#nellie.fic

[backhurtyy]

hi hi hi!!!

maybe “a man could hold the weight of worlds, but he could never carry the love i have for you.” + figayda??? 👀

or “you can’t scare me like that” + any lotr pairing you think fits??

i want to come back to the figayda but my brain LEAPT at the second prompt so... poking my head out of the ground like what would you say if i said boromir and aragorn should kiss a little bit? under the cut because in typical me fashion i cannot shut up

For a long time - too long - Aragorn knows nothing but fear and desperation and the slick feeling of Boromir's blood coating his hands. It's only the faintest flutter of Boromir's heartbeat, soft beneath Aragorn's shaking fingertips, that keeps him from completely giving into despair. Only his heartbeat, however weak it is, that gives Aragorn enough strength to choke out an urgent plea for athelas, Legolas, please, whatever you can find-

Legolas has never once let him down in all the decades they've known each other, and now is no different. He returns moments later with the weed in his hands and swiftly gets to work making the poultice, Aragorn and Gimli staunching the blood flow around the arrows with their hands the best they can.

Finally, after too many too long minutes, Legolas falls to his knees next to Boromir's body and gives the poultice to Aragorn, pressing his hands to the wound instead. "It's ready. We'll start with the wound closest to his heart, then move to the stomach, then the shoulder."

Aragorn nods, and gives Legolas the order to pull his hands from Boromir's chest. They work quickly, in unspoken unison. Gimli snaps and removes the arrow, Aragorn smears the poultice over Boromir's wound, and Legolas bandages it with whatever he can find before they move on to the next. Aragorn has to tear his shirt for the final wound on Boromir's shoulder, ripping away what little clean fabric remains, but it doesn't matter.

If it's the difference between Boromir living and dying, it doesn't matter.

Once they're sure the worst of the blood flow has been stemmed by the poultice, Legolas and Gimli slip away to wash the blood off their hands and clothes. Aragorn, though, doesn't dare move. Not so long as Boromir's heartbeat is too weak, not so long as his breathing is too shallow, not so long as his face is too pale, not so long as his life hangs in the balance.

Even once they return and the sun has long since set, all he can do is sit there with his knees digging into the forest floor, his hand gripping Boromir's tight, and his eyes fixed on his face.

"Aragorn," Legolas says behind him eventually. "You should rest. I will watch over him."

"I cannot leave him. I will not."

He doesn't tear his eyes away from Boromir's face - he thinks perhaps color is returning to it, but it could just be a trick of the fire - even as Legolas sits next to him. "I didn't realize you cared for him so."

Aragorn laughs through his nose, short and humorless. He hadn't either. Not until he saw the arrows buried in Boromir's broad chest, not until he pressed a kiss to Boromir's strong brow, not until he thought about entering Gondor without Boromir at his side and realized he couldn't even fathom it.

He didn't know when it happened. Didn't know when the aching in his heart had begun to be soothed only by Boromir's presence. All he knew was that he needed him. He needed the Steward - his Steward - with his sword and his strength and his good heart, no matter how the ring tried to change that. He couldn't bear taking the crown if Boromir was not there by his side, friend and companion and partner all at once.

"I didn't either," he finally answers Legolas. "But I do, and I can't leave him until I know he will live."

"I understand," Legolas says, a small smile in his voice. "I'll keep watch, then."

And then he slips away into the darkness, no doubt leaping up into the trees so that he may see even further, and leaves Aragorn to maintain his vigil.

He leans his head down, resting his forehead over Boromir's heart - still too faint, but getting stronger - and whispers, "Come back to me. Please, meleth nin, do not leave me."

He goes quiet, then, and watches Boromir's face through the night.

And finally, when the sun has just begun to rise, he watches Boromir's eyes flutter open as he takes a shuddering breath. Aragorn's heart leaps.

"Boromir," he whispers, leaning over so he may see him. "Don't move too much, your wounds are deep."

"My king," he says. His voice is weak, but his lips curl into a smile. "I did not expect to see your face again. It is a welcome sight indeed."

"Yes, well. I couldn't let you swear yourself to me and then abandon me," Aragorn says, unable to stop himself from smiling in return. "And I do not wish to walk through the gates of Minas Tirith if you are not beside me." The smile slips from his face and he grips Boromir's hand even tighter. "You cannot scare me like that, Boromir. I... If Legolas had not found athelas for me, I don't know what I would've done."

"You would have gone to Gondor and claimed your throne," Boromir responds with surprising conviction. "You are not so weak as to be torn apart by the loss of one man."

"Perhaps you think too highly of me, me-" He stops himself. "My friend. Your loss... I would have lost myself, too."

"I do not believe you," Boromir insists, "but I am glad we don't have to find out who is right. I am here. You saved me."

"Yes," Aragorn says, and cannot stop his free hand from drifting up to cup Boromir's handsome face. "Yes, you are here."

Boromir turns his head carefully to press a hesitant kiss to Aragorn's palm, though his eyes never leave Aragorn's. "My king. My captain... My beloved."

Aragorn's heart cleaves in two.

This time, when he leans down to kiss Boromir, it is to kiss his lips.

[backhurtyy]

hands, at the day's end

With time, it becomes familiar— the shape of a club, the slide of the boomerang, the heft of a spear, the curl of a fist prepared to land a punch— and sometimes, when he looks at his hands, he doesn't recognize them. They had once been unsure and clumsy and soft, but now they are certain and steady and rough.

He begins wrapping them in fabric, the way all the men in the village did, just so that he doesn't have to look at them and wonder if they’re his or not.

(It isn’t just his hands that don’t look like they’re his— he looks in the mirror, and no longer recognizes the person staring back at him.)

or,

sokka and his hands

16.7k || it's all about the hands || for @zukkabigbang2024 and dedicated to @jaanii || beta by @that-was-anticlimactic and art by @blbelmont

art here

playlist here

[backhurtyy]

blooming beyond us

“Alright, you’re on. No proposal until we’ve won the league twice.” Jamie grins, victorious, and Roy tugs at his shirt again. “But this better not take fucking ages or you’ll never hear the end of it, Tartt.”

Jamie’s eyes flash. “Sixteen months, babe. Promise.”

Roy tilts his chin up, and they seal it with a kiss.

or,

roy, jamie, and a proposal, as told through premier league match days

(a diabetic!jamie fic)

16k | rated t | diabetic!jamie, proposal, coming out

[backhurtyy]

hi my most beloved can i request “we’ll never get to sleep if you keep fidgeting like that.” or “no, don’t stop. i like the sound of your voice.” with either zukka or legolas and gimli <3

anything for you! mwah! i once again fell victim to the can't shut up disease, so have some gigolas beneath the cut <3

The Galadhrim's lament for Gandalf fills the forest, a haunting melody that floats through the trees and sits heavy upon Legolas' heart, but he cannot bring himself to join in.

Not because of his own grief, not because he is reluctant to sing it and acknowledge that Gandalf, a seemingly invincible force in the world, is gone. Rather, it's because he can't stop thinking about another loss, one that will not be mourned or acknowledged by the elves but is no less great. Because he can't stop thinking about the devastation on Gimli's face as he beheld Balin's tomb, about the hollow thud of his helm against the stone, about how Gimli had to be ripped away from the memorial lest they lose him too. About how the entire city was full of Gimli's lost kin.

About how he has lost more than just Gandalf, and his grief has gone seemingly unnoticed.

He casts his eyes around their campsite, finding Aragorn and Boromir in quiet conference and the hobbits resting in a pile, but no Gimli. He frowns, rising to his feet swiftly and setting out to find him.

He won't come to physical harm in Lothlórien now that he's been granted permission to roam the forests, but that doesn't stop Legolas from worrying. After all, heartache can cause as much harm as an enemy can.

He trods through the forest on light feet, straining his ears for any sound besides the Galadhrim's song or the rustling of leaves in the wind. He is just beginning to wonder if he'll ever find Gimli - it is, after all, a large forest - when he catches the briefest hint of another melody, carried to him by a particularly strong breeze. It's not the soft, haunting melody of the elves, but rather something gruff and painful and raw.

It's still beautiful, though, and he knows without a doubt that it is Gimli, singing a mourning song for his lost kin in the rough-rock language of the dwarves. After only a moment of hesitation, debating whether he should give Gimli the privacy he took such great pains to seek out or trust his gut and go to him, he begins following the song.

He finally finds Gimli at the edge of the river, a lit fire before him and his face turned down to the rocks beneath his boots. He is still singing, a hand pressed to his heart, and Legolas can just barely see the glimmer of tears on his cheeks before they disappear into his beard.

Gimli's voice isn't necessarily beautiful - not like Legolas finds the lilting voices of the elves or the joyous voices of the hobbits or even the softness of Aragorn's - but it's strong and sad and it fills Legolas' heart all the same, entrancing him and making it so that he couldn't turn away, even if he wanted to. It draws him in, and he barely thinks before taking another step towards Gimli.

Gimli's voice cuts off when he hears the rocks crunch beneath Legolas' foot, and he turns to face him. "Master Elf," he says, somewhat awkwardly, though he makes no effort to wipe away the tears or pretend he'd been doing anything other than mourning.

"I'm sorry," Legolas says, equally as awkward. He'd been so sure of his convictions when he set out to find Gimli, so determined that the dwarf shouldn't be alone in his mourning, but now that they're looking at each other, he finds he doesn't know what to say. "I didn't mean to interrupt. I was just... Worried. I suppose."

"Worried that I'm causing trouble, eh? Well, I'll just remind you that the Lady Galadriel gave me permission to roam these forests, and I-" he says haughtily, before Legolas cuts him off.

"Not at all, Master Dwarf. I was worried that you were alone in your sorrow, and thought you might like company. But if I was wrong then say the word and I shall leave you without another word."

Gimli blinks at him once, twice, before his great beard twitches with a small smile. "Ah. Well. I suppose I'd be a fool to say no to the opportunity for an elf to mourn dwarves. Join me, Master Elf."

Legolas smiles and goes to join Gimli before the fire. "I am sorry you couldn't spend more time with them in Moria."

Gimli sighs and turns his face back to the rocks. "'Tis probably for the best. With the mines overrun by goblins, and that devilish creature of fire and ash... At least I can now carry the news back to Erebor. To their families." He's silent for a long time, before he says dryly, "You must think me a fool for even having hope they were alive. It seems everyone but me knew Khazad-dûm's fate."

"I don't think it's ever foolish to have hope," Legolas says quietly. "After all, hope may be all that helps us complete this quest."

Gimli looks at him again, studying Legolas with his dark eyes, and smiles again. "I am glad you sought me out, Master Elf. It is good to have company."

"Legolas," he says without thinking. "Just... Legolas. I would have us be friends, as Gandalf wished."

Gimli's eyes twinkle. "Well I can't be outdone by an elf. You shall call me Gimli, then... Legolas. My friend."

Legolas' heart feels refreshingly light, then, and it is that which gives him the courage to ask, "Your song... It was a mourning song?"

"Ah. Yes. This isn't quite the proper funeral for dwarves, especially not for a Dwarf Lord such as Balin, but it'll do until I return home. I don't have to finish it, though, I'm sure my voice is grating for such delicate ears as yours."

Legolas' hand flies out to gently grasp Gimli's shoulder. "No. No, don't stop. I enjoyed the sound of your voice. It was... It felt... Real. Please, finish it. I will listen."

Gimli smiles again, broader then Legolas has seen him smile the entire time they've been on this journey, and shakes his head. "You are not as expected, Ma- Legolas. But as you wish. I will continue my song."

He resumes singing, his strong voice drowning out the elves, and Legolas closes his eyes and lets the words carry him away.

[backhurtyy]

best buddy boy

After hearing one last pitiful cry, he pokes his head through the last clump of leaves in his way and finds himself face to face with—

A cat.

A small cat, with orange fur that’s flecked through with leaves and small twigs, perched on the branch with its claws extended as it hangs on for dear life.

The cat meows as soon as it sees him. Gorgug just blinks. “Uh… Hi? I’m Gorgug,” he says, somewhat pointlessly. Unless— “Are you a magic cat?”

or,

gorgug finds a cat

2.5k || gorgug-centric || fluff || for @beachytablecloth

[backhurtyy]

the vastness between

"You’re fucking incredible, babe, you’ve got no idea. I love you so fucking much.”

Roy never thought a love confession could rip his heart out and yet here he is, crying because Jamie is crying while saying he loves Roy, and he doesn’t fucking understand what’s going on. He doesn’t understand why Jamie sounds so anguished, why he’s on the other side of the room saying this instead of in Roy’s arms, why there’s a sick feeling of dread in his stomach, why why why—

“Jamie, what’s going on? I love you too, why are you—”

“I’m leaving Richmond, Roy.”

or,

roy, jamie, and finding the right person at the wrong time

48.8k || 3 chapters, complete || angst with a happy ending, mutual pining || for @rjbigbang || beta by @beachytablecloth and art by @kentstartt

playlist available here!

Chapter 1: TIME || Chapter 2: ACHE || Chapter 3: YEARN

Art 1 || Art 2 || Art 3

[backhurtyy]

not your intended dose

"Based on these symptoms and the tests we ran, I’m diagnosing you with type one diabetes.”

Jamie blinks once, twice. He expected— well, he doesn’t know what he expected. To have more of a reaction, maybe. Fear, relief, sorrow, something other than the sort of numbness and vague sense of confusion that he feels now. Something other than a spark of recognition, because—

“Ain’t that what Nick Jonas has?” He asks, squinting into the distance. “And Nacho?”

or,

jamie is diagnosed with diabetes. it changes everything, and also nothing.

27.6k | rated t | diabetic!jamie, established royjamie, hurt/comfort

written for @royjamiebingo for the boss ass bitch challenge, fulfilling the prompts candles, sharing clothes, hospital, love letter, and “i don’t know what happened”

bingo card below the cut for anyone who’s curious to see where i'm at :)

[backhurtyy]

these small hours

The first time it happens, Miguel thinks it’s a fluke. A joke. Just a one time thing.

Because the thing is, Peter B. Parker loves to joke around. He loves to push buttons, to test boundaries, to get on Miguel’s nerves.

So when he comes into Miguel’s office with Mayday on his chest, swings up to his platform, and shoots a hammock-shaped web between two pillars, Miguel thinks he’s just messing with him.

or,

Peter comes into Miguel's office and makes a hammock, and then never really stops. Things go from there.

spiderdads || 9.3k || rated t || annoyances to friends to lovers