![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
necksock) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
bakerstreet2016-01-05 03:33 am
hurt/comfort meme
the hurt/comfort meme
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.
Dorian Pavus | Dragon Age: Inquisition
no subject
no subject
no subject
So far there have been a few skirmishes, but it isn't until now that they've really seen fit to dig in. It's when the first few behemoths drag themselves into view, that horrible grating sound accompanying the movement of their monstrous crystalline limbs, that she knows this is different. No matter their numbers, anyone who hits that advancing line first is going to feel it.
It might as well be them. They need the men, and they've taken on foes like these before.
Her friends slide in and out of focus as she darts through their ranks, zipping past at whirlwind speed before coming to a halt and laying down a blast of fire, a swift chain of lightning, and then hurtling back out of the way of a massive blow from the beast. A moment is taken to catch her breath, to search the surrounding area. There's Bull, in the midst of a great swing of his axe. Sera, atop a nearby cluster of rocks and firing into their midst.
She can usually follow that crackle and smoke in the air to wherever Dorian is, but he isn't within her immediate line of sight. That's worrying enough without their enemies trying to close ranks and push in. Eyes narrowing, she races on at a much slower speed, conserving her mana as she tries to lay eyes on her fellow mage. ]
no subject
At the moment, however, the sheer number of foes means each man is his own island -- which is just as well to Dorian. Casting is when he's most in his element; moving with the tide of battle, reading their enemies and knowing when to let loose a barrage of energy or blast of fire, when to refresh their shields or raise a wall of ice -- it's exhilarating, normally.
But at the moment, he mostly finds it exhausting.
Fire leaps from his hands and disposes of a Red Templar Knight to his left, and Dorian wastes no time to appreciate his handiwork; instead, he moves, looking for a place to catch his breath, and ducks down into cover behind a boulder. The others seem whole and hale, showing no signs of flagging. It's just unsporting of them, he thinks, and he reaches for the pouch at his hip for a vial of lyrium.
It's lucky he does, because only then does he spot movement behind him. In an instant he's back on his feet, spinning and blocking the bladed arm of a corrupted Templar with his staff. (Shadow, his mind supplies helpfully. They've called it a Shadow.) The creature seems undeterred and bears down on him, providing no quarter, providing hardly any room to breathe, much less room to cast. But unlike most of his fellows, Dorian is capable of fighting without his magic. With the Templar forcing him onto the defensive, the mage bides his time, waits for his opening.
And then he goes and trips on a fallen branch, because it's that sort of day.
He's lucky he doesn't lose his footing entirely, but it's distraction enough for the bladed arm to bite into his side, leaving a bloody gash in its wake. Dorian cries out in equal parts pain and surprise and flings a hand forward by reflex. Electricity arcs from his fingers, catches on Shadow's armor and holds, crackling and burning. Only when the lightning has turned necrotized flesh and crystal into a sizzling heap does Dorian pull his hand away to press it against his wound. ]
Lovely. [ He grits it out as he stumbles his way into cover. ]
no subject
Dorian!
[ There's no time to get to him, and they're being overwhelmed here. Low on mana and options, Marjara grits her teeth and lifts the Anchor into the air.
Green light bursts in a wide circle around them, and the pull of the Fade plucks at her skin, humming in her veins as a rift peels open. The templars are screaming in rage, in pain, and it's no way for anyone to go, but she holds it open just the same. Everyone just needs to hold their ground long enough for the last traces of them to disappear.
Then the light fades and her hand lowers, still tingling. Ignore it. Time to worry later. She's already scrambling towards the edge of the field, towards the cover of jagged-looking rocks overgrown with strange and exotic plant life...now, spattered with blood spray.
Her eyes rake over him quickly, watching the red soaking into that fine patterned silk he's so proud of, and wishes she knew more about healing than she really did. Swallowing tightly her eyes dart up to his face. Well he wasn't going pale yet. Good sign, that. ]
How bad?
[ She's already reaching for a vial at her belt. ]
no subject
Though now isn't the time to gawk, and by the time the Templars have breathed their last, Dorian has his back pressed against a tree, partially obscured by the leaves of some thriving fern or other. (Terribly dramatic, he thinks. Exactly the type of plant Mother might want for her conservatory.) He rests his staff against his shoulder, both hands pressed against the wound on his right side to stanch his bleeding. ]
Superficial, I think. [ His voice is strained, words hissed out through clenched teeth. At least the Inquisitor's presence at his side is something of a balm. ] At the very least, I think I'll be able to keep most of my innards exactly where they belong. Bully for me.
no subject
Yes, wonderful job. Drink.
[ The vial gets shoved into his hands before she digs shakily in her pack for bandages. They're both low on mana, trying to magic this better isn't going to get them much of anywhere. But the elfroot ought to help things along, if only to numb the pain a little until they can limp him back to the healers.
It's always something of a risk, going out and fighting these battles together, but it's never a pleasant feeling knowing that her friends could die out here, if they weren't careful. That's the reality of it. It doesn't matter how charming Dorian is, how glib-tongued or secretly noble. He bleeds. They all do.
That seems wrong, somehow.
Her face grim and shiny with sweat, Marjara works to patch him up, at least to the point of being able to move him. It's not quick work, and the others are keeping guards up in case another squad moves in on them. ]
no subject
Your bedside manner could use a touch of work.
[ But he takes the vial, his fingers leaving red smears on the glass, and his lips press together into a thin line as if to steel himself. Never did like the taste of the stuff. Dorian has always been of the opinion that it could do with a bit more grape.
He downs it nevertheless, lets it chill down his throat and slither its way through his body. It dulls the pain of his injury until it's a quiet throb, and not the sharp, shooting lance it was before. This time when he tips his head back against the tree, it's to sigh in relief. Only then does he see the look on the Inquisitor's face, the one that tells him immediately she's thinking dark thoughts, and he clicks his tongue. ]
If you keep that up, they're going to paint all of your portraits with that expression. [ He forces a smile, strained though it is. ] The Inquisitor holding aloft her staff, defeating the forces of Corypheus through the sheer force of her glower.
no subject
They have a lot of smiling portraits in Tevinter, then?
[ Her fingers smooth the bandages down into place. There. It's a shallow wound, messier than it is dangerous, but she'd still rather he got it looked at before taking to the front lines again. If she'd thrown up a barrier sooner than maybe--
No. Not the time. It's done. Rocking back onto her heels, she takes a deep breath and swipes her hair out of her face. A small smudge of blood catches beneath her cheekbone. ]
How does walking sound?
no subject
When he speaks, his voice is as bitter as it is prim. ] It sounds positively excruciating, thank you.
[ Even as he says it, Dorian wipes his hands on his robes -- they're a lost cause, after all; what's another blood stain? -- before pressing one hand against the bandaged wound. This wouldn't be the first set he's ruined in the heat of battle, but more often than not, the blood that marred his clothing wasn't his. A gruesome thing to realize, maybe, but it meant he was surviving. A small burden to bear, he supposes.
He holds out his free hand to Lavellan, jaw clenching as he braces himself. ]
Help me up, would you?
no subject
[ With an indelicate snort she grasps his forearm, offering her bracer for him to grip in turn, easier to pull him to his feet when he towered over her. She sees their friends glance back, Bull still at the head keeping an eye on the brush surrounding them.
Flecks of blood spatter the nearby foliage, bright red against nearly lurid green. The field is covered in red lyrium now, and the corpses of the fallen. But the path back to the main host is clear enough, and she can slip under Dorian's arm easily enough. Just to help keep him steady, nothing more.
Creators, he'll be sore enough as it is without a bruised ego to match. ]
no subject
[ He stands with effort, the dull pain of his injury protesting the movement, and he grimaces. Dutifully he ignores the concerned glances of their companions -- oh, they'll certainly enjoy recounting this story, assuming they all survive this battle. "And then the mage tripped on a twig..."
Dorian pushes the thought from his mind.
A part of him had expected to press forward, injury or no, to continue pushing through the fauna to reach their destination. It's why it comes as a surprise when Lavellan directs them toward the lead camp. ]
You didn't suffer a blow to the head, did you? I don't believe this is the way we need to go.
no subject
[ They'll have time to advance with the bulk of their support behind them. Charging ahead wasn't going to get them anywhere but dead, as thick as the forests were and as unreliable as their maps had been. Corypheus's forces had been here first, and longer. They'd need to be careful forging a path ahead.
And in the meanwhile, Dorian need that wound closed.
A few scouts look nervous to see their leader bloodied, though it's obvious Dorian got the worst of it. She waves a free hand, batting them off. ]
The healer's tent. Make sure there's room. Go on!
no subject
Part of him doesn't relish this treatment, this feeling as though he's failed to hold his own. "And then the Herald doubled back to patch up her prissy pet 'Vint and lost the war, the end." Damned foliage -- the next time he finds himself in pitched battle (which will be within the next hour or so, if he has his way), he's going to raze the earth around him. ]
Ah-- [ And he says it aloud as the scouts dash away with commendable speed, though he pretends to speak mostly to himself. ] --and she's put on the Inquisitorial voice just for me. Somehow, I'm honored.
no subject
Not that she doubts his ability. Only that she knows the ferocity of the foes that await them, the desperation of the would-be god they chase now through these ancient woods. She's had to sacrifice friends once, in that terrible future they both witnessed. Not again. Never again.
Grim-faced, she lets him mutter under his breath as pleases him. She does not stop until they've made their way inside one of those tents and he has a cot to rest upon while they see to that wound. Her eyes quickly dart about before landing on a small stack of supplies. ]
Ah. Bet there's a lyrium potion or two in those crates. Don't think I could set a candle alight, just now.
[ It's a distraction at best, digging for a few bottles rather than let Dorian try to talk her into heading back out again. The determination with which she rifles around, bottles clinking against each other in her efforts, says as much. ]
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject