Take Care

[ladys_night]

The "Take Care" Meme
a shipping meme

Life is hard. You can go through rough patches and over bumps, and sometimes it feels as though you're definitely worse for the wear, both physically and mentally. It's nice to have someone - someone more than a friend - there for you in those times...even if you don't think you want them or deserve them. But they're here, and they'll take care of you.

How to Play:
* This is a shipping meme for more tender, soft moments, but a little more serious than your usual "fluff." It's for people who've been broken down by their experience and those who wish to heal them.
* Comment with your character/your preferences. You may also want to specify whether your character will be the one "cared for" or the one doing the "caring" + pertinent information, but for most effectiveness, it's best to be open to both.
* Comment around.


Prompts
1. Know You've Been Hurt By Someone Else: There are scars left on their heart from a past relationship or fling, and you have to let them know you're not the same way.
2. Can Tell By the Way You Carry Yourself: The person you have feelings for is one of those "cold stone wall" types who pushes people away. Can you get past that?
3. I've Asked About You: You've only heard bad things about this person, but you don't believe it.
4. What's a Life with No Fun: Lighten up a bit! You'd do anything to bring a smile to their face.
5. Please Don't Be So Ashamed: You have a big, BIG secret you don't want the other person to find out about, because surely they wouldn't want to even be near you if they did.
6. I've Had Mine, You've Had Yours: You've both had problems, and it could help to compare wounds so they can begin to heal.
7. Those Lies Heal: Protecting your loved one is more important that the truth, isn't it? It's a lie, but there are good intentions here.
8. You Can't Sleep: Because of past trauma, you're having a sleepless night. Luckily, this time you have somebody to help you and give you some comfort.
9. You Cry Still: The obligatory "seeing your significant other/love cry over something and wanting to make them stop at any cost" option.
10. All Get a Little Taste: Your loved one is sick or injured - literally this time - and you're looking out for them and trying to get them better.
11. You Just Don't Know: Either through magic, torture, or blunt trauma to the head, your special person can't remember you! It's up to you to get them to remember what was between you two by showing all the ways you cared for each other.
12. I Give Her Space: Part of being a careful lover is knowing when you need to leave them alone.
13. Tryna Run from That: Uh-oh, you don't want to fall in love, because you've been there, done that! Maybe there's still time to escape from this...or maybe it's too late.
14. I Will Care for You: After a particularly rough day, you're need a little TLC. Your loved one is going to do everything for you - a bath, food, the works.
15. All the Baggage Just Ain't as Heavy: You know it will take a while for this person to mend psychologically and spiritually, and you're willing to wait.
16. Change the Pace: And the smut option. Show you care through sex.
17. We'll Just Go Slow: You're going to take things one step at a time. No need to rush and define things. Just enjoy each other's company and the healing it brings.
18. We All Have Our Nights: Your lover, because of their past experience, is having a complete breakdown. You have to bring them back from the edge.
19. You Don't Say You Love Me: You both know how you feel, but one of you is having problems saying the four letter word. That's okay, though. Your lover understands.
20. To Save You: After months or years, you've both worked on the problems and old scars and you might just be ready to start something resembling a normal love.
21. CHOOSE SOMETHING ELSE

Comments

Brigid Finn | OC | M/F

[bostonhowler]

[ Her info ]

Frisk | Undertale | OTA

[bestillmybeatingsoul]

[Might as well slide in here. Although I don't have icons to match, I'm more than happy to age them up if that's preferred. Biologically, I tend to consider Frisk as male but I don't mind playing them as female or anything in-between. Castmates adored, but cross-canon is fine, too. A note of warning: this Frisk has had a very unhappy surface life; concepts such as bullying and attempted suicide may crop up. Please let me know if you absolutely don't want this to come up.]

8, 5, 16

[demonthatcomes]

[Soft!Chara will be aged up as well. They're non-binary and biologically intersex. They still struggle with issues of self-loathing and they're pissed off their suicide wasn't permanent. They've engaged in self-harm in the past, but this will only be a factor if you're okay with it.]

Frisk can't sleep, and that's why Chara is up wandering Waterfall with them. They go past the bright teal swamp, and they're wracked with mixed emotions when they recognize the whispers of the Echo Flowers as their best friend's and their own. Frisk says hello to Onion-san, and they're grateful only Frisk can see them. No conversation had been more awkward than the one between them and Onion-san, and if it hadn't been for Asriel by their side, both parties would probably curl up in a corner and blow off social interaction forever. Frisk and Chara come to the statue with the music box, its umbrella still standing after all this time.

"Why don't we stop here for a while?" Chara asked. "We might as well rest after walking all the way here. If we're lucky, we could even catch Shyren singing... assuming she's as insomniac as we are."

Well now, I was not expecting this! :)

[bestillmybeatingsoul]

[ooc: And all of that is okay. And hey, welcome to the club of "I tried to kill myself but it didn't work".]

Normally, Frisk would have stayed at Snowdin, but the warmth that they were offered was just too much to bear. It hurt too much to know the extent of how horrific their surface life was. To be offered what they were left them reeling; did they even deserve it?

So they left.

Turning back to Chara with a relatively blank expression, they move to sit down next to the statue, drawing their legs to their chest. For a moment, they don't respond, and simply listen to the music box.

It all still hurts.

"It's fine if we don't."

They put on a faint smile - though not all of it is fake.

"Honestly, I'd rather be able to sleep."

[demonthatcomes]

"The music will help. It always calms me down."

Or at least stop whatever they were doing so they could just... remember. Their life with the Dreemurrs still felt like a distant dream. Maybe it never really happened and they just made up Asriel and Toriel and Asgore out of demented loneliness. So if they're an illusion, why did you imagine those horrible things happening to them? Why did you imagine your only friend being murdered ruthlessly by your home village, whom you hate so much? Even the buttercups were a fucking waste in the end, since they still existed. Now they can't kill themself no matter how much they wanted to, because they're already dead.

Yet when this human--you spit at the word--fell in the Underground, Chara got the instinctive urge to protect them. It felt wrong to leave them alone. Somehow.

How many times have they gone through this same journey again and again? Once, Chara had it their way. Their way led to circumstances so horrible that Sans of all monsters stepped up to stop them. Then when he too turned to dust, it was the last straw. Frisk put their foot down. Stop it! I don't want to do this anymore!

Chara hadn't... spoken much with Frisk after that. At first, they were beyond pissed off that after going so far, it turned out Frisk's determination was stronger than their own. But now a roller coaster of guilt twisted inside their stomach, absolutely certain their "friend" hated them and never wanted to listen to them again. So Chara taken a back seat and didn't suggest much to Frisk... but now something was up. And they had the sinking feeling that Frisk is beginning to give up.

Nina Sergeevna Krilova | The Americans

[utselet]

21

[magician_king]

He's thought about her often ever since the mistletoe. They see one another about on the barge, and Quentin remains as tongue tied as ever around her. Nina spins her story and manages the people around him, and Quentin remains fundamentally oblivious- but then, when does she need to turn it on him? He's always wanted to help.

Today, for example, he's there between Nina and it- the grand, miscellaneous, space-boat it that would happily tear her apart were it not for the socerer standing in the middle of the hallway. He moves his hands with gorgeous, wicked precision, contorts shapes in the air that send static skittering from his fingertips, as he warps space, time, and physics for her. A staff materializes in his hand, black and polished, and Quentin swings it like a swordsman, for a blow, a second blow, and a third to beat back the danger. Sparks and stars swing from the tip as he fights.

He loses track of her in the chaos, but after that, comes by- just to check that she's all right.

[utselet]

She's not, not really. The Barge has thrown horror after horror at her, and while it hasn't taken her long to become as jaded and cynical as any other long-term resident, that's not the same as becoming inured. The horrors are still horrors. She's still horribly, terribly afraid. It's a dichotomy that wouldn't make sense to some people, maybe, but Nina has been living in fear since the moment she first saw the man in the suit following her at the market. She knows all too well now how to mold her life around it, how to smile and laugh and mean it and still be constantly aware of how very, very fragile she is in this world, and how much crueler she'll have to become to ever really survive it.

Not an easy balance to maintain.

She tends to go back to her cell to regroup after things like this, when she really gets shaken up. It's a dismal place, grimly furnished, with old ghosts echoing from the walls, but it's small and familiar and the door is reinforced steel. She's huddled on her bed when he knocks, and as always, she creeps carefully to the door and opens the thin sliding panel just enough to peek. When she sees the shock of white hair, she closes the panel again and takes a deep breath, schooling herself back to something calm and composed.

"Quentin," she says when she cracks the door open, insinuating herself into the gap so he doesn't actually have to come inside. Her voice is warm and concerned. "Are you all right? I can't thank you enough for earlier."

[magician_king]

"I'm okay. A little tired, but I think we all are."

He admits, clearing his throat- unfortunately for Nina, he has maybe a foot on her in height, so he sees right in overtop of her, and his brow creases with worry.

Glancing back down to her, he reads her body language, and offers;

"Cup of tea at my place?"

Kristen Kringle l Gotham

[kristenkgcpd]

(M/F and can be played either way, her being taken care of either post Tom or post "Knock,Knock" or with her doing the caring, canon through "Knock,Knock" and can be played at various points in s1 as well)

Thea Queen l Arrow

[redarrowqueen]

(M/F and canon through end of season 3, no bloodlust in favor of mental/emotional fallout, open to cross fandom as well)

Luna Lovegood l Harry Potter

[radishearring]

(M/F and will be played a 18, would love to explore fallout from Malfoy Manor especially since I think she was tortured by the Death Eaters, cross fandom welcome as well)

[captainspain]

Jack wasn't normally the one in need of care preferring to hide behind his mask of charm and ease. But tonight he needed it. He had become deeply homesick missing his family in a way he hadn't in years. But thoughts of family reminded him of what had happened the last time he'd seen Gray and the cycle of nightmares began again.

So Jack did what he always did when he couldn't sleep, he looked for the highest point he could find and stood there thinking whatever thoughts he thought at this time of night.

[radishearring]

That was when a now familiar pink coat, radish earrings and blonde ponytail could be spotted. Luna was also dealing with old demons thanks to nightmares of her time in Malfoy Manor and she also knew from experience where to look when Jack was not sleeping. She was also armed with a flask of hot tea and his great coat,"Only me love, just call it knowing as ladyfriend but you're not in a good place. And I did not use one bit of magic expect to get up here." since she was still shaky around ladders even now. She also made sure Jack could see the flask and coat,"Also made tea and you left your coat again."

[captainspain]

Jack normally wouldn't drink tea, but for Luna he would try just about anything. He reaches for his coat and puts it on shivering as the warmer wool hit his chill skin. "I didn't realize I hadn't taken my coat," he says, "I hope I didn't wake you when I left. You need your sleep."

Billy Kaplan | Marvel | m/m

[noassgardian]

[Either role.]

Luke Cage | Marvel | open

[power_man]

[Either role.]

Stephen Strange | Marvel 616 | OTA

[hoaryhostsofhoggoth]

winky-smiley

[hellstorm]

[I guess I'll be nice to you.]

that look is the opposite of nice :T

[hoaryhostsofhoggoth]

[Any preference on numbers before I start us off?]

Felicity Smoak ♥ Arrow

[allergictonuts]

[Assumed CR is okay!]

Wanda Maximoff ♦ MCU

[neuroelectrics]

[Assumed CR is okay!]

Steve Rogers | MCU

[worldwar]

[ M/m preferred. ]

For frozenassets (11, 14 etc)

[worldwar]

((I figure if we want to work this into the previous timeline it could be shortly after the first thread we did with them, or else just a new timeline, whichever you'd prefer.))

He doesn't let Bucky out of his sight the first few days settled in the boardinghouse, anonymous and as far away from Brooklyn as they can get--sleeps curled at his side, heedless of the reach of that metal arm and Bucky's brutal strength, keeps the door locked and the windows shuttered as much to keep Bucky in as to keep the world out. Steve knows he couldn't keep him anywhere he didn't want to be, but this is where Bucky is safe, with Steve, with his best friend looking after him like no one else has in far longer than he can even comprehend. There's no one here to stop Steve from caring for him the way he needs, no reason to keep running at least for the moment--he looks better now, both of them look better for a few days of rest and regular bathing and eating whatever scraps Steve can get from the landlady, though Steve still tires easily and Bucky still has that hollow, hunted look in his eyes, his cheeks still sunken and too thin. There are still those moments when Bucky's hands close around his throat, when his knives come very close to ending Steve's life in a spray of blood. He won't let that happen, either. He talks to Bucky, firm, steady, looking him in the eye, and he stops.

Steve doesn't want to leave him alone, not for a moment, but their fifth day in the boardinghouse he concedes to the necessity; they have no food, no provisions, and the landlady is getting tired of feeding two nearly starved men on her dime, even off the scraps left from supper. Bucky needs more than that; he's worryingly thin and unconcerned about hunger, uncomprehending, even, of the need to eat. Steve counts out the money they have left after paying the landlady, quietly, and puts a dollar into the pocket of his too-large trousers. It's late afternoon, the sun slanting in low through the dusty windows when he takes Bucky into the bedroom; he pulls the curtains and leads his friend by the hand over to the bed.

"Lie down and take a nap, okay?" Steve instructs him quietly, having learned by now that if he phrases requests a certain way, Bucky will take them as orders. He doesn't like it, but it's a guilty kind of convenience for times like this, when he doesn't want Bucky to try to follow him or--hopefully--even know that he's away. He tucks him in, drawing the sheets up to his chin, spending a few moments at the bedside just to stroke his hair--soothingly, repetitively, until Bucky's eyes are closed and his breathing has evened out. He leans in then and kisses his forehead. Bucky might be asleep, or might just be pretending: there's no way Steve can know for sure.

He leaves him, locking the door to their couple of tiny rooms. It's a fifteen minute walk through town to the grocer's, the butcher's, though Steve manages it as quickly as he can, not wanting to leave Bucky alone any longer than he has to. Fortunately he's had more than enough practice stretching out every last dollar and cent to get what they need: bones for soup, with a little bit of meat still on them, potatoes cheap by the pound, some pork to fry up for a quick meal, bread a day or two old. Some other things, too, sweet-smelling soap to wash with and a kit of needle and thread so he can mend their clothes.

It takes him a little more than an hour to get what he needs and to hurry back, but the rooms are quiet when he enters them, and when he peeks into the bedroom Bucky is curled there on the bed. Relief washes over him, and fresh determination not to leave again for as long as he possibly can. Steve puts the bones in water to start simmering for stock on the little stove, he'll leave that for hours, and fries up the pork, softening cut up potatoes and the hard stale bread in the fat: the right sort of meal to put meat on anyone's bones. He listens with half an ear to the bedroom as he works, wondering if the sounds from the tiny kitchen area, the smell of food will wake Bucky up and bring him out to investigate.

[frozenassets]

[Having it set as part of the existing PSL works great!]

Even when the urge to kill rises fierce and hot inside him, even hurts like an open wound when he stares at Steve with the knife centimeters from slitting his throat, he knows deep down that even though it would feel so good to finish his mission, he doesn't want to hurt him.

Problem is, with a mission hanging unfinished, the Soldier finds himself with a lack of anything concrete to do. He's always been taken out of cryo when he's needed for something. Had some sort of purpose. So he's never been out this long with no other goals than the one he's been resisting. Even with Steve staying near him, safe, where the Soldier can keep an eye on him, the asset finds himself growing increasingly restlessly all the same. The safe house the objective has them in is small and sparsely furnished, and he's long finished exploring it. Between listening to Steve's voice and everything he says, the asset busies himself with rooting out all the best places you could stash weapons, or mapping out all the spots that the floorboards creak. He also learns the neighbor's schedules. He notices, as the days pass, the gnawing ache in his gut, but other than an annoyance, it doesn't seem important.

What's important is keeping Steve alive. Hydra will come for their weapon, and they'll kill the objective when they eventually hunt them down. Finish the mission that the Soldier failed. That thought gnaws at him far worse than his gut.

All it takes is five days before the lack of any real action finally gets to the asset. His stomach keeps making these growling sounds between harsh pangs and clenches, Soldier's been reduced to impatiently pacing the perimeter of the small rooms, one after another. He does this twice an hour, rigid as clock work as he checks the security of the room like he can feel Hydra closing ground on them, sometimes pushing the curtain from the wall with a finger to glance outside at the busy street below that he scans for any signs that they'll have company as he absently flips and catches and twirls his favorite knife between his fingers.

The Soldier quickly sheathes the knife when Steve approaches him; last time he'd nearly sunk it into his chest. Obediently, he lies down on the bed that Steve leads him to with a creak of mattress springs, only giving Steve a single questioning look when he doesn't join him. Under Steve's fingers carding through his hair, the asset's eyes slowly drift shut as he dozes off under the weight of the blankets, caught in that twilight between actual rest and listening with half an ear for trouble as Steve remains at his side.

The asset doesn't realize he'd actually fallen asleep until he jerks upright at the crackle of fat on the stove and the creak of floor boards. A glance over shows that Steve's not there, and judging from the shadows stretching along the floorboards where the light sneaks in through the drawn curtains, over an hour's gone by, and now- the asset slips out of the bed as silent as a cat, avoiding all the creak spots on the floor as he slips out from the bedroom like a dark shadow towards the source of the crackling pops and heavy scent. He has his knife in hand when -

He lowers the knife the moment he sees Steve. "You came back," The asset actually sounds surprised. He'd warned Steve more than once to leave him. Run, before his handler catches up with them. And maybe...just maybe he'd finally listened to common sense for once.