#febuwhumpday21

[whumpinthepot]

@febuwhump 2025. Day 21. Put on display.

Art for @thoughtsonhurtandcomfort of their oc Blue!

[linecrosser]

Febuwhump 2k25 - Day 21 - Put On Display

Shang Qinghua got himself in some situation here.

[checkeredflagggs]

Febuwhump Day 21: Put on Display

pairings: gen

summary: a story about y/n, Redbull’s new second driver, told in non-sequential order

a/n: I love febuwhump and have participated before for other fandoms but this is a first for me — attempting to compete it via smau only. Hopefully I can write a complete story eventually and I will be posting it on its own masterlist in the correct order to read but it’ll be written based on the febuwhump prompt list! @febuwhump

a/n2: based on the 2024 year; sorry checo but you got replaced earlier!

a/n3: sorry if I’m wrong about the statistics on women drivers. It’s 11:30pm. If you let me know how I’m wrong, I’ll gladly fix it!

Masterlist | Taglist

y/n_rb

liked by lewishamilton, oscarpiastri, familymember, user, and 1,283,923 others

y/n_rb: I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to do anything right enough for you guys…these are just a handful of posts that talk about me like they know anything about me. Like they know what kind of stress and pressure a driver is under — to perform, to make it look good and easy, to please the sponsors and the team and the fans, to succeede...

No. Instead I’m just put on display and picked at and prodded and judged…it’s not something new to me — but I finally have enough of a platform to speak out against it.

You’re not a fan of me, of the sport, if these are the kind of stuff you post. Because if you can casually post these kinds of things about me — I have no doubt you’re willing to start posting that about other drivers when they start to displease you. It’s not fun for anyone to see this and surely it can’t be fun for you either — to have people you claim to hate living rent free in your mind.

So how about you just stop?

(And for some clarification? In order — me after a Saudi Arabia (my first full f1 race where my water didn’t work — I was so dehydrated and tired, it was all I could do to not pass out), me talking to my niece who knew I was probably going to be called away at any second and understood, a photo shoot for sponsors where I was specifically told not to smile as to promote a serious atmosphere, me and yourbff where I was congratulating her after a successful FP1 where we were the first 2 females to race in formula 1 cars simultaneously (making history), and lastly — yes I look like a model there BECAUSE it was part of a photo shoot helping promote the sport to the wider FEMALE audience)

view all comments

user1: go OFF queen

↳user2: literally gagging the haters 🙏

yourbff: at least they got our good sides…

↳oscarpiastri: neither of you have good sides…

↳yourbff: you’re rude as fuck Aussie…

↳y/n_rb: don’t worry babe. I’ll deal with him

user3: just how fucking rude are people???

↳user4: a lot — it’s a damn cesspool over there

↳user3: damn am I glad I’m not on that platform anymore then

alex_albon: very well said y/n

↳y/n_rb: thanks albono!!

↳alex_albon: I’m guessing the chances of that nickname going away is impossibly low??

↳logansargeant: yup

lewishamilton: extremely well said y/n and I’m glad that I’ve had the chance to race against such an inspiration for others

↳y/n_rb: I really should be saying that to you Sir Lewis Hamilton!

↳lewishamilton: Lewis is fine

↳y/n_rb: it is not but thanks!

familymember: your niece wants to say hi!

↳y/n_rb: hi baby!

↳familymember: hiiiiiii auntie y/nnie!!

↳y/n_rb: my beautiful girl 😍😍😍

Taglist

@anamiad00msday @suns3treading @daniskywalkersolo @awritingtree @justheretoreadthxxs @coral7161 @lost4lyrics @mastermindbaby @freyathehuntress @angelluv16 @nichmeddar @mxm47max @justaf1girl @a-beaverhausen @tallrock35 @elizamoe133 @imlonelydontsendhelp @jessica3478 @il0vereadingstuff @msimpala-67 @Americanvenom13 @taylorrrrrrrrrrswiftttt @widow-cevans @yawn-zi @1-of-my-many-obsessions

[aquinnix]

Febuwhump Day 21 - Put On Display

Surely this was a good idea.

Grian itched at the fabric, trying to find a comfortable position in this cage of his own making. It was just marketing, soon someone would come along and pay him to open the door.

Business.

Cold, scratchy, business.

He shifted again, adjusting the hood of his onesie to use as a pillow. If no one showed up soon, it was going to be a long night. Why didn’t he set this up in the morning? Why couldn’t he just think things through for once?

Whelp, too late now.

Grian tucked his face into the onesie, trying to get just a little warmer. The night breeze didn’t even notice the bars around him, biting into every bit of exposed skin. He started shaking his arms and legs, hoping the motion would help keep him from freezing.

He probably looked like an idiot. Sitting in a cage in a guinea pig onesie, wiggling around like this, but in that moment Grian didn’t care. Maybe the stupidity of it all would get some attention, and some sales. Just a little longer, then the sun would come up.

Just a little longer didn’t feel soon enough.

[serickswrites]

Bow Down

Warnings: restraints, stress position, torture, unconsciousness, cruel whumper, public humiliation, whumpee on display, forced to watch

Caretaker couldn't stop staring. They hadn't been able to look away from the dais in the center of the town's square though they had wanted to. They had very much wanted to look away, to leave, to run and never look back. But they stayed. They stayed because Whumpee had stayed.

Whumpee had refused to bow down to Whumper. Had refused to concede their lands to Whumper. Had refused to surrender and let Whumper take their throne. Had refused in hopes it would protect their citizens.

Whumpee's kingdom had been at war with Whumper's kingdom for as long as Caretaker could remember. Whumpee had inherited the throne in the middle of the war and had tried to maintain the status quo in the kingdom. Had tried to protect their citizens at all costs.

Whumpee was beloved by their subjects. Was a beloved and kind ruler. They were admired by all. And yet not a single person had stepped forward to defend Whumpee when Whumper had dragged their unconscious, beaten body out onto the dais.

Whumper had infiltrated the castle, seemingly overnight. And rather than let their court be slaughtered needlessly, Whumpee had offered themself up for their freedom. Had offered their body to Whumper to save everyone else. Whumper hadn't wanted that. They had wanted Whumpee to surrender their kingdom. To bend knee and bow down before Whumper.

Whumpee had refused.

And now, as Caretaker stared in horror while Whumper's men tied Whumpee to a table on the dais, each limb stretched out as far as it could go, Caretaker realized that Whumpee had been a fool. The men rotated the table so that all present in the town square could stare at their tortured, broken monarch. Whumper was going to torture Whumpee until they agreed to surrender their seat. Whumper was going to force the citizens to watch Whumpee bend and break.

Caretaker knew Whumpee well enough to know that Whumpee would rather die than break. Would rather give their life defending their subjects than surrender. They couldn't watch Whumpee suffer like this. Couldn't watch Whumpee die. Caretaker had to find a way to free Whumpee and defeat Whumper. And fast.

Tags: @mousepaw @jumpywhumpywriter @knightinbatteredarmor @hufflepuffwritingstuff2 @anightmarishwhump

@steh-lar-uh-nuhs @celestialsoyeon @st0rmm @ay5ksal @pedro-pedro-pedro-pedro-pe

@pepeniascat

[loopstagirl]

Febuwhump DAY 21: put on display

With Scotty of course!

For @Febuwhump day 21: Put on Display

Highest Bidder

Goosebumps rose on Scott’s arms, and he shivered. The loose grey tracksuit bottoms his captors had forced him to wear did nothing to hold the heat, not when his upper body and feet were bare. With his hands cuffed behind his back, he couldn’t even hug his arms around himself to keep warm. 

He didn’t say anything, though. He was no worse off than any of the others in the room with him. He recognised some of them: powerful businessmen, one guy he was pretty sure was a prince of some far-off place, and a few children of government officials. 

None of them were bound. There wasn’t the need. They were all huddled together, dreading when their captors would return and haul another out of the room, not to return. While Scott didn’t know what was going on, he was starting to get a pretty good idea. He’d heard the cries and jeers whenever the doors opened. On one occasion, he was certain he heard numbers being called.  

They were being auctioned off. The rich, the powerful, or, in his case, just the unlucky. Although that wasn’t strictly true. As he’d been bundled into the back of a van, groggy as whatever they’d hit him with started to take effect, he’d heard them grumbling that their target had been his dad, not him. But Jeff Tracy was a hard man to get on his own whenever he was off his elusive island: his son had been an easier target. 

Scott was glad. He was so used to protecting his brothers that it felt good protecting his father, too. His dad had connections and resources that Scott could barely comprehend. If anyone was going to find him, it would be Jeff Tracy. With John’s help. 

He’d come to in this room, his clothes gone and dressed in just joggers. He’d have been embarrassed that they’d changed him while he was unconscious if he hadn’t been in the USAF for three years. There was no privacy in barracks. There was no privacy with four younger brothers, either. 

Not everyone had been as accepting as him, however. A few soft-bellied middle-aged men had protested loudly until a gun had been pushed in their faces. Then they’d shut up and sat down, meekly doing as they were told.  

Maybe they’d been right, Scott thought. He’d been outnumbered and overwhelmed when he’d tried to fight back. Now, his hands were locked in metal bracelets and every time they came to get someone else, a gun was trained on him. He should have bided his time, waited until they’d come for him and the civilians were out of immediate danger from stray bullets. 

Scott snorted, earning a few curious looks from his fellow prisoners. They’d all sat, stunned, when he’d launched himself at the guards. Not even the men who looked around his age, fitter than their older companions, had helped, but sat there, wide-eyed, as Scott rushed the men holding guns. 

There had been cries when Scott had been dropped to his knees, a fist in his gut, a boot in his kidneys. But they’d been shouts of fear, not outrage. By the time he’d caught his breath and managed to straighten up, his hands had been tied behind his back and he was being watched. 

He understood their curious looks now, though. Even if they knew who he was, they’d know he was a civilian just as much as them. His Air Force days were over and as far as the rest of the world believed, he sat around living off his dad’s money. 

“My mother will pay,” a young man mumbled, his voice only just audible. He looked to be around Virgil’s age.  

Scott would have felt sorry for him, if his younger brother hadn’t taken on the mantle of saving the world despite having no training or a background in military or medicine. There was something inherently weak about this young man that Scott had to grit his teeth not to snap at him to pull himself together. The old man who could’ve been their grandfather was managing better; glaring at their captors even if he was in no condition to fight back. 

"So will my company. We usually have a policy not to deal with terrorists, but...” 

Scott rolled his eyes as the man trailed off. “Let me guess. You won’t pay out if any of your employees get into trouble but you expect them to hand everything over for you?” 

“I don’t know who you think you are, young man, but all you’ve done so far is cause more trouble. You’re going to get us all killed.” 

“That’s Scott Tracy, you twerp,” the older gentleman said. “A decorated military history and a billionaire father who has done more than just run a business.” 

“Tracy? Tracy? Well, well, looks like living the life of a rich boy isn’t going too well for you, after all,” the man sneered. 

Scott looked away. It didn’t both him that the rest of the world saw him as a playboy even as they were thanking the nameless rescuer pulling them and their families to safety. But it did mean that most of these people wouldn’t follow him. Not unless he made them. 

“Look-,” he began, but before he could say anything else, the door opened again.  

Three guards came in, two with drawn weapons and one with a clipboard. One of the armed men covered Scott while the other pointed his gun in the vague direction of the rest of the prisoners. The third man consulted his list. 

“Jeremy Hendricks. On your feet.” 

The second guard approached the man who’d been so sure his mother would pay. He gave a terrified squeak, trying to move backwards but hitting the woman behind him. 

“Take her,” he said, “she’s got more money than me.” 

If looks could kill, the guards wouldn’t have needed their weapons. The woman shot Jeremy a disdainful look. 

“I am Sandra Mactinosh of the Mactinosh group. Whatever demands you have, you will receive funds.” 

The guard sneered. “It’s not you who will be paying though, love.” 

He reached for her, and she flinched back. Scott sighed. 

“Take me.” He made it awkwardly to his feet. His guard took a quick step back, levelling his gun with Scott’s chest. Scott gave him a sideways look. 

“You’re not going to get any money if you shoot me,” he pointed out, “so drop the act.” 

The guard looked flustered, glancing towards the man in the clipboard. He was regarding Scott thoughtfully. 

“Yes,” he said, slowly. “We have some parties who are very interested in you, Mr Tracy. Maybe we should separate the wolf from the sheep, before anyone gets any ideas.” 

His gaze took in the splashes of colour already blooming on Scott’s exposed torso. 

“More ideas, anyway.” 

He clicked his fingers. One of the guards hurried out, no doubt to inform their patrons there was going to be a change of order. When he returned, there were another two men with him. 

The newcomers took hold of Scott’s arms, hauling him up and dragging him towards the door. 

“You keep fighting, son,” the elderly gentleman said. 

One of the guards approached, snarling, but Scott started struggling. He was under no misconception that he could break free (his hands were tied; he didn’t know where he was; he couldn’t leave these people!), but it was enough to draw the attention back to him. It was clear an old man was not going to offer more of a fight than words. 

They forced him out the door, bundling him along a short corridor and into an auditorium. It should’ve been even colder there, but it was full of people. 

Despite the audience being in darkness, the spotlight focused on a small area set up as a stage, Scott saw enough. These were not the type of people his father would have business meetings with. The criminal underworld, the gangs and ruthless thugs that destroyed so many lives through weapons, drugs, and fear. 

He was pushed to his knees in the centre of the stage. 

“No. This one they’ll want to see.” The voice was silky, sending shivers down Scott’s spine.  

Two of the men chuckled while a third got to work. It took him two tries before he managed to throw a piece of rope over a light fitting. While he tugged it into position, another unlocked Scott’s handcuffs. He couldn’t try anything, not with a gun jammed under his chin to ensure he stayed still. 

They moved swiftly. Whoever these people were, they knew what they were doing. No one could kidnap and ransom off such high fliers without being leaders in this market themselves.  

Before Scott could offer more than a cursory struggle, the cuffs had been released, his hands pulled in front of him and secured with a zip tie. They looped the end of the rope over his bound wrists and heaved. 

Scott was dragged up, first to his feet, then to tiptoes. Someone gave a low laugh. His feet were still touching the floor but only just, leaving him fighting for balance as he tried to find purchase. 

“If you don’t recognise him, you’ll all know his name. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you... Scott Tracy.” 

The light blinded him as the jeers rose from the audience. 

“How many of your operations has Jeff Tracy closed down? How many times has this family send aid relief to an area that should’ve been indebted to you? Well, now I say it’s time for the Tracys to repay that debt! 

“Look at him, ladies and gentlemen.” The auctioneer moved closer. He reached up, gripping Scott’s hair and pulling his head back until his throat was exposed. It was one of the most vulnerable positions Scott had ever found himself in, and he’d been in a few over the years. 

“Look at this physique. He’d be wasted on your drug lines, but put him in the fields to harvest your crops and you’ll make record profit. Of course, you’d have to go old school to keep him in line, maybe a touch of a whip.” 

The audience laughed again. Scott locked his jaw, forced to stare at the ceiling but adamant they wouldn’t get a reaction out of him. 

“Those of you with fighting pits, place your bets, gentlemen! These muscles, this body... He’d make a killing. Maybe you don’t know, Tracy was part of the USAF. He’s a trained killer, ladies and gentlemen. Put him to work.” 

The hand moved from his hair to his chin, gripping it tightly between finger and thumb and forcing him to look out over the crowd. Scott kept his gaze fixed on the far side of the room. He saw a red light blinking there. It took him a moment to focus, then he realised this entire thing was being recorded. No doubt some of the drug lords couldn’t make it in person and were bidding online. 

It should’ve scared him, how global this operation seemed to be. Instead, he bit back a smile. This wouldn’t just be going across the world – it would be beamed into space as well to reach the satellites. Where a certain brother of his would no doubt be furiously trying to work out where Scott had gone when he’d stepped out for some fresh air during a business meeting his father had asked him to attend at Tracy Industries.  

He’d save the embarrassment of being seen in this position until after John had sent someone to come and get him. 

“...for your ladies,” the man was still droning on. “The perfect decoration to impress guests. I’d advise keeping a gag to hand when you have civilised company around but you could dress this boy up to impress. Or,” he gave Scott a horrible smirk. “Undress. Your preference.” 

There were some titters amongst the crowd. Finally, the auctioneer let go and moved back to his podium.  

“Shall we open the bids at 2 million dollars?” 

Scott zoned out. His fingers tested for weakness in the rope; his gaze scanned the dim room as best he could with the lights shining on him. They’d have to bring him down to sell him off. His captors were in the room but there weren’t enough people for each member of the audience to have their own protection here. Scott didn’t doubt they’d be waiting outside somewhere, but things got messy during a handover. He just had to bide his time... 

“Half a billion.” 

Scott jolted. Not because the offer was ludicrously high (his father might’ve taken down a few less than scrupulous businesses over the years, but surely he hadn’t annoyed anyone that much), but because of the voice. It was quiet but menacing, hatred pouring from every syllable.  

The crowd went silent. Even the auctioneer blinked a couple of times before regaining his composure. 

“Half a billion! Come on, ladies and gents, can anyone top that? No? Going once.... Going twice... Sold! To... to... Who did just buy him?” 

A figure stood up. He moved towards the stage on silent feet, a long robe billowing around his ankles. It didn’t look humorous though. Scott felt goosebumps rise again and this time, it wasn’t the cold.  

He wasn’t a tall man, but the crowd parted to let him through. He stepped up onto the stage. 

“Thank you, sir,” the auctioneer said. It was clear he had no idea who this man was, either. Out of the corner of his eye, Scott saw him frantically gesturing at his guards, trying to figure out how someone had entered what was no doubt a highly controlled arena without his knowledge. 

The man didn’t answer, just approached Scott. He stood with his back to the audience, studying him intently. Scott glared back, but didn’t give him the satisfaction of saying anything.  

“Can I put a name to your purchase, sir?” 

“You can call me the Hood.” His hand rose and he placed a long, slender finger under Scott’s chin. The touch was gentle, but there was power in it as he forced Scott’s head first one way, then the other, examining him. 

“Oh yes,” he said in a voice no more than a whisper. “You’ll do just fine.” 

Despite himself, Scott spoke. 

“Who are you?” he demanded, glad his voice didn’t betray him. The man standing in front of him had an icy grip on his heart that Scott had never felt before. There was something almost terrifying about this small, bald man with his piercing yellow eyes. 

“Your father’s worst nightmare,” the Hood said, his voice still too low to carry. “And you’re going to help me destroy him.” 

Scott made to speak, refusing to let this man have the last word. But it was as if he physically couldn’t. His jaw was locked and only a strangled noise slipped from him. 

“We’re going to have lots of fun, you and I.” The Hood’s hand moved from Scott’s chin. He placed a palm on his forehead, not noticing Scott recoiling.  

Before Scott could move further, a blast of pain so intense that it drowned out everything but his screaming senses tore through him. Blackness closed in and the last thing he saw before he blacked out was the man’s eyes. 

They weren’t just yellow. They were glowing. 

[blackrosesandwhump]

Febuwhump Day 21: Unresponsive

CW: experiment whump, unconsciousness whumpee, creepy whumper, needle mention

It’s happening again.

Whumper sighs in frustration and slaps whumpee’s face, gently at first, then more forcefully a second time. Nothing. Unresponsive, right at the critical juncture in the experiment. Whumper frowns and bends closer, examining his subject. Pale, damp skin. Shallow breathing. Weak pulse through the stethoscope. Not an ideal situation, especially when whumper is so close to success.

“You’re not being very helpful, whumpee.” Whumper steps back from the table, crossing his arms. “I told you to stay awake this time. But did you listen? No.” He pauses, observing whumpee for a moment in intense silence, then springs into action, readying various instruments and a syringe. The bright lights overhead wash out whumpee’s skin completely, making him look dead.

But he isn’t, and he won’t be, not while whumper needs him.

“And now, since you didn’t listen,” whumper says, plunging the syringe into whumpee’s chest, “we have to start the experiment all over again.”

[what-the-whump]

Febuwhump 2024 | Day 21 | Unresponsive

Power Rangers Ninja Storm | 1x12 | Return of Thunder Part III

[leaperfr0g]

Febuwhump Day 21, Put On Display

@febuwhump

Master list (Click for better quality and detail)

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

Side Note,

The champions will always have my heart. I wish we could have had more memories of them and their personalities and how they were!

I always had a specific order I hung up the champions weapons! I hated breaking their weapon since I felt bad, so I hardly used them except when I go to fight Ganon so that it felt like they were there! I put Urbosa's sword by the sheild rack so her sword hung by her sheild, Mipha's trident is at the far left because It felt right to put it there! Revali's bow goes beside Mipha's trident and Daruk's boulder breaker goes in the middle!

[simpforchuchu]

Dearest

Prompts: DAY 21 - unresponsive @febuwhump Characters: Sachio x reader Fandom: High and Low Summary: Y/n’/ last letter

A/n for prompts: Hello guys! This is my first time trying a prompt challenge. I hope you like the short fics I wrote. I will finish them by writing some of the requests I have. I love you 💜

Sorry for the grammer or spelling mistakes.English is not my main language so...

Thank you and love you 🥰

Warnings: mention of character’s death

Sachio finally gathered the courage to open the envelope in his hand. While he was watching the city from where the old temple was located, he clutched the letter written "To Sachio" in his hand.

He was afraid. It was very difficult for him to open and read this letter after she’s gone. But he knew, he had to do it.

He sat on the steps and carefully opened the envelope in his hand. His heart was already racing when he saw his girlfriend's handwriting.

“Dear Sachio,

I know you will be very angry with me when you read this letter. Maybe you will hate me. But I couldn't tell you the truth. You were smiling so beautifully next to me, I didn't want you to feel sorry for me.

I have been struggling with this illness for a long time. My body was unresponsive to treatment and I was getting closer to death every day. How can you say this to someone you love? I didn't know. I still don't know. That's why I couldn’t say it.

I am sorry. I'm really sorry. I loved you so much that I couldn't bear you being sad because of me.

I was happy every moment I spent with you. You always made me feel like I was the only girl in the world. I felt loved every moment I was with you. And I loved you very much every moment.

Thank you for always making me happy and making me feel loved in our short time. The warmth of your hands and your beautiful smile is something I will never forget. I hope we meet again in my next life and I hope I will remember the warmth of your hands.

Don't be mad at me, okay? I didn't want you to suffer with me. Maybe it was selfish, but I love you too much to hurt you.

Do not be angry with yourself too, okay ? It's not your fault. I guess I was good at lying. I apologize again for these.

Please don't be too upset. I can't say forget me, but at least continue to have someone in your life, okay? You deserve to be loved. And being loved by you is the most beautiful experience anyone can have.

Take care of yourself Sachio, I have always loved you and I will always love you.

-Y/n.”

The young boy wiped his watery eyes and folded the letter in his hand again. He looked at the sky and tried to smile. It hurt, but he felt at peace.

Y/n wouldn't suffer anymore and she would always be with him.

HnL taglist : @straysugzhpe @tiddly-winx @ninamarie1994 @emperorsnero @koala-yuna @little-miss-naill

[skyhighchibi]

hey what if the kingquest ending was worse <- fic link

(for @febuwhump day 21 (alt prompt): pick who dies!)

[linecrosser]

Febwhump 2024 - Day 21 - Unresponsive

Young SQH suffering from System-induced shutdowns when not following the instructions to the letter.

[firapolemos05]

Jose: Feral beasts belong caged at the zoo.

@febuwhump 2025

Day 21 Put on Display

Gajeel has a reoccurring nightmare.

[librathefangirl]

Febuwhump 2024: Day 21 Alt 7 - Last Words

[aftepes]

Febuwhump day 21, Zaundads Week day 2 On Display/Guilty Pleasure- Warning, this one has some very, VERY nsfw implications. Read if you want but I put it out there.

They used to call him a canary, back in the mines. A pretty little thing, in the dirt and the darkness, singing for them. For their touches, for their wants, for their pleasures. Singing so sweetly for their desires. And Silco always went willingly. Truth be told, there was some fun to be had in being their canary, out on display, available to sing for whoever wanted a turn. There was a filthy, beautiful pleasure to it all. To being so wanted. To being shown off, traded around, used like that. A base, grotesque thrill.

And even when they were out of the mines, even when they were planning their revolution, living above the bar, sharing a tiny room, a bed barely big enough for Vander and Silco to share. Even then, a shiver passed down Silco’s spine when Vander would slide his huge hand down Silco’s slender body, when he would press him into the bed, call him “canary.”

[lady-wallace]

Febuwhump Day 21: "Put On Display" (Love and Deepspace)

A long one for today's @febuwhump prompt fill!

More LaDS today. I got a little too invested whumping Rafayel because he's so much fun to play with so hope you all enjoy.

~~~~~~~

Rafayel meets a strange woman at one of his gallery exhibitions who seems particularly interested in him. After brushing the meeting off as nothing, he’s kidnapped by mysterious assailants and put on display in the woman’s private collection. It’s up to Ariadne to find him before the artist becomes a permanent art piece himself.

~~~~~~~

Read the whole story on Ao3

~~~

After a long drive Rafayel was pulled from the back of the car and practically carried into some sort of building. They made several turns and went up a flight of stairs before he was pushed onto some piece of furniture and the bag was finally removed from his head.

He blinked, cringing at the sudden brightness, and a figure appeared in front of him.

“Thank you, you can talk to my butler about your payment.”

The men who had captured Rafayel left the room, leaving only two burley men in suits standing in a corner of the room, obviously bodyguards.

At the moment though, he was more focused on the woman standing in front of him—unmistakably Lady Charlotte from the gallery.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Rafayel demanded. “What? You didn’t want to wait for me to politely decline your invitation, you just thought you would kidnap me and drag me here yourself?”

She gave him a small smile with her red-painted lips. “It seemed the easiest way to go about things. I am having my own gala tomorrow night, you see, and I wanted my collection to be spectacular.”

Rafayel looked at her incredulously. “Are you seriously expecting me to paint something for you in that amount of time? You could have bought any of the paintings you wanted at the gallery! My artistic talents can’t be harnessed on any little whim.”

“No, darling,” Charlotte’s smile turned sickly sweet as she reached out and gripped Rafayel’s chin, tilting his head up. “You are my new collection piece.”

Rafayel balked, pulling away. “Excuse me?! What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

She pulled something from her pocket, a small vial, which she opened, grabbing Rafayel’s chin again to waft it under his nose.

His nostrils burned and he coughed slightly. “What—?”

The scent was strong yet undeniably nostalgic. Like the pure essence of the sea. He felt it digging into him, burrowing into his subconscious. He gasped at the itch of scales appearing on his face; the air started to feel thick, making it harder for him to breathe.

He pulled away from her grip, collapsing on the couch as he panted, trying to draw air into his lungs.

“So, the rumors were true after all,” Charlotte said with awe, kneeling next to the couch as she reached out to stroke the scales on his cheek.