#healing fiction

[marsymallows]

Exploring Slow Living: Documentaries, Movies, and Books

I don’t know a lot of people who share the same desperation I have for a slow life except for my boyfriend, a friend I constantly talk to these days and a bunch of online strangers in a Reddit sub I’m subscribed to. My boyfriend lived in a farm. LOL. But setting aside all the memes and controversies now infamously associated with that line, he really did and he has always dreamed of leaving the…

[ink-the-artist]

mage

[malinaa]

if i think about the hunger games in peeta's perspective i WILL start sobbing

[shyranno]

Here, have more Dad Maul--i hope it helps the dopamine because it for sure helped mine ;u;;

[darkstoryspinner]

Innocent

LIBRE AFRICA by Danor Schtrutzman, Public Domain, flickr Everyone at the high school knew not to open-mouth kiss Reyah at the Halloween party, for they would surely die. But newcomer Angel, innocent of the knowledge, kissed her by the pool. What no one knew was that Reyhah had leukemia. After that night, no trace of it remained.

[high-queen-of-the-court]

TSC RELEASE DATE??????????

[dedalvs]

When will humankind learn the lesson of its hubris and begin to heal itself? Also can you recommend any undergraduate or graduate level resources (textbooks etc.) for learning about fiction? I already read Writing Fiction by Burroway. Thanks in advance

January 14, 3182. Make a note of the date and return to this post when it comes.

To your second question, I've never read anything on writing fiction, only writing in general. I've found something valuable in every book on writing, even if there were things in the book I found less valuable. For example, I read Writing Down the Bones: Freeing the Writer Within by Natalie Goldberg, and while there was much of it I didn't care for, there are some passags that have stuck with me 22 years later. When it comes to writing guides, I think the best thing to do is read what interests you while understand that what you are really doing is building your own writing guide inside you. You're absorbing what you find personally meaningful and using it to create your own personal styleguide that, like it or not, you'll be following for the rest of your life. Rather than rejecting that, and trying to decide which text will be the text that tells you how to write, embrace it, realize that you are going to do what you're going to do, and then try to work within that framework. That is, if that's what's happening, how will you approach a styleguide? What will it mean to you to read a very didactic text (i.e. "All serious writers must do x; no serious writer every does y") vs. a loosey-goosey one (e.g. "Dance naked in the garden of your creativity and allow your flowers to bloom!")? What are you looking for in these texts and what will you do with information or strategies that you find valuable?

Returning to Writing Down the Bones, I have to say I found the book to be mostly woo. It was more a kind of self-help/empowerment book than a book on writing, in my opinion. But there is something in there that I'm sure I'd heard before but which finally resonated with me. Specifically, it was the way she articulated that it really, truly doesn't matter what you put on the page when you're drafting. Drafting is not the time to reject. Even some idea comes to you that you find absurd, illogical, thematically inappropriate—whatever. It's not the time to push it away. Indeed, it's wasted effort. Editing and revising is the time to question. If you're writing, you shouldn't let anything stop you—even your own brain.

Why it took till then for this idea to take root, I don't know. It could be how she worded it. It could be that it came at the right time. Perhaps I was more open to new ideas when I was reading this book. It may also have something to do with a transition that had taken place for me in writing. After all, when I started high school, I was not regularly using a computer (we'd only just gotten a computer that stayed at home). When I started writing, I wrote by hand—on paper. It's a much, much different thing to edit and revise when you're writing on paper than it is on when you're working on a computer! I mean, digital real estate is cheap. When you're writing by hand, it can literally hurt to write seven or eight pages—and then to discard them in editing! Right now I'm working on a novel draft where I've decided an entire section needs to come out. If I'd written that by hand?! I can't even imagine.

I guess the tl;dr of it is I don't have a specific text to recommend. Rather, I encourage you to look around and grab anything that interests you. In doing so, though, I encourage you to approach it differently, focusing on what in it you find valuable, without either wholly rejecting it or feeling you have to follow it to the letter like an Ikea manual. I even found something valuable in C. S. Lewis's The Abolition of Man, which I honestly can't believe I read.

If you'd like some fiction advice that may be generally useful no matter what you're writing, this is what I can offer:

A valuable skill to hone is being able to read your work as if you have no other knowledge of it. In other words, you need to be able to read your work like a reader. One of the most difficult things to do with fiction is to cut. You usually have a lot more characterization, a lot more plot points, a lot more detail, etc. than end up on the page. The important question is if you cut something, will the reader notice? Will it actually feel like something's miss it, or will a reader never notice? Mind, I'm not saying that as a writer you can't tell if something is superfluous, or that anything you cut will be superfluous. I'm saying sometimes even if you cut something important a reader will still get the impression that what they are reading is whole and unedited. That isn't a good thing or a bad thing: it's a neutral thing. The question you'll have to answer is what is this whole that the reader is getting, and is that whole something you're satisfied with?

Get multiple rounds of feedback from many different readers. I say this not because it's vital, because beta readers are important, because you have to have multiple perspectives on your work, etc. None of that. Getting feedback from many different readers is a form of self-care on the part of the writer. I was deathly afraid of feedback as a young writer. I welcomed praise, sure, but anything else felt too painful to bear. This changed when I took a short fiction class at Berkeley. Suddenly a short story of mine wasn't getting one round of feedback: it was getting fourteen. And not just from the professor, but from fellow students. This was a minor revolution for me in terms of accepting feedback. If I were to take, say, one round of feedback, certainly there would be some praise, but there would also be notes like "awkward phrasing", "why did x character do y?", "this is unclear", "too much description", etc. These things would burn me. I would seethe reading them, and it would hurt so deeply. But! Imagine that one of them circles a paragraph and writes "too much description" and then the other thirteen readers say absolutely nothing at all about that paragraph—maybe one even puts a smiley face next to it. THAT puts the criticism in its proper context. Maybe your writing isn't too bad! Maybe there isn't too much description. Maybe that particular reader just wasn't vibing with it, and maybe that's okay. And then let's look at it from the other perspective. Say thirteen out of fourteen papers have a sentence marked and all of them say things like "huh?", "what's this mean?", "confusing", etc. Guess what? The sentence is probably confusing. And for some reason if everyone's saying the same thing it hurts a lot less. It means, yeah, you probably made a little mistake, and that's okay. It's not one person singling you out, and it's not the case that they don't know what they're talking about. I can't emphasize enough how freeing it is to look at reviews of your work if you have a handful or more to draw from rather than just a single good friend.

It's okay to write the fun part first. You may have a plot device you're really excited about, but to get there, you have to introduce your characters, have them get together, have them go to a place, meet someone else, etc. And it may take time and energy to write all that. You may feel pressured to get through that before you get to the part you really want to write. You certainly can, but you do not have to. I don't know if younger writers can appreciate exactly what it means to have a computer. You can write a little bit now and literally copy and paste it into some other document later. Try doing that with a typewriter! You can write something like "Insert paragraphs later of characters traveling to x location". You can even drop a variable in there so it's easy to find with the search function later (e.g. "ZZZZZ insert scene description here"—now you just need to search for "ZZZZZ"). You can put it in a different color on the screen so it's easy to find when scrolling. You can paste a freaking photo into your document! It's extraordinary what you can do with a computer that you couldn't do in years past. You've got a ton of options. But most importanly, when your work is done, no one will know what order you wrote it in.

In fiction, nothing has to happen. Villains don't have to be punished; heroes don't have to win; characters don't have to have a specific arc that comes to some conclusion. Honestly, one of the tropes (if you can even call it a trope) that I find most frustrating in sequels for movie franchises is after the characters are introduced, they take a few character and assign to them the major story conflict, and then for the rest, they give them a mini arc. It's like, "Mondo 2: Exploding the Mondoverse sees our hero Larjo Biggins take on new villain the Krunge as the very core of the Mondoverse is threatened with destruction! Also, Siddles Nuli learns its okay to be left out sometimes and she shouldn't get her feelings hurt, and Old Mucko learns that even though technology is advancing, sometimes good old fashioned common sense is just what the doctor ordered!" If you get to the end of your story, and you feel it's done, you don't have to panic if you suddenly realize we don't know whether Hupsi ever made it to Bumbus 7. It's okay if Story A is resolved but Story B is not.

I don't care if you used Trope A in your new story even though you used Trope A in your past seven stories and neither should you. Seriously, you think anyone was complaining when Agatha Christie put out another mystery novel? "Oh. Mystery again, huh? Gee, we were all hoping you'd write a book about the struggles traditional fishing villages are facing in the wake of industrial modernization." No we fucking weren't!

I hope you find some of this useful. Whether you did or not, though, be sure you enjoy what you're doing. If you are, you're doing the right thing.

[thisisxli]

𝐓𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐲-𝐓𝐨𝐞𝐬. - 𝐓𝐨𝐮𝐲𝐚 𝐓.(𝐃𝐚𝐛𝐢)

Rs: Touya Todoroki(Dabi) x GN!Reader(amab/afab)

Warnings: angst

Tags: Reader is Hawk's sidekick, reader and Touya are childhood friends, Touya is shitty at feelings, Dabi persona, Touya has a cute feet tapping habit, platonic or romantic however reader wants to take it

Summary: Dabi is confused when you easily figure out his real name and identity. Why? Because of the habit he has, tapping his foot on the ground.

Recommended song:

wc: 0.4k

"Just send me a quick text of your location if anything goes wrong, a'ight?"

"Okay, okay. Bye, Hawks," you softly smile, ending the phone call with the number three hero. You weren't a pro but you were a sidekick. Not one that was constantly by his side but one Hawks was fond of. "You done calling with bird brain?" A raspy voice calls out. Touya? Your breathing starts to quicken a little bit in anticipation.

You quickly turn around to see a familiar pair of turquoise eyes, one you knew years ago and knew now. His hands was deep in the pockets of his black coat and his black hair framed his burnt face. You almost didn't recognize him. "You..." You breathe, halting and avert your eyes to his feet, one of them tapping on the ground. You chuckle.

"Why did you call me Touya?" His question slightly catches you off-guard, his expression unmoving. "Well, I called you Touya because.. it's you. I know it's you, Touya, you don't have to deny it," you smile bitterly when you watch a muscle in his face twitch, a little blood leaking from his metallic stitches. "Well.. I'll be damned. How'd ya know,

(Y/N)?" He emphasizes your name in his sentence, nearly shaking you to your core. Your name felt so familiar yet so foreign rolling out of his mouth. You on the other hand was surprised to say the least, you didn't think he remembered you. When you think of your reasoning, you snort before letting out a laugh. He raises a brow at you.

"You still," your laugh dies down, staring at him with fondness and old grief you experienced for the old young him, "you still do tappy-toes. You tap your feet whenever you're excited or nervous." He stiffens at your words. Seriously? You noticed that it was him from that? Not even his own family recognized him. But you were a whole different type of weird. Funny, he thinks. "Wasn't expecting that," he raspily chuckles before his face drops into his usual stoic look. "But I'm letting you know now.. That I'm not that Touya anymore. Call me Dabi-" "not a chance," you smirk, walking closer to him. Why were you doing that? He's dangerous and you know it. It starts to irk him when you were only a few feet away. "I'm serious. It's Dabi," he lowers his voice, staring down at you. That's also when you realize. He was right, Touya was gone. The Touya you knew was gone.

He wasn't that little boy anymore. Suddenly your vision becomes blurry but you could tell he turned his back to you. "We'll meet again," he turns his head at you, murmuring.

As a tear fell, your vision became clear again. But he was already gone. Again.

a/n: i enjoyed writing this! Thank you @scardey-cat for the idea! I'm really sorry for taking so long to post this but here it is! I hope you like it and I hope others enjoy it also! Thank you for reading.

[orcelito]

showing off the commission i got from @ruporas for my fic, In the Next Life!

i'm still so incredibly excited about this. it's been some months since the story event that caused these scars, but i wanted SO BADLY to be able to see what they'd actually Look like... & Here They Are.

ruporas rendered the scars So Well, i just cant stop Looking at them... there's a Fresh & a Healed version, which ruporas was kind enough to give me without additional charge (Thank U Again😭😭) so i get to see what it looks like at different stages.

Lichtenberg Figures. in terms of actual scarring, lightning strikes that people survive don't tend to leave permanent scars, but the lichtenberg figures that they (usually temporarily) leave behind are just So Cool... Now, what happens when you get someone who can survive an amount of electricity/lightning that would be Frankly Lethal to any normal human person?

This :]

[littleteenagethings]

And darling, you need to be patient with yourself. The pain does not vanish overnight. You heal one day at a time, one step at a time. And maybe, just maybe, in six months from now, you will find yourself enjoying a day where the pain ceases to exist. Be gentle on yourself, allow the healing process to take place.

Excerpts from the book I’ll never write #411

09.04.2023

11:17 pm.

[hesperidiumsky]

They should make more annoying aromantic characters.

[olliewrites-stuff]

In Which You Play Orpheus

In which you play Orpheus,

And you are broken-hearted and desolate.

The loss of your Eurydice for the

Second and final time

Carves your soul into

Mourning lyrics in a language

Only the bereft can decipher.

In which you stand there, frozen,

Mourning the first and only time

Turning towards your lover

Has ended in heart-break.

In which you play Orpheus,

But this time,

The Gods decide to make you

Suffer

Instead of ending you.

In which you are Orpheus and

You have just lost your Eurydice,

But also,

In which you have been granted

Immortality

Until reaching an age the Gods decide

Your existence on this plane

Without HER

Can cease.

In which you are newly-immortal,

And your immortality is certain -

And you refuse to disclose just how

You know it to be fact.

In which those pages of your book -

With the screaming and the

Crying and the

Desperate clutching,

Are stuck together never to be read aloud,

And that's how you prefer it to be.

In which you are Orpheus,

And you can't escape Her.

She whispers through the trees.

She cries desperately for you

In the thunderstorms.

The cheeky quirk of Her lip is

Reflected on other people’s faces …

And it HURTS.

By Gods,

It HURTS.

The absence in your life

And soul so profound that you

Cannot breathe.

In which you attend the group sessions,

Just like your friends suggested,

But the way in which the facilitator

Says Her name makes you

Clench your fists and

Refuse to make eye-contact with

Anyone.

This suffering is overwhelming,

But sharing it would be like

Sharing what little of Her

You have left, and -

You're not strong enough to let that go.

In which you lose control one day,

Throwing a chair across the room

When the soft-spoken woman

To your right,

Who is wearing her hair like She used to,

Speaks your name in Her timbre.

In which you become a cyclone,

A Category 5 descending on the home

You used to share,

Snatching up all of Her things and

Hurling them into a space

Never to be seen again.

Everything seems to pause as you

Come across a picture of

The two of you.

Everything gets deceivingly quiet

As the eye of Cyclone Orpheus

Overtakes you.

Your eyes dart from smiling eyes to

Lovestruck smile,

And all of a sudden,

The storm is back in action.

Smashing,

Crashing,

Banging,

Screaming,

Crying -

Your rage is

s u f f o c a t i n g

and

t e r r i f y i n g,

But FUCK

Does it feel good to cause damage,

Even though the chaos you can create

Is no match for the damage

She caused YOU, and -

...You've ripped the picture in half

And are suddenly human again,

Kneeling in the centre of your carnage

As you realise what you’ve done.

In which you quietly and reverently

Pack up the rest of Her belongings,

Vowing to actually attempt

Living

The rest of your life.

For Her if no-one else.

In which time passes and

You lose track of it;

Surviving one day becomes

Surviving two,

Then three,

And soon,

Years,

Decades - maybe even centuries -

Pass,

And it’s only after you catch yourself

Smiling as you think of the sweet

Grecian girl with the dazzling smile

You’ve bumped into a few times,

That you realise you’re not

Occupied with thoughts of

Your Eurydice.

In which you graze your shoulder as you

Scramble to where you’d left all of Her stuff

To collect dust.

Light floods the space as you scurry to

Surround yourself in Her presence again,

To prove you haven’t stopped

Thinking about Her,

That you haven’t given up on Her,

That you haven’t

f o r g o t t e n

Her.

"See? See!

I’ve still got that scarf you wore every year,

And that photo album from that one time...

And see, see?

Look at all the SHIT I have that

Proves I can’t live without you!"

You stop.

Breathe in and out deeply…

In which you play Orpheus,

And have lost your Eurydice.

In which you realise that between

Forcing yourself to be busy

So you didn’t have time to grieve,

And doing your best to live

As She would have wanted,

You had found a way to grieve.

To move on.

To live without her.

In which you no longer grieve,

But can still hear Her

Softly whispering through the trees.

You can hear Her in the thunderstorms.

You can see the cheeky quirk of Her lip

In people you’ve since befriended.

And you are okay.

The reminders bring back

Fond memories, now,

Reminding you of the time you DID

Get to spend with Her,

And the happiness you felt then

That you can recognise again now.

In which you play an immortal Orpheus who

Has lost his Eurydice,

And you realise She is gone,

But not forgotten.

¬ O.M.A

[elithelakes]

sure, we all love found family in fiction. but recently i’ve been thinking about what exactly draws me to it so much. and thinking about it, it’s unfortunately all too obvious. i’m obsessed with the idea of someone not being required to support and love another person, but doing so anyways, and doing it to such an extent that they essentially become family to each other. why? well, there were people in my life that should have automatically supported and loved me, but they didn’t; it’s the idea of someone doing something by choice what someone else wouldn’t even do by requirement. what one person saw and said “that’s an unlovable mess” another person saw said “maybe you are a mess but i’m going to go out of my way to love you anyways”. needless to say i’ve been crying for a while.

[izzy-prizzy]

idk about anyone else but to me jegulus is the personification of someone thinking they are hard to love but then this person comes along and loves them like it's as easy as breathing.

you don't understand!

[stardust-and-snickerdoodles]

i will carry you always

fandom: The Lord of the Rings

pairing: Elrond Peredhel x Reader

summary: Elrond joins your patrol group for a day. Unfortunately, danger befalls you when you find yourself injured and stuck in a ravine. Elrond must decide whether to wait for help to arrive, or take you back to Rivendell himself.

tags/warnings: injury, blood, hurt/comfort, healing, angst

word count: 2596

a/n: I realized after writing this that Elrond can like. heal people. so just ignore the fact that he doesn't do that.

Daily patrol is one of your favorite tasks as a member of Rivendell’s guard. The tranquility of the forest, the gentle bubbling of the Bruinen in the distance, it all served to set you at ease. You felt at home outside the borders of Rivendell – well, at least within the protection of Vilya. Outside that, you were more on edge.

Today’s patrol wasn’t meant to be anything special. You’re buckling the last straps of your light armor when Lord Elrond approaches your group. This in itself was not uncommon; Elrond often comes to wish the patrols luck on their journeys. But he, too, is clad in armor, which is strange.

Your patrol captain, a kindly elf by the name of Estedir, nods to Elrond respectfully. “My lord,” he begins, “how can we assist you?”

Elrond bows his own head, a display of humility not often shown by other elves. “I heard your patrol was uneven, Estedir. If it pleases you, I might join your company.”

Estedir’s eyebrows raise slightly and your own heart picks up its pace. Your own partner is the reason your group is uneven, having injured himself during yesterday’s patrol. You expected to be lumped into a group of three, but Elrond’s presence might change that.

“Of course, my lord,” Estedir permits. “If you’re ready?” He gestures to the gates as your fellow patrol members begin to mount their horses.

“Lead on,” Elrond smiles.

You mount your own horse, a beautiful Arabian named Mereneth, keeping Rivendell’s lord in the corner of your eye. As you follow your patrol out of the gates, Elrond takes up the rear, just behind you. You suddenly feel self-conscious, wondering about your riding form and your armor… Did you polish it enough? What if you look sloppy in front of him?

Before your thoughts can race out of control, Estedir stops the patrol on the border of Vilya’s protection. You figure Elrond must be actively wielding Vilya to keep its protection around Rivendell rather than himself – otherwise, the border would be traveling with you.

Estedir turns to face the group. “Pairs, everyone. Standard routes. Report back here in two hours.” His eyes meet yours for a moment before glancing behind you. “My lord Elrond, if you wouldn’t mind accompanying Y/N.”

“It would be my honor,” Elrond’s smooth voice responds, and you cringe slightly. If you weren’t on edge already, you certainly are now.

You have nothing against the elven lord – quite the opposite, actually. You find him rather attractive, and for that reason keep your distance. He has too many responsibilities and is too important to waste time on a simple member of the guard.

Elrond rides up beside you, his own horse dwarfing yours and making you feel small. “My lord,” you greet in a quiet voice.

“Y/N, yes?” he confirms and you nod. “Lead the way then.” His smile is gentle and kind, just like everyone says.

You begin to steer away from the quickly dissipating patrol, heading into a thick patch of forest. The dense canopy filters the sunlight in a beautiful mosaic, casting a serene golden glow upon the forest floor. You breathe in the earthy scent of moss, exhaling the tension that you realize you’re holding.

Elrond keeps stride beside you, weaving through the tree trunks with ease. You’re afraid to strike up conversation, unsure if he wants to patrol in quiet or not. Your usual partner is chatty – you honestly sometimes wish he would shut up.

Before you can make up your mind, Elrond makes the decision for you. “I used to patrol these woods. I have missed it.”

You hum, trying to come up with an adequate response. Suddenly everything you have to say sounds silly. “It is beautiful,” tumbles out of your mouth. A good enough response, you suppose.

“Beautiful, yet deceiving. Past the protection of Vilya, these parts are dangerous.” He turns slightly to look at you and you meet his eyes.

“My usual patrol partner had an unfortunate accident here yesterday. I’m familiar with the dangers.” The words come out a little snappier than you meant, and you hope you haven’t offended.

Elrond chuckles, a beautiful sound. “I’m sure, my lady.” The title sends a chill through you. “You are far more experienced in this area than I.”

“I’m hardly a lady, my lord. Nor deserving of such a title.” A fierce blush races up your cheeks.

The two of you go silent for a while, just the sounds of birdsong and hoofsteps filling your ears. You keep an eye out for any signs of orcs or other creatures that might pose a threat. So far, the journey has been as peaceful as usual. You’re even almost becoming comfortable with Elrond’s presence beside you. You decide to steal a glance at the elf lord. He looks at peace here in the forest, just like how you feel. You admire the light that plays upon his features, highlighting the timeless wisdom and grace that seems to radiate from him.

Whilst you’re not paying attention, Mereneth stumbles. Her hoof catches on something and she startles. For a moment you’re disoriented as you’re tossed from the saddle. Then the breath is stolen from your lungs as you impact with a rock wall, tumbling into darkness. The sensation of rocks and branches scraping against your skin goes unnoticed as you struggle to gain your bearings. Finally, the world stops moving around you and you come to a jarring halt on hard, rocky ground.

The pain hits you immediately. First your head, a deep, aching throb that emanates from your forehead. Then, a sharp stabbing pain in your thigh. You blink rapidly and stare up. You’ve fallen into a deep ravine with high, steep walls. Your ears ring, the sounds of the forest muffled.

You can just barely make out the sound of Elrond shouting, although it sounds far away and echoey. You attempt to move, but agony forces you still again. Your vision swims, a haze of red filling your right eye as blood trickles from your forehead.

“Elrond…” you mumble, the name barely a whisper on your lips.

“I’m coming, hold on!” Elrond shouts. You can hear him scrabbling down the rocks, his steps small but sure as he finds footholds along the walls. Finally, he enters your vision, his face a blur of panic and concern.

“Y/N, can you hear me?” his voice is urgent, but there’s an undercurrent of calm through it, and you suddenly remember that he’s not just a lord, but a healer.

“Hurts,” you manage to grit out, pain and confusion filling the word.

“I know, I know.” Elrond’s eyes sweep across your crumpled body, stopping on your leg. His breath hitches for a moment and there’s enough clarity in your mind to know the look on his face is nothing good.

“What… What is it?”

Elrond meets your cloudy gaze again. “Your leg is bleeding heavily. I need to stop it, but it’s going to hurt.”

A droplet of something wet flows down your cheek, but you’re not sure if it’s blood or tears. “Alright,” you ground out.

Elrond places a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “You must stay awake, do you understand? I know it will hurt, but you have to stay awake.”

You nod, stopping when a fresh burst of pain flashes through your head.

“Try not to move too much,” Elrond says as he rips a piece of his tunic off.

You stare up at the forest canopy, seeming so far away now. Then there’s a searing pain in your leg as Elrond fastens the cloth around your leg. You cry out loudly, body tensing and vision blurring.

“Stay with me, Y/N,” Elrond urges, tightening the makeshift tourniquet. “I’m almost done.”

The pain in your leg has localized into a tight, aching sensation, but it hurts no less. It’s just more concentrated now. Elrond continues to murmur reassuring words, pulling you back from the brink of unconsciousness.

“There,” he finally says, leaning back onto his heels. “Now let me see that head wound.” He crouches closer to your face, his hand resting on your unbloodied cheek. He gently moves your head, turning to get a clearer view of it. “Mostly superficial,” he murmurs, “but you likely have a concussion. Head wounds always bleed excessively.” He rips off another piece of his tunic and presses it against your forehead. You hiss and attempt to pull away. Elrond tuts, a small smile curving his lips. The expression doesn’t reach the rest of his face though. “Still, now.”

“How are we going to get back?” you ask, your voice still weak and trembling.

Elrond’s jaw tightens and he refuses to meet your eyes. “The patrol should notice our absence and send a search party. It shouldn’t be long now.” He glances up at the sky, noting the darkening of the forest. He doesn’t say it but you both know – it is imperative to get you back as soon as possible before you bleed out or lose your leg.

“Mereneth?” you breathe the name out slowly. At Elrond’s confused look, you clarify, “My horse.”

“Ah. She’s waiting at the top of the ravine, along with my own, Arahael. Her hoof caught in some brambles, which is what set her off. She’s fine.”

“Good,” you sigh. The encroaching darkness sets off your circadian rhythm, and a heavy wave of tiredness suddenly overcomes you. Your eyelids droop despite your best efforts.

Elrond shakes you gently. “You have to stay awake, melethel. It is unsafe to sleep with your injuries.”

You flutter your eyes open again, meeting his eyes. His eyebrows are deeply furrowed, concern splayed across his features. “It’s so hard,” you murmur. “I’m so tired.”

“Tell me about yourself,” Elrond says, moving the cloth on your forehead to clean up the blood across your face. “Do you have family?”

You smile. The world around you feels hazy, almost like you’re floating, but you can indulge in this conversation. “A brother. Lennor. He works in your library.”

Elrond nods. “Yes, I know him. Lennor is a wonderful friend. He helps me often. I did not know you were related.”

“Only by adoption,” you explain. “My parents sailed to the Undying Lands shortly after my birth. Lennor’s father took me in.” A new kind of pain strikes your heart, a pang of longing. While you love Lennor and your adoptive father, a piece of you wishes you’d known your real parents.

“Do you and your brother share any traits?”

You scoff, grimacing as the movement jostles your leg. “We’re practically opposites. Lennor is always stuck in his books. While I can see the value in it, I find no enjoyment in reading. I feel most fulfilled in the guard.”

“You seem adept at it,” Elrond praises you. “I must admit, Lennor’s devotion to his texts surpasses even my own. I would make the same choice as you.”

This stuns you. “You would rather be a guard? Over Lord of Rivendell?”

“Well, not exactly. Being the protector of Rivendell grants me freedom to do as I wish, within some limits. But if all I had was my texts and politics, if I had no chance to do things such as this… then yes, I would give it up.” Elrond smiles at you. “Does this surprise you?”

You think for a moment. “I suppose I don’t know you well enough to be surprised. I always imagined you were… further away.”

Elrond chuckles lightly. “Such is the curse of my position. Many don’t see me as just like you, as a member of the Eldar. They think I am above them somehow. But I am similar in more ways than you know.”

Silence grows between the two of you. By now, night has almost completely fallen. Somewhere in the distance, an owl hoots.

“You called me melethel,” a delirious smile forms on your lips. “I like that.”

“Yes?” Elrond responds, his hand rubbing small circles on your shoulder. “Then I shall continue to use it for you, melethel.”

You hum in response, feeling too weak to form words. The world falls into a haze around you again as your eyelids droop closed.

“Y/N?” Elrond’s voice grows louder as he repeats your name. “Stay with me, melethel.”

“Sleepy,” you grumble, the danger of the situation not registering.

Elrond is quiet for a moment. “I have to carry you out, Y/N. It is unsafe for us to stay here, I worry… We need to get you treated as soon as possible.”

You hum again, barely comprehending his words.

Elrond’s hands move to cradle you gently, being careful not to disturb you too much. He worries about internal injury, something he has missed, but he knows that time is of the essence.

As he picks you up off the ground, your eyes fly open with a cry of pain.

Elrond tightens his grip, whispering, “I know, I know. Just hold on. I’ll get you out of here.”

He works his way down the ravine, spotting an area where the wall slopes gently enough for him to climb. He begins to work his way up, stopping every time you cry out to reassure you. The climb is arduous, each step a struggle.

Finally, after numerous stops and a few close calls, Elrond emerges from the ravine with you still secure in his arms. He carefully settles you onto the back of Arahael before reaching for Mereneth’s reins. He ties the two horses together before mounting Arahael behind you. One hand holds onto the reins, the other around your chest to keep you steady.

Elrond does not hold back as he commands Arahael forward as fast as he can. He feels you drooping in his arm, and he continues to murmur assurances. “Almost there, melethel. Hold on.”

The journey back to Rivendell seems endless, the night seeming darker than usual to Elrond’s half-elven eyes. Elrond feels the protection of Vilya wrap around them once again, and you slump back into his chest. He knows you’ve fallen unconscious, and he spurs Arahael on faster.

Just as the gates come into sight, a small group rushes out to meet the two of you. Elrond recognizes Estedir, your patrol captain.

Arahael has hardly stopped before Elrond dismounts and gently pulls you down. He shouts to Estedir, “She’s gravely injured; help me get her to the healing halls.”

…

You wake to the sensation of sunlight on your cheek, the warmth filling you with life. A dull pain aches through your leg and head, but other than that you feel worlds better than you did before. You open your eyes to see the soft light of morning filtering through the windows of the healing halls. You turn your head to see Elrond seated beside you, his expression a mix of relief and joy.

Elrond leans in, one of his hands reaching for yours. “You’re awake. How do you feel?”

“Achy,” you answer honestly. “But better.”

The elven lord hands you a tall glass. “Drink,” he commands.

You sip slowly, the water tinged with a medicinal taste. “Thank you,” you reply once you finish. Both of you understand that your gratitude is not just for the water.

“I am sorry you had to endure such pain, melethel,” Elrond murmurs.

You squeeze his hand. “It is no matter. What matters is that I am safe, and you are here.”

Elrond smiles at you, his eyes filled with affection. “Rest, now. Recover. I will be here when you wake.”

[aesterblaster]

Shidou is the one who teaches Sae that it's okay to have boundaries in relationships and helps him feel safe, if you even care. Sae is used to being hit on, touched by fans and interviewers since he was 11. Sae is used to people wanting him and his body and his fame. He can handle that aspect of Shidou.

What really gets him is when Shidou starts asking questions. There's no expectations and yet he asks if this or that is okay, he calls him just to ask how he's doing. Sae gets this throbbing anxiety in his chest whenever he wants something as simple as a hug. Afterall, he's the badass soccer prodigy. He shouldn't crave affection when he has such a fulfilling career. Or at least that's what he believes until his new boyfriend gently slips his hand into his at a cafe. And suddenly he's remembering all the time he spent denying his sexuality, all the times men and women so much more experienced than him told him to just suck up his pain because this was all the love he was going to get. All the times he felt unsafe expressing the slightest bit of affection for another man in public and intentionally distanced himself.

It's like you don't even like me, his past flings would whine. Why do you flinch away, his exes chided. They simply hadn't seen what he had, hadn't heard the locker room talk about what one of his teammates would do if he found out he was on a team with a queer person. Shidou scares Sae sometimes with his loud makeup and dyed hair. But damn, does he feel like home. His hand is warm too, feeding Sae's skin hunger. That comfort doesn't stop him from slipping out of his grasp and shoving his hand in his pocket though, glancing around to see who saw them.

Shidou just smiles and leans back. Sae doesn't have to apologize or say anything. He doesn't know what Sae's been through yet, but he can feel the anxiety coming off of him in waves. He doesn't know this yet, but he's the first person who's been gentle with Sae. Who understands that jumping hugs and private comments look much different off the field. No, he doesn't take offense when Sae flinches at pda, and that just makes Sae want him more.