crash down onto the sofa, taking a deep swig from the bottle as he leaned back. There was nothing he wanted more than to be swallowed whole by the couch. Except for (Y/N) to come back to him. 

But that wouldn't happen, and he had to make his peace with that. 

He had survived losing her before, it would seem that he could survive losing her again. But this time there was no hope, there was not a chance that she was going to be coming home any time soon. 

Rosalind Dyer had won. 

It was always a possibility that she would prevail. The woman was a mastermind with no boundaries and no drive to lose. Despite all they knew about her, they had underestimated her. He could say that the entire team had underestimated her, but that wouldn't be fair to them. He was the one who made the plan, and he would be the one to live with the consequences.

He took another swig from the bottle, the burn of the golden liquid had become so familiar that he didn’t even wince. As he did so, Tim started to reconsider all that had led him to this very moment. 

From the day he started at the academy to the day he lost (Y/N) for the first time. It had all been building up to this, and all he could do was drink. 

He knew that they were out there, the LAPD. Hunting down Rosalind Dyer on the streets of Los Angeles and they knew they would find her. She had been caught before after all. But this time was different, this time he could help, no matter how much he wanted to do. 

Sighing softly, he placed the bottle down next to the chess board in front of him, and picked up his phone. The blaring alert of ‘NO NEW MESSAGES’ taunting him. Lopez would let him know what happened, or Harper would. Maybe even Nolan. 

Tim scoffed at the thought, but he knew that John would let him know what was happening in the hunt for Dyer, if Tim asked that is. Maybe that was why he didn’t ask, if he knew what was going on then he wouldn’t be able to stop himself. 

He tossed the phone to the other end of the sofa at the thought and picked up the bottle again, looking around his living room even though he knew it was only him and Kojo here. He knew he was being watched; every instinct he had carefully trained since his days in the military screamed it at him. Tim remained relaxed in his posture, not letting the dread he felt show.

Once again, he allowed his eyes to scan the room, making sure to catch a glimpse of every nook and cranny he could think of. His eyes lingered for a second longer than they should have on the wooden bookshelf, trying to look at each book individually.

He had built it for (Y/N) when they had moved in together, hers had been damaged in the UHaul truck, meaning that their living room was filled with stacks of books pushed into one corner. He had almost stuck a nail through his finger but that didn’t matter to him, the look of joy on her face made every splinter worth it.

Tim shook his head at the memory as he had another sip from the bottle.

Masterlist

Tags: @xceafh @kmc1989 @buba424 @salty0cracker @iamasimpingh0e @malindacath @agentred27 @hufflepuffwhore13 @tessalynni @anaferreira-4 @starstruckchopshoptyphoon @alessiamargaux @rexit-mo @ladespedidas @omg-its-vixen @agentcable @rookietrek @fluentmoviequoter

[hallucinatinghalos]

I hated the idea of Lestat being married in season three when I first saw it circulating here. But it's become a brainworm and I'm starting to think it could work. First off, it's been mentioned and is probably the reason the idea first came about, he's older than in the books and so there are more years between Auvergne and Paris that need a backstory. He's 34 when turned in the adaptation. In that time period he'd more than likely be married before reaching that age. When you consider that his family has a title but are impoverished. It's likely they would bargain him for a potential wife's dowry. It would be socially acceptable and possibly expected. Also, they violently denied him an education and priesthood, they denied him the theatre troupe for cruel and selfish reasons. Why would they hesitate in binding him to an arranged marriage for their gain? His wants be damned, always. It feels very in the spirit of TVL. I think it would need to be arranged at a young age that would've been acceptable for the time, as young as seventeen even. With her probably dying in childbirth, how soon and before or after other children would be born/conceived who knows. I'm guessing within five years of the marriage she'd pass, with around five years of him struggling in the lost state Nicki finds him in in the books, then four+ happy years in Paris with Nicki pre-turning. If he had been a father, even for a short amount of time or just an expectant one, it would make his failure with Claudia all the more encompassing without taking anything away from their arc. It also feels like you could make a psychological connection to him always making fledglings as a vampire to his wife losing every pregnancy or them losing every child. But that would be a leap, and more a head cannon thing. Ultimately, I think their life together would be short and if there were children they would also be doomed by the times or the eventual revolution. Ever plagued by loss is Lestat.

I can imagine the scene after the wolf kill when Lestat is recuperating in his room and Nicki comes with his father to present the coat to him happening still, but this time Nicki comes alone. Love instantly blossoming within Lestat, already a widower, for this man who is seeing him at his lowest but gazes at him as if he is an incredible, impossible being.

All of the emotional turmoil Lestat goes through in Auvergne, the vulnerability he shares with Nicki, would still be there but given more life experience for this adaptation's Lestat. His paralyzing fear of death more layered by being rooted in grief and loss as well as his anxiety plagued disposition.

The tragedy of him then losing his life just as he's finally finding peace and happiness would remain.

I also admit there are many reasons it could not work, like why would he have never mentioned this other important person (or children!) to Louis? But would Louis have any reason to mention it to Daniel if he had? Would it change the dynamic with Nicki too much? Gabrielle? Can they throw in such a huge change like that, and it not feel too off even if it works within the adaptation? But him being turned at 34 instead of 20 is huge. That's fourteen years of experience to be created. They have to do something and him hunting and hating his dad and big brothers (for good reason) and his circumstances for an extra fourteen years sounds less entertaining than an arranged marriage. There would also be an interesting nod to the books if they have him married off at 20 instead of turned. An unwanted marriage as a little death? I'm not all in on the idea but, point is, it may not be so bad. They could still make this part of his life have all the same emotional reverb as the book with a married backstory and I know there is far more there that this team could flesh out. So, if they go that direction, I'm not worried anymore is my point.

This is otherwise all pointless rambling so if you've made it this far thanks for hanging in there.

How about a side note since you're here? Could the painting of the woman in the coffin room, the one he placed overlooking him as he rests, be said tragic wife or just another thing he picked up cleaning out the NOLA antique shops? Could it be a parallel to Louis with his painting of Paul and Claudia's dress?

Please feel free to add to this whole thing or spit venom at it. I'm always open to corrections and new ideas and different takes. This is all just what-ifs for fun anyway. I may not respond just because I suck at it, but it won't mean I don't appreciate and enjoy your thoughts.

[maxwell-grant]

(SPIDERVERSE SPOILERS)

Something I always really liked about the first movie was the way Kingpin’s design, besides being a Sienkewicz homage and all, complimented the handling of Fisk as a character and the threat he poses, and it’s more than just him being big and terrifying especially by contrast with Miles. Spiderverse Kingpin is a hate volcano tearing open the city and universe in the hopes that doing so is gonna get him his family back, get the only thing that can fill the void inside him that they left when they died, and nothing else matters. Kingpin takes up so much space everytime he’s on screen that every second of screentime he shares with another character is overpowering by default, and the wholly black suit makes it so that everytime Fisk shows up, the movie’s colors and style and everything it has, it all gets punctured to leave room only for him, to the point that in the final battle with Miles, Fisk might as well be part of the background multiverse debris overtaking and suffocating everything.

Doc Ock and Prowler get to have the fun, of sorts, they get to have colors and styles and cool fights, the movie has no shortage of vibrant and lively and colorful characters, but Fisk himself is a walking casket and little else, basic and banal even compared to other versions of the character. He is the Sydney Greenstreet gangster of old blown up to astronomical proportions befitting a danger to the entire entire multiverse, not so much an enemy for Miles specifically as he is one to Spider-Man the concept, The Ultimate Gangster as someone who couldn’t deal with grief responsibly and has to make it everyone else’s problem (that also being kind of an apt description for Miguel O’Hara, who both triples down on the “all-encompassing grief as poison that harms not just you but those around you” part and is also a much more sympathetic character trying his damndest to do the right thing).

It’s only for a few seconds in his flashback that we see what he looks like with colors, and textures, and a little bit of warmth on his face in the life he had, before his family died running away from him, trying to escape The Black Hole Monster that he is. Figuratively, Fisk is not so much a person, as he is a a person-shaped hole in things, losing what little claim he has to personhood right when his family, and all the families he could ever have, leave him again and so he has nothing left but to take away other people’s families.

And I emphasize that figuratively, because it turns out they decided to turn that into a literally, for the villain in the sequel.

The first movie’s villain was a lifeless thug threatening to undo everything and everyone as collateral damage to try and fill the all-consuming void in his soul. The sequel had exactly that, except we got to see The Spot work to get there in real time and on purpose. And so instead of a generalized enemy to Spider-Man, the hero Miles is trying to be, we get the enemy to Miles Morales, the person he is.

The Spot, funnyman nerd sidekick to the previous villain’s number two, just a gag character without even a name to him that we didn’t even know was there, was pushed every step of the way by the frustration of being perceived and put down as a wannabe never-will-be, driven to uncover the multiverse and make himself noticed and respected by his peers, (like a certain someone who was going to define his entire career prospects around the possibility of getting to meet his spidery friends again, and then they did that to him)

turning out to be a anomaly that was never supposed to be and is hunted as such, their spite nipping at their heels to push them forward, twisting themselves to be free from the expectations and scorn of potential-peers-turned-enemies.

And so at the end, obviously Miles must face the worst version of himself, before he can face the worst version of himself, and it has to be right after he finally understands what he’s up against, his own nemesis, and it has to be right after he declares, after embracing himself as a fugitive and someone-that-shouldnt-be-but-will-anyway,

“I beat them all“

[makethatelevenrings]

Angel By the Wings - TWENTY

Chapter Warnings: discussion of abortion, small mention of domestic violence, pregnancy

Series Masterlist AND Mobile Masterlist

Bradley pressed the name in his contacts and waited for the phone to dial before he let himself think and further. His feet carried him a mile away from Hangman’s house to some 24-hour diner where the waitress called him baby and he could order a stack of pancakes larger than Jake’s ego.

Pregnant. Fuck. It could easily be his kid. Four weeks ago, he was pulling delicious noises from you as he fucked you like it was his goddamn job. And then when you said the words, it felt like ice water had been poured over his head. 

Because he had just gotten back from a mission where he nearly died and all he could think about was the fact that he could have easily left his kid behind like his dad did. He didn’t remember much of his dad, just bits and pieces that he learned mostly through absorbing it from other people, namely his mom and Maverick. But he was keenly aware of the grief that consumed his mom. She might have died from cancer, but he still believed a broken heart played a role in that.

He couldn’t do that to you. He wouldn’t. He saw what losing his dad did to his mom. He wouldn’t let that happen to you or Jake.

But it could be your kid, that traitorous voice in the back of his mind whispered. Do you really want to give up that opportunity? To be a dad? To be in a kid’s life? To impact them the way you were impacted, even if it had just been the legacy Goose left behind?

“Hello?” Maverick sounded confused when he answered Bradley’s call. They had seen each other only two hours earlier and now Bradley was calling him out of the blue.

“How did my dad react when he found out my mom was pregnant?” He figured he didn’t really have time for pleasantries when it felt like the walls were shrinking around him.

“I…well, he was excited. I think he was honestly more excited than your mother. Carole told him over the phone because we were deployed on a carrier for three months and he damn near hit the roof.” A soft laugh escaped Maverick. “He spent the next few months constantly talking to any parent on the boat asking for advice. And the moment he saw her at the baggage claim, he just started crying. I’d never seen him cry so much.”

Bradley looked out the window and saw his reflection stare back at him, a smile lifted on his face. His mom always spoke of Goose as though he hung the moon, but it was different hearing about their love from an outsider perspective.

“And did he ever…was he ever scared?”

“Oh, he was scared shitless. Carole told me he fainted during labor and I swear he had, like, six parenting books at all times.”

“But was he ever scared about…leaving me?”

Something rustled on the other end of the line before Maverick finally replied, his voice quiet. “What’s this about, kid?”

How do you explain to the guy who basically raised you after your dad died that you might have knocked up a girl and the other potential father was Hangman?

“Just curious,” he replied.

“Bradley.” Yeah, he knew that tone. That was Mav’s “you can’t out bullshit the bullshitter” tone. Bradley ran his hand over his face and then rested his forehead on his palm, eyes squeezed shut. The encompassing scent of black coffee curled around his shoulders and he was grateful for Doris’ continued refills.

“She’s four weeks pregnant, Mav, and the kid could be mine and the minute I found out, I just…”

“Ran,” Maverick sighed. “Because you thought about your mom. And you got scared.”

Damnit. Years of not speaking and he still had Bradley figured out in seconds. Bradley shouldn’t have called. He just dumped this on the man he was yelling at a week ago and nearly died with three days prior.

“Goose never regretted having you. The opposite, actually. He told me that he was grateful Carole had you around because he saw that she was an amazing mother. Of course, he wanted more time with you, but I can say for certain that he never, ever regretted having you.”

Bradley hated the sudden burn of tears that pressed against the back of his eyes and he focused his attention outside again where dark, heavy clouds were rolling in on the horizon. Huh, maybe a storm was coming in.

“Bradley,” Maverick got his attention again. “Any kid would be lucky to have you as a dad. You can’t let the past keep holding you back from your future. You’ll never give yourself a chance to live.”

“But what if I die and leave this kid and her behind?”

“And what if you don’t? Are you really just going to up and leave this kid? The mom? Carole Bradshaw didn’t raise you to be like this.”

That sent a shockwave of realization across his spine. Holy shit. His mom would kill him if she could see him right now. His mom who sacrificed so much and tried to keep a smile on her face even when she was in her deepest pits of grief. His mom who would have absolutely adored you and would have teased Jake endlessly.

“Thanks, Mav. I gotta go.”

“Hey, listen. You should come by my place sometime soon. We still need to have that talk, I recall. Bring your girl along, I’d love to meet her.”

Bradley grinned. “Yeah, that would be great.”

He hung up and tossed a twenty onto the table before he jogged out into the humid air outside. Shit, yeah, it really was about to storm. Even with busted ribs and his body feeling like it got hit by a freight train, he could probably outrun the storm.

Probably.

San Diego rarely got thunderstorms, but it was fitting that the silence in Jake’s apartment was shattered with a low rumble of thunder off in the distance. The sun was obscured by the thick clouds that swallowed the sky and you pushed off the bed you were curled up on. Hopefully, Jake would be in his room or napping on the couch or not paying attention to the fact that you were creeping out to stand on the porch and watch the storm roll in.

The moment you settled yourself on his cement porch, a blanket draped over your shoulders and you sighed. Of course he heard you.

“I’m sorry,” you murmured once he sat next to you. Jake pulled the other edge of the blanket around his own shoulder, sealing the heat between the two of you. Lightning flashed across the sky and you tensed minutely, relaxing when you remembered the warm, steady form next to you.

“There’s no excuse for what I said, I was angry and I took it out on you and I’m sorry,” you added. He still said nothing and you took that as a moment to glance over at him. He was studying the clouds with the same cool indifference he looked at the pool table at the Hard Deck. You were about to beg him to say something when he began to speak.

“After my mom had Liz, she realized she couldn’t keep having kids if she wanted to run from my dad sooner than later. When she got pregnant again, she was able to make an appointment at the local clinic. She was only gone a few hours while the neighbor watched us, but when she came back, she seemed…I don’t know. She was sad but also there was this weight off of her shoulders. She had the chance to protect herself and protect us and save any future kid from that bastard.”

He spoke about his father with such venom that you had to reach out and cup his cheek, your thumb brushing along his hairline. Jake inhaled against your touch and then turned to face you, his bright eyes clouded by memories.

“Whatever you choose, I’ll be there. I’ll drive you to the clinic and take care of you afterwards. If you keep this kid, I’m all in. I never considered being a father before and I’m scared out of my fucking mind, but I swear to you that I would never, ever treat you or them like my father did.”

“Oh, Jake,” your voice broke at his promise. “I know you would never hurt me. I don’t think you’re even capable of hurting a fly. You’re all bark and no bite, Tex.” You bumped your shoulder against his and he leaned into you, his lips coming up to press against your temple.

“I’m terrified, but there’s this part of me that keeps saying what if? What if I keep it? What if I give this kid the best damn life? What if I have the life I always wanted but never thought I could have?”

“Whatever you need, you’ll have. Money, clothes, a house, furniture, I’ll handle it. If you want me around, I’ll be there. If you want me gone, I’ll disappear.”

You pressed your forehead against his shoulder and smiled against the growing tears in your eyes. Rain was starting to patter down onto the ground, filling the air with the rich smell of soil.

But above the noise of the rain came another pounding.

You raised your head just in time to see Rooster jog around the side of Hangman’s truck and stop directly in front of you two in the pouring rain. Jake sat ramrod straight, his gaze darting all over Bradley as the brunet bent over to catch his breath.

“Jesus, Bradshaw, you have cracked ribs and you ran?” Jake exclaimed.

“You have what?!” you yelped. Bradley waved both of your concerns off and then straightened up.

“My dad died when I was two,” he rushed out. “And it wrecked my mother. And I can’t let that happen to you, but Mav basically told me I’m being an idiot and he’s right. I can’t let the past continue to make my decisions. I can’t let that fear hold me back.”

You stared at him, wide eyed, as you took in his words. You pushed the blanket off of your shoulders and stood. The cool rain poured down on your head, but you didn’t care. You needed to hear this straight.

“And if the baby isn’t yours?” you directed the question to both of them. “I can’t get a paternity test for five more weeks.”

“Fuck the what ifs! If anyone has questions or judgment, they can fuck off,” Bradley shouted. He raised his arms from his sides and extended them out, welcoming the incoming storm. Jake stood as well, a wild grin on his lips that made you breathless.

“I agree with the chicken for once, darlin’. Fuck ‘em. Whatever happens, we’ll figure it out when we get there.”

You could feel your own smile blossom and you glanced between the two men. “So if I told you right now that I wanted to keep this baby, you would be okay with that?”

Bradley swooped in, his chilled hands enclosing around your cheeks as he laid a kiss on your lips before retracting so he could do the same to Jake. Your heart was beating quickly, not from anxiety but from exhilaration. Holy shit, the three of you were doing this.

You grabbed one of each man’s arms and tugged them further down the driveway. The rain soaked you to the bone, but you didn’t care. You threw your hands up in the air and let out a burst of laughter. Jake wrapped his arms around your waist and spun you around. The three of you were like little kids. You jumped into puddles, danced in the rain, and laughed harder than you had in days.

“Alright,” Jake surprisingly was the one who ended the fun. “Back inside you two. Can’t have our angel catching a cold and you need to rest, Roo.”

You rolled your eyes but acquiesced. Of course they were going to become incredibly protective. Jake wrapped his arm around your shoulders as you headed back into the apartment.

“Miss,” Bradley said with an air of elegance. He bowed as you stepped across the threshold and you snorted at his theatrics. 

“Thank you, sir.” You curtsied and accepted the towel he offered you.

“You should take a shower, angel. To warm up,” Jake said as he shut the door behind him and locked it. You considered his words for a second and took a step backwards into the apartment. Your soaking wet shirt was plastered to your skin but you tugged it off and chucked it in the direction of the laundry room.

“I’d hate for you boys to miss out on all the warm water,” you taunted. You spun on your heel and dashed off towards the bathroom with two pairs of footsteps following close behind.

As the warm water trickled down on their heads, you found yourself shielded from the brunt of the spray as the men sandwiched you between them. Jake stood at your back, his left hand splayed across your torso and his lips pressed under your ear. Bradley delicately slid the loofah across your skin, watching in awe as the suds traveled across your skin and disappeared in the water. You gently slid your fingers through Bradley’s curls and let your nails scratch across his scalp, eliciting a delicious moan from him.

You helped the soap wash out of Bradley’s hair before you grabbed his hand just as he swiped the rough fabric against your thigh. You grasped his left hand and Jake’s right, settling them both over the slight rounding of your stomach.

“That’s her?” Bradley whispered.

“How do you know it’s a she?” Jake hummed. He stroked his hand down the tiny curve of your barely-there bump. “It could be a he.”

“Angel isn’t that cursed. Three of us?” Bradley shot back. You chuckled and rested your head back on Jake’s shoulder.

“As small as a poppy seed,” you murmured. Fuck, how on earth could you care for something so small? How could you protect this little thing from the world? What about when it came out of you?

“Don’t you worry, baby,” Jake whispered into your hair. He sensed your trepidation and instantly set about soothing away your worries. “Roo and I would never let anything happen to you two.”

The brunet’s handsome face earned a fierce glare and he nodded, head jerking sharply before he moved in closer. “Promise.”

A million questions swirled around in your head and you were plagued with even more worries. But here, in this moment, supported by these two men, you felt safer than you had ever felt before.

Tag List: @mizzzpink​ @xoxabs88xox​ @dreaminglandsworld​ @khaylin27​ @loveforaugust​ @phoenixssugarbaby​ @atarmychick007​ @mak-32​ @itsmytimetoodream​ @krismdavis​ @emma8895eb​ @startrekfangirl​ @hangmandruigandmav​ @lunamoonbby​ @startrekfangirl2233​

[trickstarbrave]

WIP WHENEVER

HIIIIIIIIII im very excited to share this wip. im so mad i wrote this out of order bc i wanna post it immediately. im looking forward tho to finally being able to edit and post it on ao3 normally

i got tagged by @caliblorn and @your-talos-is-problematic and im taggingggggg @woundjob, @thescrolls-haveforetold, @wellthebardsdead and my roommate @soundwavefucker69

here is smth for moon and star. lots of lorkhan talk. some chim. some trauma. even some dagoth ur

literally i was like "oh yeah. its all coming together" writing this also its long im sorry

also here is my god!nerevar sketch. can be interpreted also as just how lorkhan appears to neht and the ppl around him

Malacath’s hand touched his chest and pain wracked his body. Nerevar could feel the blade cutting away his skin—cutting through the bone of his sternum and splintering it. It ripped apart and opened his ribcage, before that damn hand was then inside his chest. His anxiety spiked as he could feel phantom touches on his heart, a hand gripping it, long claws digging into the muscle as it continued to beat loud and sturdy. His whole body had gone rigid, nostrils flared and his breathing coming in quick pants desperate to get more air in his lungs. 

He was terrified. More than terrified, in fact. It was like being killed in the heart chamber but all the more worse somehow. He was choking now, gagging on blood—thick, black blood that was pouring from his chest, bubbling up in his throat.

And then Nerevar was overcome with the urge to laugh. To laugh besides the terror coursing through him, to laugh even though he was gagging and choking on his own blood. He knew he would die; it had been a part of his plan all along. He hadn’t known what death would be like, but he had anticipated it, at least on his own terms. And yet here Trinimac was, killing him himself. Ripping his heart from his chest. 

He had intended the first death to be slow and simple. A fading ember rather than a bright, all encompassing flame that destroyed everything with it. He had intended to bear the burden as the cause of the first death in their reality where death did not yet exist—was merely a theory. But here Trinimac was, unknowingly mantling that sin himself. A cruel irony he would be the one to blame for this. It was not his fault, but it would be his responsibility and duty.

He’d collapsed at some point, gasping, crying, and choking on blood as Voryn held him close. Voryn shouldn’t see him like this—not his beloved, sobbing and begging. He couldn’t hear his voice over the drumming of his own heart but he tried to speak despite all the gagging he was doing. His gorgeous, sweet lover, his beautiful hawk shouldn’t have to watch him die like this. Not when Nerevar knew this was coming, deep down. Not when he had doomed them both, sacrificed Voryn’s life on the altar just as much as his own. He was regretting it now, if only because he couldn’t apologize; how could he speak when Trinimac had already ripped out his heart? How could he explain he never wanted to hurt Voryn in truth? How would his beloved hawk even react to his death? Oh the fury he could bring down, how he could drown the world in blood and tears if he was pushed to the brink…

And what of Azura, his sister? His poor, vain, vindictive sister… She hadn’t agreed to help him, but he knew she would be in a rage over his death. And even the man killing him was sobbing and crying, apologizing despite his lord—Nerevar’s own brother—ordering his execution. How could he apologize to this man? To tell him he knew he didn’t mean for it, that Nerevar was the villain all along in this story? Would that soothe his grief? Trinimac, Kyne, Azura, all of the others… How would they fair without him? Tears were now spilling from his eyes not from pain but sorrow that he wouldn’t be there to comfort and love them. Ah, if only he could kiss his hawk one last time…

“Nerevar!” Voryn’s voice finally cut through, and a disconnect happened in the vision. He was untethered now, the sensation of falling back into his own body hitting him, and his ears were ringing loudly, a dizziness washing over him. There were no more feathers on Voryn’s face or on his cloak—why would there be? Voryn wasn’t… Voryn wasn’t a hawk, why would he call him that so fondly? There weren’t even tears streaming down his face like he had seen before, but his face was in a grimace, pained watching him writhe and flail choking on imaginary blood.

His hand came up to his chest as he felt around, but there was no gaping wound like he’d expected. Why had he felt it so clearly then? His whole body was still shaking from the terror and pain, unable to calm the trembling. 

“Do you remember now, Lorkhan?” Malacath asked, still standing over him. Vivec and Sil were currently being held back by the numerous orcs, though they were swearing up a storm and desperately trying to fight their way closer to defend him. Even Voryn had a spell prepared as he cradled Nerevar close to his chest, posed with the ferocity of a wild animal protecting its young.

“I-I’m not…” Nerevar began, though it felt like a lie on his tongue. He could still taste the metallic black in his mouth, the unnatural blood he was choking on. His body felt hot now, his mouth dry making the metallic taste all the more nauseating. “Lorkhan is dead!” He shouted definitively. Lorkhan was a dead god—long dead before Nerevar had ever been born as a lowly half blooded chimer in that ebony mine. 

“And yet, here you are, alive and in the flesh.” Malacath responded, his expression unwavering. “I would know that heartbeat anywhere. I would know how you battle more than anyone else.”

“Stop it!” Nerevar shouted, covering his ears, still shaking. 

“Why you deny it is my only question for you.” 

“I’m not Lorkhan!” Nerevar growled, teeth bared. His whole body felt like it was burning, just like in the heart chamber. That supernatural chanting from his dream came back too, at the edges of his senses, as he fought back the urge to vomit. “I’m not Lorkhan, just shut up, shut up, shut up!!” 

The next thing he knew, everything went black, the last thing he heard being his own heartbeat pounding in his ears and Voryn calling his name. 

--

Nerevar’s eyes snapped open. His hands frantically touched at his chest, once again checking for the wound, only to find nothing. Still, the unmistakable ache was there, however faint. 

“Where…?” He found himself someplace… Bizarre. There was stone architecture, that much he knew, but it seemed… Foreign, though they were in a state of disarray. It looked like some kind of abandoned tower, the roof having long since caved in, vines growing over stone. In the middle, where Nerevar was laying was soft grass and a few wildflowers. He sat up, looking around even further, confused. 

“Damn Trinimac, causing problems again…” Someone behind him muttered, and Nerevar quickly turned to see--

Himself? 

He jumped, panicked. No, no he could tell it wasn’t himself. He looked a lot like Nerevar, and sounded a lot like Nerevar, but there was something off about his appearance. He was taller than Nerevar--around Voryn’s height maybe? His hair was much longer too, not to mention he was wearing long robes Nerevar would never wear given how complicated and annoying they looked. Not to mention the longer he looked at him the more his appearance seemed to change--subtle ripples you had to focus on to know. His eyes subtly changed shape, along with his other features, sort of at random in moments where if you blinked you’d miss them. 

“Apologies for that.” The man said, walking over and plopping down to sit next to Nerevar. “I never expected his followers to summon him, nor that he’d do something like that…”

“Who are you?” Nerevar asked, his heart still racing in his chest. The other simply plopped his chin in his hand, staring back at Nerevar, amused.

“You and your lover--both just asking questions instead of even trying to figure it out for yourselves…” He tsk-tsked with a soft click of his tongue and a shake of his head. 

“How the hell am I supposed to know who you are?” Nerevar snapped. “I don’t even know where I am!” 

“Easy, no need to raise your voice.” He still looked amused, despite Nerevar’s anger. 

“Why in Oblivion do you look like me?” Nerevar demanded an answer now; he was in no mood to play games at the moment. He felt his heart being ripped out by that damn orc god and now he had someone playing mind games with him. 

The other sighed.

“I am Lorkhan.” Nerevar’s blood ran cold. 

“What…?” Nerevar stared in confusion and shock. “But Lorkhan is--”

“Dead?” He asked with a smirk and a quirk of his brow. “Don’t I know it.” Lorkhan then laughed heartily. “But when did that stop the dead from interfering with the living from time to time?”

“Why are you here?” Nerevar asked, leaning away from him. 

“I thought it would be only fair to show myself to you after that stunt Trinimac pulled.” He explained. “Though I imagine the fact you were stabbed through the chest once before only made it that much harder for you.”

Nerevar was trying to figure out the situation he was in, putting the pieces together the best he could. Several daedra called him Lorkhan, and here was Lorkhan looking remarkably similar to Nerevar. Was it possible people were mixing them up based on appearance? That didn’t seem quite right; it would make sense for Malacath and potentially Dagon, but Dagon didn’t call him Lorkhan initially, and not to mention it wouldn’t explain the nords. He doubted the elf hating people of Skyrim would so readily accept an elven appearance for their chief deity. Nor did it explain the strange, supernatural beating of his heart that drove him to accomplish strange feats out of sheer willpower alone. 

“... Why do you look like me?” Nerevar repeated his question again.

“Come now, I thought you’d be smart enough to figure that out.” Lorkhan laughed again. 

“Answer me.” 

“Well,” Lorkhan’s grin looked mischievous now. “It’s only fitting I look like you because I am you, don’t you think?”

This time a numbing tingle followed the chill in his blood. “Y… You…”

“Or well, I suppose it might be easier to understand if I say you’re a part of me.” Lorkhan continued. “You wouldn’t be the first mortal to be a fragment of me, anyways.”

“I’m not you!” Nerevar snapped, gritting his teeth. He did what he was best at: lashing out when he was truly scared and confused--when problems became too difficult to ignore or solve on his own. “I’m not you! I’m not Lorkhan!!”

Silence followed, the faint sound of birds chirping having vanished, the sky turning a stormy gray. He was panting from his outburst of yelling, but the screaming hadn’t really solved anything. Lorkhan was still sitting in front of him, looking at him with a serious expression, unphased. He was still in this crumbling tower, sitting in the grass. 

How long could he run from this? Daedric princes called him Lorkhan. The nords called him Shor. The strange visions he received that only made sense if they were Lorkhan’s memories, not to mention his heart--

Nerevar curled up, hands moving up as he felt a pain in his chest, clutching his shirt tightly. 

He was scared. He was scared and he didn’t know what was going on. He was terrified because ultimately, he didn’t know what this meant. He didn’t know what this made him.

Gingerly, two arms wrapped around him, pulling him up from the fetal position he curled himself into and into a warm embrace.

“Shh, it’s alright,” Lorkhan whispered, “Just let it out.” As soon as he said that, tears were flowing out of Nerevar’s eyes as he openly sobbing into his shoulder, holding onto him. Nerevar never really had a father--as the Nerevarine he was an orphan who didn’t really know who his parents were and as Nerevar his father was hunted down before the two of them ever met. But at that moment Nerevar couldn’t deny there was something paternal in the way Lorkhan held him gently, letting him cry and sob with arms that felt so much stronger than Nerevar could imagine. As alien as it was, he felt safe in his arms, the pain in his chest fading though he was still distraught and crying. 

Eventually though, his tears died down to soft whimpers rather than open sobs, Lorkhan stroking his hair all the while. 

“It’s alright.” He repeated, trying to reassure Nerevar.

“It’s not alright.” Nerevar countered. “If I’m just you that means I don’t really exist!” It was the truth; if he was just some shard of Lorkhan then he had no real identity of his own. He was just a piece of a larger whole, delusional in that it thought itself independent and separate. “No one really knows me. No one really loves me.” The person Voryn loved wasn’t even real, just a false identity of someone who denied who they truly were. Was the person Voryn actually loved just the pieces of Lorkhan that made up Nerevar? Lorkhan said there were other mortals like him--what if Voryn left him for someone who was a larger, better part of Lorkhan? “I’m just a part of you, an extension of you. I don’t have any thoughts or feelings of my own!”

“Hey now, that’s not true.” Lorkhan interjected. “If you had no thoughts or feelings of your own, how could you deny being me?” 

“But--”

“You have thoughts and feelings and emotions of your own.” Lorkhan reiterated. “You have your own identity, your own history, your own relationships.” Lorkhan gently dried the tears on his cheeks, careful of the sharp nails on his hands. “You don’t have all the same traits as me, and likewise, how you act on things is entirely up to you.” 

“But then how am I you?” Nerevar asked, apprehensive. 

“Hm… How to explain this…” Lorkhan began, humming softly, trying to gather his thoughts. “... Do you know that sometimes people take cuttings from plants to make a new one?”

Nerevar did know that, though he’d never done so himself. He was bad at growing plants, but he’d heard of it a few times. 

“When they take a cutting from a tree for instance, it was once a part of that tree.” Lorkhan continued. “One of the many, smaller branches of it. But with care and cultivation, it grows roots of its own, and then spreads itself deep into the soil as a little sapling, before finally growing into a tree itself.” Lorkhan then smiled at him. “You’re like a cutting made from me that grew into its own tree. We might be made up of the same things and bear the same fruit, but you might have different branches than me and grow in different ways.” 

“... But what if someone only loves that tree because of its fruit?” Nerevar asked. 

What if Voryn only loved him for the parts of him that were Lorkhan? What if, when Voryn found out, he became disillusioned? Why would he bother with having Nerevar as a lover if he was just a part of a larger whole? What if there was a better piece of Lorkhan out there to love, or he could simply worship the dead god in earnest to get closer to the source?

Lorkhan responded by pinching his cheek playfully, pulling Nerevar from his mental spiral.

“Then someone doesn’t really love that tree specifically, now do they?” 

“But--”

“Trees are much more than the fruit they bear.” Lorkhan continued, cutting him off. “They provide shade in the sun, and shelter in the rain. They are homes for birds, and the wind whistles through the branches to make music, or even children play in the branches and leaves.” Lorkhan was still smiling at him warmly. “Even if they love the fruit it makes too, not just any fruit tree can be their tree. And if they only love the fruit, wouldn’t you prefer someone who really loved the tree to take care of it rather than someone who only cared about what the tree produced?” 

Ah, Nerevar saw what he was getting at here. If Voryn only loved the parts of him that were Lorkhan and didn’t care about him otherwise, that meant he didn’t really love Nerevar. Nerevar’s hand reached over to caress the scar on his left shoulder gently, unable to really feel it through his shirt and armor, but comforted by the knowledge it was there nonetheless. 

Would Voryn have really asked Nerevar to carve his name into him if he didn’t love Nerevar? Perhaps the rest of Lorkhan didn’t appeal to Voryn. Perhaps the other traits other mortals shared with Lorkhan weren’t the same as how Nerevar was. Nerevar wanted to trust Voryn with his heart and make this work--he shouldn’t be assuming once again that Voryn would be quick to leave him and replace him with someone else. Voryn committed to Nerevar.

“There we go.” Lorkhan smiled, seeing his stormy expression fade. 

“... But I don’t know what any of this means.” Nerevar continued. “Why am I a part of you? What does any of this mean?” How was he supposed to move forward like this? How many other daedra would challenge him calling him Lorkhan? “How can I tell what’s my thoughts and abilities and what’s just yours? How can I tell if I’m even real?” 

That was the part Nerevar was still grappling with. If he was called Lorkhan and acted like Lorkhan and did what Lorkhan was supposed to do… Didn’t that just make him Lorkhan? When he was the Nerevarine he slowly just assumed Nerevar’s memories, thoughts, and identity after he was sent back in time--or was going back in time not real either. “The future--what about my memories of the future? Are those fake too or--”

Lorkhan smiled softly, almost knowingly. 

“Oh little star,” Lorkhan chuckled as though he was recounting something funny. “None of your memories of the future are real.”

“... Huh?” They weren’t… Real? “But Dagoth Ur--the Tribunal--” Didn’t Vivec have a vision of Nerevar being killed as king? That was in the future Nerevar saw as well.

“None of it was real.” Lorkhan was still smiling, but Nerevar was sent spiraling again. 

It was all so real. Nerevar could feel it. He felt Vivec’s spear ramming through him. He could hear the hurt and betrayal in Dagoth Ur’s voice, along with the cold anger as he revealed he would never be able to trust Nerevar even if Nerevar had agreed to join him. Almalexia had attempted to kill him a second time as the Nerevarine, and he remembered fighting her after discovering Sotha Sil’s mangled corpse. 

Panic set in then. If none of that was real then… Why did he not remember his past? Why had he dreamed up such a strange turn of events? Why--

“I’ll let you in on a little secret,” Lorkhan leaned in close, a devilish smirk on his face now. “I’m not real either.”

Nerevar blinked in shock, only to find Lorkhan was gone. In fact, everything was gone now, leaving Nerevar floating in an inky, black void. 

Nerevar’s panic rose at that. It could have been Lorkhan just telling him he was a figment of Nerevar’s imagination and not actually the ghost of a dead god but… Nerevar knew that wasn’t the case. He could feel it, deep in the pit of his stomach, and the revelation was not a comforting one. He was left entirely untethered in this void, and looking down at his hands, he saw himself flickering in and out. 

If Nerevar was Lorkhan, and Lorkhan didn’t exist, then that meant that he didn’t exist either. Really didn’t exist. It was so much more comfortable to imagine himself as a shard of Lorkhan, living and moving on its own, ignorant to the fact it was part of a larger whole. 

A clawed hand touched his back and a sickening chill overtook him as he found himself in the heart chamber of Red Mountain once again. He was trembling as he continued to flicker in and out of existence. The heart’s rhythm was equally unsteady, stopping and starting at random, the sounds a disjointed mess. 

If the heart of the world was not stable--was not real--then what did that make the world?

What did that make his friends? The people he loved? 

What did that make Voryn?

A familiar voice called out to him, large, clawed hands gripping him tightly and pulling him in close.

“I told you once before,” Dagoth Ur began, “We are bound to the dreamsleeve together.” Nerevar knew that wasn’t right, but he didn’t know how to counter it either. 

“I am the dreamer,” Dagoth Ur continued, “And this is all my dream, my sweet Nerevar.” Nerevar didn’t like the fondness in his tone. This was a twisted version of Voryn, corrupted and maddened, fully delusional. He preferred Voryn sane and warm, affectionate and protective. He didn’t want the delirious, maddened version of him that was Dagoth Ur.

Then, the two had changed locations. Instead of the heart chamber with the unsteady heartbeat echoing around them, they were in what seemed to be a rainbow colored river, all the different colors flowing in strange, glowing patterns. They moved up and down, left and right, forwards and backwards, swirls of color that flowed like incoherent water simultaneously both much thicker and almost syrupy than pure water, and also like it was barely there as they caressed his legs. Each movement came with a strange, fragmented thought, emotion, or memory. 

“You are simply a part of my dream.” Dagoth Ur’s hands moved to the front of him now, caressing at his chest. “My most glorious, beautiful creation…” 

Nerevar knew that wasn’t true either though. It was an instinctive knowledge, perhaps, but he could tell that was simply not the case. If there was a dreamer, it certainly wasn’t Dagoth Ur. 

And then Nerevar looked to his hands to see he was a dunmer again, grey skin and all to match the equally grey hands on his chest. One of Nerevar’s hands moved to caress the scar left from corprus he got as a Nerevarine when he was forcibly attacked to infect him with it, sending him further in his quest, ironically. The scar was an ugly, messy thing--a gross mess of scar tissue trying in vain to form over an injury that wasn’t truly there, growing more mangled and grotesque by the day. Before he couldn’t remember where the attack was from Gares, as his memories of the Third Era faded more and more with his time in Resdayn like a hazy dream, leaving him unsure if it was on his chest, his stomach, his thigh, or his arm. But now he remembered it was--

All of them. He had been hit by the attack in all of those places, in different moments in time, in different versions of the same event. And in that way, it wasn’t one moment specifically but simply an event that could have played out differently, in a way bending and contorting around the flow of fate. And just as he realized it, the scar itself faded entirely. 

“Nerevar, stop this.” Dagoth Ur warned, his voice concerned. Almost frightened if Nerevar was being honest, though he knew the other wouldn’t admit to it. 

“It… Didn’t happen.” 

“Yes, it did.” Dagoth ur stressed, but Nerevar stepped away from his hands, walking along the multicolored river. “Do you doubt your own memories? My own memories?” Dagoth Ur insisted. “Just as that was my dream, this too is my dream. A dream where we get to be together.” His voice took on a facsimile of warmth and affection. “A dream where nothing can keep us apart--”

“No,” Nerevar countered, his voice soft. “It happened and… It didn’t. Just how this… None of this is real either.” The thought wasn’t as scary as it was the first time around. In fact, the revelation seemed to almost bring some relief. He dipped his hand into the liquid that pooled around his thighs, running his fingers through it in what seemed to be an arbitrary pattern, relishing in the feelings that washed over him. Like this, he could make them seem coherent. Like this he could move them until he could faintly hear a song--

“Nerevar Mora, return to my side at once.” Dagoth Ur’s tone was threatening again. It seemed that Nerevar had gotten under his skin. 

“You are not a god. I’m not a figment of your dream…” Nerevar could insist if anything he might be the one dreaming all of this up but… He knew that wasn’t quite right either. Lorkhan didn’t exist. Nerevar didn’t exist, so he couldn’t be the one dreaming. But he knew he wasn’t a figment of Dagoth Ur’s imagination, that was for certain. “... And you’re not a figment of mine.”

Dagoth Ur was in front of him again, clawed hands gripping his arms tightly while his teeth audibly grit from behind the gold mask. “If I am not the dreamer then you’re saying I don’t exist! Do you even understand what you’re saying?!” His hands gripped Nerevar’s arms even tighter, but Nerevar himself was unphased. “I exist because I say I exist. You exist because I allow you to exist.”

“Or have you forgotten your nightmares? The memories of me?” Dagoth ur changed gears now that he saw it wasn’t persuading Nerevar. “Have you forgotten the way you shuddered at my touch? Or the way I could make such sweet, passionate love to you that you forgot everything else?” Nerevar had to admit he did in fact enjoy those moments with Voryn; Nerevar loved nothing more than losing himself completely in Voryn’s body, of being unable to think about nothing else but how wonderful Voryn could make him feel. But Nerevar knew he couldn’t forget this whole mess even happened and fall readily back into Voryn’s arms, trying to delude himself that it was real. He knew he’d go mad even trying, unable to take joy from it as he tried to deny the reality he was confronted with before. 

“Do not make me rip you asunder and remake you.” Dagoth Ur threatened, venom dripping off his tongue. But at the threat, Nerevar reached his hands out, cupping the golden mask in them, before throwing the mask off entirely. 

His face looked like Voryn’s but so much older and more tired. His eyes were dead, glazed over and foggy, with only the third eye on his forehead seemingly capable of sight. His complexion was equally dead--ashen even for a dunmer. A dead sleeper who dreamed he was still alive, just as that wise woman said so long ago. 

Nerevar leaned up, pressing a soft, gentle kiss to his lips. He didn’t like this maddened version of Voryn, but he knew he still loved him. He loved Dagoth Ur and mourned for him. As horrible as it was, it was a mercy for Nerevar to slay him as the Nerevarine. It was a mercy for things to return to the past so they could have a better future, one where Nerevar wouldn’t hurt him as cruelly as he did the first time around. 

Then, just as the gentle kiss started, Nerevar pulled away, whispering softly. The words tumbled out of his mouth before he even realized it, but the truth spoken in them was more real than anything else he had seen. 

“I already unmade you.” 

Dagoth Ur stared down at him in shock, before, like ash in the wind, he faded. And Nerevar was left standing alone in the dreamsleeve. 

Yet, something was gnawing at his psyche. If Dagoth Ur was not the dreamer and didn’t allow him to exist, then what was his purpose? If this was all a dream, then who was dreaming? 

Dread washed over Nerevar again, overwhelming him as he felt like someone or something was watching him. Like he was a tiny insect crawling where he shouldn’t have, about to be crushed by the figure that finally realized he existed. 

Yet, part of Dagoth Ur’s words made sense. He wasn’t real. None of this was real. Nerevar could either stand there and accept it and fade into the liquid around him and dissolve into nothingness…

Or he could insist he did exist. That he wanted to exist. That he wanted to continue on, in spite of how nonsensical it was. 

“... I exist because I will it.” Nerevar knew he wasn’t the dreamer, but he existed in spite of it. He refused to vanish and become nothing more than a disjointed collective of memories free floating around him. 

“Well done.” Lorkhan’s voice echoed, and Nerevar found himself once more in the black, inky void, outside of the dreamsleeve. “I was a bit afraid you might not be able to handle it,” He chuckled softly, “But I can see it was silly of me to worry. You already remade the world, you’d be ready to handle the revelation of the tower.” 

“Was that… You?” Nerevar questioned, wondering if Lorkhan took on the appearance of Dagoth Ur just to help him along. 

“No. What was in fact a remnant of Dagoth Ur, based on your memories.”

“My memories?” Nerevar raised a brow, as the crumbling tower and soft grass slowly came back into focus around him, real and present once more. It was more comfortable than just free floating anyways. 

“Things can’t exist if nothing remembers them.” Lorkhan explained. “But you remembered him, so he continued hiding and lurking…”

“Would he…” Nerevar began, apprehensively. “Would Voryn have become him again…?”

“No.” Lorkhan’s voice was firm and confident, making Nerevar relieved. “Your beloved has already rejected that path.”

“Then how could he exist?”

“He existed outside of Voryn. A part of him and also not. Perhaps in a way also part of you?” It was a confusing explanation, but Nerevar supposed that was in line with everything else so far. “I suppose it doesn’t matter. He doesn’t exist anymore--not as he did just now.” Lorkhan hummed softly again. “Now he’s merely a memory, returned to water once more.” 

“I… Don’t understand.” Once again, Lorkhan reached over to pinch Nerevar’s cheek.

“Yes you do, don’t lie to me about that.” 

“I mean I get that he’s no longer a problem since I just saw him vanish but I don’t… Know how I did that.” 

“He was mostly tied to you. It would have been very easy for anyone in those circumstances to cut him off.” Lorkhan clicked his tongue. “Then again, I suppose not everyone can be connected to the dreamsleeve and confront not existing as well as you did.”

“So I don’t exist?” It was a question, but not asking for an answer more so a confirmation that he was understanding it correctly. 

“You don’t. And yet, you do.” Lorkhan confirmed, before elaborating. “All of us exist in that state. But I made Nirn in the first place because I realized it was impossible to move beyond that revelation and actually do something about it without real growth--growth that can only come from trial.”

“... What?” Now he was losing Nerevar. Go beyond the revelation of not existing? How would you even move past something like that? 

“Dagoth Ur had a few things correct I’ll admit.” Lorkhan continued, almost rambling now given how little it made sense to Nerevar. “The trial of flesh is needed to overcome the dream…”

“Again, I don’t really understand.” Nerevar interjected, before Lorkhan sighed.

“Ah… Right. I’m getting ahead of myself.” He then reached over, pulling Nerevar into a hug once more. “We don’t have all day, unfortunately. Linear time still exists.” He gave Nerevar’s back a firm pat. “I would explain if I could but… Well, we’d be here for some time. I think your beloved is calling you.” A ringing was in Nerevar’s ears now, the rest of the dream getting fuzzier and fuzzier. 

“Voryn…?” Nerevar asked, before his eyes cracked open. 

He wasn’t in the grass, but laying on Voryn’s cot, blinking up in a confused daze. It was night, that he could tell from how dark it was in the tent. Beside him, he heard a gasp, as Voryn looked to him frantically. 

“Oh thank gods,” Voryn looked close to tears. “Nerevar, do you have any idea how worried I was?” He cupped Nerevar’s cheek, his hand warm and familiar. It felt like Nerevar had been away for ages and also hardly any time at all. “I thought I almost lost you again…”

“I’m alright,” Nerevar sat up slowly, but his arms felt weak. “How long was I out for…?”

“More than a day.” Voryn explained, before helping support Nerevar’s upper body, settling Nerevar to lean against him. “Nothing we did could wake you up. We wanted to raze that damn orc camp to the ground,” He could hear the anger in Voryn’s voice. “But Malacath said his people would assist us and that you would wake up in time.” 

Nerevar could tell Voryn hadn’t believed the prince--not after what seemed like an attack on Nerevar. 

“I’m fine now.” Nerevar insisted, stroking Voryn’s face. “I’m--”

“Is he awake?” Vivec asked from outside the tent, and Voryn stiffened under Nerevar’s weight.

“He just woke up--” Voryn began, “Give him a few minutes to regain his senses before you shake him down for answers.”

Vivec entered the tent now, his brow furrowed. “You swore I could ask my questions when he awoke.” 

“At least give him until the morning.” Voryn pleaded. Vivec looked between the two of them, and it seemed that Nerevar looked haggard enough for Vivec to relent, though he was unhappy about doing so. 

“Fine,” Vivec scowled, leaving the tent once more. “In the morning I want answers.”

[stevetonyweekly]

SteveTony Weekly - December 10th

Here’s a very short list because it’s been a very busy week. Enjoy and be sure to leave your author comment and kudos. 

Triple-A Rated by iam93percentstardust 

Three assassination attempts in two weeks. That's gotta be some kind of record. Three attempts - and that doesn't even count the Ten Rings. Tony's pretty sure that Stane's trying to kill him again. Fury's pretty sure of the same thing, which is why he starts sending agents to protect him. It's just that Tony doesn't like any of his new bodyguards - except one.

Do-Over by gottalovev 

Steve woke up six months ago into a future that leaves him indifferent. There is work, and not much else. His current mission is a basic search and rescue operation to retrieve an American who was kidnapped by a terrorist group ten days ago. He won't let the fact that the hostage is Howard's son be a distraction.

From The Ground Up by thatsweetmysteryoflife 

The first time Steve had seen Tony Stark since SHIELD had fallen, he was on TV.

Or, how a team became a family, and friendship became love.

Unsaid words by Herogers 

And he was moving on.. well, he was getting on with it. It was fine, really.

Well, at least he felt fine, until he saw Tony for the first time in years and the words felt like they were scraping their way up from his chest, begging to be let out.. He was fine. This is work, this is for something more than him, more than both of them. So if the sight of those honey brown eyes piercing through his blues were almost nauseating.. It had to be fine.

Zero to One by magicasen 

Steve returns the Stones, comes back to 2023, names Sam the successor to Captain America, and sets off on his bike. Life is transient, and grief is all-encompassing, until Steve starts dreaming of Tony every night.

Truths and Roses Have Thorns About Them by FestiveFerret 

Steve has a secret. And then he makes a poorly-timed joke to a reporter, and suddenly he has two secrets.

One: He's in love with his best friend.

Two: Despite what the press thinks, they're not actually dating.

and you think love is to pray by StevieVixxen

It’s a betrayal that cuts deep…

Soft Skills by Lady_Ganesh

"So," Bruce said carefully. "You're saying that your tower became a big target for an alien army, so you're going to rebuild it as an even bigger target?"

"Well, when you put it like that, it sounds stupid," Tony said.

The team tries to bring Steve Rogers into the 21st Century. It mostly works.

As my beta CaptainBlue said: Also I love how you did a fic about Avengers team building and still managed to make it 100% about Cap. You have a gift. This is why I love her. Any remaining mistakes are mine.

Think Again by KandiSheek 

Tony doesn't understand why Steve always makes him run laps or do push-ups before sex. Steve doesn't know why Tony doesn't like his kind of foreplay. After all, everyone gets turned on by exercise. Right?

Cat's in the Cradle by Last_Chance_Anna

Steve starts thinking about his father and the affect he had on his life. Tony is there to offer support and comfort.

Santa Claus is Coming to Town by Last_Chance_Anna

Steve and Tony throw a Christmas party, and Steve rediscovers his jealous streak when it comes to Tony. Luckily Tony knows the cure for that. Spoiler alert: It's sex.

Not a Perfect Man by Neverever

Steve and Tony are back on track as friends and spending a lot of time together as they form a new Avengers team. But Steve is again in a rocky relationship with Sharon and Tony is dating a new woman. Steve struggles as his long-dormant crush on Tony comes back with a vengeance because he's supposed to be a good man and he doesn't want to lose Tony as a friend. What is he supposed to do as a friend when Tony's new girlfriend turns out to be not good for Tony?

Running out of Time by Lenalena 

Prompt: "After the events of IM 1, Tony joins the expedition searching for Captain America as a holiday to get away from all the media speculation and stock value crash hate he was getting from the board. He's testing out new kit, working up a new portfolio of technology to boost the company back up, when he finds a plane wreck, buried halfway under the Greenland ice sheet."

That is how he ends up hiding Captain America in plain sight, while the man gets adjusted to the 21st century. He is just doing him a favor, okay?

What could possibly go wrong?

[lostcauses-noregrets]

How do you think Levi is doing post war regarding grief? I've seen a lot of people say he's happy and theiving, living his best life in peace and that it fits his character because he always moves on and fights and he wouldn't cry for decades or something lol. I just saw a lot of people completely dismiss the idea of him not being "happy" and having trouble adjusting to his new life without fighting and actually having time to grieve for the first time in his life, which i find questionable since he IS the most emotional character and always cared about remembering his friends, especially Erwin. I feel like grieve is portrayed pretty one dimensional though, like it doesn't have to look like just one way (like it can look like mikasa but it can also look like Levi who is still actively trying to help people) but i also think that grieve is a big part of Levi's character and we should talk about it! I'd be interested on your take about this though :)

Oh man I have a lot of thoughts about this.  I totally agree with everything you've said, however I can also understand people's reticence to dwell on grief, it's a difficult and overwhelming emotion. I know there are a lot of fans who want to believe that postwar Levi was able to live his best life, unencumbered by grief, and enjoying his freedom with Gabi and Falco.  And I also know that there are some fans who are really offended by the idea that Levi would spend the rest of his life grieving, never moving on from those he lost during the war. Certainly living a hollow, grief stricken life is a terrifying prospect, however grief isn’t that simple.  One of the best explanations of grief I’ve come across said that when you lose someone you love, you don’t just forget them, or replace them, time can never heal that wound or fill that void. However with time and patience your life can grow around that absence and expand to encompass new people, new love, new experiences.  The absence is always there, it becomes part of you, and your life continues to grow around it. I think Mikasa is actually a good example of that.  It’s clear that she continued to love Eren for the rest of her life, but that didn’t stop her from loving other people and going on to raise a family.  I don’t think she ever “moved on” from Eren, no one could ever replace him,  but I do think she was still able to find love in the world.  The Ackermans were fierce and constant in their love and their loyalty; both Mikasa and Kenny remembered their liege, their chosen person, to the end of their days, and I see no reason for Levi to be any different.  I believe Erwin’s absence would have left an indelible mark on Levi, and I don’t think anyone could ever replace him, however I also believe that Levi was able to forge a new found family with Gabi, Falco and Onyankopon and I hope he was able to end his days peacefully. 

If you're interested, I've written several fics about Levi's life after the war that explore his grief for Erwin and his fallen comrades, and his new life with Gabi and Falco.

The Permanence of the Young Men

A Good Man

That And So Much More

[cosmic-metanoia]

An Amazing Protagonist (of All Time)

***Warning – Spoilers for Final Fantasy XVI***

Clive is seriously one of the best protagonists I have ever come across not just in a video game but in any media. He is not perfect but the transformation we gradually witness from the age of 15 through 33 is absolutely astounding. As a teenager, he’s incredibly mature and has a strong sense of loyalty to his nation and his brother despite being treated like garbage by his own mother. At 28 during his “revenge era”, we see a brooding and darker side of him and it’s obvious that he has experienced too much. He is hellbent on avenging Joshua only to find out he was the one who killed him. The shame and guilt that burdens Clive and the eventual forgiveness and acceptance of his new identity is something many of us can relate to. We see his heroism when he becomes leader of the Cursebreakers and holds the torch handed over by Cid. Of course, we cheer him on as the warrior that he is with his amazing combat skills and Eikon powers. Yet there is so much more to Clive than his epic presence on the battlefield and his handsome looks. Many heroes (and superheroes) encompass similar qualities I just described but there are a few things that REALLY set Clive apart as a main character.

Clive is incredibly emotionally intelligent and has a lot of empathy for others. He can discern relationships between people and how deep their bonds run. He also has a wonderful sense of negotiation when dealing with tough issues and he is often able to help third parties come to a mutual agreement. He doesn’t need to use intimidating gestures, facial expressions, or harsh words to scare others into doing what he wishes. Even if he cannot convince someone, he knows when it is time to give up and politely step away. (As a random thought – have you noticed that Clive doesn’t just step in and take Bearers away from their masters when he witnesses them being abused in public? I think it’s because he’s more concerned with being on the radar which may lead adversaries to the Hideaway. He has to think about the Bearers currently under his protection. Nevertheless, I can imagine it must be hard for him to watch.) The tenderness he has for Jill makes my heart gleefully burst. The way he treats her as his equal and is so supportive of her is divinely refreshing! Not to mention his absolute loyalty to her even before they revealed their feelings to each other aloud. And I could go on and on about his love for his dearest little brother. One other quality about him is that he's not afraid to weep tears of joy or grief at certain moments - which, in my opinion, makes him more masculine and not less. There’s a TON of evidence to support everything I said but I would just encourage everyone to play ALL of the side quests to really understand Clive.

Generally speaking, many people have lived harsh lives and unfortunately some of those people use that as an excuse to treat others badly. With that logic, Clive could use his maternal issues as an excuse to treat women ill or use his upbringing as an excuse to hate on others but he was MUCH stronger. He chose love, brotherhood, and righteousness. I heard someone on the internet say that “Clive makes me want to be a better man” and that is FREAKING beautiful!

[mrsnancywheeler]

This one is so long I’m so sorry!!!

But Finnick is just so Hozier (I love a whipped man. Not like gale tho)

Finnick is “Work song” by Hozier it’s not even funny.

~~~~

“Boys, workin' on empty

Is that the kinda way to face the burning heat?

I just think about my baby”

Despite everything that has happened to him he persists because he thinks about his sweet girl. The pain, the hardships, the struggles, he can get through it all if he just thinks about her

~~~~~~

“I'm so full of love I could barely eat”

Just his all encompassing love, his love is enough to nourish him, he doesn’t need anything else she just needs his sweet girl

~~~~~

“There's nothing sweeter than my baby”

I mean….he literally calls her “sweet girl”. He thinks the world of her. She’s kind, she’s caring, to him she’s the definition of “sweet”. He thinks the world of her, nothing is better then her.

~~~~~

“'Cause my baby's sweet as can be

She give me toothaches just from kissin' me”

Again more just thinking the world of his sweet girl. There’s no one better, no one who makes him feel anywhere remotely close to what his sweet girl makes him feel. Just being around her fixes his mood, fixes his day.

And plus to him she literally tastes sweet, like peaches.

~~~~~

“When my time comes around

Lay me gently in the cold, dark earth

No grave can hold my body down

I'll crawl home to her”

So I feel like this is so much about 1) Finnick also having kinda a death wish sometimes but 2) feeling the need to live so he can be with her. He fought in 13 for her, he’d fight tooth and nail for her.

All he needs to know is that she’s gonna be there. He will crawl from the depths of the earth, the depths of display to go back home (aka her arms)

~~~~~~

“Boys, when my baby found me

I was three days on a drunken sin”

OKAY BUT LIKE THINK ABOUT THR CONTEXT OF WHAT FINNUCK WAS GOING THROUGH WHEN HE MET HER??? ITS SO FITTING

~~~~~~

“And I was burnin' up a fever

I didn't care much how long I lived

But I swear I thought I dreamed her”

Again think about what he was going through when he met her. It’s not like he valued his own life all that much and that year he spent with her felt like a dream, like something that was too good to be true.

~~~~~

“She never asked me once about the wrong I did”

“My babe would never fret none

About what my hands and my body done”

“If the Lord don't forgive me

I'd still have my baby and my babe would have me”

This is getting long so I’ll have these lines together…so like again during the first year of their relationship. Finnick feels very guilty about the death he caused, that he’s a bad person, but his sweet girl never once held it against him, never once blamed him. She never even asked. Despite everything he’s done she’s still with him

~~~~~

“When I was kissing on my baby

And she put her love down soft and sweet

In the low lamplight I was free

Heaven and hell were words to me”

AGAIN!!! Being with her is what defines his happiness. Those secrete moments between them, the ones in their home, when the Capitol isn’t with them, he was as free as he could be. Heaven and hell meant nothing being he was with her

~~~~

Anyway I love Finnick and I love Hozier

-🌾anon

you're all good pookie 💕

THIS. you're literally so correct with this, and he's the adorable, loving kind of whipped for his sweet girl

when he's in the depths of suffering or hardships he still only thinks about his sweet girl. how he needs to protect her and get back to her no matter what it takes, the games, the rebellion, the war, whatever he's got to do

and she truly is everywhere for him, like when he smells what he thinks might be peaches in his food and is consumed with grief because it makes him think of her. and regardless of how we as an audience might read into her actions as more harsh or impulsive, he sees only the good parts, her flaws are just things he has nothing but sympathy and love for. she does most of what she does out of a place of care of self-hate, and he just loves her endlessly. when he's without her, life is bitter.

yes yes yes, he needs her to stay as something he can come back too, to work for, to give him reason to keep living. he begs her not to go into the quell, he does all he can do she won't be on the squad. he won't let death get him when he knows he can come back to his sweet girl. if she's in the heat of danger and something happens, he doesn't think he'll be able to weather that and knows she wouldn't be able to either, which he could never forgive himself for, even in death.

YES finnick was a young, drunk teenage boy living in peak opulence, having everything at his fingertips, endless parties, and drinks, and fun, but then there's her. she feels so right, it's just too good to be true, to be real, because she's so perfect for him. he understands her and she understands him in a way that no one else can.

he's fresh out of the games really, like a year or so later and of course he's still wrecked with guilt, and always with the nightmares. she's so comforting, she doesn't pry, lets him open up whenever he wants too, and when he does she's nothing but loving. reminding him that he didn't have a choice and all the things he did just brought them together and he's starstruck with how endlessly kind she is. he can't fathom how she puts no blame on him, and he feels the same way when she comes back from her games.

when they can just purely be together, be themselves it's the most free he's ever felt and nothing else he's ever done or felt guilty for matters because it's just the two of them. his sweet girl in his arms, someone he loves more then life itself and he can drown in her very being because of the pure joy it creates

and that's so real of you, he's a Hozier of a man ❤️