Whump blog, mainly. I'm mediocre at tagging stuff so proceed at your own discretion. He/Him. Adult. Literally nocturnal. Sometimes socially awkward so I apologize in advance for that.
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I've seen sex-averse vs sex-repulsed conceptualized several different ways. And while I don't think any one way is necessarily wrong or right I am curious which is the most common.
Aces, what do you consider the difference between sex averse and sex repulsed?
None/wording only; they're fully interchangeable/down to individual preference
Intensity; repulsed is stronger, averse is milder
Scope;repulsed include sex in abstract/3rd person,aversion only if self involved
Flavor; repulsed involves feeling disgust, aversion some other reason for avoid
The terms imply all of the above simultaneously
I distinguish between them some other way (share in the notes please?)
I have no idea man/results
Allosexual button
Remaining time: 1 day 2 hours
Longer versions of answers because of that character limit:
None/wording only: they're fully interchangeable, or only distinguished by which an individual prefers to use
Intensity: repulsed is stronger, more intense, or more extreme; averse is milder, less intense, or more moderate
Scope: repulsed includes a negative/unpleasant response to sex in any context including abstract/fiction/other people/etc.; aversion only includes a negative/unpleasant response to sex involving one's own self
Flavor: repulsed involves feeling disgust or a visceral reaction, aversion covers other reasons for avoiding sex
The terms imply all of the above simultaneously, and all of these things should be considered when determining which term is appropriate
give me stories where the villain is doing terrible things because it's the only way anyone will listen, like they've tried petitions and protests and polite letters and nobody cared, nobody looked, nobody changed a single thing, and so they start breaking windows and burning buildings and holding the world hostage because attention is the only currency that matters, because you can't fix a problem nobody sees, and the hero spends years chasing them, hating them, calling them terrorist and monster and psychopath, and the villain lets them, encourages them, because every headline about the villain is a headline about the cause, every battle with the hero is a conversation the world finally has to have.
and the villain knows they're making themselves the villain, knows they're sacrificing their own humanity so that the real issue can wear their face instead, and they die with the hero's hands around their throat or a blade through their chest or a bullet they could have dodged but didn't, and only then, only then, does the hero find the documents, the evidence, the proof that the villain was right, that the system was rotten, that people were dying in silence while the world looked away, and the hero realizes with sickening clarity that every crime they stopped was a distraction from a bigger crime, that every person they saved from the villain was still doomed by the thing the villain was trying to expose, that the villain wasn't stealing the money, they were redistributing it; wasn't destroying the lab, they were freeing the prisoners; wasn't threatening the city, they were forcing the city to look at the poison in its own water, and the hero was the weapon used to silence the only person telling the truth.
now imagine this. hero standing in the aftermath with the villain's blood on their hands and the truth in their ears, watching the world finally wake up, finally march, finally change, all because the villain made themselves the sacrifice, made themselves the monster, made themselves the story that eclipsed the real story just long enough for the real story to become undeniable, and the hero has to give interviews and accept medals and smile for cameras while knowing that the person who actually saved everything is the one they killed, the one they called evil, the one whose last words were probably something the hero mocked, something the hero used as proof of their insanity...
and now those words are graffiti on every wall, are chanted at every rally, are the name of the movement that changes the world, and the hero can't say anything, can't confess, can't tell the truth without destroying the very thing the villain died for, because the movement needs a hero, needs a clear narrative, needs the villain to stay the villain so that the cause can stay pure, and the hero understands finally that the villain knew this too, that they planned for this, that they chose to die misunderstood so that the truth could live clean and unburdened by their complicated methods, their necessary violence, their stained hands, and the hero lives the rest of their life as the face of a revolution they didn't start, wearing a halo the villain forged in their own blood, and every time someone thanks them they hear the villain's voice saying you're welcome or i'm sorry or make it worth it or just a simple please. and they smile and nod and go home and stare at the mirror and wonder if becoming the villain's opposite was just another way of becoming their continuation, if the hero the world needed and the villain the world deserved were always the same person wearing different masks, and the only difference is that one of them got to choose when to take theirs off and-
If I tell you this is a horror dance number it still won't prepare you. That last move was so terrifying even the judge was like "Let go! Let go!" If you told me they're actually possessed I'd believe you.
The music is a remix of the song Mere Dholna from the Bollywood movie Bhool Bhulaiyya, a remake of the classic Malayalam horror-comedy Manichitrathazhu. It's about a young bride that seemingly becomes possessed of Manjulika, a dancer of the ancient royal court whose tragic death has turned her into a vengeful spirit, one who evokes the wrath of the goddess Durga Kali. In the iconic scene that is repeated across remakes, the groom and his family discover his bride dancing in the dead of night in a manic, disassociative fugue, wearing a moth-eaten dancer's costume and a face smeared in kohl, ash and vermilion. She's hallucinating that she's Manjulika dancing carefree for the court with her lover. The upbeat music is deliberately incongruous with the pathos and creepiness of the scene in reality, especially as it crescendos in the bride's head to the moment when the king decapitates Manjulika's beloved in a fit of jealous rage.
This specific number is by the all-male troupe B Unique, performed for the Indian reality talent contest Hunabaarz. It's a modern fusion based on Bharatnatyam that turns up the creep factor by 200% and is basically a showcase of contortionism and synchronicity. One of the most perfectly choreographed and executed dances I have ever seen. Truly incredible!
The group is still taking their work across the world's talent shows. And yes, that guy is hypermobile enough to do that with his neck. XD
I need more living weapons having crazy reflexes. catching shit, adjusting, deflecting, etc without flinching or even seeming to process what is going on. and like, in mundane ways specifically ! catching someone from falling or slipping, deflecting things, etc.
idk I've just been watching a lot of compilations of people having good or weird reflexes and I need to see / hear about this more with living weapons because they probably would have really excellent, if not superhuman, reflexes.
thinking about kaey having excellent reflexes. thinking about him being a parent and a pet owner and having those reflexes translate really well into caring for living things.
I think there's a lot you can do with it too. is the living weapon surprised ? are they embarrassed ?
I love this!! the casual hypercompetence in mundane situations...
I raise you: living weapon is sincerely perplexed at how clumsy and distracted everyone else is.
People find it somewhere between endearing and annoyingly smug of them. Until living weapon reacts utterly baffled at the notion anyone could *not* constantly be hyperaware of their surroundings and primed to react to every possible incoming danger at all times.
Their cool, excellent reflexes were always fueled by hypervigilance.
#been thinking lately about a secondary whumper and whumpee being placed in their care#not true care. not intended to be. something like a handler being assigned a living weapon or whumper's friend being called in to 'pet-sit'#and they Do Not Want The Responsibility and think they're gonna be bored#until ☝️ they casually get touchy with whumpee - idly playing with their hair and stuff#and whumpee (normally very stoic and/or putting up a performance) reacts uncontrollably#leaning into the touch. chasing it#temporary whumper is like 👀 and ends up cupping their face experimentally#and whumpee doesn't obviously breaks character but a tear rolls from their eye#and whumper is like 👀👀. oh this is gonna be more fun than i thought.#thumbs away the tear and proceeds to ruthlessly manipulate whumpee 🫠
It's not r*pe, it's rape. It's not su*cide, it's suicide. Not unalive, dead. The backbone needs to be reintroduced en masse because softening the blow of these concepts with advertising language does absolutely nothing but allow people unaffected by them to feel not even a sting of what they can do, prompting inaction.
And it's been proven that on certain websites, you don't even face a repercussion for using the words as they are. People just started censoring themselves because they feared the potential lack of views and likes and followers which is so nasty itself.
I attended an anti-suicide seminar in college. One of the big takeaways from it was that stigmatizing suicide increases the rate of suicide, because people who are feeling suicidal feel like they can't ask for help. Every time I see babytalk garbage like 'unalive', I think of that.
Whumpee who has a teammate that reminds them superficially of Whumper and has to deal with the fact that they’re afraid of their friend who hasn’t done anything to them
god i love this. i have a thread like this in my fic history rhymes and digging into this is one of the things i'm the most excited for down the line. this got a little long :)
--
"it isn't your fault."
teammate looks at whumpee strangely, not understanding what they're talking about. whumpee didn't say anything before that, didn't preface this with anything. the energy in the room feels strange and heavy. sad.
"i know you've noticed it," whumpee goes on. "the way that i... when you.... yeah."
that's not any less vague than their opener, but teammate knows, this time, exactly what they're talking about. of course they've noticed, of course they have. whumpee.. flinches. they've flinched a lot since whumper, of course, but not like this. not like they do with teammate. they flinch consistently with teammate, shy away from them, their breathing picks up when teammate is near. unlike the rest of them, teammate doesn't try to comfort them anymore, not after the first couple of times.
"yeah," teammate says. they try to keep their voice neutral. they try not to sound hurt or confused or upset, though they've felt all of those things in spades. they weren't the closest on the team before this, but they were- they were close. they trusted each other. and now it's just them that whumpee is like this with.
they've seen whumpee clinging to the others, is the thing. confiding in them. just sitting on the couch watching tv. they've even seen them sleeping in bed with someone else a few times, when they've been up at night wandering around, kept up by their own troubles. it's made their chest throb to see that. they'd- it's not their place. they don't get to decide how whumpee heals. they don't get to force themself into a role that whumpee doesn't want them in. but... but they'd be lying if they said that they didn't wish it was their door whumpee came to when they felt unsafe. it would be something they could do to help their friend. there was nothing they could do before, nothing they could do when whumper was- but there's nothing they can do now, either, apparently.
"it's not your fault," whumpee repeats. they're not looking teammate in the eye. "i just- you deserve to know. because you... the way that i- look you just- you look like them. that's all."
"i look like..."
"like whumper. yeah."
teammate hadn't thought about it. they really hadn't. not until now. but as soon as whumpee says it, they can see it so clearly. they really, really do. fuck. fuck, they really do. they look like whumper.
they look like their friend's rapist.
"and i've been just hoping it would stop, that it would just go away, but it hasn't, and i just didn't want you to think you were doing anything wrong."
it's.... that's really fucking sweet, is what that is. teammate stares at whumpee, eyes wide and their heart feeling bruised in their chest. "i'm...." all they can think of to say is, "i'm sorry."
"it's not your fault."
"no, i just- i'm sorry that you have to live with that reminder. that's all. i wish i could... i don't know. if there is anything i can ever do, just tell me. i can dye my hair, i can cut it, not much i can do about most of... me, i guess, but. if you ever want me to, i'll try something. whatever i can."
now whumpee looks at them. the expression on their face is unreadable.
"there's one thing, actually," whumpee says. "one thing i'd- one thing i want you to try, if that's okay?"
whatever it is, teammate knows that they're immediately going to agree. change their hair, get a half dozen facial piercings, whatever it is, they'll do it.
"i- will you hug me? i think... i might flinch. but i... i don't want you to stop. i just. i want to see. i..." whumpee breathes in deeply, their shoulders rising and falling. caretaker just watches, speechless. "i miss you. so, uh. do you think you could? maybe?"
I'm imagining someone who's a trusted friend and ally, powerful, skilled, and yet, in some way, underperforming. Perhaps they're not brave enough. Perhaps they don't see how to best apply their skills. Perhaps they can't unflinchingly hurt someone, even when they really should.
And all of it could be fixed if their own self gave way to my control. Maybe they're reluctant but see the wisdom of it. Maybe it was their own idea. Or maybe they don't want it, say so in no uncertain terms, but there's too much at stake to honor that decision.
And then they're mine, and I put them to good use. And no matter what, now they'll know they're more efficient, more useful, when it's me at the controls. A heavy thing to have to live with.
Perhaps someone realizes they liked being useful more than they like being free, and comes crawling back for more.
using "what were YOU doing at the devils sacrament" to mean "yeah i made an embarrassing reference but you understood it which is also embarrassing" is very funny to me
my favorite part is that absolutely nobody says this except here. so if you use it in public, it's a dead giveaway that you spent the last ten years on tumblr. but then again, they recognized it, which means they were at the devil's sacrament
I tested this theory in the wild the other day at work. I was on a call with my department lead and a few other folks and I replied to an email the DL had sent me, thinking that, because he was on this call, he wouldn't notice when I sent it and would not catch me multitasking.
However, he replied to said email within five minutes, asking a question that required an answer. So I answered and was like "Also, I was going to apologize for answering emails during this call, but I see we're both here at the Devil's Sacrament, so I don't think an apology is necessary."
I watched him read that on screen and try not to laugh. And then at the end of the call as everyone started saying goodbye, he goes, "Hey, MJ, I meant to tell you. I like your shoelaces."
And I looked straight into my camera, stone cold serious, and said, "Thanks. I stole them from the president."
And the rest of the team was like, "What...the fuck...?" before he abruptly ended the call for everyone.
So now my DL and I know this about each other. He could be any one of us.
there should be a term for characters you personally don't care about but you defend them anyways because the way people treat them is really uncomfortable. like ok this is a very middle-of-the-road character for me but the fandom's either been super misogynistic, racist, etc. about them or harassed innocent people who try to genuinely explore that character warts and all, and i find that more annoying than the actual character.
the term should by 'my client', like you're a lawyer defending your client that you are completely indifferent to but you are obligated by your job (or your morals) to defend
uhhhh mentor carewhumpee who’s previously lost a mentee and very hesitantly and grudgingly got convinced to take on another mentee after so long only to witness said mentee come back barely conscious after a fight?
bonus points for something along the lines of, “I knew this was a bad idea. I should have pushed back more against it, I shouldn’t have let them talk me into this.”? Is that too specific?
#377
content: mentor caretaker, mentee whumpee, past trauma, emotional whump, grief, death mention, aftermath of whump
Mentor knew the first moment they lay eyes on Mentee that this had been a bad idea. When they saw Mentee stumble in through the front door of their base, battered and bloody, they just knew. They knew it was their fault.
"Mentor," Mentee rasped, looking away in something akin to embarrassment. "I, I couldn't—"
"Hey." Mentor walked over, quickly but not too quickly lest they scare Mentee further by fussing over them too much. "Come on. Into the medical room."
"I couldn't finish the—"
"It doesn't matter." All Mentor saw when they looked at Mentee was their only previous mentee. Their only one. The one they'd lost and swore never to take on a responsibility such as this ever again. And yet they'd let themself be talked into it by the others. They'd let their reassurances calm the storm in their heart, they'd let them decide for them, and now Mentee was paying the price of not having a better mentor.
Mentor supported Mentee into the medical room. They told Mentee to take their clothes off so they could assess the full extent of the damage, and Mentee seemed ashamed, and Mentor couldn't blame them. They had been raised to believe failing a mission was not just bad luck, which it was, but a personal, moral failure. They had been raised to believe there was something embarrassing about being hurt.
"I can look after myself," Mentee muttered, and Mentor sucked in a sharp breath.
"I can look after myself," Mentee had told Mentor. "I don't need you standing watch, or treating me like a baby."
"I am your mentor, and I will treat you exactly as a mentee is supposed to be treated," Mentor had told them. "Strip."
"I can look after my own wounds!"
"Strip, Mentee."
"Fine, jeez. If you really want to see the stupid, gnarly wound—"
"I don't want to see it, I want to treat it."
Mentee gave them a lopsided grin. "Yeah, sure."
"Mentor?"
Mentor shook their head, getting rid of the image of their previous mentee that was imprinted on their mind. Their current mentee was now stripped to their underwear, and they were shivering. They better get this over quickly, before Mentee caught a cold on top of everything else. "This will sting," they said as they reached for the disinfectant. "But you won't get an infection."
"I know what a disinfectant does," they said, a little indignantly, and Mentor found themself glad they had the wherewithal to be indignant.
"Just relax."
Mentor went through and bandaged every single one of their injuries. Mentee likely had a couple broken ribs, which they couldn't do anything about, and their helplessness made them angrier than it should've.
Their helplessness had killed their previous mentee.
"I knew this was a bad idea," Mentor grumbled as they worked. "I should have pushed back more against it, I shouldn’t have let them talk me into this. But no, they knew so much better what I needed, that I needed a new mentee, that I needed—"
"Mentor?"
Oh. They had been talking out loud. "Sorry, kid."
"I know you don't want to look after me," they admitted, once again with that tinge of embarrassment in their voice. "That's why I said— why I said I can look after myself. You don't need to do this. We can be mentor and mentee only on paper."
"You're my responsibility," Mentor said sternly. "And I don't intend to back down."
"I'm not your first mentee, am I?"
Mentor pursed their lips. They weren't about to talk about their dead previous mentee with their current, dying one.
"What happened to them?"
"Died on the job," they said before they could've stopped themself. "I was there. I saw it happen. I couldn't do shit."
Mentee fell silent. Mentor finished caring for them and instructed them to get dressed again. Mentee did so without another word. Before Mentee left the medical room, though, Mentor stopped them.
"I don't intend for it to happen again," they said.
"I know you don't," Mentee said quietly.
The unspoken part hung in the air between them: nobody ever intended on losing a mentee.
Mentor nodded. Mentee left. They stayed in the medical room, sat with their face buried in their hands. There was no way they would lose Mentee. Even if it meant talking the team into giving them less missions, even if it meant coddling them a little, they simply wouldn't lose another mentee.
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