whump time!

any prns. aromantic agender lesbian. rentry and inactive bluesky fandom blogging, random assortment of shitposts, though sometimes you can find an actual thought or two on some things. my only opinion of substance on anything discourse related is that i am here to play with my toys (blorbos) and i don't like censorship. main/fanfic blog: @hxneydreamss, also on my ao3 (semi-active) ouat blog: @operation-rambles (semi-active) spn blog: @t4tdrowstiel (new) whump blog: @june-whumps

dinahsiren gif. blinkies under the keep reading (flashing warning)

YES. GOD I LOVE THIS, YES.

finding a way to engage in sexual intimacy anyway. the fear on both sides that this is something wrong, something bad. but still managing to work through that, together. being able to talk about it enough, even if that's hard. turning out the lights and not making themselves look at each other, haltingly getting through conversations needing to stop and say things differently and realizing the other wasn't understanding them and needing to say it again.

navigating the boundaries, whether this is a kind of sex either of them have had before. figuring out where the limits are. how to do aftercare, for both of them, making sure this doesn't do more harm than good. it's not easy. it's not simple. it's not perfect.

but when they're laying together afterwards, naked and satisfied, skin damp with sweat and chests heaving from exertion. when they're trembling from the comedown, fingers tracing lightly over bruises, bite marks, places left sore and aching. knowing that they wanted this - that they both wanted all of this, and it was good. that whumpee is shaking and there are tear tracks on their face but their eyes are half-lidded and they're calm and trusting, their naked body pressed to caretaker's. that caretaker is worried they've gone too far, that they've harmed their friend, but the tendrils of guilt are soothed by whumpee's murmured, sincere thank you, and fuck it felt good for them too, and that's... that's okay.

I love a quiet and anxious whumpee as much as the next person, but whumpees that are explosive and upset hit so much harder for me. It's really difficult to be a nice person when you're dealing with so much mental and/or physical trauma.* Pain makes you a bitch. It's frustrating. It hurts. At some point, whumpee is going to snap.

Shoving people away. Yelling. Violent outbursts, throwing things, reckless behaviour. Caretaker doesn't know what to do or how to leave. Whumpee doesn't know how to stop or make it any better.

They're fighting, again, and whumpee is yelling and shouting because they're trying to make themselves understood, but they can't find the words to articulate it so they have to show the feeling instead. Caretaker is tired of being on the receiving end of it so they're shouting back, which just makes both of them more upset.

And then whumpee finally manages to put the thing into words, stunning them both into silence, before whumpee starts apologising profusely. The whole time they'd just wanted to be understood but couldn't explain themselves and being vulnerable is terrifying and "I never wanted to hurt you too."

Idk just give me dysregulated whumpees.

Stockholm Syndrome/“Stop fighting it.”/Touch Starvation

Caretaker hasn't touched Whumpee once. Whumpee is already skittish enough. Caretaker is afraid that if they do, the poor thing will jump right out of their skin. So Caretaker didn't risk it. Especially now that Whumpee is finally coming around to trusting them again.

Of course, that didn't mean Caretaker was immune to craving physical affection. Oh, how they wanted nothing more than to hug and cuddle and kiss Whumpee. They missed them so much when they were gone, but Caretaker knows better. Caretaker's wants and needs can wait. Recovery is a slow process, and they needed to take it one thing at a time.

As of late, every time Caretaker gets close enough to Whumpee, they notice that they start trembling. It's subtle, barely noticeable, but still enough that Caretaker noticed it. Caretaker took it as another sign not to touch them. If they were shaking at the mere thought of being touched, how would they react to the real thing?

“There’s no sign of life.”

“We honor the dead by fighting for the living” 

This is my city! You want to stop me?! You’re going to have to kill me!