bakerstreet | hurt / comfort

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.

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- 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.

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And surprisingly enough, the few crew members that linger to do their work does not bother Spock. Perhaps this is a sign of his state. He was never one to share such things let alone around others than for whom such a thing was intended, but this was something very different.

"You had asked me how do I choose not to feel, and that I do not know is true. When I fail to do so, I do not know what to do. How do you keep these things from eating you alive?"

He turns, then. "I continue to wake in hope that it might have been a dream, and I will see my mother again when I return home. I know that this is not true. It is not logical to think this and I -- do not know what to do."

[At least he says as much for there, that, that is what pity surely looks like and he makes it heartbreaking. Mavros is surrounded by his wing, his presence and when he's taken by the chin he offers little resistance even though he feels chastened and frustrated at being immediately dismissed...

...much like a child.

Lucifer's voice seems like it blends with the waterfall below them the longer he speaks. Or perhaps it is more that the water hears too and it lends itself naturally, echoing every sentiment. Mavros endures those touches not because they are displeasing but because they work him into fierce wanting even if they are simple. His lips tingle and burn in wake, his cheek feels like it has been brushed by the heated line of a candle's flame. He listens to the smooth and the rush of Lucifer's voice and he is mortal he cannot play to understand what angels and gods see-]

Can a mortal, a child, like myself truly understand? You speak as if we do nothing but destroy. But I do not think you claim that we have no place for all our flaws.

[A knit comes to his brow.] ...I know nothing can truly balance the scales even between one mortal and another but there are things that can even the tilt. That is the most that we can do. If it cannot involve the other than it must be acted out singularly. [Reason why Kushiel's temples dole out their scourging to those that seek to repent.] We do what we can with what little we know. Our gods leave us their laws, their precepts as something to guide us.

[ Pretty girls make pretty graves - and crafty policemen follow. It isn't the first colleague he's lost to women, or weapons, or vice, and in their industry, it's hardly to be Leon's last. Still, he's never before buried a man a year his senior, who's successfully consigned every oath once happily taken to flagrant abandon in less than three weeks' time. He's hardly as much in awe of Harris' weakness to fall in love and complicity with the drug dealing suspect he was meant to interrogate; a beautiful face and a bleeding heart never make the best of arrangements, and he'd heard word that Harris' wife had only recently filed for separation. And of course the young woman's former associates would have done away with both her and her recent, badge-bearing paramour as soon as soon as word spread that he'd secured her freedom.

No. What astounded - what astounds Leon even now, leaving him to toy helplessly with his spoon, twirling it in the second cup of Count D's tea that he's left to spoil, untouched - is that he had no gut feeling about it. He took his dinner with the man two hours before the... incident, and he found nothing out of the ordinary with anything put before him.

He can't quite say when he left the funeral to arrive at the Count's, or how, or perhaps why. The shopkeeper won't ask, he supposes. It's all very well to come and intrude on Count D's tolerable evening, and make a mess of his plans, and ruin his tea, because there'll be no questions. That's what his instinct says, but, then, he's been wrong this week before.

In the end, it occurs to him to treat his host with something the littlest bit past bleary-eyed silence. ]

...sorry. [ He sets his cup down - repicks it - sets it again, quietly. ] I didn't bring you anything this time. That's... being a bad guest, isn't it?

( open to xii spoilers )

[ post-into darkness stuff more than welcome. ]

Each step seems so much further than the last but Bilbo picks his feet out of the muck and tries to keep his knees high too. The semblance of energy will grant him energy in return, right? That's how it works? Bilbo doesn't know how long they've been walking. Mirkwood is no place to take a rest. They've hardly been sleeping already for fear of being let off course. Gandalf said that would be their doom, hadn't he?

With food running out and the rain coming every single day, those of less hearty nature are bound to find themselves growing weak and ill.

It's very small wonder that Bilbo slips in the mud one gloomy day. No wonder at all when he doesn't get up. At first, it seems to common place that no one even notices.

"There wouldn't be," Clint grumbles. He's been out on a few too many desert ops for his liking. "Look for scrub brush, even if they look dead, we find the right ones they sometimes store water in their roots. Keep any eye out for dry riverbeds too," he tells him.

Yeah, he might have been stranded out in the desert once before. Doesn't mean he likes it. Certainly doesn't like it after getting the crap beat out of him. It's not quite a limp but he's favoring one leg over the other.

[People, Count D has always believed, are unbearably moody. There is a special art to being cagey, to wanting all and none of the attention one can give, that humans have perfected while other animals mercifully have not. The wild has little time for sulking, after all, which mankind seems to have in abundance. That, he supposes, is one of the many problems with Leon Orcot, which the Count has had plenty of time to muse over as he sips his tea because it isn't as if anything else is happening.

He watches Leon fuss with the tea and frowns, just slightly. It's become a bad habit to set a cup down in front of the officer whether he wants it or not, and today is decidedly a Not day, apparently. His decor, the errant noises of much livelier individuals behind the doors to the rest of the shop - Leon hasn't complained about a single thing, yet, and that (of all things) is enough to hint that something is amiss. D is at an impasse; as a rule he will not pry, why should he, but the days when Leon does not interrupt his business to cause a scene are few and far between, lately, and this variant is...

Honestly, it's almost irritating. Either that or the lack of desserts, but at least the man has finally found his voice. D shakes his head once and pointedly does not smirk.]

Nonsense. [though yeah it is] You've brought your company.

[A beat; he sips his tea and gives Leon a sidelong glance.] In a manner of speaking.

[ Oh, he knows. His touch is meant to burn. It is meant to linger. There are long days and longer nights, the wind shrieking outside the stone walls of his palace, or snow falling to muffle heaven and earth, or darkness cold and crackling with stars, and he does not appear; he lets Mavros languish in his prison, starved for company, lets him remember a stray caress or a near-kiss as though it is branded on his skin and burn for it. How wary Mavros is of him. What suffering pride there is in the dark of his eyes, the set of his jaw, as he endures the embrace and answers him with an eloquence he so loves to hear. ]

No, I do not. Your kind struggles so. Your lives are so short, so brutally sweet. [ His voice is as tender as a lover's. ] Your gods gave you so much more than laws. They gave you gifts that no other creation has ever received. So much of it squandered, but that is the folly of your mortality; you have not time to understand the glory within you. Though your people, the D'Angelines, reach further than other mortals I have known...

[ His lips brush Mavros's brow, soft and hot at his temple, as though in the communion of a blessing; and he nuzzles, smiling, the arch of his cheekbone, before drawing back again. ]

Why, then, do you deny yourself what you want?

[ To touch him. To give into every urging towards contact, towards oneness between them. ]

Do you want to suffer, Mavros?

( ooc | no 9 or 18. ota! )

Taking a corner and not quite skidding out on the asphalt, a young man in well-worn and thoroughly uninteresting clothing nearly collides and bowls Constantine over. Despite having been running at full tilt, he's breathing heavily but not entirely out of breath. Perhaps he's had some sort of physical training?

"Sorry! So sorry." Up close, it's a bit easier to see that he's been injured - a gash to his shoulder and what looks like a series of burn marks over his back.

[ The thing about Natalie is that she's a decent roommate. She's tidy, containing her mess to her desk area. She's always ready with homework help, even if she isn't taking the same classes. She has excellent taste in television (in the sense that she watches everything under the sun), and that's only secondary to her taste in music.

Generally, she leaves the room when she can't sleep, wandering around with a can of Red Bull and a book under her arm, finding herself in the basement practice rooms of the dormitory. Tonight she wakes up breathing heavily, clutching her heart through her pale blue tanktop, nearly hitting her head on the ceiling from the top bunk.

Shit. Her first instinct is to worry that she's woken up Allison. Her second is that she needs to get the eff out of the room. But exhaustion overcomes her and she only makes it so far to just dangle her legs off her bed. Natalie presses her forehead into her palm and groans. ]

[after rocket died, babydoll left work. correction, she left the hospital, despite what the nurses or her coworkers wanted. her injury was minor (as minor as it got), never mind that it was her bad hand. a demon had surprised her with a welcoming gift of a cursed knife that slipped right through the back of her hand and out to the other side. it still burns and the bleeding is slow, but ruthless.

when she makes it outside, she tells the cab driver to ignore the blood seeping through the bandages and gives him a generous tip, before and after the ride.

she hasn't slept in three days. the city towers reflect the sun into her eyes and it makes her fatigue worse. she hasn't been in constantine's territory for a while. baby doesn't expect him to be home, she wanted a quiet place where no one would bother her. his apartment was her last choice. she lets herself in (he needs to change his lock, it's easy to pick) and -- quietly -- closes the door behind her.

it still smells like cigarettes.]

( ooc: bb if you want to check out her modern au it's right here! )

( ooc | no 9 or 18. ota! )

[Veronica's equally scarred hands fly up to her face before she realizes what Piper meant.]

I'm fine, I'm Veronica too.

[She grimaces as she sees how bad Piper looks. Not like the picture of her that she had seen.]

You're Piper right? I was sent to break you out.

They're all tired, all hungry and worn, but Bilbo had been dragging far worse than them all. Thorin had been leading the way when he stopped to try and figure out where to go next. Looking around he happens to note that they seem to be one short of fourteen.

"Where is the hobbit?" He'll ask, everyone is instantly looking about and he'll repeat his question, but with more of a demand. They had to find him!

Thankfully Bilbo is not far away, just a little back the way they'd come, Fili and Kili find him, lugging him over to the group.

"Here, Thorin! We've found him!" Laying the halfling on his back, Fili will give him a pat pat against his cheek.

"He's not waking--" Thorin pushes through the other dwarves and comes to kneel beside Bilbo, the hobbit is covered in mud and grime and he'll do his best to wipe his face off, calling to him.

[How does 19 sound to you?]

[ oh no! so sorry I didn't know that ahh ;o; also he'll be pre-movie here, assuming Things about the portable transwarp obvs. are spoilers okay btw? ]

With Qo'nos in that state as it was, there was little immediate reason for concern over being found. The good Admiral couldn't trace him to that wretched husk of a planet just yet, and whatever scouting parties who'd appeared occasionally to scavenge in the ruins were quickly dispatched and disposed of if they had come within thirty metres of the small, almost invisible hole in a crumbling wall that led to a storage bay full of old but serviceable supplies.

It had been precisely eighteen point four hours following his successful departure of the lowest levels of Section 31's facility, and the Augment had already fashioned himself a number of weapons from parts he'd relieved Starfleet of. Even with the existence of a warp signature it would take them a while to find him, if at all, and that was all the time he needed.

Momentarily the wail of yet another patrol ship overhead drew his attention, and after it faded into the distance it no longer masked the new sounds of movement among the ruins, nearing his hiding place - a group of six in light armor, going by the thuds and clinks of their footsteps.

Arming himself, the Augment stalked into the dusty shell of a factory once more.

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hurt / comfort

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Thorin Oakenshield | The Hobbit

.12

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John Harrison || Star Trek Into Darkness || OTA and spoilers within

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