REVENGE OF HURT/COMFORT

[memeswearhouse]

Hurt/Comfort - Hurt/comfort is a fan fiction genre that involves the physical pain or emotional distress of one character, who is cared for by another character. The injury, sickness or other kind of hurt allows an exploration of the characters and their relationship.

- Post with Character Name | Series in the subject.
- Others respond.
- Roll 1-10 at RNG for a scene, play it out and have fun!

1. INJURY. You've been injured. Broken bones or bleeding out or maybe just a tiny little papercut. The choice is yours.
2. SICKNESS. You're sick and laid up in bed, at home or in a hospital. The severity is up to you.
3. FEAR/ANXIETY. Something is happening and you're scared beyond belief.
4. LOSS OF SENSES. Sight, touch, taste, hearing, smell, etc. You've lost some important sense or ability and now you're left to deal with it.
5. DESPAIR. Nothing is good or right anymore and you can't shake the depression. Maybe that friend of yours can help though...
6. BREAKUP. You've been dumped. You need someone to comfort you, possibly by the one who dumped you.
7. MAKE UP. Fight or break up, it's time to makeup.
8. RESCUED. You've just been held captive and/or tortured for however long and finally, someone has come to the rescue.
9. BAD ROMANCE. Fight, cheated on, abused, whatever the case is, someone else can clearly see you need comfort from someone who isn't your terrible lover tonight.
10. LOSS. You've experience a loss of some kind and need help getting through it.
11. INSANITY. You're seeing things that aren't really there, hearing voices, or you're just convinced you're at your wit's end finally and you're going to crack. Maybe someone can give you a helping hand.
12. TIRED. You've had a heard life recently and you're just worn too thin to really care anymore. There's no fight left in you anymore. Can someone help change your mind?
13. ADDICTION. Drugs, alcohol, sex, gambling, or any other type of addiction has got you in its grasp. First time or relapse. Will someone be able to save you?
14. INSOMNIA. You can't sleep anymore, no matter how hard you try. Maybe someone can give you company.
15. NIGHTMARES. Or, on the other end of the spectrum, you can't sleep without gruesome, horrible nightmares. Either someone is stuck in your dream with you, witnessing it or they're just waking you up, soothing you out of it.
16. BLACKMAIL. You've been caught doing something you shouldn't and you were blackmailed because of it
17. SEPARATION. You're going to be separated for awhile or were separated for a long time. Either make up for lost time or try to spend every last moment together.
18. VIOLATED. You've been violated in some way. Can include sexual overtones or not. Can someone help you through it?
19. STRANDED. You've been stranded somewhere remote, with no help of anyone finding you for awhile. Can you survive this together?
20. SINS. You're feeling the weight of your sins and guilt clearer than ever. Can someone give you absolution or lessen the ache any?
21. SECRET. It's difficult having to keep that secret of yours, be it a relationship or something you just don't want to share with anybody else. Maybe it's okay to talk about it now though...
22. ADDITION. Babies should be joyous things unless you're in a situation where you know you won't be able to care for them. Either you've adopted or found out you're pregnant.

Comments

Mireille Duroc | Silver Wolf (modern AU)

[unreadability]

Gots me a 3

[nomorefeathers]

It was one of those stupid things that shouldn't set her off. The lightbulb had burned out. That was all. But it had plunged the room into unexpected darkness, and that coupled with the unfamiliar place had sent her heart rate skyrocketing. Panic attack. She didn't need a panic attack right now.

Unfortunately, panicing about not having a panic attack was kind of counterproductive.

3 it is.

[unreadability]

It's a blackout. The city in its entirety has fallen into darkness. One hand scrambling over walls and window frames, Mireille guides herself through the apartment. From room to room. They store candles in one of the top drawers in the living room, so far as she recalls. She hasn't placed them there herself, has she? - but she's seen the cook unpack them stick by stick when setting the table.

Somewhere on her left, she hears Ren's breath change, however. Quicken. Coming to a halt, she tries to determine her exact location.

"If you'd speak to me, you'll make it easier. For the both of us."

[nomorefeathers]

Her breath catches as someone speaks to her, initial reaction one of bolting fear. But she recognizes the voice before her instinctual responses take over. Mireille. A friend. Or at the very least, not an enemy.

"Here" she says, though her voice is trembling. "I'm here. It's... Why did it get so dark?"

[unreadability]

"The most logical conclusion would be a power failure."

Simple as the conversation may be, it's enough to set the course. The cabinets on her right, now. Blindly, she feels for the candles. Finds two, then three. Matches next. And she stops in the immediate vicinity of Ren's voice.

[nomorefeathers]

Power failure. Perfectly normal, mundane power failure. Of course. Nothing to be afraid of except... Except she still couldn't see, and darkness had never hampered him...

She reached out, blindly, aiming for the spot of darker shadows, and felt her fingers graze across the fabric of Mireille's skirt. "Candles?" she asked, hating how desperate she sounded. "Or flashlights?"

[unreadability]

There is the touch of fingers brushing over her skirt and she steps forward, if only to be a corporal presence. Rather than a shadow. Bumps into the table in the process.

"We'll have to content ourselves with candles."

A candle holder on the middle of the table. She makes the arrangements. Lights the first candle out of three.

[nomorefeathers]

There's a sound as Mireille bumps into the table, and Ren flinches away instinctively. But that is Mireille there, not... anyone else. He never bumped in to anything, after all. And she is getting candles.

Ren manages, barely to not huddle over the first lit candle, though she does edge closer to it, putting herself firmly in the meager sphere of light it provides. The flame is small, but it does cast a heat on her face causing tears she'd not realized she'd shed to evaporate. It makes her skin tingle, two suddenly dry lines down her face.

"I don't like darkness," she says quietly, as the other two candles are lit. It's probably an obvious statement, but she feels the need to justify.

[unreadability]

"It's natural, isn't it?"

It isn't clear whether she's referring to the darkness itself or the fear thereof. Neither does she attempt to clarify, instead leaning in to light the remaining two candles, placing them in separate holders - the area lit widening a few inches more. Enough that the room is darkness in part - shadows, not full. Pulling out a chair, Mireille sits down. Lets Ren decide what move to make next.

[nomorefeathers]

"What is?" Ren asks, looking up sharply. Suspiciously. It's too easy to default to suspicion right now. In this situation.

She pulls a chair over, shifting it so she's as close to the light as possible, while still keeping her back against the wall. Logically, she knows her fears are probably unfounded. But logic has a far less hold on her than it use to. And emotion more of one. "You will stay?" she asks "Until the power comes back?"

[unreadability]

She pauses. Mid-motion; about to reach for a nearby book. The title shrouded in shadows. Meeting Ren's eyes, she purses her lips briefly. The answer isn't difficult. Mankind has feared the darkness, because it renders them blind to the world. As such, fire remains their greatest accomplishment. The beginning of a domino effect.

"That which we can't see, we can't control either."

An answer to both questions. She has no say in when the power will return, but she has full control over her approach to the wait.

[nomorefeathers]

Ren laughs, a short laugh that manages to be only slightly hysterical. "I've never liked things I can't control"

She passes her fingers through the closest candle flame, quick enough not to burn, but she can still feel the warmth. Warmth is good.

"You can read if you want" she says, looking up.

[unreadability]

The permission to read changes little in terms of her prior plans. She had intended to do so, fully. Nevertheless, the context in which Ren is speaking expands the decision into recital. Words are of influence. Currently, they may be sufficiently calming.

She takes the book. Recognises it, even before the title can be read in the light of the candles. Fleurs du Mal. It becomes a matter of random pages, when she opens it.

"Very Far From Here."

We're rolling a 4 and turning it around --

[population_ctrl]

[He walks up to her from behind. Pauses for a moment and watches her, well-aware that she doesn't know he's there. Can't hear his footsteps. If he wanted to, he could draw his gun and shoot her just like that; and he could take his sweet time, too. It's good that he doesn't want to, right? Face emotionless, he crosses the last distance, coming up on her right side and slipping an arm around her waist without warning.

Waiting for her reaction.]

Three times turn around --

[unreadability]

[She misses his voice. They have adopted a fifth language, of course. A variety of German and thus, a variety of Luxembourgish. As such, she masters it.

For now, she's put her book aside. On the windowsill, while she takes in the view of the valley. There's no reflection in the window glass and Armani Code doesn't register with her, not before he's drawn her close. Turning her head, she raises her hands. Speaks by the most reliable means she has left.]

You know.

[population_ctrl]

[He watches her hands. Graceful, slender and now, more important to her than they've ever been. For that alone, he values them more - another person's value doubles only for the physical distance. Keeping his hands still, he raises an eyebrow at her.]

And?

[Because while she can't hear, she can see. And she hasn't lost the simple phrases, not even like this. To balance her out, he's adopted her last language - for use only when they can't get by in any other fashion.]

[unreadability]

[Frowning, only partly in concentration, she reads his lips. Forming the simplest of words. Slowly, she returns her attention to the view before her, face falling back into blankness. Sign language is beautiful, in its own right. Yet it doesn't fill the gap. Of sound. Even if they have always been... quiet together. Like now.]

I suggest you wear a stronger cologne, henceforth.

[Her movements, in contrast, diminish in intensity.]

[population_ctrl]

[He smiles. Leans closer to her, watching the streets outside. It's getting dark outside - he's been home early for once, but in only a few hours, they'll have to retire. Knowing that at this distance, she can watch his reflection if she so chooses, he frees his hand and signs the next sentence.]

I can borrow some Old Spice from Potos?

[His movements are still a bit shaky. He signs faster than he should, the words crowding together from time to time. But of course, languages have never been his forte.]

[unreadability]

Potos needs to issue an identifiable warning.

[The name is pronounced, her lips closing around the two syllables with complete consciousness, yet without the precision of hearing. Jean Louis' name is the only one she hasn't forgotten the exact sound of, after all. Everything else fades, if slowly. Nevertheless, his signs are sloppy - her pronunciation is allowed to follow his example.]

[population_ctrl]

I wish he wouldn't.

[Signed with sharp movements, with more than a touch of exasperation. While Jean Louis isn't a master at the art of signing, he's quite expressive by nature - so this one almost speaks for itself.]

That smell was all over the meeting room today. Along with his smugness.

[unreadability]

[Some of the signs are lost in the blurriness of the reflection, but Jean Louis speaks in a multitude of ways. He did while she could still hear him and he does now when she can't. Turning towards him fully, she meets his eyes. Now. Since she'll have to look away in a moment, when he answers her.]

That in Luxembourg, everyone may insist on their right to learn proper communication. Freely.

[population_ctrl]

[It takes him a few seconds longer than normal to decipher her meaning. But when he does, he frowns. Eyes narrowing, he steps away from her, hand righting his collar completely by instinct. He's had this discussion for the past three hours. He's done with it.]

They may insist. And we should decline when necessary.

[Slow, precise movements. Drawing a line in the sand, too - his patience isn't endless tonight.]

[unreadability]

Simply because psychology is a pseudo-science, it mustn't deprive economy of its humane responsibilities.

[Most likely, he won't catch the last half of her sentence. She's too busy turning away, turn back to her point of origin. With her back to him and hands resting on the windowsill - clenched. After use.

She doesn't bemoan it, but neither did she wish for her reality to be moulded into what it is, currently.]

[population_ctrl]

[He pauses. Misses the last part of her sentence, but catches the meaning anyway. He doesn't pity her, doesn't want to treat her differently or favour her because she's a little less perfect than she used to be. But he doesn't have to tell her that presently; they don't need the conflict, either. Instead, he follows her, putting his arms around her waist again. Pulls her up close against him, his chin pressed very lightly against her jaw.]

Mireille.

[He says. She can read his lips in the glass reflection. It doesn't mean anything to him, this quiet. And she can't doubt that, even if she doubts his reasoning on a daily basis.]

[unreadability]

Yes.

[She says it. The word that is both a question and a confirmation. She can imagine how her voice sounds, but she can't be certain. Not anymore. It's unimportant, of course. Not like his arms, drawing her near. His smell and the warmth of his body. The way his lips move close to her cheek.

In the beginning, she was afraid that he'd leave. Expected it, perhaps. Jean Louis doesn't content himself with anything lesser than what he wants. And even if she is carrying herself, her own weight... She isn't identical to whom she used to be. Understandably.]