#trust dismantling

[distinctlywhumpthing]

In League – Draw (Bath pt 3)

Masterlist

Conclusion to Bath and Mend, time to wrap up the first aid. Late-19th century, indentured servitude, power imbalance, past-noncon implied, whumpee forces caretaker to trigger them, whumpee propositions caretaker (nothing happens), dubious caretaker. Beta read by @alittlewhump!

August calls after him but it’s unintelligible amongst his sobs. Even with the door shut between them, Wyatt can hear him growing ever more hysterical. His skin crawls. 

He bolts to the other end of the hall, hands unsteady as he pulls out the blessed cigarette case and matchbook. The smell of sulfur sets his nerves buzzing with the promise of respite only a breath away. He has to delay by one more to steady his hands in order to align the flame with the end of his cigarette. 

If only the first drag could last forever. 

A distant pain flares in his fingertips but he’s too occupied savouring the longest inhale he’s taken all morning. 

He needed this hours ago. 

Unfortunately, his inevitable exhale brings him back down to earth. 

August is still crying in his bedroom. As is his right, with Wyatt losing all patience and leaving him there bleeding. Failing him once again and this time the lad will certainly remember Wyatt's dereliction. 

He sighs, smoke from his exhale hanging in the air with no breeze to clear it. Midge hates when they smoke in the house away from an open window. He’ll have to make his excuses to her too. 

It wasn’t like this with the others. Not even Hugh, who required leagues of patience. He takes another pull, leaning forward to rest his forearms on the banister spanning the length of the hall. Never before has he been so absent from the others, so quick to temper, so impulsively invested. He fans the cloud of his next exhale, trying to dispel it. 

Something about August pushes him to extremes. Theo made clear what he attributes it to and Wyatt isn’t too proud to admit the truth in his theory. But that awareness does nothing to lessen his attachment, his determination to see this one through. 

He takes a last drag and stubs out his cigarette at the half.

August only cries harder when Wyatt slowly pushes the door open. At the very least, he’s clinging to the crumpled sheet in his lap again. “Please—” he hiccups. “Please don’t—please don’t—”

He’s about to tell the younger boy he has no intention of hurting him, and apologize for doing so before, when he deciphers what August is repeating. 

It nearly brings him to his knees. 

“Oh, August, lamb.” The endearment makes August cry out as though it were a strike. Wyatt approaches the dissolving boy slowly. This certainly reframes all of his previous groveling. Most of his placating served to keep Wyatt engaged. By any means necessary. He would rather be hurt to any degree than abandoned. Or perhaps ‘discarded’ is a better term from what he’s let slip about his time with Keats.

“Please don’t go. Please don’t leave me. Please don’t leave me alone.”

No part of the insight is satisfying. 

“August, August.” He lowers himself onto the bed, staying an arm’s reach away. “August, look at me.”

He tries but he’s beside himself. His eyes can’t seem to rest as he watches Wyatt’s every move, his hands, his lips, his brow, his gaze for only a moment before they flick somewhere else. August’s hands shake in the air, hovering uncertainly. He wants to hold himself, he wants to be held, he checks the sheet again. 

“All will right, lad. Come here—”

August bites his lips together and shakes his head adamantly, leaning away from Wyatt’s outstretched hands. Before Wyatt can kick himself for damaging the one comfort the boy could find, August thrusts the unrolled length of bandage into his hand. 

“It’s all right, there’s no need for haste.” Wyatt sets the bundle down. “Once you’re—”

He picks it up again, pressing it into Wyatt’s hands. “Please.” He’s no longer sobbing but his entire body hitches with each ragged breath, tears still running down his cheeks whenever he blinks. 

On one hand, it’s unlikely he can get more upset than he already is but on the other, Wyatt would rather save him what suffering he can. “I’m not sure that’s wise. Take a—”

August wails in frustration, swiping at his cheeks with the backs of his hands. “Please,” he repeats, voice raw. 

It would be easier to take him at his word if he wasn’t fighting shy of eye contact. “You don’t have anything to prove. What I said earlier—”

“Just fucking get it over with.” 

Wyatt raises his eyebrows but August still won’t look into his face. He wonders if he’s missing a rare glimpse of the fire in his eyes. 

“Please,” August amends. The muscles in his shoulders and arms tense as he works to still himself and quiet his breathing. 

The lesser of the two evils is most certainly to let August grow irate by refusing to do this now. But Wyatt would rather not deny this single outspoken request. Even if it will go over like a lead balloon. 

August lies back with a huff before Wyatt has the chance to concede verbally. Likely because he’s afraid he’ll lose his nerve. 

Wyatt starts by cutting the bloody end of the bandage off and gingerly removing it from the wound. August doesn’t flinch once, though his knuckles are white where he grips fistfuls of the sheet between his legs. 

Nothing left but to begin. 

“You’ll have to—” 

August bends the leg in question so his thigh is off the mattress, placing his foot flat on the mattress. 

“Right and—”

He spreads his legs to give Wyatt room to work. 

“It’ll be over—”

“Don’t,” August whispers. “Please.” 

He nods, though he’s certain August is still taking pains to avoid looking at him. He threads the first pass meticulously, taking great care not to make contact with his skin. 

Still, August starts trembling. He tries to make haste but winds up grazing the inside of August’s thigh with his knuckle. August whimpers and claps both hands over his mouth. 

“If you need—”

“Don’t stop,” he blurts, immediately covering his mouth again but not swiftly enough to hide that he’s crying now. 

Wyatt makes it round once more before August's legs fall together, the lifted one shaking as he works to keep it bent. “August...” 

“Please, just help me,” he sobs, fists coming down to grab either side of the quilt beneath him. “I want—I want it finished—”

“No.” He can’t. He won’t keep pushing him. Or himself for that matter. “There’s no reason—”

“Wyatt, please,” August wines. 

As gently as he can, he prises the younger boy’s legs apart, taking his injured leg onto his lap to keep it elevated. He tries to be as fast as he can but every brush of skin results in more force needed to hold August in place. Every touch makes progress feel further.

What the fuck is wrong with him that he’s doing this to such a broken boy at the irrational instruction of the very same? He loathes himself—and August—for putting him in this position. 

Finally, it’s over. It takes three tries to tie the knot. 

“All right,” he says, relief washing over him as he releases August. “It’s done.” 

He doesn’t move, hands limp at his sides, eyes fixed unseeing on the ceiling above. 

“August, come now.” He’s loathe to touch him again, his stillness even more concerning than his hysteria. “We’ll get you dressed and you can warm by the fire.” 

If it’s space he wants, Wyatt will gladly step out to finish his cigarette. Perhaps if he keeps the door open, it won’t feel like such a separation. He moves to stand but August sits up, slim fingers catching his wrist. 

“Wait, sir, please. You haven’t finished…”

Wyatt swallows. “Yes, I have. Your leg is bandaged now.” He tries to pull away but August only moves closer.

“Please, I want it.” 

“August. No.” He takes his hand in both of his and August’s grip goes slack. “Look at me. Look where you are.” 

He stares right through him, a haunted smile that is anything but alluring pulling at his lips. “Please,” he repeats, letting his legs fall open. 

“No.” 

Wyatt drops his hand and stands but August catches his shirt. “Please,” he pleads, a hint of the earlier panic returning to his voice. “I’ll do anything you want, just don’t get Master Keats.” 

Wyatt feels sick. “August, that’s not what’s happening. You’re safe here, he can’t hurt you anymore.” He pulls his own dressing gown off the footboard. Has to bat August’s hands away to drape it over his shoulders and doesn’t bother threading them through the sleeves before he cinches the tie around his waist. 

“I—I—” August looks down at himself and back at Wyatt, brow furrowing. His eyes are more distant than Wyatt’s ever seen them. Wyatt pulls him to his feet but when he starts leading him away from the bed, August digs his heels in. “Wait, but I—” 

He picks him up, carrying him across the room instead. 

“No! Please! Master Keats will—he’ll—” 

Wyatt is selfishly grateful that August’s sobs prevent him from voicing the end of the sentence. He sets the younger boy in the armchair but even without his arms, August manages to hold him. Wyatt kneels which couldn’t be more apt. If he’s to bring him back without simply holding him for as long as it takes, he’ll be begging. 

“Please, August…” 

He curls against the wing of the chair, hiding his face against the fabric as he cries. 

Not without hesitation, Wyatt reaches out to brush the tears off his cheek. August whimpers, chasing the touch until Wyatt finds himself cradling his face between his hands. 

“Come now, show me you’re still brave in there. One bath can’t have doused that fire.” August sniffles, chin trembling. At least his eyes are clearer, even if they’re full of doubt. Wyatt squeezes his shoulders. “There’s fight in you yet. I know it, sweet lamb.” 

He pulls in a shaky breath, conflict playing out on his face. He’s trying so hard to reach that version of himself, to square his shoulders, to step away from his past. But he had to be small for so long, even without the ties that bound him, their force isn’t so easily forgotten. 

Wyatt feels his own tension rising the longer he observes. “I’ll make you a deal,” he tries. Bribery is bread and butter around these parts after all. “Have you ever had hot chocolate?” 

August’s eyebrows knit together and he shakes his head, keeping his gaze fixed somewhere around Wyatt’s shoulder. 

“Melted chocolate and milk, served warm…”

Now he has the feral little thing interested. His dark amber eyes flick up to read Wyatt’s face, to see if he is spinning tales or telling the truth. He’s certain the younger boy wouldn’t be able to discern the difference either way. He could fool almost anyone with a bluff, very few walking the earth know his true tell. In this case, though, it isn’t a lie. 

“Does one…drink it or eat it with a spoon?” August whispers, as though afraid of scaring away the offer. 

“You’ll have to get dressed and find out for yourself.” Now he has his full attention. “I’m sorry for losing my patience. I do hope you’ll forgive me in time.” 

August narrows his eyes. 

“The deal stands,” he reaffirms. “If you’re interested. Though you ought to get dressed either way. ” 

“I don’t—I don’t understand.” 

“Which part?” 

“All of it,” he admits in a small voice. He pulls an arm out to swipe his hand under his nose. “Why did you even come back when I was being so difficult?” 

“Why’d you let me back in here when I was being so difficult myself?” 

August furrows his brow. “Sir…”

“All right. For starters, this is my room and I won’t give it up so easily.” He points to the corner beyond the foot of the bed. “Only one with two windows.” 

“That’s not—”

“I know, lamb,” he chides gently, reaching out to brush a lock of hair out of his eyes. August leans into the touch until Wyatt indulges his cheek with a caress. “But you’re not going to like the true answer.” 

He pulls away, fear colouring his expression. 

Wyatt leaves his hand between them, trying to show that this doesn’t change anything from one moment to the next. “I don’t know why I want to help you, only that I do and I will so long as you’ll let me.” 

August shakes his head. “Sir—” 

“I warned you, lamb.” He uses the term of endearment again, hoping it will win him some favour and it does, August leans back within reach though not back into his hand. Wyatt stands to retrieve the parcel he’d carried home this morning, dropping it on the boy’s lap “Lively now, I can see you shivering.” 

August unwraps it delicately like the paper and twine are gifts in themselves. He fingers the underclothes inside. The right size and wool, the warmest they had. He looks up at Wyatt and back at the garments as if to make sure they haven’t disappeared. 

“Thank you for giving me another chance.” He’s heartbreakingly earnest, though Wyatt couldn’t guess if he means in this moment or every chance that proceeded it.  

“Honestly, I could thank you for the same.” Wyatt ruffles his hair, marvelling in the downy softness of those curls now that they’re clean. The gesture brings the colour back to August’s cheeks. “I’ll give you some privacy to get those on. Midge will bring up some hot chocolate for you and something to eat if you can.” 

August looks down, hands falling limp in his lap. “You’re leaving.” 

It’s not a question and he won’t meet Wyatt’s gaze, is only punishing himself by prompting a verbal sentencing. Wyatt unrolls his sleeves, leaving the cuffs unbuttoned. He replaces his waistcoat and pulls on his jacket. All the while, August doesn’t raise his eyes, a cumbersome silence dividing them further. 

“You did well today,” he says from the door. “I’m proud of you.” 

No dice. August doesn’t move a muscle. He looks so fragile, from his bony knees to the ribs one shouldn’t see, climbing his chest to his delicate collarbone, the column of his throat. He doesn’t cry, just lets the armchair swallow him as if he could disappear before he’s abandoned. 

Sometimes no one wins. 

“I do hope you’ll forgive me. In time.” 

The frigid evening air bites at his lungs, every inhale rendering their capacity smaller. His eyes sting from the sharp, relentless wind. He couldn’t light a cigarette if he tried so he buries his hands in his pockets and quickens his step but the further he gets from the house, the more Wyatt feels like he’s lost. 

Masterlist

@whumpy-writings @deluxewhump @no-whump-on-main @maracujatangerine @painsandconfusion

@wolfeyedwitch @briars7 @gala1981 @redwingedwhump @whumpflash

@poeticagony-blog @annablogsposts @fleur-alise @melancholy-in-the-morning @crystalquartzwhump

@magziemakeswhatever @neverthelass @cakeinthevoid @inkstainsonmyhands12 @morning-star-whump

@writereleaserepeat @meetmeinhellcroutons

[lizzybeeee]

Dragon Age 2 AU -> where everything is the same but Ser Pounce-A-Lot gets the zoomies right before Anders and Justice join, resulting in Justice getting stuck in the body of a tiny, orange cat.

[hijinxinprogress]

Whenever the JL starts complaining about YJs public image YJ just straight up gaslights them

[suggru]

YUJI ITADORI - TOYOTA TRUENO AE86

MY MAIN CHARACTER BOY YIPPEE

Basically, in this au, sukuna is yujis older brother who owns a "tofu shop" (he deals drugs and yuji doesnt know) and he has yuji deliver "tofu" in his 86

yuji was never aware of the street racing scene but one night he was doing his daily deliveries and he unknowingly raced and beat megumi in megumi's rx7 fd, and megumi was so baffled and awestruck that he told gojo about it and tried his best to figure out who the hell beat him in a beat up old 86

yuji ends up racing megumi again (and winning again), but everyone thinks it's sukuna since yuji drives sukuna's car

yuji only reveals his identity to the people he races against, but keeps it a secret from the crowds watching

since basketball shorts won my poll he is in basketball shorts

one of my irls suggesfed that he would wear jorts under basketball shorts.... bri you are a menace and he would totally fucking do that lmao

[zenathezee]

My insurance isn't great but one time someone found out their unborn baby had a 0% chance of living after birth without severe intervention and my insurance funded the extremely careful C-section and the highly experimental surgery on the newborn that was whisked away as soon as he hit air. That child would have died, or the parents would have been in literal millions of debt, except there was someone on the other end of the claim that said yes, this baby deserves a chance to grow up, we will pay for this 2% chance at life. Now he's a toddler and perfectly healthy and every time I think about the UHC CEO I remember how an algorithm he endorsed sentenced sick people to death because of profits and how his company would have denied this claim and every appeal in a heartbeat. Our premiums went up a couple dollars the next year, but a child wasn't left to die because the parents couldn't afford to pour millions into a 2% chance at life

How many people died because they/their loved ones couldn't afford to ruin themselves financially on a 2% chance? How many died or lived with easily negatable suffering because their insurance wouldn't pay out for the things they have insurance for? How much blood did Brian Thompson have on his hands? Why are people surprised when the populace rejoices over the death of someone who spent their time making people's lives worse?

[lunarian-anarchist]

Anyone who told you not to worry about a 2nd Trump term and that everything would be fine is either;

A) A fool

B) An apathetic doomer

C) A supporter of Trump

[braidwoods]

i hope mc makes mal wear a wig or im not buying a single scene with him in bolas2

[mariemariemaria]

the people who think that christianity is the worst most problematic religion ever and the people who think that islam is the worst most problematic religion ever are two sides of the same coin to me

[variousqueerthings]

been reading a lot of clive barker recently and find him to be incredibly whimsical, life-affirming, and wondrous so I decided to read his ya series "abarat" which as it turns out isn't finished, so we're waiting at a point of utter despair for the most part, rip to the kids (that being said I do wish I'd known of it when I was a kid, no matter how frustrated by the wait I might have been)

anyway, do think I will write a little fanfic that nobody is going to read of christopher carrion and finnegan hob working through their mutual realisation that they were both being used by princess boa (meanwhile she's shooting finger guns at them, love her, love how she fucked up not one but two incredibly powerful silly boys, love that she just loves being bad, it appears to be her whole raison d`etre), and then they make out or smthin, unclear

[that-bi-bitch-writes]

i would make merlin and arthur watch everything everywhere all at once

[taffeta-empressofaavamere]

This is exactly a conversation I had the other day. The last of Gen Z entering the workforce is our final chance to change how the world is run, to bring capitalism to its knees, cease all wars in favor of world peace, and to find alternative resources.

This is our last chance. Don’t waste it.

Don’t waste your life staring at screens and sitting in a room alone.

Fight for the right of future generations to not grow up in a landscape that will rival the terrain and climate of hell itself.

Whether your definition of fighting is helping raise money for research programs, or being a researcher yourself, do not be complicit in our destruction. You may not be here when everything goes to shit, but you will be the one to blame.

Why do we say that capitalism must be “dismantled”?

You’ll hear phrases like “Smash the state!” “Eat the rich!” and “Smash capitalism!”

And, yes, of course, but… :)

However relevant those sayings are, our work must be careful, highly organized and above all planned.

Because capitalism and all of its associated systems are not discrete, abstracted entities we can attack independently.

It is a structure, like a complicated machine with many thousands of working parts…

And right now it is connected to absolutely everything.

If we do this… [picks up huge hammer and smashes the machine]

Then a lot of vulnerable people will die.

The machine was built and improved and redesigned and patched over the course of generations. It is very good at its intended purpose, which is ultimately to generate profit.

Every human being alive today relies on the byproducts of the machine to survive, without exception.

The machine’s engineers want it to keep working like it does. In fact, they want to optimise it.

That will kill all remaining life on Earth.

So, we must destroy the machine, quickly and carefully

We must examine its deadly programs and mechanics and replace them with alternatives we built together.

The engineers don’t want us tampering with the machine.

However, we make it run…

So we can make it STOP. Together.

How will YOU help us to safely dismantle the machine?

iww.org

p.s. My computer is on its last legs. If you would like me to draw you a little cartoon and help me get a new computer, learn more at this post.

[muirneach]

the fine people of rio must be losing it in quadra guga kuerten rn

[dismantlecomic]

Chapter 3 cover!! ✧────────────────✧ >> Next >> First ✧────────────────✧ This chapter has some very specific TW's that I suggest you check out Here!! I dont usually give warnings at the start of chapters, but if subjects implying suicide makes you uncomfortable, read with caution or take a break ;; !!

[secretlyofthefeywild]

lol my father is ranting abt how good trump is

it must be nice to live such a privileged life that your biggest concern abt the upcoming election is shit like the price of oil and keeping your guns. my biggest fear is a genocide against queer ppl. my biggest fear is those guns you keep becoming my cause of death. it must be nice that you can chose to ignore entire major issues bc you don't think they matter.

to you trump vs biden means political discomfort. to me it could very well mean my life.

[thorne1435]

Nope, actually this isn't a "piss on the poor website" thing, this is just...the state of discourse, especially online. Though also IRL most of the time, in my experience, as someone who has strong opinions and constantly argues about them.

Actually turning things over in my brain and yeah, I'd say that's probably my feeling on a lot of these conversations. The wrong thing is getting blamed.

White people do experience racism. The problem is when people hear that they think "people of color have power over white people" and not "under white supremacy, there are white people who are regarded as Not White Enough".

Men are oppressed. The problem is that people tend to think the ending of that sentence is "by women" and not "under the patriarchy, men are forced into a very specific and often harmful role and are heavily punished for any deviance from that role".

And the well has been poisoned by bad actors, so it's hard to get any amount of conversation about this going without either attracting said bad actors to totally derail the whole thing or without having kneejerk suspicion from the getgo due to said bad actors' previous actions.

[callixton]

genuinely why is it that any time i reveal something abt my feelings or relationships i feel like i've voluntarily walked into a trap for the next week straight. like ur allowed to voice ur own experiences without dying man it's okay