#deceit whump

[whumperer-86]

Delightfully Deceitful ep14 (shot Whump)

In the scene when the whumpee is trying to breathe after the shot while bleeding that's very good whump

[yourchemicallyimbalancedromance]

Checkmate

Ship: Anxceit (Whumpee!Virgil, Whumper!Janus)

CW/TW: (be aware that what I am about to describe is not censored.) graphic themes and descriptions of violence, this includes: forcing someone to relapse with self injury, allusion to past self harm, cutting someone with a knife, mind games/emotional abuse, malnourishment/starvation, talk of weight in numbers, themes of suicide and suicidal ideation (this is pretty detailed, you have been warned.)

Summary: After Virgil joins the light sides, Janus slowly reaches a psychotic break due to abandonment and feelings of betrayal and takes it upon himself to take Virgil back to where he belongs, via kidnapping him and holding him in the dark side of the mind palaces basement, AKA the subconscious.

A/N: this is my first time writing Whump, so If anything feels rushed or misplaced please understand that I am a beginner to writing these kinds of things. I am personally not open to (constructive) criticism—I am really sensitive when it comes to things I’m passionate about 😭—so please, let me learn at my own pace if things do need to be changed around a bit, thank you!<3

(I’m editing this at 12:44 AM because I can’t sleep so, uh, surprise oneshot release I guess? Idk 😭🙏🏻)

———————————————————————

Janus’ eyes glimmered as he stared at the rusty chains that were around Virgil’s wrists, the ones keeping him shackled against the wall of the basement, leaving his arms raised up in the air and his legs crisscrossed beneath him. Virgil’s head had fallen against his chest in defeat after trying to scream into the dark abyss for help again, quickly realizing that his pleas wouldn’t be heard with the muffling of a rag in his mouth.

His lower jaw poked at his collarbones with horrendous uncomfortability from the consequences of malnourishment. He was already relatively small—around 115 pounds or so—and the past few days without food were weighing on him. His bones protruded like knives against his skin. You could see the outline of his collarbones to his shoulder blades through his torn up band tee. His bangs—or what was left of them—had fallen over his eyes, keeping him from seeing Janus whose gaze had shifted to Virgils face, eerily delighted.

Virgil thrashed his head around—though in reality more like hazily bobbed it in circles—trying his hardest to spit out the aforementioned rag that Janus had put there after his lazy attempt at being noticed by the others on the second day of his kidnapping. On the first, Janus had knocked him out hard enough to where he drifted in and out of consciousness, leaving Janus enough time to chain him up without a struggle. Despite the chains, he actually thought he could trust Virgil to not scream for help. He was wrong, hence, the rag.

It had now been five and a half days since his initial kidnapping, and the light sides seemed to have gone off of the deep end…almost. Patton had shut down, preventing himself from feeling any kind of emotion due to the fact that if he even shed one tear, it would lead to a messy and disgusting breakdown. Logan wouldn’t come out of his room for anything at all, as he was drowning himself in as much work as possible, writing and re-writing scripts even if he thought they were already pristine and perfect as was, he needed something to keep himself from flying off the hinges. And Roman was…quiet, withdrawn. He wasn’t his usual ego-centric self anymore, he was timid, almost like a ghost or a shell of who he once was. You could practically call him a people-pleaser. All of them had their own ways of grasping for the tiniest bit of control they had left, and it was shocking to see what came out of it.

But Virgil couldn’t comprehend any of this as Janus updated him on it day by day, Janus’ way of slowly ripping Virgils freshly acquired healthy emotional state apart by using his new “found family” as a means of revenge for the gaping would of abandonment Virgil had left him with. Hell, between Virgils drug induced haze and all the sheer sharp pain searing throughout his body, he could barely comprehend where he was. But one thing stopped him from forgetting his new surroundings completely, and that was Janus.

Janus leaned down and took Virgil’s face in his hands roughly, forcing Virgil to look him in the eyes. Virgil’s eyes were dim and worn out, as if he wasn’t all there, like he was somewhere else in his head. He looked so, so very tired. It was almost thrilling for Janus. Virgil had always been one to get lost in his head as a way of coping with things that were out of his control.

“I think,” Janus hissed, the sound full of no-longer suppressed anger and a slight tinge of fear over the fact that Virgil could have been found had he not noticed his pitiful cries when he did a few days ago, “we should play a game.”

The small lightbulb that hung from a loose wire (seemingly appearing from thin air, there was no way to tell where the lightbulbs origin came from) between them illuminated the human side of Janus’ face harshly, putting the crazed look in his eyes on display for only Virgil to see. It felt like Janus could see into his soul, read his thoughts, know every gritty detail of everything that he had ever done down to the way he breathed whilst doing it, just by staring at him.

Virgil’s eyes narrowed as Janus’ thumb ran over his busted lip. If it weren’t for the rag stuffed in his mouth to muffle his cries for help, he would have bit it clean off. Instead, he let the small amount of fury left in him ignite behind his eyes as he stared into Janus’, not moving any longer. He was confused and scared, and when those things were combined, it usually turned into anger. Rage, even. But It was as if the moment Janus touched him, he froze on impact.

“What do you think?” Janus prompted, hand still firmly on Virgil’s jaw. His voice may have been smooth, but his grasp stayed there to show control.

Janus smiled at the incoherent sounds coming from behind the bloodied rag. He laughed to himself, amused by the struggle. “Ah, I forgot about your little…predicament.” He ribbed, pulling out the soaking rag with ease.

Virgil inhaled harder than he’d ever before, taking in as much oxygen as possible. It had been days since that rag had been placed there; a precaution so that were the search for Thomas’ anxiety to continue and a meeting be pursued once more, they wouldn’t hear much from upstairs. Virgil winced a bit at the memory of Janus’ footsteps quickly echoing throughout the basement and walking up to him. (“tsk, I thought you would’ve been smart enough to know not to scream. Here, let me help you with that.” He had said, hastily shoving a clean rag forcefully into his mouth, rendering Virgil silent; mostly because of fear but also because of shock. He had absolutely no clue why Janus was doing any of this.) It also didn’t help that the dark mind palaces basement was usually hot and stuffy already, which made the struggle to breathe worse; especially if you had to rely on only breathing through your nose, which was broken, meaning the little oxygen he could muster wasn’t enough, leading him to pass out only a few minutes after regaining consciousness, over and over and over again over the past 84 hours.

“Let…go of…me.” Virgil demanded, panting. He struggled against his chains, trying to wriggle his way out of them. His wrists ached as they strained against the cuffs around them.

Janus grabbed Virgils arms firmly, chains rattling, rag dripping blood and saliva down Virgil’s right arm. “No need for that, sweetheart. I’m not going to hurt you again. Not yet.”

His lips curled upwards slightly at the fear that shocked through Virgil at such simple words. He watched as the hair on Virgil’s arms began to stick up, his arms covered in goosebumps. It was absolutely hilarious to Janus that Virgil had no clue what was coming at any given moment.

Virgil could put on a defiant act all he wanted, but his body would always show how he truly felt: Afraid, Horrified, Helpless.

It was a beautiful sight to see someone at the mercy of his actions considering he had always felt helpless against the others, it was nice to feel in control for once. …And also quite pathetic how hard Virgil tried to stop him from achieving that feeling of powerfulness.

“How about a game of chess?” Janus suggested, throwing the rag to the ground, sounding more demanding than anything else. His nails dug deep into Virgil’s wrists, letting him know that if he didn’t answer correctly, there would be consequences. Though, from all of the times he’d seen Virgils eyes light up from winning against Logan in a Chess match, he knew he would probably say yes anyway. Not that Virgil knew that he knew that.

That sparkle in his eyes. It was almost as if Virgil felt like he could finally do something right.

In Virgils drug addled mind, something…clicked. Chess? Since when did Janus know that he had gotten good at Chess? Unless he was…

his eyes almost brimmed with tears at the thought of such an invasive act,

Watching him.

Despite such a heart dropping realization, Virgil nodded, slowly. Even though it had only been a few days, he was numb to any minor pain Janus inflicted upon him anymore. If it wasn’t worth bleeding, it wasn’t worth focusing on, or atleast that’s the mindset he was set on adapting to get through this. Who knew how long Janus would keep him here? how long this would last? But the pressure against his wrists served as a warning, so he gave Janus the answer he wanted. Or so he thought.

The pressure increased as Janus dug his nails deeper, pricking the pale skin a bit. “You speak when you’re spoken to, Virgil.” he ordered, “Or do I need to remind you?” he asked, nodding towards the blood stained knife on the floor; A reminder of Virgils previous mistakes.

Virgil shook his head frantically, “No, no, you don’t” he begged, mouth still tasting of metal from where he was forced to lick up his own blood from the cuts up and down his arm. “A chess game sounds nice, really.”

Janus hummed, satisfied with Virgils response. “Perfect. Well then, I suppose I should explain the rules.” He dropped Virgil’s arms and let them fall into place with the chains, then summoned a chess set and sat it on the ground next to the knife, eyeing the way Virgil tried to breathe in a rhythmic pattern. He really didn’t think he was getting out of this. How glorious.

“If I win, we pick up where we left off last night,” Janus recited, hinting back to only ten hours ago when he was burying a knife deep into Virgils arm. “If you win, I may dress your wounds properly this time.” he watched Virgil as his eyes closed and snapped back open time and time again, barely taking in anything Janus was saying. He was sleep deprived, Janus was sure of it. He had already planned this out ahead of time, so the results were finally setting in. Janus had dissolved a few…”unknown sleeping pills” into Virgils drink the night before after Janus had his fun with the sharpest knife blade he could find, making sure Virgil was extremely drowsy and paranoid, but not too drowsy and paranoid, because otherwise, what’s the fun in that?

Oh, and the “sleeping pills” were actually Janus’ antipsychotics, but Virgil didn’t need to know that.

He kept Virgil awake for two and a half days straight, slicing open the old wounds on his arms. Turning the faded self inflicted cuts into newer, deeper, non-self inflicted ones. Sometimes he forced Virgil to do it himself as he watched, making him restart if there wasn’t enough blood for his liking. Virgil deserved this for leaving him, so the least he could do was cause a bloody mess.

Janus hoisted Virgil up and carefully unlocked the cuffs on his wrists with a small key from his pocket, holding him as his body gave out against Janus’.

Even through the fog of Virgils mental state, and the amount of adrenaline pumping through his veins, and the exhaustion that crept up on him so suddenly over the past few days, he was cognizant enough to understand that not being able to stand up on his own two feet was humiliating. The weakness and feebleness of his body and state of mind were meant to make him feel humiliated. And unfortunately for him, it was working. Janus was succeeding.

Janus, using this as a moment to exert power over his captive, whispered in his ear. “Bring your all, Virgil.”

Virgil vaguely acknowledged the phrase as something Patton would say to him before every match. Eyes glistening, like a proud father-figure. (“You did great last time Virge! Logan was so mad that you won against him that when you left to go back to your room to listen to that PG-13 music, he used one of those slang words the kids use these days. I can’t remember exactly what it was...I think it started with a C? I don’t know, but I’m so proud of you!” Patton had said, so joyous and amazed. Virgil had given him a half-smile and shrugged it off as Patton just being Patton.)

Virgil almost started sobbing then and there; finally feeling a wave of emotion crash over him other than rage and terror for the first time in what felt like forever, but in actuality had only been a few days. A few tears slipped past him, leaving behind a trembling lip in their wake. He clung to Janus for some sort of sick comfort, Janus being the only thing he had right now, even if he was the one causing all of this.

Janus tensed and snickered, pulling away from Virgil and yanking him to the ground, looking down at him through fiery eyes. “Don’t be so emotional already, we’ve barely even started” he rubbed his arms with his hands as if Virgils mere touch had deemed his upper arms distasteful, “and don’t cling to me like that again, it’s disgusting.”

Virgil wiped at his tears obediently, trying to put on a blank face for his captor. He just wanted to go back home. To sit with Patton and Roman and make homemade hot chocolate while bickering over the appeal of the newest Disney shows. His chest hurt, likely from the drugs and blood loss, but also likely because of his longing for his actual family, not whatever this was. Whatever it used to be.

Janus sat down on the opposite side of the board, and slowly removed his gloves, placing them next to him on top of each other and started setting up the pieces.

“Let the game begin.” He stated after a few moments had passed and the board had been properly set up, prompting Virgil to move his first piece.

Virgil reached out reluctantly, placing one of the pieces further on the checkered board. Almost knocking it over as he pulled his hand away as fast as he could, not wanting to be close to Janus.

Janus smirked, noticing this, as he placed one of his pieces further on the board aswell. Deep down, he was hurt by Virgils need to stay as a far as possible, however. Not that it mattered, he could always punish Virgil for that little stunt of emotion later down the line.

This back and forth continued for at least twenty-five minutes, before Virgil could feel the walls closing in around him. He looked at the board in desperation, praying to God that maybe, just maybe if he stared long enough the pieces would maneuver themselves to where he could win.

It didn’t happen.

Janus had him stuck, unable to move without getting defeated. In this sick game, and in real life. It was as if Janus was making a mockery of his own doings.

Virgil moved the piece on the board with a shakey hand, trembling from the dread of what he knew was to come, and looked up at Janus; fear evident in his eyes.

Janus took a breath and moved his piece in front of Virgils quickly, as if he had been waiting for this moment his whole life.

“Checkmate, Virge.”

Virgil stared at the board, filled with shame and regret. He used to be a pro at Chess, and now he was watered down to this. He couldn’t meet Janus’ burning gaze as he stared at him from across the board. Any glint of hope for his future here that he had behind his eyes had been crushed and faded away completely. He was certain that he was going to die here before Patton or any of the others found him. And if he didn’t die, it would become so bad that he would beg Janus to make him do it to get it over with.

Janus got up and pulled Virgil to his feet, clasping the cuffs around his wrists again, not willing to waste any time, taking notice of the newfound compliance.

Janus laughed a little as he picked up the knife, running a finger over the blade. “You know, I really thought you would have been good at that,” he placed the base of the blade on Virgil’s arm and began to drag it agonizingly slow. “I guess it just goes to show that you really are incompetent.”

He watched the blood drip down Virgils forearm, “what a shame, really. You probably would have gone on to be a real good player,” he teased, “probably even better than Logan. I mean I saw the way that blood vessel in his head almost popped from stress and frustration during your match a week or so ago.”

Janus watched as Virgil grit his teeth so hard he thought he would break them from trying not to scream. The confession and the pain were almost too much emotional and psychical trauma for Virgil to bear.

Janus ran a finger over the fresh cuts, looking up at Virgil with nothing but malice in his eyes. “Too bad you’re stuck here now, you really could have been something.”

“Please…please, I’ll do anything, please just make it stop!!” Virgil whimpered, actually thrashing now, a drastic difference from what he had meant to do earlier. He couldn’t handle it anymore, it was all starting to dawn on him. He wasn’t getting out of here. He wasn’t getting out.

“Keep begging, it’s not like I’m going to stop. You’re selfish, that’s all you are. You think you can leave me to pick up the pieces of your abandonment and expect not to face the consequences? I don’t think so.” Janus threatened, slapping Virgil’s arm, causing stinging pain to shoot its way through him. He took the knife back to Virgils skin, digging deeper into the wounds he already created, using his rage as a source to block out the cries of his former best friend. Virgil used to be like a brother to him, but none of that mattered now. This was Virgils fault, he chose this.

Virgil’s hands curled into loose fists with the little energy he had left within himself, desperately trying to wrap his head around Janus’ reasoning but ultimately failing to be able to think of anything due to the hot and awful pain that washed upon him every few seconds. That was why Janus was doing this? His acceptance? He let out animalistic sobs every time the blade met his flesh. None of it made sense. His head hurt and all he wanted was to drop to his knees and bleed out, leaving himself a cold shell of a person. Anything but this. Anything but this. As much as he loved the others, he wanted anything but this.

Eventually, Janus dropped the knife on the floor, blood splattering in every direction. He was tired, and Virgil was beginning to pass out which meant that the fun wouldn’t be able to last any longer. After all, it’s no fun torturing someone when you can’t see the outcome of your work.

He flicked his wrist and summoned a small baggie of crushed up antipsychotic medication and a glass of water, carefully pouring it into the glass in front of his captive. It didn’t matter if Virgil saw what he was doing, what could he do about it? Absolutely nothing.

“Open your mouth.” He instructed sternly. Virgil listened and he tilted the glass back with precision, making sure no droplets of water fell down Virgils face and on to the ground.

Janus set the glass down beside him, “don’t say I never did anything for you” he mumbled, turning on his heel and heading back upstairs to the commons as if nothing had happened.

Janus’ footsteps slowly faded and a door opened. Virgil could hear Remus cackling in the distance, and even though he didn’t exactly know what was so funny, it was presumable that it was about the state of his family. The others were falling apart with the lack of him being around, or that was at least as far as he knew with the “help” of Janus.

Virgil let his legs give out from underneath him and curled in on himself as best he could, searching for the warmth of his own body heat, not necessarily because he was cold, but because he was desperate to feel the warmth of a comforting presence, even if that meant it had to be himself.

He tried to ignore the throbbing pain in his arms by thinking of Patton. Sweet, tender and kind, Patton. Patton who was always there when he had night terrors and was screaming for help, crawling into Virgils bed and cradling him gently until he was conscious enough to know what had happened, and then staying until he fell back asleep. Patton who always let him hold on to his shoulders when the panic attacks got so bad he couldn’t stand upright because he was so dizzy. Patton who always had a cheesy dad joke no matter the severity of the situation. Patton.

It hurt more than any of the psychical pain combined to miss him. He would rather die right now than miss such a sweet soul. If Patton were here, he would have bandaged him up so gently he would have barely even felt it, while humming softly to distract Virgil from the fear and uncertainty burrowing deep in his stomach.

Tears fell down his face as his eyelids finally fluttered close, not being disturbed by a jarring malicious voice ready for revenge. He could finally sleep.

Though, how do you sleep peacefully knowing you’ll probably never get out of a nightmare?

[ecoamerica]

Watch the American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 now: https://youtu.be/bWiW4Rp8vF0?feature=shared

The American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 broadcast recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by active climate leaders. Watch to find out which finalist received the $50,000 grand prize! Hosted by Vanessa Hauc and featuring Bill McKibben and Katharine Hayhoe!

[lil-toastie-boi]

anyone wanna do rps with me on discords? specifically sander sides rps and more specifically mainly Janus whump? wheres hes the one bein hurt. my discord is liltoastieboi if you wanna rp!

[firapolemos05]

Deceitful

@whumpuary AO3

Prompt 1

Captivity | Snow

Prompt 8

Muffled screams

CW: captivity, slave whump, left out in the cold, nonhuman whumpee, lady whumper, restraints, muzzles, slapping

The Champion taglist: @emmettverse , @ostensiblyfunctional , @scoundrelwithboba

It wasn't usual for the Cerulean Crescent to receive snowfall, but on occasion there'd be a winter where the temperatures drop low enough.

When you're located higher up in altitude - like Master Scarlet's manor, rested on the mountainside overlooking the valley below - the likelihood increases.

The Champion assumed the view would be appealing to those with a taste for luxury. At least when it wasn't obstructed by the darkness of night and the drowning haze of a snowstorm. He guessed many would find a more clear daytime view a pleasing sight, like a painting in a museum.

He himself never saw the appeal.

He never did like the cold.

Snow was cruelly deceitful. From afar the crystalline flakes looked harmless, coating the outside world in what many compare to a pristine, white fluffy blanket.

Another gust of bitter wind rattled his bones, and the Champion tried and failed again to pull his trembling limbs against his core in effort to keep warm. The thin silks draped over his body provided little protection.

Snow crystals were more akin to tiny knives if you asked him. Their gelid touch searing his toes where he stood. He spent several minutes earlier trying to clear away all the snow beneath his feet, but the shackles at his ankles didn't grant him much room.

He had messed up again.

Master had a guest over, some rich businessman dressed with the money he'd leached from his workers and customers. His jewelry by itself would probably pay for several bets for the Champion’s ring matches. The fabrics had so many ostentatious colors the tiefling had a hard time telling which garment was which.

Master had ordered him to serve the two. So he relayed refreshments back and forth from the servant tending the bar and the servant arriving from the kitchen. Of course, he wasn't permitted to touch any of the food or drinks, not even with his stomach gnawing in protest. The Champion’s only purpose there was to obey, be silent, and look pretty.

It certainly wasn't pretty when he tripped over the edge of the rug and sent two full glasses of red wine spilling onto the man's expensive outfit.

A desperate apology was halfway past his lips when a backhand struck him across the face. Rings painted red onto his cheek. Pain rang in his ears, dulling the sound of the man's furious yelling.

Master said not a word, but closed the distance between them before the Champion could recover. One hand waved and a spell lifted the stains from her guest's clothes. After calling for a servant to come assist the man, her other hand snatched her pet by his horns and began dragging him towards the balcony.

He knew by now that resisting would make things worse.

It hadn't been his first time on the outdoor space. When it was warm out, and when he was being well behaved, Master would allow him to accompany her outside. But tonight the cold was wet and unforgiving and the Champion was to be punished.

Master must've planned for this at some point. There were already metal chains bolted to the brick exterior wall waiting for him.

Their frigid bite snapped right to the bone.

How long has it been since she left him there? Hours? It definitely felt like it. The lashing winds seemed endless and the Champion stood unable to shield himself. The chains forced his limbs apart and all he could do was press his fingers into his palms, press his raised arms against his ears, and curl his tail around his waist. Granting meager solace to vulnerable extremities from the icy curtains raining down.

It didn't help much.

He wished he could scream. He'd already tried. Tried to call to his master and plead to be spared further torment from the elements. But it was no use with the muzzle. Master had strapped it to his face right before heading back to the heated comfort of the indoors. All his cries were muffled before they ever had a chance to echo off the mountainside.

He kept his eyes squeezed shut, afraid that the stinging gales would freeze any tears to his face. That's likely why he didn’t notice Master approach until she was snapping her fingers to get the tiefling’s attention.

He didn't understand how the frozen night wasn't bothering her.

The shackles released him, letting him fall into the snow when his feet were too numb to support his body. The wet sapped at fleeting body heat but he was too cold and too tired to do anything but shiver where he laid.

“Well?” Master’s voice rang clear above him, unfazed and apathetic. “Do you wish to return inside or not?”

Oh. So she was expecting him to drag himself back this time.

At least forcing himself to crawl across the balcony brought some feeling back into his hands.

The blissful embrace of the fireplace's warmth was only slightly dampened by Master making him apologize to the man for the spilled wine.

It was dampened far more when, instead of allowing him to curl up on the hearth, to chase away the chills trapped against his skin, she ordered him to the couch to lie in her lap.

The Champion hated how easily he submitted to it. Even more than the snow.

[whumpywankenobi]

Whumpy-Wan Fic Recs

Whump fics need more love! So here's some of my favorite dubcon/noncon whump fics about mostly CW! or ROTS!Obi-Wan. This is only a few of them - there are so many good fics - but I'll save them for another list. I also welcome recommendations!

Read the individual tags on fics before reading. I've included archive warnings only. Most of these fall into the Dead Dove category, so step carefully.

Happy Reading!

--

Cessio by JSwander - Obi-Wan is sent to negotiate with Vader. (Dub-con) (E)

Blank Visors by Bittodeath - Obi-Wan is stuck in a wall. (Non-con) (E)

Light it Upon the Pyre of my Deceit by Anonymous- Anakin pushes too far. (Non-con) (E)

Only Fair by mockberry - Obi-Wan and Maul. (Non-con) (E)

same puppet; new strings by glimmerglanger - Cody gets possessed. (Attempted non-con, violence) (E)

A Treatise on Breaking and Repairs by glimmerglanger - Vader and Obi-Wan. (Non-con, violence, MCD) (E) (lots of plot)

A Relaxing Evening by whumpywankenobi- Yes, I am recommending my own fic. (Non-con) (E)

Broken by Anonymous - OWK!Obi-Wan is not who he once was. Stormtroopers take advantage. (Non-con, Underage) (E)

like moth's wings by The_Last_Kenobi- Kadavo goes terribly wrong. (Non-con) (M)

out of luck by demon_dean - Obi-Wan's drink is spiked. (future non-con) (M)

unified, alive - draculard - Padawan!Obi-Wan and pirates. (Non-con, Underage) (M)

[joemerl]

The Whumps of March 2024: "All For Naught"

A series of vignettes based on Arthurian legend, collected on AO3 here.

Lancelot found that it was strangely difficult to breathe. It might have been his injuries, still smarting after weeks of unconsciousness. But he didn't think that was it.

The Holy Grail had rejected him. 

It wasn't as if he had never failed a quest before—knights had unseated him, villains had managed to harm the innocent, but as much as those grieved him, this felt different. On those occasions, he could at least take comfort in the fact that he had merely failed—been a bit too slow, or made the wrong choice at a crucial moment. This time, he had been told that he, himself, was the failure. He hadn't just made an error in judgement; he had been judged, and found guilty.

And rightly so.

He closed his eyes, taking another painful breath. All these months, he had been praying and trying to make atonement. What hadn't be done, that God had refused to accept his repentance?

But then, maybe the question was, what had he done? What could he do, to undo so many years of sin, of lust and deceit and treachery?

He told himself, miserably, that he would stop his crimes. He would make himself worthy again, no matter how long it took or how difficult it proved.

Of course, his vow didn't last. He had barely returned to Camelot when he found himself back in Queen Guinevere's bed.

After all, God had already rejected him. Why should a failure like him even try?

[whumperer-86]

Delightfully Deceitful ep14 (Bleeding Whump) the shot scene below the video

[bluejayblueskies]

ohhoooooo 96 + 9 for the 100 Drabble prompt?

drabble collection, whump edition

96 and 9 - Forced to Watch, Temperature

i've combined them - i hope that's okay!

cw: blood and injury, incl. self-inflicted

.

Of course the King didn’t keep his word. What did John fucking expect? A god of lies, of deceit, of fucking with you until your brain melted out through your own ears.

Of course he kicked Arthur, mangled and broken and covered in his own blood, through a portal and squarely into a snowy fucking wasteland.

The King closes the earthly side of the portal, like sliding one-way glass across the opening, and then watches with calm detachment as Arthur gasps at the cold. It doesn’t matter how much John yells—how much he pounds metaphorical fists against the metaphorical walls of his very real prison. The King seems content to lock John away inside him until—what, John grows docile? Fuck that. John is going to fight this until the heat death of the universe.

“You said you would heal him,” John spits as Arthur struggles to drag himself across the snow. His right leg is bent at all the wrong angles, and he leaves a sickening streak of violent crimson behind him as he slowly and painstakingly makes his way towards a—great, an abandoned cabin. Is that the King’s version of kindness? “You fucking liar.”

The King says nothing.

John should look away from the portal. He knows it’s there for his benefit—so he can watch the only person he’s ever cared about suffer, knowing with every aching fiber of his being that he’s suffering alone. He shouldn’t give the King the satisfaction of watching Arthur’s misery.

He doesn’t, though. He watches, and he spits insults at the person he once was, and he hopes—even though he knows it’s dangerous to do so—that Arthur will be all right.

[dandelion-wings]

Plunking away at the whump fic this morning, originally because I did genuinely want to write some of the gory bits, but then I got caught up in how I want to do flashbacks and I'm still not entirely certain how I'm going to handle them yet, but I made a test case of one of my favorites and as chunky as it is I do find myself self-indulgently fond of this format:

---

"I have only one other question for you," Antony says, cupping his teacup a little closer to his chest. It's a strangely protective gesture in so large and terrifying a creature, his hands completely dwarfing the cup. "Do you truly trust your Alberich enough to carry this scheme out? An Alberich founded this Order, you know."

"I didn't know."

"Yes. Out of desire to see his son made human again, as all of us desire. And yet... it was he who made our current leader his heir, and that heir who has caused so much suffering to those we swore to protect."

"Chlothar caused no small amount of suffering himself," Marian adds in a low mutter. The look Antony gives her is unreadable to Jean behind a Herald's helm, but Marian stares back defiantly a moment before both of them subside and turn their gazes back to her.

Jean hadn't known, and yet somehow it comes as no surprise. Kaeya had told her that the defectors had no reason to trust him, after all. She'd thought it was because of his mission as a spy and betrayal of same, and she has no doubt that he'd intended her to think as much, but the wry little smile when he'd said that there was old history....

He'd deceived her about that, in a sense, making her think it was something bound about with his father and too painful to directly touch. It's not the first time he's misled her in such a way. Kaeya has always laced a veil of deceit around himself, never showing his full hand even to her. And yet Jean can't mistrust him for it. The question doesn't even arise. He's bared enough.

(In the depths of their fight against Eroch's cronies, gone to ground after his dismissal and all the more difficult to root out, Jean had tired of Kaeya's hints and asked him to make her a list of those he suspected that she had missed. Unofficial, by necessity; if there was solid proof of any misdeeds, she would have already found it on her desk. But there were angles of investigation she could take that he could not, if only she could work out the bounds of the whole systemic mess instead of nibbling at its edges.

There had been twenty-two names on that list. A daunting number, even divided into the sections that Kaeya had so helpfully laid out.

"I suspect these of having some association with our dearly departed Inspector," he'd said, gesturing to the first and largest group of names. "Some by their connections to those we know about, and some by the rumors I've heard about their conduct. Not all of those associated with him were in the know, naturally, and others may have learned by unfortunate example, so you may be able to salvage some of them. But it's better to check, isn't it?"

"It is. And should those who've been tempted into misconduct prove innocent, they still must be retrained."

"That would be for the best. As for these below, I can't guarantee I'm right about them, either. But I'm quite certain Sir Alwin reports to the Lawrences, and these others are also spending well above their regular pay or family means. Sir Roswitha-"

"She's a spy for the Liyue Qixing," Jean interrupted him. "We're better off leaving her in place."

"Haha, that explains a few things. A little diplomatic exchange, hmmm?"

"I can't say."

"Of course not. Now, as to the last name on that list. That knight has a past with the Abyss Order, which shouldn't be too difficult to prove. I can give you references. But if you still want assistance with the rest of these, you'll want to deal with that matter last."

Jean hadn't been surprised then, either, when she glanced down to that last name. Not when Kaeya had drawn himself so straight before her, shoulders tight, hands low and spread as if to demonstrate they were empty. His smile was small, wry, already despairing, and there was a resignation in his eye that hurt to look at. There was a hitch in his voice on 'references' despite his attempt to maintain a casual tone.

It explained so much. That morning he'd come to her door with burns he begged her to help hide from the Ordo and a Vision he was twisting himself in circles trying to explain--she knew down to the core that he must have worn that same smile when he faced down Diluc. No wonder he'd so desperately insisted that it was justified, and that no one else could know.

And now he was offering her a bargain. He knew full well she wouldn't use him for this investigation, then put him in chains when it was done. Accept his help and accept his past--and accept his word that it *was* past, that it no longer mattered now--or arrest him now and eject him as a traitor with all the rest. It was her decision. She was the one responsible for excising the Ordo's rot.

She looked him in the eye as she reached for her quill. One hand on the list he'd given her, a list that he'd vanished for three days to provide and, from the shadow under his eye, had barely slept in making, she dipped it in her inkwell. Then she drew a thick, dark line across the bottommost name.

"I won't concern myself with the history of knights whose loyalty I trust," she'd told him, and watched all the tension run out of him at once. The flash of disbelief on his face made her chest twinge.

But then he'd straightened, breathing deep, his eye intent on her. "Where would you like to start?" he asked, tense anew the anticipation of action, like a hound who'd caught the scent straining to be unleashed. Jean had felt the weight of that command and sat straighter herself under it.)

All about her the monsters seem to loom closer, their attention fixed on her as they await her response. Despite the days she's spent forcing herself to relax in their presence, there's still a jangling in the back of her mind as battle-honed instincts scream *'threat.'* But she smiles genuinely at Antony nonetheless.

"Whatever his family's history, it has no bearing on Kaeya's present loyalties. I trust him with my life." She pauses, wondering whether this would be an insult--but surely they'll understand. "I mean no offense, but I am here among you, unarmed, on his word. I think that is proof enough."

"That's true," Marian murmurs, and Antony gives her another, swifter look and then nods himself. All around them, Lectors and Heralds and that great venerable Lawachurl relax. Something in Jean relaxes, too, as the fierceness of their attention fades.

[kitsune024]

Crossovers

MCU

blackugou widow by @wonhaebunny I Chapters: 11/? I BAMF Bakugou Katsuki, Reincarnation, Natasha reincarnates into Bakugou

Rurouni Kenshin

Echoes of Your Silence by LLewtwo, Popjeckdoom I Chapters 27/40 I Immortal Himura Kenshin

-

A Study In Deceit by @mentallyunawareofpapaya | Chapters: 15/? | Sherlock AU, Bakugou has the intelligence of Sherlock, Bakugou Katsuki & Todoroki Shouto Friendship, Bamf Bakugou, Psychological Horror Slope by sunfleurmoon | Chapters: 35/40 | Bakugou Katsuki Redemption, Bakugou gets expelled, Bakugou Whump, Torture, Bakugou adopts Eri, Quirkless Bakugou, Bamf Bakugou Your Sun in the Night Sky by @jothebakuho I Chapters: 10/11 I Bakugou Katsuki/Todoroki Shouto, This time Bakugou saves a kid instead of Midoriya- He gets too into it, Kid Fic Ground Zero by Windschild8178 I Chapters: 18/30 I Bamf Bakugou, Bakugou/Deku sibling shaninigans, Torture, Psychological Torture. Mental Anguish, Chronic Illness Standing at Ground Zero by @ladygreenfrisbee Chapters: 16/45 | Bakugou Katsuki/Midoriya Izuku but not main focus, training camp arc, Vigilante Bakugo Katsuki, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Bakugou doesn't get rescued, Canon Divergence The Ticking Time Bomb by @ladygreenfrisbee | Chapters: 15/25 | bakugo angst, Violence, All for One is a scheming monster, Dabbling in Quirks I Provide Protection by hitomi_mimii (PuffedGill) I Chapters 87/100 I Bakugou/FemOc, Cute fic, slow burn

Completed

Flip Off by @bern-the-bridge I Chapters 1/1 I one shot 5+1 Things, ooc Bakugou, Personality switch, Quirk Shenanigans Our Hero by @anonymoustwit I Chapters 8/8 I Earthquakes, Whump, Hurt!Bakugou, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Implied/Referenced Bullying, Bakugou Katsuki & Midoriya Izuku Friendship, Soft Bakugou Katsuki A Little Demonstration by @anonymoustwit I Chapters 3/3 I BAMF Bakugou Katsuki, Bullies, Protective Bakugou Katsuki, In This House We Appreciate Bakugou Katsuki, Bakugou Katsuki Is A One Man Protection Squad End of the Line by LinatheLoud I Chapters 10/10 I Bakugou Katsuki & Class 1-A, Bakugou becomes Class 1-A's medic, Class 1-A as Family, Graphic Descriptions of Injuries, Hero Public Safety Commission Bashing, Blood and Injury, Injury Recovery, you won't like All Might here

Bookmark Series

All That Is Left by @ladygreenfrisbee | Part 1 - 2 | Bakugou Katsuki/Midoriya Izuku, All for One, Possession, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Canon Divergence

[allthelittlecreepycrawlies]

Requested Ship: Zhuzhi-lang/Nie Huaisang (I have no idea what the ship tag for this is), specifically a sequel to this shortfic. Requester: solacegrief on Twitter The Whump Wheel chose... Poisoning! (I shit you not)

(warning for description of injury)

------------

The snake yao was bigger than any of the forms he could actually use in this world, but also more slow moving and much dumber.

Once Zhuzhi-lang had finished biting it full of holes and then tearing it to fine shreds, he abandoned the corpse and rushed back over to the human curled up on the ground. Nie Huaisang's breathing had started to turn into shallow, desperate gulps for air and sweat was pouring from his skin even as he shivered. The area around his neck and shoulder had turned a disgusting purple-green-black color with spreading threads of black where the venom had leeched under his skin, and the rest of him was a worrying tint of pale grey. Seeing his condition, Zhuzhi-lang momentarily wished he'd made the yao suffer longer. But no, that would have cut the time they had to fix the problem even shorter. As it was... The only guaranteed way to stop the venom before it could kill Nie Huaisang would be introducing his own blood.

But that would also mean revealing that he was a demon. Just because Nie Huaisang had been kind enough to give shelter and care to an intrusive animal, that didn't mean he would be fine with being bonded to a demon in any sort of fashion. But the alternative was too horrible to even think of, and he had to act immediately if he was going to be able to do anything at all, so without thinking about it any further, he crouched down and slid a hand under Nie Huaisang's neck to lift his head, then bit into his other wrist hard enough to draw blood. Just as he was about to press the bloody tear to Nie Huaisang's mouth, cloudy green eyes cracked open, only vaguely focusing on him. "Ah?"

Zhuzhi-lang went very still, then inhaled slowly. "Please forgive this one for his deceit, Nie-zongzhu. My blood is partially that of a heavenly demon, so it will cure you, but-" "Will it hurt you? Trap you?" Nie Huaisang asked, voice so weak even his ears strained to catch it. "No, Nie-zongzhu," Zhuzhi-lang replied, his own voice sticking in his throat at the fact that the human cared enough to even ask. "I will be perfectly safe." Nie Huaisang nodded weakly in acknowledgment, then his eyes closed again and he went limp. Swallowing hard, Zhuzhi-lang began to drip blood into his mouth, carefully tilting his head far enough to coax it down his throat. Then, once he was reasonably sure there was enough, he pressed a soft kiss against Nie Huaisang's forehead and fully laid him back down to wait and hope for the best.