hurt/comfort meme

[ex_rebelyell669]

the hurt/comfort meme


It is in times of distress that hope is truly found. How you handle those periods of duress is a mark of character. Whether you're the one in pain, providing sanctuary, or even if that ache is mutual, hurt/comfort is all about empathy. Connecting with the people around you.


Instructions:

→ Post with your character (note name, canon [if relevant], and preferences in the subject line).
→ Others reply by either generating a number between 1-21 for a prompt, or go off script, I'm not the boss of you.
→ Go forth and connect.


Options:

o1. injury: somehow, you've been injured. the severity, whether a mortal wound or "just a scrape" is up to you.
o2. sickness: thinking of calling out of work today? chances are you've got a common bug...or worse.
o3. fear & anxiety: careful where you throw that "scared to death" nonsense...it might just be an omen.
o4. loss of senses: you're missing one of those fundamental six senses, whether it's your sight, hearing, touch, smell, taste, or the Force.
o5. despair: the idea of hope looks more and more like a pipe dream right now.
o6. breakup: and we are never ever ever ever getting back together. ever.
o7. makeup: but you called me up again tonight...
o8. rescued: it's time for one of you to get your damsel in distress on.
o9. bad romance: i knew you were trouble when you walked in.
1o. loss: one of you has just experienced a loss of some kind; can you cope?
11. insanity: for whatever reason, "reason" is lost to you. you're seeing and hearing things. sometimes dead people.
12. tired/insomnia: is it the caffeine or the fact that you never leave your damned senatorial office? whether it's just lack of sleep or lack of energy, this exhaustion is bone-deep.
13. addiction: something's got you hooked, and you might just need a helping hand to give it some distance.
14. nightmares: okay, now you're definitely seeing dead people. do you dare go back to sleep?
15. blackmail: you've been caught and the evidence is compromising. do you seek help or vengeance?
16. separation/homesickness: whatever it is, the nostalgia's got you missing something (or someone) awfully.
17. betrayal: your trust has been violated, but is it a real or imagined slight?
18. stranded: you're stuck. maybe someone crashed your only ship for the 50th damn time. are you sure this isn't reality tv?
19. sins & guilt: the weight of your past deeds is like holding a world on your shoulders. maybe it's time to seek some help, atlas.
2o. secret: loose lips sink spaceships.
21. wildcard: "take your script and shove it, meme."

[adapted and remixed from here.]

Comments

[sithkabobed]

[Well, it's not a no.]

[And that's all the justification Qui-Gon needs to open the door and enter Kanan's room. He's silent with reverence, and even his footfalls barely making noise as he steps further inside. There's a moment of hesitation before he sits down at the edge of the bed where Ezra lays. Then, he reaches out with a hand, his large palm coming to a rest on the back of the boy's shoulder. It's a light touch, easily pulled away if unwanted, but it's more than enough for Qui-Gon to feel the way Ezra's entire body is shaking with tears shed and held back.]

[He sits there quietly and waits for Ezra to speak first, if at all. Until then, Qui-Gon will stay as a familiar presence; a sign that he's not alone]

[lothrat]

[That hand on his shoulder nearly breaks him all over again. For a moment, it almost feels like Kanan's hand, large and warm and comforting, but it isn't, it can't be, won't ever be again. Kanan's gone, and he can't even pretend. Not with his broken bond so painfully raw.

He doesn't pull away, though. Just cries all the harder for it. Maybe he should be ashamed for breaking down like this, for not being able to release his emotions to the Force, but he can't bring himself to care, can't even bring himself to speak for several long minutes. Even then, his voice is thick and barely audible through the pillow.]

When will it stop hurting, Qui-Gon?

[sithkabobed]

[A loaded question with no satisfactory answer no matter how many times it's asked... which is far too often.]

[Qui-Gon sighs as he considers his response, his thumb idly moving from side to side against the fabric of Ezra's shirt as both a means to comfort the boy and help him think.]

[He knows his next words won't be easy to say, and even harder to hear, but it needs to be done.]

It won't, Ezra. Not for quite some time.

[His thoughts briefly dwell on the mountain of pain that still strikes him to this day, even if sharp pangs have devolved into dull aches.]

But you will persevere, and because of that Kanan will never truly fade away.

[lothrat]

[At least he's honest about it. He's not just telling Ezra whatever he thinks it'll take to get him to stop crying. That makes it feel more sincere, and more like he actually cares. It's not what Ezra wants to hear, but he knows what he wants isn't even possible.

So he hiccups, but doesn't roll away from Qui-Gon's hand. Maybe it's childish, but he doesn't want to break that contact with another living person who cares, with someone willing to give even that small anchor to help him ride through his grief.]

But he won't be here. He won't get to see everything that I'll become. And I won't... I can't... How can I even be what he wanted if he's not here to guide me?

[sithkabobed]

[The fact that Ezra doesn't move away from his touch allows Qui-Gon to relax, his palm discarding that light gesture and giving way to more reassuring weight.]

A Master's goal for their Padawan is never to guide them into what they want, but rather towards meeting their full potential.

You'd still honor him by devoting yourself to becoming the best Jedi you can. Regardless of the fact that he won't be there for your accomplishments in the traditional sense.

[lothrat]

[Silence meets that statement, the silence of someone who can't speak through tears. Still, he's listening, even if the only evidence that Qui-Gon's words have any effect is the loosening of little knots of tension in Ezra's back beneath the Jedi Master's hand.

Finally, Ezra manages to regain control of his voice.]

I don't have a Master anymore. I can't- Unless-

[His mind balks each time he tries to form a sentence. He knows what he needs to ask, but the words won't come. If Kanan had still been alive, they'd feel like a betrayal. It's too soon. He isn't ready.

And yet, leaving it like that makes it sound like he's planning to give up on being a Jedi at all, and that would be letting Kanan down.

So he turns, finally pulling his face away from the pillow so he can sit up and give Qui-Gon a look, pleading for him to understand. One hand scrubs at his eyes, red-rimmed and puffy.]

I just want him to be proud.

[sithkabobed]

He was always proud of you, and he always will be.

[When Ezra rose, Qui-Gon's hand moved with him, maintaining that needed physical contact on the Padawan's shoulder and adjusting it just enough to allow for a reassuring grasp.]

[He knows what Ezra's asking, or rather the hard-to-approach topic he needs to ask about. Qui-Gon is the only other Jedi Master capable of teaching him—the only one capable of taking over Kanan's job. Not his place, never his place, but his responsibilities.]

We'll talk about your training when the time comes. There are a lot of decisions to make, none of them easy, and certainly none that have to be made now.

[That's one burden he can try to lift from Ezra's shoulders.]

[lothrat]

[It doesn't seem to matter how much Ezra rubs his eyes. Tears just keep sliding down his cheeks. Qui-Gon's hand, the reassurance...

He was always proud of you.

It's everything he wants to hear, and yet it isn't enough. How can it be, when Kanan isn't the one saying it to him? When Kanan won't ever get tell him himself. Ezra's breath hitches in his chest, then escapes in a painful sob. He should say something, thank Qui-Gon for understanding, for letting him put that conversation off, but all he can think about is the was in that sentence.

Was. Never is or will be again.

So no words come, only a soft, keening sound as Ezra gives up and crumples into that contact, burying his face in Qui-Gon's chest and the comfort he's offering.]

[sithkabobed]

[There's no hesitation. He's only ever had to comfort a Padawan like this a small handful of times throughout his life, and nobody in their right mind would ever let Qui-Gon near the crèche (dropped infants and botched feedings weren't within the Code's standards), but parental instinct is a power all on its own and it guides his every action.]

[The moment Ezra sinks into his chest, Qui-Gon's arms wrap around him, the billowing sleeves of his cloak draping over the boy's form as he brings him in close. He rests his chin on the crown of Ezra's head and his fingers run through his hair, soft with youth and disheveled from grief.]

Shh... Shh...

[Qui-Gon knows there's not much more he could feasibly offer outside of soothing sounds and sympathetic touches. With each of Ezra's sobs, he can feel a little piece of his heart chip away and drop into a sinking, vacant pit of helplessness. He squeezes his arms tighter around the lost Padawan, spurred by an intense need to protect him from the galaxy and its capricious, perpetual see-saw of trying to maintain balance through the Force. Every fortune begets misfortune, every misfortune begets fortune. Right and wrong. Dark and light. It's an easy concept to understand and an even easier mantra to preach (especially when enjoying the happier side of said balance) but then there are moments like this. Moments where all one can do is act as an anchor in a violent storm that looks like it'll never end.]

[lothrat]

[Maybe Qui-Gon thinks there's nothing he can do, and maybe he's technically right. There's nothing anyone can ever do to fix things when someone so important to you dies. But being enveloped in warm arms and rough, worn robes, having fingers card through his hair with all the reassurance that someone is there who cares, just feeling a living presence who feels the same pain can help so, so much in other ways. He's not alone, even if his soul feels cut off. He's crying, but there's a heartbeat under his cheek. He doesn't have to bear his grief by himself.

Minutes pass, maybe hours. He's honestly not watching a clock. But eventually his sobs taper off into soft, exhausted hiccups. He's not letting go, though. His fingers have knotted themselves into Qui-Gon's robes, holding the Master as close as he can. He isn't ready to be alone yet, but he isn't ready to come out of Kanan's room yet, either, to see the impact Kanan's death has had on the others. He isn't ready to be strong yet, like he feels like he'll need to be.

Just let him stay here like this a little longer, small and fragile and being held together by someone else's arms.]

[sithkabobed]

[Qui-Gon can be patient when he wants, usually coinciding with an absolute need by a mission or other assignment. Here, there is no mission, but that doesn't make his unequivocal understanding any less necessary. So as Ezra continues to pour his feelings into a tunic made soggy from tears, he doesn't move outside of comforting strokes and deep, rhythmic breaths reminiscent of a meditative trance. His hopes lie in his own serenity somehow spreading to the grieving boy. He doesn't want to silence that grief--quite the opposite--but if he can help mitigate the pain, then that's all the better.]

[It's not until quite some time has passed and Ezra's sobbing gives way to tiredness that Qui-Gon finally speaks, resting his hand on the back of Ezra's head in solidarity. His voice is soft with understanding.]

How do you feel?

[lothrat]

[It takes Ezra a second to answer the question, to drag up enough energy to gauge his own feelings then form the words to voice them. He closes his eyes, swallowing hard, then shifts his cheek to a drier spot.]

Still pretty awful.

[But he's not crying anymore. Mostly, though, that just feels like it's because he's run out of tears.]

Tired. Glad you're here.

[Might as well round out his answer. He's not sure what Qui-Gon wants to hear. Either way, it's true. If he thought he could get away with it, he'd just stay where he is for the rest of the evening, leaning against Qui-Gon and soaking in the calm that the man just seems to breathe. It doesn't make anything better, but Qui-Gon's quiet, warm strength at least helps to soothe the ache in Ezra's heart. He's not Kanan, can't ever replace him, but...

But they both can touch the Force, and that's a kinship of its own. Not a Bond, just a closeness that's almost.

Close enough that the Force doesn't feel so hollow. Ezra finds himself burrowing into it, just a little bit, physically and through the Force. His hands finally let go of Qui-Gon's robes so that they can wrap all the way around him. No apologies, because he needs this too much.]

I don't want to let go.

[He doesn't say of what. There's too many things to name that he doesn't want to let go of.]

[sithkabobed]

[When Ezra shifts, so does Qui-Gon, moving his arms into a more comfortable position with a heavy sigh. One hand rests against his back while the other hangs around his shoulder.]

You don't have to. Not yet.

[Qui-Gon is deliberate in the second part of his reassurance. While he can understand and even promote Ezra feeling his emotions rather than letting them flow through the Force, the fact of the matter is that he'll have to overcome this hurdle. Not tonight, and not tomorrow, but sooner rather than later.]

I'll stay here as long as you need.

[lothrat]

[Ezra hears that underlying message, and he knows that Qui-Gon is right. Knows that he can't cling to Kanan forever, that it's not healthy, that it's not the Jedi way. But Kanan was the one who taught him to form attachments in the first place, back when he'd been too afraid of losing anyone he came to care about to be willing to open up to connections at all. Letting go of him too quickly feels like it would dishonor that memory.

So he hears the message, but he doesn't answer it, just holds onto Qui-Gon a little tighter. Just lets himself fall silent while Qui-Gon's hand on his back soothes the edges of one of the first connections he'd made after eight years of guarding his heart. Just keeps his eyes closed and listens, to Qui-Gon's heart, to his rumbling voice, to his steady presence in the Force that reminds him, just by existing, that other connections remain. The connection that's gone still hurts, making his breath continue to hitch every few minutes.

But he's still part of a greater whole, and life goes on. It'll get better with time.

Eventually, exhaustion makes even those tiny hitches taper off. If Qui-Gon has anything else he wants to say to Ezra, it should probably be soon. Otherwise, sleep's going to make its own attempt to heal a broken heart.]

[sithkabobed]

[There's nothing more to be said.]

[There isn't any spoken word that can file down the ragged edges of Ezra's still new, still very raw pain. There's only solidarity brought through understanding and their connection through a wide expanse greater and larger than any single person in the entire galaxy. As such, Qui-Gon taps into the Force and asks for a fortification of physical and emotional strength. The former becomes more important with each passing moment as Ezra's lassitude starts to settle in. At this point, anything that Qui-Gon can do to not disturb the boy further takes priority over his own comfort. Ezra needs to rest, he doesn't.]

[His eyes flutter shut as he slips into meditation, still keeping Ezra close to his chest as the young Jedi continues to grasp at him like a lifeline. Sleep, spurred by emotional taxation and physical exertion, threatens to take over, but Qui-Gon continues to hold it at bay. Meditation allows for a middle ground, a balance. The same balance that he knows he and Ezra will have to rely on to get them through the tumultuous times ahead.]

[But he doesn't need to think about that now. Ever in the present, Qui-Gon knows he can't afford to waste time and energy dwelling on a future nobody can ever truly know. What can he do? He can sit here and wait. He can stay still and keep a silent vigil over a hurting child who only wanted a place to call home and a means to do good in the world.]

[He can provide that tiniest chance that springs an entire galaxy of hope.]