#out HURTS and i’m tired of it!!!!!!!

[hellfireeddiemunson]

trying not to clench my jaw rn is so fucking annoying PLEASEEEEE

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Laios's three Boy Best Friends. And yes, they hate him.

[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.

[targarrus]

[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.

[izuizzy]

I’m always drawing him in pain so have an AU where he’s actually good and his smile is actually PRECIOUS

[kymal]

‘bards lament is hard for me to watch so im glad they toned it down’

in the winter, the wolves will come for you…

[lynxfrost13]

Ariane Yeong having a crush on Erika Itou and not doing anything about it except eating her feelings for years. Send tweet.

[sinistersuns]

I hope more people who feel they’re leftists begin to realize that genuinely hating men AND/OR immediately assuming a man (or someone you perceive as a man) you don’t know is out to harm you is t3rf behavior. This belief will not keep you safe, it’s meant to isolate you and put the marginalized men around you in danger. Hating men will not do shit to the bigoted cishet white men in power, but it’ll tell the marginalized men around you that they aren’t welcome around you. This extends to anyone who looks like cis society’s idea of a man, but isn’t actually one, too - do y’all really think trans people of ANY gender say “okay I’m x gender now” and are immediately treated like that gender by society as a whole? Do you think your fear of anyone with facial hair and a deep voice will stop at dangerous cis men, and that only dangerous cis men have those traits? And I’m specifying DANGEROUS cis men because cis men as a group aren’t inherently dangerous. The way someone looks or identifies says nothing about whether they’re “safe” or not! I thought we fucking learned this!!

[murdleandmarot]

Can’t believe that I technically created another oc just to make this painting. Diabolical

Anyhow uhhh Bluebelle and Bluebeard :)))

[elevenenthusiast]

I HATE how much people do to defend noah on here and on twitter like why are you all forgetting he’s a zionist?

[lapdogchase]

something deeply traumatic happens to me every year or two Just to accentuate the complex trauma i guess And it’s been 11 months no Incident and everything feels too calm. ive been hanging out with my friends and going to my art classes and objectively this was the best realistic way my life couldve turned out at this exact point. But it feels like any second now somethings going to happen and set me back to the way i was last august and november 2021 and november 2020 and january 2019 and

[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.

[comfymoth]

nothing more rejuvenating than dunking on dream ong

honestly it usually kinda tires me out but for whatever reason i’m feeling the vibe this time. maybe cos it’s like 2 am lmao, everything is a million times funnier at 2 am. get his ass

[the-broken-pen]

How about a hero who accidentally kills a cat and feels bad about it so they bury it but villain finds them? Love your writing!

The hero was thoroughly, miserably, soaked and shivering on the ground. Dirt coated their palms, under their fingernails and on their knees.

They dragged a hand down their face. Fought off a wretched sob.

Their fingers shook as they set the flower down on the tiny mound.

Behind them, the sirens on an ambulance cut off, plunging them into silence. If they thought about it, they could feel the blood seeping from their side. They could hear the sound of rubble shattering to the ground echo in their ears.

And the screaming.

They could hear that, too.

They didn’t think about it.

A sob worked it’s way out of their chest, painful in their throat as they tried to swallow it.

“I’m sorry,” they choked. Their voice cracked. “It was—an accident, and I know that doesn’t…”

They had to bite their lip to stop another sob.

“Praying?” the villain questioned from behind, voice gentle.

The hero shrugged one bruised shoulder.

“No.”

The villain stepped around, facing them. Their eyes dropped to the flower, the fresh dug dirt on the hero’s hands. The grave.

Their expression softened.

“Ah.”

“You can leave now.”

“Praying for forgiveness, or praying for salvation.”

“I said you can leave now,” the hero snapped. They swiped away an angry tear, dirt smearing on their cheek.

The villain didn’t move.

“Why are you still here?” They bared their teeth in something they hoped was enough of a message to get the villain to leave. They had a feeling it was something pathetic, instead.

“You were crying,” the villain said it like it was an answer.

If the hero thought about it too hard, it was.

They didn’t think about it.

“Burst water line,” they gestured haphazardly to the demolition behind them, the half-flooded street. “No tears, no praying, and certainly no need for you—”

The villain’s expression shifted. “I told you that you needed to microdose your power.”

The hero froze.

“Shut up,” they hissed. “Shut up—“

“You wanted to quit, and I respected that. You have enough scars for a lifetime, we both do. But I warned you. I told you that if you didn’t use your power, it would use you, and it would be an ugly, violent thing.”

The hero shook their head mutely, words stuck under their tongue.

“And you thought you knew better,” the villain continued like it wasn’t breaking the hero’s heart. “You thought you could go through life and keep it bottled inside you and ignore the pressure.”

Their gaze flicked to the wreckage the hero knew lay behind them.

“Did you know better, hero?” Their voice was soft and dangerous. “Did you?”

“I said I was sorry!” It clawed its way out of the hero, and it wasn’t a scream, but it was close. “Okay? I know I messed up. You don’t need to taunt me with it, I already—“

The hero’s gaze settled onto the grave once more.

“I already regret it,” they whispered. “You can’t make me any more sorry than I already am.”

“I’m not trying to make you feel bad.”

“Then you’re failing spectacularly,” the hero snorted derisively.

The villain’s jaw ground.

“I’m trying to make you understand that this would have happened regardless of what you did. And that it’s not your fault.”

The hero blinked.

“You just said that I—“

“I said you thought you could fight your power and win. And you were,” the villain conceded. “You might have made it another month. Maybe two.”

The hero had never seen the villain so angry. “But then someone shot you, off duty and in civilian clothes,” they seethed. “The fallout is on them, not you.”

“I killed a cat,” the hero managed roughly. They blinked back tears.

The villain shook their head.

“You were off-duty. A civilian.”

“I could never be just a civilian, you know that.”

“Just because you were the bullet does not mean you were the one who pulled the trigger.”

“You aren’t making any sense.”

“I am,” the villain corrected. “But you’re grieving, and bleeding, and suffering from a massive energy drop, so you can’t see it yet.”

The hero let the villain pull them to their feet, dirt smearing between their two hands.

“You want forgiveness?” The villain ducked their head to meet the hero’s eyes. “I forgive you.”

The hero forgot how to breathe.

“You can’t just do that.”

“I can do whatever I want. And what I want is for you to stop crying.”

The hero snorted again, but it was lighter this time.

“You’re an ass.”

“And you’re a civilian.”

The hero shook their legs out. When they went to turn back to the grave, the villain caught their chin, turning them away with soft fingers.

“I forgive you,” they said solemnly, as if they had never said anything so important. “They do, too.” They inclined their head just slightly towards the grave.

For once, as their chest collapsed in on itself, the hero believed them

[lunaelume-n]

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