#ballroom whump

[ccieatchildren]

A Dance, Darling?

TW: Noncon Kissing, Implied Kidnapping, Almost Panic Attack, Intimate Whumper, Forced Relationship

Whumpee brought their fingers up to rest on the rubies encircling their neck. It was not as extravagant as they had expected from him, but it was still hefty enough to feel each individual jewel press into their flesh, a constant reminder on their skin.

Leaving the necklace alone, disturbed by what it represented, their eyes travelled up to their face in the mirror. Their makeup was all red. Lipstick, eyeliner, eyeshadow, each a dark shade that could only be accomplished by Whumper mixing some of their own blood into the cosmetics. They shuddered at the memory of the experience.

Whumpee groaned as he made another cut on their back, pressing the clear vial under the opening. The blood prickled their skin as it made its path down into the small jar.

Whumper brushed his lips against their neck, “we have to make sure you look your best.” He pressed on each side of the wound, drawing out more of the scarlet substance. The flow of red now rushed into the container. 

They sobbed, while Whumper watched in fascination.

Underneath the bandages, their spine pulsated at the memory, and they could feel the beginning barbs of phantom pain. Whumpee shook their head, freeing themself from the thought. 

Moving along, their gaze moved further up to their hair. Whumper had asked– told– them to put the small red jewel feathers he gave them in between the locks. In any other situation, Whumpee quite enjoyed the look of them in their hair, it was as if their hair was a flower sporting red leaves, but here, their image was immediately soured by who gave them to them.

They frowned. Another chain.

Their hands moved down to follow the curve of their dress. It was a deep crimson, matching their makeup and jewellery, and flowed down to their ankles. A hole was cut out at their chest, causing Whumpee to scrunch up their nose in distaste. It was shoulderless with a high slit on their right side, showing off their leg and the scars that adorned it. 

Whumpee hated it.

They were not very used to wearing dresses in the first place. They would thought it beautiful on someone else, but it felt foreign on their own skin. It complemented their figure too well, emphasizing their chest, hips, and waist in a way that made them feel like a piece of meat on display. The slit showed much more skin than they were comfortable with and Whumpee was paranoid that they would accidentally flash someone. They kept tugging the fabric down, but there was nothing more for it to do. Whumper’s intent with the dress was clear. Flaunt the prized lamb he bought in the auction. 

However, they would prefer the objectification over the reason he actually chose this dress for them. 

Easier access.

It made them nauseous. Their fingers itched to rip and tear the dress off themself. Strip themself of the shame and fear.

Whumpee slammed their hands onto the sink, pulling their attention away from their apprehension and resentment. In, out. In, out. In… Out… Drawing in each breath worked to ease their misgivings. A technique Whumpee relied heavily on throughout their time here. Inhaling fresh air, exhaling all theirworries. 

A few seconds and Whumpee was back to their original state. 

Not normal, not calm. But manageable. Never fully calm again.

Their eyes drooped down to the final piece tying their ensemble together, the gold band that encircled their left ring finger. Part of them enjoyed covering up the scar from his teeth, hiding how they were now permanently tied to him. The other part of them knew this was just a fancier shackle. A more obvious cuff for the public eye.

They fiddled with the ring, twisting it back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth. God, they just wanted to throw it out the window and watch as it got lost to the city forever. 

They slowly pulled the bond up their finger, only thoughts of release and escape bouncing around their head.

“Do you like it?” 

Whumpee whipped their head around to see Whumper standing in the doorway. They shoved the ring back down.

He had pushed his hair back for once, the fluffy black locks smothered under a layer of gel. His suit was black, as was his tie, which were accompanied by a red vest and button up, matching their dress perfectly. He still wore the same three earrings, now pairing with their own red drops. Whumper had taken off his glasses, presumably switching them for contacts, emphasizing his dark lashes and ruby eyes.

He looked them up and down, unabashedly ogling, before finally settling on their face. “You look absolutely gorgeous, dear. Red looks nice on you.” 

“I prefer blue.”

Whumper’s lips twitched. “Are you ready? Best not to be late.” He swiftly turned around, ignoring the obvious last ditch attempt to rile him up, grabbing his keys and heading to the door. Whumpee trailed behind, already dreading the party.

————

The bright lights of the venue were the first thing to assault Whumpee’s eyes. They stepped out of the vehicle, admiring the show of excessive wealth, jumping at the slam behind them. Whumper tittered at their reaction; he had closed the car door behind them, chivalrous, as always.

Whumpee turned to glare at him, unamused. He initially looked surprised at their outward frustration toward him, before smiling once again.

Whumper offered them his elbow, red eyes boring into them, and Whumpee was quick to accept the proposal. “Off we go, my love.” Handing the keys off to the valet, he walked into the large building, practically dragging Whumpee with him.

It was an open ballroom, filled with people mingling, the low hum of talking almost overpowering the small orchestra playing music in the corner. It was decorated with an abundance of gold and white, adding to the affluent and lavish vibe. The middle of the room was open for couples who wanted to dance, the sides filled with tables holding various hors d'oeuvres and desserts. At the very end was a stage covered in balloons and banners, where the host would most likely give their toast.

Whumpee cringed at the overwhelming amount of people in the room. They had never been that much of a fan of parties, but now, their usual anxiety seemed to have increased tenfold. Their skin itched as if everyone was staring at them, checking them out, assessing their worth, finding their weaknesses. It reminded them of the tense stillness before a fight, not a party. The wounds across their back and stomach throbbed, their ever present pain intensifying, and making Whumpee even more self conscious. 

What if they could see them? What would they do then? Would they help them or find it amusing? What would Whumper do? 

This was too much. They couldn’t do this. Couldn’t pretend everything was fine. They needed to get out of here.

Panic crawled up their spine, and Whumpee slightly pulled away from Whumper, hoping to escape. But his grip was firm, and they were stuck pressed into him. Whumper’s body shook with light laughter at their alarm, peering down at them. Upon seeing their expression, however, he twitched.

Whumper pulled them even closer to him, “want to go back home, darling?” His eyes were softer than usual and his face contorted into a small frown, “do all the people frighten you?”

Whumpee nodded vigorously, pressing themself closer to him, trying to appeal to his affection for them.

Whumper placed his free hand on their cheek, and Whumpee nuzzled further into him. “Don’t worry, I’m here.” He seemed to think for a few seconds, watching them carefully, before his lips widened into a sharp smile. “As much as I would love to go back home with you,” he mockingly placed a hand over his chest, “and it truly does make me elated that you consider me your home now,” Whumpee flinched, recognizing their mistake, trying to draw back away from him, “but,” he wouldn’t let them go, “we prettied you for this. We can’t go before you meet everyone and indulge in the festivities. Can’t have it all go to waste, now can we?” He tutted at them.

Whumper continued to stare at them before they realized he wanted an answer. Whumpee slowly shook their head, accepting defeat, slumping down into themself.

Whumper patted their cheek before pulling back. “Kaip geras. Now let’s go, I already see someone I want to introduce you to.”

He pulled them along further into the room, and Whumpee took a deep breath, hoping, but failing, to prepare themself for the night to come.

————

The next hour or so was filled with Whumpee standing docilely next to Whumper, a smile plastered on their face while he spoke to everyone who came to greet him. 

It was the same thing over and over again. A name they wouldn’t remember, faces that blurred together, shallow compliments about their outfit, and, the worst of all, congratulations to the happy couple. 

Whumper keened at all the flattery, especially those of their dress and jewelry, making sure to pipe in that he was the one that purchased them for them, and, as they were expected to follow along, Whumpee thanked him for the “generous” gift from a loving fiancé. He always managed to squeeze in a kiss for the presents, tilting their head up and drawing Whumpee in whenever they expressed their gratitude. This only delighted the other guests, amused at the young couple’s public show of affection.

It was torture. 

Now Whumpee, thankfully, had finally gotten a small break from Whumper flaunting them off, standing on the sidelines and trying to drown their worries into a small flute of champagne. 

Never too far, Whumper was in the corner conversing with what they could only assume to be potential buyers, and, though he wasn’t facing them, Whumpee could still feel the ever present weight of his eyes watching them, making sure they didn’t run. As unnerving as it was, Whumpee preferred it over his stifling presence bearing down next to them. 

The hero scanned the room as their mind drifted. They could try to get help from the other people here, but Whumpee didn’t foresee much success through those routes. They recognized half the guests from files back in their old office, and those who weren’t publicly villains were most likely not much better either. 

However, even if they weren’t in the same circles as Whumper, what could Whumpee say that would convince them of their situation. Their last stunt as a hero left them humiliated and discredited; they looked crazy to the public eye. Someone who had lost their way and needed the guidance of some pristine charitable schmuck who graciously sacrificed themselves to help them. In the end, it would be their words against his, and no one would believe them. 

And on the small, small chance they did… Whumpee shivered at what Whumper would do to keep them with him, how he would take revenge for their defiance. They knew it wouldn’t just stop at them, and, as much as they despised it, the hero in them couldn’t let that happen.

As always, he had the upper hand. 

They were taken out of their musings by a gloved hand appearing in their line of sight, too deep in thought to notice Whumper had finished his conversation.

“Join me for a dance, mylimasis?” An award winning smile was plastered on his face, amusement obvious as he played the part of a perfect gentleman. Whumpee grimaced at the irony. 

Seeing no way out of it, Whumpee cautiously placed their hand in his, their trepidation bringing a small chuckle out of the man. Whumper gently brought them to the dance floor, joined by other couples who wished to sway with their partners. Whumpee brought their arms around his neck as he encircled their waist, skin crawling where he touched them. 

Whumper rocked them side to side at a slow pace, calming just by watching them. Whumpee scrutinized him, trying to understand his game; it wasn’t like him to do something so simple without an ulterior motive. 

His fingers started to tap along their waist, following the beat of the music in the background, while he continued to watch them. Whumpee stared back with the same intensity, struggling to smooth their face so they weren’t outright glaring at him. He seemed rather startled at their ‘sudden’ annoyance, eyes widening, before he sheepishly smiled at them. Their face must have slackened in confusion as he relaxed as well, returning to watching them. They continued like that, swaying in the crowd and looking at each other, for a small while. 

Finally, a blush spread across his cheeks, and Whumper quickly turned away. 

He’s like an embarrassed teen. 

They huffed slightly in disbelief, causing Whumper to turn back around at the sound. Realizing the awkwardness, he cleared his throat before asking. “Are you enjoying yourself so far?”

“Yes.”

He perked up. “Really?”

Whumpee sent him a dry look. Whumper visibly wilted and they scoffed, looking away. Seriously, again?

Letting their anger and frustration get the best of them wasn’t the smartest move, they knew that, but their proximity was putting Whumpee on edge, making them more irritable than usual. 

“You are going to have to get used to this,” Whumper said, breaking the silence. Whumpee turned back, shocked by his now blank face. “I’m tolerating your disrespect because we’re in public, and I recognize this is your first time being away from home in a long time. It makes you nervous, I understand that. But,” his fingers dug into their waist and Whumpee had to suppress a gasp, “when we’re officially wed, you’ll have to join me to these outings frequently as my wife.” He leaned down so their eyes were level, “I will not indulge this pitiful defiance of yours, then.” Whumper straightened back out, looking down at them, always able to make them feel small with just a glance. “So, I recommend you start familiarizing yourself with the appropriate behavior now.”

Fuck.

Whumpee gulped. They had screwed themself over.

Head bowed, Whumpee accepted defeat. It always ended like this, with Whumpee on their knees before Whumper, metaphorically or literally. They had no response other than to let themself be pulled every which way by Whumper.

Now pressed up against his chest, Whumper and Whumpee swayed as more and more partners made their way to the dance floor.

Leaning down once more, Whumper supplied their companion with more information. “Get ready, brangusis, it’s about to get fun.”

Noticing the crowd of couples, the small orchestra shifted into waltz, and everyone moved in sync. 

Whumper brought their clasped hands up and moved his other to their hip, brushing over an old wound. Whumpee harshly sucked in a breath before placing their hand on his shoulder. He commenced the dance, and Whumpee tried their best to keep up.

Step, slide, step, turn. 

Whumpee hyper focussed on their feet, trying to match his movements. They didn’t have much experience with ballroom dancing, having only taken a few classes as a joke with Bestie, and the one time Caretaker tried to teach them, though it hadn’t ended very well. Whumpee smiled at the memory: them and Caretaker a mess of limbs on the floor as Whumpee had slipped and doomed them both to a few more bruises across their body. They had been so out of breath from laughing when they couldn’t untangle themselves from each other. It had been a spur of the moment idea, some stupid thing meant to bring them closer together. It worked.

“Something funny?” 

Whumpee broke out of their reverie, not even realizing they had zoned out. Whumper’s mouth was a hard line, displeasure at not being the center of their attention apparent. 

It irked them how needy he always was. Kidnapping, experimenting, torturing, and assaulting them wasn’t enough?

They mumbled a quiet apology, peeking up at him through their lashes. It worked and Whumper eased with a blush. 

The musicians kept a steady adagio tempo, giving any more couples who wanted to join an extra moment. Whumpee slowly acclimated to the rhythm, matching Whumper’s moments not long after. 

“You were always a quick learner,” he laughed. Whumpee grimaced. 

As they danced, he squeezed and kneaded along their side, curious of their reactions. His fingers pressed into an old bruise and Whumpee staggered. He kept them balanced, yet began a game of finding where else he could push to get a pained response.

They tried to pull away from the pokes and prods, tottering with each failed attempt. They whined when he reached a fresh stitched gash. Whumpee could feel the meager string split under his pressure, spilling blood that wouldn’t be noticed under the crimson of their dress. 

Whumpee startled when their dance faltered for a moment, for once not because of them. They peered up at Whumper, surprised to find dilated eyes trained on their throat. 

“Don’t do that.” He ground out. 

Ah.

Whumpee was more than happy to obey. That train of thought would lead nowhere good for them. 

Screaming in pain would also most likely not bode well with the other guests. Whumpee sighed, nodding and gritting their teeth through his subtle exploration. Their head throbbed. 

The music picked up, pushing them to move even faster. Whumpee already felt dizzy from the quick paced movement, and Whumper’s tight hold over their still healing cuts was not helping. “Smile, love. People are watching.” He purred.

Heeding his warning, Whumpee stretched their mouth into some semblance of a smile, lips twitching from the strain, and kept dancing. Whumper relaxed his grip slightly, pleased with their obedience. 

Step, slide, step, turn.

Just as they were getting used to pushing the pain down to the rhythm, Whumper let go of their waist, spinning them. Whumpee stumbled, but he kept them moving, pulling them back in after they completed a turn. He seamlessly continued their dance, not giving Whumpee a break to get their bearings, delighting in their increasing disorientation. 

Step, slide, step, turn.

He continued to spin Whumpee every few steps, quietly laughing at their mounting nausea. However, each time their expression began to display their discomfort, Whumper would lean down to mutter a reminder of what would happen if they didn’t keep up the facade. His own twisted form of encouragement. 

“I don’t like to share, sweetheart. Those expressions are only for me.”

Step, slide, step, turn.

“Many guests are watching us love, don’t disappoint them with your sour countenance. I don’t want them gossiping about how I have an unruly wife.”

Step, slide, step, turn.

“You look marvellous when you spin. My pretty little thing. Keep going.”

Step, slide, step, turn.

“Your dress makes me want to add more red. How about the blood of everyone here, ęh? Do we want to see?”

Step, slide, step, turn.

“Don’t fall. I’ll get jealous. And we will have to fix that by adding bruises of my own.”

Step, slide, step, turn.

Vomit slithered up their throat. Their eyes burned with the effort to keep it down, despite the writhing of their stomach and the taste of maggots in their mouth.

A particularly fast whirl caused Whumpee to lose their footing, almost bringing them both to the floor. Whumper was quick enough to avoid disaster, but it put them out of sync with the music for several beats. 

“Watch it, Whumpee. You will not ruin this for me.” He said harshly. “Keep slipping and I’ll snip your legs.”

The again didn’t need to be said. 

But, Whumpee was trying their best, except every movement only exacerbated their aches and exhaustion. Their breathing became laboured and their limbs felt heavy, their beaten body unable to keep up with the overexertion. 

They wanted to tap out now. 

Whumpee tried to pull away, releasing his shoulder and stepping out of his grasp, only for his grip on their other hand to constrict. Whumper drew them back in, gracefully spinning them as he did so, and pulling them up against his chest in a flourish. They gasped as he once again agitated their wounds.

“Where are you going zuikutis? We’re not done yet.” He pinned them even closer to him, leaning down to whisper in their ear. “I can hear your heart hammering. Does our dancing make you that excited?” Whumpee tried to pull away, but their efforts were fruitless. Their body was drained and Whumper was holding them too tight. 

They were about to slump against him, give in and let Whumper sway them on the floor, accept whatever punishment he saw fit, but before they could fully relax, he pulled back, placing their arms once again in the position for a waltz. His expression was harsh, “I said we weren’t done yet, mielasis.” Whumpee flinched, eyes shifting to the people outside the dance floor, but he started to move them once more.

Whirling and pulling. Twisting and pulling. Spinning and pulling. Pulling. Pulling. Pulling.

They can’t keep up.

The music seemed to intensify with their panic. Whumpee could hear their pulse pounding in their ears. The sound of their harsh breathing contrasted with Whumper’s controlled ones. The voices at the edge of the room grew. Tapping of shoes on the pristine floor echoed in their head.

Each sound pushed against their skull, battling one another for space in their mind. Whumpee began to wobble more, unsteady feet tripping their partner. Hands clawing at whatever they held. Chest tightening. Vision blurring. Throat closing. Tired. Hot. Dizzy. 

Let go. Let go. Let go. Let go. Let go. LET GO-

“Breathe, it’s over.”

A hand rubbed soothing circles along their back. Whumpee blinked rapidly, vision and mind slightly clearing. They found themself leaned down, hovering over the floor.

The song had finished. Whumper had dipped them. 

The crowd around them released small whoops and cheers for all the dancers, surrounding the couple with the sharp clap of applause. Whumpee tensed. Whumper hurried to calm them.

“Ramiai, ramiai vargšas.” He slowly pulled them back to their feet. “I see I got carried away. This was too much for you.” Whumper told them softly. “We’ll work on it.”

Whumpee couldn’t process what he was saying, too busy trying to return to the world around them. They were pliant as he led them off the dance floor.

They spent the next few minutes leaning into Whumper as they calmed themself down. If they could think clearly, Whumpee would have pulled away from him long ago, but they simply did not have the mental capacity for hatred or fear right now.

After they reached a more coherent state, he spoke. “I’m going out for a smoke.” Whumpee was still breathless from their dancing, barely able to catch up to what he was telling them. “You don’t have to join me, I know how much you hate it. But,” Whumpee suddenly grabbed their arm, throwing them off balance once more.

“Stay here.” They didn’t think they could anywhere if they wanted to, they were too light headed from dancing. That was probably the point. “I’ll be back in 10 minutes.” 

Whumper examined them a final time, before nodding to himself. He steered Whumpee to a corner, despite their, almost drunken, stumbling. Then, they were on their own. 

They felt the need to cry, the tears pressing against the back of their eyes, but they- they just- it wasn’t working. They couldn’t. Not here. They just needed to focus on their breathing. 

They leaned against the wall, thankful for its cool surface, hoping to steady themself. 

In… Out… 

In… Out…

In… Out… 

Rhythmic breathing slowed their racing heart. Air stopping its fight in their lungs. Muscles no longer protesting as loudly. Whumpee’s body finally calmed from the stress of his waltz. 

They took a few more moments to themself, forehead pressed firmly against the plaster. Just breathing. Mind emptying. Preparing for a few more hours of struggle.

They could do this. 

“Whumpee.” A hand landed on their shoulder, warm and familiar. They jolted, spinning around. They froze once their gaze landed on Caretaker.

Her dress, a fitted corset around her middle that flowed out into a long skirt, was a striking cerulean color that complimented her eyes. There was a large collar that covered from her neck to her shoulder, decorated with sapphires, holding a sheer cape that flowed down to trail behind her. Her makeup used only various shades of blue, highlighting her dark skin. 

They felt their eyes water faintly at the sight of such a familiar face. It had been too long.

“C-Caretaker!” Whumpee cringed at their own voice, simultaneously too rough and too bright. “Wh-what a surprise. It’s been a while.” Whumpee tried to keep their cool. They couldn’t drag her into this, they wouldn’t, no matter how much they might want to.

A whirlwind of emotions flashed through Caretaker’s eyes, too quick for Whumpee to tell what she was feeling, before hardening, anger and determination shining through. “Where were you! I- We kept looking for weeks.” Her gaze saddened slightly, “I- I thought something had happened to you. When you didn’t answer after you went in… I was worried, and then the incident-”

“Well!” Whumpee clapped their hands together, effectively cutting off the woman. “As you can see I’m fine. Didn’t they tell you where I was? My comm broke, nothin’ serious.” They told her carefully. “And, you know I had that vacation lined up,” their lips stretched into a shaky smile. “That’s all. Nothing to get so worked up about!” They laughed. Whumpee hoped their expression was convincing enough.

“But-”

Whumpee sighed. “Look, I know I never reached out-”

“What- Never reached out! I sent you so many messages, you missed all my calls.” That was because Whumper had taken their phone. “You never miss my calls.” Whumpee stiffened. That was very true. They made sure to never miss a call from her again. “Then one day you just told me to stop contacting you completely!” They hadn’t known about that, though Whumpee wasn’t very surprised. 

Caretaker averted her gaze. “D-did I do something wrong? I would’ve left you alone if you had just told me what really happened.” She grabbed Whumpee’s hands. “I just- I-…” The woman paused, taking a deep breath before continuing. “You’re someone I care deeply about, I thought we were close. I-I needed to make sure you were okay… I’m sorry.” Her body slumped, the rage and conviction seeping out, dropping Whumpee’s hands. All that was left was a tired, worried friend.

As they watched their partner deflate, Whumpee realized something. Here she was, one of the few people willing to look for them, and all Whumpee could do was brush them off. As much as they hated it, however, they were firm in their belief; they would not rope Caretaker into this. It was not safe. They had faith in her ability as a hero, but Whumpee had seen, had experienced, what Whumper could do first hand, and they would not take the risk. They would never forgive themself if something happened to her.

But they would not leave Caretaker with nothing either. 

Whumpee bent down, hoping to console their companion. “No, Caretaker, I-”

“You never introduced me to your lovely acquaintance here, dear.” Whumpee bolted back up, putting as much distance between the two of them as they could. The man now next to them, leaned down, extending a hand to Caretaker while the other wrapped around their waist. “Whumper. Whumpee’s fiance .”

Caretaker’s eyes widened in shock, recognition flashing, before she smoothed her expression out into a smile. “I see! It’s nice to meet you. I’m Caretaker, Whumpee’s friend, their partner.” She took his hand, squeezing tightly. They silently stared off at each other, before Whumper drew his hand back and straightened. “Y’know, Whumpee never mentioned they were dating anyone.” The accusation was clear in her tone.

Whumper’s fingers twitched. “Well, we wanted to keep our relationship a secret. Taking the time to tell everyone would be a hassle if we weren’t sure. And you know how annoying those pesky reporters can be.” The arm around their hips tightened slightly, a warning. “Right, Whumpee?”

Whumpee straightened, trying to school their face into that of a happily engaged person. “Y-Yes- yes, of course. Sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. A-as you can see,” they waved in his direction, “this was also part of why I took that time off.”

Don’t ask more. Do not ask more. Please.

“Huh… Then, when you set the wedding date do tell me Whumpee. I would love to come.” 

Whumper twitched again, his eyes darkening. “When we do, I’ll be sure you are the first one to know.” He shifted, turning slightly, planning to drag Whumpee off with him. “Now, there are-”

“Oh!” She grabbed Whumpee’s arm to stop them. Whumper glared at the offending limb, and Whumpee could practically see the violence run through his brain. “One more thing,” Caretaker’s smile became strained and her eyes narrowed. “Whumpee, when do you plan on getting back to work? I know you said you were taking a vacation, a very important one at that, but all vacations end, right? You’re very important to the agency, and the boss is starting to get worried. You’ll have to come back soon, you know how they get-” 

Whumper cut in, pulling them out of her grasp, not giving Whumpee a chance to speak, composure slipping. “No.” He glared down at Caretaker, who stiffened and glared back in response, fists at her sides. Whumper cleared his throat. “Now if you’ll excuse us, there are more introductions Whumpee and I must make. Come along, darling.” 

Whumper bent down, cupping Whumpee’s face and smashing their lips together. Instinctively, their hands went up to rest on his chest, neither pushing away nor pulling closer. The acrid tang of smoke invaded their nostrils and the sour taste of tobacco stuck to their tongue. Their eyes scrunched close, they didn’t want to do this in front of Caretaker. Whumper felt their resistance, tightening his arm painfully until they finally kissed back, instead wrapping their arms around his neck. 

Just sell it.

Whumpee felt Whumper instantly soften at their touch, as always, relaxing into the kiss. He kept them there together for another few seconds before they broke for air. 

When they turned to look at Caretaker, her face was filled with horror. Her arms were limp at her sides and she gawked at them with dread. Whumper smirked, a cat who got his cream, before turning and taking Whumpee along with him, the arm around their middle again a vice. 

While they walked away, Whumpee turned their head one last time to look at Caretaker, silently pleading that she didn’t pry even further. Caretaker nodded, hands once again fists, with determination in her eyes. 

Whumpee didn’t think that Caretaker understood what they were asking her to do. 

This wouldn’t end well.

[suspensefulpen]

Ballroom Waltz

TW: Discussions of Torture and Kidnapping, Bad Caretaker, Multiple Whumpers

“I really think you should meet them.” Caretaker nodded with a smile. “I think you’d like them a lot.” 

“They sound interesting.” Whumper One hummed before taking a sip of his champagne. He glanced to his right, scanning over all of the faces on the dance floor. “You got me out here, I would at least like to see them. You make them seem like they’re the best thing on this Earth.” 

“Oh, they are.” Caretaker nodded again. “They’re quite wonderful. I’ve known them for about four or five years now. They’re really sweet.” 

“Is that right?” Whumper One squinted at him. “Since when do we keep secrets from each other Caretaker?” 

“I know, I know. But you’ve been so distant lately, especially with me moving away and all. I thought maybe you didn’t want to be bothered. So I just kept it to myself.” Caretaker shrugged, looking down in his own glass. “I kind of miss the good old days Whumper One.” 

He turned his gaze back to the sea of people waltzing out on the dance floor. “Is that why you bought this building?” 

“Yeah… Kind of.” Caretaker nodded. “I just wanted to relive a few memories with you. I realize that’s the only way to get you to come out anymore.” 

Whumper One smiled. “You know I like to have fun, Caretaker. How could I turn such an invitation down?” 

“That’s why I asked you to come.” He smiled back. 

Whumper One remembered back when he and Caretaker were young. Whumper Two too. Whumper Two always threw balls every weekend just so the three of them could have fun. During every one of them, they’d pluck out a lucky guest to torture for a couple of weeks. They always picked a stray. One that no one would notice if they suddenly went missing. Once they were finished having fun, they’d toss them aside and move on to a new one. And of course, they made sure the guest wouldn’t make a peep about what happened to them. If they so much as thought about it, their life would be on the line. 

One night they found themselves a guest lingering near them way longer than necessary. Without a second thought, they quickly made them their target. That night was the biggest mistake of their lives. 

Whumper One cleared his throat, attempting to ignore the pain slowly seeping into his calf. “So, have you heard from Whumper Two lately?” 

“Whumper Two told me he would be here. He should be on his way.” 

“So exactly what part of our memories did you want to relive?” He faced Caretaker again, giving him a look. “The part where we danced the night away, getting as drunk as we possibly can? Or the part after that?” 

Caretaker smirked behind his glass. “I think you know which part I mean.” He took a sip. “I say we do that. But we add a little aftercare afterward?” 

“Aftercare…” Whumper One repeated, as if the word was unfamiliar to him. 

“Yes,” Caretaker nodded. “Think about it. What’s more scary? Knowing you’ll be hurt, or not knowing who you can actually trust?” His smirk turned wicked. 

Whumper One tried his best to hold back a laugh. “And here I was thinking you felt like you were getting too old for this. And that was why you moved away.” 

“Isolation.” He raised a brow at Caretaker. “Think about it, Whumper One. We’re in the middle of nowhere. No one can hear a thing. Last time won’t happen again. Even if they do scream. Everyone will be too busy dancing and drinking to even pay it any mind. Nobody would even care.” 

“And this person you’ve been talking about…they aren’t actually your friend are they?” Whumper One narrowed his eyes. Silence followed his question as Caretaker shifted his attention elsewhere, his smirk never faltering. Whumper One only laughed. “You’ve gotten worse than me.” 

“I can’t blow my cover yet though. I’ll let you and Whumper Two take the lead.” 

“So you’re not gonna help at all?” He raised a brow. 

“Oh I will. I absolutely will. I’ll feed you information.” 

Whumper One slowly began to realize Caretaker’s plan. So that’s what this aftercare thing is all about. This is all so we can break them more easily. This was also why he never told me about them and pretended to be their friend. He was planning all of this from the beginning. Whumper One smirked. “You’re a real sick bastard, you know that?” 

“I learned from the sickest.” Caretaker’s own smirk turned into a soft grin. He made eye contact. “You can break someone more than physically, you know.” 

“You know what, I–” 

“They’re here. Stay there.” Caretaker whispered before walking away. Whumper One watched him walk across the room to the person standing cluelessly by the door. He squinted as the two greeted each other before Caretaker began ushering them towards Whumper One. When they got closer, Whumper One noticed how well dressed they were. Draped in fine fabrics from head to toe, one could only assume the amount of wealth they had. They were very beautiful as well. It was a bit hard to ignore that. Whumper One imagined they looked just as beautiful when they were crying. “Whumpee, this is my great friend, Whumper One.” 

Whumpee smiled. “It’s nice to meet you, Whumper One. Caretaker talks a lot about you.” 

Whumper One did his best to suppress the surprise in both his tone and his expression. Not only were they gorgeous, they had an angelic voice to go with it. “Is that right? I’m assuming they were all of my failures and embarrassments.” 

“No, of course not.” They shook their head. “He tells me a lot about how you two grew up together and you were really close friends.” 

Whumper One glanced up and the grin Caretaker wasn’t even trying to hide. He stood straighter, adjusting his suit jacket. “Well it’s nice to meet you too. Any friend of Caretaker’s is a friend of mine.” Whumper One placed his glass down on a nearby servant’s empty tray. He held his hand out. “How about a dance? We get to know each other for a bit, yeah?” 

Whumpee looked surprised but took his hand anyway. “Oh, alright. Sure.” 

Whumper One led them out onto the dance floor. He quickly noted how much smaller Whumpee was compared to him, only coming up to his shoulder. He threw a smirk over his shoulder at Caretaker. 

This should be fun.

Part 2

[paintingaportraitofpain]

thinking about ballgowns being used in captivity, metal weights being attached to crinolines, the hems of floor-length gowns being glued to the floor, the top half of a whumpee able to move, but the bottom half completely trapped

[iwritewhump]

"don't make me go back" + white knuckles + used as bait + ballroom

day four of whumptember

1008 words

warnings:

~~

Villain paces back and forth in the living room, hands held behind her back. Her entire team sits anxiously in the room with her. Henchman jots down ideas and shows them to Medic, who in turn writes down his ideas to show them. 

Whumpee sits on the couch, a blanket wrapped protectively around himself. He stares at the ground and runs a hand absentmindedly over his scarred shoulder. 

Villain stops and turns to her team, “Ok.” She says, a hand running through her hair. “I have a plan.” 

She looks at Whumpee and he shrinks into the blanket, “Please just let me stay here. I don’t think I’m ready for anything else. It’s only been a month.” 

Medic reaches out to him and puts a hand on his arm, “We’ll keep you safe.” 

Whumpee smiles and shifts uncomfortably, pulling his arm just out of Medic’s reach. 

“We will, though.” Villain says, still looking at Whumpee. “Keep you safe. Trust me, this is the only way we defeat Hero. We’ll go to the ball he’s throwing tonight, cause a whole lot of havoc and make sure he’s never alone with Supervillain.” 

Whumpee stands up and disappears from the living room, the blanket trailing behind him. 

“I’ll go talk to him.” Villain says, already following him down the hallway. “The rest of you: get ready for tonight, we’ll leave in two hours.” 

She knocks on his door and pushes it open. 

“Hey,” She says, poking her head in the room. “Can I come in?” 

Whumpee looks at her from the floor. His eyes are shining with tears and he sniffles, “Don’t make me go back.” 

“Oh,” She breathes, sitting down next to him. She inhales deeply and holds her open hand out to him. He takes it reluctantly and lays his head on her shoulder. “Hero needs to see you tonight.” 

His grip on her hand tightens, turning his knuckles white, “Why do I have to be there? Hero knows what everyone looks like. Medic or Henchman can distract him.” 

“Medic’s staying in the van and Henchman needs to keep an eye on Supervillain.” 

“And why can’t you do it?” Whumpee spits. “Why can’t you keep him busy?” 

Villain deflates a little and sinks further down the wall, “I’m not enough. Hero doesn’t care about me. It has to be you.” 

Whumpee sobs and lifts his head off of Villain’s shoulder. He stands up and brushes himself off before offering a hand to Villain. “Ok, if it’s the only way, I guess I’ll do it.” 

She smiles and takes his hand, letting him help her up. “I’ll get you something to wear.” 

And so that’s how the four of them end up at Hero’s banquet, dressed up finer than most of them ever had been. Whumpee’s arm is linked with Villain’s as they enter the ballroom. 

The gentle classical music spreading from the live band in the back of the room mixed with the roaring chatter of all the attendees sets Whumpee’s nerves on edge, but just as he’d done a dozen times before, he takes a deep breath, relaxes his shoulders and melts into the crowd. Only this time, he’s searching for Hero instead of avoiding him. 

With Villain slipping into a nearby conversation, Whumpee feels at ease being able to hear her polite laughter ringing in his ears. He spots Hero and his entire body freezes. 

“Whumpee!” someone calls from a few feet away. 

He turns and smiles, “Mentor!” running up to her, he throws his arms around her and tucks his chin in the crook of her neck. “What are you doing here?” 

She smiles and pulls back just enough to look at him, “I heard you’ve had an invite to all of Hero’s banquets so I did my best to get an invite. I was getting kinda worried since I haven’t really heard from you, but you’re alright?” 

Whumpee smiles and nods, not quite comfortable with the lie. He was technically doing all right. Better than he’d been, and that’s close enough, isn’t it?

“Good. Do you still…work with Hero?” she smiles and cups his cheeks with her hands. 

Oh right. 

He’d assumed that Hero hadn’t really let it out that he’d left, but for some reason, in the back of his head, he figured that he’d told everyone that something happened and they’d split. 

“No,” Whumpee says, pulling away from her slightly. “We, uh, well. I actually-” A hand grips his shoulder, nails digging into his skin, “He’s been so busy with volunteering that he’s not had much time with me.” 

Whumpee’s blood runs cold. He cowers slightly and the smile he plastered on is slowly chipped away as Hero’s grip on his shoulder tightens. 

“Isn’t that right, dear?” Hero spits. 

Whumpee swallows thickly and nods. He takes a step back so he’s standing right next to Hero. Hero lets his arm hang at his side and nods. 

Whumpee does the same and laughs nervously, “Yeah! I just…love to help the community.” 

“Oh, you always did love to help,” Mentor says with a smile. 

“Well,” Hero says, holding his hand out for her to shake, “It was great to chat, but Whumpee and I should probably make our rounds.” 

Before she can even respond, Hero’s walking away with a hand around Whumpee’s waist, whisking him to the hallway. 

“What the hell are you up to?” He spits, pushing Whumpee against the wall with an arm against his throat. “Aren’t you happy hiding with Villain and her friends?” 

Whumpee closes his eyes, “I’m…” 

“Shut up!” Hero snaps, pushing him harder against the wall. “We’re going to have a good night, you’re going to smile and chat and drink…and when it’s all over you’re going to stay here with me. No going back to Villain, no leaving my side. Do you understand?” 

Whumpee nods. 

Hero lowers his arm and Whumpee gasps, hands on his chest as it heaves. “Come on, link your arm with mine and let’s get back to the party before Villain notices we’re gone.”

~

part two

[lili-loves-whump]

can u write abt a hero and villain who everyone thinks is enemies but r actually in love??

Love ur writing!!

heeeeeeey anon, sure I can do that!!

lili-loves-whump presents:

Sky Blue Ties

Hero patted down the fabric of their suit. Their hair was pulled into a ponytail, slick at the back of their head. It hurt.

Their suit was deep black, and as they walked up to the door of the ballroom, the music slipped through the crack in the door.

Grand piano tunes.

Crashing violin melodies.

Flutes- so many different notes in flute.

Hero took a final deep breath, before stepping inside and beginning to walk- float, almost- down the steps.

"(HONORIFIC - LADY OR SIR) (FIRST NAME) (LAST NAME)," the caller boomed, his projection reaching the end of the hall. The king and green sat, a glass in each of their hands, watching with pursed lips as they continued down the steps.

Their eyes swept the room, trying to find someone they knew.

Medic was by the punch bowl, discreetly using a dropper to distribute the pink liquid into a tiny vial. They shook it around, frowning as the grapefruit-coloured juice turned a deep indigo.

"Medic," Hero muttered, bowing their head slowly, "do you remember the plan?"

"Of course, Hero," Medic said simply, sharp eyes squinting. "But why were you announced as (FIRST NAME LAST NAME)?"

Hero squirmed in their suit and rubbed a hand over their neck. A smear of foundation came away with their fingertips.

"I need an alibi, daring Medic."

Medic seemed content with this, smirking and turning towards the dance that had ensured. "Don't drink the punch," they said, blending into the crowd.

Hero looked around slowly, ignoring the whispers around them.

"Have you seen the person in blue?"

"Sky blue- yes. Like that person's tie, right there."

"Their looking at us! Oh, you fool, you should have said nothing!"

Hero glanced down at their tie, sky blue with embroidered clouds, before glancing over their shoulder.

Villain was dressed in a sky-blue jumpsuit, the fabric flowing off their body like silk. They caught Hero's eyes and smirked, stepping forward.

"Hey, darling," they purred, "I knew the matching was a good idea. Care to dance?"

Hero went bright red, against their better judgement. They glanced at the food table, and the alcohol spiked punch, then back at Villain, a playful smirk dancing on their lips. Wit a sigh, they extended their hand.

"Sure."

Villain took their hand and bowed, holding back a chuckle as Hero did the same. The pair walked away, ignoring Medic muttering under their breath.

"Not in love, my ass. Go have fun, Hero. I'll continue the mission on my own, apparently."

[themerrywhumpofmay]

Merry Whump of May 2024 Prompts

Event tags: #mwm2024 #themerrywhumpofmay #mwmday[X]

Thank you everyone for your patience in waiting for this post. We can't wait to see what you create this year! Have fun!

Image text under the cut-

Transcription:

ABOUT THE EVENT

The Merry Whump of May is an event run by @wormwriting and @painsandconfusion. There are 31 days of prompts to be completed each day of May. Feel free to do as much or as little as you’d like. 

Prompts can be filled in prose, poetry, art, or any other medium you resonate with. 

There will be participation and completionist medals in downloadable pdf format.

Prompts

01 - Breathless “Get back in there” | Ring box | Cliff

02 - Scorching “Don’t you dare.” | Glasses | Storage Shed

03 - Lost “See what happens.” | Screwdriver | Club

04  - Forgettable “Who are you?” | Lamp | Alleyway

05 - Strained “Put that down.” | Electrical wires | Plane

06 - Suspicious “You thought you could get away with this?” | Barbed wire | Riverside

07 - Fallen “Forget about them.” | Piano | Edge of town

08 - Pitch black “I’m fine.” | White-hot blade | Passenger seat

09 - Frostbitten “You’re nothing” | Blanket | Parking lot

10 - Jaded  “Revenge is a dish best served.” | Mask | Rooftop

11 - Numb “Pretty little thing.” | Bracelet | Stairwell

12- Known “Let me hear you.” | Garrotte | Desert

13 - Restless “Tell me how it feels.” | Needle | Trail

14 - Punchable “I just want you.” | Rock | Closet

15 - Stone-cold “Let me hold you.” | Candle | Cellar

16 - Naive  “Say aaaaa-” | Whip | Library

17 - Hungry “Wait, are you afraid of me?” | Fork | Lake

18 - Conditioned “Why do you love them?” | Record player | Ballroom

19 - Distracted “Rot in hell.” | Soup | crate

20 - Alone “Don’t tell me you forgot about me.” | Lipstick | Training grounds

21 - Charismatic “Sit.” | Vial | Balcony

22 - Charred “It’s been too long.” | Straps | Rafters

23 - Overthrown “Close your eyes.” | Rock | Truck

24 - Shadowed “Break a leg!” | Plants | Cave

25 - Practical “I’ve always loved the rain.” | Bottle | Shop

26 - Resilient “Get in.” | Pocket | Marsh

27 - Mistrusted “You’re trembling.” | Dagger | Couch

28 - Loyal “Smile.” | Water | Workshop

29 - Reflective “Chin up.” | Trap | Office

30 - Tenacious “Did you have a bad dream?” | Paper clip | Doorway

31 - Broken “Last one.” | Key | Under the bed

Alternate Prompts

Hidden

Waking

Betrayed

Garish

Garden

Theater

Docks

Street corner

“Lean on me.”

“I don’t have regrets.”

“Take me.”

Shoe

Ribbon

Corset

Crown

[redd956]

Mini Whump Prompt 161

"Dance with me." Whumper commanded in an asking tone, already taking Whumpee's hands into theirs, and leading them onto the ballroom floor.

[mrs-elsie-barnes]

The Old Gods and The New - Chapter 12

Black White and Midnight Blue | Loki x Reader

You and Loki repay your debt to the Avengers by attending Baron Zemo's exclusive Hampton's dinner. But when an unexpected guest arrives, you find yourself the centre of attention.

Warnings: Baron Zemo chat (I hate that guy), mention of PTSD and anxiety for reader, angst, whump/hurt (the comfort comes next chapter!)

A/N: I'm so sorry this has taken ages and it's not the extra long chapter I promised because, in the end, the extra bit just made sense further along in the story telling. We're really moving the plot along at pace in this chapter and revealing a bit more about our antagonists so I hope you enjoy it. Thanks for sticking with this!

Divider by @firefly-graphics

Series Masterlist | Loki Masterlist | Masterlist

There was a time in your life when you had only ever dreamt of sitting beside the Avengers in their luxurious top floor office, discussing plans to save the world. Like everyone else, you’d seen the news, watched the footage of them battling in New York and been awed by their bravery and prowess. But now, seeing them argue and having felt their fear and wrath, you only felt cold. 

Their icy demeanors hadn’t thawed since you returned, the truce between the heroes and Loki was dangerously thin, held together only by Thor’s surprisingly adept diplomacy and their need for you. 

Below the table you felt the only warmth in the room, Loki’s hand on your thigh, pressing his fingertips just a little harder than normal, to help you feel grounded. Below the surface you could feel his magic thrumming, restrained in its frustrations, straining against its bonds in an attempt to be freed. It was a feeling you could empathise with, your magic called back to him, coiled inside of you ready to strike. 

The poor weather of mid autumn had kept you trapped inside and unable to practise the depths of your magic as you wanted to. But when you were alone together, your sedir tangled with his and had allowed you to make and support illusions both beautiful and romantic. 

You sighed, bathing in the memory of Loki twirling you around his bedroom, transformed for the evening into a miniature Asgardian ballroom.

Hands clasped, one steadying palm at the small of your back as the waltz rose around you. His intricate steps leading you into dizzying turns. 

Your memories blurred together, dances from aeons past melting into this perfect evening. 

“Are you two listening to me?” Steve barked, hands on his hips as he commanded the room, a large leather binder spread open on the table in front of him. 

“Of course we are, Captain.” Loki drawled, a note of disdain lingering in the otherwise quiet room. 

“Yes, Captain Rogers.” You answered, earning a tickle of long fingers along the inside of your knee from Loki. 

Such a good girl 

A teasing warmth spread over your skin, starting in the dimple of soft flesh that Loki had pinched and up your spine. 

I just want to get this done with

“As I was saying,” he coughed, flipping a page in his folder, “Loki and Estrid -” 

“Oh, you don't have to start using that name-” you interjected. 

Since returning from Tønsberg you’d shared your new name with the group for clarity. But it still felt odd to have an entirely different identity. Though there were things you could become accustomed to, your new name was proving to be a sticking point. 

“Loki and Estrid -” Steve continued. 

“Lady Estrid,” Loki interrupted, leaning forwards across the table and flourishing a gold pen from the thin air around his hand, “if you're going to ignore her wishes, you could at least be correct, Captain, allow me to update your little record for you. It’s Lady Estrid, Princess of -” 

“If you want to use it, then just Estrid is fine.” You took the pen from his hand and placed it carefully on the table where it melted into the surface leaving a faint trace of gold.  

“Darling you should -” 

“It’s fine, Loki, let’s just-” you tipped your head towards the waiting team and raised your eyebrows. 

Please, let it go

Never, you deserve to be treated with respect, especially from these cretins

I know, I know, but the sooner we’re done here the sooner we can just leave

Loki scowled, but turned back to Steve, “continue.” 

Steve returned the scowl and went back to his book, “Loki and Estrid will use their powers to infiltrate the party and separate at the bar, your new identities will be in your briefing packs and outfits will be provided. Although I suppose, should the need arise, you will both be able to create disguises. Should you be compromised this will be key to your escape. 

“Loki, you’ll head to the office room so that you can break into the safe. There should be a laptop in there with - well, possibly best if you don’t know. But it’s important. Estrid you’ll be keeping people away, providing cover as this is your first op. Loki, you should hand the laptop over to Natasha who’ll be waiting here -” a map flashed up above the desk in the same, obnoxiously bright blue and orange that all of Stark’s designs seemed to favour.

You and Loki leant back in your chairs to get a better look. “Natasha will be waiting in the first of the get-away vehicles. It’s important that you both stay at the party for at least a short while so as to not raise suspicions. When it’s time for you to leave we’ll let you know through your comms. Understood?” 

“Understood,” you nodded at Steve. 

“Loki?” The Captain stared pointedly at the Prince sitting next to you who had become so bored he’d produced a nail file from somewhere and was carefully tidying up the edge of his middle finger.  

“You understand that I’m a God? This is not the first time I’ve been in a raiding party.” Loki raised one eyebrow, “I think between us we’re perfectly capable. Now, my darling, can we leave?” Loki had a way of speaking to you as if there was no one else in the room, clear and direct, his eyes focussed on you entirely and it made you tingle all over. 

“Yes, we can go.” You allowed yourself a small smile at his impatience and took his outstretched hand, allowing your gaze to rise up his lean, muscular body. 

The two of you had barely left Loki’s rooms since your date, snuggled together in blissful solitude morning and night. Just being in the conference room felt painful and you longed to return to the comfort of Loki’s bedroom. 

“But we still have -” Steve started. 

“My Ásynja has said that it’s time for us to go,” Loki cut off Steve’s protests and turned his back on the Avengers, tucking your hand into his elbow and leading you back to his quarters. 

The light glimmered off your dress as you stepped from the dark interior of the limo and out onto into the softly lit courtyard of Baron Zemo’s Hampton’s residence. Behind the tall gates and stone walls, New York’s most wanted were being wined and dined while the Avengers set up their checkpoints in the inky darkness of the beach and grassland that surrounded the vast estate. 

Loki kept hold of your hand once the door closed behind you, tucking your fingers into the crook of his elbow, the soft wool material of his suit warmed your palm while you looked up at the towering mansion. Behind the stone walls the home itself looked almost cosy, warm lights detailing the traditional white wood and blue accents. Who could have known that behind the white linen curtains lurked so many criminals, the blood on their hands enough to fill the tinkling fountain in the centre of the courtyard. 

You squeezed Loki’s arm to get his attention. 

“Yes, darling.” His voice was a low purr against the backdrop of muffled string music and laughter. 

“I don’t know if I can do this.” You whispered, stepping closer to him, “what if I can’t hold this shape?” 

The entire operation was dependent on you and Loki pretending to be a minor couple from one of the European crime families trying to break new ground in America. When you’d questioned where the real couple would be, Steve had told you not to worry about it. But Tony gleefully explained that he had arranged for Natasha to pay the mysterious pair a visit just before their limo was due to arrive. You hadn’t dared to think about where she’d put them for the duration of the evening. 

“You can and you will,” he assured, tugging you closer, “and then we can be free of this nonsense, Ásynja, and we can return to Tønsberg together.” Behind the illusion, you saw the flash of Loki’s blue eyes, a shimmer of gold, of promise, and you straightened yourself. “It doesn’t hurt that you look absolutely radiant, my darling.” He grinned, appraising the black cocktail dress that had been chosen for you. It was a very beautiful dress, and although you’d become rather accustomed to wearing green and blue, you had accepted that it was your job to blend in tonight and not stand out. 

“Loki,” you gave an embarrassed whisper. 

“Well, you do.” He said, matter of factly. “It’s incredibly distracting.” 

You grinned back, “you look very handsome too..”

“Then let’s make our entrance.” Even under his vanir the same mischievous look past over his eyes. 

Loki gave your hand one last squeeze before guiding you up the steps and into the foyer, ready for your first mission. 

Inside, the party appeared to be in full swing. The host, Baron Zemo, held court at the centre of the room, talking animatedly with a large group of men all dressed almost identically in luxurious looking black tuxedos. Hanging off their arms were some of the most beautiful women you’d ever seen, the jewels dangling from their ears catching in the soft lighting, their tinkling laughs cutting through the gruff bluster of their dates. 

Loki had already clocked at least two doors that he would need to check, you could tell by the way he squeezed your arm as you passed by the quiet porter who took your coats at the door. He would have to sneak off soon, but it was your job to stay at the bar installed in the corner of the large dining room, to talk to anyone leaving the Baron’s circle of confidence who might become suspicious about Loki’s whereabouts and, in the event anyone left the room, you could alert Loki or try to cause a diversion to allow him time to secure the laptop and escape.

Together you made your way across the crowded room to the bar and ordered drinks, taking only the barest sip to keep sober. Although the sedatives that you were used to taking had completely worn off, you were liable to get very drunk, very quickly, when you were nervous and you had never had to maintain a completely different body while drinking. You hoped that twirling your straw flirtatiously would be enough to look natural while Loki scoped out the room. 

“It’s time, darling.” He whispered in your ear, his familiar scent ghosting over you, despite his unfamiliar appearance. He traced the shell of your ear with the tip of his nose and then kissed your cheek, leaving you with goosebumps appearing on your arms. 

Loki siddled away from the bar, blending into the shadowed edges of the room and vanishing from sight as he rounded the corner into the area roped off as ‘private’. 

Alone, you surveyed the room again, watching as the Baron captivated his laughing audience with another tale of his debauchery, the crispness of his starched shirt hiding the clearly healing cuts and bruises below.

 You’d heard stories about him, mostly from the Avengers themselves, about how he had tried to break them, how he had manipulated his way into the compound and triggered Bucky. The super soldier hadn’t been around for that conversation, but Steve had looked over your shoulder as if he could still see the image of his best friend, snarling like a feral beast as he tore his way through the compound. Natasha had reassured you that it couldn’t happen again, but it wasn’t Bucky you were afraid of. He seemed to be as much a victim as circumstance as you, always grimacing before a fight and never bragging about his victories. He was trapped in that compound just as you had been, his only comfort the red headed spy that he was dancing around approaching. 

The reassurances of the Avengers meant nothing to you, because it wasn’t Bucky or the Winter Soldier you were afraid of. It wasn’t even necessarily the Baron and his despicable friends, although the easy way he spoke about death had sent a chill down your spine. 

The people you were really afraid of, who made your skin crawl and your head hurt. The people you really wanted to be away from... It was the Avengers and Agents that swarmed the compound, the way they recited their allegiance to each other and bowed down to Stark and his wealth. 

That scared you more than anything else, because it left you with no one to trust. 

No one but Loki. 

It brought a familiar, nagging, question back to the front of your mind. If the Baron had been neutralised, why were you even here in the first place? No one had told you and it was really the last place you wanted to be while you were still recovering from your ordeal. 

What if the kidnappers were here, what if he was part of it? Your heart beat sped up, your chest feeling tight as your breath became shallow. 

You turned away from the bar and carefully dabbed at your tearline, catching the tears before they fell and tucking your now mascara stained handkerchief back into your clutch bag, allowing yourself time to play with your bracelet, hidden inside, flashing in the candle light as the only way to sooth your fractured nerves. For the first time you’d do anything to go back to your slow and steady life from before, to not know about this world or any of these so called powers, if this is where it got you. 

Risking a look up at the room you were relieved to see no one had even noticed you, and you allowed yourself to think of the one thing that was keeping you going, Loki. If none of this happened, there’d be no Loki and, powers or not, he was the first positive thing to come into your life in a long time. Or, if your memories were right, to come back into your life. 

Your breathing evened out at the thought of him, the way he’d smiled so softly while helping you shift into this new form. How he’d kissed your temple while waiting for the limousine and held your hand the entire way. He’d promised to reward you for your bravery as soon as the laptop had been handed over and, if it was anything like his other ‘rewards’ it was certainly worth looking forward to. 

Just as you were settling into the thought of falling into bed with Loki, a ripple of fear rolled up your spine and a scream cut through the gentle tones of the string quartet. You span around, leaping to your feet, your hands held in front of you just as Loki had taught you, ready to defend yourself against the mobsters. 

But there was no gun fight, no knives drawn, instead the room began to fill with blinding light, so white you had to cover your eyes with your hands, pressing so hard you could see stars as the other guests began to scream and shout. 

“Estrid, are you there?” Natasha’s voice crackled in your ear, so far away and useless as you backed away to crouch down behind the spindly barstool. Suddenly this entire operation seemed like a terrible idea. 

“I’m here, but so is something else, where’s Loki?” Your voice cracked, hoping he was close by. 

“He secured the item, it’s with me and he’s heading back to the party-” Natasha’s response was cut off by the familiar feeling of Loki’s presence entering your thoughts. 

I’m here, I’m safe, are you?

It floated to you through the chaos, anchoring you to your spot. If he was coming then you could hold yourself for now, though you were too scared to even breathe properly. Each inhale felt jagged, like ice in your lungs. 

There’s someone here, it’s so bright, I can’t see, I don’t know what’s happening

“Estrid, come in? - Report? - Estrid!” Natasha shouted, the distinctive click of her trying different channels before returning to yours made your head ache. Slowly, trying not to draw attention to yourself, you popped out the earbud and placed it in your bag, silencing the electric hum of the comms. 

Everything else went silent then and, for a few seconds, you thought it might be over, but then there was a hand on your elbow, pulling you up and out from your hiding place. You hoped it was Loki and that the change in his cologne was due to his needing to hide, but an uneasy feeling had already settled over you. 

“Loki?” You whispered, “can I open my eyes?” 

“You can open your eyes, child.” The speaker had a deep, rough voice, as if it hadn’t been used in many years, the words jagged and jarring, pulling at your memories. 

“Child?” You cracked one eye open enough to see who had spoken, the room was still white, but between the two of you it flowed as a golden river, dust motes dancing in the air and rather than being blinded as you imagined, it made you think of your Grandfather and hazy summer afternoons with the windows open wide and the dust motes dancing in the air.

Around you the party goers were locked, stock still, in time, their hands over their faces as yours had been. 

“Come, Estrid, I have been looking for you.” He moved his hands to cup your cheeks, turning your face up to him as you opened your eyes. In slow motion he smiled down at you and you felt a strange sense of peace wash over you. 

The man before you was tall and fair, blonde curls fell in perfect tendrils over his broad shoulders and the green cloak that fell to the floor in waves. On one shoulder a silver pin kept his cape attached to his tunic, as if he’d stepped straight from a history book into the party. Although the room was already bright, he seemed to be lit from within, like he was standing in the summer afternoon sun. His eyes were bright too, but not with anger. 

“Who are you?” You asked, though it was clear this was another god, you willed Loki to arrive, none of these mortals would be able to help you now and despite your training you felt powerless. All of your energy was focussed on maintaining your illusion, just in case there was someone looking. 

“Ah, child, of course, you do not remember. I forget myself, that we have not seen each other these past centuries. It is I, Lugh.” He stepped back and placed his hands back on the pommel of the broad sword hanging from hip and nodded his head politely. “I knew your mother, long ago, she was dear to my heart and I had searched for you, her beloved daughter, for many years. I have sent for you, though you escaped my man.” He smiled at you indulgently, “you always were such trouble, Estrid. Whatever will we do with you?” 

His words were soft and he was honest and friendly as if he knew you well, but all you could hear were the shouts of your memories. 

Insolent welp

Disgusting

Fallen

You’d been dragged around, half starved, poisoned and beaten. The anxiety that had gripped you so tightly just moments before morphed inside of you, a tight, heavy rage bubbled and filled every pore. How dare he. How dare anyone. Turn up now and play nicely after you had been passed around like a spare part.

“Get away from me.” You kept your voice low, clenching your fists at your side as your anger bubbled within. “Get away from me, right now.” Your rage, like lava, moved in slow motion, rising slowly and heavily. 

“Child, it is imperative you -” 

“No!” You shouted, the light blared brighter, the bulbs smashing around you like fireworks. 

The man reached forwards, and as his fingers touched your own the bubble inside burst and your magic took over, wrapping you in leather and velvet, a shining silver breastplate and epaulettes were revealed by the shimmering blue flame that danced over your body. The meagre outfit you’d once conjured with Loki and Thor was a mere memory compared to the battle ready armour. In your hand you now held a long spear and, as you watched, the flame danced to it’s place upon it, flaring and then dancing in the air. 

But he didn’t let go and as he tightened his grip you were overtaken by the memory of winters in front of a huge fire, piles of furs surrounding you and your mother, sipping wine in a cup and laughing. The snow beyond the entrance of the room fell in soft flakes and the fire smelt of pine and peat. The man was there laughing too, toasting with your mother. 

“You are truly a kind friend, Lugh, to host us so.” Your mothers voice was warm and rich, like sweet chocolate and spice. 

“Brigid, my dearest friend, it is an honour to have you and your beautiful daughter stay with me on your journey home.” 

“Ah, we should discuss that later,” your mother nodded towards you, “I have been planning for Estrid’s future and I fear - sweet girl, perhaps you should go and play a while.” Your mother pointed towards a neat looking pile of woollen capes and a young boy, so familiar, with bright eyes. 

“Go, Estrid, enjoy the snowfall.” Lugh touched the top of your head as he passed and you were thrown back into yourself. 

The man took a step back, his own five pointed spear tapping the floor and, behind him, Loki stood aghast but smiling only for you, his own battle armour shimmering gold and his horns brushing the doorframe. 

“You heard the lady, back away, now.” Loki strode forwards, twin daggers appearing in a flash of magic, he turned his head away from the bright light of the stranger, only facing him when his magic had conjured a pair of black sunglasses to protect his eyes. 

The man sighed and banged the end of his spear on the floor again, a red flame appearing which he swung in a wide arc creating a barrier between himself and Loki. The wall of flames reached almost to the ceiling, blocking your escape and your rescue. 

“Loki!” You cried out, making your first move away from your position at the bar towards him, a hand reaching out, almost touching the flame.

 “Leave him!”

 You rounded on the man, your spear tipped forwards in front of you, half defensive and entirely furious, your teeth ground together. “I don’t know who you are but I won’t go with you, leave me alone!” 

The man rushed forwards, knocking your spear to the side in one deft movement and grabbing your hands, “you must listen you’re in danger. You are being hunted, you must stop using your magic and hide yourself.” 

“By you!” You fought against him, “I won’t be put back there, I won’t.” But something nagged at you, that was why the boy was so familiar, you’d seen those eyes before as the boy, now a man, had earnestly begged for you to stop using your magic. You hadn’t listened, you’d carried on and then - and then you’d been taken again. 

The man began dragging you towards the windows, the too bright light that had kept the guests subdued parted around him like smoke revealing the dark parquet floor.

“I can remove you from this place, but you must stop manifesting this armour, you do not require it and it will only draw their attention.” 

“Let her go!” Loki projected himself across the room, his body still stuck behind the flames but multiple versions of himself appearing in a semi-circle and hemming your kidnapper in. The man glowed brighter, blurring his features beyond recognition. 

With one last attempt to free you Loki, your real Loki, pushed at the flame, shooting his own magic through in one huge green blast, and knocking the man backwards and away from you. 

But you fell too. 

You cried out, rolling on the floor and landing heavily against the doorframe with a sickening thump.

<<Chapter 11

Chapter 13>>

God mentioned

This is just from my own reading, I'm by no means an expert! This is also a fictionalised version of actual mythology, just like Loki & Thor in the MCU.

Lugh: A figure in Irish mythology and belongs to the Tuatha Dé Danann. He's portrayed as a warrior but is also linked to artistic skills as well as truth telling and oath taking.

Lugh and Brigid are similar in that they are linked to many attributes.

In the Irish mythology Lugh challenges Brigid's husband, Bres, who is king. So. Take from that what you will! In this story I will be portraying Lugh and Brigid as friends and kindred spirits.

[shadowgast-recs-weekly]

Shadowgast Recs: Dancing Fics

This week, we have our first open-to-everyone reclist with fics that featuring Dancing! Seven fic with ballroom dancing, pole dancing, aerial silks and at least one harvest dance are behind the cut - and as always - comment and kudos if you like them!

Something to Believe In by AwesomeFroggy (108948, Teen) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

Modern With Magic AU: Essek has been exiled to Nicodranas; Caleb and the Nein live in Nicodranas. Meet-cute at a library all the way through to a wedding and adoptinc cats.

Reccer says: The author calls it "the peak of self indulgent fic" and is right; this is my go-to feel-good story for comfort. I know it's been recced before, and 100% deserves it. Even though the epilogue hasn't been posted, it feels complete and satisfying.

eleventh hour by mllekurtz (TheKnittingJedi) (3486, Teen) Reccer's Content Notes: None

Dancing on a beach during the Mighty Nein’s goodbye party.

Reccer says: A sweet scene with great emotional beats.

Shapes in the Smoke by Luckyowlsfoot (2817, General) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

Aerial silks! The Mighty Nein are invited to a Dynasty performance.

Reccer says: I liked it!

When you move, I'm moved by bloodredribbon (10829, Explicit) Reccer's Content Notes: None

The Nein find out Essek knows how to pole dance, Caleb is very happy about it.

Reccer says: I liked it!

only one part we can play by Anonymous (1169, Teen) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

Essek interrupts Caleb's work to share a dance

Reccer says: Bittersweet and tender in equal measure!

Dancing Cheek to Cheek by Soot_and_Salt (3871, Mature) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

Essek Thelyss is a prodigy at dancing, perhaps the best ballroom dancer in all of Xhorhas. Then, at a competition in Emon, he meets a man named Caleb Widogast and the world brightens for just a moment.

Reccer says: It's a fun, short AU that captures the feeling of a whirlwind night of romance

The Dancers and the Dreamers by royalgreen (allyoop) (7671, Teen) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

The night has finally arrived: it is the Jester and Fjord wedding, an event with no surprises whatsoever. Definitely nothing silly. An absolutely completely normal wedding. There are no secrets and definitely no shenanigans.

Reccer says: It's tagged feel good fluff, and that's exactly right. It feels like going to a good wedding of a friend - how you want it to feel- with some nein shenanigans, romantic moments, and dancing

This is one of our weekly communally-generated shadowgast rec lists. Every week we announce a new theme and allow anyone to submit a fic recommendation. 

And hey, anyone includes you now!

Next week, it's Whump! Just in time for whumptober.

Any fics coming to mind? Well, then use this form to submit!

[3-2-whump]

The Party

<prev next>

TW/CW: public humiliation, pet whump (I think?), objectification, whumpee on display, whumpee being talked about as if not even there, light microagression towards whumpee (?) This is fun to tag.

By now, Khaled should’ve been used to hearing the faint sound of metallic clinking as he walked. His owner used to bind his feet in cuffs for nearly a year straight when he had first come into his home, leaving just enough chain in between to walk comfortably and not an inch more. That was nearly six years ago, yet even hearing the faint shk shk shk of shimmering chains whenever he moved mentally transported him back to boyhood, when he was scared, shy, and didn’t know what was going on or what was expected of him. Much like tonight.

“Stand up straight, pick up your feet, and don’t look so glum,” Thomas chided.

Easy for you to say, Khaled thought as he eyed his fully dressed owner in envy. The mafia boss was dressed in a three-piece suit as usual, though he had changed into one of the more expensive ones for tonight’s function, a charity ball of some sort. The garnets set into his golden cufflinks glowed like freshly shed blood under the foyer’s lights as he gestured at him.

Khaled wore gold and garnets of his own, except they were…everywhere. They were in his earrings, in his nose ring, studded like pomegranate seeds in his necklace, acting as connection points in the harness-like body chain draped over his bare chest and torso –he was covered in them and still felt naked. A sheer and silky fabric tied unskillfully around his waist matched the color of the sanguine jewels and provided the only shred of modesty in this obscene outfit. Khaled prayed it would not fall off, but he did not favor his chances.

At least I get a break from that chastity cage, he consoled himself.

He straightened his posture and adopted a more neutral expression. His master smiled. “Good boy,” he said, and yet the usual praise did not ease the nervous churning in his gut. The golden bracelets on his wrists, matching the bands on his ankles, clinked softly as the man reached out to squeeze his hands in reassurance. “You look beautiful,” was all he said to him before he dropped his hand and parted the large doors to the ballroom.

Khaled’s skin seared hot under the chandelier lights as he felt the gaze of every patrons’ eyes on him. Keeping his eyes focused on some neutral midpoint ahead of him –like that potted plant, yeah, is that even real? –he followed his master into the fray, swallowing nervously as he heard the heavy doors close behind him. It felt like everyone was staring at him, and from the glances he dared to take from his periphery, he understood why. Every other patron was dressed in formal attire. Even the few escorts he saw -and he could recognize a fellow sex worker when he saw one- were dressed more modestly than him. At least their chests were covered! His face burned with embarrassment, a blush that probably rivaled the cerise garnets, all the way down to his collarbones.

The boss stopped, finally, and so did he as they settled into the corner of the ballroom. They stood next to the bar and very close to the table laid out with several dozen little canapes. Khaled’s stomach loudly rumbled and his mouth pooled with saliva just looking at them. He hadn’t eaten since lunch, which was nearly eight hours ago. He glanced at his master, who was currently receiving a glass of whiskey from the bartender, and he carefully stretched a hand out to reach for the tartlet-thing closest to him.

“No.” His bracelets jingled as his hand was swatted away like he was a misbehaving pet. His master stared down at him as he threw back the shot of whiskey. Khaled drew his hand back to his side. “I’ll feed you when we get home, if you’ve been good, that is.” He sighed, but reluctantly nodded. He cast his gaze down to his sandaled feet as he tried not to think about the ever-present food and the persistent gnawing of his stomach.

A pair of expensive black leather shoes stepped into the top of his vision. “Thomas, so glad you could make it,” the unseen stranger greeted.

“Wouldn’t miss this for the world,” his owner replied, a polite smile in the tone of his voice.

“So, who’s this?” The stranger’s attentions were on him.

“This,” he said boastfully, “is my darling, my dearest, my worst-kept secret!” Khaled wanted to shrink away from the attention, but has master’s hand on his waist reminded him not to. “Come on, Khaled!” He summoned his courage to look up. An older man with a pot belly and a short, dour-faced wife on his arm was appraising him curiously, as if he was an exotic item and not a person. Smile, damn it, an impatient voice rang in his head. He flashed them a shy smile as he looked at them through his kohl-rimmed lashes.

“Your intern?”

“My ‘intern’,” his master clarified.

“He’s a pretty one, how long have you had him?”

“Oh, about six years now, come this spring.”

“Wow! Well, you’ve obviously been taking great care of him!” It was so obvious that this stranger wanted to do more than just look at him, with the way his fat fingers practically vibrated in excitement.

 “Six years?!” a second guest –a tall and thin woman– gasped. Khaled realized by now they had attracted a small crowd of partygoers to the bar, all with the intent to sneak a peek at Don Costa’s boy toy. He ducked his head in shame.

“Mine didn’t even last six months!” the woman whined, trying to garner sympathy.

“I’m sorry to hear that. I just got lucky, I guess,” Thomas shrugged.

“Tell us, how is he in bed?” another guest asked.

“Good, though there’s not much skill in lying back and taking it!” A chorus of laughter accompanied his master’s. He found a scuff on the hardwood floor and pretended that was the only thing that existed.

“Does he speak?” yet another faceless guest asked. The whole semicircle of gawkers fell silent. Khaled dared to look up. All eyes were on him.

“Well, go on, boy, say something,” his master directed.

Khaled wanted nothing more than for the earth to swallow him whole.

“W-what should I say?” he asked nervously.

An irreverent number of oohs and aahs erupted from the small entourage.

“Not even the faintest hint of an accent!” the first man exclaimed. “Now tell me, Tom, did you train him to speak that well?”

“No,” his owner admitted, “I mean, I hired a tutor to teach him English, but he trained the accent out of himself on his own.”

“Why, though?”

The stretch of awkward silence indicated they were waiting yet again for Khaled to speak, that they wanted him to answer. Khaled shifted his eyes to the floor again, swallowing past the discomfort of being scrutinized this closely. “Because… I didn’t want to stand out.”

-

“You were amazing!” Thomas complimented Khaled as he watched him shovel take-out falafel pita into his mouth like it was his first meal in days.

“So, this was just a one-time thing, right?” his beloved slave asked, cheeks distended with half-chewed falafel.

“Hey, don’t talk with your mouth full,” Thomas chastised him, “I trained you better than that.”

Khaled swallowed the food and apologized under his breath. “And to answer your question, who knows? They couldn’t keep their eyes off you,” he smirked pridefully. I couldn’t keep my eyes off you, either. He glanced from the road over to his passenger in the car. Khaled had looked every bit as alluring as he had imagined when he was covered in gold and jewels and blood red silk. He would never admit he was hard for nearly the entire time they were at the party, but the evidence probably spoke for itself through the bulge in his slacks. “It’s no wonder though. Red is a good color on you.” And I want to see what you look like in blue next, he mentally added. “I just might drag you out to other parties in the future if we get attention like that.”

Khaled set his stub of a pita down on his lap. Thomas couldn’t help but grimace; what if it left a stain? “Do I have to dress like this again?” the young man asked, though his defeated tone told him he already knew the answer.

“Oh, don’t be so sad about it, you were gorgeous!” I thought about nothing but how to get you alone for the entire time we were there!

“I was nearly naked, Master. In public. In front of strangers. Does that not bother you?”

“So? I like to show off what’s mine,” he shrugged. “Look, when you’re free, you can choose to wear whatever you want, but until then, you’ll put on whatever I give you, okay?” Khaled slumped further into the car seat. Maybe it was a bit cruel to tease him with the freedom he’d never willingly give him. Thomas sighed, feeling a little guilty. He reached out a hand to pat a silk-covered thigh. “It won’t be very often, I promise,” he reassured him.

“Yes, Master,” his pet murmured.Thomas smiled. At the red light, he leaned over to kiss the side of Khaled’s sauce-stained lips.

Le Tag List: @kabie-whump @rainydaywhump @whumped-by-glitter @skittles-the-whumpee

[unsociabletrash]

Emeto list

Thought I'd post this now. I've got quite the list building up, and frequently add to it. Enjoy!

Anime:

Tokyo Ghoul

S1, Ep 1 (15:20)

S1, Ep 2 (0:14, 13:29)

S1, Ep 3 (7:57)

S3, Ep 9 (17:57)

S3, Ep 15 (14:10)

Saiki K

S1, Ep 2 (5:18)

S1, Ep 12 (10:10)

S1, Ep 17 (20:10)

S2, Ep 6 (9:04)

S2, Ep 11 (2:47)

My Hero Academia

S1, Ep 3 (11:28)

S2, Ep 25 (37 - 6:53)

S5, Ep 20 (108 - 9:00)

S5, Ep 21 (109 - 17:49)

S5, Ep 23 (111 - 19:49)

Haikyuu

S1, Ep 3 (21:16)

S1, Ep 5 (22:15)

S2, Ep 12 (1:20)

OVA (vs Failing Marks - 21:16)

S2, Ep 17 (16:22)

Black Butler

S1, Ep 5 (7:32)

S2, Ep 5(29 - 18:37)

S3, Ep 5 (41 - 17:39)

S3, Ep 9 (45 - 19:51)

Jujutsu Kaisen

Ep 23 (13:40)

Attack on Titan

S1, Ep 5 (11:04)

S3, Ep 39 (10:17)

S3, Ep 49 (15:17)

S3, Ep 56 (4:45)

S4, Ep 62 (10:38)

S4, Ep 83 (20:20)

Bungou Stray Dogs

S1, Ep 11 (15:17)

S4, Ep 37 (12:42)

S5, Ep 52 (4:58, 5:30)

Welcome To the Ballroom

Ep 22 (7:48)

Gintama

Ep 2 (5:53)

Ep 35 (16:48)

Ep 57 (9:09)

Ep 65 (15:35)

Ep 239 (4:54, 6:09, 7:19)

Ep 252 (9:17)

Naruto

S1, Ep 11 (9:15)

S2, Ep 2 (28 - 12:42)

S2, Ep 6 (32 - 2:40)

Re: Zero

Ep 5 (22:55)

Ep 8 (15:38)

Ep 15 (0:33)

Ep 37 (3:42)

Ep 38 (16:54)

Evangelion 3.0+1.0

(24:05, 30:23)

Black Lagoon

S1, Ep 1 (19:28)

S2, Ep1 (18:15)

Run with the Wind

Ep 7 (3:09)

Ep 12 (11:08)

Ep 16 (13:46)

Zombie Land Saga

S2 Ep 1 (11:56)

Deadman Wonderland

Ep 5 (19:28, 21:24)

Mob Psycho 100

S2 Ep 6 (17:48)

S3, Ep 8 (1:30)

Beyond the Boundary

Ep 6 (12:47)

The God of Highschool

Ep 5 (0:57)

Rent-a-Girlfriend

Ep 18 (16:54, 19:33)

The Eden of Grisaia

Ep 3 (4:43, 11:01, 13:34)

Chainsaw Man

Ep 7 (19:27)

Number24

Ep 11 (20:14)

One Piece (whump)

Zoro: Ep 402 (22:35), Ep 403 (22:50)

Luffy: Ep 393 (8:08) Live Action

Ep 2 (38:16)

Ep 4 (26:00, 33:56)

Ep 5 (37:50)

Kdrama & etc:

KinnPorsche

Ep 2 (37:45)

Ep 4 (47:34)

Ep 9 (4:42, 24:53)

Danger Zone: The Dark Night

Ep 1 (13:54, 19:30)

Live action/Sitcom:

It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia

S6, Ep 1 (18:02)

S6, Ep 4 (15:10)

S6, Ep 7 (18:00)

S7, Ep 2 (10:05)

S9, Ep 7 (14:56)

How I Met Your Mother

S1, Ep 15 (17:33)

S2, Ep 16 (10:07)

S5, Ep 17 (15:34)

S6, Ep 6 (6:49)

S9, Ep 1 (6:08)

S9, Ep 8 (12:57)

S9, Ep 17 (1:00)

Supernatural

S2, Ep 3 (6:30)

S2, Ep 11 (20:22)

S3, Ep 9 (21:30)

S4, Ep 8 (21:18)

S5, Ep 21 (9:37)

S6, Ep 5 (37:50)

S6, Ep 15 (7:38)

S8, Ep 12 (10:05)

S9, Ep 23 (2:52)

S11, Ep 10 (8:33)

S11, Ep 17 (30:52)

S15, Ep 10 (24:20)

The magicians

S3, Ep 3 (38:22)

[whumpshaped]

Helle and beckett, but they are dancing (i know, crazy.)

anywho they're dancing and having some fun. genuine fun and afterwards helle feeds off beck but takes care to be gentle... Idk I thought maybe there shouldn't always be a bad time, maybe a less awful time at least

masterlist

tw vampire whumper, idle whump, intimate whumper, emotional whump, memory loss

"It is such a beautiful night tonight." Helle was jumping around on one of the classical music playlists, skipping forward, changing their mind, going back. Beck didn't know any of the pieces, but the vampire seemed very intentional. They were looking for something. "The kind that brings up memories."

"Of when you were still alive?"

They tilted their head just a little, lost in thought. They skipped another piece. "I think so. I wish I could say for sure."

Beck didn't really understand whenever they said something like this. More and more, he was beginning to think Helle barely remembered their life. And while he wasn't terribly sympathetic towards a demon like them, this thought always made him a little sad.

"What memories?" he asked gently.

"Maybe memory is the wrong word to use." They finally settled on a soft melody, one that reminded Beck of old movies and ballroom dances. "It is more of a... feeling." They turned around and extended a hand to him, paired with a smile that seemed quite genuine compared to the mocking or condescending ones he was usually given. "I can show you what I mean."

"Ah, uh..." He swallowed nervously, realising Helle was definitely asking for a dance. "I've never... um... I've never done, uh–"

They rolled their eyes, but without any real malice behind the gesture. "Yes, I figured. Lucky for you, I can lead wonderfully."

They pulled him up from the sofa despite his protests, guiding his left hand to their shoulder and taking the right one in their own. He flinched a little when they put a hand on his waist, and they murmured a soothing 'relax' in response.

"You do not have to worry about anything," they reassured him again, and really, Beck was trying not to; new situations simply weren't his strong suit.

But Helle wasn't lying when they said they could lead. It was... strange, to trust them so unconditionally. Maybe it was the fact that it was already late into the night and he was tired, but it barely took him a couple minutes to start believing that Helle wasn't about to use this opportunity to completely humiliate him in some way. It was so easy to to allow them full control over his movements.

"This is the memory," they whispered. "Dancing in the moonlight, carefree and... happy, I think. My body remembers the steps and how it felt to hold someone... But I cannot actually remember the night, nor the person I was holding."

Beck felt a pang of compassion, an emotion that always scared him when it came to Helle. He couldn't help it. The moment was so intimate, even between the two of them. He couldn't imagine what it would've been like to have shared it with someone he loved, then forget about it so completely.

"I'm sorry," he said without thinking, and it made Helle chuckle.

"For what? Whoever it was, they are most likely dead by now. It is better for me to forget."

As the piece was coming to its end, Helle stopped and changed their hold on his hand. He didn't say a thing when they slowly brought it to their lips, biting into the soft flesh on the inside of his wrist. It was almost gentle, the way they did it. Careful. As though they didn't want to break this spell of calm.

Beck was thankful that he could lean on them, and even more so for the hand still resting on his waist, steadying him. It was almost comforting. The playlist moved on as Helle fed, and the room was filled with another melancholic tune. He could've easily fallen asleep to it.

"You should get some rest," Helle said when they finished, and Beck could hardly believe his wishes were coming true. He didn't need to be told twice.

"Thank you," he said quietly before he turned to go back to his bedroom. "It was... a nice evening. And night."

"All I hear is that you want to slow dance with me every night from now on," they teased, and Beck huffed out a laugh. As if. "You are right, though," they went on, their voice taking on a more serious tone that made him stop and hear them out. "It was nice. Thank you for indulging me, dear."

~

taglist: @whumpsday @the-scrapegoat @hidden-dreamland @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night @delicateprincepaper @whumppmuhw @florissimps @nicolepascaline @oliversrarebooks @the-cyrulik @pirefyrelight @there-will-always-be-blood @pigeonwhumps @echo-goes-mmm @whumpycries @morning-star-whump @d-cs @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees @tauntedoctopuses @blueyellow8green @typewrittenfangs @whumpsoda @steh-lar-uh-nuhs

[suspensefulpen]

Birthday Gift

TW: Pet Whump, Collar and Leash, Conditioned Whumpee, Creepy/Obsessed Whumper, Bad Caretaker, Being Referred to as It

Whumper dragged Whumpee across the polished floors. Despite how much it hurt, he knew not to react. Whumper would stop the entire party just to reprimand him. But he also knew they wouldn’t do anything to make Caretaker upset. Whoever she was.

Despite how much he had to endure Whumper rambling about her, he didn’t actually know who she was. He only knew that Whumper was willing to do anything just for her attention and praise. They’d drop to their knees and give up everything just for her. Whumpee didn’t understand what made her so great. It was almost like Whumper saw her as a goddess to bow down to. No, there was no almost. Whumper did see her as a goddess to bow down to. And worship. Whumpee saw it first hand.

He always wondered what made them so attached to Caretaker. Why was she meant to be hailed as a goddess? What made her so special that a sociopath was willing to crumble just for her? It had to be something. Whumper never mentioned why they felt this way towards her but there had to be some reason. After all, they cleaned Whumpee up and gave them nice clothes just to drag them here.

They approached a woman in an elegant green dress, gold decorating her neck and wrists as she happily greeted the other guests. Whumpee assumed this was Caretaker. There was something about her that made the space around her brighten. She was smiling and full of energy. Maybe Whumper wanted to be around her because they were incapable of feeling that. Or maybe she filled a void inside them that Whumpee had no clue about.

The other guests quickly stepped away when they noticed Whumper. Whumpee guessed that was a sign that they didn’t limit their abuse and threats to one person. Caretaker’s attention was instantly brought to the two approaching her. Her smile widened as she brightened even more. By this point, Whumpee was blinded.

“Whumper! It’s so nice to see you! How are you?”

Whumper immediately switched the hand that held Whumpee’s arm. Wiping their now free hand on their suit jacket as if Whumpee had germs, they took Caretaker’s hand and placed a kiss on her knuckles. “How I’ve been doesn’t matter, dearest. What matters is if you’re enjoying your birthday ball.” Whumper even gave her a bow.

“Oh of course I am! I’m enjoying it even more now that I know you’ve arrived. It’s been so long since I’ve seen you.” She said sadly.

“Deepest apologies Mistress,” They briefly lowered their head. “I’ve been busy preparing your gift.”

“For three months?” She raised a brow.

“Yes.” They nodded.

“I bet it’s wonderful.” Caretaker smiled softly. Whumpee didn’t understand how she could so easily ignore Whumper’s monotone. He assumed this was normal for them to speak with absolutely no emotion. He almost wanted to hide when her gaze landed on him. “Whumper, who’s this adorable person?”

Whumper glared daggers up into Whumpee before dropping it and tunring back to Caretaker. “It’s your gift, Ma’am.”

“My gift?”

“Yes. This is Whumpee. Your new pet. I trained it just for you, Miss.”

“For me? Whumper you’re so sweet! Thank you!”

Great. She’s insane too. Whumpee saw a small smile on her face before glancing at Whumper’s hidden one. Not as insane as them I bet.

“It’ll do whatever you ask it. I trained it with hand motions and verbal commands so you can switch between them if you ever need to.” Whumper explained.

“That was so very sweet of you.”

The hidden smile revealed itself, even in spite of the monotone. “Anything for you, Miss.” The expression wasn’t long to stay as Whumpee felt once again, daggers being glared into the side of his head for several moments before Whumper snapped out of it. “Would you like me to put on its collar and its leash for you, Miss?”

[angst-after-dark]

CW: BBU/BBU-ADJACENT SETTING, PUBLIC WHUMP, FORCED TO KNEEL, INSTITUTIONALIZED DEHUMANIZATION, CONDITIONED WHUMPEE, DUBCON

Peyton belongs to @wildfae-afterdark and is used with permission

TAGLIST: @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump, @badgerwhump, @flowersarefreetherapy, @gottawhump, @oddsconvert, @cepheusgalaxy, @bbu-whump-reblogs

A small orchestra played on the other end of the room, right next to the door to the garden. Fancy parties and social events had their downsides. Most of which came with being partnered with Wick and Kestrel. Too many people held the belief that they were a means to gaining access to the other two. There were too many fancy words, too many pleasantries. Damiel could only endure so much. It was worse than Saint Andrew’s Cross - at least that device had been intended for pleasure. There was none of that to be found here and Dami’s face ached from the smile they’d been forced to hold onto all night.

They were going to be out of this party the moment they deemed they’d had spent enough time here. From his vantage point at one of the bar tables, he let his eyes sweep through the room and watched as a young woman smiled up at their boyfriend. She placed her hands on the small of her back, pressing her chest forward. They stilled, champagne glass in their hand, and leaned against the wall. They trusted him. Peyton could handle himself. He wasn't new to this arena, neither of them were, and Dami wasn't in charge of who he talked to. They weren’t his knight in shining armor. They didn't control him. 

That didn't stop them from keeping an eye on the two of them. 

A moment later it was starting to turn out this young woman wasn't just overly friendly, she was plain out flirting. She laughed at something Peyton said, and he smiled down at her. The woman’s giggles could be heard where they stood by the buffet table. 

Overly friendly and probably a little drunk too. Flirting. Dami hummed, lips pinched, eyes narrowed, as they searched Peyton’s face and waited. He didn't show any signs of distress. He wasn't touching alcohol himself, naturally, since it would take until next year until he was legally old enough to drink, and he was already considering leaving drinking to a minimum in official parties. Then again, with the type of people they had to talk to, something alcoholic was always a bit tempting.

It was difficult not to flirt with Peyton. He was picturesque. He had beautiful skin and gentle eyes and dark, black hair His emerald green eyes sparkled in the light from the chandeliers. 

He was being polite about all the touching, but his eyes and the lines around his mouth said otherwise. He seemed to shrink even more. He tilted his head and looked down at her, biting his lip and  graced her with another shy smile. 

One that didn't quite reach his eyes. She took it as an invitation. Dami stiffened.

A hand moving across his back, threatening to move lower as he shifted to squirm away. hin tilted to his chest as he attempted to avoid her eyes. Everything about him screamed how uncomfortable he was and his eyes grew wide when she grabbed his chin and forced him to look at her.

Peyton gave them a quick glance, silent check in. Their eyes met, if only for a split second, but enough for Dami’s hair to stand on end.

That was it. The silent cry for help and Dami nodded. Abandoning their drink, they crossed the room. The ballroom was trimmed with tables and filled with people. They weaved through the crowd, brushing past them. 

Looming over him, they took a moment to admire him in all his tone and muscled beauty. 

They didn't have to say it. As it often did, their body spoke for them. Their arms wound around Peyton’s from behind, pressing him back against them. The smile they reserved for times like these, times they had to wear a mask, slipped into a genuine smirk as the other man melted into them. His fingers slipped through their; the perfect fit. 

Control didn't take words, especially not with Peyton. This guest had yet to realize it. Damiel looked them up and down, gaze burrowing into them until they blushed and were forced to look away. It was only then, Dami kissed their boyfriend’s neck. Their lips brushed his ear, their smirk growing when they felt the heat radiating from it. 

“Find Kes,” Dami ordered him, leaving no room for objection, “Leaving now. Excuse us.”

“Nice try, pretty boy,” she taunted, breathing acidic with alcohol, “you’re both gonna stay right here. And you’re both going to show me the respect I deserve.”

The music faded into the background. A strangled noise ripped out of Peyton’s throat.

They stepped out of his space and into hers, putting their hands in their pockets and pressing their arms as tight to their sides as they casually could. They didn't have to turn around to know Peyton was on his knees. They could see it all over her smug face. It twisted with a sick sort of glee that made Dami clench their fists in their pockets. They couldn't embarrass Wick at this function. Kes would throw a fit. The press would be bad and their face would be all over the tabloids in the morning.

She laughed.  Shrill, greedy, vicious. "So that's what Imogene Montgomery has been hiding. Her son. A damned pet. A fucking Romantic. Oh, that’s rich."

Still, they wanted to hit her. They bristled at her smug words. Peyton’s wide, glassy eyes looked up at her, concern and curiosity filled them with the slightest hint of true fear. Both of them knew how bad this was.

“What are you doing? I didn't order you to give respect.” 

They looked up, startled when they saw Wick's expression and almost flinched at the ice in Wick’s voice. They hadn't heard him come up.

They stood frozen in place, barely breathing, unable to think. Their body locked with tension, at war with their desire to escape and desire to give into the authority flowing from Wick. They stayed, although they kept their eyes off of him.

Between them, still on his knees, palms up and head down, Peyton stayed kneeling. Dami almost wanted to run their hands over the graceful arch of his back.  

“Allow me to ask again, pet,” Wick said, “What are you doing?”

“She told him to,” Dami said quietly. Their answer was met with a raised eyebrow. He was feeling far from gracious. He frowned and shook his head in irritation.

“The pet can speak for himself.”

Their mouth snapped shut.

Despite the order, Wick didn't look at them and Dami blinked, raising their own brow as their stomach clenched. So did their fists. God, they wanted to reach out and throw the other man against the wall. This was an act. It was all an act. Wick was playing a role. He would never talk to Peyton that way. Never talk to them that way unless they wanted him to. It was him or this woman who didn't give a shit about how this would affect Peyton. 

That didn't stop their stomach from dropping as Wick began playing with Peyton’s hair, running his fingers through his scalp and down his back. He gripped his boyfriend’s chin.

Peyton’s eyes clouded and his jaw relaxed. Wick watched him attentively.

“Good boy.” Wick petted the strands and then shoved his face back down. “Show respect.” 

Peyton dropped. He bent in half, forehead on the floor. “Tell me what you are.”

“A, a whore.” Doubt could be heard in the back of his tone, fear and need, craving, everything could be layered in front of it. 

Wick wasn't finished. “Whose whore are you?” 

“Y-Yours.” 

Wick wheeled himself forward.

"Then be mine. Get up,” he snapped, “Don't embarrass me again. Go find your Mistress.”

Slowly Peyton crawled up, flinching a little when he did. 

“What the hell is the matter with you?” 

The woman’s smile didn’t falter. Instead, it widened. She stepped forward and extended her hand. Wick gave her a chilling stare. She retracted it with a shrug, and returned it to her side.

 “Are you sure you wouldn’t want to share? It could be a lot of fun for all of us.”

She gestured to Dami. “Perhaps you could introduce me.”

Dami couldn’t help but bare their teeth, letting out a low growl. Wick raised a cautious hand across their chest to stop them from launching at her and ripping out her throat.

He scowled.

“Perhaps you're new to the rules of pet ownership,” he looked her up and down, glaring daggers, “You never, ever give someone else’s pet an order. It’s like breaking into someone’s home and sleeping in their bed.”

“Oh dear,” she purred, “Am I Goldilocks then? Will you have your three little bears come and eat me up? I was told you only had two pets. How the hell did you get Peyton Montgomery?”

“None of your damn business. Excuse us. We have other engagements.”

[defire]

Dance of Death Chapter 1:

Low Expectations

[This book is a novel structure, so it has a whump plot that gradually increases in intensity throughout the book.]

Content warnings for this chapter: Institutionalized slavery, child abuse, racism

“Hey you. Slave.”

Nife whirled around to face the snapping fingers of Lord Crep. She looked at him under half-lidded red eyes, watching him begin to flush as he realized he was addressing one of the Raizden family.

“Yes, slave?” She said, then feigned surprise. “Oh, it’s you, an upper noble. Sorry. I can’t tell the difference.”

Mouth open, he attempted to apologize. 

“Ah–oh–I thought–”

His wife stepped in with a sweet smile, attempting to calm the tension.

“Your back was turned, sweetie.” Her smile turned condescending.

“Not to worry.” Nife smiled, returning the condescension, which was highly inappropriate, because she was only fifteen. “It’s alright, let him feel special.” Her voice dropped to a stage whisper. “He needs it.”

With a sharp inhale at being mistaken for a slave–again–simply due to her race as a Druid, she bowed gracefully and turned, striding across the glittering ballroom floor through the myriad of nobility to join her friends at the tea table.

They greeted her with stiff bows as they made room for her in their circle. In the middle of the orange-haired Banes, Nife’s Druid horns and blue skin made her stick out like a frostbitten thumb. The entire group was speaking stiffly and anxiously as they always did when adults were around, and it bothered Nife.

“Relax,” She said, accidentally cutting off Kit, a sixteen-year-old who was gesticulating excitedly and running his hands through his hair as he spoke in hushed tones with his brother, Caboodle.

He jerked around to see her and a short smile flashed over his face.

“Hey Nife.” He turned back to Caboodle and added softly, “I can’t just talk to the chef, Aunt Wry will find out.”

“Did the chef serve cinnamon ice cream again?” Nife smirked.

“No–I’m not–” Kit huffed, patting the air. “Keep it down. Please.”

“Relax, Kit,” Nife offered a smile, reaching to comfort him, then hesitating. Banes don’t do touch. “So she finds out you’re into cooking–what is she going to do? Throw you in a dungeon?”

Kit quickly rubbed the back of his neck, looking around like he was afraid someone had heard.

“Kit?” She said, leaning around to make eye contact with him. “She’s not going to throw you in a dungeon, right?”

Kit didn’t answer, he didn’t even look at her.

Why was everyone so terrified of offending people? They acted like they were in physical danger, and she didn’t understand it. It ate at her. It was like everyone was hoarding some terrible secret.

“Leave him alone, Nife.” Starren said haughtily out from under a gorgeous mane of Bane-orange hair. “You Raizdens came early. Trying to seize the opportunities before you get stomped any further down the hierarchy?”

Nife glanced back at her family, who were probably doing exactly what Starren suggested.

A Druid slave was passing the group with her head bowed and eyes averted. On her right arm, supporting a tray of ice cream, she wore a bronze cuff, which was the Wry's distinguishing mark on their slaves. They always chose young, attractive Druids, and dressed them traditionally with a beaded chest piece and long slouching pants. Nife found the forced style vaguely disturbing. 

"We’re trying to seize the ice cream, that's what we're trying to seize." Nife smirked, swiping a dish of ice cream from a slave’s tray with the deftness of a pickpocket.

The slave jumped a little and glanced fearfully at Nife.

“Hey,” Nife frowned, confused at the skittish behavior. “Sorry about that.”

“My fault, I’m sorry, it’s my fault your ladyship.” The girl said, keeping her eyes low as she scanned the entire crowd like she was on the lookout for someone.

Nife was very confused. Raizden didn’t own slaves, so she wasn’t very accustomed to how slaves were expected to act.

“Not to worry,” She said slowly. “So, what’s your name?”

“I’m sorry,” the girl’s breath hitched a little. “Uh–Iridiss, ladyship.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean to, uh…” Nife bit her lip as the slave actually trembled. She lightly touched the girl’s arm and she flinched like she expected to be hurt. “Are you okay?”

Iridiss bowed twice, somehow managing not to tilt the tray of dishes.

“Yes, your ladyship,” She said, looking like she thought she was going to explode with nerves.

“Oh.” Nife said. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your work. My bad.”

The slave was just standing there. Was she waiting to be dismissed?

“...You can go.” Nife tried, and the slave bowed again and hurried away.

Nife blinked uncomfortably, self-conscious once again. Most of the other Druids in the room were slaves, and even the Banes that were slaves held their heads higher than the Druids did. Ever since the Banes had conquered the city twenty-four years ago, most Druids were second-class citizens or worse. The Raizden family was a rare exception. As she debated whether to follow the slave and find out what she was so worried about,  Nife met eyes with her brother, Warren, across the room.

His eyes said exactly what his mouth always said around these events–”Please, Nife, don’t embarrass us again.”

Nife sighed. An impossible expectation.

The older nobles spoke stiffly amongst the tea-tables, where they were served tea the moment they entered. They stood straight and stiff, looking down on everyone else, especially on any Druid nobility there.

"Nife? What's wrong?" Caboodle asked her.

"Wrong?" Nife said with a forced smile. "No, I just wonder how Lady Wry treats her slaves that has them flinching at a little touch like that."

"Well, you did touch her." Kit said from across a small dessert table, which he was surveying seriously. After a moment he chose the deviled egg with the most evenly-distributed spices and came back toward the group, as Caboodle objected on Nife's account.

"Druids are different," He nodded at Nife. "They touch each other all the time."

Nife closed her eyes tight. It was embarrassing to be singled out like that. 

"Hey look," She said, pointing to another group coming in, this time with a massive retinue. "Looks like Lord Amlee came instead of the emperor again."

Lord Gravelin Amlee came in with all his dignity and his guards, with his son Greeviss walking quietly behind him. Dismissed by a rude wave from his father, Greeviss made his way over to the group. He was the same age as Nife, stocky and rounded at all the corners, and his bare feet made never a sound.

"If you think Amlee's here on the emperor's behalf, you don't understand politics." Starren said to Nife.

Nife smirked.

"Ah, my good people–" She began to imitate the emperor. "I shall just–send my brother to face the Wrys–they're a bit too frightening for my pale little mustache to bear."

It was an excellent imitation. Her friends covered their mouths, looking shocked, though Caboodle snickered. Greeviss looked grimly at Nife, as if she'd just signed her own death warrant.

"What?" She shrugged. She watched their faces closely, hoping for some clue at the reason for this secret tension.

"If it gets back to any of our parents that we so much as laughed at that..." Greeviss said.

"Heaven forbid your father finds out the emperor's mustache is pale." Nife smirked, noticing Greeviss’ fidgeting toes out of the corner of her eye.

When she mentioned Greeviss' father, he and Kit shared a serious glance for a moment.

“Come on,” Nife said. “What could they possibly do–”

But then the music started, overwhelming her voice in a wave of violin and piano notes.

She clicked her tongue as her friends stepped back to allow their elders to take the dance floor first. She was going to find out, and she was going to find out tonight.

Dancing was the only time that Banes were allowed to touch each other, and then only slightly, in passing. And Lady Wry's balls tended to avoid any Druid influences, which meant there was a lot of stomping, clapping and high-fiving, and almost no harmonies. Nife loved the stomping.

Keeping an eye on her other friends as she danced with Greeviss, she noticed that their stiff postures relaxed into the fun of the swirling rhythm–all except for Greeviss himself, who kept glancing toward his father’s table. Suddenly he flinched slightly, bowed out of the dance with a flush of embarrassment and hurried toward his father, who tilted his head in the direction of the hallway. The two of them left together. 

Nife retreated from the dance and scooted around the edge with the spectators, slipping out into the hall as subtly as she could, drawing plenty of offended stares anyway. She sent one of them a wink, and he stiffened and looked away, pretending not to have seen her.

Send enough vaguely confident gestures, and everyone else tended to assume they were the ones being weird.

Hopefully, he'd be too distracted by his confusion to watch where she'd gone. 

She passed by the tea-table and grabbed a stirring stick by habit, always preferring to have something in her hand to fidget with. She slipped out into the hall, trying to make her boots click a little more quietly on the tiles. It wasn't quiet enough, so instead, she lost her good posture and slight swagger, and instead tried for the clipped pace of a Wry servant or slave.

"You don't need to tell me that again, Greeviss," Lord Amlee's voice raised slightly louder from an alcove up ahead, where they'd be mostly protected from onlookers. "She can't go one event without making some scandalous comment. I don't want you consorting with that hornhead."

Hornhead was a rude term for Druids; Nife knew he was referring to her already from the other remarks on her habits. 

"I wasn't speaking directly to her today, father." Greeviss said in a cowed tone.

"Don't–lie to me." Lord Amlee said. Then Nife heard a loud slap. 

Shocked, she covered her mouth before she exclaimed anything out loud. She clenched her fist around the little tea-stirring-stick in her hand. 

Slap–that was the sound her teacher's hand made when Nife missed her homework. She didn’t care too much what happened to herself, but the sheer thought of Greeviss feeling that humiliation was enough to make her saliva bubble. 

She'd do something. Slapping someone had to be illegal. She was hurrying forward before she even realized it.

"No–no more, father, please." Greeviss whispered. "I'm sorry."

"More?" Nife repeated it through her teeth, rounding the corner. "I'd say that was about enough!"

Amlee turned a face that was nearly dead with scorn on her.

"How dare you interrupt me when I'm reproving my son?"

“Eh–” Nife was attempting to turn her grimace into a calm smile. “Excuse you?”

Amlee drew himself up tall–and he was tall–glaring down at her. His powerful frame exuded the threat of violence.

“I believe–I believe the word you’re looking for is ‘assault’, your lordship?” Nife paused for breath, realizing her face was probably going purple. No one takes you seriously when you get serious, she told herself. She forced herself to calm down on the outside, till all that was left was a tremor in her voice. “You could be removed from office for this.”

"I see you're as unintelligent as they say," Amlee said. "Any other choice words before you get back to your gossip?"

Nife blinked in shock. Amlee was somehow extremely intimidating. It was as if she could see the black blood of the hundred dead Druids he’d killed in the war still dripping from his fingers. To make it more unpleasant, Nife had no idea what the legal ramifications were for slapping one's own son. She was bluffing. She turned her shocked expression into something a bit more dismissive, letting out a little tension with a huff.

"Sure,” She forced a smile as she accepted the insult. “But that's a bit hypocritical of you. You're the one who can't seem to use his words."

Amlee drew himself up and stepped straight up to Nife. Her heart quailed, but she sustained a relaxed-looking slouch and stared up into his eyes. If he attacked her, he'd be in huge legal trouble. She was the daughter of an upper noble.

"I don't want to see you, or your kind, near my son." He said. "Understood?"

"And I don't want to see a big guy bullying a kid, yet here we are..." Nife kept her chin up, heart beating hard against her ribs. "How about you understand me, Lord Amlee... You want me to keep your name out of my mouth, you'll keep your hands off Greeviss."

Amlee paused. Nife licked her lips. She had a knack for taking people down in the estimations of their constituents with nothing but a well-placed comment, and Amlee was aware of that. But then he laughed and put a hard hand on Greeviss' shoulder. Greeviss cringed, then froze.

"You just try it, Nife Raizden." He said. "Slander the brother of the emperor. See how that goes for you."

Nife stared as Lord Amlee gripped Greeviss' shoulder and forced him ahead as the two of them walked away down the hall. The entire time, Greeviss hadn't even dared look at her, half-closed eyes fixed downward toward his father's legs.

She bit her lip and tried to think, stepping toward the wide window and looking outside, shading her eyes against the evening sunlight that cast down over the city outside Wry tower. There were seven other skyscrapers in the city, one for each of the great lords. As she stood looking out over the city, vaguely aware of the stirring stick flipping between her fingers, she caught the sound of a Druid's boots coming down the hall.

She closed her eyes and focused her attention through the short horn nubs that poked up through her curls. A Druid's horns could sense heat, though they kept that a secret from the Banes. She made out the shape and stride of her brother, warmer than the breezy passage. He was slowing down at each alcove, probably looking for her.

"Warren?" She called.

He turned in to the alcove and paused there, straightening and taking a deep breath to compose himself. He was almost eighteen, with short dark hair that stuck out in front just past his pointed horns. 

"Nife..." He said. "What did you do?"

She looked upward, biting her lip with an attempt at an exasperated expression. "What, is he out there complaining that he can't abuse his son in peace?" 

She found herself pushing the words out so hard that a bit of spit landed on the window. She scooted close to hide it, and surreptitiously rubbed it off with the corner of the buttoned tunic she wore that went over her skirt.

Warren let out a pained sigh. He turned toward the city and looked out the window with her for a moment. A jungle of stonework towers rose from the blue miasma at the bottom of the city, each tower connected and built onto each other with crowded bridges and catwalks, so that you could hardly even see the miasma beneath them. It had appeared beautiful, but right now, all Nife could notice was the rust, the decay, the unnatural rot that pervaded everything the evil miasma touched. A warm rain had been coming down all day, drenching the city in the smell of moldering stone, inside and out.

"Please, please don't make any more enemies for Raizden." Warren said finally.

"Warren!" Nife reproached him. "You expect me to just ignore it when someone hurts my friend?"

"Yes; yes I do." He said. "He's not our blood. Let them take care of their own."

Nife shot a glare at him, but he only stared out the window, troubled. 

"Typical." She said bitterly.

"Nife... Come on, really." He frowned at her.

She huffed and shook her head.

"You think it's okay for the man to slap him?" She said.

"We came here to make allies, not enemies." Warren said.

"No, you came here to make allies." Nife glared at the city. "I came here for the ice cream."

Warren sighed, threw her a doubtful glance, then looked back to the city as another tremor ran through the landscape, rocking underfoot. These tremors were so constant, it would've felt wrong without them.

"Let's talk about this later." He said finally.

"Damn right." Nife said. 

Next chapter:

Taglist: @tildeathiwillwrite @mimostic @fleur-a-whump @a-n-j-a-maria

Per Tumblr's content policy, this is the non-nsfw version of Dance of Death. The canon version (with rape/noncon) is here on Amazon and also on ao3, which I can't figure out how to link yet 😅 but it's under Defire.

[painsandconfusion]

Merry Whump Of May 2024 Masterpost

All the @themerrywhumpofmay posts I'm doing this year! Sorry for the late start, I'm an adhd motherfucker

Scenes will be hyperlinked to the days as I complete them.

01 - Breathless “Get back in there” | Ring box | Cliff

02 - Scorching “Don’t you dare.” | Glasses | Storage Shed

03 - Lost “See what happens.” | Screwdriver | Club

04  - Forgettable “Who are you?” | Lamp | Alleyway

05 - Strained “Put that down.” | Electrical wires | Plane

06 - Suspicious “You thought you could get away with this?” | Barbed wire | Riverside

07 - Fallen “Forget about them.” | Piano | Edge of town

08 - Pitch black “I’m fine.” | White-hot blade | Passenger seat

09 - Frostbitten “You’re nothing” | Blanket | Parking lot

10 - Jaded  “Revenge is a dish best served.” | Mask | Rooftop

11 - Numb “Pretty little thing.” | Bracelet | Stairwell

12- Known “Let me hear you.” | Garrotte | Desert

13 - Restless “Tell me how it feels.” | Needle | Trail

14 - Punchable “I just want you.” | Rock | Closet

15 - Stone-cold “Let me hold you.” | Candle | Cellar

16 - Naive  “Say aaaaa-” | Whip | Library

17 - Hungry “Wait, are you afraid of me?” | Fork | Lake

18 - Conditioned “Why do you love them?” | Record player | Ballroom

19 - Distracted “Rot in hell.” | Soup | crate

20 - Alone “Don’t tell me you forgot about me.” | Lipstick | Training grounds

21 - Charismatic “Sit.” | Vial | Balcony

22 - Charred “It’s been too long.” | Straps | Rafters

23 - Overthrown “Close your eyes.” | Rock | Truck

24 - Shadowed “Break a leg!” | Plants | Cave

25 - Practical “I’ve always loved the rain.” | Bottle | Shop

26 - Resilient “Get in.” | Pocket | Marsh

27 - Mistrusted “You’re trembling.” | Dagger | Couch

28 - Loyal “Smile.” | Water | Workshop

29 - Reflective “Chin up.” | Trap | Office

30 - Tenacious “Did you have a bad dream?” | Paper clip | Doorway

31 - Broken “Last one.” | Key | Under the bed