lady in red (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
forthemayqueen) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
bakerstreet2020-08-27 09:31 pm
forthemayqueen) wrote in bakerstreet2020-08-27 09:31 pm
Entry tags:
( nursed back to health shipping meme. )
|
[ Either role! And yes, I know this is a shippy meme but would actually love me some gen threads. ♥ ]
Edited 2020-08-28 02:48 (UTC)
happy super belated and apologies again for my super late tag back
handgrenader
- 2020-09-15 03:20 (UTC) - Expandwelp. now to come up with his room style. /was trying to delay it
handgrenader
- 2020-09-22 03:59 (UTC) - ExpandOOPS...sorry, though I love the description, and your Bakugou is top notch. ♥
floatsaway
- 2020-09-22 13:56 (UTC) - Expandthanks! i figured he'd have the most generic sort of room. ;a; & thank ♥ i love your ochako
handgrenader
- 2020-09-23 01:23 (UTC) - Expandit makes sense for him, lol and vcjfjdaaah thank youuu, you're too nice ;w; ♥♥
floatsaway
- 2020-09-23 16:09 (UTC) - Expandme editing a million times before you bc the title kept eating the o in ochako.
handgrenader
- 2020-09-26 21:47 (UTC) - Expandrude dw... i just suck at words LMF. btw lmk if you want shippy or gen since i can go both ways
floatsaway
- 2020-09-26 23:45 (UTC) - Expandi'm fine with either tbh! it goes the way the wind blows~
handgrenader
- 2020-09-27 03:34 (UTC) - Expandexcellent, just didn't wanna make u uncomfy since i know some people don't like the ship |Db
floatsaway
- 2020-09-27 16:55 (UTC) - Expandah, yes, wrist/arm jail... i have been there myself, but i'm glad it helped!
floatsaway
- 2020-10-06 22:59 (UTC) - Expand[ More likely Claire doing the nursing... because, you know, regeneration. But I'm willing to AU up some kind of role reversal, or maybe have someone helping her through a mental trauma? Idk. ]
[ ooc: Almost definitely the healer, but can be the other role too ]
[ she has a habit of getting herself injured like an idiot, but can do either role. 5.3 spoilers are a-okay! ]
[Ignoring the cut above her left eye, what looks like a bone bruise discoloring her left arm from shoulder to elbow, and a nasty gash on her leg that's totally gonna need stitches, Lys unthreads a fresh roll of gauze and prepares a swab of something that smells very....medicine-y. All one-handed, trying to move her off arm as little as possible.]
Hold still, okay? This is gonna sting....a lot.
Hold still, okay? This is gonna sting....a lot.
(Interested in being injured or caretaker? Maybe one of us is sick and the other is the nearest neighbor to beg to run to the store for soup and Sprite?)
[ This...sucks. Like, a lot. Joseph can definitely say that without a doubt, he is not an enormous fan of hospitals right now. He hadn't been before, of course, but laying in one and getting told he 'shouldn't aggravate his injury' and the 'heat from the lava means he needs IV fluids for at least another four hours' and 'don't keep hitting the nurse call button just because you're bored and want someone to talk to' is just really getting on his nerves, and he's only been awake about two hours.
Oh, and it's a bitch to even try to read now, since one of his hands is missing. That too. Joseph's trying not to think too much about the hand thing, except to occasionally wonder if he's still going to be able to pull his pants up on his own, or do any useful sleight of hand, or climb ropes, and then immediately redirecting his thoughts back to literally anything else.
All of the Pillar Men are dead - well, except Kars, he supposes, but he can let the scientists figure out what's happening to a super-vampire body's in space - and so is Caesar. That's what Joseph left the fight knowing. He can still feel the echo of Caesar's Hamon in his veins, even if it's long gone. Even his own Hamon is barely coming back, probably something about fighting a demigod and losing a limb and being exhausted.
But then he overhears a nurse saying something about 'multiple compound fractures' and 'intensive care' and 'Zeppeli' and Joseph nearly breaks his neck next, trying to look over and listen in.
He's used the nurse call button so many times by now that they actually ignore him for a solid five minutes, and when someone finally comes in, neither of them are happy.
'What name did you say? Which Zeppeli? And don't bother telling me it's confidential and you can't tell me--'
'It's confidential and I can't tell you.'
'Okay, but-- I think it's someone I know.'
Some wheedling later, and Joseph gets his answer. He's also told 'he's not awake yet though' but Joseph is already planning the timing of how to get out of this room within the next ten minutes. The nurse leaves. He rips out the IV, disconnects far too many little monitors, and then nearly wipes out on the floor because wow, okay, they weren't kidding about exhaustion plus morphine meaning he was going to be like jelly for a while.
To say Joseph is a conspicuous sight as he stumbles into ICU room 236 is to sell him and his bare feet and hospital gown short, but no one's stopped him yet.
When he finally gets to the doorway though, he freezes and just-- stares. ]
Oh, and it's a bitch to even try to read now, since one of his hands is missing. That too. Joseph's trying not to think too much about the hand thing, except to occasionally wonder if he's still going to be able to pull his pants up on his own, or do any useful sleight of hand, or climb ropes, and then immediately redirecting his thoughts back to literally anything else.
All of the Pillar Men are dead - well, except Kars, he supposes, but he can let the scientists figure out what's happening to a super-vampire body's in space - and so is Caesar. That's what Joseph left the fight knowing. He can still feel the echo of Caesar's Hamon in his veins, even if it's long gone. Even his own Hamon is barely coming back, probably something about fighting a demigod and losing a limb and being exhausted.
But then he overhears a nurse saying something about 'multiple compound fractures' and 'intensive care' and 'Zeppeli' and Joseph nearly breaks his neck next, trying to look over and listen in.
He's used the nurse call button so many times by now that they actually ignore him for a solid five minutes, and when someone finally comes in, neither of them are happy.
'What name did you say? Which Zeppeli? And don't bother telling me it's confidential and you can't tell me--'
'It's confidential and I can't tell you.'
'Okay, but-- I think it's someone I know.'
Some wheedling later, and Joseph gets his answer. He's also told 'he's not awake yet though' but Joseph is already planning the timing of how to get out of this room within the next ten minutes. The nurse leaves. He rips out the IV, disconnects far too many little monitors, and then nearly wipes out on the floor because wow, okay, they weren't kidding about exhaustion plus morphine meaning he was going to be like jelly for a while.
To say Joseph is a conspicuous sight as he stumbles into ICU room 236 is to sell him and his bare feet and hospital gown short, but no one's stopped him yet.
When he finally gets to the doorway though, he freezes and just-- stares. ]
[ either role. modern au is also available ]
{{Probably bit off more than he could chew monsterwise. Or, if you prefer something more light-hearted, he did himself some kind of mischief while he was drunk and now needs some minor first aid.}}
[ Wargs have always plagued the Riddermark, even since before Éomer was born. It is because they have the misfortune to share a border with Isengard, from whence the foul beasts originated, but now they are so plentiful and so spread-out that she fears all kingdoms must deal with the creatures sometimes.
Banished from her home and her family due to the machinations of her uncle's mage, her only companions the handful of riders that pledged their allegiance to her and not to their king, Éomer has spent the past few months doing her best to continue to be a boon to her people while drowning out the heartsick feeling she cannot avoid by filling her days hunting down as many of the animals as she can and slaughtering them without mercy. Wargs and orcs and any other creatures besides, none of them are welcome within her borders. Not while she still draws breath.
Her arrival in Hjaroarholt was met more warmly than she had been expecting, which had left her more than a little bemused, her confusion only growing when she found the village alderman and was told that their problem had already been dealt with, the night prior, in fact.
When pressed, the man confessed that a witcher had come into town, drawn by the same rumors of warg attacks that she'd been following. Alone, he had set off the day before her arrival to deal with the pack himself, though he had yet to return even though the day was drawing close to noon.
Probably got 'imself killed by 'em, the alderman said, his tone difficult to parse. Shame.
The Rohirrim did not lie, as a rule, and so were quite adept at reading lies in others, so it was hard to miss the fact that the reluctant tone was probably little more than a mask to hide his relief. Even in this modern day, witchers were distrusted, especially this far east.
Telling her men to stay put, figuring they might as well enjoy what meager comforts Hjaroarholt could offer them after weeks doing nothing but riding across the plains, Éomer swung herself back onto Firefoot's back and headed out in the direction the witcher had last been seen traveling, determined at least to see if he had been successful in his kill or if he had, as the alderman said, been killed himself.
When she finally stumbled upon the witcher, having dismounted a half mile back to try to track him better on foot, she thought the worst had come to pass. He was so bloodied, and sitting propped up against a tree so still, that she was convinced he was dead. He would not be the first man she's buried in her life, but that did not make the task any more pleasant to her. Sighing, a touch distressed despite the fact that this witcher was a stranger to her, Éomer looped her stallion's reins over a nearby branch and came closer, not bothering to muffle her footsteps for a corpse.
A corpse whose eyes snap open the moment she gets within striking distance, prompting her to gasp and stumble backwards like she hadn't done since she was a child. ]
Béma!
Banished from her home and her family due to the machinations of her uncle's mage, her only companions the handful of riders that pledged their allegiance to her and not to their king, Éomer has spent the past few months doing her best to continue to be a boon to her people while drowning out the heartsick feeling she cannot avoid by filling her days hunting down as many of the animals as she can and slaughtering them without mercy. Wargs and orcs and any other creatures besides, none of them are welcome within her borders. Not while she still draws breath.
Her arrival in Hjaroarholt was met more warmly than she had been expecting, which had left her more than a little bemused, her confusion only growing when she found the village alderman and was told that their problem had already been dealt with, the night prior, in fact.
When pressed, the man confessed that a witcher had come into town, drawn by the same rumors of warg attacks that she'd been following. Alone, he had set off the day before her arrival to deal with the pack himself, though he had yet to return even though the day was drawing close to noon.
Probably got 'imself killed by 'em, the alderman said, his tone difficult to parse. Shame.
The Rohirrim did not lie, as a rule, and so were quite adept at reading lies in others, so it was hard to miss the fact that the reluctant tone was probably little more than a mask to hide his relief. Even in this modern day, witchers were distrusted, especially this far east.
Telling her men to stay put, figuring they might as well enjoy what meager comforts Hjaroarholt could offer them after weeks doing nothing but riding across the plains, Éomer swung herself back onto Firefoot's back and headed out in the direction the witcher had last been seen traveling, determined at least to see if he had been successful in his kill or if he had, as the alderman said, been killed himself.
When she finally stumbled upon the witcher, having dismounted a half mile back to try to track him better on foot, she thought the worst had come to pass. He was so bloodied, and sitting propped up against a tree so still, that she was convinced he was dead. He would not be the first man she's buried in her life, but that did not make the task any more pleasant to her. Sighing, a touch distressed despite the fact that this witcher was a stranger to her, Éomer looped her stallion's reins over a nearby branch and came closer, not bothering to muffle her footsteps for a corpse.
A corpse whose eyes snap open the moment she gets within striking distance, prompting her to gasp and stumble backwards like she hadn't done since she was a child. ]
Béma!
Edited (wording) 2020-08-31 01:21 (UTC)
[ most likely the injured party, can be flexible with roles though ]
[ cross canon welcome, can do either role ]
[Okay with either role, I'm weak for this stuff. Can to shippy or gen.]
[Voice testing. Either role, but a bit more likely to be doing the caretaking as it's hard to injure a demon butler seriously (or he'd have to be faking it).]
[[he's good for either roll, though he's more likely to be the injured.]]
[Good for either roll. He's probably annoyed one way or another.]
Edited 2020-08-28 05:39 (UTC)
[Probably the one needing to be looked after.]
( The thing is, Eddie's mostly just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Which could be said for a lot of his life, but it normally doesn't result in gunshot victims bleeding all over his couch after he had to swear several times that he wasn't planning on calling the cops. Eddie still isn't, but he'd be lying if he tried to claim he wasn't concerned. There's usually only a handful of reasons why injured people don't want to seek the appropriate authorities after incidents like this, and none of them are good.
Eddie may be in over his head.
Still, he patched him up the best he could with the (admittedly extensive) first aid kit from his bathroom, and by the time the man had passed out on the probably ruined couch Eddie realised he hadn't even asked his name. So that was just...great. He didn't really sleep much that night, preoccupied with the stranger and the weight of the task of making sure he stayed alive.
By the time the man starts to stir, Eddie has already showered and dressed for the day. He's had breakfast, had a coffee. He's even brought the first aid kit back out again, and it sits open on the table between them. Eddie clears his throat a few times to speed up the process of waking the stranger up, and tries not to sound too nervous as he speaks up louder than strictly necessary, particularly when they're the only two in the apartment and only about six feet apart. )
You need to change your bandages.
( He winces, lowers his voice significantly, clears his throat again and then starts over. )
I mean. I need to. If it gets infected it could be serious. More serious than– than all that, I mean. Okay?
Eddie may be in over his head.
Still, he patched him up the best he could with the (admittedly extensive) first aid kit from his bathroom, and by the time the man had passed out on the probably ruined couch Eddie realised he hadn't even asked his name. So that was just...great. He didn't really sleep much that night, preoccupied with the stranger and the weight of the task of making sure he stayed alive.
By the time the man starts to stir, Eddie has already showered and dressed for the day. He's had breakfast, had a coffee. He's even brought the first aid kit back out again, and it sits open on the table between them. Eddie clears his throat a few times to speed up the process of waking the stranger up, and tries not to sound too nervous as he speaks up louder than strictly necessary, particularly when they're the only two in the apartment and only about six feet apart. )
You need to change your bandages.
( He winces, lowers his voice significantly, clears his throat again and then starts over. )
I mean. I need to. If it gets infected it could be serious. More serious than– than all that, I mean. Okay?
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