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27/07/19 at 4:01pm Fevers and feverish characters. I’m all about the qualitative descriptions, not the quantitative. I don’t need or want to know the character’s exact temperature, and in any event if the character isn’t human who knows how high their fever runs? The nice thing about fever is that it’s a nearly universal symptom, and even living machines could overheat and feel feverish if unwell. All sorts of creatures can feel weak, sweaty and flushed, just barely staying upright. Characters trying to tough it out and plow through it, but anyone can tell that they’ve seen better days. Fever is wonderful because it’s one of those symptoms that demands that the character rest. Sniffles and sneezing are easy to brush off, even a bad cough can be ignored. But swaying on your feet with sweat running down your back, damp locks of hair framing the face– someone is bound to notice that. “You look flushed… goodness you’re burning up!” “You can’t go outside in this weather running a fever.” “You have to stop working and that’s final. I’m not going to have you collapsing on the job.” “Why are you so wearing so many clothes? It’s not cold in here. You look awful.” Fever has a flexible degree of debilitation, from the slightly feverish character who just needs a little rest and TLC all the way up to the deliriously feverish character who is bound to reveal too much. You can knock the character out and lay them low, have them babble some dark secret and/or their true feelings for their caretaker, or they can enjoy a fluffy moment of being coddled. Maybe both, if their illness is progressive! And the caretaking paraphernalia: lots of cool beverages, cool damp towels on the brow, fever-reducing medicines [tonics, coolant, potions, nothing at all, depending on setting]. Keeping the character away from drafts, and draping a light blanket over them. Not too warm, but enough to keep them from being chilled.
twhumper 05/08/19 at 3:56pm Not gonna lie, I’m a total sucker for a usually prickly standoffish person becoming an absolute touch-starved sweetheart when exceptionally ill. I know it’s a cliche and a total trope, but I love it. Like they’re usually colder than the arctic, they won’t let their teammates/coworkers die/fail, but they don’t really talk to them in a casual context or interact beyond that. Any attempt to do so by someone else is just met with a brick wall of resistance. So when the caretaker finds them sicker than a dog, fever spiking, they’re expecting a worse version of that. Instead they get trembling hands grasping the hem of their shirt, a raspy barely there voice begging them to stay, and soft pleading whimpers when they try to detangle their limbs from the other. They get stuck caring for this poor much too warm being who just simply can no longer accept existence without the comfort of another person around. Bonus points if the sickee ends up babbling not realizing they are or not realizing who they’re telling. Especially if old injuries are mentioned. Extra bonus points if the whole time the sickee thinks they’re a person who’s no longer around. Maybe someone they were close to, but who’s no longer around. And then there’s fever nightmare potential and you literally just cannot go wrong with that to be honest. Crying out in their sleep, tears, the panicked rising and falling of their chest. The little tremors that course through them after they wake up. The shakes which turn into heaving sobs that sound much too big for them, the ones that steal their already weak breath away sending them straight into a coughing fit. The caretaker pulling them close to themselves, petting their hair, trying desperately to keep their voice even as they encouragingly whisper, ‘you’re okay now. You’re safe. Breathe.’ The sickee in the end tries to return to their normal routine, but the caretaker never treats them the same.
Reunion after (physical) tr4uma prompts tws apply: grief/fear for someone’s life, mention of injuries, unconsciousness, hospıtals, comas, mention of involuntary drugging. that’s the general vibe. WORDS “Theeeere you are. Hi. Welcome back.” “Breathe. Hi, we found you, just breathe for me, okay?” “This is going to hurt̸, but it will help you.” “You’re safe. [Name], can you hear me? They’re here to help you, you need to let them help you.” “I found them, they’re over here!” “Does anyone have medical training?” “N.. no, no, no, no, hey. [Name]? Hi, I’ve got you.” “You can sleep, [name]. It’s over.” “I’ll still be here when you wake up.” “You were in an induced coma. Your bødy went through a lot.” “I wasn’t –… Your doctors weren’t sure you’d wake up.” “[Name]? Was that - did you squeeze my hand?” “It’s okay. It’s meant to be there, it’s helping you breathe.” “Can you hear me?” “You.. you were so close to dying. I was scared.” ACTIONS [ GATHER ] for sender to gather receiver’s (unconscious) bødy into their arms, in the style of no no no not them. [ STARING ] for sender to find receiver sitting alonȩ staring at a wall, covered in bløød, and to to͠uch their arm. [ WAITING ] for sender to be waiting at receiver’s hospıtal bedside when receiver finally comes out of a coma, or wakes from surgery. [ STEADY ] for sender to catch or steady receiver when receiver tries to stand up too early or to push their bødy past what it’s ready for [ TEARS ] for receiver to find tears on sender’s face, when they’re finally reunited (either immediately after the trauma, or waking up in a hospıtal), because sender thought receiver was dead or dying [ GRIEF ] for receiver to wake up just as sender is saying goodbye, because the doctors told them to. feel free to specify what they might be saying. do not judge me, this is going in the meme [ LETTER ] for sender to find a last letter, video, text, etc that receiver made for them, thinking they wouldn’t make it out of the situation alįve. Obviously receiver does make it out alįve, but the letter/video still exists (and receiver will detail what’s in it). [ FIGHT ] for receiving muse to not recognize sender or medical staff trying to help them, due to being drugged or otherwise disoriented – so they fight.
I think the reason sick whump hold such a special place in my heart is that, relatively speaking, you don’t see it that often in canon media? Like, characters being injured in books/films/tv is pretty standard I’d say. Maybe not to the detailed whumpy levels we’d all like it to be, but if I think about it pretty much every character I’ve viewed as a potential whumpee has actually suffered some form of injury or another (often more than once) within their respective media. But illness? You just don’t see it as often. And I’m not sure why - but I’d guess probably because it tends to leave characters in a stagnant state; an injury can be attained while Actively Doing Something Plot Relevant, so even if the aftercare is shown offscreen [ugh], the actual Getting Hurt part can be part of the plot - whereas sickness holds focus on a character within that state of infirmity, and most mainstream audiences would probably see it as uninteresting to watch or read. So when it comes to imagining my faves being hurt, well, it’s still great but I likely have already seen them hurt within whatever media they’re a part of. But imagining them being sick…now that requires some more imagination on my part. There’s a ~mystique~ to it. It feels like a more personal show of the character’s vulnerability because it likely hasn’t actually been shown before, so it’s like a little secret that I get to figure out on my own.
pls note the ai inflicts emotional damage (ᵕ—ᴗ—)
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whumpberry-cookie Platonic love between Caretaker and Whumpee: Cuddling/sleeping next to eachother in very natural, not romantic way. Lying on the bed, watching the ceiling and having a deep talk about their dreams for the future. Or even little funny fights in their sleep like pulling the blanket. "Ey, take that foot out of my face, stinky!" "Oh? But it's where it's supposed to be. Don't like that?" "I'M TELLING ON YOU TO LEADER!!" Seeing the other in "borrowed" clothes and not even saying a word about it, because they switch clothes so often. (Giving the other a jumper cause they're cold/wet) Knowing eachother's facial expressions so well they can tell the other is upset/overwhealmed when no one else notices it. "Whumpee, what were you trying to say? I didn't catch that in the conversation" / "What about changing the topic now?" Both of them being sincerely surprised if someone asks them if they're together. "With Caretaker? Ah, haha, no! They're a big brother! Why? Do YOU wanna hit on them? You'll need to go through my vibe check first. Pray you pass it." Communication skills worked out, because they know eachother for so longg!! "Are you mad at me...?" "...I'm- really hecking frustrated, partly because I'm hungry and tıred. I need some space now and we'll figure it out later, okay?" Not pushing the other to confess their traumas from the past. Your secrets are yours to decide if you want to share them and when. I don't need to know everything. (W:) "...you don't seem surprised by what I said" (C:) "Yeah... I kinda figured it long ago. I just didn't want to bring it up until you're ready" ----------------------
caretaker assuring whumpee that they’re safe now. the hard part is over. maybe whumpee’s fever has finally broken. they’re soaked through with sweat, blinking wearily back to lucidity, and caretaker rocks them in their arms. “there you are,” caretaker cries. “welcome back. it’s okay. you’re okay.” maybe whumpee is out of surgery and waking up in a hospital. caretaker sits by their bedside, holding their hand and pressing kisses to their forehead. “you’re safe, whumpee, you’re in the hospital. it’s all okay. you’re safe now.” maybe whumpee’s bleeding has finally stopped. caretaker leans back on their haunches, exhausted, hands bloodstained. “i think it’s over,” they tell whumpee with a soft smile, tucking whumpee’s hair behind their ear. “look at that, i think you’re gonna be just fine.” maybe whumpee has just been removed from a perilous situation. caretaker refuses to leave their side— hugging them close, rubbing their back. “i’m here, i’m here, whumpee. i won’t let anything hurt you again. you can rest now. you’re safe.”
i-write-whump When the whumpee wakes up in pain, and doesn’t remember what happened or how they got there, so the caretaker has to explain everything to them slowly and carefully, because the whumpee is still pretty out of it. The caretaker gently stroking the whumpee’s hair as they talk, hugging them as soon as they’re done explaining, and answering any questions the whumpee has. The caretaker tucking them in tighter and offering them water, then making sure they’re as comfortable as possible, and that they’re resting, knowing that the whumpee may still be too out of it to actually remember any of their conversation, but content to explain everything again if needed.
Losing consciousness eyes are so good. Fluttering eyelids. Eyes going out of focus before they close. Eyes meeting with those of the whumpee or the carer, wide with pain and fear, before rolling back. ~
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whumpster-dumpster Personality Changes When Sick Reserved whumpees getting all needy and clingy ❤️ Clingy whumpees getting real grumpy and distant ❤️ Stoic whumpees getting melancholy and nostalgic ❤️ Boisterous whumpees getting lethargic and withdrawn ❤️ Grouchy whumpees becoming soft-spoken and sweet ❤️ Fragile whumpees proving that they can tough it out ❤️ Tough whumpees finally admitting they’re miserable ❤️ Night owl whumpees crashing in the middle of the day ❤️ Early bird whumpees sleeping straight through to noon ❤️
Some of my favorite words and phrases to describe a character in pain coiling (up in a ball, in on themselves, against something, etc) panting (there’s a slew of adjectives you can put after this, my favorites are shakily, weakly, etc) keeling over (synonyms are words like collapsing, which is equally as good but overused in media) trembling/shivering (additional adjectives could be violently, uncontrollably, etc) sobbing (weeping is a synonym but i’ve never liked that word. also love using sob by itself, as a noun, like “he let out a quiet sob”) whimpering (love hitting the wips with this word when a character is weak, especially when the pain is subsiding. also love using it for nightmares/attacks and things like that) clinging (to someone or something, maybe even to themselves or their own clothes) writhing/thrashing (maybe someone’s holding them down, or maybe they’re in bed alone) crying (not actual tears. cry as in a shrill, sudden shout) dazed (usually after the pain has subsided, or when adrenaline is still flowing) wincing (probably overused but i love this word. synonym could be grimacing) doubling-over (kinda close to keeling over but they don’t actually hit the ground, just kinda fold in on themselves) heaving (i like to use it for describing the way someone’s breathing, ex. “heaving breaths” but can also be used for the nasty stuff like dry heaving or vomiting) gasping/sucking/drawing in a breath (or any other words and phrases that mean a sharp intake of breath, that shite is gold) murmuring/muttering/whispering (or other quiet forms of speaking after enduring intense pain) hiccuping/spluttering/sniffling (words that generally imply crying without saying crying. the word crying is used so much it kinda loses its appeal, that’s why i like to mix other words like these in) stuttering (or other general terms that show an impaired ability to speak — when someone’s in intense pain, it gets hard to talk) staggering/stumbling (there is a difference between pain that makes you not want to stand, and pain that makes it impossible to stand. explore that!) recoiling/shrinking away (from either the threat or someone trying to help) pleading/begging (again, to the threat, someone trying to help, or just begging the pain to stop) Feel free to add your favorites or most used in the comments/reblogs!
whumpster-dumpster Ways To Carry Your Whumpee™: - Cradled in Caretaker’s arms, head heavy against their shoulder (good for exhausted whumpees who shouldn’t be woken) - Over Caretaker’s shoulder, arms swinging limply with every movement (good for when they need to escape fast) - Under one of Caretaker’s arms like a piece of luggage (good for stubborn whumpees who need to accept tough love) - On Caretaker’s back, arms wrapped around their neck with as much strength as they can muster (good for Smol Whumpee and Tol Caretaker) - With one arm around Caretaker’s neck, leaning more and more heavily on them by the minute (good for dragging Caretaker down too in a collapse) Feel free to add on!

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Why write such about comfort characters? as a way to express creativity a coping mechanism enjoy the friendship bonding side of it enjoy seeing characters being comforted and cared for after enjoy characters dealing with hard things it makes good story character development @ALYJACI
The phrase “comfort character” is part of that pop culture landscape. What is a “comfort character”? Everything You Need to Know about Comfort Characters By: Author Marcel Iseli Posted on Last updated: April 18, 2023 What is a “comfort character”? A comfort character is a character in a fictional world, such as a TV show, movie, game, book, or comic, that a person strongly identifies with and takes comfort from. They may use thoughts of the comfort character to help them through hard times. The person will simply feel drawn toward the character. Even if you have never encountered the term before, you probably know this feeling of really liking or identifying with a character. When the person feels down, they could watch, read or play whatever this character appears in and then feel better after spending some time with the character. Strong identification with a character is another way a person may choose a comfort character. For example, maybe there is a main character in a movie who has a story arc that show them becoming a more confident person. Someone who identified with this comfort character might struggle with their confidence as well. When they were in situations where they lacked confidence, they could think about how this character handled similar situations. The concept of comfort characters is very popular in online fandom. “Fandom” refers to any community that arises around a piece of media, whether that’s a game, a popular show, a book, a comic or a movie. It’s a little bit different from simply being a fan of something. People involved in a fandom often belong to internet communities that talk about these characters a lot. They might attend meetups or conventions based around this fandom and dress up like the character. It’s also very common for them to create their own art around the stories that they love. For example, they might draw pictures of the character in various situations, or they might write new stories about adventures that the characters have beyond the scope of the original tale that they came from. In fact, you might find some accounts entirely devoted to comfort characters, sometimes called “stan accounts.” “Stan” is slang that refers to being a big fan of something or someone. How comfort characters help People report comfort characters helping them in very real ways in their lives. If they struggle with anxiety and panic attacks, thinking about their comfort character can often help stave off these feelings. There has been some research that shows that these characters can have a positive effect on fans, encouraging them to act in ways that are more beneficial for them. For most people, comfort characters are fun, beneficial ways to better enjoy the stories they love.
X wasn’t quite sure whether to approach his wife, Y, about what he’d seen. On one hand, he didn’t want to distress her, but the weight on the other felt as if it were being crushed under the weight. Once he’d retreated inside, he clambered onto the first table he saw, rather than going off to find her. Alas, the peace barely lasted more than a few seconds. “X!” Y burst from the kitchen door, startling the other out of his thoughts. “It’s been a long day Y. I think I’ll…go to bed early tonight.” Letting out a huff, Y folded her arms, clearly less than amused. “And make me cover for you again? You were only gone for a couple of hours. Do you know how much hard work I put into running this place while you were gone?” X raised his brow. “What, did we just-so-happen to get an influx of customers today?” “That’s beside the point.” She dismissed the question with a flick of her wrist, rolling over to the table he was at. However, now that she could see his form more closely, his tense posture and partial absence from the conversation at hand became much clearer. “…X you look unusally reserved. What happened?” At first, she wasn’t graced with a response whatsoever. A hand reached down for the other, but X couldn’t bring himself to get up, so Y perceived his silence as disinterest and returned it to her side. Seeing him lack his usual energy made Y’s heart ache; she knew better than to go picking fights with X when he was like this. He couldn’t meet his wife’s stare, regardless of how much he longed to lose himself in her shine of her exterior. Having Y nearby always helped X feel at ease, yet it wasn’t doing much in terms of assisting him today. “Let's just…close early today altogether.” “You sure?” “I demand it.” It was a curiosity-peaking situation, but Y held enough respect for her husband X to not press him further. “You can always talk to me, sweetheart, but I’m happy to close for the day.” “Is that so?” X asked. Rather than adopting the powerful tone of voice he used while scheming, he maintained his quiet one, which rung alarm bells in Y. Since he’d been almost completely zoned out of his surroundings, her husband hadn’t noticed the shotglass-sized bowl of soup she’d made him, and as she brought it over to him, she could see a crack of a thankful smile on his face. Y never really got anything more from him - ‘thank you’s didn’t qualify for villain-approved manners - but to her, that only made his perseverance more admirable. “I’ll bear that in mind.” X’s response came out in a hushed whisper, as if the world were listening to every syllable that left his throat. Words sunk their nails into his throat, trying to claw their way out between sips of soup, but to no avail. X was determined to keep his promise. X was no less satisfied to have his wife at his side. X had needed Y today, and she pulled through, as always. An unwavering pride in his companion was always one of his biggest drives in life. To see her face at the end of a long day was no less than a blessing, and while he could have lived a crime-free life, he wouldn’t trade his current place of residence or love of his life. Y’s silent verdict was that it now wasn’t even worth considering pressing for details; her husband slowly becoming at ease as he revelled in the soup was enough for her to not want to rile him up. She’d already done so earlier with their argument. Had either of them actually apologised? What were they even talking about? “…Are you still interested in getting some rest early, honey?” A tired eye trailing over to her, he set down the empty bowl. X was practically screaming at himself not to leak it all out to his wife as either whimpers or whines. “Would that be alright, my sweet?” X found himself carefully scooped up in his wife’s hands and escorted to the restaurant’s back rooms. She gave him the thumbs up. “That’s fine. You can take all the time you need, X. You look like you need it.” “I should be working. You’re too soft on me.” “Would you prefer I picked a fight with you right now?” “No.” “Then don’t complain.” Thankfully, Y didn’t hit a nerve; either that, or X simply hadn’t the strength to argue. The former didn’t mind no matter the answer though. Whatever he’d seen would be better processed after some good rest, Y was positive. The chatter lingered until they reached their resting area. X finally felt he was home. “There.” His wife said, muttering to herself. It didn’t concern her that her self-muttering was within ear-shot of her husband, obviously. “I’ll go get your blanket.” “You’ve done an awful lot for me today. Do you want something?” X blinked. Usually, Y would scold him for saying something like that in response to her favours, but she processed that he asked as a gesture of kindness, not as an investigative question. She gently rested a silky face flannel over him for a little warmth. “Just know I love you. That’s all I want in return.” “Th…ank. You.” …!!!! Today was a mish-mash of weird circumstances, but the marriage of the two beings was just as unconventional. For a moment, the duo were lost in each-other’s eyes. Those two words - as messy as they’d come out - were bouncing off the walls and striking Y in her equivalent of a spine, pushing her a little closer to her husband until they were equal-viewing level. Poor Y thought of going to melt from the sudden increase of her internal temperature. Such tenderness; it made her swoon! Until he’d said it, he’d had no idea how long she’d been wanting to hear something like that. Something other than X’s plans The significantly taller leaned her monitor forward, as if to kiss him- but drew back. Now wasn’t the right time for something like that. Not when X had so much already on his mind. Oh, but those words had been so soft, so quaint. Though she’d stopped herself giving him a robotic kiss, Y savoured every second that they stood mere inches apart, that little bit of kindness holding a value to her that she was sure X had no idea of. He couldn’t feel the sparks of electricity rushing through her. X might not have any inkling at ALL that she cared in regards to what he said, nevermind the fact she felt like an exception happily caught in his network. Although, they must have at least meant something for him to attempt to say it, even if he’d become exhausted and drained from the last few hours. It was enough for her to let out a “Never a problem; supporting you is my job,” before adding on “but don’t you dare hold that against me when I refuse to wash the dishes.” The quip earned a stifled chuckle from her lover. It broke a little of the tension between them, but in a light, easy-to-digest way. As Y had leaned in, X had felt his heart pump a little faster, and a jittery feeling in his veins - a trace of something he hadn’t felt in a while. X could only wonder if she took anything away from that small exchange, barring the reminder of her duties. Did she feel anything or was it just him? He wasn’t even sure if she had a positive physical response, let alone a positive emotional response… “No promises!” He laughed, before awkwardly coughing, unsure what to say now. That was one loooong period of silence. Was the restaurant owner just supposed to pretend nothing happened, or approach the topic? “Well- If you want to transfer yourself back into the building’s wall monitor for the night, there is no opposition here.” “That sounds nice. It’s how I imagine wrapping yourself in a blanket feels.” Y let out a sound emulating a yawn, hoping to dispel the sudden subdued awkwardness that’d washed over her husband. His feathery laugh had been much different to his more maniacal cackles. Far more genuine and fulfilled, and smooth. On one hand, seeing his mind off of the schemes for once made her want to spin with glee, but on the other, he was only acting so unusually because something had gone down. It was difficult for her to handle. “Based on how you describe it, of course.” If she could have given a true smile, Y would have, but gave upturned lips instead. X was pretty much at a loss for words, understanding her point and unable to refute it. Some part of X wished his wife had come with him, purely so he wouldn’t have to carry the burden of decisions alone as he was doing now. ‘Twas a selfish thought, and alas, X knew he had a word to keep. “Have a nice rest, sweetie. I’ll keep an eye out for any intruders.” “Hope your wall monitor is comfy.” “I’m sure it will be.” X curled himself up under the face flannel, his eyelid gently fluttering shut. “You mean a lot to me Y so don’t ever think you don’t, understand?” “Understood. Care to elaborate?” … “Honey?” … “X?” Snore. “…Ah.”
@candaru no no. you don't get it. the reason I injure my blorbos until they can't walk is because that's the only way they'll ever let someone else carry them. the reason I curse them to be sick and feverish is so that they'll finally open up about their emotions while delirious. the reason I force them to over exert themselves to the point of exhaustion is so that when they pass out they can finally rest. I'm doing this for their own good. October 21st, 2023, 7:43 AM
Kazeto Elementalist from somewhere in Europe. Since: Feb, 2011 Relationship Status: Coming soon to theaters #7: Apr 20th 2016 at 1:55:59 PM I cannot talk about others, but I actually took the opening post in much the same way as you'd explained that you meant it in this one, and I presume that they, or at least some of them, took it much the same. It's not about seeing the character beat up and dying. It's not about seeing the character miserable. But it is about seeing the character have bad things inflicted upon them and yet overcoming them, learning from them, being shaped by them. Because the sweet parts do not taste all that sweet (relatively speaking) if you've never had anything but sweet things. And I am no sadist either, but I too have my characters go through some quite bad stuff. Not necessarily as horrific as what they pulled in Berserk, no, but in many cases the stuff that happens dismantles who the characters are before letting them piece themselves back.
EMOTIONALLY BONDING WITH A FICTIONAL CHARACTER? THERE’S A TERM FOR THAT: ‘COMFORT CHARACTERS’ Just because they're not real doesn't mean that they can't be a source of consolation or contentment. SEPTEMBER 21, 2021 KAREN LU, YALE UNIVERSITY 8 MINS READ If you have even a toe in the door of fandom (any fandom, really), you have probably come across the term “comfort character.” The term is everywhere: in Buzzfeed quizzes, Twitter imagines, dozens of Spotify playlists and Instagram fanposts. Like the name implies, it’s a fictional character in pop culture and media that people find comfort in, either through identifying with them or wishing to hang out with them like a best friend. For some, comfort characters are so real that even just thinking about them, rewatching their scenes, reading fan fictions or otherwise engaging with them can help stave off anxiety attacks, calm down during panic episodes, or simply provide a hand to hold on to during difficult times. The typical comfort character might be someone fierce and protective of their friends, passionate about their ambitions and goals, or struggling with inner demons. Usually, they have characteristics that are easy to relate to or be inspired by. Or, it can be completely random — there’s no requisite in what makes a comfort character. It might be the plucky main protagonist, the tortured antihero or an innocuous supporting character. Whether they’re conquering a villain, avenging a fallen friend, or simply being happy, people find warmth in following along in their journey or seeing them smile in the face of their own tragedy. Comfort characters exist in part because many people don’t have parents, friends or other social resources that they can talk to or truly open up with. Studies have also shown how comfort characters can actually inspire and improve people. Researchers from Ohio State University coined the phenomenon “experience-taking,” in which people take the emotions from a story for their own. The researchers found that — albeit temporarily and in the right situations — readers could make real changes in their own lives. For instance, the researchers found that people became more likely to vote in a real election after strongly identifying with a fictional character who themselves overcame obstacles to vote. In the long run, comfort characters are simply a part of enjoying a show and finding pleasure in media and fiction.
misscrazyfangirl321 Characters that have never experienced affection before, or haven't experienced it in a long time, finally getting to experience it? Top tier. Said character freezing up for a second, not really knowing how to respond, but not wanting it to stop? T o p t i e r. Said character trying to clumsily return the affection in their own way, because this is Good and they don't want it to stop? T O P T I E R.
✿𝒮ᗴᒪᖴ ᒪOᐯᗴ ᗩᖴᖴIᖇᗰᗩTIOᑎ𝒮✿ I love 𝕞𝕪𝕤𝕖𝕝𝕗 I am 𝕕𝕚𝕧𝕚𝕟𝕖 I 𝕕𝕠𝕟’𝕥 need nobody else The only validation I need is 𝕞𝕪 𝕠𝕨𝕟 I am so 𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕡𝕪 for who I am I am so 𝕡𝕣𝕠𝕦𝕕 of myself My favourite person is 𝕄𝔼 I am 𝕓𝕖𝕒𝕦𝕥𝕚𝕗𝕦𝕝 inside and outside I 𝕓𝕖𝕝𝕚𝕖𝕧𝕖 and 𝕥𝕣𝕦𝕤𝕥 myself I am 𝕔𝕒𝕡𝕒𝕓𝕝𝕖  I 𝕝𝕠𝕧𝕖 my energy I am the 𝕞𝕒𝕚𝕟 𝕔𝕙𝕒𝕣𝕒𝕔𝕥𝕖𝕣 of my life Loving myself is so 𝕣𝕖𝕨𝕒𝕣𝕕𝕚𝕟𝕘 Everyday I love myself even 𝕞𝕠𝕣𝕖 I am 𝕗𝕠𝕔𝕦𝕤𝕖𝕕 on me I am everything I 𝕟𝕖𝕖𝕕 I feel 𝕤𝕒𝕗𝕖 in my 𝕠𝕨𝕟 company
୨୧ 𝓭𝓮𝓪𝓻 𝓹𝓻𝓮𝓽𝓽𝔂 𝓰𝓲𝓻𝓵𝓼 ୨୧ 𝐈 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐢𝐩𝐬 — 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥 𝐭𝐢𝐩𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐲 🍃📚 𝟭. 𝗽𝗮𝘆 𝗮𝘁𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻 𝘁𝗼 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝘀𝘁𝗿𝘂𝗰𝘁𝘂𝗿𝗲. 𝗶𝗻𝘁𝗿𝗼𝗱𝘂𝗰𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻, 𝗺𝗮𝗶𝗻 𝗯𝗼𝗱𝘆, 𝗰𝗼𝗻𝗰𝗹𝘂𝘀𝗶𝗼𝗻, 𝗿𝗲𝗳𝗲𝗿𝗲𝗻𝗰𝗲𝘀. 𝗱𝗼 𝗡𝗢𝗧 𝗳𝗼𝗿𝗴𝗲𝘁 𝘁𝗼 𝗶𝗻𝗰𝗹𝘂𝗱𝗲 𝗿𝗲𝗳𝗲𝗿𝗲𝗻𝗰𝗲𝘀 𝗮𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗲𝗻𝗱 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘁𝗼 𝗽𝘂𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗺 𝗶𝗻 𝗰𝗼𝗿𝗿𝗲𝗰𝘁 𝗳𝗼𝗿𝗺𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻 + 𝗮𝗹𝗽𝗵𝗮𝗯𝗲𝘁𝗶𝗰𝗮𝗹 𝗼𝗿𝗱𝗲𝗿. 𝗮𝗹𝘀𝗼, 𝗶𝗻𝗰𝗹𝘂𝗱𝗲 𝗶𝗻-𝘁𝗲𝘅𝘁 𝗰𝗶𝘁𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝘀 𝘄𝗵𝗲𝗻 𝘄𝗿𝗶𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗴. 𝟮. 𝗰𝗵𝗲𝗰𝗸 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝘁𝗲𝗮𝗰𝗵𝗲𝗿/𝗽𝗿𝗼𝗳𝗲𝘀𝘀𝗼𝗿 𝘄𝗵𝗲𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝗮𝗻𝘆 𝗿𝗲𝗾𝘂𝗶𝗿𝗲𝗺𝗲𝗻𝘁𝘀 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝘁𝘆𝗽𝗲 𝗼𝗳 𝗳𝗼𝗻𝘁 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗶𝘁𝘀 𝘀𝗶𝘇𝗲. 𝟯. 𝗱𝗼𝗻’𝘁 𝗯𝗲 𝗮𝗳𝗿𝗮𝗶𝗱 𝘁𝗼 𝘂𝘀𝗲 𝗱𝗶𝗮𝗴𝗿𝗮𝗺𝘀/𝗺𝗮𝗽𝘀/𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗿𝘁𝘀 𝘄𝗵𝗲𝗻 𝘄𝗿𝗶𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗲𝘀𝘀𝗮𝘆𝘀, 𝗵𝗼𝘄𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗿, 𝗱𝗼𝗻’𝘁 𝗳𝗼𝗿𝗴𝗲𝘁 𝘁𝗼 𝗿𝗲𝗳𝗲𝗿𝗲𝗻𝗰𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗺 (𝗯𝗼𝘁𝗵 𝘂𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗿 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗱𝗶𝗮𝗴𝗿𝗮𝗺 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗶𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗿𝗲𝗳𝗲𝗿𝗲𝗻𝗰𝗲 𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁). 𝗶𝘁 𝘀𝗵𝗼𝘄𝘀 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝘀𝗼𝘂𝗿𝗰𝗲 𝘄𝗲𝗹𝗹, 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘆𝗼𝘂’𝗿𝗲 𝗶𝗻𝘃𝗼𝗹𝘃𝗲𝗱 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝗶𝘁. 𝗰𝗿𝗲𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗼𝘄𝗻 𝗱𝗶𝗮𝗴𝗿𝗮𝗺 𝘀𝗵𝗼𝘄𝘀 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗶𝗻-𝗱𝗲𝗽𝘁𝗵 𝘂𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗿𝘀𝘁𝗮𝗻𝗱𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗼𝗳 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗲𝘃𝗶𝗱𝗲𝗻𝗰𝗲. 𝟰. 𝗱𝗼 𝗡𝗢𝗧 𝗽𝗹𝗮𝗴𝗶𝗮𝗿𝗶𝘇𝗲. 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗶𝘀 𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘆 𝘀𝗲𝗿𝗶𝗼𝘂𝘀, 𝗲𝘀𝗽𝗲𝗰𝗶𝗮𝗹𝗹𝘆 𝗼𝗻𝗰𝗲 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝘀𝘁𝗮𝗿𝘁 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝘂𝗻𝗶𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘀𝗶𝘁𝘆 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗿𝘀𝗲. 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝘆 𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝗩𝗘𝗥𝗬 𝗹𝗶𝗸𝗲𝗹𝘆 𝘁𝗼 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗶𝗰𝗲, 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗻 𝘆𝗼𝘂’𝗹𝗹 𝗯𝗲 𝗶𝗻 𝗯𝗶𝗴 𝘁𝗿𝗼𝘂𝗯𝗹𝗲. 𝟱. 𝘄𝗮𝘁𝗰𝗵 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝘁𝘂𝗯𝗲 𝘃𝗶𝗱𝗲𝗼𝘀, 𝗱𝗼𝗰𝘂𝗺𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗮𝗿𝗶𝗲𝘀, 𝗲𝘁𝗰. 𝘁𝗼 𝗵𝗮𝘃𝗲 𝗮 𝗯𝗲𝘁𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝘂𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗿𝘀𝘁𝗮𝗻𝗱𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗼𝗳 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘁𝗼𝗽𝗶𝗰 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝗮𝘀𝗸𝗲𝗱 𝘁𝗼 𝗲𝘃𝗮𝗹𝘂𝗮𝘁𝗲 𝗶𝗻 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗲𝘀𝘀𝗮𝘆. 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗯𝗲𝘁𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗸𝗻𝗼𝘄𝗹𝗲𝗱𝗴𝗲 𝗶𝘀, 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗺𝗼𝗿𝗲 𝗹𝗶𝗸𝗲𝗹𝘆 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝘁𝗼 𝗵𝗮𝘃𝗲 𝘀𝘁𝗿𝗼𝗻𝗴 𝗰𝗿𝗶𝘁𝗶𝗰𝗮𝗹 𝗲𝘃𝗮𝗹𝘂𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘃𝗮𝗹𝗶𝗱 𝗮𝗿𝗴𝘂𝗺𝗲𝗻𝘁𝘀. 𝟲. 𝗱𝗼𝗻’𝘁 𝗳𝗼𝗿𝗴𝗲𝘁 𝘁𝗼 𝗲𝘃𝗮𝗹𝘂𝗮𝘁𝗲 𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝘀𝗼𝘂𝗿𝗰𝗲𝘀 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝘂𝘀𝗲 𝗶𝗻 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗲𝘀𝘀𝗮𝘆. 𝗲𝘅𝗽𝗹𝗮𝗶𝗻 𝘄𝗵𝘆 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘀𝗼𝘂𝗿𝗰𝗲 𝘂𝘀𝗲𝗱 𝗶𝘀 𝘄𝗲𝗮𝗸 𝗼𝗿 𝘀𝘁𝗿𝗼𝗻𝗴; 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗰𝗮𝗻 𝗯𝗲 𝗱𝗼𝗻𝗲 𝗯𝘆 𝘀𝗽𝗲𝗮𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗮𝗯𝗼𝘂𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗽𝗼𝗽𝘂𝗹𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻 𝘂𝘀𝗲𝗱, 𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗽𝗮𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘁𝗿𝗶𝗮𝗹𝘀, 𝗵𝗼𝘄 𝗹𝗶𝗸𝗲𝗹𝘆 𝗶𝘀 𝗴𝗲𝗻𝗲𝗿𝗮𝗹𝗶𝘇𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻 𝗼𝗳 𝗽𝗮𝗿𝘁𝗶𝗰𝗶𝗽𝗮𝗻𝘁𝘀 𝘁𝗼 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗹𝗱𝘄𝗶𝗱𝗲 𝗽𝗼𝗽𝘂𝗹𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻, 𝗵𝗼𝘄 𝘄𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗳𝗶𝗻𝗱𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 𝗺𝗲𝗮𝘀𝘂𝗿𝗲𝗱, 𝘄𝗵𝗼 𝘄𝗮𝘀 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘀𝗼𝘂𝗿𝗰𝗲 𝘄𝗿𝗶𝘁𝘁𝗲𝗻 𝗯𝘆 (𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗲𝗮𝗿𝗰𝗵 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗽𝘂𝗯𝗹𝗶𝘀𝗵𝗲𝗿/𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗲𝗮𝗿𝗰𝗵𝗲𝗿), 𝗲𝘁𝗰. 𝟳. 𝘂𝘀𝗲 𝗮𝗰𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗺𝗶𝗰 𝗹𝗮𝗻𝗴𝘂𝗮𝗴𝗲. 𝟴. 𝗱𝗼𝗻’𝘁 𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘀𝘁𝗮𝗻𝘁𝗹𝘆 𝗿𝗲𝗽𝗲𝗮𝘁 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿𝘀𝗲𝗹𝗳 (𝗮𝘀 𝗶𝗻, 𝗿𝗲𝗽𝗲𝘁𝗶𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻 𝗼𝗳 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘀𝗮𝗺𝗲 𝘀𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝗰𝗲/𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗿 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗿 𝗮𝗴𝗮𝗶𝗻). 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗲𝘅𝗮𝗺𝗶𝗻𝗲𝗿 𝘄𝗶𝗹𝗹 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗶𝗰𝗲 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘄𝗶𝗹𝗹 𝗺𝗮𝗿𝗸 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗱𝗼𝘄𝗻 . 𝟵. 𝗢𝗡𝗟𝗬 𝘂𝘀𝗲 𝗚𝗼𝗼𝗴𝗹𝗲 𝗦𝗰𝗵𝗼𝗹𝗮𝗿, 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗼𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿 𝗮𝗰𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗺𝗶𝗰 𝘀𝗼𝘂𝗿𝗰𝗲𝘀 𝘁𝗼 𝗴𝗲𝘁 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗿𝗲𝗳𝗲𝗿𝗲𝗻𝗰𝗲𝘀/𝘀𝗼𝘂𝗿𝗰𝗲𝘀. 𝗗𝗼 𝗡𝗢𝗧 𝘂𝘀𝗲 𝗯𝗹𝗼𝗴𝘀 𝗼𝗿 𝗪𝗶𝗸𝗶𝗽𝗲𝗱𝗶𝗮. 𝟭𝟬. 𝗵𝗮𝘃𝗲 𝘀𝗼𝗺𝗲𝗼𝗻𝗲 𝗲𝗹𝘀𝗲 𝗿𝗲-𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗲𝘀𝘀𝗮𝘆 𝘁𝗼 𝗰𝗵𝗲𝗰𝗸 𝗶𝘁 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝘁𝘆𝗽𝗼𝘀 𝗼𝗿 𝗼𝗱𝗱 𝗽𝗵𝗿𝗮𝘀𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀. 𝘀𝗼𝗺𝗲𝘁𝗶𝗺𝗲𝘀, 𝘄𝗵𝗲𝗻 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗹𝗼𝗼𝗸 𝗮𝘁 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗲𝘀𝘀𝗮𝘆 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝘁𝗼𝗼 𝗹𝗼𝗻𝗴 𝗶𝘁 𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝘀𝘁𝗮𝗿𝘁𝘀 𝘁𝗼 𝗹𝗼𝗼𝗸 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘀𝗮𝗺𝗲. 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗲𝘆𝗲𝘀 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗯𝗿𝗮𝗶𝗻 𝗴𝗲𝘁 𝘂𝘀𝗲𝗱 𝘁𝗼 𝘄𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝘆 𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝘀𝗲𝗲𝗶𝗻𝗴, 𝘄𝗵𝗶𝗰𝗵 𝗶𝘀 𝘄𝗵𝘆 𝗶𝘁 𝗶𝘀 𝗴𝗼𝗼𝗱 𝘁𝗼 𝗮𝘀𝗸 𝗮 𝗳𝗿𝗶𝗲𝗻𝗱/𝗳𝗮𝗺𝗶𝗹𝘆 𝗺𝗲𝗺𝗯𝗲𝗿 𝘁𝗼 𝗰𝗵𝗲𝗰𝗸.
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10:27 AM PST • January 5, 2016 So, Recode reported today that Twitter was tinkering around with the idea of expanding its 140 character limit to a number a bit higher….10,000 characters. But what, you ask (and I’m glad you did), does 10000 characters look like? Let’s find out So did you see the Warriors game last night? Crazy right? It was nice to see Harrison Barnes back and the entire crowd cheered when he entered. Steph Curry is probably not human cause he shoots the ball from the parking lot and it swishes like butter. How many characters am I up to now? Lemme check, so hold on 597 Anyway then it started raining and my dogs don’t like rain so it’s really difficult to take them outside to do their business in the morning when they don’t want to deal with the rain. I try to talk them into the fact that they’re actually getting a bath and pooping at the same time, kind of a two birds with one stone thing. They don’t buy it. Speaking of rain, it didn’t rain on my wedding day like the weather people thought it would. How do they keep their jobs when they’re wrong all of the time? It’s almost like they could do my job. Wait, I didn’t mean that how it sounded. Where are we at now? 1194 Here’s quote Bill Clinton: If you live long enough you’ll make mistakes. But if you learn from them, you’ll be a better person. It’s how you handle adversity, not how it affects you. The main thing is never quit, never quit, never quit. I think what he’s saying is that you can make mistakes, but you have to learn from them. I’ve made a bunch of mistakes, how about you? My dogs made a mistake this morning because they didn’t want to go out in the rain. But that’s cool, I don’t get mad. Life’s too short, you know? Never quit. Never quit. Never quit. Never quit. Never quit. Never quit. Never quit. Never quit. Never quit. Never quit. Never quit. Never quit. Never quit. Never quit. Never quit. Never quit. Never quit. Never quit. Never quit. Never quit. Never quit. Never quit. Never quit. Never quit. Never quit. Never quit. Never quit. Never quit. Never quit. Never quit. Never quit. Never quit. Never quit. Never quit. Never quit. Never quit. Never quit. Never quit. Never quit. Never quit. Never quit. Never quit. Never quit. Never quit. Never quit. Never quit. Never quit. Never quit. Never quit. Never quit. Never quit. Never quit. Never quit. Never quit. Never quit. Never quit. Never quit. Never quit. Never quit. Never quit. 2507 Did you see President speak about gun control today? It’s important. Probably the most important problem of our time and we have to solve it. Here’s what he said today: THE PRESIDENT: Happy New Year everyone. Before the New Year, I mentioned that I had given the charge to my Attorney General, FBI Director, Deputy Director at the ATF, and personnel at my White House to work together to see what more we could do to prevent a scourge of gun violence in this country. I think everybody here is all too familiar with the statistics. We have people every single year who are killed by guns. We have suicides committed by firearms at a rate that far exceeds other countries. We have a frequency of mass shootings that far exceeds other countries in frequency. And although it is my strong belief that for us to get our complete arm around the problem Congress needs to act, what I asked my team to do is to see what more we could do to strengthen our enforcement and prevent guns from falling into the wrong hands to make sure that criminals, people who are mentally unstable, those who could pose a danger to themselves or others are less likely to get them. And I’ve just received back a report from Attorney General Lynch, Director Comey, as well as Deputy Director Brandon about some of the ideas and initiatives that they think can make a difference. And the good news is, is that these are not only recommendations that are well within my legal authority and the executive branch, but they’re also ones that the overwhelming majority of the American people, including gun owners, support and believe. So we’ll be rolling out these initiatives. We’ll be making sure that people have a very clear understanding of what can make a difference and what we can do. And although we have to be very clear that this is not going to solve every violent crime in this country, it’s not going to prevent every mass shooting, it’s not going to keep every gun out of the hands of a criminal, it will potentially save lives and spare families the pain and the extraordinary loss that they’ve suffered as a consequence of a firearm getting in the hands of the wrong people. I’m also confident that the recommendations that are being made by my team here are ones that are entirely consistent with the Second Amendment and people’s lawful right to bear arms. And we’ve been very careful recognizing that, although we have a strong tradition of gun ownership in this country, that even though it’s who possess firearms for hunting, for self-protection, and for other legitimate reasons, I want to make sure that the wrong people don’t have them for the wrong reasons. So I want to say how much I appreciate the outstanding work that the team has done. Many of you worked over the holidays to get this set of recommendations to me. And I’m looking forward to speaking to the American people over the next several days in more detail about it. Thank you very much. Regardless of where you stand on the matter, we have to change some things. Back to tech. Are you at CES? I’m not this year. Mostly cause there’s a lot of germs and I shouldn’t be around them if I can help it. I’m pretty sure my dogs would have liked it though cause there’s a lot of tech in Vegas for all kinds of people and pets. If youre a dog would you want a phone? Or a self-feeding thing? Of course you would. You’d have to sit around all day watching your parents use technology while you sit around and lick yourself. What kind of existence is that? I know right? I hope there’s some dog tech that comes out of the conference, otherwise it’s a wash. 6294 Time for JFK: When written in Chinese, the word ‘crisis’ is composed of two characters. One represents danger and the other opportunity. I think what JFK meant was just because things aren’t going your way doesn’t mean that it won’t eventually. You have to play the long game, you have to stick in there and see things as far as you can possibly see them. It’s like Twitter. People are worried about whether Twitter can weather the storm of lack of growth. I think it can. What about the character count? I personally feel like asking people to keep their thoughts shorter make them more powerful. They’re easier to share. Repeat, etc. What will happen when people can put this much text in a tweet? I don’t know. I do know that I don’t want to spend hours reading tweets because I like the fact that I can glance at the app and figure out what’s going on pretty quickly. If I wanted to write a book, I’d do it on Facebook. Maybe people want more characters. I’m not sure who though I’d like to meet them. Maybe they have dogs too. We could chat about that. What are your favorite movies? I have top 10: – Rocky – Forrest Gump – Cast Away – Fantastic Mr Fox – Signs – Lars and the Real Girl – Superbad – Spaceballs – Shawshank Redemption – Jackie Brown 7657 Here’s a quote from Maya Angelou: The thing to do, it seems to me, is to prepare yourself so you can be a rainbow in somebody else’s cloud. Somebody who may not look like you. May not call God the same name you call God – if they call God at all. I may not dance your dances or speak your language. But be a blessing to somebody. That’s what I think. Being a blessing to someone is a great way to be. Have you been a blessing to someone lately? I feel like we could all do a better job of that, even if it’s in small ways. I feel like people always want to do something great and massively huge, but forget about all of the little things along the way. Making someone smile, holding the door for someone, giving someone a hug when they really really need it. Those kinds of things last forever. Don’t hold back on doing a bunch of little great things to do something huge that you’ll get overwhelmed with and not follow through on. 8614. Wow this is a lot. I feel like Kurt Wagner did good talking about ramifications of expanding tweets to 10,000 characters: The design aspect is key. Making Tweets bigger by adding more content or pictures diminished user engagement in the past according to one source. If tweets take a long time to consume or take up more space on your screen, it’s likely that you’ll view (and engage with) fewer of them. So Twitter is trying to add more content without disrupting the way you currently scroll through your timeline. How can Twitter become more like Facebook without becoming Facebook? There’s too many words on Facebook, something the company itself is trying to get away from by introducing all sorts of new media like 360° videos. There’s always a place for long form content, and just because you have the space doesn’t mean you have to fill it. But still, a lot of people will try. Spammers will definitely try. In fact, can you imagine getting spam tweets that are over 140 characters? Ugh. It’ll be like reading SPAM in your EMAIL!@$#!@#!@# One more quote from Clarence Darrow: When we fully understand the brevity of fleeting joys and unavoidable pains; when we accept the facts that all men and women are approaching an inevitable doom: consciousness should make us more kindly considerate. This feeling should make use their best efforts to help on the road make the path brighter easier as journey on. It should bring a closer kinship, a better understanding, and a deeper sympathy for the wayfarers who must live a common life. Twitter should just acquire Medium instead. Oops I went to the limit
@notfeelingverywell You know what’s such a good trope When, in hurt comfort fics, the injured/sick one looks so vulnerable that the other characters have a realization about how small/young/fragile they are and get a renewed surge of protectiveness January 16th, 2023, 3:08 PM
𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸 𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸 𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸 𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸 𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸 𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸 𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸 𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸 𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸 𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸 𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸 𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸 𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸 𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸 𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸 𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸 𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸 𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸 𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸 𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸 𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸 𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸 𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸 𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸 𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸 𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸 𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸 𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸 𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸 𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸 𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸 𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸 𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸 𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸 𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸 𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸 𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸 𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸 𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸 𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸 𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸 𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸 𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸 𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸 𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸 𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸 𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸 𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸 𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸 𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸 𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸 𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸 𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸 𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸 𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸 𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸 𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸 𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸 𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸 𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸 𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸 𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸 𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸 𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸 𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸 𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸 𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸 𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸 𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸 𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸 𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸 𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸 𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸 𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸 𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸 𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸 𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸 𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸 𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸 𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸 𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸 𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸 𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸 𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸 𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸 𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸 𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸 𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸 𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸 𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸 𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸 𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸 𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸 𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸 𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸 𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸 𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸 𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸 𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸 𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸 𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸 𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸 𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸 𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸 𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸 𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸 𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸 𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸 𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸 𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸 𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸 𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸 𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸 𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸 𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸 𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸 𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸 𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸𝍸
benevola • 2y ago I like making my main character vulnerable and that usually means hurting him. He’s a pretty tightly-wound guy and I like to show him with his guard down. Plus the comfort part is usually so satisfying to write.
『❁↳┊Name ༘.࿐’♥︎』
Bikinigirlout • 2y ago For me, it’s partially because the writers of my show sucked at actually giving my favorite characters good storylines so it feels like a fix it attempt at allowing both the characters to go through their traumas in different situations.
ambut • 2y ago I am learning that I heavily gravitate towards hurt/comfort and whump in a way that's psychologically questionable, but honestly I think that for those of us who like comfort with our hurt, it's like balancing an equation -- more hurt now = more comfort later. The worse the pain, the more blissful the relief.
POP CULTURE DICTIONARY comfort character [ kuhm-fert kar-ik-ter ] August 12, 2022 WHAT IS A COMFORT CHARACTER? A comfort character is a fictional character who is said to bring a person comfort, such as while consuming the media that features the character or when thinking about them during times of stress. A comfort character is often a character that a person strongly relates to or feels like they would have a special bond with. Comfort characters are often those with supportive, helpful traits, such as wise mentors, caregivers, and brave heroes. However, characters identified as comfort characters vary widely. Sometimes, the term is jokingly applied to unexpected characters or things other than characters.
🍓⋆。°𝐒𝐚𝐧𝐫𝐢𝐨 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐒𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐰𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐲⋆。°🍓
https://wordcounter.net/character-count
sᴍᴀʟʟ ᴄᴀᴘs, uʍop ǝpısdn, ⓑⓤⓑⓑⓛⓔ, ᙡᗩᐯᎩ, u̲n̲d̲e̲r̲l̲i̲n̲e̲d̲, c̶r̶o̶s̶s̶e̶d̶ ̶o̶u̶t̶ , ґц$їfу, wide ᗩᑎᗪ ᑕOOᒪ.
hurt/comfort (fandom slang) A genre of fan fiction in which a character receives comfort from another after or while suffering injury, illness, or a traumatic experience. H/C stories appeal to readers in different ways. While genres for these stories range from drama to mystery, many stories are classified by their authors as romances or as “hurt/comfort” stories. Hurt/comfort is a fanwork genre that involves the physical pain or emotional distress of one character, who is cared for by another character. A great trope if you want to bring two characters closer together, or if you want to show how deep their relationship goes.
https://writingwithcycyborg.blogspot.com/2024/02/LanguageOfDisability.html
TIRING TROPES A kicks B so hard, it knocks B out, who goes limp with a whimper. B now lying unconscious on the ground, A grabbing him by his legs and dragging him. A comes over to B, knocking him hard in the fac͘e once. B cries out and his eye rolls back as he slips away into unconsciousness, going limp, unable to take much more. The only thing C cares about is the sight of B limp bødy lying. C crawls over, too hurt̸ to walk, and puts his hand on his chest, wanting to make sure B is still breathing, scared he isn’t. He is relieved when his chest is still slowly going up and down, but is soon overtaken with fear. C: T-talk to me. B, say something! B of course not responding. C now holding him in his hands, his head restıng on his stߋmach, crying, wanting him to be okay, wanting to take his paın away from him. C: B... (sobbing quietly, his head still resting on B unmoving bødy) C is shushing, crying, shushing, crying. Doing it to comfort B but the more so to comfort himself, to try and not be so scared anymore. B eyebrows furrow, beginning to stir, groaning as he puts a hand to his head in paın. 'Ugh. Ow. Gah….ow….' C: (alarmed by B cries, scooching closer) Are you okay?! (C looking over at B, seeing he is already asleep, curling up next to him, closing his eyes, sleep now overcoming him) (A then kicks B in the head, B yelping, instantly falling unconscious) C: B? B! Answer me, are you okay?! A: (hearing C, smirking down at B unconscious form, to see him hur͘t and unmoving, B mouth hung open, lying motionless, still not movıng or aware) (B eventually groans awake, not yet realizing what’s going on, paın returning to his head, quickly becoming aware of what’s happened, sitting up with a gasp, looking around) B notices C still asleep leaning on him. He starts to move around to get him to wake up. (A just grabs B, slamming him back to the ground, unintentionally slamming the back of his head against the ground, B gasping with a yelp) : (A yanking B to his feet, grinning at B weak struggling and crying, who’s exhausted and badly hurt) (A stops as suddenly B lets out a sort of sigh as his eye rolls back and his body goes completely limp as he unexpectedly passes out, falling backwards, A catching him before he hits the ground, startled) (B completely unconscious, his mouth hanging open, limp and unmoving) (C stopping in his place, frozen, frightened at the sight of B) B! (seeing B still not moving or doing anything, touching and moving B face around himself, but gently, looking at him worriedly, scared when he won’t open his eye or say anything) H-he’s n- not moving, he-he’s not pretending, A, he is REALLY hurt! (A dumps B bødy to the ground) C immediately hurrying over, holding B bødy in his hands, his own tears falling down on him. C is still sitting besides B, crying C: B, s-say something, please, please! I’m sorry! (A grins, knowing how much will hate everything, planning to tell him all about it when he awakes again) B is lying on the ground unmoving. A pleased with everything as he walks away, knowing he will absolutely torture B with what happened here. B: (groaning loudly, waking up, not moving yet) Ugh…..wha? What’s going on? (he groans, his eye fluttering open, returning to his senses) C helping B sit up straight, holding him gently in his arms, seeing how badly hurt he is. B: (pain overflooding him, his head hurting badly, wincing as he holds it, still groggy, struggling to remember) Ugh, my head….Ow. Wh-what happened? (squinting his eye, looking all dazed and confused) H-huh? What? (A eyes B intensely) What? (still confused, but not liking the looks of A, turning to C for answers, now really confused and not liking any of this, wanting to have answers.) What is he staring about? (angry, wanting answers, glaring around) Well?! Tell me! (A chuckles wanting B himself to guess what happened) C not liking the fact that B is told about it now, this being even worse. B knowing enough by seeing this reaction. …..(B starts to get to his feet to attack A, swaying a little though, the pain instantly swarming his head, making him gasp and fall back before he could take a step, C quickly catching him. B holds his head in pain, wincing) Gah….. (shaking his head, unable to believe it, wanting to forget it, cringing) (snarling, quickly starts trying to get up, not able to, growling in frustration when he tries to stand but just falls right away, panting in anger) Rah…..! C: (still holding B, pushing him back down) D-don’t do it B! You’ll hurt yourself! Please… B: (still weakly trying, too angry) I-I don’t care! I-I’m gonna get you, A, as-as soon as I can! C: B-but you’re-you’re hurt! B: I DON’T CARE! (B too badly hurt to do anything more. He is crying because he is unable to, which makes him feel useless and weak, and also because he is very uncomfortable, cold and sad.) (C softly speaking to B coming over) B, what’s wrong? (For B it hurts just to move alone, so he struggles and can’t do it) (knowing he really can’t because of how hurt he is, just wanting to help because he knows how cold it gets here during the night) (he snaps, shivering again, wishing they would go away, not liking to be seen so vulnerable like this) C huddles close to B notices he isn’t talking to him anymore, poking gently at his cheek. B very much asleep by now; his clothes, the blanket and C close to him having warmed him up enough for him to relax, be warm and fall asleep. C stopping his crying, glad to see B is asleep, resting his head on him. He warily gets up, not wanting B to wake up again. He lays the blanket over his body, quickly going through hi lovingly, liking that he is sleeping now, thinking he very much deserves to rest. B however starting to stir, not sleeping quite so deep anymore.
Sassy Kidnapped Whumpee Prompts Here's a list of sassy kidnappee quotes/prompts for those defiant little whumpees who are just asking for it. Enjoy! (Shoutout to @prisonerwhump for the idea!!!) "Oof, big scary spEEch. Nıce. Did you practice that in front of the mirror this mornıng?" "Are these new ropes? I hope you didn't go to the trouble just for me, you know I don't judge." "Ah. Blindfolds again. How original." "Okay, I'm awake. You can make your entrance nơw. [...] Don't play dumb, I know that's a two-way mirror. Let's just get it over with." "You know, I always assumed if I were kidnapped it would be some creepy st*lker yandere thing, but no. I get you instead. That's better, right? So...Thank you? I think? Ah, that's a kn1fe." "Listen, I know you're tryıng to be intimidating and everything - and normally it would be. Really, I mean͡ it. Chocking me against the wall is real scary, but... Like. Your hands are so soft, I can't even take you serıously. What kind of lotion do you use?" "Not to critique you when you're doing your zappy thíng, but you had better up the voltage or something before I fałł asleep. I get bored eąsįly." " "How much did that hurt̸"? Really? Like, I mean. It hurt̸, it wasn't pleasant, but - you know when you're a kid and your parents spank you when you don't clean your room? Yeah, that hâppeñed to me a lot as a kid. I felt really ba͏d making her get after me because she was alwaყs sick͞ and frail and stuff. Anyway, the point I'm trying to makę here is my MoM hits harder than you. Does that answer your question?" "Wow, what an impressive collection. Very daunting. Very scary. Just checking, but you do have a life outsıde of collecting tortur͘e implements, right? I don't judge, but I'm a little worried about you." "All you want to know is where Caretaker is. Honestly, you could ask a few questions about me first. You don't even know my fav0rite color yet." "Geez, you can at least buy me dınner before chocking me out." "Are you sure you know how to use that? I don't know, man. Maybe you should let me t̢ry it on you to make͘ sure. Just untie me real quick." "Mmm yes! Harder! Please hit me harder! Oh, I'm sorrყ. Am I makıng you uncomfortable? No no, don't stop hitting me now." "Loving the 'dark scary basement' vibes. Really, this lev3l of design takes time. The lightbulb is even flickering - did you plan that? It's honestly impressive. That or you're just this much of a slob. Either way, very effective." "Oooooo! I've always wanted my own dungeon cell. Can I put movıe posters on the walls? I think they would really spice the place up. Do you have any extra sticky tack?" "Really? You bought me for that low of a prıce? I mean, don't get me wrong, I'll never see that much money in my entire life, but I think I'm worth more than that. I mean͡, look at me. I'm adorable." "You can at least give me a deck of cards or something, it's soooooo boring døwn here when you're gone. Not that it's better when you're here. Hm? No no, not because of the paın or whatever, you're just still boring. Really, if I had as much money as you, I could buy a personality." "Ah, the whip again. Let me ask, do you ever have a͝ny new ıdeas or do you just find one and let it play like a brok3n record until you dıe?" "Honestly I'm starting to get genuinely concerned about your hearing. I sAID I'm. Not. Telling. You. Anything. Do I need to talk louder? Maybe write it out̸ for you? Ow! Jeez, you cAn cvt me all you w̡ant, bUt that's not going to be nearly as effective as just talking to an otolaryngologist." "You call that a hit? Untie me quick and I'll show you how it's døne." "Gooooooooooooodevening, Kidn@ppers! How are you today? How was work. Did you đrınk enough water? How was - oh my, you look angry. Is it something I said?" “How do you sleep at nıght??? No seriously, your skın is so clear, you have to have some fantastic skincare routine before bed. And. Like. A great pi]low.” “Do you have to stand so close when you’re threatening me? I get it, but…brush your teeth or something first.” “Ah yes. Gruel. My favorite. You have to get me the recipe sometime. You’re a culinary genius.” "You knøw, I'm stɑrtıng to feel kinda bad. Here I am having all the fun, and you're doing all the work. How about you untie me and then you get a tu̴rǹ in the chair? Doesn't that sound nice?" “Better untie me then. Oh, you’re going to hand feed me? Isn’t that swéet. I didn’t know you were a big old softie.” "I can't believe you. You're a monster. Blαck shoes with a blue suit? Are you kidding me? Ridiculøus. No wonder you don't mind getting my b!ood all over your outfit, it's awful already." "I'm kında gettin͘g bored of all the screaming, how about you?" "This seems like a waste. Did you know the błoođ banks are all runnıng low? It's like. A national crisis. People could dıe. Yet here you are letting all my perfectly good błoođ go to waste. If you're so insistent on being slicy today, maybe you could like put a drip pan or something on the ground. You think they'd take drip pan błoođ? You do keep that kn*fe clean, right?" “Well someone’s cranky today. What? Didn’t get your morning coffee?” “You’re ‘Tired of all my jabbering’? Really? Well that’s kinda self centered of you. Just think about me. I have to lıve with me every minute of every day. And do I ever get a b͞reak? No. Never bored though, so that’s nice.” "What exactly do you mean by 'scream for you'? I have like seven different types of screams." "I'm sorrყ, I don't thınk I heard you the fırst 478 times. What was it you wanteԀ again? Hm. Nope. Still not clicking. You better aSK AgAIN." "Just a real quick questıon - do you have...like...friends? A significant other maybe? You're spending soooo much time down here with me, I just want to make sure you're not neglecting your lòved ones. No?"
People read dark fiction for the same reason they ride roller coasters. It’s a simulation of danger without anyone actually being under threat. It gets the brain worked up, releases a bunch of adrenaline into your system, you experience a whole rush of emotions and excitement and fear; but a safe kind of fear, where you know the danger isn’t real and there are dozens of measures in place to protect you. And then it’s over and you can get off the ride. That doesn’t mean everyone is obligated to ride roller coasters. I, for example, am scared of heights, and most coasters are scary for me in a way that isn’t fun. The fear isn’t that I’ll die, the fear is of experiencing more of the ride and thus it’s not a safe fear, because it’s real and I have no control over it. As such, I don’t ride large roller coasters. But the fact that large coasters are not mentally or emotionally safe for me to ride doesn’t mean they should be illegal, or that there’s “something wrong” with anyone who enjoys them. Similarly, sometimes accidents happen. Sometimes people have conditions they don’t know about until a coaster aggravates them in the worst possible way because they didn’t know to avoid it…and that’s no one’s fault. People have died or been injured in coaster accidents, and those accidents are pretty much always the result of human error, carelessness, laziness, or poor communication. It’s the responsibility of the amusement park to make sure that basic safety features are built-in and maintained–or at the very least (mangling the metaphor somewhat because this would obviously be illegal in real life) to make it clear that those features don’t exist! I feel like most people would avoid a ride clearly labelled “HAS NEVER HAD A SAFETY INSPECTION! NO RESTRAINT BARS! RIDE STAFF HAVE NOT BEEN TRAINED AND THERE ARE NO EMERGENCY SERVICES ON-SITE! OPEN FLAMES!” but if you click on a fic clearly labelled “author chose not to use warnings” you know the risks and they’ve met their obligation to warn you of them. And sometimes the people providing this content don’t perform that basic due diligence, and people get hurt as a result–but that’s on those specific bad actors, and doesn’t mean we ban all roller coasters. It also doesn’t mean every single ride operator on earth should be tarred with that brush, especially when they’ve openly spoken out against such practices! Furthermore, if you KNOW you have a heart condition and willingly get on a ride that says it is not safe for people with heart conditions, you cannot then blame the amusement park! What makes roller coasters safe for me? Well, for one, the fact that I’m an adult now so my family has finally stopped trying to force me onto them.
“I can fix him” “I can make him worse” well I can ruin his life for the sake of character development
My pageant has a pageant platform essay. What’s that? Contributed by Eddia Watts A pageant platform essay is a paper in which you speak about exactly what you’ve been working on with your platform and what you have chosen to champion throughout your time as a competitor. The pageant platform essay is apart of the competition in which a contestant can validate, in writing, why she chose the specific cause she has. The essay is your moment to talk about every single intricacy that is apart of your platform. If during the competition you never have a chance to speak about your platform, the essay needs to cover every single thing about your platform so that the judges have a semblance of what you have stood for thus far in your pageant journey. The pageant platform essay should encase topics like, how you created your platform, what caused you to choose this specific platform, how you have advocated for it, and how you will continue to advocate for it. Although the pageant essay is not imperative for some systems, like Miss Earth USA or Miss USA, it is imperative for systems such as Miss America and Miss Teen, creating an essay is a great exercise for all contestants to ensure that they know the direction that they want to go in for their platform. Writing what you have done, what you will do, and what has made you continue to keep going is a great way to remain humble and realize why you began in the first place. If you find that writing worries you, as long as you write from the heart and mean every word you say, you will find yourself writing too long of an essay. If writing an essay is required, it will also force you to think about the specific ways that you plan to bring your cause to a resolution. Having this in mind will help you to answer your interview questions easier as well as give you the proper mindset of why you embarked upon your platform. Writing a pageant platform may seem like a tremendous amount of work, but the next section covers exactly how you want to write your platform essay and what you can include to differentiate your essay from the next! Okay, how do I write a pageant platform essay? Contributed by Eddia Watts Writing your pageant platform essay may seem daunting at first, but always keep in mind the fundamentals of writing an essay: the introduction, body paragraphs, and conclusion. When you break down your essay like this, it makes writing your essay a bit easier. In the sections below, we will take the time to illustrate these sections of your essay as well as what tone your writing should take on when you talk about your platform. Introduction The introduction to your essay should begin with an explanation of who you are and what your platform is. In your introduction, there is no need to delve into the why or the how of your platform just yet. If you decide to delve straight in with your story in the introductory paragraph, you risk overwhelming your judges. In your introduction, you want to entice your judges by reading more. The last sentence of your introduction should read like a thesis statement for a paper. It’s when you finally tell the judges what your platform is. Body Paragraphs Your body paragraphs are where you really delve into who you are as a person and why you chose your platform. In this section of your essay, you should have at least three paragraphs, the first illustrating the backstory behind why you chose your platform. This is your moment to speak on your ‘why’. The second paragraph of your essay should be the ‘how’. In this paragraph, you should talk about how you have pursued your platform and how you have begun to tackle the issue your championing. This is your time to speak about all of the fundraisers, events, and charity work you have done to further your platform. The third paragraph is your moment to speak about how your platform can affect those in your community and those for whom you created your platform to help. You should also speak about what you will be doing with your platform in the future and how you hope your platform will impact those in the next generations. Covering your bases like this will not only help you to seal the deal with your judges, but it will help to make an impact with others should you decide to post your speech online. Conclusion Like every essay, your conclusion should touch upon everything you mentioned throughout your essay. This is not the time to enter in last minute additional information, as the judges will have already formed an opinion of your essay by now. When writing your conclusion, you want to make sure that you use a proper tone that makes it sound like you are concluding your essay. Tone It is important to have a splash of personality and professionalism throughout the tone of your essay, as you want the judges to take you seriously, but you do not want your words to bore them as well. Using proper punctuation when needed, ensuring that you are not using run-on sentences, and proper word usage can all help with your tone. The best essays are written when it feels like the contestant is actually speaking to the judge in a polite manner with her personality all on the table; just like in an interview. Once you have the proper tone and diction down, your essay will write itself! In conclusion, writing a pageant platform essay is just like writing an essay for class. You are just telling a completely different story. As long as you stay true to who you are as a person and have your platform take center stage, you will write an amazing essay!
Comfort Character A comfort character is when a character, which can be from a TV show, game, book, etc. makes you feel safe and happy when upset, sad, down, etc.
A: "Heeey, what gives?! Argh! ... ... Wh-what the...?" A felt odd all of a sudden, his vision began to blur before he fully realized what was happening to him. A fell to the ground as he lost consciousness. A began to feel tired after eating before drifting to a very deep sleep. His wife, B, noticed A’s unnatural time to fall asleep and tried to wake him back up, but to no avail. For she found him lying down after a while. B: "*gasp* A, what happened to you?!" A: "... … wording... wording..." B picked the sleeping A up with a hand and carried him back. She softly rested him down on a table, and decided to extract some fluid from A. B then started to perform some tests on the fluid to see what was in it. She knew for a fact her husband wouldn't just fall asleep in the middle of the day like that. All she could really do was wait for her husband A to wake up.
➡️ Content warnings on fiction are a courtesy. ➡️ Not every medium of fiction and storytelling has or is expected to have content warnings or extensive tagging. ➡️ Print novels do not traditionally warn for content in any way. ➡️ Fanfiction did not traditionally warn̵ for content in any significant way. ➡️ An author is only obligated to warn̵ for content to the degree mandated by the format they publish their fiction on. ➡️ Content warnings beyond the minimum are a courtesy, not an obligation. ➡️ 'Creator chose not to warn' is a valid tag authors are allowed to use on. It means there could be anything in there and you have accepted the rısk. 'May contain peanuts!' ➡️ Writers are allowed to use 'Creator chose not to warn' for any reason, including to maintain surprise and avoįd spoilers. ➡️ 'Creator chose not to warn' is not the same thing as 'no archive warnings apply'. ➡️ It is your responsibility to protect yourself and close a book, or hit the back button if you find something in fiction that you're reading that upsets you. ➡️ You are responsible for protecting yourself from fiction that causes you discomforts.
GENERAL ADVICE FOR USING SITE so we can keep it up NO DOXXING- leaking a specific person's residential address and who lives full name STORY TIME- don't leak a real person's full name when typing out a juicy gossip tea but you can change the first name or to remain anonymous instead. Otherwise go and create let writing flow! PREACHING- don't over fill with arguing on whether or not to promote, such as your discord server nor how to raise family age viewers must be. You can tag yourself tho.
A could still remember it as if it were yesterday. The day A had officially stomped away from his best friend B. A remembered it clearly. The look on the his friend B’s face stood out in his memory. The pure look of betrayal, the one that still occasionally popped up in his dreams, begging for him to turn around. That one. He found it once again haunting his mind as he stirred in his sleep and shot up like a rocket, ready to scream sorry, only to realize that it was all still a dream. A sniffed coldly and glimpses around, remembering how his home had been demolished mere hours earlier. Everything. A gave up everything, and what did he have to show for it? Even his wife that he bickered with had left him. Sure, it was on good terms, and part of A was happy for her, as she held the hand of her new lover and stared down at him, void of any emotion. “I’m sorry.” She mumbled, and then turn and left. When she had returned they sat down and talked about it for what felt like hours. She hugged A close as if he were a child, but still, nothing. They never had any sparks between them, and for a long while, that was okay. But with the two of them rapidly aging, she decided it was now or never that she found herself a new start. With a bittersweet goodbye this time she left for good. Slowly, he lifted a piece of rubble into his arms and threw it over himself in hopes of keeping warm. Of course, the metal only worsened the situation, so in despair, he glanced up yet again and peered around before he spotted a book. Grimacing, A stood up and stared to drag the paperback over to where he had been curled up previously, preparing to shield both himself. A whined in impatience, his eye caught sight of the ripped sheet and he dropped it entirely, staring down the old photo. It was of him and B. In the photo, A sat with a cheerful grin on the other’s shoulder, smiling as if he were the happiest boy in the world. Smiling fondly at the memory, he decided it was true. He certainly was the happiest boy alive back then. A didn’t realize he was crying until teardrops stained the page. It had been years since he had last skimmed through the pages of his old scrapbook, and it brought the memories from long ago back into the front of his head. Truly, he found himself closing his eye and begging for another chance under his breath; when he opened it, he found himself staring up at his rival B with shock. B leaned down and held out his hand. A naturally recoiled at the memory of the many times he was thrown about by those same hands. Frowning, he stared up at the the man as if he hadn’t just been sobbing over his photo. “What do you want?” He spat out, his malice sounding weaker than usual. He told himself it was the cold doing it to him. Right away, his old friend gently wrapped his claw around him and lifted him up. “A, it’s below freezing and you’ve no place to sleep,” he reasoned quietly, shamefully, “please, come stay with me.” “I was doing fine where I was.” It was a weak lie, but being in the hold of the other again rendered him soft, and he didn’t want B to see that. He squirmed out of the other’s hold and back onto the hard ground. “A...” B muttered sadly, before his eyes flickered over the photo that was now covering the other’s shivering body, his eyes peeking up gleefully. “You...you kept this photo? After so many years?” A sighed and pulled the photo tighter over him, ignoring the words. He obviously had kept the photo, after all. What else was he supposed to say? The man took notice of the book laying face down as well, gingerly lifting it up and instantly releasing a chuckle. “Oh, I remember this...” he smiled fondly and once again held out his hand for his old comrade. “Please, A... I can’t stand to see you so helpless.” A huffed and crossed his arms. While he wanted desperately to go to B’s warm home, he couldn’t help but leave his defenses up. “Then look away.” B did just that, and A found himself actually afraid of the other walking away. He wanted to call out to him, but he didn’t have to. The other turned back around and started to pull out his wallet. Right away, A shivered. The idea of B of all people giving him money was something he could barely stand to witness. He turned his head and waited, but instead of a dollar, B handed him a photo. A couldn’t believe it. The same photo that was tightly held around his body for some sort of warmth was carefully displayed in his wallet, which was easily his most prized possession. “B.” A couldn’t help but feel his eye fill up with tears. A really didn’t want to cry—not here in the cold, not now with his rival in front of him— but he couldn’t hold back the tears that slid down his cheek. “How long have you...” he couldn’t even finish his sentence, he was choking up so bad. B held out his hand one last time, and with a gentle smile, A tenderly stepped into it, who nervously boarded the hand. With his free hand, B put away his photo and wallet and lifted the other book into his arms, safely sliding his old friend A into his front shirt pocket. A couldn’t help but feel vulnerable. B could easily flick him away at any point he wanted, but he knew that he wouldn’t. As B carried the dozing A home, he found himself growing tired. A sniffled slightly as he was tucked in as if her were a child by his friend, a tender smile lined on his face. A didn’t know what would come tomorrow. He had lost his home, his job, his wife, his livelihood. But still, somehow, he had dug up his estranged relationship and revived it and found the friend he had missed for so long. Once the light was flicked off, A gingerly stepped out hopped onto the larger man’s bed, sneaking back with only a pillow from the bed. He yawned and grinned as a hand tenderly found the back of his head and nuzzled it gently. “I’ve missed this.” Was all A could muster up in the darkness, his eye trembling shut. “I’ve missed you.” B just hummed in contentment and swallowed hard. “Me too, buddy, me too.”
https://m.fanfiction.net/s/13315637/1/ RING! Squidward picked it up. "Hello?" "Squidward my man! Hey, you wanna come down to the Chum Bucket? I wanted to see you!" "Sure thing Plankton, I'll come right over!" Squidward entered the Chum Bucket expecting to hear laughter from Plankton, but he heard quite the opposite. "Plankton? Plankton wake up honey...PLANKTON! OH NEPTUNE; SOMEONE CALL AN AMBULANCE!" SpongeBob rushed into the hospital room. "Is he gonna be alright?" SpongeBob asked. Squidward shook his head. Plankton was sick. SpongeBob sighed sadly. "Y-you, s-sponge... Come over here..." Plankton said weakly from his bed. SpongeBob walked over. "L-listen here kid... I n-never was the most generous sea creature out there... Though n-now, as I'm here on my deathbed...There's something ..." Plankton said through coughing. "I realized that m-making customers happy was really what I needed to do... N-not go for w-world domination... While Eugene did many terrible things... He s-sure did know how to make people happy with those p-patties." Plankton further explained. "B-because... Being happy is w-what you take pride in, along with your patties... W-which is why you n-need to build a new legacy for the Krusty Krab, w-will be going to you... I have great faith that you will..." Plankton replied weakly. SpongeBob was shocked. The beeps on the monitor were becoming less frequent, he turned to Karen. "M-my time here has come to an e-end... I'm sure we'll be together a-again someday... Farewell to all of you... I w-wish n-nothing b-but t-the b-best..." And with that, he went into a coughing fit. Plankton passed away. "Plankton DIED?! Neptune..." Mr. Krabs said shaking his head in disbelief. "So wait, if Plankton's been dead, what happened to the Chum Bucket?" "Oh, Karen turned it into a novelty shop. It makes a pretty good profit." SpongeBob explained. "That's nice..." Mr. Krabs replied happily. by NMMacc18 Cartoons » SpongeBob SquarePants Rated: K+, English, Humor & Drama, SpongeBob, Squidward, Mr. Krabs, Plankton
allthewhumpygoodness: I write a lot of fantasy/Medieval whump, so in that vein lets talk Things Low-Tech/Medieval/Fantasy Healers Might Do When Checking A Sick Patient That Don’t Require Modern Medical Equipment Or Terminology But Gives The Vibe That They Know What They’re Doing: Feel their pulse (in the wrist, the side of their neck, or even a temple) Check their forehead for a fever Listen to their chest/back (you can hear rattling or crackling in the lungs of someone with a lung infection such as bronchitis or pneumonia) Tapping their back behind each lung (likewise - an inflamed lung will sound congested and less hollow than a healthy one) Feel for swollen glands behind their ears Gently feel for any swelling or tightness along their stomach On that note, gently pressing on an are of pain in the stomach area (to test for appendicitis) Get them to open their mouth to look down their throat Check their eyes for redness, light sensitivity, yellowing, or dilated pupils Check them for a rash, especially the torso, behind the ears, and along their forehead (measles rash usually starts near the ears and along the hairline, scarlet fever begins on the trunk and spreads to the rest of the body; chicken pox I think just sort of appears all over though idk) Check if their skin is flushed or jaundiced Tap along their cheekbones - if this causes pain they may have a sinus infection I’m not a medical professional and this is ONLY for writing purposes, also this is all based on a variety of medical information I’ve read in books and online but as I said I am not a professional just someone with a weird obsession, feel free to fact check me - or add your own
~ yes my favorite type of fanfiction consists of characters getting tenderly cared for and comforted after a lifetime of being forced to suffer alone in silence, no this doesn't say anything about me
SLEEPING WHUMPEES leyswhumpdump: Sleeping whumpees. Curled up on cold cell floors, seeking the only escape they can get. Eyes red behind their closed lids because they cried themselves to sleep. Tucked up under warm blankets. Cradled by a caretaker. Peaceful and smiling even in slumber, or screaming from night terrors. Restless from fever. Exhausted in the back of a car, their mind and body just given out. Falling asleep after fighting it for so long. Just an adorable trope all round.
PrinceJustice237 • 2y ago As a fan of hurt/comfort/whump, I realised that I put my favourite characters through so much because I want to see their friends comfort them and help them through the aftermath. It’s good old fashioned catharsis, plus drama is just entertaining. A pure, fluffy, happy story where nothing bad happens works great for a oneshot but it’s harder to sustain 20+ chapters of that, you need drama and conflict and that requires stakes. That usually involve someone suffering to some degree.
• 2y ago Honestly, a huge reason why I torment my favorites is so that when the comfort comes along (because it always does in my case), their friends/found family can show them how much they are loved.
prospectkiss Sleepy intimacy is one of my favorite things, and I think the last point is why - it’s all about trust. Trusting someone enough to let your guard down. To lower your defenses. To be vulnerable. That kind of trust is not always given easily, which is what makes sleepy intimacy so heartwarming.
whumpster-dumpster: A whumpee stirring from a deep, medicine-induced sleep to the sound of muffled voices. Trying to pry their eyes open to see who it is but their resolve is too weak, their eyelids too heavy. Their head lolls sideways on the pillow as they draw a slow, sluggish breath, mumbling unintelligibly. Where am I? What’s happening? Their mouth won’t properly form the words. The voices pause, hesitate, and then a warm hand is stroking their face and hair. “No, no…shhhh. Shh, it’s alright. It’s nothing,” a soothing voice whispers, lulling them back down. “Go back to sleep.”
https://funko.com/build-your-custom-pop
https://justwhumpythings.tumblr.com/post/737879363754803200
B: I will need you to forget the. [pulls out a piece of device] Hold still while I activate my memory-erasin' device. A: Your what? B: [hits A with the pipe device on the head, making them faceplant; runs back inside, waving] See you, Mr. A. [door shuts, disappears] A: [gets up and groans, stumbles around] What happened? [walking on the road] How did I get here? [groans, rubs black eye] Huh?
Fever Comfort Just some things a caregiver might do to make someone with a fever feel a little better. For when they’re a bit uncomfortable and has a loving caretaker around. IMPORTANT NOTE: This is not medical advice, but please use these in your sickfics because I love reading about them. 🥶 If they’re cold and shivering: Wrap a blanket around them. Maybe two! Provide a hot water bottle or heated wheat pillow Put the warmest, softest pair of woolly socks on their chilly feet Tumble dry their pyjamas/dressing gown Warm their icy hands between your own Tuck them in nice and tight under the duvet Wrap them up in several layers of clothing, especially if they’re outside or need to go outdoors for whatever reason Classic: Use body heat to help warm them up, get under the covers with them Put them in an armchair close to a fireplace 🥵 If they’re too hot: Flip their pillow to the cool side Open a window to let in fresh air Put a fresh set of sheets on the bed Provide a cold water bottle, or wheat pillow in the freezer Help them into lighter clothing We of course have the classic “washcloth to fevered forehead” but also consider these areas to wipe down or place a cool cloth on for comfort: Closed eyelids Cheeks Side or back of the neck Chest Wrists / hands / arms Ankles / feet / legs Yeah basically the whole body 😣 If they’re in pain: Close the curtains to help with their headache and/or help them sleep Make sure they’re hydrated Massage their achy muscles Provide fever reducers / pain medication Make them hot cups of tea to soothe their sore throat. Don’t forget the honey! Gently stroking fingertips up and down their arms / legs / back in a soothing fashion (think ASMR light touch tracing) Holding them close, perhaps gently rocking back and forth, helping them fall asleep to aid their recovery Those are the things I could think of for now. Please use these and/or expand the lists with your own suggestions 😊
characters: *refuse to talk about their feelings* me: how about I b͞reak your legs and drvg one of you with vivid hallvcin4tions and strand you in the woods? will you talk about your feelings then?
are they really your comfort character if you don’t want to catch them after they get shot, bridal carry their injur3d b0dy into a h0spital while screaming for help, and then stroke their hair as they lie unconscious after surgery?
𝐢 𝐰𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐞 𝐚 𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝒊 𝒇𝒊𝒏𝒅 𝒑𝒊𝒆𝒄𝒆𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒊𝒏 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚 𝒔𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝒊 𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒏 𝒕𝒐 𝒊 𝒕𝒓𝒚 𝒕𝒐 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒉 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎 𝒕𝒐𝒈𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒎𝒚 𝒐𝒘𝒏 𝒏𝒐 𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒕𝒐𝒍𝒅 𝒎𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒎𝒂𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒔𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝒊𝒔 𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒅. 𝒔𝒐 𝒏𝒐𝒘 𝒔𝒄𝒓𝒊𝒃𝒃𝒍𝒆𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝒍𝒚𝒓𝒊𝒄𝒔 𝒍𝒊𝒆 𝒅𝒐𝒘𝒏 𝒃𝒆𝒔𝒊𝒅𝒆 𝒎𝒆 𝒊 𝒄𝒂𝒏'𝒕 𝒔𝒆𝒆𝒎 𝒕𝒐 𝒆𝒙𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒔 𝒉𝒐𝒘 𝒊 𝒇𝒆𝒆𝒍 𝒎𝒚 𝒇𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒓𝒔 𝒍𝒊𝒄𝒌𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒚 𝒈𝒖𝒊𝒕𝒂𝒓, 𝒊 𝒓𝒆𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒇𝒆𝒆𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒊 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒄𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒆𝒅 𝒇𝒊𝒏𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒚 𝒊 𝒘𝒓𝒐𝒕𝒆 𝒂 𝒔𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝒊𝒕 𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒗𝒐𝒊𝒄𝒆 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒎𝒆𝒍𝒐𝒅𝒚 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒍𝒚𝒓𝒊𝒄𝒔 𝒐𝒖𝒕𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒆𝒅 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒇𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒆𝒔 𝒊 𝒇𝒆𝒍𝒍 𝒊𝒏 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏 𝒅𝒆𝒆𝒑𝒆𝒓 𝒏𝒐 𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒔𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝒄𝒂𝒏 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒂 𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒇𝒆𝒄𝒕 𝒔𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒓𝒆 a poeticseraphime original ♡
https://iwhumpyou.tumblr.com/post/679898954454974464/purity-culture-steelman
NEUROBEHAVIORAL PLANKTON vi (Autistic author) (see notes below) * ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴs ᴏғ ᴅɪsᴄʀɪᴍɪɴᴀᴛɪᴏɴ Plankton's eye closed slowly, his breathing evening out under her calming touch. His body relaxed into the cushions of the couch, his mind still racing but his body succumbing to the siren call of sleep. The smoothie and Karen's comforting presence had worked their magic. Karen sat beside him, wrapped protectively around his small form. She watched his chest rise and fall with each breath, her heart heavy with the weight of the day's events. The Chum Bucket was quiet now, the silence a stark contrast to the shouts and sobs that had filled it moments before. Karen's heart breaks for Plankton yet she knows Hanna's never met him, never heard of the accident nor diagnosis. With a sigh, she picked up the phone that lay on the end table and dialed Hanna's number. The line rang once, twice, three times before Hanna's voice filled the line. "Hello?" Karen took a deep breath, steeling herself for the conversation she had to have. "Hanna, it's me," she said, her voice calm despite the whirlwind inside her. "I need to talk to you about what happened." Hanna's tone shifted immediately, concern lacing her words. "Is Plankton okay?" Karen's grip on the phone tightened. "No," she admitted, her voice a whisper. "He's asleep now, but he's not okay." Hanna's voice was a mix of shock and disbelief. "What do you mean?" Karen took another deep breath, her eyes never leaving Plankton's peaceful face. "There was an accident," she began, her voice steady. "He hit his head and..." She swallowed the lump in her throat. "Acquired Autism Spectrum Disorder." The line was silent for a moment before Hanna's voice came back, filled with horror. "Oh Neptune, I had no idea!" Karen's tentacles trembled slightly as she recounted the doctor's words, the diagnosis that had turned their world upside down. "It's permanent," she whispered. "They said his corpus callosum and cerebellum were damaged. He's...he's not the same, Hanna." On the phone, Hanna's voice was a mix of sympathy and confusion. "But why didn't you tell me sooner?" Karen's sigh was heavy with regret. "We've been dealing with this alone," she explained, her tentacle tracing patterns on the couch cushion. "It's so new, so overwhelming." Hanna's voice was gentle now, understanding in a way that made Karen feel less alone. "I'm so sorry, Karen," she said, her concern genuine. "I had no idea." Karen's eyes remained locked on Plankton's face, his chest rising and falling with each breath. "It's been a rollercoaster," she admitted, her voice tight. "But we're trying to make the best of it." Karen hangs up and turns her focus back to Plankton, his small body curled tightly under the blanket. She notices the way his antenna twitches as if he's dreaming. Her hands gently adjust the blanket, her touch feather-light against his skin. Plankton's face is a mask of peace in sleep, a stark contrast to the turmoil of the waking world. His snores are faint, a soothing rhythm that fills the otherwise silent room. Just as Karen begins to relax, the door to the Chum Bucket bursts open, letting in a rush of sunlight and SpongeBob's unmistakable laughter. "Plankton?" he calls out, his voice high and cheerful. Sponge Bob's entrance is a whirlwind of energy, a stark contrast to the heavy silence that hangs over the laboratory. He doesn't notice the tension in the air as he bounds towards the couch, his eyes widening in surprise when he sees Plankton's unusual position. "Whoa, Plankton," Sponge Bob says, his voice a chirp of curiosity. "Looks like you're taking a siesta!" He laughs, not comprehending the depth of emotion that has just played out in the room. Karen looks up from her watchful vigil, her eyes tired but determined. "Sponge Bob," she says, keeping her voice steady, "Plankton's not feeling well." Sponge Bob's face falls, his cheerfulness dimming. "Oh no," he says, his concern genuine. He approaches the couch with caution, his eyes fixed on Plankton's peaceful form. "What happened?" he asks, his voice hushed. "Is he okay?" Karen's eyes meet Sponge Bob's, full of a sorrow he can't quite comprehend. "It's been a...difficult day," she says, her tentacles tightening slightly around Plankton. "He had an accident." Sponge Bob's expression shifts from confusion to alarm. "Is he going to be okay?" he asks, his voice filled with concern. Karen sighs, her tentacle stroking Plankton's forehead in a soothing motion. "He's just...different now," she says, her voice tight. Sponge Bob frowns, his bubbles popping with worry. "What kind of different?" Karen's expression is guarded, her eyes never leaving Plankton's sleeping form. "He's been diagnosed with... autism," she whispers, the word sounding foreign even to her. "Hey, I was born with idiopathic Autism!" Sponge Bob says. "Well Plankton's got an acquired form, it's a rarity," Karen explains to Sponge Bob, her voice barely a murmur so as not to disturb the sleeping Plankton. Sponge Bob nods slowly, his understanding of the situation deepening with each word. "So his accident gave him autism; when?" "Yesterday, when he hit his head on an invention." Sponge Bob's eyes widen with realization. "Oh," he says, his voice filled with sympathy. He sits down on the floor beside the couch. "It's okay, Karen," Sponge Bob says softly, his eyes full of understanding. "We'll figure this out together." Plankton stirs beneath the blanket, his small form shifting slightly. Karen's gaze snaps to him. "Plankton?" she whispers, her tentacles poised to comfort him if his distress resurfaces. But his eye remains closed, his breathing even. Sponge Bob's expression is thoughtful as he looks at the sleeping Plankton. "You know, Karen, being different isn't so bad," he says gently. "I mean, look at me." Karen's tentacles relax slightly as she looks at Sponge Bob, his optimism a balm to her weary spirit. Karen smiles. "Tell that to Hanna," Karen mutters to herself. "Who's Hanna?" "A friend," Karen explained, her voice still tight. "She came over today, didn't know about Plankton's diagnosis. She said things she shouldn't have." Sponge Bob's frown deepens. "What kind of things?" "She said he's a burden, that maybe I should put him in an institution," she whispers, her voice shaking with anger. Sponge Bob's face falls in shock. "That's not right, Karen," he says firmly. "You don't have to listen to her. What's an institution?" "It's a place where clinically crazy people are sent to rehabilitation be 'taken care of.' But it's not like that really for neurodivergent people. It's more like a...a prison where they deprive them, and often...never make it. But mostly it's for people who are violent, which isn't the case for..." Her voice trails off as Plankton stirs again, his antennae twitching slightly. Sponge Bob looks at Plankton, his eyes filled with compassion. "He's not going anywhere, Karen," he says firmly. "You guys are like family to me. I'll help you take care of him." Plankton's single eye opens slightly, his gaze unfocused. "Shh, it's okay," she whispers, her voice a soothing caress. Plankton blinks slowly, his eye coming into focus as he sees Sponge Bob. A smile spreads across his face, a rare expression of pure joy that lights up his features. His body uncoils from its tense curl, his antennae perking up with excitement. "Sponge Bob," Plankton whispers, his voice filled with a warmth that surprises Karen. He sits up slowly, his movements calculated to avoid any jolts to his sensitive system. Sponge Bob's face splits into a beaming smile, his eyes shining with joy. "Hey, Plankton!" He says. Plankton's gaze remains fixed on Sponge Bob, his expression a mixture of gratitude and comfort. "You're here," he says simply, his voice a rough whisper. Sponge Bob nods, his smile never wavering. "Of course I am," he says, his voice gentle. He reaches out a hand tentatively, his movements slow and deliberate. Plankton's antennae twitch, then he reaches out, his grip firm but not too tight. The two of them sit there, the silence comforting rather than oppressive. **NOTEs As an autistic writer (and I used AI to help me with the words) I do not encourage the ableism people have shown in their ignorance. Depending on when and where you live, some people have thought such therapies might be good, without actually accepting nor helping. Even Hans Asperger has supported eugenics during the war, sending people to internment camps leading to demise. I came across the site autismmemorial.wordpress.com if you'd like to educate yourself about how people have endured such.*
GREAT CHIP xii (Autistic author) Mustering his courage, Chip approached, his own arms reaching out to mirror Karen's embrace. But as soon as Chip's fingers made contact with Plankton's shoulder, he flinched, his body stiffening like a board. "NO!" he shouted. The anger in Plankton's voice was like a slap, the pain of his rejection a sharp knife twisting in Chip's gut. "But Dad, I'm sorry," he said, his voice cracking. "I didn't mean..." But Plankton's antennae shot up, his body tense. "Don't!" he shouted, pushing away from them both. "Don't touch me!" His voice was ragged, his eye wide with fear and anger. Chip froze, his hand hovering in the air. He'd wanted to comfort his father, to somehow make amends for the cruel words he'd flung earlier. But his attempt had only caused more pain, and he felt the weight of his mistake like an anchor around his neck. Plankton's eyes narrowed, his antennae waving in agitation. "You think you can just...touch me?" he spat, his voice a whipcrack of anger. "You don't get it, you never will!" He shrugged off their embraces, his tiny frame quivering with fury and despair. Karen stepped back, her eyes filled with a sadness that was even deeper than the anger. "Chip," she said gently. "Give him some space." Her voice was like a lifeline, but Chip's hands remained outstretched, his eyes pleading. He didn't understand why his touch, which had always been welcomed before, was now a source of pain. "But Mom's touch d..." Plankton's antennae shot up, his eye blazing with anger. "Don't you dare compare yourself to your mother!" he roared, his voice echoing in the cramped workshop. "You don't know what it's like to live with this, to have to explain it over and over again!" Chip felt his heart shatter, the harshness of his father's words cutting deeper than any insult "It's the same touch as hers! I don't understand any differ..." But Plankton's anger was a whirlwind, a maelstrom that drowned out any attempt at reason. "You don't understand!" he screamed, his voice a volcanic eruption of pain. "You can't just... just pretend you know!" Karen's eyes filled with sadness, but she kept her voice steady. "Chip, please," she said, her tone a plea. "Give your father some space." But Chip was desperate, his heart a tangled mess of guilt and fear. He stepped closer, reaching out to mimic his mother's gentle touch. His hand hovered over Plankton's shoulder, but as soon as his fingertips made contact, his father's body stiffened. Plankton's antennae shot up like spikes, his eye wide. Chip's breath caught in his throat as he watched his father's pupil dilate, his gaze going distant. "Dad?" he whispered, his voice trembling. But Plankton didn't respond, didn't move, his body frozen in a trance-like state. Karen's eyes widened in recognition of the familiar symptom, and she quickly stepped in front of Chip, placing a gentle hand on his chest to keep him from approaching. "It's another one," she said softly, her voice filled with concern. The room seemed to hold its breath, the tension thick as the silence grew. Plankton's tiny body remained statue-still, his eye unfocused and unmoving. Chip's eyes were wide with fear, his hands hovering in the space where he'd just attempted to touch his father. He could see the fear in his mother's eyes, but he didn't understand why his touch was so wrong. "What's happening?" he whispered, his voice shaking. Karen's expression was a mix of concern and resignation. "It's another seizure," she said softly, her voice filled with a sadness that Chip had never heard before. "His body's just... trying to cope." Chip felt his heart race, his father's stillness a stark contrast to the frenetic energy that usually filled the room. The realization hit him like a tidal wave, and he stumbled back, his hand dropping to his side. "But I didn't mean to..." his voice trailed off, the words seemingly too heavy to be spoken. Karen's eyes never left Plankton's face as she gently scooped him up, her movements precise and practiced. "Let's get you to bed, honey," she said, her voice a soothing melody in the storm of his seizure. Plankton was so light in her arms, almost weightless, his antennae drooping limply beside his face. His usual fiery spirit was gone, replaced by a frightening calm that made Chip's heart race. They moved through the house in a slow dance of care, avoiding obstacles with the grace of long practice. Chip followed behind, his eyes glued to his father's still form, fear a cold hand around his throat. The hallway stretched like an eternity, each step closer to Plankton's bedroom a silent plea for his father to wake. The bedroom door creaked open, revealing a sanctuary of order and solitude. Karen navigated the space with ease, laying Plankton down on the neatly made bed with a gentle sigh. Chip hovered in the doorway, his eyes taking in the scene with a mix of awe and dread. The bed was a bastion of calm in the storm of Plankton's mind, the soft blue comforter a stark contrast to his father's usual chaotic energy. Karen arranged the pillows with the care of a sculptor, her movements precise and practiced. She pulled the covers up to his chin, her eyes never leaving his still face. Plankton's chest rose and fell in a slow, rhythmic pattern, the only sign that he was alive. Chip watched, his heart racing, as his mother sat by the bed. The silence was a living, breathing entity, filling every corner of the room like a thick fog. Karen's eyes never left Plankton's still face, her hand trembling slightly as she reached out to smooth his antennae. Chip hovered in the doorway, his own fear and confusion reflected in the shimmer of the dim light. He watched as his mother moved with a grace that seemed almost alien, her movements soothing and gentle, as if she were handling the most delicate of instruments. Plankton lay on the bed, his body still as a statue's, his eye unblinking. Karen pulled the comforter up to his chest, her hand lingering for a moment before retreating. The quiet was so deep, Chip could almost hear his own heart pounding in his chest. The room was a stark contrast to Plankton's usual cluttered workshop, his sanctuary of chaos and creation. Here, everything was in its place, each item a silent sentinel to the peace they all wished Plankton could find, a place where Plankton had always found solace. Karen sat beside the bed, her eyes never leaving her husband's serene face. She knew the chaos raging behind his unblinking eye, the maelstrom of his thoughts that only he could see. Her hand hovered over him, her thumb gently stroking his antennae, a silent promise of her love and support. Chip watched from the doorway, his heart a tumultuous sea of regret and fear. He'd never seen his father so vulnerable, so lost in his own mind. He wanted to apologize, to take back the hurtful words, but he knew it was not the time for talking. Instead, he settled for a silent promise, a vow to be there, to understand. ruder in the sacred space, but he couldn't bring himself to leave. Karen looked up, her eyes swimming with unshed tears. She offered a sad smile, a silent acknowledgment of his presence. "Why don't you go get him another blanket?" she suggested, her voice barely above a whisper. Chip nodded, his legs moving on autopilot as he retreated to the hallway. He just hoped that when Plankton woke up, he'd be able to make amends.
GREAT CHIP xiii (Autistic author) In the quiet of the corridor, Chip's thoughts raced like a pinball machine on tilt. What had he done? How could he have hurt his father so? The hallway was a blur as he searched for the linen closet, his eyes stinging with the tears he'd held back. Meanwhile, in his own bed, Plankton stirred, his antennae twitching as the world swam back into focus. He took a moment to assess his surroundings, his heart racing in his chest. The last thing he remembered was anger, a fiery rage that had consumed him whole. Karen's voice was a lifeline in the fog, her gentle tone cutting through the silence like a knife. "Honey, it's okay," she murmured, her hand a soft shield against the harshness of reality. Plankton blinked slowly, his antennae rising with caution. The room swirled around him, a kaleidoscope of colors and shapes that slowly coalesced into the familiar sight of his bedroom. The soft hum of his ceiling fan was a comforting lullaby, a reminder that he was safe, that his world hadn't crumbled. Plankton's antennae twitched as his eye found Karen's worried face. "You're okay," she whispered, her hand still stroking his antennae with a gentle rhythm. "You had another one." The words were a soothing balm to Plankton's frayed nerves, his body slowly relaxing into the warmth of her touch. He took a deep breath, his chest rising and falling in a pattern that mirrored hers. The door to the bedroom opened, and Chip stepped in, his arms wrapped around a soft, plush blanket. His eyes were red, and his face was a canvas of regret and worry. "Here," Karen whispered, taking the blanket from him and placing it over Plankton's shivering form. "Thank you, sweetie." Her voice was a lifeline in the storm of Plankton's confusion. Chip nodded, his eyes never leaving his father's face. He wanted to say sorry, to explain that he hadn't meant to cause more pain, but the words stuck in his throat, a lump of guilt. Plankton's antennae twitched again, his eye focusing on Chip with a mix of confusion and anger. "What do you want?" he rasped, his voice raw. Chip's throat tightened, his hand clutching the bedpost for support. "I just... I wanted to... to say sorry," he stuttered, his voice barely above a whisper. "For... for not understanding," he finally managed to say, his voice trembling. "For making you feel like I don't care about your... your neurodisability." Plankton's antennae drooped, his body visibly relaxing under the weight of the blanket. He took a moment, his chest rising and falling under the plush fabric. "You don't get it," he murmured, his voice tired. "You can't just say sorry and expect it to go away." Karen's eyes met Chip's, her gaze filled with a mix of sadness and understanding. She knew the depth of Plankton's pain, the constant battle he faced with his condition. "Your father's right," she said softly. "But that doesn't mean your apology isn't important. Sometimes, it's the smallest gestures that mean the most." Chip nodded, his eyes never leaving his father's face. "I know," he said, his voice barely a whisper. "But I want you to know that I'm here for you. That I love you, Dad." Plankton's antennae twitched slightly, his eye blinking as he took in Chip's words. He didn't speak, but the tension in the room began to ease, the sharp edges of anger dulled by the quiet declaration. Karen's hand on his shoulder was a warm reminder that he wasn't alone in this battle. "I'm sorry, Dad," Chip continued, his voice still shaky. "I didn't mean to make you feel like that." He took a deep breath, his eyes searching his father's for a sign of forgiveness. Plankton's antennae twitched, his gaze unreadable. Karen watched the silent exchange, her heart heavy with the weight of their unspoken words. "I know, Chip," Plankton finally managed, his voice a rasp. "But you have to learn. You can't just... touch me like that." Chip nodded, his eyes filling with tears. He felt like he was standing on the edge of a cliff, his words the only rope that could bridge the gap between them. "I'll try," he whispered, the promise heavy in the air. "I'll be more careful." Karen's hand squeezed his shoulder, her eyes filled with a mix of pride and sorrow. "That's all we can ask, honey." Plankton took a deep, shuddering breath, his antennae drooping. "I'm tired," he murmured. Karen and Chip both backed away. Plankton's antennae drooped as he lay on the bed, his body exhausted from the seizure and the emotional turmoil that had followed. "Chip," he said, his voice weak. "Could you... just stay with me?" Chip's eyes widened in surprise. He'd never seen his father ask for something so simple, so vulnerable. "Of course, Dad," he murmured, his voice filled with a newfound gentleness. He carefully perched on the edge of the bed, his eyes never leaving Plankton's still form. The room was a cocoon of silence, the only sound the soft whir of the fan above. Chip sat with his hands clasped in his lap, his mind racing with thoughts and fears. He wanted to reach out, to hold Plankton's hand, but he knew better now. He'd learned the hard way about boundaries. Plankton lay still, his antennae twitching slightly with each breath. His gaze was fixed on the ceiling, lost in the swirling pattern of shadows cast by the blades. "You know," he began, his voice a soft rumble, "when I was younger, I had this teacher, in school. He didn't 'understand' me." Chip leaned in, his curiosity piqued. He'd never heard his father talk about his school days before. "He'd always scold me," Plankton continued, his voice a distant echo. "Said I was daydreaming, not paying attention. But it was more than that." Chip leaned closer, his heart aching for the young Plankton who had suffered in silence. Plankton's antennae twitched as he recalled the past. "Whenever I'd get too... overwhelmed, I'd zone out," he said, his voice a distant memory. "It was like my mind was a kaleidoscope, swirling with colors and sounds. And just like that, I'd be somewhere else, my body frozen, like you saw. But I vividly remember one day, when the colors were especially bright and the sounds were especially loud, I had one of those episodes right in the middle of class." Chip's eyes were wide with compassion as he listened, his heart breaking for the little Plankton who nobody had understood. "What happened?" Plankton's gaze remained on the ceiling, his antennae still. "The teacher," he said, his voice tight with remembered pain, "he said that people like me, were a distraction, that I'd never amount to anything." Chip felt a spark of anger, his fists clenching at his sides. "But you're a genius!" he protested. "You've created so much!" Plankton's antennae wiggled in a sad smile. "Not to him, I wasn't. He pointed me out personally and said I'm unteachable. And when he said that, I had one of my absence seizures, like you saw. And when I came out of it, he just... he just called me a fitful monstrosity.." The words hung in the air like a curse, heavy and unspoken. Chip felt his heart clench, his fists tighten. "But you're not, Dad," he said fiercely. "You're brilliant, and... and..." He searched for the right words, but they remained elusive. Plankton's antennae twitched slightly, a sad smile playing on his lips. "There have been others," he said, his voice a whisper of hope. "Good people. Like my favorite teacher, who figured it out. She never called me names, never tried to fix me." His eyes took on a distant look, the memory illuminating his face. "Mrs. Puffett, she'd make sure the class was quiet when she saw the signs. She'd move my desk to the corner, so the colors and sounds wouldn't bother me as much. And when I'd start to have one of my episodes, she'd simply block everyone's view by putting up a little cardboard box in front of me. Just a simple thing, but it meant the world to me." Chip felt a lump in his throat. "That's so beautiful," he murmured, his heart swelling with love for his father. "But it wasn't just her," Plankton continued, his antennae twitching with the weight of his words. "It was me, too. I had to accept it, to learn that I was different. And that's what I want you to do, Chip." Chip nodded solemnly.
GREAT CHIP xiv (Autistic author) "I know it's hard, but I need you to understand that. Sometimes, I may not seem okay, but that's because it's all too much," Plankton explained, his voice a soft rumble. "But you know what?" His antennae twitched slightly, a glimmer of humor in his eye. "Sometimes, I make jokes about it." Chip's eyebrows shot up in surprise. He'd never heard his father joke about his condition before. "What do you mean?" he asked, his voice tentative. Plankton's antennae twitched with a tiny smirk. "Well, when other people do it, it feels like they're laughing at me, not with me," he said, his voice a fragile thread of self-awareness. "But when I make jokes, it's like I'm the one in control of the narrative. It's my way of saying, 'I know I'm different, and that's okay.'" Chip nodded slowly, understanding dawning in his eyes. "So it's about self-acceptance?" he ventured. Plankton's antennae bobbed slightly. "Exactly," he said, his voice a little stronger. "Only I can decide how I want to be seen, how my condition is talked about. And I'd rather have other people respect me by making sure I'm comfortable than by just simply disregarding it." Chip nodded, his eyes shining with newfound respect for his father's strength. "I'll try to understand, Dad," he promised, his voice earnest. "And I'll just... I'll just be more careful." Plankton's antennae twitched slightly, his gaze meeting Chip's with a melding of sadness and gratitude. "Thank you," he murmured, his voice barely audible over the fan's hum. The silence in the room was no longer oppressive but filled with a newfound understanding, a gentle peace that seemed to soothe the jagged edges of their recent conflict. Plankton's antennae stopped twitching, his body relaxing into the embrace of the plush blanket. "I just want to rest," he whispered, his voice a soft echo in the stillness. "Could you... could you just stay here? Until I fall asleep?" Chip nodded, his heart swelling with love and regret. He sat there, his body tense with the need to do more, but he knew that sometimes, the most important thing was just to be present. He watched as Plankton's breathing grew steadier, the shadows on the ceiling dancing to the rhythm of the fan's soft hum. His father's antennae lay still against his forehead, no longer a testament to his agitation but a symbol of his peaceful slumber. The room was a sanctuary of silence, the only sound the soft whisper of the comforter as Plankton moved slightly under its weight. Chip felt a mix of emotions—fear, guilt, love—but above all, a renewed determination to be there for his father, to learn and grow with him. He sat, his eyes never leaving Plankton's serene face, as the minutes ticked by. The darkness outside the window grew thicker, the moon casting a gentle glow into the room, painting the walls with silver light. The quiet was a comfort now, a balm to their frazzled spirits. Karen's footsteps were a soft whisper on the floorboards as she padded in, her eyes assessing the situation with a practiced gaze. "How's he doing?" she asked, her voice a gentle caress in the silence. "Better," Chip murmured, his eyes still on his father. "He's asleep." Karen nodded, her expression a mixture of relief and concern. "Why don't you get some rest too?" she suggested, her hand on Chip's shoulder. Chip hesitated, his gaze flickering from Plankton to his mother. "But what if he wakes up?" he asked, his voice a tentative whisper. Karen's eyes softened, understanding the fear that gripped him. "I'll stay," she assured. "You need to rest, too." Chip nodded, his body sagging with exhaustion. He leaned over, pressing a gentle kiss to Plankton's forehead, his antennae tickling him. "Love you, Dad," he murmured, his voice a whisper in the stillness. Karen's hand squeezed his shoulder. "I'll wake you if he needs you," she promised, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. With a nod, Chip reluctantly stood, his legs wobbly from the adrenaline rush. He turned to leave, his gaze lingering on Plankton's still form, before finally exiting the room. The hallway was a stark contrast to the warm cocoon of Plankton's bedroom, the cold air a slap to his cheeks. He took a deep breath, his heart heavy with the weight of his father's words. In his own room, Chip lay on his bed, his eyes staring at the ceiling. The quiet was deafening, his thoughts racing like a thousand fish in a net. He replayed the day's events, each moment a sharp sting in the ocean of his mind. The look on his father's face when he'd tried to hug him, the sound of the lamp shattering, the harshness of his own voice. Chip's thoughts swirled like a tornado of regret. He'd never understood the depth of Plankton's condition, the daily battles he faced. He'd always seen his father's quirks as just that—quirks. But now, the reality was stark and unyielding. Plankton's autism was more than just a part of him; it was his reality, his truth, and Chip had been careless with it. With a heavy sigh, Chip climbed into bed, his mind racing. He wished he could take back the moments that had caused pain, to rewind the clock and start again. But life didn't work that way. The house was eerily quiet, the normally bustling undersea abode now a testament to the gravity of the evening's events. Chip couldn't shake the image of his father, frozen and vulnerable, his antennae drooping like deflated party balloons. The next day dawned, a soft glow seeping into the room. Chip's eyes snapped open, his heart racing as he remembered the previous night. He threw off the covers and tiptoed to his father's room, his bare feet slapping against the cold tile floor. Karen was already there, sitting on the edge of the bed, her hand on Plankton's shoulder. The soft light of morning painted the scene in gentle hues, a stark contrast to the shadows of the night before. "How's he doing?" Chip asked, his voice hoarse. "Better," Karen whispered, her smile a beacon in the early light. "He's still sleeping." The relief on Chip's face was palpable as he approached the bed. Plankton's antennae twitched slightly, a sign of his dreams. Chip's heart skipped a beat at the sight, a silent promise to do better, to be more understanding. "He's been sleeping peacefully," Karen assured, her voice a gentle wave lapping against the shore. "I'll make us some breakfast." Her footsteps receded, leaving Chip alone with his sleeping father. Plankton's antennae twitched in his sleep, and Chip felt a wave of guilt crash over him. He carefully sat on the edge of the bed, his hand hovering over the blanket. He wanted to touch, to reassure, but his earlier misstep was still fresh in his mind. Instead, he simply watched, his eyes tracing the outline of Plankton's form beneath the fabric. The smell of pancakes began to waft up from the kitchen, a comforting scent that seemed to soothe the tension in the room. Chip took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the sweet aroma. He knew today would be a new beginning, a chance to mend the fragile threads of their bond. As Karen's footsteps retreated, the silence grew heavier, pressing against the walls like the water outside their windows. Chip's heart beat a staccato rhythm. He reached out slowly, his hand hovering over Plankton's hand. For a moment, he didn't move, just breathed, feeling the weight of his father's slumber. Then, with a careful, almost reverent touch, he covered Plankton's hand with his own. The warmth of his father's skin was a comfort, a reminder that despite the turbulent waters they'd navigated the night before, they were still connected. Plankton's antennae twitched in his sleep, and Chip held his breath, fearful that he'd woken him. But his father's eye remained closed, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. The silence stretched, a testament to their newfound understanding. Chip felt a swell of emotion, a mix of love and regret. He didn't want to let go, but he knew he had to allow Plankton his space, his privacy. So he gently lifted his hand, placing it in his lap, the memory of their shared warmth lingering like a warm embrace. He took a deep breath, his chest tight with the weight of his resolve. He would be there for his father, no matter what. He would learn about his condition, listen to his needs, and support him without smothering him. It was a delicate balance, one that Chip knew he might not always get right, but he was determined to try.
PLUSH ONE viii (By NeuroFabulous) Karen's mind races with questions, but she knows better than to ask now. She watches Plankton closely, his body slowly unwinding. His eye opens slightly, his gaze flicking to his plushie. "Plankton," she says, keeping her voice steady, "Would you like to sit with me?" He considers her offer, his antennae twitching nervously. Then, with a shaky nod, he crawls across the floor, his body still tense, and sits by her side, the plushie still clutched in one hand. Karen swells with relief, the air in the room finally feeling a bit less suffocating. She keeps her movements slow and deliberate, not wanting to startle him. Plankton sits next to her, his antennae still twitching. The man she loves is trying, and it's all she can ask. Plankton sits next to her, his antennae twitching, a constant reminder of the world he now navigates. She reaches out tentatively, her hand hovering near his. "Would you like me to hold your hand?" she asks, her voice barely above a whisper. He looks at her hand, then at her, his eye swiveling in consideration. For a moment, Karen thinks he might reject her offer, but slowly, his hand reaches out and wraps around hers. It's a tentative gesture. His grip is firm, but not too tight, his antennae quivering as he tries to process the sudden contact. She holds her breath, afraid to disturb the fragile peace they've found. Karen's mind races, trying to recall everything she's read about autism, about how touch can be both a source of comfort and of pain. She remembers the importance of consent, of letting the person with autism lead the way. So she sits, her hand in his, and waits. The room is still, the only sound the distant hum of the city outside their window. Plankton's breaths are steady now, his grip on the plushie loosening. His antennae are still, no longer searching the air for threats. Karen's eyes are locked on their intertwined hands, the warmth of his palm a comfort she hadn't realized she'd missed. "You're doing so well," she whispers, her voice as gentle as his only response is a twitch of his antennae. His eye flicks to hers, a silent question. "It's okay," she says, her smile reassuring. "We're just sitting together." Plankton nods slightly, his eye still focused on their joined hands. He then repeats her words, his voice a mirror of her own. "Okay, sitting together." The phrase echoes. It's called echolalic palilalia, a common trait in those with autism, where words are repeated. Karen nods with love. "Yes," she says. "Sitting together." Plankton's antennae twitch slightly, a hint of a smile playing. It's a small victory, but a victory nonetheless.
PLUSH ONE ix (By NeuroFabulous) They sit in silence, their hands a bridge between their worlds. She can feel his pulse beneath her thumb, the steady beat of his heart. Plankton's eye flicks to the plushie in his other hand. Karen notices the change in his expression, a flicker of something she can't quite read. His grip on her hand remains steady, but the plushie seems to have captured his full attention. She wonders what thoughts are racing through his mind, the patterns and sensory inputs he's processing in his newly autistic state. Plankton's eye narrows, and his hand twitches. She can see the determination in his face, a reminder of the man she fell in love with, still present beneath the layers of fear and confusion. "What is it, Plankton?" she asks, her voice gentle. He stares at the plushie, his eye flickering with thought. "Need still," he murmurs. Karen nods. His autism craves structure, predictability. She moves slowly, her eyes never leaving his, and reaches for the plushie. "May I..." But Plankton's hand tightens, his body tense. "MINE!" he snaps, his voice sharp. Karen's hand stops mid-air, her heart racing. "I'm sorry," she whispers. "It's just a..." But Plankton's voice is steady. "MINE," he repeats, his gaze unwavering. She understands now. The plushie is more than just a toy; it's a comfort object, a piece of his new reality that grounds him. "Okay," she says, her voice calm. "It's yours. You can hold it as long as you like." Plankton's antennae stop twitching, his breaths deepen. He nods slightly, his grip on the plushie unyielding. Karen's mind races, trying to think of ways to ease his fear without overwhelming his senses. "Would you li—" "NO!" he shouts. She's learned the importance of his sensory needs, of not pushing too hard. "Okay," she says, her voice calm, knowing better than to interrupt. Plankton clutches the plushie, his eye squeezed shut. "MINE," he whispers, his voice a tremble. She wants to comfort him, to tell him that she loves him, that she'll always be there for him. But she knows that words might not be what he needs right now. Instead, she sings a soft lullaby. Plankton's hand squeezes hers, his breaths slowing with each note. He opens his eye slightly, his gaze finding hers. "Karen," he whispers. The fear is there, but so is the love, unspoken but as real as the air they breathe. She sings as his body relaxes, his antennae still. Karen watches him, his eyelid fluttering closed. His hand in hers is still, the plushie pressed to his chest. Her screen swells with love and sadness. The man she knows is exhausted from the day's sensory bombardment. His new autistic brain has been working overtime to make sense of a world now too loud, too bright, too much. Plankton's eyelid flickers, his antennae drooping. His grip on her hand loosens, his breaths deepening with each verse. Karen's voice is a soft lullaby. Plankton's grip on the plushie loosens, his eyelid fluttering shut. Karen sings, her voice a gentle hum in the quiet room. Plankton's antennae droop slightly, his grip on her hand softening. The plushie rises and falls with his deepening breaths, his body finally at ease. Karen's eyes fill with tears of relief as she watches him slip into sleep, his hand still clutching the plushie as he starts to snore lightly. Her screen is a mix of emotions: fear, sorrow, and a fierce love that won't let her look away. Karen watches Plankton's chest rise and fall with each breath, the plushie a pillow beneath his cheek. The room is quiet, save for the distant hum of the city outside. Her mind races with the day's events, trying to process the sudden shift in their lives. But for now, she'll just be here, present in this moment of peace. Karen gently squeezes his hand, the gesture small but significant. Her love for him unchanged, though their relationship has taken a new form. The plushie rests between them, now a symbol of his autism's comforting embrace. She's heard about the importance of routine and familiar objects for those on the spectrum. Karen watches Plankton, his sleep deep and peaceful. Her mind is a whirlwind of thoughts and fears, wondering what tomorrow will bring for him. But tonight, he's just Plankton, her Plankton, asleep beside her. Their hands still entwined, his antennae finally still. Karen sighs, her eyes closed. She's tired, and the quiet hum of his snoring is a comfort. Her thoughts drift to their life before, to the days when his plans were more about Krabby Patties than patterns. A tear escapes, tracing a path down her screen. She misses those days, but more than anything, she misses his touch. Plankton's hand twitches in his sleep, and she wonders if he's dreaming of the ocean, of their underwater world. The world he used to navigate so easily, now a labyrinth of sensory overload, but she refuses to let the weight of the day crush her spirit. They'll figure this out together, find a new rhythm..
whumpwillow: characters being comforted when they don’t expect to be comforted. thinking they’re alone, that no one cares for them, that even though they may be “part of the team” now, they’ll never be fully accepted a whumpee in enemy territory, tortured for information, but given extra rations by one of the guards, along with a sad look that says ‘i wish i could do more’ a whumpee in a hostile environment, one who’s grown to have thick skin and iron fists, walls around themselves so high they might never come down. this whumpee hurt, beaten, broken, but found by someone who takes care of their wounds and isn’t driven off by the rancor of their words a former villain, shivering after a nightmare, not wanting to be alone with their thoughts but knowing the rest of the team still hates them for what they’ve done. Being so surprised when one of the heroes comes and sits with them on their bed until dawn, just so they feel safe whumpees getting comfort from the most unexpected places. whumpees thinking the people around them are enemies (and maybe they are) and yet someone shows them kindness anyway. whumpees wholly undone by the shock of it, breathless and grateful.
one of the most significant misconceptions i fear some people have about whump is that it’s sadism. For a lot of us, it’s masochist. I can’t speak for everyone in the whump community, but for myself and most of the people i’ve interacted with, we’re empathising with the whumpee, not the whumper. We’re experiencing second- hand their paın and catharsis, and also (my favourite part) the concern and care they receive from others but like… i can totally imagine what it would look like for outsiders coming across our blogs where we consistently fantasise about our favourite characters in absolute agony lol
Don’t you hate it when someone borrows your favorite pen and doesn’t give it back?🙄🖊️
https://www.pixil.art/draw
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Poor X. The lawyer has seemingly been struggling with some kind of chest infection for a while now- it seems like whenever Y passes his office, she can hear him clearing his throat, muffled coughing drifting through the walls as he tries to catch his breath. “I’ll b-be- *wheeze*- f-fine. Just… just need to c-catch my- my breath.” Wiping his mouth, he soon leans back against the bricks. His shallow exhales become steam in the cold air. “I think you might need some stronger cough medicine.” Y murmurs, still rubbing slow circles against his back. “If you want, I could get you some?” His gaze crawls over to hers, dull hope flickering within them. “Y-yeah?” His eyes roll, exhaustion taking over, but a quick tap to the cheek brings him right back, blinking languidly. “M'okay.” He mumbles. “Th-thanks.” Y's hand, still lingering on his cheek, moves to swipe away a sweat-dampened curl from his forehead. “I’m not sure whether ‘okay’ is quite the right word to describe you right now, X… Take a few minutes down here, and then I'll walk you back up to your office, alright? I’m going to tell your assistant- Z, isn't it?- to make sure you get some rest while I fetch you some meds.” X swallows, shaking his head weakly. “I’ll be… I’ll be f- fine.” “I’m the doctor here. Just try to relax for once in your life.” Finally, he sighs, nodding. He's still leaning his head against the brick wall as his eyes fall closed. Y continues to rub his back for a few minutes, a comfortable silence enveloping them. When she looks back at the lawyer beside her, his jaw is slack, lips slightly parted. The quick, shallow breaths of before have slowed and deepened. A small smile creeps onto her face. He's asleep. X starts to lean unconsciously towards her. Soon, as he remains asleep and snoring, his head lands on her shoulder. He's definitely going to drool all over her dress. “Bless him .” Z whispers, cocking his head a little as he watches X sleep. “He's absolutely knackered.” Y isn't entirely sure what that word means, but if it has anything to do with exhaustion, he's completely right. X is curled up on the couch, cheek pressed against a throw pillow Z thrifted, buried beneath a mound of blankets Y brought from home. They're ever so slightly weighted, and the pressure is comforting for X. She's trying to get used to his sensory needs. To not rely on him resolving them himself, especially when he's sick. Judging by the peaceful look on his face, nostrils flaring gently with each slow breath, she's doing something right at least. She hopes, also, that bringing him into her workplace was the right thing to do as well, groaned when she half-dragged X through the doors, pale and shakily covering his ears, squinting against the light, but what was she supposed to do? Suppose X had been left alone, and needed to get something to drink? Doing those things alone right now is essentially impossible for him. Y's phone beeps, and she turns it on to find a reminder: X’s antibiotics. She sighs, glancing over at cosy-looking just as his nose twitches in his sleep. Z notes frustration. “Antibiotic time?” “Yep.” With another small sigh of sympathy, she stands and wanders over to the feverish bundle of blankets and gentle snores, placing a gentle hand on the top of his head. Her thumb brushes against the sweat-damp curls that hang over his eyes. “ X? Sweetheart? Wake up for me, pumpkin.” When, after a few seconds of waiting, he doesn't stir, she gently strokes her index finger against his lower eyelashes. It's an age-old trick, and just like always, his eyes gradually open halfway. “Hey, X.” She whispers, smiling reassuringly as he blinks in the light. For once, he doesn't make any attempt to get up. His dizziness is clearly plaguing him again. “I’m so sorry to wake you, but you need to take your meds. Can you do that for me?” He swallows, clearly disoriented. Barely awake. “ Mm.” “Thank you. You don't even have to sit up, alright? Just…” she takes the bottle of pills from the coffee table and unscrews the lid, shaking a couple into her palm. “Just put these in your mouth, sweetheart.” Shakily, he obeys. Y's now empty hand is nearly immediately met with a glass of water filled up moments ago by Z. She moves closer to X and holds the rim of the glass up to his lips. “Now take a few sips, and swallow… Good job.” As soon as his small (yet Herculean) task is complete, X sinks back against the pillow entirely, eyes closing. Y draws the blanket over his shoulders, hand yet again drifting to his hair. “How’re you feeling?” she asks softly. His nostrils flare. He doesn't open his eyes. “ B-bad… Di- dizzy.” “ I bet… the antibiotics will make things better soon, pumpkin, I promise. Just rest.” X swallows thickly. “ C-can I go b-back to sleep now?” T gives him a small smile. “Of course you can.” She leans forward, pressing her lips to his too-warm forehead before withdrawing, still carding through his hair. “Sleep well, sweetheart. Night night.” Within moments, his breaths even out again. Soon, her pager will beep, and somehow X will remain fast asleep, swathed in blankets and yet still shivering. She'll check the little device to find that she's needed down at the hospital for a delivery. She'll know that it's okay for her to leave, because there's a whole team watching over. Keeping him safe and comfortable. For now, however, she listens to the murmurings of her colleagues about how adorable X is (she knows, it's why she loves him so much) and traces his features with her thumb. “That’s it, X. Sweet dreams.”
January 5, 2016 Wow the Iliad is really good actually, totally epic: The Iliad By Homer, Written 800 BC Book I Sing, O goddess, the anger of Achilles son of Peleus, that brought countless ills upon the Achaeans. Many a brave soul did it send hurrying down to Hades, and many a hero did it yield a prey to dogs and vultures, for so were the counsels of Jove fulfilled from the day on which the son of Atreus, king of men, and great Achilles, first fell out with one another. And which of the gods was it that set them on to quarrel? It was the son of Jove and Leto; for he was angry with the king and sent a pestilence upon the host to plague the people, because the son of Atreus had dishonoured Chryses his priest. Now Chryses had come to the ships of the Achaeans to free his daughter, and had brought with him a great ransom: moreover he bore in his hand the sceptre of Apollo wreathed with a suppliant’s wreath and he besought the Achaeans, but most of all the two sons of Atreus, who were their chiefs. “Sons of Atreus,” he cried, “and all other Achaeans, may the gods who dwell in Olympus grant you to sack the city of Priam, and to reach your homes in safety; but free my daughter, and accept a ransom for her, in reverence to Apollo, son of Jove.” On this the rest of the Achaeans with one voice were for respecting the priest and taking the ransom that he offered; but not so Agamemnon, who spoke fiercely to him and sent him roughly away. “Old man,” said he, “let me not find you tarrying about our ships, nor yet coming hereafter. Your sceptre of the god and your wreath shall profit you nothing. I will not free her. She shall grow old in my house at Argos far from her own home, busying herself with her loom and visiting my couch; so go, and do not provoke me or it shall be the worse for you.” The old man feared him and obeyed. Not a word he spoke, but went by the shore of the sounding sea and prayed apart to King Apollo whom lovely Leto had borne. “Hear me,” he cried, “O god of the silver bow, that protectest Chryse and holy Cilla and rulest Tenedos with thy might, hear me oh thou of Sminthe. If I have ever decked your temple with garlands, or burned your thigh-bones in fat of bulls or goats, grant my prayer, and let your arrows avenge these my tears upon the Danaans.” Thus did he pray, and Apollo heard his prayer. He came down furious from the summits of Olympus, with his bow and his quiver upon his shoulder, and the arrows rattled on his back with the rage that trembled within him. He sat himself down away from the ships with a face as dark as night, and his silver bow rang death as he shot his arrow in the midst of them. First he smote their mules and their hounds, but presently he aimed his shafts at the people themselves, and all day long the pyres of the dead were burning. For nine whole days he shot his arrows among the people, but upon the tenth day Achilles called them in assembly- moved thereto by Juno, who saw the Achaeans in their death-throes and had compassion upon them. Then, when they were got together, he rose and spoke among them. “Son of Atreus,” said he, “I deem that we should now turn roving home if we would escape destruction, for we are being cut down by war and pestilence at once. Let us ask some priest or prophet, or some reader of dreams (for dreams, too, are of Jove) who can tell us why Phoebus Apollo is so angry, and say whether it is for some vow that we have broken, or hecatomb that we have not offered, and whether he will accept the savour of lambs and goats without blemish, so as to take away the plague from us.” With these words he sat down, and Calchas son of Thestor, wisest of augurs, who knew things past present and to come, rose to speak. He it was who had guided the Achaeans with their fleet to Ilius, through the prophesyings with which Phoebus Apollo had inspired him. With all sincerity and goodwill he addressed them thus:- “Achilles, loved of heaven, you bid me tell you about the anger of King Apollo, I will therefore do so; but consider first and swear that you will stand by me heartily in word and deed, for I know that I shall offend one who rules the Argives with might, to whom all the Achaeans are in subjection. A plain man cannot stand against the anger of a king, who if he swallow his displeasure now, will yet nurse revenge till he has wreaked it. Consider, therefore, whether or no you will protect me.” And Achilles answered, “Fear not, but speak as it is borne in upon you from heaven, for by Apollo, Calchas, to whom you pray, and whose oracles you reveal to us, not a Danaan at our ships shall lay his hand upon you, while I yet live to look upon the face of the earth- no, not though you name Agamemnon himself, who is by far the foremost of the Achaeans.” Thereon the seer spoke boldly. “The god,” he said, “is angry neither about vow nor hecatomb, but for his priest’s sake, whom Agamemnon has dishonoured, in that he would not free his daughter nor take a ransom for her; therefore has he sent these evils upon us, and will yet send others. He will not deliver the Danaans from this pestilence till Agamemnon has restored the girl without fee or ransom to her father, and has sent a holy hecatomb to Chryse. Thus we may perhaps appease him.” With these words he sat down, and Agamemnon rose in anger. His heart was black with rage, and his eyes flashed fire as he scowled on Calchas and said, “Seer of evil, you never yet prophesied smooth things concerning me, but have ever loved to foretell that which was evil. You have brought me neither comfort nor performance; and now you come seeing among Danaans, and saying that Apollo has plagued us because I would not take a ransom for this girl, the daughter of Chryses. I have set my heart on keeping her in my own house, for I love her better even than my own wife Clytemnestra, whose peer she is alike in form and feature, in understanding and accomplishments. Still I will give her up if I must, for I would have the people live, not die; but you must find me a prize instead, or I alone among the Argives shall be without one. This is not well; for you behold, all of you, that my prize is to go elsewhither.” And Achilles answered, “Most noble son of Atreus, covetous beyond all mankind, how shall the Achaeans find you another prize? We have no common store from which to take one. Those we took from the cities have been awarded; we cannot disallow the awards that have been made already. Give this girl, therefore, to the god, and if ever Jove grants us to sack the city of Troy we will requite you three and fourfold.” Then Agamemnon said, “Achilles, valiant though you be, you shall not thus outwit me. You shall not overreach and you shall not persuade me. Are you to keep your own prize, while I sit tamely under my loss and give up the girl at your bidding? Let the Achaeans find me a prize in fair exchange to my liking, or I will come and take your own, or that of Ajax or of Ulysses; and he to whomsoever I may come shall rue my coming. But of this we will take thought hereafter; for the present, let us draw a ship into the sea, and find a crew for her expressly; let us put a hecatomb on board, and let us send Chryseis also; further, let some chief man among us be in command, either Ajax, or Idomeneus, or yourself, son of Peleus, mighty warrior that you are, that we may offer sacrifice and appease the the anger of the god.” Achilles scowled at him and answered, “You are steeped in insolence and lust of gain. With what heart can any of the Achaeans do your bidding, either on foray or in open fighting? I came not warring here for any ill the Trojans had done me. I have no quarrel with them. They have not raided my cattle nor my horses, nor cut down my harvests on the rich plains of Phthia; for between me and them there is a great space, both mountain and sounding sea. We have followed you, Sir Insolence! for your pleasure, not ours- to gain satisfaction from the Trojans for your shameless self and for Menelaus. You forget this, and threaten to rob me of the prize for which I have toiled, and which the sons of the Achaeans have given me. Never when the Achaeans sack any rich city of the Trojans do I receive so good a prize as you do, though it is my hands that do the better part of the fighting. When the sharing comes, your share is far the largest, and I, forsooth, must go back to my ships, take what I can get and be thankful, when my labour of fighting is done. Now, therefore, I shall go back to Phthia; it will be much better for me to return home with my ships, for I will not stay here dishonoured to gather gold and substance for you.” And Agamemnon answered, “Fly if you will, I shall make you no prayers to stay you. I have others here who will do me honour, and above all Jove, the lord of counsel. There is no king here so hateful to me as you are, for you are ever quarrelsome and ill affected. What though you be brave? Was it not heaven that made you so? Go home, then, with your ships and comrades to lord it over the Myrmidons. I care neither for you nor for your anger; and thus will I do: since Phoebus Apollo is taking Chryseis from me, I shall send her with my ship and my followers, but I shall come to your tent and take your own prize Briseis, that you may learn how much stronger I am than you are, and that another may fear to set himself up as equal or comparable with me.” The son of Peleus was furious, and his heart within his shaggy breast was divided whether to draw his sword, push the others aside, and kill the son of Atreus, or to restrain himself and check his anger. While he was thus in two minds, and was drawing his mighty sword from its scabbard, Minerva came down from heaven (for Juno had sent her in the love she bore to them both), and seized…
https://prostorybuilders.com/writing-characters-who-are-unconscious/
Pansyk •6mo ago Personally, reading and writing fanfiction has really helped me with my technical skills. When I look over the fanfiction I have written over the years, I can see how my prose and dialogue have improved. All fiction, whether of the fan or original variety, is built off of the basic idea of "making words sound good." And fanfiction is a perfectly acceptable way to do that. However, the way that fanfiction operates in terms of characterization and plot? That's radically different from original fiction. In fanfiction, characters are already established, so even if you're doing some batshit insane Alternate Universe, everyone already knows the basics of what's up. That's not true of original fiction. You need to devote more time to both fleshing out your characters and establishing their relationships with the rest of the cast. Plot often progresses differently, in part because of the time you just spent showing your readers who these people are, but also because fanfiction and original fiction often follow different structures entirely. Fanfiction is free and accessible to anyone with an internet connection. That makes it useful for new authors, especially young authors. Think of it as swimming in shallow water. It's fun! It can help you build up some strength. Anyone can do it. But it won't completely prepare you for diving into deeper water. So, I guess at the end of the day, reading both will help your development as a writer.
Please no d£ath threats to ppl who make fanfic thx and have a nice day
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