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#writing comfort
whumpberry-cookie · 10 months
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Aftermath
Caretaker is asked to search for some photo in Whumpee's phone.
They try not to peek in other folders, but there's one called "Reasons I'm happy I survived".
One photo per day.
And at least 2/3 of them are photoes of Caretaker.
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inkskinned · 9 months
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because sometimes there are invisible tests and invisible rules and you're just supposed to ... know the rule. someone you thought of as a friend asks you for book recommendations, so you give her a list of like 30 books, each with a brief blurb and why you like it. later, you find out she screenshotted the list and send it out to a group chat with the note: what an absolute freak can you believe this. you saw the responses: emojis where people are rolling over laughing. too much and obsessive and actually kind of creepy in the comments. you thought you'd been doing the right thing. she'd asked, right? an invisible rule: this is what happens when you get too excited.
you aren't supposed to laugh at your own jokes, so you don't, but then you're too serious. you're not supposed to be too loud, but then people say you're too quiet. you aren't supposed to get passionate about things, but then you're shy, boring. you aren't supposed to talk too much, but then people are mad when you're not good at replying.
you fold yourself into a prettier paper crane. since you never know what is "selfish" and what is "charity," you give yourself over, fully. you'd rather be empty and over-generous - you'd rather eat your own boundaries than have even one person believe that you're mean. since you don't know what the thing is that will make them hate you, you simply scrub yourself clean of any form of roughness. if you are perfect and smiling and funny, they can love you. if you are always there for them and never admit what's happening and never mention your past and never make them uncomfortable - you can make up for it. you can earn it.
don't fuck up. they're all testing you, always. they're tolerating you. whatever secret club happened, over a summer somewhere - during some activity you didn't get to attend - everyone else just... figured it out. like they got some kind of award or examination that allowed them to know how-to-be-normal. how to fit. and for the rest of your life, you've been playing catch-up. you've been trying to prove that - haha! you get it! that the joke they're telling, the people they are, the manual they got- yeah, you've totally read it.
if you can just divide yourself in two - the lovable one, and the one that is you - you can do this. you can walk the line. they can laugh and accept you. if you are always-balanced, never burdensome, a delight to have in class, champagne and glittering and never gawky or florescent or god-forbid cringe: you can get away with it.
you stare at your therapist, whom you can make jokes with, and who laughs at your jokes, because you are so fucking good at people-pleasing. you smile at her, and she asks you how you're doing, and you automatically say i'm good, thanks, how are you? while the answer swims somewhere in your little lizard brain:
how long have you been doing this now? mastering the art of your body and mind like you're piloting a puppet. has it worked? what do you mean that all you feel is... just exhausted. pick yourself up, the tightrope has no net. after all, you're cheating, somehow, but nobody seems to know you actually flunked the test. it's working!
aren't you happy yet?
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flimythings · 1 month
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"you cant heal if you pretend you're not hurt"
-filmythings
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have you ever read a fanfic so good that you wanted to write a fanfic about that fanfic, but was too shy / too intimidated to ask for the author’s permission and too afraid that your writing wouldn’t be half as good as theirs and that it would be an insult to their work that was basically a literal masterpiece, so you just sat there fantasizing about their work and how beautiful it was and how you wished you could just eat it and how you wished canon could write your blorbos half as good as this writer did and how you just wanted to cry because you just loved that fic so much????
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maccreadysbaby · 10 months
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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!
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glorious-spoon · 6 months
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i know we all laugh (mostly fondly) about the paper-thin plots in porn that only exist to make the sex happen, but i was reading some old stargate fic over the weekend, and i really think we're sleeping on the paper-thin hurt/comfort plot that only exists to force the characters to FEEL THINGS.
like, is this scenario realistic? no. does it make any rational sense? no. does it provide a built-in excuse for a character to collapse, bloody and disoriented, into the arms of his beloved/friend/partner? obviously, that's the whole point of this exercise.
i love it. it's my favorite thing in the world.
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rexalogy · 8 days
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Every Taylor Swift song
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dmitriene · 15 days
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helping simon to dye his hair, dark strands tangled with your fingers as you apply light hair dye evenly, brown eyes watching your every emotion as he squirms slightly on the chair, causing you to deliberately roll your hips and frown at him, his thick fingers flexing at your lush hips.
you cockwarm him, tight little panties pushed to the side so simon would be able to nestle his leaking, erect cock inside your gummy walls, relishing in the softness and content with feeling of your warm pussy gripping him tightly.
it makes him relax, to say the truth, not fidgeting much and letting you peacefully continue your task of dying his slightly overgrown hair, each gentle roll of your hips and small bouncing up and down his length, making his meaty cock all sloppy for you to glide on, makes simon more pliant.
he grunts quietly, brown gaze half lidded with infinite affection as he looks at your every move, light eyelashes fluttering prettily as his calloused fingers knead the plushess of your hips, rubbing up and down to your thighs, as you almost finish with your work.
it's good, to have you this close, with occasional soft kisses pressed either against his forehead or crooked nose, making simon almost purr out of the pure pleasure.
simon's body tingles pleasantly all over when he feels that you continued applying the blonde color on his hair, combing all of his hair back for greater comfort, as he busies himself in stealing couple of slow, long thrusts inside your sloppy cunt.
his cock brushes against your spongy spots messily, fat tip brushing the right place deliciously, and you let simon have his fun with an light mewl slipping past your lips — one that he swallows greedily with his lips on yours.
you both just better not overexpose the hair dye on his hair, or there will be even more work to deal with.
✎ 𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵. 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴. 𝘢𝘰3.
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perfectfeelings · 1 month
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Sometimes suffering is just suffering. It doesn’t make you stronger. It doesn’t build character. It only hurts.
Kate Jacobs; Comfort Food
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elodieunderglass · 3 months
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Horror isekai where Perceiving the Weird Eldritch Thing gets you catapulted into a nightmare labyrinth of puzzle-solving.
I.e Those Who Perceive The Hunt of the Goblin King Must Partake In The Labyrinth and Can Only Be Freed If They Complete It In One Day and One Night. By Fae Law. For Reasons.
But the definition of “perception” clearly needs to be updated because some normal guy simply films the Hunt of the Goblin King Behind Arby’s, and puts it on Facebook -
No, not instagram or TikTok, it’s important that it be Facebook -
Because the rules are pretty clear, “the rules are the rules” as is carved ominously in elvish runes above the grim gate, and the Contract is Sealed. and so therefore the guy and 25 of their most random real-life acquaintances must run the gauntlet together. It’s Some Guy, their immediate neighbors, their first partner’s mom, their friends from hobby Facebook groups (oh this poor guy and their hobbies; the elderly birdwatchers from Facebook and the young up-and-coming drag king community), their random teen kid niece, college friends, a dog who also watched the video, a couple consisting of a woman who is the guy’s Facebook friend and showed her husband the video, and the husband doesn’t even know Some Guy, so he’s in the labyrinth and absolutely furious about being forced to be involved, and they proceed to break up over the course of the puzzle.
It’s important that the narrative keeps trying to be a sexy dark horror isekai! but within this the comedic reality of Catherine, 52, the guy’s horse-riding instructor, being passionately involved in escape-room-style puzzle solving and grappling with minor goblins. They are in fact speedrunning the gauntlet.
The Goblin King finally has to say: all right, actually, I only really set all this up to fuck with one (1) guy at a time, thanks for your willingness to participate, but I think all 25 of you can consider the gauntlet fully run.
And the group would be quite hurt by that. The rules are the rules. We have a contract, actually. Let Catherine cook.
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whumpberry-cookie · 1 year
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A cute little recovery detail:
Whumpee deals with the anxiety by sitting down on the floor. So when they have sensory overload in public spaces, they need to sit down and breathe to ground themselves.
So Caretaker sits down with them too, so they don't feel embarassed by doing it alone.
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bebx · 6 months
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AO3 writers when canon sucks:
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xinxiaogato · 5 months
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— you're dating who!?
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summary. no one believes that you’re dating the esteemed duke of the fortress of meropide. that man is only ever seen locking lips with the orifice of a teacup. however, all of that changes when you and your alleged “boyfriend” are invited to a coworker’s dinner party.
love interest. gn!reader x wriothesley.
warnings. unedited, cursing, bullying, attempted homewrecking, mentions of blood, murder, and assault (nothing crazy), slight angst, lack of communication, a bit suggestive (mentions of light bdsm).
word count. 2,187
note. happy late birthday to wriothesley! this shortfic was inspired by a scene from spy x family (iykyk). you are referred to as “reader” by the way!
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while loading up your plate with chips and french fontainian onion dip, you could sense the smugness of your colleagues from all the way across the dining room.
“i mean, we all saw this coming, didn’t we?” one of them piped up with a snarky laugh.
another obnoxiously chortled in return. “i won't forget the day reader told us who could have possibly given them those flowers.”
“right!? and i’m lady furina!”
that joke rocked their worlds to the point that one person started choking on their garlic baguette. your eyes flitted over to your friend, pauline, who was shaking with rage beside you and on the verge of strangling someone.
“why i oughta give them a piece of my mind!” caterwauled pauline, but you perched a hand on her shoulder so that she wouldn’t go ballistic—even if it was on your behalf.
“can’t really blame them,” you conceded. “if you told me you were in a relationship with the iudex of fontaine, i would need a minute.”
“are you saying it’s impossible?”
“i’m saying it’s highly unlikely.”
“hmph! a girl can dream.” pauline haughtily raised her nose into the air and crossed her arms with indignation, which tugged your lips into a small smile. you knew she had your best interests in mind. since day dot, your coworkers were constantly unleashing a tirade of vitriol against you. “anyway, where’s your boyfriend? did he get caught up with something?”
“probably,” you ascertained, taking a sip of red wine. you looked for a seat to settle at; you couldn’t let your chips go cold. “he warned me that he might not make it in time for the party. a new batch of inmates was processed for registration today, and allegedly, they’re unruly.”
her eyes widened after connecting the dots. “are they related to the famous case of the missing paintings? they finally caught the culprits!?”
you raised an eyebrow. “you didn’t know? it’s all over the steambird.”
as you and pauline were sitting down, the hostess of the party, anaïs, and her entourage strode over with purpose. one of anaïs’s minions was the first to start yapping, “well, if it isn’t reader, the person dating the wolf!”
“more like the person who cried wolf!” followed anaïs, which made the group howl like hyenas.
rolling your eyes at their sneers, you replied, “where is your husband, anaïs? don’t tell me he’s at the office ‘working overtime’ with his assistant again.”
all of anaïs’s friends practically broke their necks to look at her.
“h-how did you know about that…!?” anaïs spluttered, her cheeks flared red. “that’s… that’s my personal affairs you’re airing to everyone!”
a follower of anaïs cupped a hand to her ear and hissed, “don’t you remember? reader is friends with charlotte, a journalist for the steambird. she’s notorious for her intel gathering so that she can compete with others for the juiciest scoops!”
“hey, hey, does charlotte know anything about monsieur neuvillette’s type?” pauline whispered to which you were about to answer—only for anaïs to grab your glass of wine.
“you think you’re so high and mighty all the time…!” anaïs said in a shrill voice, tears pricking the corners of her eyes. “at least i don’t pretend i’m the bitch of the lord of the fortress of meropide to get attention!”
“i think it would be better for you to channel your energy into divorcing that shitty excuse of a husband,” you corrected her, unfazed by the fact she was threateningly holding the drink above your head. “it’s not your fault that he’s a scumbag, so don’t stick around to see if he’ll change.”
something in anaïs seemed to falter at your words, but it was only for a moment. resentment got the best of her, and in the blink of an eye, red liquid was splashed onto your chest and dripping down your top, making bystanders gasp at the scene before them.
it kind of looked like you just got murdered.
“what is wrong with you!?” pauline furiously yelled after jumping up to shield you, who was still reeling from what happened. “how old are you to be acting like an immature brat!?”
as pauline and one of anaïs’s flunkies began to pull at each other’s hair, a different one pointed a finger into your face while cackling. “ha, serves you right! that outfit must have been dirt cheap anyway, so it couldn’t have been a total loss!”
“oh, you wouldn’t want your shoes ruined, right?” a second cooed, snatching them right off your feet and looking for the nearest window to chuck them out of. “don’t worry, i’ll dry them off for you!”
you got up to take them right back, but anaïs blocked your path, eyes narrowed into slits. “just admit it, reader,” she snarled. “you’re nothing but an attention-seeking whore for the fortress of meropide’s administrator, a goody two-shoes for our boss, and a laughing stock for all of fontaine. you’re nothing!”
“monsieur wriothesley!” a voice resounded from down the hallway, causing everyone in the dining room to freeze. “we’re so honored to have you join us! did lady anaïs invite you?”
before you knew it, a strong arm wrapped around your shoulders from behind to give you a tight squeeze, and a pair of lips kissed the top of your head.
“so sorry i’m late, my love,” a deep voice purred by your ear. “my hands were tied…”
his voice trailed off. wriothesley, whose sudden appearance had dropped every partygoer’s jaw, noticed that your top felt weirdly damp. when he craned his neck to investigate, his heart dropped to the bottom of his stomach. 
he immediately questioned if it was your blood or not.
“reader!” your boyfriend shouted, turning you around and holding you by the shoulders. a fear he had only felt as a teenager flooded rapidly into his system, and it was taking everything in him to not explode. “what happened to you? are you hurt!?”
you were still stunned in the aftermath, but you quickly collected yourself and placed your hands atop his. “no, no, i’m fine, wrio. i’m not hurt. it’s just red wine.”
“red… red wine?”
recovering from his initial shock, wriothesley twisted around, his jacket fluttering swiftly in tandem. his eyes took in the sight of an awestruck anaïs holding something behind her back and a petrified person clutching onto a pair of shoes (which explained why your dogs were out).
in a calm tone more terrifying than him speaking out of anger, wriothesley said to the hostess, “i apologize for souring the mood. however…” quickly, he engulfed your body with his jacket and swept you off your feet, hitching the air in your throat as he held you close to his chest. “my partner is not feeling well, so we’ll be taking our leave. we humbly thank you for the invitation.”
“b-but you just got here!” anaïs fretted.
her first mistake was revealing the wine glass she was desperately trying to hide earlier. in wriothesley’s realm, we call this a foul.
“reader was just a little tipsy and spilled a drink on themselves!” she crooned, tilting her head up at the duke and innocently batting her eyelashes. “why don’t you stay and become acquainted with your partner’s coworkers?”
her second foul: coveting a man in a relationship.
“i mean, they can’t be unwell to the point of needing to go home!”
her third: messing with reader. and three fouls meant a disqualification.
“heavens, no,” wriothesley insisted. “my partner’s health is my main priority, and time is of the essence. besides, the longer i remain, the less time i have to file a detailed report on an assault and battery that took place here.”
it became so quiet that you could hear a pin drop.
“a…assault…?” even through the makeup caked on anaïs’s face, you could see the color drain from it entirely. “what… what assault…!? no assault happened here, your grace!” when his frown spoke volumes, she cried out, “y-you don’t have any proof!”
“oh, i would suggest otherwise. and i believe there are many eyewitnesses to testify.”
you peered around at the guests who had gathered to view the spectacle, and they were nodding in support of wriothesley’s claim, including pauline. even anaïs’s goons were vehemently bobbing their heads up and down, still in disbelief that the man, the myth, the legend himself had graced them with his presence.
“now if you’ll excuse me…” with you firmly in his grasp, wriothesley approached the woman still clinging to your footwear, who immediately began to quiver. “i would like for you to return my partner’s shoes,” he ordered with a look as cold as ice.
“o-of course!” she stammered, extending the shoes toward him. “it was all in good fun, your grace!”
“oh, those aren’t mine,” he said with a cock of his head at your bare toes. “like i said, those belong to my partner.”
finally picking up what was he putting down, the lady shakily slipped your shoes back on your feet for which you glanced up at wriothesley with furrowed eyebrows. he only reacted with a smile that thawed the rigid expression on his face.
“i-i can’t possibly rot in jail!” anaïs was still making a fuss nearby. “i’m so young and beautiful! can’t you look past this, monsieur wriothesley…!? i’ll do anything!”
“well, it’s not something you’ll go to prison for, ma’am,” he said, not even sparing anaïs a glance as he headed for the front door, “but this misdemeanor will forever stain your official records and reputation… just as you stained my partner’s clothes.” (mic drop.)
and that was that. with a quick kiss on both cheeks from pauline, you exited the dead-quiet house in your boyfriend’s arms.
“wrio…” you murmured as he started walking in the direction of your home. “i’m really sorry for inconveniencing you.”
wriothesley momentarily stopped in his tracks to gaze down at you, his lips pursed before sighing. “no… don’t apologize, my love. i’m sorry for not arriving sooner.”
“but that isn’t your fault,” you pointed out.
a chuckle resonated from deep within his chest. “touché.”
however, his lightheartedness faded out with that chuckle when his hands gripped onto you tighter, as if you were about to dissolve into water at any moment.
“what happened, reader?” he croaked, displaying a side of him reserved for your eyes alone. “how long have they been treating you like this? and for you to not even give them a taste of the boxing skills i taught you for these kinds of situations…”
you clutched his jacket tighter to your body. “you already have so much on your plate. i could not dare to tell you something that may weigh on your conscience.”
“please,” he whispered. “i want you to weigh on my conscience.”
after a moment’s worth of hesitation, you finally gave in, explaining that the fresh bouquet of rainbow roses he sent to your office one morning sent your colleagues into a frenzy that turned your life into a nightmare. as you spoke, wriothesley’s expression became grimmer and grimmer. he couldn’t even fathom how much of a shitshow your company was for permitting the kind of behavior he merely glimpsed this evening.
and he couldn't bear the thought that you had been suffering alone for months.
“they didn’t believe me for a second, even when i had pictures of you and me framed on my desk. ‘oh, those must have been edited’.”
realizing wriothesley's muscles were so taut, you attempted to alleviate the atmosphere. “i guess no one can accept an ordinary office worker dating the administrator of the fortress of meropide. like, picture the tianquan of the liyue qixing with an npc.”
in any other situation, your boyfriend would be laughing, but certainly not this one. “no one can determine our relationship,” wriothesley stated with a clear veracity. “you are the light in my bleak world, reader, and nothing is allowed to take you away from me. if so, i will travel to the ends of teyvat to bring you back.”
he then grinned, showing off his cute canines. “and you bet i'll put my handcuffs to use.”
you slapped a hand to your forehead. “way to ruin the mood. i was just about to kiss you.”
in response, he grinded his knuckles into the top of your head, which made you yodel out in pain. “what was that for!?” you exclaimed.
“for not kissing me, but more importantly: for keeping a secret from me,” he clarified, his pale gray eyes twinkling under the moonlight. “no more of that, okay?”
you warmly smiled up at him and rested your head against his broad shoulder, completely wiped out from the party-turned-fiasco. “okay.”
as the two of you reached your abode, a question popped up in your mind. “were you serious about the handcuff thing?”
he smirked. “yes, and you’ll find out just how serious i am after we take a shower together. you reek of wine.”
a pink blush dusted your cheeks. “what? together!?”
“together. you and me.”
“ahhh! put me down!”
“nope. not a chance.”
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© xinxiaogato. please do not translate my work without permission or attempt to plagiarize it.
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reblog if fanfic writing has been a source of happiness for you and has helped with your mental health
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When the unflappable character sees someone they care about in danger and the mask slips, it's great.
But when the unflappable character sees someone they care about in danger, and the mask DOESN'T slip.
Because they understand they need to be calm and unflappable now more than ever; if it protects them, it will certainly protect the person they care about. So their voice doesn't waver, their hands don't shake. They don't panic. From the outside looking in, they're as calm as could be. They handle it.
But after it's over-when the person they care about is safe, and the unflappable character is alone-they completely shatter. Gasping breaths, sobs, barely holding it together because someone they love almost DIED, and it was far, far too close for comfort.
(Optional: Character that they care about finds them in this state and comforts them.)
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master-xochimilli · 1 month
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I just want soft cuddlefucking. Arms holding me tightly, a nice slow deep fuck, kissing and praising me while wiping my tears away, fucking all the stupid sad out my head, reassuring me it'll be okay soon and that they've got me
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