♟ – Patching up a wound
Enjolras
was frowning down at the page in front of him. For the last couple of hours he
has been trying to compose a pamphlet but the words simply refused to come –
everything he wrote fell flat or rang empty. He leant back in his chair,
staring up at the ceiling, but alas the spider minding its own business in the
far corner didn’t prove all that inspirational either.He bent
back over the paper, trying to force the words out when a loud banging at the
door broke his concentration, shattering the silence of the night. So loud in
fact, Enjolras worried it would rouse the whole neighbourhood.Surprised,
concerned and somewhat irritated he darted to the door and tore it open, ready
to tell off whoever was making this unholy racket. His snarl quickly melted off
his face however: the offending knocker was no other than Feuilly.The poor
man was clearly worse for the wear – white as a sheet, except for the places
where he was purple and blue or, most alarmingly, red. Enjolras quickly pulled
him into the room, shutting and bolting the door after him.Feuilly
stumbled, legs buckling under him. Enjolras, keeping a steady grip on him led
him to the sofa and gently pushed him down. Feuilly opened his mouth to stay
something but Enjolras was already off to fetch water and bandages. Only when
he returned and helped Feuilly out of his torn coat and shirt did he ask what
happened.‘My meeting
with the printers went well’ Feuilly started ‘Girauld agreed to print out a
batch of our flyers…’‘That can
wait, tell me about the meeting when you’re all patched up and had a drink.
Your injuries, what happened?’‘I was
mugged. On my way back from the press…’ his voice broke and he trailed off. He
took a deep breath and went on ‘There were two of them… I gave them my money
but they refused to believe that was all I had. I managed to break away and… well,
your flat was nearest…’‘You did
well, coming here’ Enjolras murmured, trying with all his might to keep the
flaring rage out of his voice.He
methodically cleaned the wounds and bruises, pausing to critically examine a
deeper gash on Feuilly’s forearm – presumably from a knife and, based on its
position, acquired while defending himself.‘I wonder
if this needs stitches… mmm… Bahorel had a similar cut last month and Joly only
bandaged it… Yes, I suppose bandaged will do. Do try and be careful with it
though. And show it to Joly or Combeferre tomorrow.’Feuilly
nodded with a shaky smile.Silence
reigned for a while, as Enjolras cleared away his medical equipment and handed
Feuilly a clean shirt.‘Come my
friend’ he whispered, lightly touching an uninjured patch of Feuilly’s arm ‘I
was just about to eat something, come and join me.’Enjolras
was, of course, a dirty liar, he was planning no such thing. In fact if Feuilly
didn’t turn up he would have gone on agonising over his writing till morning.Feuilly,
for his part, blushed and dipped his head.‘I didn’t
mean to invite myself over or cause any inconvenience…’‘You didn’t.’
‘It’s just…
I was frightened and unsure if they were still following me and your flat was
the first safe place I could think of…’‘Like I
said, you did the right thing coming here. I’d also advise you to stay the
night. You’re injured and rattled, and your flat is far away.’Enjolras
was careful to keep his voice calm and clinical, as if his offer was
coming from pure logic alone. For someone so generous, who was in full support
of charity when others were benefiting of it Feuilly sure abhorred being on the
receiving end of it.But tonight
he was rather too shaken and tired to put up a fight.Enjolras
quietly laid out the table, pouring Feuilly a generous helping of the brandy
which he kept around for guests. His friend was silent, staring ahead morosely.
Finally he spoke up in a quiet, bitter voice.‘They took
everything I had. All three francs I made today. Such astounding wealth, no?
Worth beating and cutting a man for… What horrible place must these men come
from? I know the darkness they must live in… but these poor souls must have given
up the fight against it. We have so much to do, Enjolras… I sometimes wonder if
we’ll ever manage it…’Enjolras
shook his head, smiling a little despite his anger. Feuilly was truly the best
of them, thinking of the hard lives others, his attackers even, must lead even
in his distress. Enjolras, for his part, would have had no qualms about cutting
up the bastards, ideals aside.But this
was no time dump even more negativity on poor Feuilly.‘I do
believe that the day will come when all of mankind will live in peace and
prosperity and such acts will not occur anymore. It will come. Maybe not in our
lifetime, but soon. It will come.’He took
Feuilly’s hand in his and smiled down at the man, willing himself to believe
his own word once more.
Tag: hurt comfort
hurt meme.
- “ i got you. it’s gonna be okay, you’re going to be okay.”
- “i feel like everyone’s miles away from me.”
- “my mind is a dark place. you don’t want to be there.”
- “i know this hurts, but you have to stay awake.”
- “don’t close your eyes, please don’t close your eyes!”
- “i just want to be numb, i don’t want to feel anything.”
- “please don’t do this, don’t act like you care.”
- “you don’t care, nobody cares, just leave.”
- “you’re my friend, of course i fucking care.”
- “i can’t give up on you, so please don’t give up on yourself.”
- “i love you so much, i forgot what hating myself felt like.”
- “i fucked up, why do you not care?”
- “i can’t walk, just go on without me.”
- “you have broken ribs, take it easy.”
- “i have no idea how to do cpr.”
- “whose blood is that?”
- “apply pressure to the wound, don’t let go.”
- “don’t you dare fucking let go!”
- “what the hell happened to you?”
- “are they dead? did you kill them?”
- “do you know what you’ve done?”
- “you’re either with me or against me.”
- “who the hell did this to you?”
- “are you alright? you hit your head pretty hard…”
- “i can’t see!! what’s happening to me?”
- “when was the last time you ate?”
- “what do you mean you’re fine? you are not fine!”
- “i’m fine, it’s just a flesh wound, i’ll be okay.”
- “for how long? how long were you bottling this up?“
- “there’s so much blood, you won’t last.”
- “are you… throwing up in there?”
- “why aren’t you eating?”
- “just breathe… you’re okay, i promise, just breathe.”
- “i can’t breathe, i can’t –”
- “i woke up, & you were gone.”
- “just tell me something, was it really worth it?”
- “it’s okay to hurt & breakdown. you don’t have to be strong all the time.”
Hi! Could I request Enjolras and Courfeyrac, ♟: Patching up a wound? :)
Why, nonny, of course you may! 😀 H/C is my bread and butter! ^_^
If anyone else would like to send prompts, feel free! ^_^
(You’ll have to forgive me, though, nonny–I have barricades and social unrest on the brain after this weekend. ^_~)
Enjolras gripped hard at the hand held tightly in his, putting on another burst of speed. What should have been a simple trade—a sheaf of proscribed pamphlets for a box of even more proscribed ammunition—had turned into anything but. Whether they had been spotted, or had been betrayed by a spy in their midst hardly mattered; the result was the same. The police had arrived, ready to arrest everyone involved. Enjolras and Courfeyrac had acted to provide a distraction, allowing the others time to scatter. They’d led the police on a merry chase—down dark alleyways, up a sewage pipe, across a rooftop, and back again—and had only just lost them, when Enjolras saw Courfeyrac falter. Even in the flickering lamplight, Courfeyrac’s complexion was ashen, his eyes beginning to glaze with pain. He’d been wounded; he wouldn’t be able to run much longer. They had to get to safety.
Enjolras eased them further back into the alley, pressing Courfeyrac into the depths of a doorway that was just out of sight. Ignoring the softly hissed protests—“I’m perfectly fine, my friend; no need to stop on my account!”—Enjolras took a few precious moments for a brusque exam that would have had Joly and Combeferre cringing at his manner. Courfeyrac thought no more of it than they would have if his indrawn breath and low, creative cursing was any indication.
The difficulty became clear rather quickly. Courfeyrac’s hand was clutched to his side, his coat rapidly acquiring a deepening red stain just below. Enjolras winced. “How bad is it?” As Courfeyrac’s gaze lowered, darting away from his, Enjolras grabbed his shoulders and gave him a brief shake. “And don’t think of lying to me, either. How bad?”
Courfeyrac sighed, shook his head. “Not as bad as it appears. It happened as we went over the fence. One of the pikes had aspirations of being a spear and tore a rather impressive hole in my new coat—the nerve. It did rather more damage to my coat than it did to me, I think—and do you have any idea what this coat cost me, Enjolras?—but I don’t mind admitting that it doesn’t feel exactly pleasant.”
Enjolras let the flood of words wash over him, more relieved than he could say that Courfeyrac was feeling well enough to be indignant over his coat. Untying his own cravat to Courfeyrac’s accompanying gasp of dismay and a fresh diatribe over the unseemly behavior, Enjolras pulled Courfeyrac’s hand from the wound and opened his coat to get a better look. Satisfied that the wound, though bleeding, was relatively superficial, Enjolras pressed his cravat to it. Though Courfeyrac flinched at the pressure, he replaced Enjolras’ hands with his own readily enough when Enjolras let go to untie Courfeyrac’s cravat, as well. Another lecture accompanied that action, but minor though the wound was, Courfeyrac had to be feeling its effects, as he made no move to stop him. Courfeyrac’s cravat ended its fashion life as a bandage to hold the other in place. With that done, and Courfeyrac in less danger of blood loss, Enjolras stepped back to admire his handiwork. It wasn’t pretty, nor was it neat, but it would do.
When next they left the wall, it was with Courfeyrac’s arm slung over Enjolras’ shoulders and Enjolras’ arm wrapped firmly around Courfeyrac’s waist, applying added pressure to the wound. It was slower going now, but for the first time that night, luck was on their side. They ran into no more patrols on the way to the apartment that Joly occasionally shared with Bossuet, the only casualties of the night being a pair of cravats, a coat, and assorted other garments. There might come a time when Enjolras would lose his friend in truth, but it was not to be tonight, nor any other night, as long as Enjolras had any say in the matter.
Hurt/Comfort is such an interesting thing. It’s basically an entire genre of fanfiction. I’d argue it satisfies a very basic, vital need–the same way that horror satisfies the basic need to be scared in a safe, controllable space.
And yet it doesn’t really have an equivalent outside of fan culture. "Tearjerkers” can sometimes come close, they’re probably the closest thing to a mainstream hurt/comfort genre that there is. But those types of books and movies don’t usually focus on the “comfort” aspect in the same way, and don’t make use of tension and release.
I think every good hurt/comfort fic makes use of tension and release just as horror does,
whether the writer is consciously aware of it or not. Though of course the tension and release in h/c comes from different sources than in horror. Instead of anticipating something frightening, you anticipate the intimacy and/or validation that comes from the “comfort” part you know is eventually coming. That’s what provides release of the tension built up during the “hurt” scenes.
I could write a goddamned essay about this it’s so fascinating.
This is a great definition/analysis of it! I’ve been interested in this too. It’s always been my favorite fanfiction genre. It’s to the point where reading just angst is not enough, there is something left unfulfilled if the character does not have the ‘tension and release’ and just remains under whatever stressor at the end. I think part of the reason I like it so much, is often in mainstream media characters DO NOT have that ‘healing moment’, shall we say. Too often, there may be a sad/traumatic/stressful event and the character is shown to just pick themselves up from it and move on like nothing happened. Which is not realistic as we all know, so I think the hurt/comfort genre in fanfiction is a kind of a response to that. The “filling in the blanks” of when a character needs a moment of healing or validation to continue onward, because that in a sense is more relatable then the “super hero” character who can move through it like nothing damaged them.
Hurt/Comfort is such an interesting thing. It’s basically an entire genre of fanfiction. I’d argue it satisfies a very basic, vital need–the same way that horror satisfies the basic need to be scared in a safe, controllable space.
And yet it doesn’t really have an equivalent outside of fan culture. "Tearjerkers” can sometimes come close, they’re probably the closest thing to a mainstream hurt/comfort genre that there is. But those types of books and movies don’t usually focus on the “comfort” aspect in the same way, and don’t make use of tension and release.
I think every good hurt/comfort fic makes use of tension and release just as horror does,
whether the writer is consciously aware of it or not. Though of course the tension and release in h/c comes from different sources than in horror. Instead of anticipating something frightening, you anticipate the intimacy and/or validation that comes from the “comfort” part you know is eventually coming. That’s what provides release of the tension built up during the “hurt” scenes.
I could write a goddamned essay about this it’s so fascinating.
I’m pretty much always up for sick!fic or hurt/comfort. ^_^ And I’m kind of in the mood for some with Courfeyrac on the being comforted end with Enjolras / Feuilly / Combeferre / Comfort-giver of your choice? ^_^
I looove h/c you know I do. 😉
“No..!” Courfeyrac whined through his painfully rough throat, watching from the couch as Combeferre began unbuttoning his coat. “No. You’re not staying. Go, please. Pretty please?”
Combeferre stared down at him, unimpressed.
“I am staying, though. I’m going to take care of you,” he said it like he said everything else; as if it was fact, pure and simple fact, and he was slightly shocked, if not offended, that Courfeyrac would even doubt it.
Courfeyrac shook his head as much as his sore muscles and his position, lying on his side, would allow. It hurt, and he felt sick. He could breathe easier now, but his limbs felt like lead and his heart like a heavy, ugly stone between his ribs. He knew it would feel this way for at least a couple of days, days he’d rather spend sleeping, hiding from the world, pretending he didn’t have to exist. He didn’t feel like arguing. He especially didn’t feel like arguing with Combeferre.
“You’ve been looking forward to this for weeks,” Courfeyrac murmured, trying to will his eyes dry so he could meet his friend’s gaze. “Go and enjoy it. Please. For me?”
His begging – his sad, pathetic begging – had no effect.
“I’d rather spend the night with you,” Combeferre said, voice soft and steady and utterly devoid of bitterness.
To be honest, Courfeyrac didn’t want to be alone either. it was a miracle Combeferre had decided to drop by before going to his show, because Courfeyrac didn’t think he had the energy to text – much less call – anyone else. But still. He couldn’t reconciliate keeping his friend from his plans, not at the last minute like this, not for something as useless and pathetic-
“You shouldn’t,” he laughed desperately, trying to sound a least close to normal. It didn’t work; a tear escaped from behind his eye and ran down his cheek, and his voice broke. He closed his eyes, unable to bear the way he knew Combeferre would look at him. “I’m no fun at all like this.”
He felt the cushion of the couch dip as Combeferre sat down next to him. Good, Courfeyrac thought. Maybe the cushion would keep dipping and dipping and swallow him whole until he could feel nothing and be nothing-
Warm, dry fingers started threading through his hair, gently messaging his scalp.
“I don’t care,” Combeferre’s tone was as steady and no-nonsense as ever and Courfeyrac felt himself tear up again. “Courfeyrac. I really don’t care. I’m not your friend because you’re fun. Which you are, of course. But you being fun is not a condition for my friendship. It’s not why I love you. It’s not why we all love you.”
When Courfeyrac failed to respond after a moment, he continued, still running his long fingers through the dark curls.
“We love you because you’re you, Courfeyrac. You, as a person. Because you’re generous, and kind, and warm. Because you’re impulsive and stubborn, because you give us everything to make sure we’re happy, even when you aren’t happy yourself,” he reached down to kiss Courfeyrac’s cheek. “We love you for who you are, everything, good and bad. Alright? So I can leave you be tonight, if you’d rather be alone. But a night spent with you, especially when you need it, is never wasted. You’re never a waste of time. Never.”
“Combeferre,” Courfeyrac was crying in earnest now, hiding his face against Combeferre’s leg. “Thank you.”
“Do you want me to stay?” Courfeyrac could feel Combeferre’s smile, the quiet warmth radiating off it.
“Yeah. Yeah, please.”
“Good,” Combeferre squeezed his shoulder. “We can order something to eat then we can watch a DVD, would you like that?”
“I’d love that.”
EEEEEEEEEEEP. LOOK WHAT VE WROTE FOR ME. LOOK AT IT. 😀 TT^TT 😀 TT^TT 😀
This is so perfect and it’s exactly what I was looking for and you are the BEST. ^____________^ That is so nice of Combeferre to stay and so perfectly Courfeyrac to try to get him to leave anyway. And just… OH COURFEYRAC. TT^TT Always thinking of everyone else before himself and I CAN’T.
This is lovely and I wish I was more coherent but I LIKE THIS VERY MUCH, THANK YOU. ^_____________^
This may be weirdly specific, but it’s why I had a bad day, so… do you have any headcanons/scenes about any of the Amis being awkward and feeling like they’re bad at people/normal interaction, and being reassured by some of the others that they’re good just as they are?
Oooooh I’m so sorry you had a bad day Anon 😦 ♥ Imma give you my best ♥
- Jehan once tried to compliment a girl on her rainbow dyed hair. They had been admiring her from afar for a week in XVIII philosophy class and they needed to get it off his chest. But once they got up to her, they just kind of lost track and didn’t know how to proceed, so she looked at them like they were a bit weird and they were devastated. Later, Marius and Feuilly noticed they weren’t in their normal state and took them out to a nice cat café for tea, cakes and cats to cheer them up.
- Courfeyrac always tries to be there for everybody, to give attention and love but he ultimately ends up thinking that he’s never doing enough. And it drains him to his core and makes him sad “why can’t I be a good friend, they deservve so much and I can’t even bring it to them”. But Combeferre always knows, always notices and when these times come, he reminds Courfeyrac of all he does for others, how important he is and that he needs to be there for himself.
- Joly often get nervous when he has to ask questions in class because med school is a lake full of sharks. So sometimes even though he really really wants to asks for clarification, he doesn’t raise his hand and beats himself up for hours afterwards. Luckily, Bossuet and Musichetta are here to get him into a comforting hug sandwich, telling him that it isn’t his fault, that he’s doing the best he can and that’s what matters. Combeferre told him to whisper the question he needed to ask to him so that in turn he could be the one saying them out loud.
eirenical17 