#out HURTS and i’m tired of it!!!!!!!

[inthehouseoffinwe]

Finarfin Fades.

No one expects it, no one’s faded in Valinor since Miriel. The War of Wrath is won and he comes back, waving off the courtiers, well wishers, and congratulators with his usual grace, and walks into the palace of Tirion. To rooms abandoned since their owners left so long ago. Winding deeper and deeper his feet take him to what was once Finwë’s favourite garden.

He’s so tired.

He’s fulfilled his promise to Fëanaro and Nolofinwë, to avenge them. To make the agony of their final moments - agony Finarfin felt, falling to the floor screaming as fire and darkness consumed his spirit - count for something. Now Morgoth is finally gone, but he’s not the only one.

His brothers, larger than life, larger than death, are gone. With them his sons. Niece. Nephews. Grandchildren. His daughter is never to return. He Saw little Nelyo’s death in his dreams and is sure hopes for the child’s own sake that Makalaurë will be close behind.

Little remains. Even less on these golden shores.

So Finarfin sits on a bench long overgrown with vines and weeds, and watches the sun filter through the thicket, wishing the ghosts he sees in his father’s garden would flesh out.

He sits. He waits.

And by the time anyone finds him, it’s too late.

…at least he’s smiling again.

[the-broken-pen]

“You’re going to blow out your arms,” the villain observed. They watched as the hero merely grit their teeth, shoving themself through another pull-up. It looked painful, and if the sweat slicking the hero’s brow was any indication, it was.

They waited for the hero to let themself drop from the bar and accept the villain was stronger. But they didn’t.

Three more pull-ups, and the villain stepped in.

“Hero,” they said slowly. “You’re about to tear the ligaments in your arms. You need to stop.”

The hero blew out a shuddering breath. Struggled for purchase, fighting gravity—and let themself drop.

The hero’s hands were bleeding, calluses torn open by the bar. The hero didn’t seem bothered when their own hands shook so much that their blood began to splatter on the gym floor.

For a moment, the villain could only stare at them.

Shit.

They didn’t know how to handle this. They knew the hero was dedicated. They knew the hero was strong, and perpetually trying to be stronger, but they hadn’t thought…

They hadn’t thought the hero would be so willing to tear apart their own body for success.

It was supposed to be fun, the villain thought. They felt a little sick as the hero pressed their palms together to soothe the bleeding, an action that was practiced and familiar. As if they had done this before.

The hero reached for something in their bag, smearing blood on the side, and pulled out a roll of blue electrical tape. The villain didn’t understand why, until the hero tore a strip off and made to wrap their hands with it.

The hero would be the death of them.

They crouched in front of the hero, plucking the electrical tape out of their hands.

“What are you doing with this?”

The hero blinked at the villain like they were the strange one in this situation.

“Wrapping my hands?”

The villain hissed in a breath.

“With electrical tape?”

The hero flushed slightly, looking down at their bloody hands. They looked close to tears.

“It…sticks to skin, really well. And it doesn’t move, either, when you move your hands or wherever else, even if you’re fighting. Plus, blood doesn’t make it come off, at least, not for a while.”

The villain blinked at them.”

“Blood doesn’t make it come off,” the villain repeated, processing. The hero nodded, reaching for the electrical tape. The villain settled it out of reach.

“Not if you wrap it right.”

Dimly, the villain realized that meant the hero had done this enough times to have it down to a science.

“And you couldn’t use a bandaid?” The villain asked incredulously. The hero shrugged a shoulder, then winced at the motion.

Yeah, the hero had absolutely blown out their arms.

“Bandaids move—“

The villain hushed them.

“Be quiet for a second.”

The hero, wisely, went quiet.

The villain rubbed a hand over their face, then studied the hero for a moment. They took one of the hero’s hands into their own, studying the damage.

“Why did you do this to yourself,” the villain murmured.

“What do you mean, why,” the hero snapped. “It’s my job.”

“Your job is to save people,” the villain corrected. “Not destroy yourself.”

“I’m not destroying myself—“

“You are.”

“Shut up—“

“Hero.”

“I need to be better,” the hero snapped. Their voice rang out across the gym, echoing into the rafters, and they both froze. After a moment, the hero spoke again, voice soft. “I need to be better.”

They said it like they needed the villain to understand. The villain wondered who they were really saying it to—the villain, or themself.

“Better than who?”

“Everyone.” It was hushed, like a secret.

The villain watched them, waiting.

The hero took a shaky breath

“My whole thing is being the best. I have always been the best. That’s the only reason I matter. If I’m not strong enough, then I am nothing, so I need. to be. better.”

The hero had started crying, very quietly, like they were afraid to take up too much space.

The villain was not equipped to handle gifted kid burnout.

“There’s more to you than just being a good athlete,” the villain said hesitantly, and the hero shook their head.

“No. There isn’t.”

“Hero.”

“Can you give me back my electrical tape?” They hiccuped to contain a sob.

“No,” the villain said firmly, and then the hero really was sobbing.

“You don’t understand—“

The villain didn’t. Not really. They had never been the kind of talented that the hero was.

They wondered now if maybe that was a blessing.

“I don’t,” the villain agreed. “But I do understand that you’ve saved half the city, and you give everything you have to give, and you always do your best.”

“But I-“

“No.” The villain stopped them. “You are doing your best.” They tipped the hero’s chin up until they met the villain’s eyes. “And it is enough.”

The hero froze, eyes darting over the villain’s face. They wondered if anyone had ever said that to the hero, if whatever mentor they had was giving them anything other than orders to be stronger. Be better. Be more.

The villain had some new targets to take care of, it would seem.

For now, though, they had to take care of hero.

“We’re going to go wrap your hands,” they said softly. “And then we’re going to take care of your arms, and you’re going to take a nap.”

The hero nodded, watching them like they were some kind of good, selfless person.

“And if I ever catch you using electrical tape again, so help me, I will put you six feet under.”

That startled a laugh out of the hero, and they let the villain guide them to their feet.

“Fine.”

The villain turned to them. “Okay?”

Are you going to be alright?

The hero seemed to understand.

“Okay,” the hero agreed.

Yes.

And so, it was.

[mochiwrites]

Dudeeee I can’t get over that mesa/desert segment. In 3rd Life, Scar leads Grian to the desert based on Grian’s guilt after a joke gone long, and the desert becomes their home. Here, they’re together on a camel, heading for a similar but different biome. They discover the desert together and crack jokes about another desert so long ago, Scar taking the cactus before Grian can grab it but ultimately gives it to him and both of their voices are so fond?? They part ways, but there’s no bitterness or resentment. There are no comments on the hurt between them in past seasons. Both Scar and Grian have silently forgiven the other, and this tiny desert tucked away in the mesa serves as both a blank slate and the ability to look to the past without drowning in it. Whether or not they team this season, they’ll be okay.

And I am on the floor, sobbing (positive)

IT MAKES ME SO ILL LIKE ????? WHAT THE HELL ARE THE CHANCES OF THAT.

they’re on a camel (one grian WILLINGLY jumps on). first it’s the red sand. and then it goes into regular sand. and there’s cacti. and grian and scar are just giggling together. they’re laughing and making jokes. and they reference the past but it’s good.

AND THE MOST INTERESTING THING!

neither of them have joined any groups. they’ve both ended with their own base. their own location.

and it just… really sticks out to me. I hope they fall into some kind of alliance. I hope they end up working together and things are good.

[lunaelume-n]

.

[hungergameshyperfixation]

Damn I just typed way too much about the SotR cover.

Welp I want to make it quick for the protagonist post.

I HAVE SO MANY THINGS TO SAY BUT NOT ENOUGH TIME OR ENERGY TO WRITE THEM.

Okay so the main contenders in my opinion are:

Haymitch, Plutarch.

Maysilee.

Honestly there’s more but to divide the sections a little bit let’s just play a game of “don’t question it.” Here are (nearly?) all the possible options for the protagonist(s):

•Mr Everdeen

•Mrs Everdeen

•Mrs Undersee / Maysilee’s twin.

•Haymitch’s Girl. (I’d love it to be her I’m like her biggest fan)

•Haymitch’s brother (or mother)

•Coin or a character from D13.

•Caesar Flickerman. Honestly he would’ve been higher but I wanted to write out the order based on vibes not probability.

•Either of Peeta’s parents.

•Hazelle. Or Gale’s dad (I HIGHLY doubt this, even more so than anyone else lmao)

•An unknown character from 12.

•Another victor. I wanted to go in more detail about the options within this one but for the sake of not overdoing this semi-rushed post, I’ll leave it at that. There’s a LOT of options within this bullet point though.

•A rebel (from the capital, from the districts. Perhaps even the person who started orchestrating the rebellion…? If that isn’t Plutarch lmao)

•Snow or someone related to Snow, like Tigris or his wife. I doubt this, but a Snow sequel could make sense.

•An unknown/new character. From the districts, the capitol, anywhere.

Or we could get a curveball and have it be from the perspective of someone outside of panem-

Just kidding. I don’t think anyone thinks or wants that lmao.