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oohshinywhump · 1 month

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Thinking about a first time Whumper x veteran Whumpee...

When they first meet:

"You don't seem nearly scared enough. This isn't your first time is it?" "You seem weirdly nervous. Is it yours?"

"Ugh! Out of everyone in the city I could kidnap I had to get stuck with someone else's leftovers!"

"You used to belong to so-and-so, didn't you? Ah! They're my idol! Oh! This is exciting. I get to study their masterpiece up close!"

"WHY AREN'T YOU SCARED OF ME?!!!"

"Oh. You've never done this before." "Stop judging me. I have a knife."

"How is it you know exactly what I like?" "You torturers are all the same." "You've done this before??"

"I won't kill you, but I need you to cooperate. I am new to this, just so you know." "Yup. I'm going to die."

"Mmmm, I love how you move when you're in pain." "Thanks! I've been practicing for years."

"Who taught you to scream like this?"

Whumpee helping Whumper figure out the basics:

"Why are you on your knees?" "Oh sorry. Do you not like that? The last guy liked me that way. I just assumed…" "No, no. It's a good idea. Keep doing that. I just… never thought of it."

"So, what are the rules?" "Rules?" "Yeah, dumbass. Your rules for me. Do you want me to call you sir? Master? Or can I keep calling you jackass?"

"Do you want me to put up a fight or should we skip straight to the submissive stage?" "Oh... uhhh... don't fight too much. I don't trust myself not to accidentally kill you." "Oh, yeah. Good point."

"What kind of scream do you like?" "There are kinds of screams?" "Yeah. The last guy liked it when I ugly-cried. But I'm pretty good a bloodcurdling and whimpering like a kicked puppy. I can try to stay quiet but I can't make promises there..." "Hmmm... try all of them. I'll tell you which I like best."

"You cleaned??" "Yeah? Was I not supposed to?" "I didn't know you could make captives do that?!" "For the record, I didn't do it because I'm scared of you - your arm gets tired after giving me like three lashes. I did it because I'm going to be spending a lot of time bleeding on this table and I doubt it occurred to you to disinfect it."

Whumpee teaching Whumper how to whump:

"Show me what they used to do to you."

Whumper studying the scars on Whumpees body to learn the best places to cut/stab.

"Oh no! A knife? How original!" /s

"If you stab me right there you'll kill me. You have to go one inch to the right. Yeah, right there-AHHHHHH! …yup. Right there."

"I'll make you a deal. Let me have a solid eight hours of sleep and I'll show you where to pinch the nerve that will paralyze my left arm."

"You can't leave me tied up like this!" "I can do what I want!" "Yes. Okay. True. But like, you've either got to tie my knees to my chest or let my feet touch the ground. Otherwise I'm going to asphyxiate."

Whumper having an inferiority complex:

"I CAN DO ANYTHING THEY COULD DAMMIT!" (They = Whumpee's former Whumper)

"WHUMPEE! YOU'RE NOT BETTER THAN ME!" *Whumpee trying not to laugh when Whumper fucks up something really basic.*

"You must think I'm so pathetic." "NOo! Of course not! You're doing amazing! Really you are! I'm so fucking scared of you right now. I promise."

"I'll never be as good as the person who hurt you before." "You'll get there! I promise. I was like his fifth victim - I'm your first. Be kind to yourself!"

"How the fuck did your former Whumper do it?" "Yeah... you're not getting that out of me..."

Whumper being paranoid that Whumpee is manipulating them. Even though they hold the power they feel like Whumpee has more control over the situation because they know more.

Also...

Whumpee knowing just how to manage Whumper. They instinctively know when to be a little defiant and when to do exactly as they are told. They know just the right tone of voice to speak in, and just how to move, scream, to keep Whumper as pleased as possible. The sooner Whumper is satisfied the sooner it will stop.

Whumpee pretending it hurts worse than it does, lying about which places/tortures hurt most, acting more sick or tired than they really are to get rest/food, acting more scared than they really are… It's not like Whumper could know better.

#whump #whump prompt #whump prompts #whump ideas #whump scenario #knife mention cw #death mention cw

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writing-is-a-martial-art · 2 months

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ID in alt text

#original writing #original poetry #trans trans trans #queer things #poetry #oleg's writing #death mention tw #death mention cw #that's enough tags for today boys

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softerhaze · 10 months

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away, but never far (♪)

#ts4 #*ts4gameplay #*sunday save #*sunday save gen 2 #z #*paloma #*amie #*ruthie #*jay #i shortened my elder lifespan so technically this was my fault but still :(#also with ghastly ghosts when a toddler is picked up by a ghost the toddler just disappears #which is deeply hilarious to me omfg #q'd #death mention cw

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fabulous-joys · 4 months

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party: live fast, die young, leave behind a pretty corpse! that’s what i always say!

#incorrect killjoys #op #the killjoys are not mcr #party poison #death mention cw

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esteemed-excellency · 3 months

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Hiram's scars reference:

The abstraction scar is the oldest

He was crushed by glim in three separate occasions (it became a running joke within the yacht's crew)

He was obliterated by a chunk of his airship's deck this estival

Virginia murdered him that one time before the Marvellous

He has a lightning scar on his back (not pictured)

Plus, the only scars he got rid of with the shapeling arts:

#he was assassinated so many times but he usually gets poisoned (or he poisones himself for funsies) so there's not many scars from that #fallen london oc #hiram hargrave #my art #cw injury #cw eye injury #cw scars #cw scarring #death mention cw #let me know if this needs more tags

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the-force-awakens · 3 months

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Thinking about what a sweet, kind, silly and gentle hearted person Poe is until you piss him off and once that switch is flipped, he's a force to be reckoned with

Oh, did you mean? my most favorite? facet? of his character? that makes me lose my marbles? and also happens to be maybe my favorite character trope of all time? that? Okay I hope you were expecting an infodump because what-ho! that's what's happening, I have come prepared and with receipts, let's fucking go on how Poe Dameron is a goddamned force of nature and how the galaxy should be really fucking thankful his loyalty is first and foremost to the Resistance and to the Light, because if it wasn't...well, I'd dread to think, but it wouldn't be good for anyone else.

The fun thing for me, is that it has always been a part of Poe's character, right from The Force Awakens -- it's subtle, but it's there, hidden between the sassy quips in the face in danger and the professionality of Commander Dameron; little fleeting moments that tell you that Poe Dameron is not someone to be trifled with at all, including one of his very first scenes:

I'm 90% certain that Poe's gaze actually lands first on Tekka's body here, before lifting it up to glare at Ren - and that's more than just a defiant glare, that's a look of loathing. Which fits, considering that I do believe the Force Awakens novelization confirms that Poe rushes in without thinking, and acts on sheer anger/rage when he goes to shoot Ren after Ren kills Tekka.

(More lengthy thoughts under the cut, I was not kidding, I saved a dozen images for this).

And that look is far from the only moment in TFA that clearly goes "oh. yeah, Poe can be scary when he wants to be", there's this frankly delightful moment during the trench run when Poe sees a fellow pilot perish while covering him:

and then moments later, when Poe flies into the heart of Starkiller to destroy the oscillator, we get this shot:

that's far more than just determination/focus, he's angry. and he has every goddamned right to be - he was just held captive and tortured for (??) days, and this monstrosity just destroyed an entire fucking planetary system, and the very Republic that Poe has spent his entire adult life believing the inherent values of, that he thought could genuinely improve. Never mind the detail that Poe probably likely spent time on the Hosnian System, if he didn't live there temporarily during his time in the Defense Fleet.

But these shots makes it clear where the comic gets the idea from that the First Order might, y'know, actually be. A little bit terrified of Poe Dameron:

He's a serious threat, and ruthless when it comes to the First Order. People joke a lot about Poe being reckless, but I don't see a lot of recognition for the fact that he can be ruthless - he sees point b and dives straight at it, and he's absolutely relentless in his determination to take the First Order down.

The quickest possible way to enrage Poe is inaction or injustice. We see this clearly in the Last Jedi, when he believes Holdo is essentially leading them to their deaths and has thrown the Resistance away:

but we also see it as far back as Before the Awakening by Greg Rucka:

This conversation carries on for a page or so more, I think, with Poe arguing against the New Republic's decision to not act or investigate further (it's also what prompts him into going rogue to investigate on his own, which leads Leia into recruiting him for the Resistance).

And we've even seen it in material as recent as Free Fall, which means this is a character trait Poe has had his entire life:

(these do not paint my girl in a great light but like she's fucked up okay!! and being groomed into taking her mother's place it's fine, it's fine, she's my fucked up little blorbo)

anyway. so this is Poe when he's, probably about 16? 16 going on 17 here, and this is probably the angriest he's ever been considering how shocked he is about the chill in his own voice (which if you were ever curious why I say Poe's anger runs cold, it's because of this scene right here). He's so enraged by the injustice being carried out by Sotin, that he's genuinely - for the first time in the book - considering actually killing someone. And he gets into a screaming match about what the right decision is with Zorii.

(he also gets to punch Sotin later, by the way, if you even care. It's glorious. I love my favorite character who decides murder is okay if said murder is in question a guy who deals in the slave trade)

But also.

My favorite instance of this, ever, which rewrote my fucking goddamned brainchemistry in 2017 when I read it and made me have to step away from my computer and honest to god pace the length of my house to walk it off, is his confrontation with Terex in issue #13 of the Poe comics.

Because you know what?

This entire fucking exchange is personal, and almost/pretty much outright vindictive? Like at this point, Poe has solidly won this round - Terex has finally been defeated, and all Poe has to do is hand him over to the First Order. He knows, in doing so, Terex will likely be killed, and after who knows how long of Terex's bullshit meaning Poe couldn't trust his squadron, and the fact that L'ulo just died - well, Poe's not real broken up about it, which is fun in itself.

But then he asks Malarus if he can have a moment with Terex before he hands him over and Poe....uses that moment to gloat.

And y'all know me i don't use words like that for Poe but like. he kind of does? he asks a moment alone with terex specifically so that he can taunt Terex that he won, that Terex didn't beat him, and that in trying to take Poe down, Terex cost himself everything (a fact Poe happily rubs in his face), and even adds that "and when I give you to the First Order, I bet they'll take the rest."

So like. Yeah.

Poe knew full well they'd likely kill him, and spends the next few issues full heartedly believing that Terex was dead. And he taunts Terex with it here in this moment. It is TRULY glorious and honestly had 17 year old me's little head spinning because it was such a subversion of what I thought Poe would do -- but he did! He didn't try to figure out a way to spare Terex's life, and he used his final moments with Terex to make sure Terex knew that Poe was fully aware of what the choice he was making meant.

It's fucking DELICIOUS.

And I also love this panel from earlier into the issue:

Because again, it's a great illustration of how Poe can come off cold because of the art choices Phil Noto made here: look at the jacket. It's zipped up all the way to Poe's neck (a rarity for Poe), and just generally gives him this very closed off, cold appearance because he's at his wit's end in this issue, and he is angry about the circumstances Terex has forced him into.

So...yeah. Poe Dameron is a sweet, compassionate, silly guy who makes the worst fucking puns you've ever heard this side of the galaxy. He loves his droid, wears his mother's wedding ring with the intent to give it to the right partner someday, and loves all of his friends full heartedly and is generally the most tactile, affectionate person you will ever meet. He's pretty much everyone's best friend, because he has that kind of charisma and ability to make anyone feel like they're the most important person in the galaxy.

But Poe Dameron is also the man that the First Order seems genuinely intimidated/afraid of. He's the man that destroyed Starkiller base, and toppled the most powerful crime syndicate in the galaxy when he was just 17 years old. He is not someone you ever, ever want to piss off, because for all his warmth and love, Poe has an anger that runs cold, and when he hates something - it's just like when he loves something, he doesn't go half-way.

General Organa isn't the only Resistance general that can be absolutely terrifying in her own right as much as she can be gentle and loving. It's just that Leia's the only one anyone ever notices, because...well, Poe's silly and funny and usually kind of easy going.

And the fact that people underestimate him is what makes him that much more dangerous.

#userorb #ask box #my meta #poe dameron #listen. listen. he's SWEET and he's charming but also ongod the first order is /afraid/ of him and can you REALLY blame them #the best fucking trope in the world is the silly goofy soft characters that also can make that switch #to like. stealing from doctor who now. to going full oncoming storm #it's WONDERFUl #i love it so much we need more instances with this trope #flashing gif #death mention cw

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bechnokid · 2 months

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[a vent, just in time for my birthday!]

With Lunar New Year falling on my 32nd birthday, I'm kinda just sitting here thinking about my cultural identity.

My parents were born in Vietnam, and then they moved to the United States during the Vietnam War, effectively making me a 1st-generation Vietnamese American.

We used to partake in traditional rituals like Lunar New Year (Tết) with our relatives, but that quickly ended since our relatives were assholes and ruined every get-together for us. Despite coming from parents who are both 100% Vietnamese, I can't speak, understand, or even read the language and have primarily spoken in English all my life. So, I'm just left here wondering if I'm a real Vietnamese at all.

I feel a bit envious of other Asian-American friends who either don't have to worry about trying to fit in with other Americans when they can just participate in their respective culture anyway, or don't have to worry about not participating in their culture when they're half-, quarter-, 1/8th, or some smaller fraction.

Me? I'm just stuck in this corner: too American to be Vietnamese, and too Vietnamese to be American.

I never fit in with other kids at school, and I was ok with it. But now, it seems like I can't fit in anywhere, and it sucks.

#bechno talks #death mention cw #death mention warning

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cockymclaughlin · 2 months

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so the last good mythical evening came out 3 days after my dad died. i watched it, but in all honesty i do not remember a single bit of it. it's been 6 months and i'm doing better so maybe soon i'm going to watch it and come back here, have a couple drinks, and liveblog it for a little while. see how it feels to be-- at least for a small fraction of time-- myself again. idk if anyone cares or would care but of course i'd tag everything so anyone uninterested wouldn't have to be subject to any of it.

but i think it would be nice. to do something normal again. i'll let y'all know if i decide to go through with it.

#things have been impossibly hard but i'm doing my best #shut up mia #death mention cw

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fitgof · 1 month

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Amy stood dumbfounded between her two friends. “This makes no sense.”

“She killed Orris.” he repeated. “We can’t trust anyone else. Ava, I brought you down here for a reason. Have you ever noticed the weather changing around you? Especially during a strong emotional state.”

There was the sizzling heat when she was angry with Lorey right before she ended up here where it was raining when she was lost and alone and all those times a strong wind would blow in her friends’ faces when they made fun of her. The clouds outside when Patchouli, Vinyl and Tiger knocked her off the seat!

“I believe you have some kind of control over the elements, the weather in fact, though we have to start small.” Alouette continued to explain. “There’s not much down here except air. I want you to concentrate on it. Control it.”

Amy stuffed her hands into her armpits. “I can’t.”

The candles began to flicker but didn’t fully extinguish. A smile flashed across Alouette’s face. “Yes, you can.”

#ts4 story #berry pastel rainbowcy #bpr #berry sweet sims #simblr #fitgof bpr #fitgof chapter 5 #fitgof gen 1 #death mention cw

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asofterafcrichmond · 11 months

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There’s not a word yet, for old friends who’ve just met.

#ted lasso #jamie tartt #tedlassoedit #a softer world #a softer world remix #death mention cw #50

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facts-i-just-made-up · 2 years

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Laying in State: What to Know About the British Royal Funerary Tradition

As the news reports stories of citizens in the British Authoritarian Royalty Fandom standing in line for over 24 hours to view corpse of their former monarch, many foreign to this custom wonder why. To explain this ancient and noble custom, we must understand the steps of the tradition and the complexities of what actually happens while Her Former Royal Majesty begins to rot.

Originally invented by John Dee, an advisor to Queen Elizabeth I, the act of “Laying in State” is meant to ensure the Queen’s reincarnation at the right hand of God. For the sequel, Queen Elizabeth II, Dee’s great (x12) grandson Fidel D. Dee will perform the acts upon the royal body just as recorded by J. Lacinius in the Pretiosa Margarita of 1714.

Step 1: A royal hole will be dug in the royal ground, which is specifically the ground next to the royal fountain just south of the royal garden shed, in which the royal shovel is kept.

Step 2: The royal corpse will be lowered into the royal ground hole by the royal mortician. The queen’s nudity in this phase is partly responsible for the long line of viewers.

Step 3: The majestic cadaver and its mortician are both closed into the tomb. A tradition dating back to ancient Egypt, once the mortician has fulfilled the final task, their life is forfeit.

Step 4: The tomb is covered for the really gross part of the rotting, in which the queenly flesh is devoured by the royal maggots, grubs, and dermestid beetles of Canterbury. The smell associated with this phase is known as “The Spirit of Monarchy.”

Step 5: The tomb is reopened and the now skeletonized former ruler is separated from the mortician’s commoner parts. Her bones are organized in reverse alphabetical order from the Zygomatic Bone to the Abdominal Dingus.

Step 6: Once the Queen’s femurs have been sorted from the rest, which is thrown away unceremoniously in the kitchen rubbish bin, the femurs are used to drum out the tune to “God Save The Queen” upon the tomb’s percussive edge. Pete Sandoval of the death metal band “Morbid Angel” has been chosen for Elizabeth II’s “drumming out.”

Step 7: According to history, this is the phase when the Angel Gabriel will come down from heaven to present God himself with the Queen’s left femur bone. In today’s secular society, where few believe in angels, we simply don’t know what will really happen. This mystery is also responsible for the long line of viewers, but not so much as the previous necrophiliac appeal.

Step 8: King Charles III will poop in the empty tomb to confirm his rule.

Truly, a majestic and mysterious tradition that showcases the divine right by which the royal family lives rich while their subjects starve, freeze, and die.

#laying in state #queen #funeral #tradition #unreality #death mention cw

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whumpiary · 8 months

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technically a follow on from this piece. could probably stand alone. this piece has been 80% done in my google docs for three years so if you see any big holes in it uhhh. no you didn't.

if you've ever wanted some vague exposition on cass' powers or choices, then this is for you

content warning: mentions of death, victim blaming, aftermath of violence/assault, referenced dubcon/noncon, brief mind control

The common room at Bergen Estate gets quiet at night. Most of the charges prefer their own rooms as it gets dark. Hiding from the bogeyman.

But Harley liked the large, dark emptiness of the common room.

The curved chairs, the pillars, the rows of books and video games lined up along the shelves. The big oak tables. Bean bags in the corner. Rugs here and there. The whole place had the energy of some sort of bizarre combination between a kid’s playroom and a university library. But Harley wanted a space to think, and this was the easiest one.

Their intuition had been right and wrong in equal amounts tonight. They’d known they would be called to Christopher’s lounge tonight. And they were. And they knew that they would be fine after. And they are. But… if they were so fine why do they feel so God fucking awful?

“Harley can go, right? It’s not like we need them.”

Every time they try to push the memory from their head, it bobs to the surface again like an apple in water.

“I have to say, Harley… I really am so disappointed in you.”

They stare out the large bay window, at the leafless trees silhouetted in the mix of light from the garden and from the moon. The whole thing looks ghostly. Gothic. The dark through the glass makes the whole window reflective; a giant mirror just waiting to show them their face. But it’s dark in here too. It’s a dark room reflected on a dark night. That’s why it’s so obvious when there’s a shuffling flash of light behind them, making their heart skip.

The door opens, someone steps through, and then it closes. Dark again. Harley stiffens, freezes, trying to catch another glimpse of who it is in the reflection of the window but it's back to shadows on shadows on shadows.

They listen as the person shuffles to one of the cushioned seats. Shuffles. Like it hurts to move. They sit so carefully that Harley can barely hear them. Then there's quiet. Stillness. An exhale.

Harley doesn’t move. They know stillness. They know silence. Have known it for longer than they’ve been here.

But then there’s another exhale.

And another.

Any hitch of breath that might be happening in between is more or less silent. Which means, usually… crying.

Harley feels themself cringe. The Bergen Boys don't cry. Those are the rules. Not Christopher's rules but the deeper, unspoken ones between the lot of them. You don’t complain, you don’t ask for help, you don’t cry. Or if you did, it got beaten out of you quicksmart. Everything else was a free for all as far as Harley has ever been able to tell.

So the shadow person has come to the common room in the middle of the night. Assuming, like Harley had, that it would be empty. That it would be safe.

Guilt washes over them all at once, guttural and nauseating and they realise all of a sudden that intentionally or not just by sitting here, listening, they're imposing. Intruding. Doing the wrong thing. And then the fear beneath that, on top of that, around that, that if they wait too long and the shadow person notices them, they may well end up on the wrong side of thrown fists. Again.

Harley shifts on the couch where they sit, exaggerating the whisper scrape of fabric on fabric, and leans back on the left side where they know the leg creaks.

The shadow person's breathing stops immediately and Harley hears them stand.

"Who's there?"

Harley freezes again, regretting making their presence known. Cassius.

"I can see you. On the couch. Get over here." His voice is sharp and violent. Deeper than usual. There's a childish part of Harley, not as far beneath the surface as they’d like, that wishes desperately they’d just stay silent and hidden. Safe.

But, like they were told, they uncurl their legs. Stand. Turn. Start to walk.

Harley can see the moment that the light from the window must catch their face. Cassius' face softens, eyes fluttering closed and body sagging with what was maybe relief.

“Harls,” he says, running a hand over his face as he sits back down. Harley doesn’t miss the wince. “Jesus Christ, man, you scared me.”

“Sorry.” The apology flies out of them like a verbal flinch. “I’ll leave.”

“No, ple-” Cassius stops himself, eyes shuttering closed. Harley watches him take a deep breath, brow furrowing briefly. You don’t cry. You don’t complain. You don’t ask for help. “You can stay. If you want. I don't mind.”

Harley hesitates for a moment, glancing around half-uselessly, before choosing a seat across from the other charge and folding into it.

“What are you doing up so late?” Cassius asks, as though they’ve bumped into each other at a truck stop. At a bar. Fancy seeing you here.

Harley shrugs. “I don’t know. I couldn’t sleep. I kept…” thinking about what you were doing. They bite down on their tongue to keep themselves from saying more. It’s stupid.

They trail off as Cassius looks up at them and the dull light from the window catches the shape of his brow. At the blood smeared along his temple. The bruising already flaring up along his cheek. “Did… did Beauche do that to you?”

Cassius huffs out a half laugh, running his tongue between his teeth and the obviously bruised tissue of his cheek. He drags his hand up, knuckle brushing softly against his brow. “Yep. What a gentleman, huh?”

“But Christopher said he wouldn’t be violent.”

Cassius scoffs, “Yeah and Christopher’s such a shining beacon of truth, huh?”

Cassius sits back in his chair, eyes hard, and Harley holds their breath. With the shadows of the trees outside dancing across his face, the shading of the bruises and the swelling there, Cassius looks half monster.

Then his expression softens, his body relaxes. “Nah, it was my fault." He lets out a sigh, hand running back through his hair. "The guy wanted me to cry.”

“And did you?” Cassius’ glare is immediate. Has Harley slamming their jaw shut so quickly their teeth click together. “Sorry.”

Cassius shrugs a shoulder in acceptance of the apology and leans back in the chair. He closes his eyes and all at once it’s like some mask comes down. He looks exhausted and hurt and… young, actually. Harley always forgets that. He’s younger than them. About a three year gap between them.

“Why are you up?” Harley says, after the silence gets unbearably fragile. “Here, I mean. I thought you’d be…” They struggle for a tactful way to put it. “In the other wing.”

“Nah, he didn’t want me to stay, thank fuck. And Christopher doesn’t like me coming in af-... Um. He doesn’t like me coming in too late,” Cassius says, picking non-existent dirt out from under his finger nails. He clears his throat a little as his face flinches in and out of a frown. “Plus, the sooner I see him, the sooner I have to… you know…”

He gestures loosely at his face and Harley frowns. The sooner he’d have to do what? Get rid of the bruises? Get rid of the pain that keeps making him flinch and close his eyes? None of them talked about it but they’d all seen it. Bruises fading on Cassius just to bloom on his brother in minutes. Always after a visit to Christopher. Always without a word spoken.

Harley can’t help their own contempt, “Isn’t that a good thing for you?”

Cassius looks at them with an expression Harley can’t place, dark eyes flicking between both of Harley’s, as though searching for something. He looks angry. Murderous. Violent. Then he snorts and it’s gone. “Yeah. Sure.”

He drops his head, hands fidgeting between his knees. With the angle and the shadows, Harley can only just make out the shape of his nose, his eyes half hidden behind his hair. It sticks out at awkward angles around his head like a terrible crown. Frizzy waves in some parts, kinked curls in others.

It'll suit him more when he leaves and he grows it longer.

The thought comes unprompted, unbidden and with the utmost certainty. Like the predictions always do. Just a slice of truth falling into the head with the right prompt. An understanding that that's just… how things will be.

It's not the first time Harley's thought something like it. That Cassius will do much better once he leaves. The notion of it is almost horrifying. Cassius has been here longer than they have. It’s hard to imagine Bergen Estate without its golden boy.

Harley chews on their cheek and “If I ask you something, will you answer truthfully?”

Cassius shrugs. Smirks. “Probably not.”

Harley rolls their eyes and looks away, annoyance settling in their gut. They don’t even know why they bother with Cassius. He’s always the exact same. They're about to stand up to leave when Cassius clears his throat and-

“I’ll trade you for it,” he says softly, dark eyes shining with something unnameable in the dim light. “You ask me something, I ask you something. No lies.”

“Promise?”

Cassius just shrugs. Which is probably as good a promise as Harley’s going to get, really. They sigh and trace the patterning of the rug with their eyes before pursing their lips together and looking back up at Cassius with a focussed sincerity.

They swallow. Inhale. Hands grip the arms of the chair. "You hate it here.”

Cass’ eyes skitter to the side and back. "That's… not a question."

"Why don't you leave?"

“Same as you, dumbass. Legally binding contract.”

“No, I mean-” Harley bites down on their cheek and tries to figure out the right words to say what they mean. “You can make him do whatever you want, right? You can make anyone do what you want. So why don’t you just… make him get rid of you."

Cassius exhales in a way that could almost be a laugh. But probably isn’t. “It’s… complicated.”

“Because of Henri?”

He shrugs, looking bored as he meets their gaze. “Sure.”

“No lies.”

Cassius sighs, leaning back slouched in the chair. He shrugs. “Just because I can make someone want to do something, it doesn’t mean they’ll do it.”

“Like… he’d resist you?”

“No.” Cassius pulls a face. “I mean yes, maybe. But no… It’s like…” He makes a sound hallway between a sigh and a groan. He rolls his neck, eyes roaming around the room like he’s trying to figure something out. He leans his chin on his hand, fingers skirting over his lips before looking back to Harley. “Hᴀʀʟᴇʏ, sᴏʟᴠᴇ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ ʜᴜɴɢᴇʀ.”

Harley stands instantly. They turn on their foot and move to the door and for the first time in their life everything is certain. Everything is clear. Everything makes so much sense and all they have to do is… Is to…

“Um…”

Cass half smiles. There's something vicious and cruel behind his eyes. “Dᴏ ɪᴛ, Hᴀʀʟᴇʏ. Sᴏʟᴠᴇ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ ʜᴜɴɢᴇʀ.”

They step forward, compulsively, and for some bizarre reason they start raising their arms in front of them, as though their body can’t figure out a way to solve the issue even though they want to and as soon as that thought hits them the frantic desire starts to dissipate, filling instead with deep dread and panic.

They turn their head towards him, eyes wide. Frozen. "I…"

Cassius’ gaze is dark and heavy. Hungry and calculating. His jaw sets. “Hᴀʀʟᴇʏ, ɢᴏ ᴋɪʟʟ Cʜʀɪsᴛᴏᴘʜᴇʀ.”

The feeling that floods them is white hot and immediate. Desire and rage running through them like lava. They’re not sure they’ve ever moved so fast, wheeling on a foot, making it to the door, but no sooner are they reaching for the handle then-

“Nah, ꜰᴏʀɢᴇᴛ ɪᴛ. Cᴏᴍᴇ sɪᴛ ᴅᴏᴡɴ.”

All at once the desire dissipates, and the panic sets in like shame. Like failure. They come back over. They sit back down. Then their thoughts catch up and they look at Cassius with fury. How dare he do that? How dare he go into their head and make them feel that?

Cassius just smiles. Shrugs. “Sorry. Figured I’d show not tell.”

‘’I could’ve killed him.”

Cassius shrugs, unshaded and unconvinced. “Nah. You would’ve got halfway down the hall and changed your mind.”

“But what if I didn’t?”

“Then you would’ve gotten to his room and realised you didn’t know how. You wouldn’t have killed him.”

“I might’ve,” they protest, still indignant.

Cass shrugs, smile lazy and tired, “But you didn’t.”

They try, for a few moments, to hold on to the anger. The indignation. It’s so, so easy to hate him when he’s far away. When they can’t see him or only see him at a distance. It’s much much harder three feet away from him, where the moonlight show the bags under his eyes as dark as the bruise blossoming above his temple.

“He takes you away from here sometimes,” they say eventually. “You could… when you were away from here. You could leave. Make him let you leave. That’s not that hard.”

Cassius just looks at them, chin resting on his hand, fingers covering his mouth. He raises his eyebrows at them expectantly, foot bouncing like a motor. He’s probably trying to look annoyed. Sarcastic. But he just looks like a sad little boy.

Understanding clicks in.

“But Henri…” Harley voices for him.

Cassius shrugs a shoulder. A tear manages to make it all the way to his cheekbone before he swipes it away with the side of his fist. The Bergen Boys don’t cry. “Told you. Complicated.”

This isn’t how things are meant to be. Cassius is meant to stay in the other wing, up on his damn pedestal and away in Christopher’s bedroom. He’s not meant to cry in the common room. He’s meant to be the golden boy in his golden room. It’s meant to be easy to hate him. He’s meant to be arrogant and selfish and mean and rude and-

“Your French isn’t better than mine,” they say suddenly. They can’t quite say where the compulsion to say it comes from.

Cassius blinks, “What?”

“In the office before, you said your French was better than mine. It’s not.”

He looks at them for a moment, frowning and annoyed and then suddenly he’s laughing, eyebrows shooting up in exhausted amusement, “You’re weird as fuck, you know that?”

“What? No I’m not,” Harley spits, suddenly self-conscious and antsy.

“Yes you are,” Cassius says. “I did you a fucking favour and a half tonight-“

“I didn’t ask you to do that.”

“And you know what, you’re welcome by the way.”

“I never asked you to-”

“Oh, save it. Yes you fucking did. You know what I can do. You know what I can feel. You were basically fucking screaming at me.”

And that, they do remember. Closing their eyes. Drowning Christopher’s voice out in their head. The huge loud static of I don’t want this, I don’t want this, I don’t want this.

The air stills. The atmosphere between them settles like dust in the shadows and darkens again. Guilt creeps over Harley's shoulders and rests with heavy claws. They shouldn’t have said anything.

“My French is more usable than yours,” Cass mutters.

They’re truly unsure if he’s being genuine or just trying to break the ice that’s frosted over. They try for the latter, “Your grammar sucks.”

“Yeah, well we didn’t get much further than ‘voulez-vous coucher avec moi’, so I don’t think I did fine,” he gives them a dead-eyed smile that they assume is meant to cast the comment in humour. They don’t really find it very funny.

After a few awkward beats, Cassius gives up the ghost. He clears his throat, “Alright. My turn,”

Harley readjusts in their seat, straightening their spine, tucking their hair behind their ears to listen for the question. They wait one moment. And then two. The whole time the golden boy seems to scrutinise them, looking into their eyes as he sizes them up, makes some sort of assessment.

Cassius’ voice is low and jarringly sad as he finally lands on a question, “Why do you hate me so much?”

If it was possible for Harley to feel every cell in their body crystallise… that was what this feeling was. “I don’t hate you.”

Cassius smiles. Tilts his head. The blood along his temple catches in the light. “No lies.”

Harley frowns and looks away, turning their head to look out the window across the other side of the room. They wonder if he remembers the day they met as well as they do. It was in this room. Just a few feet from where they were sitting now. He’d been sitting on the arm of the couch making some smart mouth comment to someone and they’d thought he looked friendly. And then his eyes had met theirs and prediction hit like an epiphany:

You’re going to kill me one day.

Unprompted, unbidden and with the utmost certainty. A slice of truth falling into their head.

You’re going to kill me one day to save yourself.

They knit their fingers together in their lap, pressing knuckle to knuckle. They press their lips into a thin line. Something with wings — a bird or a bat, they can’t tell — takes flight from one of the trees outside the window. Darkness reflects darkness back.

After it becomes clear they’re not going to answer, Cassius prompts again, “Was it something I did?”

They shrug one shoulder. Like he does. Look down at their hands. The shadows across the room dance and shimmer.

“Is it because of…” out of the corner of their eye, Harley sees him wave a hand at himself. “You know. What I do.” A pause. They see his Adam’s apple bob. “The way I do it.”

Harley frowns, ducks their head lower so they don’t have to look at him, even in periphery. They manage to shake their head this time.

“Is it…” Cassius stops and starts. Stalls. Clears his throat. “Is it something I’m going to do?”

Harley finds themself looking up, despite themself.

They meet his eyes. Time stops for a second.

Cass looks so full of grief for a moment that Harley’s certain the rest of the world must’ve been robbed of it. All shoved into one person to hold for a second. His voice sounds wrecked, “I’m sorry.”

They almost believe him, too. And they hate him all the more for it.

Did he have to be so perfect at this, too? Did he have to be forgivable for this, too? Can’t they just hate him? Can’t they just hate his guts and let him get whadt he’s owed for the things that he’s done, does, is going to do? They want to ask him. They want to tell him. All of it. They want to see his face as he tries to figure out how to respond. They want to know how he feels when he finds out he’s gonna be a murderer.

“It’s okay,” is what tumbles out of their mouth instead.

“Yeah,” Cass laughs and another tear makes it out of him. They hate him for it. He swipes at it with the side of a closed fist. “No it isn’t.”

They hate him as he stands up.

They hate him as he cuts the conversation short.

They hate him as he passes and gives the back of their chair a pat.

“See you around, Harls.”

They watch the window for the flash of light as the door opens, a yellow glow spilling into the room for a moment like blood from a cut. And then the door shuts with a click. And the room is back to its inky darkness. And the golden boy is gone. And Harley isn’t.

And their hatred is an unspooled ball of yarn in the middle of the floor.

#harley #cassius #bergen estate #implied or referenced noncon #victim blaming cw #death mention cw #violent cw #wip to wob #this is your reminder that you can go back and finish an old piece and post it #for free #may your abandoned wips be more of a prodigal son to you #im mixing metaphors like cake batter babeyyy #we are the daughters of the wips you forgot to burn

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fabulous-joys · 2 months

Text

ghoul: something's bothering me...

kobra: well, we are digging up a corpse.

ghoul: no, not that. that's pretty par for the course

#incorrect killjoys #op #the killjoys are not mcr #fun ghoul #kobra kid #death mention cw

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millionsvash · 10 months

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Hey I saw from your pinned post that you're willing to write comfort regarding su*cidal thoughts (if I understood you correctly)? If that's the case, could I have some of that with Vash? My mental state has been on a downturn due to some environmental factors and I need a little extra help filling my head with good thoughts. (Don't worry about me btw I'm coping the best I can and sticking to what professionals have told me. This is more a little encouraging treat for me.) Feel free to delete this ask if I'm overstepping or if you're not up for it. I also hope you get some new glasses soon. I know how much it sucks to go without them like that. Have a great day.

You did read correctly! I just simply don't want to write anything that glorifies it as a good thing, or to make it seem like it's a good option. Help is always out there, and this is one fantastic way to get it. I hope this little story brightens you up! Resources will be listed at the bottom! Take care, anon. TW: Suicidal thoughts, mentions of natural death.

"Hey."

You hear a familiar voice calling out from behind you. It startles you just a bit. You'd been lost in thought, admiring the millions of stars in the night sky.

"Mind If I sit here?" Vash takes a seat on the edge of the rock next to you. You smirk just a bit at his impatience.

"You sat before I even gave my answer." You reply with a gentle chuckle. You would have said yes either way, so you choose to let his rash decision slide for now.

Vash grins at you with a toothy smile. You enjoy when his smiles are genuine. A selfless man who had the weight of the world on his shoulders, yet here he was taking the time to talk to you.

"...Were you going to do it?" He asks faintly, his smile fading as he rests his palms on his knees. He breathes a sigh of relief when you shake your head in reply.

"No, no. I just thought this was the best view of the night sky." You kick your dangling legs gently, watching them sway. "You could tell, couldn't you?"

The corner of his lip rises as an airy laugh escapes from him. "Sorry. I guess I've just picked up on your habits over time. You always seem to come to this spot when you're feeling that way."

Your eyes gloss over the countless diamonds decorating the night sky. You can't help but be in awe of their beauty. "It grounds me." You hesitantly replied.

Curiosity struck him. He hesitated to press you but ultimately left the choice up to you. "What do you mean?"

"Look at the sky." You move all around you. "Everything you see in the sky has a story." Your head shakes at how absurd it sounds to say it out loud. You opened your mouth to speak, but you were cut off.

"That's true." Vash interjected. "When people look up at the stars in the sky, they only think of them as objects, but even objects have a story to tell." He smiles at you before he continues.

"They can't feel human emotions, but that doesn't mean they haven't had experiences that shaped them. When two stars collide, they change, but we still find them just as beautiful, right?"

You chuckle a bit. "Where are you going with this?" A smile crosses your face.

He returns the smile, grabbing your hand. Your fingers lace together as you admire the stars together.

"I had a whole big speech prepared, but I think I'll get straight to the point. When you look at the stars, the stars look back at you. The universe is too large for you to ever find yourself alone. Even when your day comes, the stars will remember you." He smiles over at you, giving your hand a squeeze. "I'll tell the stars all about you. They'll be so jealous I have someone as cool as you around."

That gets a loud laugh from you, with a small snort escaping as you use your free hand to lightly punch his arm. The two of you laugh together, sharing a moment of peace.

"You may vanish one day, but the universe will never forget you." He says it softly before adding one more comment. "Everyday is a chance to make new memories and to leave your everlasting mark. So...stick around for a while, okay? I think you and I can make more memories than there are stars in the sky."

You two look each other in the eyes, feeling a special bond growing.

"You just spewed word garbage at me...but somehow, it all made sense. Thank you... I'd love to make as many memories as possible. Starting here."

"Let's just enjoy the night. It's not often you get a sky as clear as this." He points up with his free hand. "You can even see all the connections." An almost childish smile appeared on his face. "Rem used to tell me all about that."

You turned towards him before resting your head against his arm. "She did?" You pause. "Well, maybe you can tell me about them too."

Resources if you are in need of help: US: Call/Text 988. UK: 0800 689 5652

All forms of crisis lines for EVERY country can also be found here, including lines for things other than sui.cidal thoughts.

#trigun stampede #trigun #suicidal thoughts cw #death mention cw #vash #vash the stampede #Vash x Reader #Vash the Stampede x Reader #breakfast is served!

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