TERRIFYING TUESDAY: Hurt and Comfort

[hanorganaas.livejournal.com]

Hello everybody theladymore here with another theme. Today's theme is Hurt and Comfort. Like to see your character go through pain and then have then have some fluffy comfort then this day is for you!

While we want to have fun we have to remember the rules

♥ No more than five prompts in a row.
♥ No more than three prompts from one fandom at a time.
♥ No spoilers in your prompt until at least one week after the original airing/publication date. If there are spoilers in your fic, warn in bold and leave at least three spaces

To make it easier on our code monkies remember the following format:

fandom(s), character or pairing, prompt

EXAMPLES:

The Hunger Games, Peeta/Katniss, Fixing the Nightmares
Stargate Atlantis, John Sheppard, Why am I the one who always gets kidnapped
Torchwood, Jack/Ianto, Jack tends to Ianto's wounds after "Countrycide"

If none of these prompts tickle your fancy, head on over to the Lonely Prompts Archive

Have fun and may the odds ever be in your favor

[theme tag=Hurt&Comfort]

Comments

[hanorganaas.livejournal.com]

Hunger Games, Peeta/Katniss, Helping him through the nightmares

Fill: Follow My Voice

[keenquing.livejournal.com]

[post Mockingjay but pre epilogue]


It's a process, growing back together. A long, nasty one. Finnick was right about it taking ten times longer to put yourself back together after you fall apart, but it's not as simple as just that. It takes so long, I think, because it's not straightforward. Just because one day is good doesn't mean the next will be as well. And when there's two of you, sometimes you open up each other's cracks without meaning to.

A thoughtless word or turned shoulder at the wrong moment can set one of us back weeks. Once, seeing my hand around my throat after I'd woken up screaming caused Peeta to hide away in his own house for days out of guilt which of course made me feel guilty as well.

But it's the small things that help us start closing up the cracks, too. Like what happened a few nights after that, when I was walking the path through the Victor's Village, unable or perhaps just unwilling to sleep because of the monsters I knew would be waiting that I'd have to face alone.

I don't know what made me go inside that night when I hadn't the four previous. Just that I did, and that I went up the stairs to his room—I can't say if I was thinking of curling up beside him or just talking or what. It doesn't matter, because when I saw him laying there too-still to be just sleeping, I remembered what he'd told me of his own nightmares. How he just woke up 'paralyzed with terror'.

How his nightmares were almost always about losing me, and with not even a call between us in days....

I could have left, pretending I hadn't seen this and continued to wait for him to come back to me on his own. But that supposedly easy route had never really led us anywhere; I knew I had to reach out to him in some way. So, softly toeing off my boots, I laid down beside him—chest jut barely touching his back—set my chin against his shoulder, and quietly started to sing.

I can't tell you what the song was, some quiet soothing thing I half-remembered hearing in my father's voice. It doesn't really matter, though. What does is that it worked. Slowly, his body relaxed against mine, his breathing falling into a more normal pattern. My eyes were closed while I sang, but I felt him turn to face me. By the end of the song he was resting against my shoulder, and I could feel a few tears trailing under my collar. My own throat got a little tight at that, but I made it through.

“Thank you,” he said in a quiet, slightly-creaky voice. “You didn't have to...”

“Yes, I did.” I brushed my fingers through the hair at his temple,then dropped my arm to wrap it around him as I curled my body against his. “Now, shut up. We both need to get some sleep.”

He laughed a little at that and kissed my forehead. “Right. Good night, Katniss.”

I'll admit that the brush of his lips made me smile a little as I put my head next to his heart. I knew this wouldn't be the last time we'd fall apart, but also that it wouldn't be the last that we found our way back together. “Good night, Peeta. Sweet dreams.”

[hanorganaas.livejournal.com]

Stargate Atlantis, John Sheppard, Why am I the one who always gets kidnapped

[hanorganaas.livejournal.com]

Torchwood, Jack/Ianto, Jack tends to Ianto's wounds after "Countrycide"

Fill, Okay

[classics-lover.livejournal.com]

Ianto's quiet as Jack presses ice packs to bruises, and wipes disinfectant over cuts, and that's okay, because Ianto's a quiet guy, very self contained. What's not okay is the look in his eyes as he sees whatever was in that cellar, and not Jack's office in the Hub. Jack frowns a little, and Ianto hisses as a cut is swabbed a little more harshly than necessary, and Ianto glares at Jack but says nothing. And that's not okay, not by a long shot.

"Tell me."

"I'd rather not, Jack, if it's all the same to you."

"I could make it an order," Jack threatens half-heartedly, and then winces as Ianto flinches and stiffens, and not from his injuries.

"If you insist, Sir, but only if you insist," Ianto says softly, in a pose as close to Parade Attention as Jack's ever seen outside the RAF.

Seeing the stiffness of posture and reserved walls behind Ianto's eyes, Jack regrets so much of what happened recently - walking them into the trap in that village, dealing with Ianto's half-converted girlfriend, even the way in which he had punished Ianto for his actions with regard to Lisa. Jack had once, almost jealously, wondered would Ianto do as much for him? But today Jack wants to do something for Ianto, and the man won't let him, shies away from what comfort Jack can offer, and offering little jibes like that to keep him out.

"Hey, that stung," Jack jokes, trying once more to dab at the cut on Ianto's forehead.

"Apologies, Captain, I didn't realise it offended you," says Ianto, instantly reverting back to the immobile Butler he had been when he first entered Torchwood Three.


"Maybe I should just call you Alfred and be done with it," Jack mutters.

"Should I then call you Batman, Sir? I don't recall Batman ever using a dirty great tractor to save the day, though," Ianto deadpans, and Jack finally thinks the man will be okay, that maybe they could be okay again, too.

[talkingtothesky]

Life on Mars (UK), Sam/Annie, Sam keeps getting debilitating headaches

[mahmfic.livejournal.com]

Sherlock BBC, Mycroft/John, abandonment issues

[mahmfic.livejournal.com]

Sherlock BBC, Any, learning to be loved

Fill

[leni-ba.livejournal.com]

pre-series

http://comment-fic.livejournal.com/329544.html?thread=58766408#t58766408

Sherlock blamed the last case that had been thrown his way. If he hadn't been awake until past four in the morning following the chain of events that had led to a mailman fainting in shock when one of the packages under his charge started leaking blood, he wouldn't have succumbed to such deep sleep that he hadn't heard the intruder in his apartment until she was halfway through her charity mission..

"It's too early," he mumbled, fighting hard not to rub the sleep off his eyes. He didn't care that it was past midday, right after he rose from bed was not the best timing for this particular squabble, he knew from experience. He might be smarter, but she was stubborn. And sweet. And his usual weapons - sarcasm and the painful truth - only got deep sighs and sad head shakes from her. As Mrs. Hudson had told him early in their acquaintanceship, "I'm sure there's a bite to all that barking, boy, but it isn't fooling me."

Then she'd offered him a roof over his head, and he'd decided hers was a kind of madness he could live with.

Even when it drove her to clean after him.

"Mrs. Hudson," he tried, digging out his most polite tone. It sounded rusty to his own ears, but by now he wouldn't even consider talking to her in any other way. He actually liked his landlady, and even worse, he did care about her opinion of him (which, according to her current grumbling, seemed to be that he was a wasteful sloth who worked too much - he didn't feel like pointing out the contradiction there.). "I told you I didn't need-"

"Tsk," the older woman cut him off sharply, adding another dirty plate to the stack in her hands. "What you don't need is to live in a sty, Sherlock."

"I don't-!"

She straightened and looked at him. Just looked. A look his mother had perfected when he was seven. And just like he did when his mother used that look, he felt so tempted to stomp his foot and stalk away to his room. Slam the door shut, too.

"I can take care of myself," he told her instead. Firmly.

She didn't say a word. She just hefted up the plates she was carrying - more than what he'd used during this last case, and both of them knew it.

He so hated losing the high ground. "I'm taking my time," he told her anyway.

"Sure." But he knew that the woman hadn't changed her plans at all. Indeed, she gave him a look from head to toes, and waved him off back toward his room. "Go back to sleep, dear. You look dead on your feet. It'll be all done when you wake up."

"But-"

And that look again.

Sherlock took a deep sigh. "I will get a roommate, Mrs. Hudson."

And that roommate would keep his landlady from invading.

"Good idea," she returned, heading toward the kitchen and its dishwasher. "But in the meanwhile, you should learn to accept a little kindness, Sherlock."

The real kindness would be to leave him alone., but he bit his tongue because he knew there was no way he could be polite while saying that.

instead he whirled around and strode toward his room.

And, just this once, he slammed the door behind him.

[mahmfic.livejournal.com]

Doctor Who, 10.5/Rose, major illness

[mahmfic.livejournal.com]

Torchwood, Jack, nervous breakdown

Re: second hand bicycles in uk-Used bikes in uk

[sky-queen3.livejournal.com]

Can we report this account for spamming?

[mahmfic.livejournal.com]

Doctor Who, Any Doctor/Any Companion, parting ways

[strg8g33k.livejournal.com]

Stargate SG-1/MacGyver, Jack O'Neill/MacGyver, Scars.

[hobnailedboots.livejournal.com]

The Hunger Games, Haymitch/Katniss, preparation

[hobnailedboots.livejournal.com]

Supernatural, Dean/Castiel, scars

Fill

[truthwritaslies.livejournal.com]

Not since Castiel first appeared to James Novak has a scar appeared on his vessel's body but that doesn't stop Dean from tracing where they should be with his tounge and fingers.

Dean starts to the immediate left of the sternum, where he stabbed Castiel at their first meeting, pressing a kiss to the spot first before outlining it in air with his index finger.

Here where Cas was clawed by a werewolf. There where a witch's hex tried to burn through his flesh.

He spends long moments tracing intricate enochian symbols with his tounge over the expanse of Castiel's chest, and tough Cas doesn't look he knows Dean is remembering Cas carving them himself to protect them all from the other angels.

Cas enjoys the sensations but he hates the emotions it brings out in Dean. As though he's doing penance, taking his punishment before he's allowed his reward. No matter how often Cas gives his forgiveness Dean just stares at him uncomprehending before returning to his ritual.

All the invisible scars are traced in minute detail but all the real ones are studiously avoided. The small one at the top of Cas's left hip; a natural place for a kiss if Cas has learned anything but Dean passes it, hardly even daring to breath on it, as though he's afraid of these reminders of who used to inhabit Cas's vessel.

Perhaps he is apologizing for the happiness he feels that Cas is here instead of Jimmy.

Dean goes to his knees to trace the gash across Cas's stomach, long healed but never forgotten.

[hobnailedboots.livejournal.com]

Merlin, Merlin+/Arthur, reveal and Arthur coming to terms with it or, more worryingly, that Merlin hasn't seen fit to tell him that in the years they've known each other.

[radondoran.livejournal.com]

Phineas and Ferb, Perry & or / Doofenshmirtz, mishap

[broompeople.livejournal.com]

Supernatural, Sam/Dean, permanent injury

Fill: In Apprehension - PG-13

[nevcolleil.livejournal.com]

He behaves himself as long as he can.

They've diverted disaster... Again. Sam's almost watched his brother die in front of him. Again. He's had it made all too clear to him... yet again... that Dean is the most important person in his life. The person Sam depends upon the most. The only person Sam will always depend on.

But Sam can't hold out forever. For two months after Dean announces himself more-or-less "recovered", Sam endures his brother's brooding, his self-deprecating humor. He sits, nervous, at his laptop and pretends to research while Dean silently pretends to watch television, his bouts of quiet despair far more frightening than his occasional outbursts of fury.

He watches Dean give up drinking because alcohol makes Dean's mangled right hand and ruined knee even more difficult for him to control.

Sam watches Dean give up women because he's tired of explaning his injuries. (And Sam can't blame him. He's sick of hearing about the "car accident" that never was himself.)

Sam watches Dean give up, period, and then he just can't behave himself any more.

Dean is fresh out of the shower. He sits on his hotel bed in his boxers, bags of ice piled on top of his patchwork knee like hard snow, and Sam won't abide another empty, restless night of not saying what needs to be said. Of not taking what he's denied wanting forever (to absolutely no one's benefit.)

"Fuck this," Sam says, and before Dean can respond, Sam presses himself carefully against Dean's body, presses his lips firmly against's Dean's lips.

Shock and pleasure, probably, too long neglected, stop Dean from stopping the kiss immediately, but too soon, Dean is struggling against Sam.

"Dude, no. I don't need your pity, Sammy."

There is no doubt in Sam's mind that Dean wants this, and there would be no doubt in Dean's mind that Sam feels the same, Sam is certain, if Dean weren't wrestling with his issues. It's never been insecurity standing in front of this happening.

So Sam doesn't bother explaining that he could never feel pity for Dean. Not for the most beautiful man Sam's ever seen, even with his scars. Not for a guy who can take down a vamp one-handed, outrun a Leviathan with only one functioning knee. Not for Dean fucking Winchester, Sam's own goddamned hero, in legend and in the flesh.

He instead hits Dean right in his weakspot, and he feels no shame, knowing what this can do for them. (If Dean needs any proof that Sam doesn't pity him, it's that.)

"Dean... I need this. Please."

Sam kisses him again.

Dean is slower to fight him this time. "Sam, stop."

Sam looks Dean in the eyes, lips curling with mischief, and pulls out his biggest gun. "Make me," he says, curling his hands around Dean's forearms.

Dean flips them so fast, it leaves Sam winded.

The only man who can consider Dean's injuries an advantage to the other guy - and live - is Dean.

Beneath Dean, Sam can only watch and wait for the uncertainty to fade from Dean's face.

It's a beautiful thing once it has.

"Okay, fine... Don't say I didn't give you the chance to back out."

"I don't want one, man."

Sam never does.

And he tries not to feel too pleased with himself when Dean stops brooding so much. Starts walking with more of a spring in his uneven gait. But he's pretty much proven that bad behavior gets him further than good when it comes to Dean.

[dominant-spoon.livejournal.com]

The Hunger Games, Johanna/Katniss, recovery

[dominant-spoon.livejournal.com]

Glee, Sam, not being gay doesn't make him straight

[classics-lover.livejournal.com]

Author's choice, author's choice, broken trust

Fill: And Sings the Tune (Without the Words) - Grimm, Nick/Juliette, PG

[nevcolleil.livejournal.com]

Spoilers for 'Plumed Serpent' (Not the most recent episode)

Things change after Ariel Eberhart.

Nick walks on egg shells around her and watches her with these sad eyes, like it's only a matter of time before he'll blink and lose sight of her completely.

And it's not just about the ordeal that she went through, although - god knows - that would have been enough. The blow that knocked her unconscious... The tight, copper binds wound around her wrists. Ariel's mocking voice and seeing Nick almost engulfed by flames as he raced out of that cavern...

No, it's the other thing too.

"This is a friend of Nick's. Who is this?" Juliette replays the conversation in her head often. Remembers Ariel's giggle as Nick asked for his phone in the background.

"Wait a minute, baby. Which one is Juliette?"

Juliette can't stop remembering. She feels like an idiot... obsessing over a phone call from a clearly deranged individual rather than the kidnapping and explosion that followed.

But danger is one thing. Danger is something Juliette knew to expect when she decided to date a homicide detective (nevermind that she'd expected somewhat less of it to actually follow Nick home.) Danger, to an extent, Juliette can handle.

Danger didn't put on one of her nighties.

Danger didn't crawl into their bed with Juliette's boyfriend.

Danger didn't try to seduce Nick while Juliette sat in a dark tunnel wondering if anyone would ever be coming to find her.

The sharp, sick twist of the gut Juliette felt when she called Nick and a woman answered... The relief, no matter how desperate, she felt at his explanation. The guilt at being secretly almost glad that Ariel didn't make it out of the fire... Those things stay with Juliette. They cling in a way that fear can't once the adrenaline has ebbed. They make her question everything. Nick spends so many nights out, working late, these days... If there were an Ariel in his life, how would Juliette know? This friend of his, Monroe... Why hadn't Nick ever mentioned him?

They nettle until Juliette is watching Nick with as wary of an eye as his, watching her. Making her wonder...

Is Nick right? Should Juliette be worried now of slipping away? Or are they looking at one another so closely not to keep sight of something that they're seeing, but to find something that's already gone?

[classics-lover.livejournal.com]

Merlin, Gwaine/Leon, dealing with injuries/issues of trust caused by the Lamia

[classics-lover.livejournal.com]

Doctor Who, 11 + Martha, *her* Doctor is gone

[garnet-words.livejournal.com]

It's not as if she hadn't known about regeneration. She'd lived through that horrible year, had seen more than one side of it then. She's seen pictures of the Doctor through her work with UNIT, older men with younger eyes. She's learned about its probable effects on his body through medical notes, particularly those of one Dr. Harry Sullivan.

She's even heard how jarring it could be to his friends. He'd told her the story of his previous regeneration, and she'd felt a little sorry for Rose, being hit with that with no warning or preparation. Martha had been warned and prepared, and she was pretty sure it wouldn't bother her even half as much.

And then, three months after the Doctor had knocked out that Sontaran with a mallet, a stranger in tweed and a bowtie steps out of the blue box that's suddenly appeared in the middle of the flat she's now sharing with Mickey.

"Martha Jones," the man says with a smile, holding out his arms. "Did you miss me?"

He's the Doctor, no doubt about that. It's in his eyes, in his energy, in the way he talks and expects everyone else to keep up. He stays for a cup of tea, and she smiles and laughs with him as they trade stories of adventures, of what they've been up to lately. Then she hugs him goodbye and watches the TARDIS disappear.

She stares at the empty air for a long moment, before carefully sitting back on the sofa. Her chest hurts, and she feels so foolish, tries to think about what he'd feel if he saw her like this. She's known it was coming, studied it, but none of that matters, because the Doctor might be the same man, but her Doctor is gone.

And that does it. She buries her head in her hands and helplessly cries her heart out for the man she knew. When the tears finally fade away, she knows she's addressed more than a few things that were long overdue. She thinks part of her will always mourn him, even if just a little, but the rest of her knows that her friend is still there, just altered a bit, and no matter what she will always love him.

[crearealidad.livejournal.com]

any, any/any - and the difference between you and me baby / is i get fucked up /when i'm alone

and i must admit / today my inner pessimist / seems to have got the best of me

(From "Serpentine" by Ani Difranco)

fill (fandom SPN) 1/2

[shi-mo.livejournal.com]

A/N: so I listened to the song in question. V. depressing. This happened:
SPN, Sam + surprise character, AU as far as Free to be you and me goes, but not full blown AU, just a bit different. Also I think instead of h/c I ended up with h/c/h if it makes any sense. Poor Sam :((


No future, like he ever had one.
No friends, oh well that particular dream he abandoned few years ago.
No lovers, because they always died or betrayed him or both.
No brother, because even Dean who went to Hell for him didn’t want to see him anymore.
No… anyone really. The only people he can trust not to kill him on sight are not here, not now and not like they don’t have thousand and one problem of they own. Apocalypses to stop and all that. Not that they have any chance, but Sam still hopes for everyone else’s sake. Not for his own, never for his own now, because as far as Sam is concerned there is nothing really for him anymore and even the drowning man straw – praying – looks more like a cruel joke now.
He has no one now, just his cursed powers and trice cursed destiny.
It is a nature of man to wish for a great destiny not unlike any other human before him. Just as it's in man's nature to run from it after first sneak pick preview, after first glimpse of its true grotesque visage hidden under smiling mask woven from lies and deceptions. And Sam Winchester is running, running as fast as he can, but it seemed nothing can do them apart. Destinies are like that, especially custom-made one with Heaven-approved certificate.
He broke last seal.
He freed Lucifer.
He doomed the world.
And Sam Winchester can't forget it, he won't ever forget it and this knowledge is worse than any flesh wound - it burns and cuts and tears into his mind and soul. It didn’t take long for Sam to snap and run, run away from everyone who cares about him and everything he knows. He runs and the world around him is painted gray by shame and guilt. He switches off his phone, so his brother won't find him, he has a hex bag hiding his from demons and gods and Enochian spell so conveniently carved into his bones by Castiel hides his from angels. He hides from everything, because he doesn't deserve to be saved or forgiven and above all he deserve to be loved. He deserves to be put down like a rabid dog, but he is too much of coward for that.
And so he waits for some hero to stop the end of the world.
It needs to be said, that the devil meanwhile waits for him.
And one night, when he falls asleep after another day filled with guilt and shame there is a knock on his door. If he wasn't asleep he would have grabbed a gun, but it's a dream.
One night he opens a door of his motel room and Mary Winchester is on his doorstep. If he wasn't asleep, he would have reached for silver knife and holy water, he would have greeted her with exorcism and Christo, but it's a dream.
That night his mom steps into his room with a couple of take-away coffees and a paper bag that smells of fresh cookies. It should be weird, but it's a dream.
They sit in old chairs that are much better in the dream, then in his real motel room.
- Such a big boy, - she says and the dream him isn't surprised that his 26 years dead mother sits behind him. He is just glad she is here at all, beautiful and seemingly alive and he misses her so much, despite the fact that he barely knew her and didn't even remember until four year ago he saw her ghost.
- I fucked up, mum, – he confesses.
She nods sadly and Sam spills everything: Dean's deal, Lilith and his quest for revenge fueled by Ruby's lies. He tells her about Jess and times long gone. He tells his mother about Dean’s attempts to stir him from dark path that Ruby drugged him into and how it was all for nothing and how he brought the end of the freaking world. By the end it's mostly tears and how sorry he is and how he hopes that there is still hope for everyone and maybe even him
He chokes on lukewarm coffee and waits for her to say something, anything, but mostly he waits for absolution. For hope.
Her soft hands grip his hands in tight embrace.
- Hope? Silly boy, of course there no hope. Not for us.
- Mum?
She just smiles sadly and suddenly he knows.
- Lucifer.

[classics-lover.livejournal.com]

Star Trek XI, any, looking at the ceiling in Sickbay (*again*)

[sharpiesgal.livejournal.com]

"When can I get out of here, Bones?"

"In a few hours, Jim," Bones grumbled. "Although, as many times as you've been in here in the last few weeks, I'd think you were enjoying my generous hospitality."

"I'd rather enjoy it elsewhere," Jim groused.

"You can, if you stop trying to out do Spock at whatever Vulcan martial arts he practices," Bones retorted before he injected another hypospray into Kirk's arm.

"But, Bones..."

"No, buts, and you can lay here thinking about appropriate ways you can make it up to me."

Jim watched Bones walk out of the room, and then turned his attention to the ceiling wishing his ego would stop getting him in trouble with his lover.

[classics-lover.livejournal.com]

Torchwood, Jack/Ianto, scar

[jenab.livejournal.com]

The Avengers, Clint/Coulson, Clint is injured and freezing. Coulson needs to keep him warm.