#prompt no. 9: trapped
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Ravishing a god
Fandom: The Boys
Pairing: Billy Butcher/Homelander
Summary: Homelander’s got himself trapped. Billy decides to take advantage.
It's a good thing he’s definitely not attracted to the cunt.
Notes: There were no Butchlander tickle fics, so I wrote one!
This takes place in an AU where Soldier Boy wasn't captured, and Maeve didn't lose her powers, but Butcher and Homelander have reluctantly teamed up because they're madly in love with each other but can't admit it.
Written for august-anon's TickleTober 2022 challenge, prompt no. 9: "Trapped" (I'm doing these out of order, and no way I'll manage to write 31 of them)
Part 1 of 2;
Read on AO3
Warnings: non-con/VERY dub-con; canon-appropriate level of swearing; bondage; part 1 is semi safe for work?
Billy Butcher is stuck in traffic when he sees the first explosion. There’s a bright flash, and a cloud of dust and debris raining down from what’s probably somewhere between the tenth and fifteenth floor of yet another half empty office building. This is where supes go to fight these days. Less property damage. Fewer deaths. Legal drama is rare. Everybody wins.
He’s not far now, so Billy decides to get out of the car and walk the rest of the way. There’s a second explosion, and the numbers on his geiger counter are spiking now. Fucking Soldier Boy and his propensity to blow shit up for attention.
It’s all quiet by the time he arrives at the building, except for a handful of spectators. Billy’s not usually one to miss a fight, but of course Homelander had to fly ahead and didn’t take him with him, not that he would have ever agreed to let that bastard carry him (the supe also didn’t offer, he can't help but notice).
Billy quickly ducks around the corner of the buiding and lights a cigarette. He’s here now, so he might as well wait for the caped cunt to come out, make sure Soldier Boy didn’t bruise his ego too badly, maybe gloat a little, and then drive home. Drive Homelander home, too, in case he got hit by that white chest blast from hell again. It’s happened more than once now, and it doesn’t really seem to harm him much, except it fries his powers for a few hours.
By the time Billy finishes his cigarette and casually flicks the butt on the ground, all is still quiet, but there’s also still no sign of Homelander. Fucking great, now he’s got to go look for the cunt in the nuclear wasteland Soldier Boy’s left behind. If the Temp V doesn’t kill him soon, the bloody radiation will.
This is what he gets for agreeing to this silly little scorched earth team-up make-believe whatever you want to call it.
That’s right. The media have latched on to their story, because everything has to be a fucking media spectacle these days, apparently. Vought is trying to sell them as some ridiculous arch enemies to lovers story. The lovers part is bollocks, of course, but the world can’t seem to get enough of them. (Their Q-rating is a solid 95, which isn’t the best, as Homelander has pointed out, but pretty damn close, not that Billy would give a fuck or know what a Q-rating is.)
Yeah. He’s stuck with Captain Cunt now, so he might as well go check up on him.
Billy sighs and enters the building through the side entrance. The elevator is broken after the blast, so he takes the stairs, following the blast damage in reverse. He can tell the room the supes fought in by the way that the door is ripped out of the wall and there’s a hole in the ceiling.
“Oi!” Billy calls. “Anybody home?”
Homelander is lying flat on his back amidst the rubble and shredded office supplies, arms above his head, eyes closed. Soldier Boys must have hit him from up close and knocked him out.
Billy steps closer and takes another look. Nah, cunt’s awake. He probably heard Butcher coming from a mile away but is choosing to ignore him.
“Oi!” He repeats, bending down to tap the supe's head. “Anybody home?”
Homelander is still refusing to acknowledge his presence, but his face is twitching ever so slightly. And then Billy sees it. Underneath the rubble there’s a bloody steel pipe wrapped twice around his wrists, ends slammed into the ground, pinning his hands above his head.
Bloody hell.
It’s like Soldier Boy left the cunt here, gift-wrapped, just for him. Ben’s got that twisted sense of humor, and the pipe doesn’t exactly look like it wrapped itself so perfectly around Homelander’s wrists through the sheer force of the explosion. Billy makes a mental note to reciprocate the favor at some point. He and Soldier Boy may be arch enemies now - doesn’t mean they can’t give each other small gifts every once in a while.
“Well, well, well,” he says. “Looks like America’s sweetheart got himself trapped.”
Homelander’s eyes snap open. “Thank you, Captain Obvious. I would not have noticed had you not pointed it out.” Billy can’t quite tell if he’s annoyed or amused or a bit of both. All he knows is the bloody supe’s so fucking full of himself it’s gotta hurt him physically.
“Told ya not to get ahead of yourself, but you never listen.”
“That’s all very fascinating, but I need you to stop your lecture and help me get out of here, William,” Homelander says, unfazed. “I need to be on set in two hours.”
“Yeah, don’t think you’re gonna make that, love.” Billy smirks. And with that, he’s finally got the supe’s full attention.
“Ah, okay.” Homelander smiles and nods, then drops the smile in an instance. “And. Why. Is. That?”
Billy could tell him that he can’t break the pipe because he’s got no Temp V in his system. That would be a blatant lie, of course; he wouldn’t have headed to a supe fight without it, and Homelander knows it. Or he could tell him that it’s not his job to save his spoiled arse, so he’s going to have to wait for the Vought crew to show up.
Instead, he squats down next to Homelander and places a finger under his chin. “I just think you look awfully pretty pinned down like this. Think I’m just gonna sit here and watch for a bit.”
Homelander has the gall to sneer and cross his legs. “Make yourself comfortable. May I offer you some tea to enjoy with the view?”
He looks just a little too complacent for someone in his predicament. How often has Billy fantasized about wiping that smug grin off the cocky bastard’s face. Despite his shitty upbringing, he’s got honor though, occasionally at least. It’s not terribly honorable to hit a man who can’t hit him back. It’s not very entertaining either, come to think of it.
Billy’s grin widens. Yeah, he knows what he’s going to do instead, and he suspects it’s going to be just as satisfying as beating the cunt up. Now that he thinks about it, probably more. If he’s honest with himself, he’s always wanted to try this.
He places one hand on the supe’s chest and slowly starts sliding it down.
Homelander rolls his eyes. “You gonna grab a feel now? Really, William? That’s low.” Billy’s move has the intended effect though: his body has tensed up, and his eyes follow the hand as it trails down his suit, tracing the fake muscles.
“Maybe.” Billy straddles Homelander’s thighs. The cunt sure looks less smug now, making a last ditch effort to twist his hands free. Futile, of course; Billy makes a mental note to send Maeve a thank you before he resumes lightly grazing his sides.
There’s absolutely no doubt Homelander can feel his hands even through the thick padding of his suit; he’s scrunching his face and trying to wiggle away, all while trying to pretend that absolutely nothing is happening and that Billy hasn’t just discovered a pretty fundamental weakness in his natural armor.
This is going to be fucking delightful. Billy feels a flutter in his stomach. He unbuckles the other man’s golden belt and starts pulling out the top of his suit, just enough to reveal a thin strip of perfect marble skin.
“Oh for God’s sake, William, control yourself!” Homelander protests. He’s still trying to hide behind a thick layer of snark and sarcasm, but he’s nervous now, and Billy wonders if he knows yet what he’s got coming for him.
He slides his hand under the fabric. Homelander’s skin feels strangely normal, soft even, not at all like the practically impenetrable suit that it really is. He lightly brushes his fingers over Homelander’s belly and gets a brief burst of laughter in return.
“What the fuck, Butcher! What-” There’s surprise in the supe’s voice, something like anger, and, as Billy notes with satisfaction, a hint of panic. No. The caped cunt clearly did not see this one coming.
Butcher sits back to contemplate. If Homelander has lost his powers that probably means his supe-senses are weaker too. Which is a real shame, Billy thinks, but doesn’t really matter because he’s quite pleased with the reactions he’s getting so far, and this is much less likely to result in death and broken limbs. Let no one ever claim that Billy Butcher can’t spot an acceptable compromise when he sees one.
He slides his other hand underneath the dark blue fabric, squeezing both of Homelander’s hips at the same time, then watches him struggle to suppress a very childish giggle.
“This is ridiculous.” Homelander’s voice is strained; his whole body is twisting to get away from the hands that are prodding and probing his waist as they slowly slide upwards.
“You’re right, this is ridiculous,” Billy agrees. “Your silly costume’s too bloody tight, can’t even move my hands properly.” He rips the suit top open with both hands and pushes it up as far as he can, tearing off a golden eagle in the process, not that he cares. The bloody cape’s still half stuck underneath a struggling and cursing Homelander.
Billy thinks for a moment, then rips it out, folds it in half twice and pushes it under the supe’s head. “Wouldn’t want you to be uncomfortable, darling.”
“You need help,” Homelander says. He’s recovered some of his composure and all of his snark. “Your, your obsession with me… it’s unhealthy, William, you know.”
“You’re the one who insists we play lovers for the cameras,” Billy points out, “and bait the media with that silly enemies to lovers fantasy Vought made up.”
“That’s… that’s just for the points,” Homelander says, a little too quickly.
Billy smirks, watching the supe blush just a little. “Yeah, sure it is.”
He takes another look at his work. Homelander isn’t half as muscular as his now shredded suit would suggest. Half naked, arms pinned above his head, strands of blond hair falling into his face, his head resting on a makeshift pillow of red white and blue… the cunt looks pretty ridiculous. Grotesque, really, distractingly grotesque. Butcher definitely doesn’t find him attractive. Absolutely not.
Fine. So what if he does?
“Right.” Billy snaps out of his thoughts to refocus on the task at hand. He pulls Homelander’s pants down just enough to reveal red briefs (red bloody briefs, god, is there no end to this man’s tackiness?). Then he lazily runs a single digit along the line where red fabric meets pale skin, back and forth, watching as Homelander’s facial expression changes from annoyed to uneasy to actively distressed.
“Fuck! Will you stop that, you fucking pervert!” The cunt may be hurling curses at him, but his voice is cracking now, and Billy knows he’s very close to completely cracking him open. All of this with just a single finger; he’s got to make sure to remember that spot. The thought of seeing that bloody marble statue of a body writhe and twist underneath him is fucking electrifying. He hasn’t felt this alive in years.
“Stop!” Homelander cries.
“Oh, but I’m only gettin’ started.” Billy leans forward until he lies comfortably on top of the supe, his legs pinning his thighs, one elbow pressing down on his shoulder, his own head right next to Homelander’s. It looks quite obscene, probably. If someone were to walk in on them now, they’d have questions.
“Mmmmmhhh. Where’d that smile go?” He gently cups Homelander’s face with one hand while the other moves playfully across his armpit, his belly, his sides. He can’t see where his hand is going, so he’s navigating entirely by the responses he’s getting. “Oh, you are going to smile for me, love.” That, and so much more.
Homelander is whimpering softly now, shaking his head, kicking his legs, pressing his lips together, clenching and unclenching his hands, trying anything really to distract himself. He’s not protesting anymore; he probably knows full well that any sentence he starts now is going to end in uncontrollable laughter.
Billy’s hand has found Homelander’s belly button and is drawing light circles around it before pushing his index finger in and wiggling it around. (“If you were poured out of a tube, how come you got this, love? Ah, maybe they made you with a belly button just so I can tickle you to pieces!") He’s now using both of his hands, moving up and down Homelander’s body, tickling him in two different places at the same time. (“Oh, you’re just loving this, aren’t you. You’ve been waiting for this. Trapped yourself, I bet.”)
Maybe it’s the teasing, maybe it’s Butcher’s relentless fingers, but Homelander finally breaks. He throws one last “Fuck you!” in Billy’s face before he dissolves into helpless giggles. He’s squirming and twisting, and Butcher is beginning to have trouble pinning him in place, but, hell, he’ll find a way just so he can keep listening to that sweet sweet laughter.
He bends down again until his face is uncomfortably close to the struggling, panting supe’s.
“This is going to be fun,” he whispers in his ear.
#TickleTober2022#augtickletober2022#butchlander#homelander#billy butcher#hi there I think I wrote the first Butchlander tickle fic?#tw: non-con#tw: dub-con#prompt no. 9: trapped#shameless tickle fic#don't hate me ok#butcher and homelander team-up AU#butcher and homelander are IN LOVE#pure unadulturated crack fic straight from my brain#no beta we die like the queen#my fics#maybe if he was a little less fuckable he wouldn't be in this mess#mine
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Prompt 205
Now let it be said that not a single one of their team (“Does it count as a team if it’s just the three of us?” “Um, what about the Superman clone here??” “Four was the same number of the original League, so yeah we’re a team!”) were expecting to stumble across much of anything deeper in the Cadmus Labs.
They’d already discovered- and released- the super secret super-boy clone after all, so that was the big thing discovered and taken care of! Only they had uh, found something else, another tube even deeper with the room practically frozen, while trying to find the way out.
Now normally, opening the big tube would be a bad idea! But they had a bunch of creatures and security and whoever else on their tails, and hey, why not fight fire with fire and escape while everything was distracted?
Only when things start to defrost they- the sidekicks who are not sidekicks thanks- are really alarmed and starting to worry about what the fuck is inside. Because the cryogenic-liquid-whatever tube is way bigger than they thought, and the files that Robin hacked refers to whatever is inside as a quote, potentially world-ending dangerous entity.
And it’s not even fully defrosted before it starts to break free. One clawed hand- and then another, and another and another- grip onto the broken material, green dripping from where tubes were shrugged free. Its hair shifts and weaves in the air as though underwater, opalescent and each strand shimmering a different color.
It’s absolutely massive, humanoid with long tapered ears and a cacophony of differently shaped horns floating above its head. They’re wary, suddenly remembering every single lecture about dangerous unknowns as it shakes the liquid from a body that appears almost scaled, eight arms easily lifting itself so that it may step out.
They’re also suddenly reminded of the danger they’re in from other things when there’s a crash against the door, like one of those gynomorph tank things had slammed against it. It also causes the being’s head to snap up from where they were seemingly watching the liquid pool beneath them, nine eyes opening from their previously half-lidded position.
A deep rumbling noise echoed around the room as it stopped slouching, showing just how tall it was while three tails lashed in what was obviously some sort of agitation. When they speak, it’s not in any language the three of them know, but Superboy’s head snaps from the door towards them, eyes suddenly wide in child-like wonder.
(“Oh! It’s a baby~”)
Why yes, Even more of Tiamat Class Prompts- but Humanoid!
#Dcxdp#Dpxdc#Prompts#Young Justice sort-of#The Class Pulls a Tiamat#But they also have humanoid form that’s not like 100+ feet tall#NGL Connor was vibing while the other three are freaking out#He’s just a lil guy y’know- a lil dude- a bby boi#Part of their DNA might have been used as stabilization for his creation#The Class: Omg look it’s a baby- oh you’re all trapped and need to get out? Sure why not :)#Tim is trying to catalog EVERYTHING about them#Barry is wondering how much something that big might eat#Roy is just trying not to let the younger sidekicks die y’know how it is#Connor is just: Parent? Parents for me? Safe Parents who protect me??#For those not familiar the 9 are: Danny; Sam; Tucker; Valerie; Wes; Dash; Kwan; Paulina & Star#How did they end up in Cadmus? Good Question#Probably has to do with the GIW
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@mcyt-yuri-week Day 1: Break!
Read on AO3 here
Forest elves were known to come in many shapes and sizes. Gem was a willowy, slender, waifish, faun-looking elf, herself, with pointed ears and delicate antlers and bright red freckles that matched her hair, and thin, unicorn-like hooves and legs. It did mean that brushing her hair meant brushing her hocks, too, but it was such a natural part of life she didn’t even think about it. Despite her slim form, she wasn’t actually particularly tall, nearly every aspect of her small in one regard or another (except her hair, which was wild and curly and bright flashy red).
But she did have big aspirations! Many of her glade were content to build where they’d always built and live how they’d always lived, but Gem was curious about the border where their forest ended, where it rode up against strange lifeforms ethereal and odd. Gem was sure that as an elf, and a faunish one at that, it was a little rich for her to call something else ethereal and odd, but it was true!
At the edge of their forest, right across a broad river that served as a natural border, weird, brightly colored plants grew, moved in ways that plants shouldn’t move, and Gem swore she saw a ruin in there somewhere.
Now, she wasn’t going to try and stake a territory in the alien landscape. She was a braver elf than most but she would not be doing that, no thank you! She’d just set up her base across the river from it, still in her glade’s cozy ancestral home, shoring up the border of their territory (not that the river needed much help. In terms of forest edges that were in danger of being deforested, this one was generally considered one of the safer spans of area).
And go exploring! Sometimes.
Once she’d made a cute, cozy little cottage for herself, fussed around with her garden a bit, and gotten up some of her favorite pieces of art, she had to finally admit that she was stalling. It wasn’t that she wasn’t curious about the strange place! She was! But it also… seemed kinda dangerous, you know?
But it was time to put on her big girl tunic and see what was goin’ on over there! She cinched her leather underbust around her waist and tucked a couple thin vials of health potion into the sturdy straps, laced up her greaves and gauntlets, corralled her hair back into a loose, low ponytail, and set off! Worst comes to worst, she’d down a health potion and dart back home. Of all the elvish traits she’d inherited, being quick hooved with a keen sense of when to get the heck outta somewhere were amongst her strongest.
But things were off to a good start! The landscape here was beautiful, oh! So much of her wanted to take clippings or seed pods back home with her, though the rational part of her brain knew she should proooobably know a little more about what she was dealing with before she did that. But oh, the pinks and the oranges, the bright vibrant yellows despite autumn still being a ways away, the strange, moving vines and roots that did not radiate any malice or intent. It was gorgeous!
Now she felt a little silly for taking so long to come out here! Eee, she wished she was a better artist, she wanted to show everybody back home how lovely it was here!
And the ruins! Definitely human, though Gem didn’t know of any human civilizations that had lived so close to her glade on this side of the forest. It must be a very old ruin indeed! She pranced through them, light on her hooves, giggling to herself as she went.
The ruins were very, very old, so Gem was quite surprised when she found herself caught in a modern trap.
She yelped as tension snapped around her, a net of string clearly recently-fashioned hoisting her from the earth and leaving her dangling a solid four or five feet above ground.
“Hey!” she shouted, struggling instinctively. Oh this was silly! Now she was glad she was alone! Imagine! Her! An elf! Caught by a simple snare like this! Oh if anyone in her glade saw her like this she would never live it down!
But a modern trap meant a modern inhabitant. Gem’s blood chilled at the realization, and she then redoubled her efforts to get out. She didn’t know what kind of creature would have the mental acumen and dexterity to make a trap and was crazy enough to live here, but she! Didn’t! Want to know!
She yanked at the strings. It was well-crafted, likely spider silk, and Gem’s palms burned where she pulled and struggled. She kicked at it with her hooves, actually managing to snap a couple pieces here and there, but the net was intelligently made and did not unravel entirely at the loss of a few supports.
The bad angle wore at her stamina and the rising panic didn’t help at all. Especially since the plants, which had previously laid about so docile, even friendly, seemed like they were moving towards her now!
“Stay back!” she shouted at them, for all that she knew plants could neither hear nor “think” in the way that people thought. As she might have expected, the slow waves and wiggling of vines and roots went without dissuasion. She sank her teeth into the woven string, gnawing at it with her sharper canines, but the progress she made was frankly pitiful. It seemed she’d snapped all the weakest points, and all that remained was outside her ability to escape.
Finally, she wore herself out, and hung there, limply, trapped in the net as a fly in an actual web. It was hard to breathe as deeply as her body wanted, all folded in half like she was, one hoof and hock sticking out between the netting with one of the strings biting painfully into her skin, but she was too tired to try and wiggle it back in. She was mortified, too, red faced from exertion and embarrassment both. And one of her antlers was stuck and trying to move her head made the hornbed ache!
It was hard to tell how long she hung there. Not enough time for her to fully catch her breath, but enough that when she heard approaching footsteps, she instinctively turned to look. It pulled on her antler and she let out a small, high pitched noise, wriggling in her bindings once again.
“Oh!” came a woman’s voice, “Hyello!”
“Hi,” Gem said, half-breathless and irritable. “Let me down.”
“Well I almost wouldn’t need to!” The woman spoke with a strange accent, one Gem really hadn’t heard before, and she hung aggravatingly juuuuust in Gem’s peripherals. “You went and broke my trap! Not very polite of you.”
“What’s not polite is leaving me hanging here in a net!” Gem shouted, struggling again.
The woman laughed at her, the jerk, but thankfully gave a, “I know, I know, I’m just messin’ with you. Hold still, here, hup!”
Movement, the net swaying, and then there was the release of some mechanism and Gem and the woman both dropped to the ground, the one on the outside of the net landing nicely on her feet.
“Ow,” Gem deadpanned, far less amused with this situation than her captor/savior.
“You’re an interesting looking stranger. Are you from here?”
“I’m from across the river,” Gem said, accepting the help to sit up and detangle herself from the net. “I was just exploring. Are you from here?”
“No,” she said with a bright shrug. “I am living here now though, I suppose. I’m researching the area.”
Gem grunted and started trying to unhook the webbing from her antlers. As she did, she surveyed her new… whoever this was.
By all accounts, she looked like an ordinary human woman (and what indignity, an elf caught in a human trap!). Long, pale brown hair that hung halfway down her biceps. Thick, sturdy-made green overalls and a well made cotton shirt beneath. Big, sturdy stompin’ boots. Everything the woman wore (and netted, apparently) seemed to be fashioned for durability.
…Gem had been staring at her strong arms long enough she’d made out fine little hairs on her skin. Probably should look somewhere else.
“Thanks,” she said, less irritable now that she wasn’t strung from a tree, “for helping me down.”
“Awh, sorry for snatchin’ you up in the first place! I’m trying to catch one of the little scuttlers, the one I’ve been researching got out and it’s been awful trying to get it back again.”
“Scuttlers?”
“That’s what I’m calling them! Here, come inside, I’ll show you my research lab.”
Now, Gem was an adult woman. She was smart enough to know it wasn’t always wise to follow a stranger to a secondary location. Especially after that stranger had already caught her in one trap.
But this stranger had also let her out of the trap. And she was a pretty woman. Surely pretty women had no nefarious purposes. And besides, Gem, like, owed her or something. It’d be rude not to go.
“Sorry again about your trap,” she mentioned, glancing at the broken remains before following.
“No worries! It was getting old, anyway.”
“Mm. Hey, what’s your name? I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced.”
“Oh yeah! I’m your friendly resident Pearlo! Call me Pearl,” she said cheerfully, whirling around to outstretch her hand.
Gem took it in hers, strong, callused human fingers clasping firmly around dainty elvish ones.
“Call me Gem,” she echoed.
“Hey, listen to that! Gem and Pearl, we get one more and we’ll have a whole jewelry box.”
Gem laughed, and noticed that Pearl had not released her hand in order to resume walking her inside. They were holding hands now. Pearl didn’t even seem to notice it, so it was probably natural and nothing important to her. It should’ve felt natural and unimportant to Gem, too, she’d held lots and lots of hands before and it had never meant anything particularly special.
But, well, you see, Gem was not immune to Pretty Lady.
She followed her into one of the ruined structures, which was not so ruined on the inside, and listened as Pearl discussed her research. The “scuttler” was some sort of guard dog for one of those ancient underground cities, barking whenever passerby tread too loudly and alerting the alarm system, and eventually a huge beast. Gem listened with one cheek propped up on her fist, watching Pearl walk about her laboratory with the occasional “mhm” or “oh really?” to keep her going.
It was when Pearl said a particularly silly joke with a toss of her hair and a cock of her hip that Gem realized, “Oh, you’re trying to impress me!”
Pearl shocked still, mouth hanging open and eyes blown wide, and Gem giggled to see her blush.
“No, no,” she rushed to follow up, “keep going.” She tilted her head so her bright curls spilled over her shoulder and smiled with a flutter of her eyelashes. “It was working.”
#hermitcraft season 9#geminitay#pearlescentmoon#gempearl#hermitcraft#mcyt yuri week#mcytyuriweek#mcytyuriweek2023#prompt: break#sometimes you break your future gf's trap with your hooves it be that way sometimes#my writing#haro writes
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Whumptober 2023
Welcome to Whumptober 2023 — the sixth year running!
COMPLETIONISTS/PARTICIPANT BADGES CAN BE FOUND HERE
To those of you who participated last year, welcome back! To everyone joining this year, welcome!
Please make sure to read the Event Info carefully, as most of your questions will be answered there already. For everything else, you are welcome to come to our ask box or ask questions in our Discord server here.
This year’s AO3 Collection can be found here.
And this years playlist can be found here.
There are 139 prompt options in total this year - this is including the alternatives list! A special thanks goes out to those who took part in our trope vote back in July. From the 1526 responses to our list of 223 tropes, we looked through the popularity results, as well as your honourable mentions, and were able to produce this years prompts list. Stay tuned, as we will be posting some of the results at a later date!
We’re very excited to see the community come together once more and be a wild, chaotic bunch of creators and consumers of whump. Go wild with the prompts, and support your fellow creators - we wish you all the fun!
Best of luck and happy whumping,
Mods Vanne, Yenn, Kitty and Surro
(All 31 Themes + Prompts, Event Information and FAQs are posted below the cut!)
Whumptober 2023 Prompt List
No. 1: “But now this room is spinning while I’m trying just to fill in all the gaps.”
Safety Net | Swooning | “How many fingers am I holding up?”
No. 2: “I’ll call out your name, but you won’t call back.”
Thermometer | Delirium | “They don't care about you.”
No. 3: “Like crying out in empty rooms; with no-one there except the moon.”
Journal | Solitary Confinement | “Make it stop.”
No. 4: “I see the danger, It’s written there in your eyes.”
Cattle Prod | Shock | “You in there?”
No. 5: “You better pray I don't get up this time around.”
Debris | Pinned Down | “It's broken.”
No. 6: “Do or die, you’ll never make me; Because the world will never take my heart.”
Recording | Made to Watch | “It should have been me.”
No. 7: " “I paced around for hours on empty; I jumped at the slightest of sounds.”
Alleyway | Radio Silence | “Can you hear me?”
No. 8: “I’ve got soul, but I’m not a soldier.”
Overcrowded ER | Outnumbered | “It’s all for nothing.”
No. 9: “Learning everything ain't what it seems, that's the thing about these days.”
Polaroid | Mistaken Identity | “You're a liar.”
No. 10: “Can’t you see that you’re lost without me?”
Broken Phone | Stranded | “You said you'd never leave.”
No. 11: “All the lights going dark and my hope’s destroyed.”
Animal trap | Captivity | “No one will find you.”
No. 12: “I haven't slept in days but who's counting?”
Red | Insomnia | “I’m up, I’m up.”
No. 13: “It comes and goes like the strength in your bones.”
Cold Compress | Infection | “I don’t feel so good.”
No. 14: “Feed me poison, fill me ‘till I drown.”
Flare | Water Inhalation | “Just hold on.”
No. 15: “I don't need you to help me I can handle things myself.”
Makeshift Bandages | Suppressed Suffering | “I’m fine.”
No. 16: “Would you lie with me and just forget the world?”
Gurney | Flatline | “Don’t go where I can’t follow.”
No. 17: “You’re the lump in my throat and the knot in my chest.”
Collar | Touch Aversion | “Leave me alone.”
No. 18: “I tend to deflect when I’m feeling threatened.”
Blindfold | Tortured For Information | “Hit them harder.”
No. 19: “I’ll take one final step, all you have to do is make me.”
Floral Bouquet | Psychological | “I’m not as stupid as you think I am.”
No. 20: “People don’t change people, time does.”
Blanket | Found Family | “You will regret touching them.”
No. 21: “See the chains around my feet.”
Vows | Restraints | “Don't move.”
No. 22: “They never saw us coming, ‘til they hit the floor.”
Glass Shard | Vehicular Accident | “Watch out!”
No. 23: “It’s gonna get me by the end of the night.”
Shadows | Stalking | “Who’s there?”
No. 24: “I’ve got a head full of chemicals; mouth full of ridicule.”
Goodbye Note | Neglect | “I thought they were with you.”
No. 25: “You’re not delivering a perfect body to the grave.”
Storm | Buried Alive | “They’re not breathing!”
No. 26: “Sometimes I get so tired; I don’t even know myself.”
Seeing Double | Working To Exhaustion | “You look awful.”
No. 27: “You drew stars around my scars; But now I’m bleeding.”
Matches | Scars | “Let me see”
No. 28: “We might not make it to the morning; so go on and tell me now.”
Bloody Knife | Sacrifice | “You'll have to go through me.”
No. 29: “I only sink deeper the deeper I think.”
Scented Candle | Troubled Past Resurfacing | “What happened to me?”
No. 30: “It’s okay, just to say, ‘I’m not okay’.”
Borrowed Clothing | Bridal Carry | “Not much longer...”
No. 31: “I thought that I was getting better.”
Emptiness | Setbacks | “Take it easy.”
Alternatives List:
Betrayal
Aftermath of Failure
Brass Knuckles
Decoy
Body Modification
Playing Cards
Examination
Hunting
Drugging
Shaking
Panic
Broken
Miscommunication
Lab Rat
Reluctant Whumper
Event Info & Rules
~ Please read our extensive event info posts before sending us an ask ~
WHUMPTOBER is a month-long, prompt-based creation challenge (think: Inktober, but whumpier). There are 31 official themes this year - one for each day of the month - which can be used, skipped, or combined in any way you’d like. The 'theme' of each day is the line of lyrics.
The prompts are merely to serve as inspiration without being taken literally (e.g. you don’t have to include the exact wording of prompts into your work). Feel free to run rampant on interpretation. For example, if the prompt is "flame", you could create something with reference to a candle/campfire, your character could have suffered a burn, or the flame could be related to the 'spark' of a relationship. It's truly up to you!
In total, there are 4 prompts for each day: there's lyrics, an object, a trope and a line of dialogue to choose from. We want to give everyone as much creative freedom as possible, as well as increase event accessibility for folks with triggers and squicks.
Creators can PRODUCE work in any media they choose, including but not limited to: writing, visual artwork, photo/video/audio edits, paper crafts and elaborate recommendation lists (not just a list of links). Creators can PARTICIPATE as much or as little as they want (i.e. you don’t have to do ALL the prompts if you don’t want to) and prompts can be used in any order. They are also free to use even after the event ends.
When uploading Whumptober content to your blog, be sure to tag the with:
#whumptober2023 …..(the event tag)
#no.1, #no.2, #no.3, …..(day number)
#lyric, #bruises, #stabbing, …..(the theme or specific prompt you chose)
#fandom or #OC, … (ironman, originalcontent, oc …)
#medium …..(gifs, fic, podcast, art, etc.)
#teeth, #gore tw, #etc …..(trigger warnings & any additional tags. Add "tw" AFTER the trigger/content warning. )
#nsfwhump …..(only for nsfw content)
#your own tags go here
PLEASE BE DILIGENT WITH YOUR TAGGING. Only properly tagged posts are considered for archiving on the official @whumptober-archive blog. They must be tagged in the order above. An elaborate post about our tagging system can be found [here]
Unfortunately, due to the sheer number of participants in recent years, we cannot guarantee your work will be archived. A random selection of properly tagged posts from all genres will be reblogged each day.
Whumpers who produce content for 31 total theme days are considered event completionists and will be tagged in a masterpost at the end of the month. A form will be published at the beginning of November asking you to tell us if you completed the event. You do not need to post anything you have created, we rely on trust and we will not check this.
Questions not addressed in one of our many event info posts can be directed to this blog. We will not answer any questions that have been answered in the FAQs or rules already.
Frequently Asked Questions
Q. How does this year’s prompt list work? What do I have to choose?
You can create something based on:
The overall theme/lyric of the day
Prompt 1, 2 or 3
One or several of the alternative prompts
A combination of the above
Q. Is [specific anything] allowed?
When in doubt: JUST DO IT!
Q. Do I have to do all 31 days?
Participate as much or little as you like! Just be sure to tag your posts properly (ex. #no.7, #radio silence). If you create works for 31 total theme days you will become a completionist. But apart from that, there are no repercussions if you don’t fill prompts for each day.
Q. Can I post early/late?
Yes, you can post whenever you want. We will only reblog posts during October, but you can use our prompts all year round. The day you post will only affect your probability of being reblogged.
Q. Will you reblog my post?
Due to the sheer number of content posted during Whumptober we can’t promise to reblog every single post. We will make a random selection trying to capture a wide variety of content. The following will increase your chances at being reblogged:
tag your post properly
post within 2-3 days of the theme you want to fill: if you fill the prompt for Day 1 your chances of being reblogged during October 1st to 3rd are highest and will go towards zero afterwards.
Q. What if I don’t understand a prompt/theme?
Send us an ask! We’re happy to help with wild, unhelpful clarifications or brainstorming. That being said, the themes are entirely up for interpretation. Don’t take them too literally. For example: You can be choking on a cherry, someone else can choke you or you could be choked up on emotions, etc.
Q. What kind of content can I make? Can it be NSFW?
This is a MIXED MEDIA event! You can write fic, post meta, doodle or paint, create a gifset or photo edit, link a song, or get crafty with video - anything goes. As for NSFW, make what you like, we just hope that you’ll tag your work accordingly so that others participating in the event can stay safe.
Q. Can I combine Whumptober with other creation challenges?
Absolutely, as long as the other challenges allow it too.
Q. Can I upload/repost my Whumptober content to other social media platforms?
Of course! You can post your own content wherever you like (or you can opt to not publish it at all). Additionally we’ve created an AO3 Collection to archive any fics posted there. It can be accessed here. The tumblr blog @whumptober-archive is the official archive, so please respect the boundaries of any closeted whumpers in your social circle.
Q. Can I use prompts to write a new chapter for an existing fic?
Yes.
Q. An existing fic I am currently writing contains many of the Whumptober prompts, can I use it?
If you are actively writing this fic at the moment with the Whumptober prompts in mind, yes. If you’ve previously posted something that checks the boxes, we ask that you not include it retroactively for this current year. You can, however, add new chapters relating to one or more of the prompts.
Q. What kind of characters can I write for?
Fandom characters, OC characters, human, furry, alien, cyborg, RPF, whoever you like. You can use the generic “whumpee” character or have specific ones.
Q. Does it have to take place in a specific fandom?
No, you can create works for your own worlds or for fandoms or for both. You can also create more generic or pan-fandom works. You can do cross-overs or use OCs, whatever you want.
Q. Can I use a prompt multiple times?
Yes, but it only counts once towards being a completionist.
Q. If I’m not comfortable with one day’s prompts can I use a prompt of a different day as a substitute and still be a completionist?
No, you can’t exchange prompts for different days. However, if all four prompts of a specific day make you uncomfortable, we have created an alternate prompts list that you can draw from. You can exchange any prompt with these, but please make sure not to use them twice.
Q. Where can I post my work?
Post where and how you want. You don’t have to (cross)post it to Tumblr or at all. Just keep in mind if it’s not on Tumblr we will not be able to add it to the blog archive.
Q. Can I start posting early?
You can, but this is an October event and wouldn’t it be more fun with everyone doing it at the same time? That being said, you can post early, but we won’t be reblogging any work predating October 1st.
Q. Do I have to finish a fic I started/can I post WIP’s?
Yes you can post WIPs. And you’re not obligated to finish it in October for it to count towards being a completionist.
Q. Is co-writing allowed?
Yes, absolutely, and it would count towards being a completionist for both/all of you.
Q. Do I have to create 31 standalone pieces to be considered a completionist or can I write one continuous story?
One continuous story is fine. The challenge is to write something for 31 prompts. If that’s spread over 31 fics or just one, you are still considered a completionist. (The same goes for every other media you choose.)
Q. Is there a min/max limit on word count?
There is no limit.
Q. Can I combine prompts? Is there a limit on how many?
No limit and combine as many as you’d like.
Q. Is a hc/angst/emotional whump focus ok?
Of course! We are not going to establish a threshold for whumpiness. If you think it’s whumpy enough, then it’s whumpy enough. It can be physical, psychological, emotional, or any combination of the three.
Q. What’s considered nsfw?
See this post
Q. What is whump?
Typically the genre includes situations where a fictional character is hurt, be it emotionally, psychologically, or physically. Fanlore provides information here.
Q. My interpretation of the prompt isn’t whumpy at all, does that count?
If you don’t think your interpretation is whumpy, then it doesn’t count for Whumptober. Remember that whump comes in many forms, though, and that we don’t have a whump-checker or a threshold for how much whump needs to be included. If you think your interpretation contains enough whump to count, then it does.
Q. Can I start working on the prompts before October?
Absolutely! That’s why we post the prompts a month in advance. We recognise how difficult it can be creating for 31 days in “real time” so feel free to start creating early!
Q. How do I tag triggers?
tw at the end of the word, ex. #gore tw
Q. Do I have to use your tags?
Yes, if you want your work archived on the blog. If not, feel free to use whatever tags you want.
Q. Does combining prompts count towards completion?
Yes
Q. Can we @ you?
Yes but we mostly rely on the #whumptober2023 tag.
Q. Is there anything we are absolutely not allowed to write?
There are no rules, but please make sure to properly tag your trigger warnings. And keep in mind Tumblr’s policies if you are posting it here (or the policies for whatever site you use).
Q. Where can I go for brainstorming help?
Here on Discord or come into our ask box.
Q. My characters are minors, is that ok?
Yes, but as with everything else, use clear and descriptive tags.
Q. Can I cross post on other blogs?
Yes, multiple platforms and blogs are perfectly acceptable. You can also post different works to different accounts under different names, without posting them everywhere at once.
Note: This is a creation challenge, please don’t repost your old work under our tags (unless it’s been changed or edited for the event).
Thanks for reading, and happy whumping!
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🎃➷ 13 Scary Prompts for Friday the 13th ☾ 𓆩☻𓆪ੈ✩
1. whumpee is trapped in a dark forest with caretaker or whumper (your choice). doesn’t matter if they’re friends or enemies, they both have to work together to find a way out before midnight, because that’s when it awakes and begins to hunt.
2. two characters who are enemies are trapped in an abandoned asylum. they soon learn they aren’t alone in the building; or, patients who are locked up here — when the staff suddenly fled one day — are in fact murderous cannibals.
3. characters throw a Friday the 13th party, everything goes well until someone — an old friend — shows up, an old friend who’s been dead for years.
4. there’s a myth that goes “something bad will happen within 7 days if you kiss someone under the moon on Friday the 13th”. character A and B think it’s bullshit and do exactly that. they’re about to find out the hard way that the myth — the curse — is real.
5. whumpee gets killed on Friday the 13th and wakes up amongst the dead, all of them have also been murdered on Friday the 13th.
6. whumpee is kidnapped. in order to save their life, caretaker has to kill 13 people before midnight of Friday the 13th.
7. on the night of Friday the 13th, caretaker finds a black stray cat at their front porch and decides to adopt the cat. it must be a coincidence that people in the neighborhood start disappearing after this mysterious cat shows up.
8. every Friday the 13th, character A is visited by a ghost who claims to be their lover from the past life. the ghost can only communicate with them when it’s Friday the 13th.
9. character A is immortal… unless they died on Friday the 13th. their enemies know this. so all character A has to do is stay alive until midnight, easier said than done. it doesn’t help that they happen to have a lot of enemies.
10. character A is cursed, so every Friday the 13th, they will be possessed by a demonic entity whose goals are death and destruction of innocent people. to try to prevent this, character A has to chain themself up and lock themself inside their house. but the devil is smart.
11. the purge. I don’t need to say more, but every Friday the 13th, murder and all type of crimes are legal in this town.
12. a group of tourists visit a small village located deep in the woods. it’s a lovely, peaceful village with nice villagers. only that they all turn into bloodthirsty murderers every Friday the 13th at nighttime. too bad our tourists don’t know about this, they’ll find out soon enough though.
13. Character A summons a demon on a dare. they don’t expect it to work, but it does. only character A can see the demon, turns out it just lonely and wants a friend.
#friday the 13th#friday the thirteenth#whump#writing#writeblr#writing community#writing inspo#ao3#writing inspiration#whumpblr#angst#writing tropes#writing trope#whump tropes#whump trope#tropes#trope#writer#archive of our own#writing ideas#writing prompt#writing prompts#angst tropes#angst trope#whump prompt#whump prompts#whump community#writers
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10 Types of Kisses
Various LOTR/TH x Reader
Pairings: Aragorn, Fili, Haldir, Kili, & Legolas x Reader (separately).
Pronouns: n/a.
Prompt(s): 10 types of kisses by @urfriendlywriter. You can find her post here. (I used 9/10 of them).
Word Count: 3.4k words (3415)
Warnings: No beta, we die like Boromir. open wounds (Aragorns + Fili's), marriage (Fili's), swearing (Kili's), mentions of battle + death + blood (Legolas).
Tree Speaks: I had a lot of fun writing this but it also went into territory that I'm not particularly comfortable with writing yet so we'll see how this pans out.
Translations: amad - mother, dwarrowdams - a term used for female dwarves.
LOTR + TH Masterlist
Published: 25/02/2023
1. Aragorn
soft kisses - where they're just lying beside you, hands playing with your hair as they trail tender kisses all over your lips
The two of you were meant to be sleeping of course, but the gloom of the mines made it hard to settle. You supposed that's why he pulled you away from the others slightly, to a spot just that bit further away.
Aragorn was on first watch as usual, having made it his task since the beginning of the journey, and always insisted that the hobbits and Gandalf got plenty of sleep. But with that came the usual knowing looks between the two of you as Aragorn knew his love wouldn't sleep unless he would.
So with that knowledge, and him sensing his love's rising anxiety at being trapped underground, it now brought them to this.
He tilted your head up from where it was resting against his chest, his hand cupping your face. Aragorn brushed a few loose strands of hair off your face from where it had fallen out of place as his own head tilted down towards yours. His hand gently entwined with your other, and he paused in his movements, allowing you to decide next.
You gently reached up, threading your hand through his long locks and gently pulling him down towards you. He pressed his lips to yours, mouth moving slowly, softly, intimately.
He pulled away, your lips chasing after his, a small smile gracing his lips as he pressed another kiss, and then another, and then another to your lips.
the type of kiss where you can't find words to say after, or the ones where your forehead lingers against each other's
Aragorn's horse trotted through helms deep, having just pulled him up from the river bed where if not found, he would've succumbed to his wounds. He dismounted his horse and received a scolding from Gimli before forcing himself up the staircases and into the deep.
Legolas rose from outside the doors, greeting his friend who believed him dead. The elf pulled him into a familiar embrace before pulling back and making a sarcastic comment about the ranger.
The elf turned a small smile gracing his face before yelling the name of a person. The ranger followed his line of sight. It fell on his love, you.
You looked up after the elf who yelled out to you, before seeing the man you mourned for standing with him. Abandoning your stuff, you ran to him, arms thrown over his shoulders and crushing him to your chest as a few sobs left you.
His arms encircled you as he leant his forehead against yours. He didn't care at that point about the mud caking him and he didn't think you cared enough at that point, so it made no odds on whether he was careful or not.
He pulled back slightly, raising his hand to caress your face before pressing his lips to yours. Tears left both of you as his mouth moved languidly with yours.
Aragorn pulled away, resting his forehead against yours. He wanted to say so much to you, fearing that he would never see you again but all thoughts left him as he wished to stay in this moment, longing for nothing but you.
2. Fili
messy kisses - curly hair, ruffled sheets and half-buttoned clothes as you just want more and at that moment, they're the most beautiful soul to you ever
The sun trickled in through the window, bypassing the curtains that hadn't been fully drawn across the night before. The young (ish) couple lounged in the bed, bodies pressed together as close as they could get with the few layers of clothes still between them.
He tilted your head up to meet his, his lips pressing against yours, moving languidly in the early morn. Fili reached up, hand caressing your courting and marriage braids that were still somewhat intact.
He groaned, feeling one of your hands gripping the hair at the base of his neck and the other slipping under his shirt across his chest.
Fili pulled back, eyes fluttering open to meet yours; your own half-lidded as you drew in a few stuttering breaths. It was a pleasant greeting from your love first thing in the morning, one that you would be against again.
You gazed up at Fili, the dwarf hovering over you, careful not to rest his entire body weight on you. The tressels of sunlight filtered through his hair, causing a glow to shine over him.
His eyes trailed over your face, memorising every detail as if it was the first time he saw you.
kisses on your body ♡ frail kisses on your shoulder! on your lower back, belly and trailing to your neck, collarbones, lips.
A cry of pain left your lips.
Oin pulled the blood-soaked cloth away from where it was pressed tightly against your side. The infection from the arrow had spread, the orcs having laced it with something deadly.
The pain wasn't something Fili wished on anyone, much less you. So he did his best to comfort you whilst the infection ransacked your body. His hands firmly held you, one holding the back of your head, and the other gripping your forearm to stop you from forcing Oin's hand away from the wound he was trying his best to treat.
After Oin had doused the cut in water, trying to flood any dirt that wormed its way in, Fili pulled you closer. The healer moved back to gather some more altheas and cloths, leaving you curled against your prince's chest.
Fili dropped his head down to your shoulder, as your tears continued to douse his shirt - not that he cared as it was covered in sweat, grime, and whatever else from the trip across middle earth - his hand on your head slipping down to the back of your neck, stroking his fingers in what he hoped was a soothing pattern.
He pressed a kiss to your bare shoulder, the fabric of your tunic had been pulled away, cut away for easier access. It would need replacing, he noted, but hoped that it would be enough to cover you until the sun rose again.
Fili continued his ministrations, pressing another kiss further up your shoulder. And then another at the junction where it met your neck. He considered pressing one to your neck, in that one spot he knew made you shiver, but with the way you were sitting in his lap you were already considered improper in public, so he begrudgingly decided against it.
Oin chose to return at that moment, pressing the churned-up altheas against your wound and then tying the cleanest cloth over it. You cried out in pain, more tears falling. It was like someone was driving a burning knife into your arm, over, and over, and over again. The pain rolling in waves.
Fili kept whispering words of praises and comfort, the Kadzhul translations lost in your mind as all you could feel was the pain, and him.
The knot was finally tied on the bandage. Fili slid his hand from the back of your neck to cup your face, pressing a chaste kiss against your forehead before leaning his own upon yours.
I'm here, you're safe now, I love you, the action spoke more words than Fili could find himself saying.
3. Haldir
lazy kisses as they admire you - fingers delicately trialing your jaw as they kiss your lips
"Haldir," you groaned, leaning back against his chest, head turned up to face him. A smile graced his lips, his eyes locked with yours, shining full of love.
It wasn't often you got to spend a prolonged period of time with your Marchwarden, especially with him being gone for months at a time to guard Lothlórien's borders. So any time you spent with him was precious, even if you knew he would be leaving at the end of it again.
The braid in his hair was loose, albeit from your hands running through his hair earlier, causing him to have a sexy, but dishevelled look. The thought of elves being supermodels no matter what state they were in flashed through your mind again causing you to chuckle slightly.
Haldir raised his hand, letting it linger under your jaw as he delicately leaned down to place another kiss against your lips. Warmth bloomed through you and as his lips moved against yours, all thought about him having to leave again in a few days retreated into the depths of your mind.
You were drunk off the taste of him, off his kisses as he stole your breath each time. And nothing would ever change that.
goodbye kisses - kisses lingering like liquor in each other's lips, bitter but sweet, "I'll always come back to you, love. you're my home after all."
The boats gifted to the fellowship had just finished being prepared and were packed full of provisions to last you a good while.
The thought of having to leave your home again haunted you but not just because it was where you lived. No, because this time you were leaving your love, not knowing when you were to see him again. He was your home.
The Marchwarden was allowed to see his love off, having been granted a week's leave whilst you and the fellowship recovered and stayed in Caras Galadhon, Lothlórien. After you were sent as an emissary to Imladris, Rivendell in the common tongue, and word had returned that you had embarked on a journey to destroy the one ring, Haldir was worried for you.
He knew the history of the ring, as did most if not all elves and was worried about the dangers you may face. He knew that you could protect yourself, having been a sparring partner against you for years, but the worry did not dissipate.
He met you at the shoreline, his hand over his heart in the traditional greeting before he held your hand in his. Sadness filled his eyes as he wished not to see you leave, but knowing that this was a journey you were willing to take.
Haldir leant his head against yours as he fixed the cloak hung around your shoulders, ensuring that the broach was attached properly.
His hands lingered on your waist as he prepared himself to say goodbye again. It was one thing being the one who was leaving, but now that he was on the receiving side for once, he now knew how your heart felt each time he went on patrol. That feeling of not knowing if you were coming back or not eating at his heart.
Your hand on his cheek stole his spiralling mind from his thoughts as your lips pressed against his. A tear threatened to leave his eye as he consumed your kiss like a drug. The fear bubbling in his chest soothing to make way for the love he held for you but the melancholy feeling at having to be parted from you made it more bittersweet than anything.
His lips lingered over yours as you pulled away, his hand raising to stoke a strand of hair back from your face. Haldir wished he could keep you here in his arms but understood the task you had undertaken would not be dropped lightly.
4. Kili
kissing and realising this is the person you'll always love, you'll always want to touch and snuggle with
Kili didn't think he could hold you any closer than he currently was.
You were practically melded into him, hands gripping tightly to the back of his jacket. The clothing was still damp from the thunderous storm you had walked through, but nonetheless had to still wear.
The terror that shot through him as the thunder giant collided with the mountain, believing that he had lost not only his brother but you as well, was something he never wished to feel again. His hands trembled slightly at the thought.
He shifted slightly, taking some pressure off his shoulder whilst pulling you upwards slightly so you were level with him. The ground wasn't pleasant to lie on, less so on his side, and even less so with damp clothes on, but Kili knew this was the company's best option right now.
Kili rested his head against yours, his eyes meeting yours. He nudged his nose with yours affectionately, giving you time to pull away.
It was something he always did, you noted. Every time he wanted to kiss you but couldn't find the words to say it, or was surrounded by too many prying eyes, he did that. Gave you that tell that allowed you to decide what happens next.
You tentatively leant forwards, tilting your head upwards ever so slightly, letting your lips press against his. There was no rush. No incessant desire to pull the other closer, just him.
Kili moved his lips slowly with yours, savouring every moment that he got with you. Fuck, he loved you. The realisation pulled at his heartstrings more, knowing that he could've lost you today.
prohibited kiss - you're not even supposed to be seeing each other but your hands are on his hair and his hands around your waist, lower bodies pressing into each other as you kiss
Laughter radiated through your body as you were pulled through the endless turns and corridors of Erebor. The stone walls were lined with torches and braziers all lit with fires burning brightly.
To anyone else, it would be a maze, a catacomb of tunnels that unless sense was made of them, would surely lead to your demise. But years of living there had engraved the pathways into your mind, and no doubt Kili's.
His hand dragged you to a secluded corner, himself coming to a halt. He could no longer hear the guards trying to follow the two of you. Pride flooded his chest as he gazed back at you, finally alone with his betrothed.
You were finally able to get a good look at him, now that he didn't have all the dwarrowdams fawning over him. Even if he wasn't "beautiful" by dwarf standards, he was still a prince and would have people trying to gain his favour.
But his title didn't matter to you. Kili did.
And by the creator himself, did you love the way he looked. His hair tousled from the running, and the short beard he was so desperately trying to grow accentuated his face.
But the ceremonial robes that hung to his body? You couldn't resist.
He found himself pushed back, pinned against the pillar. Kili's eyes locked with yours, the same fire of desire within him, burning through you.
Your lips pressed with his, mouths moving frantically with the others. Your hands that gripped onto the front of his robes slid up, trailing up his neck and into his hair, pulling slightly to press him into you more. A groan left him at a particularly harsh tug before your hand moved to trace his courting braid.
He pulled away, panting, breathless, kissing you again and pulling you into him, arms gripping your waist, hands in his hair, your bodies practically merging into one. If his Amad caught him now, he wouldn't even have to face the scornful looks of Dwalin, he would already be lying in his grave.
But could he let you go? Fuck no.
5. Legolas
shy kisses - when you're the one pulling them closer, and they nuzzle their face in your crook after the kiss, hands around your waist as their ears get red
You were scared. If anything you were currently lustful, but you were about to fight in a war against ten thousand troops with an army of less than a third of that. So you were scared.
Legolas had turned to where you leant against one of the pillars, choosing to come and check all the fastenings on your armour. He was meticulous and methodical as he went to each and every one, adjusting where he deemed necessary whilst checking it caused you no discomfort.
A soft smile graced your face, as you watch his gentle movements before reaching out to cup his face in one of your hands. A blush, so subtle anyone who didn’t know Legolas would miss it, warmed his face, his head lifting and eyes locking with yours. It was as if he was staring straight into your soul, his piercing grey eyes full of love but fear.
You pulled him towards you, Legolas leaning his head down as his hand held over yours on his face, the other resting gently on your waist. Leaning up, you gently pressed your lips to his. Just once, mind you, the action as tender as possible, letting him come to you.
Legolas leant into you, pressing his lips back against yours, moving at a slow pace. He wanted to savour this moment as much as possible before the two of you walked to what could be your deaths.
ahem.
The clearing of the person's throat sprung the two of you apart, you mentally preparing for the endless stream of apologies to whichever passerby caught you, only for it to be someone you knew all too well.
"Aragorn." You spoke, heavily embarrassed to be caught with your lover.
The ranger looked between the two of you, his face being that awful neutral resting one making it so you couldn't judge his feelings on the matter. Aragorn must have read the panic starting to creep up in you as a teasing smile broke out.
“I have no qualms with this,” he began before looking over his shoulder towards the entrance of the armoury, “but the people of Rohan may not be as forgiving if you are caught.”
He turned on his heel, making his way up the staircase and leaving the two to their devices.
A moment passed and then a chuckle left your lips as a sigh left Legolas’. His head fell to your shoulder as the blush absconding his cheeks spread like wildfire tinting his ears a rosy colour.
At least it was only Aragorn, you mused, If Gimli had found you then he wouldn’t stop teasing your elf.
kisses of reassurance - saying that you're safe, still with them, that your heart is still beating wildly in your chest, that they couldn't get rid of you if they tried, that for some insane reason, you're not dead yet
Your chest heaved, trying to inhale as much air as possible as you sprinted up the mud-soaked hill. Aragorn had yelled for the soldiers to retreat into Minas Tirith and you were making your way as fast as you could until an arrow pierced your shoulder.
The doors were closed and sealed as you entered alongside the last few stragglers, a resounding bang from the wood hitting the stone frame. The room spun on its axis.
The throbbing pain in your arm continued, each ebb seeming stronger which was probably due to the adrenaline wearing off. Maybe you should've stayed fighting, it surely couldn't hurt as much as your arm did, you thought as your uninjured arm reached out to hold yourself up against the wall.
Giving up on keeping yourself upright, you slid falling somewhat ungracefully to the floor, blood dripping from your wound and soaking your sleeve. It was funny how much damage one arrow could cause.
You blinked.
The sun had risen, and from where you could see it, it was around mid-morning. Your eyes focused and you could see a worried face in a sea of platinum blonde hair. Legolas.
Ignoring the sound of the elf’s worry, you pushed yourself up into a seated position, as he gracefully knelt down next to you. His hands mindlessly moved to cup your face, as he had to pull his eyes away from your crudely bandaged arm. The arrow had been jagged and cut more as it pierced you, causing more blood to be lost.
Your hand covered one of his as Legolas moved to press his forehead to yours.
“I'm okay,” you whispered, breaking the silence between the two of you. Your thumb stroked the back of his hand absentmindedly, as you tilted your head up, meeting his lips with yours. It was one of desperation, longing and fear. A shuddered breath left you as the two of you broke apart.
“We’re okay.”
#aragorn x reader#aragorn imagine#fili x reader#fili durin x reader#fili imagine#haldir x reader#haldir imagine#kili x reader#kili durin x reader#kili imagine#legolas x reader#legolas imagine#legolas greenleaf x reader#the hobbit x reader#the hobbit imagine#lotr x reader#lotr imagine#lord of the rings x reader#lord of the rings imagine#pronouns: n/a#fic: drabble/imagine#tree writes lotr + th fics
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It's that time of year again! AMonthOfWhump's Winter Whumperland event runs from December 1-12, with a collection of prompts for your inspiration each day. To participate, create in any medium and share your works on Tumblr. Use the event tags or @ us in your post to get reblogged here. Prompt list transcript, tagging info, and a free-to-use post header under the cut.
1: Santa Claus
Claustrophobia
Forced Celebration
Panic Attack
Comfort: Secret Santa Exchange
2: Krampus
Sensory Overload
Temptation
Whipping
Comfort: Decorating Cookies
3: George Bailey
"We've lost everything we have."
Disowned
Drowning
Comfort: Christmas Market
4: The Grinch
Sedatives
Blackmail
Yandere Whumper
Comfort: Ugly Sweater Party
5: Ebenezer Scrooge
Power Outage
Time Loop
Overworked Whumpee
Comfort: Snuggling by the Fire
6: Jack Frost
Post-apocalyptic Winter
Amnesia
Comfort turned to Fear
Comfort: Snowball Fight
7: Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer
Inhuman Whumpee
Exile
Self-sacrifice
Comfort: You’re Not Alone
8: John Mclane
Held Hostage
Russian Roulette
Forced to Watch
Comfort: Rescue
9: Jólakötturinn
Feral Whumpee
Left Behind
Collared
Comfort: Wiping the Other’s Tears Away
10: Tio de Nadal
Conditioning
Left to Die
Final Countdown
Comfort: Holiday Traditions
11: The Yule Goat
Branding
Stitches
Public Whump
Comfort: Trimming the Tree
12: Elf on the Shelf
Trapped
Bedside Vigil
Used as bait
Comfort: Mistletoe (or avoiding it)
Event Tags: #amow winter whumperland 2023, #day1, #claustrophobia, (tag the prompt you're using)
And lastly, here is a post header to use for the event if you like. Happy whumping!
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Embracing the fixation this October -- come join me! Draw, write, whatever! Interpret the prompts however you like, for whatever characters/imagery, go nuts!
(Feel free to share this on twitter if you want I personally am going nowhere near there xD)
(Yes I did hand draw/write this list yes it did take forever but I will suffer in the name of having something pretty to stick in my sketchbook)
Text only ⬇️
[Image reads: SAWTOBER Prompt List 2023.
1: Lurk,
2: Scars,
3: Apprentice,
4: Gun,
5: Surgery,
6: Key,
7: Coffin,
8: Hands,
9: Mask,
10: Tape,
11: Needle,
12: Haunt,
13: Blood,
14: Faith,
15: Kiss,
16: Water,
17: Photograph,
18: Glass,
19: Trap,
20: Family,
21: Blade,
22: Chain,
23: Puppet,
24: Burn,
25: Lungs,
26: Safe,
27: Betray,
28: Bones,
29: Poison,
30: Together,
31: Game Over
Create whatever you want, interpret however you like, have a bloody good time!
List by dont-offend-the-bees]
#saw#saw franchise#sawtober#chainshipping#shotgunshipping#coffinshipping#my art#mr. bees speaks#i am gonna draw like 90% chainshipping lbr#but it'd be cool to see how people interpret stuff!
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new wave dreams
Malleus smiles. You know this smile. In all your time with him, you’ve become intimately familiar with his different smiles. This smile, you fear, spells your doom.
This smile is smug.
“I recall Grim whining about spilled milk on his fur,” he hums, expression deceivingly serene. “Just before he went to sleep, he was telling me about how you have to clean up yet another mess and how dreadfully clumsy his henchhuman is.”
Oh that snitch.
or;
You're clumsy, Ramshackle has outdated appliances, and Grim is incapable of keeping house secrets.
tags: 2.7k words, cross-posted on ao3 under the same name and the same alias. this is my first work on here cries have mercy on me when it comes to formatting, ok. title is from P.U.N.K. Girl by Heavenly
You have a problem.
An issue, a predicament, a conundrum, even.
See, you’ve developed a bit of a … bad habit. Grim is a very deep sleeper and ever since you’ve been thrown into Twisted Wonderland, you are decidedly not. Whether it be unnerving dreams that wake you up or just plain insomnia, you’ve spent many a night kept awake with only Grim’s incessant snoring to keep you company.
And well… it’s not like your stomach stops working either. So maybe it’s not uncommon for you to sneak down into the kitchen and make yourself something to eat, and maybe it’s not uncommon for you to sneak back into your comfortable bed and eat while under the covers. Maybe.
You’re so used to the sound of boisterous laughter coming from the kitchen in Ramshackle that the dead of night just makes it… eery. Not to mention, the ghosts who live in the dorm have no sense of when is a good or bad time to play a silly little prank on you. Is it really so bad to want the comfort of a wall against your back and blankets trapping your warmth while you enjoy a home cooked meal?
It’s just that… your hand might have slipped while crawling into bed and you might have spilled your cereal all over your bed while Grim was still sleeping in it. Oops.
This is where your predicament lies. Grim is now partially awake, bleary eyed and upset at having been woken up at 2 am. Your sheets, comforter, and pajamas reek of milk. Class is at 9 am sharp, and if you leave things the way they are, you have no doubt that your room will reek of spoiled milk.
Which would be fixable, except for the fact that your biggest issue is that Ramshackle doesn’t have a laundry room.
Or… well… it does. Technically. Except you may have smacked the washing machine a little bit too hard to get it started once, and it hasn’t turned on ever since. You’ve been doing your laundry in Heartslaybul with either Ace or Deuce accompanying you ever since.
But that is definitely not an option right now! Let alone the fact that Riddle would undoubtedly take your head if you snuck around and did laundry in his dorm at 2 am, you know for a fact that Ace would have a field day if he found out why your sheets were soaked with milk at this time of night. No, Heartslaybul is certainly not an option.
Which leaves… no options at all. You suppose you could just use the kitchen sink… or maybe the bathtub?
“I’m not cleaning this,” Grim grumbles. He’s rubbing his eyes and lets out a big yawn. Despite his insistence, he really is more catlike than anything else you’ve ever seen. When he looks up at you with his big blue eyes, you can’t help but forget how annoying he can be. Aw, now you feel bad.
“I wasn’t gonna make you, d’worry,” you mumble back. There’s no other option, you suppose. You begin peeling the sheets off the bed. It’s heavy, and it doesn’t help that your movements have a certain grogginess to them. Just your luck, you’re starting to get tired after you already made a mess. “I’m gonna head downstairs to clean this, you go back to sleep.”
Grim doesn’t respond to you, so you assume that he nodded off even without your prompting. When you make it downstairs though, you almost trip over him running right past you.
“We’ve got a visitor!”
You almost drop your clothes to rush over to the window. From your spot in the lounge, you can’t make out what Grim is seeing. “Huh? Who?”
“Who else visits ‘n the middle of the night?”
The clothes are unceremoniously dumped in the sink and you rush to the window. Sure enough, green sparks fly around a familiar silhouette underneath your porch.
Talk about bad timing. “I can’t just leave him out there, can I?”
Grim just shrugs up at you. Ugh, your bleeding heart. How could you leave a friend out in the cold when he came all the way just to see you? The ghosts would scold you for even entertaining the thought.
With strengthened resolve, you glance out the window one more time. Sure enough, Malleus is still standing on your porch. He’s staring intently at the doorknob, but as soon as you move the blinds, his eyes meet yours.
You don’t even give him the opportunity to knock.
“And what are you doing out here, unsupervised in the dead of night?” You say in lieu of a greeting. You grin up at him and open the door wide as an invitation to come in. Malleus slips into the foyer, but not without dramatics of his own.
“Might it be that I’m unwelcome into your humble abode?” He sighs, forlorn and melancholic. You’d almost believe that he was hurt, if not for the fond smile he gives to you and Grim and the airiness of his voice. “I suppose I ought to make myself scarce, and hope the loneliness of my dearest friend’s rejection doesn’t take my weary heart.”
“We can’t have you dying yet, now can we? Your retainers would have my head, I fear.” You flick the lights on, and lead the way further in. “Not to mention your family — I can’t have an army sent after me at my delicate age.”
“Oho! So all you care about is your own life? Careful, should you offend me too much, I may very well send the armed guards after you regardless.”
You can’t help but roll your eyes at the dramatics. He’s too attached to you to do anything of the sort. “You’re welcome anytime, just make sure you leave your retainers a note or something.”
“That one guy’s too noisy when he doesn’t know where you are,” Grim grumbles.
“They should know very well by now to check for me here before breaking out into a frenzy,” Malleus breaks out into a grin, self-satisfied. “I am no babe; they haven’t a reason to fret over me so often.”
Grim lets out a little hmph! at that. “Betcha they're more worried ‘bout what you’re getting up to, going out at night all sneaky-like.”
You all pause for a moment at Grim’s statement. “Y’know Grim, it’s very rare that you say something smart.”
It takes a moment for what you say to process. Grim goes from smiling to attacking your leg in the blink of an eye.
“Hm, that very well may be it then,” When you glance up at Malleus, all you can describe his expression as is preening. “I trust that your word will be a suitable alibi then, should they assume that I’m up to mischief?”
“Oh I doubt it, with what we’re always up to? They’ll probably assume the worst as soon as you say my name.” A light hum is all that you get in response. Typical, Malleus tends to zone in and out of conversation. You lead him to the lounge with Grim still hanging off your leg, flicking lights on and fixing things up as you go. Everyone’s awake now, so there's no need to go traipsing through the dark. Besides, Malleus’ eyes seem to glow like a cats in the dark, and you don’t feel like going through that heart attack right now.
Malleus sits by the unlit fireplace, picking up a random book from the coffee table. Grim stays behind with him while you take a moment to head into the kitchen, ignoring the pile of sheets you dumped in there in order to grab some fruits. The living arrangements may be poor and decrepit, but never let it be said that you weren’t a good host. When you make it back, the fireplace is lit, and Grim is curled up in front of it. “He asleep?”
Malleus nods. His gaze washes over the fruits before settling on your face. “For me?”
“They’re chilled, but I think I remember you saying you liked ‘em better that way.”
He reaches out for a grape, plucking it from the vine with a delicate hand. He’s just about to pop it into his mouth when he pauses for a moment. “Ah.”
“What?”
“I’m not supposed to eat anything my retainers haven’t cleared first,” he sighs. “Poisoning and the like, you understand.”
You nod in understanding. You’ve never had Malleus decline anything you offered him before, but…
Wait a minute. He’s laughing.
“That is not true!” You dump the fruits on his lap, leaving him to place them delicately on the table. Malleus hums in amusement as you settle into place by his side. “I can’t tell when you’re joking, it’s not fair.”
“No poison you could get your hands on could harm me,” he says. “Let alone anything you could disguise with the taste of fruit.”
You think he’s joking. Malleus doesn’t force you to respond, content to nurse through the fruit in front of him. He alternates between giving you a handful of berries and popping them into his own mouth.
“Why was Grim awake at this hour? I seem to recall him to be a heavy sleeper, if nothing else,” Malleus murmurs out the question, like it’s not important enough to be articulated properly.
But it is. Because this is embarrassing. There is no way that you are going to reveal to the crown prince of any nation that you spilled cereal all over your bed while Grim was sleeping in it! Not even if you were tortured.
“Oh! I think he ate the leftover tart from Riddle’s unbirthday party,” you laugh, like a liar. “You know how it is, sugar highs and all that.”
“Really?”
“Mhm,” you nod. “Must’ve worn off by the time you got here.”
Malleus smiles. You know this smile. In all your time with him, you’ve become intimately familiar with his different smiles. This smile, you fear, spells your doom.
This smile is smug.
“I recall Grim whining about spilled milk on his fur,” he hums, expression deceivingly serene. “Just before he went to sleep, he was telling me about how you have to clean up yet another mess and how dreadfully clumsy his henchhuman is.”
Oh that snitch.
“It’s not important,” you rush to reassure Malleus. You wave a hand dismissively, hopefully putting an end to the subject matter. “Grim must’ve just been yapping, you know how he is.”
Before you can even process it, Malleus grabs your hand with both of his. Shocked but not uncomfortable, you don’t deign to snatch your hand back. If you didn’t know him any better, you’d say he even looks earnest. “I would be willing to lend you my aid no matter the situation, whether the problem be big or small.”
You can��t stand to look him in the eye like this. “It’s really not that serious.”
“Tell me what is troubling you, I will have it dealt with.”
… ominous. His grip on your hands is loose, his palms warm and dry. If you don’t catch yourself, you might start to lean into him.
Also… isn’t Malleus… a dorm leader? With access to his dorm’s laundry room? Really, maybe his late night arrival was just the solution to your self inflicted problems. Is it even taking advantage of the situation if he asked you?
With strengthened resolve, you lean in conspiratorially. “Nothing I tell you can leave this room.”
---
As it turns out, Malleus does technically have access to his dorm’s laundry room. Technically.
He just doesn’t know where it is.
“Hornton, aren’t you in your third year?”
“I’m well aware,” he shoots you a look. Man alive, is he pouting? “I just rarely have a reason to come do laundry myself.”
“It’s ok,” you tell him. Roaming Diasomnia’s halls in the wee hours of the morning with a trash bag over your shoulder filled with milk soaked sheets was never on your bucket list, but at least you have company! Even if the walls are tall and cold, Malleus is like a heater by your side. “We’ll find it together.”
The two of you, notably, do not find it together.
In your defense, Diasomnia is big. Malleus might know his way around these halls, but you are notorious for your horrible sense of direction. Seriously, you might as well be in a corn maze.
By the time you’ve scoured what you think is the entirety of the upper levels of Diasomnia, you’re about ready to throw in the towel. Far be it from you to ignore the sweet call of sleep.
“Malleus, I think we should just leave it,” you murmur. “With the way things are, I’ll be ok sleeping on the ground.”
You would not be fine on the ground, actually. But you are nothing if not a liar and exhausted.
“I suppose we should check the basement before we give up,” he hums.
…
You do not want to check the basement. The apprehension must show on your face, because all Malleus does is laugh. This man laughs at you.
“Worry not,” he breathes out between chuckles, “I won’t let any harm befall you.”
How comforting.
The door to Diasomnia’s basement is just like the rest of the dorm: cold and tall and imposing. When Malleus reaches out to open it, the door creaks open itself. Creepy.
“Can I let you go down by yourself and I stay up here with the living?”
Malleus casts you a sidelong glance. “The safest place is by my side.”
You can’t even respond, snarky or otherwise, because he’s not wrong.
“You go first,” you pat his arm. That way, if anything jumps out at you, he’ll get the brunt of the attack. “I’ll be right behind you.”
When Malleus takes the first step, you think you can hear an ominous thudding. But that’s probably just the paranoia speaking.
Your descent down the stairs is marked by you cowering behind Malleus and jumping every time you think you feel something ghosting over your shoulders. On the bright side, the basement seems to be well lit with torches.
When you make it to the bottom, you take a moment to examine your surroundings. It’s an open room, marked with chairs and a stack of baskets lined up against one wall. Along the opposite wall, however, stands the prize that you’ve been searching for all this time. Your long lost lover…
A row of washing machines.
“Oh finally!”
You don’t hesitate to run over to the first washing machine you see, tossing the trash bag you’ve been carrying over your shoulder onto the ground as you shed tears of relief. Not literally though, because you can only stand to embarrass yourself so many times in one night.
Malleus hovers behind you while you punch in the code for the rinse cycle and load the machine. He offers to help, but drops it when you almost bite his hand. No way are you letting him in close proximity to your dirty laundry. Once you’ve finished loading everything up and have slammed the lid to the machine shut, you get up to face him again.
“Well Malleus, I think we did good here today,” you nod, satisfied with the outcome of your journey. “I’m glad we could discover the location of Diasomnia’s laundry room together.”
“Dismissing me already? Humans can be so cruel,” he offers his hand to you, leading you to the seats on the other side of the room. “I believe you still have quite some time left before this load is finished.”
“Don’t remind me,” you whisper. As soon as your back hits the chair, you’re slumped over. It doesn’t help that Malleus is so warm next to you. “I’m exhausted.”
Malleus hums. “Then rest. I’ll wake you when the time comes.”
---
You wake up to your alarm sprawled over Ramshackle’s couch, a gray quilt tucking you so tightly you almost fall off the couch trying to get out of it.
On the table next to you are your clean folded sheets and a note.
Thank you for the company last night… I enjoy our time together greatly. I suppose the time to wake you never came. Apologies.
You don’t think he’s very sorry at all.
#malleus draconia#malleus x reader#malleus draconia x reader#twst x reader#twisted wonderland x reader#*shakes hands*#i made this b4 i fixed my intro post so if u click on my blog no u didn't
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babe wake up new whumpay prompts dropped. like last year, im posting early for more time to prepare
Welcome to Whumpay 2024! Up above you will see the basic prompt list and down below the cut you will see it written out in a list, as well as three mini challenges (and by extension, the extreme edition)
Rules are the same as usual
You only have to use one (Or two, if you’re doing the extreme edition.) prompt a day! But you’re welcome to use multiple if you want to, and it still counts for both.
I know the description of the blog says it’s a writing event, but if you want to draw or make other kinds of content, that’s cool too.
Have fun, tag content warnings (such as noncon, graphic violence, etc) and try not to be crushed by the mortifying ordeal of posting your writing.
This is a pretty chill event so you can start posting whenever but I’ll be reblogging posts made to the #Whumpay2024 tag throughout May. For real this time.
These all also apply to these three special mini challenges, consisting of a 7 day, a 10 day, and a 14 day prompt list.
EXTREME EDITION:
This year's extreme edition doesn't have its own prompt list, but instead, youll be taking all three mini challenges in order along with the main prompt list. Some of these fit pretty well, others less so.
1 - Mad Science:
Day 1: Strapped To An Operating Table
Day 2: Paralytic Drug
Day 3: Made A Lab Rat
Day 4: Vivisection
Day 5: Truth Potion/Serum/Spell
Day 6: Russian Roulette
1 - Attacks, Mental & Physical:
Day 7: Heart Attack
Day 8: Asthma Attack
Day 9: Animal Attack
Day 10: Panic Attack
3 - Ineffective Medical Care:
Day 11: Medical Torture
Day 12: Withholding Medical Treatment
Day 13: Medication Tampering
Day 14: Injury Brushed Off
Day 15: No Anesthetic
4: Mindfuck
Day 16: Presumed Dead
Day 17: Memory Loss
Day 18: Stockholm Syndrome
Day 19: Phantom Pains
Day 20: Love Potion/Spell
Day 21: Role Reversal
5. Nature's Revenge
Day 22: Slowly Running Out Of Air
Day 23: Natural Disaster
Day 24: Struck By Lightning
Day 25: Snowed In
Day 26: Heatstroke
6. Traps & Trauma
Day 27: Caught In A Net
Day 28: Traumatic Touch Aversion
Day 29: Used As Bait
Day 30: Flashbacks
Day 31: Choose Who Lives
Mini challenge #1: Torture
#1: Tortured For Information
#2: Whipping
#3: Branding
#4: Begging To Be Killed
#5: Recorded/Broadcast Torture
#6: False Execution
#7: Shock Collar
Mini Challenge #2: Dialogue
#8: “Why are you doing this?”
#9: “Don’t look.”
#10: “You look awful.”
#11: “Who did this to you?”
#12: “No one is coming for you.”
#13: “No one cares about me.”
#14: “Don’t lie to me.”
#15: “Stay with me, please.”
#16: ”You’re scaring me!”
#17: “You’re a monster.”
Mini Challenge #3: Aftermath
#18: Fighting Against Caretaker
#19: Seeking Revenge
#20: Taking The Blame
#21: Barely Conscious
#22: Disassociation
#23: Carried To Safety
#24: Scars
#25: Unhealthy Codependency
#26: Infected Wound
#27: Survivor’s Guilt
#28: Touch Starvation
#29: Abandonment Issues
#30: Cradled In Someone’s Arms
#31: Adrenaline Crash
Alt Prompts:
Death Game
Came Back Wrong
Attack The Injury
Healing Malfunction
Left For Dead
Mistaken Identity
Dazed
Trapped Under Rubble
Drowning
Disowned By Family
Hostage Situation
Have fun everybody!
#whump#whump event#whump writing#writing#whumpay#writers#writing event#whump prompt#whumpay2024#prompt list#whump prompt list
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Can you please do OM! Solomon with fluff prompt 9: "I love you." "Say it again." "I love you."
I loved the fic you wrote about jealous Simeon by the way!
Say it Again
Fluff prompts: "I love you." "Say it again." "I love you."
Pairing: Solomon x Gn!reader
Warnings: Fluff, teasing, established relationship, I looked up things for Solomon and it came up with the Box of Truth so that's in here.
Notes: Tysm! @eternallyanxiousandstressed, that means a lot to me, I thought I did a pretty awful job in writing him, so this makes me feel loads better! I've never really gotten into Solomon's character, game crashed when I was only about lesson 9 💀, so I apologize.
Solomon is an even bigger ass and tease than Mammon, especially when he is helping you with learning magical arts. He might tease you, but he does help you. He doesn't want anything to go wrong and you curse or injury yourself.
"MC, you flick your wrist to the left, not down." Solomon grabs your wrist and moves your hand correctly. You nod and mimic as he showed you, the wand he is having you use is rough against your palm and fingers. He is using a wand he made himself, for dramatic effect and because he is The Greatest Sorcerer. Even if he doesn't necessarily need it. (Mostly bc its funny watching things pop out from the end.)
"Can't we do something more interesting Sol?" You ask, bored out of your mind. You don't mind trying to summon a frogs, but its getting boring watching the tiny toads flop out onto the ground and then disappear into 'fairy dust'.
"What do you have in mind then?" Solomon questions, setting down his wand, leaning against the counter.
"We could try the Box of Truth again? Maybe this time we won't get stuck together?" You giggle fondly at the memory, watching a sly smile grace his lips. He pushes off the counter, walking towards you slowly. Solomon sets his slender hands under your shirt and on your hips, this thumbs drawing circles against your bare skin.
"Silly girl/boy, you don't have to trap us in a box again to tell me you love me." His voice is sultry, his satin grey eyes roaming your face, soaking in every detail like he hasn't done millions it times before.
Your face flushes, hands cradling his face. He kisses your palms lovingly, pulling you closer to him. Your hips pressed against his.
"I love you, Solomon."
He grasps your chin between forefinger and thumb, pulling your face closer to his. His lips brush over yours softly, but he doesn't give you a kiss.
"Say it again"
"I love you, Solomon."
He gives a light chuckle, his lips molding to yours. It was such a soft kiss, but heavy. Full of love, passion and desire.
"I love you too, MC"
#obey me#obey me solomon#obey me x reader#prompt event#solomon x reader#obey me imagines#obey me headcanons#obey me solomon x reader#thefandomthings#obey me fluff#obey me fluff x reader#solomon fluff
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˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑪𝒍𝒊𝒄𝒉𝒆́𝒔™ — milestone event
status: closed
˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ took me forever to get here but yay! so i assembled 50 cliche au’s and prompts and the rules are simple
choose up to 3 prompts
you can specify a scenario based on the prompt just don’t go too crazy (or go what do i know)
try not to send the same prompt + character someone already sent
works that have been posted will be linked beside the prompt
you can choose the genre or leave it to me
fandoms: jjk, aot, kny, chainsaw man, naruto, death note, tokyo revengers, demon slayer
works will be under the tag #— the cliches ™ or you can check the list below
Use the form if you wanna be tagged in a specific work
works will also be in my ao3
note: no more gojo please he’s 70% of this list already
note 2: can’t believe I’m saying this but also let’s hold on toji too
pink = requested blue = posted
1. lost love
2. kiss in the rain [Denji]
3. drunk confession [Toji]
4. being carried [Gojo]
5. bodyguard au [Eren] [Nanami]
6. saving you [Gojo]
7. friends with benefits but…
8. helping each other getting ready/unready
9. wet transparent shirt [Denji]
10. “he’s dangerous, stay away” [Toji]
11. only one bed [Gojo]
12. interrupted kiss [Itachi]
13. touching under the table [Eren]
14. showering together [Aki]
15. forbidden love [Toji] [Eren]
16. “i didn’t know you were into that” [Kakashi]
17. hugging from behind [Reiner]
18. when they/you are sick (choose one) [Denji]
19. sexual tension [Aki] [Sukuna]
20. “i thought i lost you” [Toji]
21. hate sex [Gojo]
22. secret relationship [Sukuna]
23. touching foreheads [Itachi]
24. “you’re doing great” [Nanami]
25. love triangle
26. exes [Gojo]
27. “who did this to you?” [Gojo] [Sukuna]
28. fake dating [Gojo]
29. sex under the influence [Yuki]
30. losing your/their virginity [Chifuyu]
31. tattoo artist au [Choso]
32. casual ass slap [Kishibe]
33. “what happened to us?” [Gojo]
34. jealous [Gojo] [Geto]
35. when you cry [Toji]
36. buying you tampons
37. period sex (you can see where my train of thought led me) [L]
38. coworker/boss au [Nanami]
39. caught masturbating [Geto]
40. aftercare [Aki]
41. kissing your hand
42. “are you sure about this?” [Toji]
43. sitting on their lap [Geto]
44. morning sex [Toji] [Orochimaru]
45. trapped together [Geto] [Jean]
46. “what if someone sees us?” [Jiraya]
47. when you have been apart for too long [Aki] [Jiraiya]
48. roommates [Geto] [Yuki]
49. holding hands
50. “stay” [Sukuna]
#— the cliches ™#aot x reader#chainsaw man x reader#tokyo revengers x reader#naruto x reader#demon slayer x reader#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jjk x reader
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From the prelude to smut prompts; methinks 7 + 9 + Oscar and reader?
heyy j hehe i was gonna make this fluffy drunk friends to lovers but this turned out kinda angsty sorry hun!!
7. “You think we could like… Fuck these feelings out somehow?” + 9. “If you fuck me the way you fuck me up emotionally, I think you’d do a pretty damn good job at it.”
warnings: 18+ minors do not interact! angst? makeup sex? idk what this is tbh i didn’t proofread it
Her breath hitches in her throat when she enters his bedroom and finds him curled up in bed. “You’re not supposed to be here.” Her voice sounds small in the large room, she feels small. He looks small, hidden in the swaddled duvet.
He grunts, “Neither are you.” She feels a pang of guilt course through her at the clear implication she was sneaking in to avoid him.
She winces, “I was getting my clothes. I thought you would be out of town this week.”
“I cancelled.” She doesn’t ask why he didn’t go on the ski trip Lando had invited them on. It was easier for him, probably, to say they weren’t going than to say she wasn’t going anymore and have to explain. She’s grateful she gets to look away from him when she turns to his dresser. She imagines him like this in the chalet and feels worse.
She hears him sit up as she opens her lone drawer. “Are you-“ A sigh cuts his question off. Since he doesn’t finish asking, she doesn’t give any answers. She knows he wants to ask if she’s just wanting her favorite pajamas or if she’s cleaning it out for good. She can’t say.
He’s behind her before she can move away, and his arms trap her between him and his dresser. The pajamas she loves, the soft grey ones, are clutched in her palms. She stares beneath them, at the paired up socks and folded jeans and sweaters. It’s the outfit she wore the last day he was here, so he did laundry. He expected her to come back and wear them another day.
She drops the pajamas in the drawer and nudges it shut with her knee, and he presses himself closer. She lets out a shaky breath as she tilts her head back against his chest and he matches it, sighing again as he leans into her and squeezes the dresser. She turns around and places her hands where her head just was and tilts her head up to him. “You think we could like… Fuck these feelings out somehow?” She’s not sure what feelings she means; the hurt, the confusion, the love. All of the above.
His eyes scan over her features before he retorts, “If you fuck me the way you fuck me up emotionally, I think you’d do a pretty damn good job at it.”
She lets out a laugh even though it’s not funny. She doesn’t know what else to do when her throat tightens at his words and she feels worse about this. He saves her from responding by slamming his lips to hers and pressing her back against the dresser with his body. She whines as he bites her lower lip and the edge of the dresser digs into her lower back, and he steps back to give her room, his hands curling around her waist and pulling him against him so she’s not pressed into it. His kisses always make her dizzy but this one holds so much emotion behind it that it hurts her heart. She pulls back to gasp for air and he drops his head down to her neck, biting and sucking a mark into her throat. She wants to tell him to stop, she curls her fingers into his hair to pull him back but he senses her move and sinks his teeth into her skin a little harder. It makes her knees weak and she presses closer to him as she gasps, and her complaint is forgotten.
His hands find the button of her jeans and she steps out of her sandals, kicking them to the side as he unzips her pants. He hooks his fingers into the waistband and tugs softly to pull them down her hips, a soft groan falling from his lips as he sees the white panties on her hips. “Those always were my favorite.”
She sighs, petting his hair as he crouches before her to pull her pants all the way off. “I know.” I wore them for you. rides on the tip of her tongue but it goes unsaid, like so many things.
She steps out of her jeans when he gets to her ankles and he tosses them aside before both hands grasp her right leg, and he lifts her leg so he can press his lips to her ankle. She rests her elbows on his dresser and watches as he trails kisses up her leg until he reaches the apex of her thigh and sets it down. He repeats the action on the left leg and her heart is hammering in her chest at the action. She wants to kick him away, to grab her pants and put her shoes on and leave because he deserves better, he deserves someone who loves him this much, as much as he loves her.
She ignores the voice in the back of her head as he finally kisses her through her panties, teasing and soft like always. His hands explore her body like it’s the first time ever, after he lifts one leg onto his shoulders both hands roam her body, squeezing her ass and thighs before sliding up to palm her through her bralette and when that’s not enough, push it up over her tits so he can have his hands on her bare breasts. She has the urge to beg him to hurry as he nips at her clit through her panties but she resists. She wants to give him whatever he needs now, even if it’s him torturing her by lapping at her entrance through her panties. Her panties were already soaked, but his spit surely isn’t helping matters.
She tugs on his hair and whines pitifully as his nose rubs her clit. She gives into the urge to rock her hips into his face and he squeezes her tits in response, moaning against her. “I love the way you taste.” He finally pulls away from her, mushing his wet lips against her inner thigh and muffling his words. She slumps against the dresser with a gasp, running her fingers through his hair. He grins up at her, with her head hung back and her top all messed, his hands squeezing her tits. For a moment, she’s his again.
He tugs at her top and she gets the hint, wrangling it and the bralette off in one go. He loves the sight of her hair all messed up and is thankful she doesn’t try to fix it, just drops her hands to his shoulders to tug on his hoodie. He takes it off and quickly pulls his t-shirt off before she can complain. He licks his lips as he looks over her body in front of him and then meets her eyes, and sighs. “Can I say I miss you?”
It hurts to know that he feels the need to ask for permission, like she’s going to leave if he says it without asking first. She nods, “I miss you too. I’m sorry.” She says I’m sorry so he knows I miss you doesn’t mean everything is okay.
He hooks his fingers into her panties and tugs them down her legs and immediately returns her right thigh to her shoulder. He looks up as his mouth meets her pussy and his tongue swipes through her folds, swirling around her clit. Her eyes flutter shut and she moans his name softly. Her hands return to his hair to tug him closer as she leans back into his dresser.
Oscar shows her how well he knows her body and makes her come alarmingly fast. She doesn’t even know it’s happening like usual, she feels it in the pits of her stomach, almost there but not quiet. She knows she’ll come just from his mouth on her clit easily, but then he surprises her by pushing two fingers into her entrance and curling them, and she comes with a surprised shout. He scissors his fingers as he pulls them out and curls them as they push in and the slick sounds filling the room would be embarrassing if she weren’t so turned on. He barely stops after her orgasm passes. he gives her a soft kiss to her thigh as he catches his breath for a moment and then his mouth rejoins his fingers and he brings her to another orgasm in what could be record time.
Her legs are shaky from her orgasms as he removes his mouth and fingers and puts her right leg on the ground. Then he catches her off guard and spins her around before she’s got a good look at him, and she’s blinking at the blank wall where she always told him to hang something, anything.
She whines as his fingers find her pussy again to spread her lips for the head of his cock press against her. He hesitates, “Condom?” She wishes he didn’t ask because it truly is embarrassing how quickly she shakes her head and pushes back against him so the head slips inside, her mouth falling open in a silent moan. He doesn’t ask twice, and wastes no time in pulling out as soon as he bottoms out, and then repeating it. She’s not expecting him to start fucking her without any time to adjust, her hands fly back but he captures them and braces them against his dresser. She wishes he kept his hands on hers because the sight makes her cunt throb, but they abandon her hands in favor of her hips. He holds her in place as he sets a brutal pace, his hip bones slapping against her ass with each thrust.
“You should have bought a mirror for this wall like I told you.” She wishes she sounded more put together, but her voice comes out between moans and pants and her words are shaky.
Oscar laughs, nuzzling his face into her neck. “You wanna watch yourself take my cock?” His voice is as even as ever and the confidence in his words make her clench around him, she feels herself, maybe even his leaking precum, dripping down her thigh and she clenches again.
She shakes her head, “I wanna watch you, I can’t see you like this.”
“You’re the better view baby.” One of his hands moves to her clit and he swirls around it, “Plus, I like having you like this.” His words go straight to her pussy and she flutters around him, teetering on the edge of another orgasm.
She gasps, “Feels good.” He murmurs his agreement into her hair and then presses a kiss to her shoulder.
“You gonna come again? Already?” The teasing tone to his voice annoys her, as if it’s not his doing that she’s about to come for a third time.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
He huffs, “Just that, you’re… I don’t wanna say easy,” She blushes with embarrassment and wishes she could deny it but she huffs, “I haven’t touched myself.” He suddenly freezes, finger on her clit, cock inside of her, pressed against her. “Really?” He sounds genuinely surprised, and there’s something else in his voice that she can’t place. Her orgasm immediately fades away and she squeezes her eyes shut as she squeezes his cock pathetically.
She presses herself against him and moans as his cock reaches deeper inside her and his finger brushes her clit again, “Why’d you stop?”
He press her closer and inhales deeply before he asks, “Why?” It comes out as he exhales and it tickles her neck, sending shivers down her spine.
“I tried, I thought about you and I stopped.” He groans and she feels him twitch inside of her, his hand leaves her clit and finds her wrist and drags it between her legs.
He covers her hand with his and murmurs, “Touch yourself for me, I’ll keep fucking you but if you stop, I stop.”
She rolls her eyes and begins swirling her middle finger around her clit, her finger rubbing against his hand above hers. He begins fucking her again, at the same pace as before and she peels her other hand back to curl into Oscar’s hair as he mouths at her neck. She’s close again all too soon, her thighs shaking as she traces a pattern against her clit, one she knows from habit but can’t place at the moment. She feels Oscar’s lips sink into her neck and she moans his name softly, tugging his hair as his cock brushes that spongy spot deep within her walls. Her back arches as the knot in her stomach tightens. Oscar’s breath is hot on her neck as he teases, “I love the way you say my name.”
The sudden realization of the pattern hits her and she feels herself tumble over the edge as she swirls the s of his name on her clit. He starts to say something again? but his words are immediately interrupted by a moan as his orgasm hits, triggered unexpectedly by the feeling of her gushing around him. He presses her into the dresser as he moans her name, his hips stuttering against hers as he spills inside of her.
Neither of them move for a minute as they catch their breath and recover from their orgasms, but Oscar is the first to do so. He carefully pulls himself out of her and rushes to the bathroom to grab a wash cloth. She’s bent over the dresser with her cheek pressed against it when he returns and he feels his stomach ache with the idea that she’s about to leave him again. He’s careful when he wipes up her legs and between her thighs, and tugs open her drawer to fetch a pair of panties. She thanks him as he pulls them up her legs and out of pure habit he fetches his shirt and helps her into it, pulling her back against his chest and kissing the crown of her head as she raises her hands.
She wants to leave, planned on it until he put panties and his shirt on her and kissed her head. Before he came in her. She pulls the top drawer open and retrieves a pair of boxers before she turns and pulls him down for a kiss. It’s soft and selfish, and then she sinks to her knees and gestures for him to step into the boxers like he’d helped her into his panties. He rolls his eyes at her but concedes and she giggles as she pulls them up and tucks his cock into his boxers. He holds out a hand to help her stand and she lets him, then guides him to bed. She sees the state of the tousled top sheet and duvet and shakes his hand off and begins sorting out the mess.
He sighs behind her, “Don’t bother, I’m just gonna mess it up.” There's a playful lilt to his voice but the words make her sad, thinking about him in his cocoon when she arrived.
She ignores him and straightens out both of them before she crawls underneath and settles in the center of his bed before holding her arms out to him, “Cuddle?" He tosses back the covers and crawls over to her before he drops onto her chest and tugging the covers back into place. She has to wiggle her right arm free to drape it over his back, fingers skimming across his shoulders.
It’s soothing for her, and she assumes him by the way he shifts himself closer and tugs the blanket tighter before mumbling, “Thank you.” She hums in response and he tilts his head up, “For not leaving, I mean.” She hums again, unsure of what to say. He doesn’t say anything else, so she waits until he falls asleep to ensure he’s not going to drop any other heartbreaking sentiments before she lets herself fall asleep.
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WoW's Birthday Whump Event!
Hi everyone! WoW here, and after some thought, I decided to do this! Unfortunately, no fancy picture or anything so this will have to do!
Also, instead of the entire month, I'll do 15 days instead! Thinking up different prompts for all 30 days is kinda hard, so this will have to do LOL
The event starts this year, 2024, on April 1st and ends on April 15th! So get your stuff ready till then!
And since it's my first time doing something like this, feel free to critique and suggest anything :D
PROMPTS, ALT PROMPTS, AND RULES UNDER THE CUT!
PROMPTS
Day 1
Kidnapping / Bound and gagged / "I have your loved one."
Day 2
Starvation / Thirst / "Please..."
Day 3
Crying / Parting Words Regret / "Why...?"
Day 4
Electrocution / Waterboarded / "Anything but that!"
Day 5
Scream / Captivity / "NO!"
Day 6
Nonhuman whumpee / Reluctant Whumper / "Run!"
Day 7
Bloodied knuckles / Wounded / "Is that blood?!"
Day 8
Stranded / Team whump / "Is anyone there?!"
Day 9
Aftermath of rescue / Sickness / "You're burning up."
Day 10
Hypothermia / Heat flashes / "Bind them."
Day 11
Used as bait / Held for ransom / "It's a trap!"
Day 12
Magic exhaustion / Collapsed / "So tired..."
Day 13
Natural disaster / Shock collar / "Shut up!"
Day 14
Guilt / Chased / "I bought you time, use it!"
Day 15
Hidden injury / Outnumbered / "I'm sorry."
ALTERNATE PROMPTS
Abandoned whumpee
Bridal carry
Claustrophobia
Forced to hurt another
Poison
Amnesia
Mouth stitched shut
Humiliation
RULES
1. Anyone can join, not just whump blogs!
2. NSFW, gore, etc are allowed, just make sure you tag properly and use community labels! If it's not tagged properly and/or no community labels are used, I unfortunately can't reblog it, sorry!
3. Anything can be used for these prompts (art, writing, gifs, etc!) Just as long as they're related to the current prompt!
4. If you like me to find you, tag your posts with #wow birthday whump , #wow birthday whump [day #] , and/or #wow birthday whump alt prompt , along with the prompt name (ie if it's day one and you're writing for the "Bound and gagged" whump, tag as #bound and gagged )
5. HAVE FUN!
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gevivys (beauty) │ Chapter 2: Meeting
terms of endearment ‘verse: see my Masterlist for the correct series order!
Chapter 1 │Chapter 2 │Chapter 3 │Chapter 4 │Chapter 5 │Chapter 6 │Chapter 7 │Chapter 8 │Chapter 9 │Chapter 10 (COMPLETE!)
Synopsis: Daemon returns to King's Landing after ten years in exile, intent on rekindling his affair with Rhaenyra. He wasn't expecting you - the revelation changes everything.
Welcome to the second chapter of my rework! Thank you to @ewanmitchellcrumbs, my slap daddy Ange, for reading through this chapter for me!
TRIGGERS: incest, purity culture, objectification of women, age gap.
For the first time in a decade, Daemon and Rhaenyra sit together and talk.
She pours him wine, and he drinks in the first true taste of home he has had since arriving. Ah, Westerosi strongwine. None of that watered-down Pentoshi shit. She snickers gently at his expression, watching him as he swills the dark liquid around.
“Is it to your liking, Uncle?” she asks teasingly, glancing towards the cradle as she has been over the past few minutes. It is truly a miracle the boy had not stirred while they were engaged in their battle of wills.
“Hm.” He smiles wryly at her. She does know him well, he supposes. “It’s good.”
The brief moment of levity passes. They stare into their cups for a time, not knowing how to move forward. It is Rhaenyra who makes the first move.
“So,” she begins. “That happened.”
He snorts. He has missed her brazenness. “Quite.”
He takes another swig of the wine, relishing in the fullness of the flavour as it bursts across his tongue. It is unlike him to be so reticent, but he is unsure of what to say, how to possibly put into words what he is thinking.
When were you replaced by a stranger, niece? Where is the girl I used to bounce on my knee at feasts? The girl I used to race across the skies, laughing? The headstrong, haughty creature that I would have once called the other half of my spirit?
When did you leave me behind, Rhaenyra?
Where his thoughts are trapped in his mind, swirling fruitlessly with no hope of release, hers are not.
“I think it’s safe to say that won’t ever be happening again,” she says, looking over at him inscrutably.
He sighs, finally making eye contact with her. “No. I suppose not.”
He expects she is right. But it burns him to have spent so long wishing and hoping for something that would never live up to his dreams. There is an adage there, he thinks to himself, about being careful what one wishes for. It seems the fantasy he had conjured up would only ever be that.
“I’m sorry, Uncle. But we aren’t the same people we once were. And I think you know that.”
“I do.” He takes in her appearance almost wistfully.
She really is beautiful. But life had changed their trajectories irrevocably now. She had made a family for herself, had become a mother, had become something more than he’d ever thought her capable of—and he cannot say the same for himself.
“Does he treat you well?” He has to ask her; has to know she is satisfied with her life before he can let her go once and for all.
“Which one?” Rhaenyra laughs suddenly, wickedly. She knows he knows of the rumours, it would seem.
It shocks him from his stupor, and he guffaws lightly in response.
“Either,” he says. “Both.”
She smiles, looks over at the babe again. From what he can see, the boy is a handsome one, dark hair and pale skin and as bonny as any babe fresh to the world is.
“Laenor is a good man. He has never once begrudged me Harwin; sees him as part of us, even”—she narrows her eyes at him as he snorts at her mention of the Strong boy’s name—“and he treats the boys as his own. Calls them ‘fine Velaryon specimens’. You’d think he actually sired them from the way he goes on.”
Daemon’s curiosity and a twisted desire to indulge in self-flagellation prompts him to ask. “That’s all very well and good, but how does he treat you? ”
“He’s my best friend.” Her voice is soft. “I trust him—more than I’ve trusted anyone. I love him, and he loves me, though it is not the love you’d expect between a husband and wife.”
“I’m glad.” He is, though he smarts at the boy’s new designation as his niece’s prized confidant. He had once taken that role in her life, after all. “And the other?”
It surprises him to see his unwavering niece colour bright red. The part of him that loves her purely is warmed to see such delight cross her visage.
“He is good to me.” Her grin as she glances over at baby Joffrey again tells him all he needs to know. “He loves me, Daemon—and I love him, too.” It is as though she is beseeching him to understand why she had forsaken him.
He does not begrudge her for finding love, not after the way he’d left her so bereft. That’d be too cruel, even for him.
“I’m happy for you.”
Though it is a bitter loss, he can find it within himself to be pleased for her. He senses she has something else to add, but that she is hesitant to broach the subject. Searching for a means with which to tease it out of her, he continues the line of discussion.
“Say—did I not hear something about the Strong lad wedding our very own cousin?”
He is taken aback when the flush on her cheeks deepens further, and he leans in anticipatorily as he realises he has struck upon the correct line of inquiry. There’s something suspicious about her shiftiness, about the glow of her skin and the way she cannot hold his gaze for long.
No… It couldn’t be—
“How is Laena?” he asks, prodding, relishing the look of discomfort on her face.
“She is… well,” she replies hastily, “and is preparing to welcome a third child.”
He baits her to the finish, knowing all too well the reason for her prevarication. “Ah—I’m sure your Strong man is pleased.”
Had she not reddened in his own company, once? Had she not fluttered her lashes and smiled with closed lips in that kittenish, secretive manner whenever he dared step too close? Had she not been incapable of staring back at him, flicking her eyes to his for a moment before departing, face flushing ever brighter with each attempt? A Rhaenyra in love is an easy thing to spot, it seems, even after all this time.
He goes in for the kill. “What of you? Equally as delighted?”
“What?” Rhaenyra’s head snaps up, her tone startled. “What does that mean?”
“It’s merely a question, niece; no need to get so upset.” He pauses, gives her a moment to collect herself. “How long have you been bedding her, then?”
He can see that his niece knows there’s no chance of hedging. She sighs, rolls her eyes.
“None of your business” she says, shaking her head as he laughs his victory.
He had not been expecting her to be quite so adventurous, taking man and woman both as her lovers. But then, he is realising ever more clearly that he doesn’t know this woman before him.
What did I awaken that night in the brothel? he wonders.
Suddenly, the door clatters as someone knocks, startling the babe in his cradle. He begins to cry, and Rhaenyra sighs as she makes to get up.
“‘Nyra!” a man’s voice calls through the wood. “You decent?”
She is now, Daemon thinks wryly. An hour ago, perhaps not—he’d had to lace her into a new gown after the mess he’d made of the last.
“Yes!” She is already taking the child in her arms and bouncing him softly to soothe him. “Come in!”
“Do you have any idea where I can find Luke? Or your si—”
Laenor’s speech halts as he takes in the scene before him and the guest he has found in his wife’s chambers.
“Daemon!” He laughs, striding forward to clap him on the back. Daemon rises and does the same, looking over Laenor as he returns the greeting. The past ten years had served him as well as they had served Rhaenyra. “I had wondered where you’d gone!”
“Merely reminiscing with my niece.” Daemon glances over at Rhaenyra. She wears a look of fond annoyance, and he wonders if this is the normal dynamic between them two.
“Try the library—she took him for his lessons earlier, remember?” Rhaenyra answers Laenor’s previous enquiry, returning the now-soothed baby to the cradle. “And really, Laenor; do be careful with that fucking door. You woke Joff up again.”
“Sorry, sorry!” Laenor reaches over the cradle to brush light fingers along the babe’s head.
Daemon is struck by how practised the scene before him is. The realisation that he has missed more than he can possibly comprehend settles in further and further with each moment that passes, with every word that is spoken between his niece and her husband.
Then, he catches up to the conversation properly.
He frowns. “Who took him?”
“My sister,” Rhaenyra brow wrinkles. “You know—your other niece? You’re getting old, Uncle. Your memory’s terrible.”
“I remember her, you silly woman,” Daemon says, arms folding. How the fuck am I supposed to know that was what she meant? “Small thing she was, when I left.”
I will miss you, Uncle. Even now, it twinges.
You had always been small—too small, he’d thought as he held you for the first time, your tiny body nearly lost in the crook of his arm. You were a slight waif of a child, calling to mind the stories of magic and mystery from the shores of times past, from the very fount of Old Valyria. You were his ‘fairy girl’, ready to depart the lands of Westeros for your enchanted homeland at any given moment.
Such irony, it is, that it had been he to leave you.
Laenor cackles, the sound slightly deranged as he shares a glance with Rhaenyra. Daemon frowns, insulted, though he’s unsure what part of his statement is the source of the Velaryon boy’s amusement.
“Believe me, my Prince”—Laenor shakes his head sardonically—“what I would give to hear men call her that and only that, nowadays.”
“Oh, stop it, Laenor.” Rhaenyra smacks his arm chidingly, moving over to refill her goblet of wine. “If you keep that up around her, she’ll find somewhere else to hide and it’ll be that much harder to coax her out.”
“Our little princess not enjoying her royal matchmaking?”
He is intrigued by the facet of knowledge gleaned about you, his precious baby niece, his sweetling. Ah, but how like you to find the notice of others so unsettling, to be so overwhelmed by an influx of attention that you’d slip your minders to seek a place of temporary respite. He assumes the conversation has turned to the news delivered in that last letter, of the fact that you are seeking out a husband—or rather, being made to, as it now seemed. Ire tics strident along his jaw, threatening to grind his teeth into dust.
“Oh, do call her that,” Rhaenyra seats herself once more. “One more patronising pet name and she’s sure to ride off on that great beast of hers, never to return.”
Laenor is laughing once again, sitting in the seat at the head of the table and grimacing as Rhaenyra shoves his feet off the table. Daemon’s focus is drawn by mention of a beast. Last he knew, you’d not yet claimed a dragon.
“… and when you’re older,” he tells you, hand engulfing your own much smaller one, “you’ll go to Dragonstone and find yourself a hatchling, or a young dragon, or perhaps even one of the larger ones.”
“Like you and Caraxes?” you ask, head tilted up to him as you walk, seeking his assurance. “You got him when—when you were thirteen?”
He grins down at you. “That’s right.” Warm fondness wells when you wiggle happily at his approval. “And I’m sure that when you’re of suitable age, you’ll have your own chance.”
“But—but ‘Nyra got Syrax when she was seven,” you protest, stumbling over your sentence. Gods, does he miss the way your small self had pronounced ‘r’ as ‘w’, an adorable lisp that had lent unwitting comedy to all that escaped your mouth. It is strange to hear the words so carefully uttered, the slow shedding of babyhood made evident through speech. “And I am—I’m nearly four. So I have t—”
“So you have time, riñītsos.” He grows weary of your slow pace and hoists you up suddenly. Little girl, he calls you, and you are so, so little in his hold. You squeal at the motion, clinging onto his neck with tiny arms. “Don’t go rushing toward the future just yet.”
Don’t grow up, he wants to say. Don’t lose what makes you so precious to me.
“But I wanna ride a dragon just like ‘Nyra!” you chirp in his ear, high sugared voice ringing like a bell. “I want to be like you!”
He laughs, squeezing you to him. “One day,” he promises. “One day, you’ll claim yourself a mighty beast, and we’ll go flying together—how’s that?”
“Yeah!”
Unease blooms like first frost along the back of his neck, raising the hairs at his nape. Is there no vow he has broken to the girl you had been? What must you think of him now? To have found a dragon without him…
He pursues this line of conversation, eager to learn more.
“Yes, an awful-tempered wild thing she’s named ‘Afizar’ or some such—do get her to pronounce it for you, because I cannot.” At his befuddlement in expression—what does she mean, ‘wild thing’?—Rhaenyra adds, “I’m sure you would have seen it coming in on Caraxes. He’s usually menacing the skies at that time of day.”
The goliath from earlier. “That’s her dragon?” he asks incredulously. “The bastard nearly tore Caraxes from the sky!”
He cannot imagine his shy, guileless little niece claiming such a savage creature as her own mount. Perhaps he’s underestimated her.
“Sounds like him.” Laenor snorts. “Can’t believe she got that fucker to follow her here from Dragonstone. The Cannibal, if you’d believe. Nearly killed the King with fright when she landed it on Rhaenys’s Hill. Thought he was going to lock her up for the next five years.”
“He nearly did,” Rhaenyra says. “Except, after the beast ate several Dragonkeepers, the only one who could get him to calm down was her.”
The Cannibal? Seven fucking hells. So few had gotten close enough to see the beast in any detail, so it’s no wonder he’d not recognised the dragon earlier. He wonders idly if he can persuade you to introduce him. To be so close to such a force of nature…
“Well.” Laenor stands, pressing an absent-minded kiss to the top of Rhaenyra’s head. “I’d best be off—Luke has training before it gets dark.”
He heads to the door, straightening up his doublet, which has rumpled from the slouch he had been sitting in.
Rhaenyra calls to him as he shuts the door. “Make sure that those boys don’t beat him around like they did the last time!”
He makes an affirmative noise as it closes; his niece sighs at the firestorm Laenor has taken with him as he departed, leaning her head onto the back of the chair and closing her eyes.
He sees now what she has made here, the laughter that has brought lines to the corners of her eyes and the love that pervades the interactions she has with those she cares for. His heart clenches in mourning for the life he missed, the life he will never have with her. They were once reflections of each other. Now, they are strangers, memories to take forth into a new existence. He wants to be bitter, angry, resentful—but he just feels drained. Carved out. Empty. All those years wasted…
“I’d best be going,” he says softly, feet already carrying him to the door.
She murmurs something at him, too low for his hearing to pick up. He turns to face her. She’s smiling at him, though it’s a sad, wistful thing.
“I’ll see you around, Uncle.”
His mouth twists up dryly, accepting the closure as given. She’s beautiful in her wisdom, her maturity, but she’s not his—not anymore.
“I’ll see you around, niece.” He shuts the door on her. On the past.
It is an ending. He can only hope that a new beginning lay somewhere around a nearby corner, waiting to give him a reason once more.
Well—when he said he was looking for something new, he wasn’t expecting it to smack him clean across the fucking jaw quite so suddenly as this.
Daemon spends the next days idly wandering the halls, lost in thought as he considers all that had transpired between him and Rhaenyra. He wars at times between white-hot rage at what has been lost to him and the melancholy of knowing that it—she—was never truly his for the taking in the first place. It strikes him that he might relieve the strain that pulls at his mind and stiffens his joints by frequenting one of his old haunts; but then, he’s not entirely sure he has it in him to sustain his lusts long enough to spill his seed in some nameless whore’s cunt.
A royal gift for the commons to mark my return. The notion amuses him.
Today is much the same—same old bejewelled sycophants looking for leverage with the King and Council, same old perfumed halls barely concealing the ever-present stink of shit, same old serving girls and page boys darting off at the very sight of him, like he is a plague to be outrun—until it is not. The endless monotony is interrupted when he catches the metallic glint of a finely polished breastplate in the sun.
Speaking of shits…
Squinting, he looks across the way to see the staid figure of Ser Cole, Crispin or Colin or whatever his name was. Beating in a knight’s head at a royal wedding wasn’t enough to get the man exiled? he wonders, dubious. The man is standing at the entrance to the garden, staring watchfully in at its occupants, and Daemon can hear the sounds of light chatter and laughter. What the fuck?
Daemon is striding toward the Kingsguard before common sense can rein him in.
“Still here, Cole?” he asks, enjoying the look of thinly veiled vehemence on the Stormlander’s visage. “I’d have thought you’d be an exile after the little stunt you pulled at Rhaenyra’s wedding.”
He relishes in the further lines of tension that spread across his face. Perhaps the only enjoyable part of that day had been watching the knight slay a royal guest during festivities, in front of all and sundry. It was remarkably transparent of him—what man didn’t desire his eldest niece? He wonders if she’d bothered to let him into her cunt, or if he was still pining pathetically.
He refuses to consider the potential that such a thing would make them more similar than different.
“The Queen was charitable enough to advocate for my continued presence, my Prince.” The knight narrows his eyes at him. “Unlike some, I was seen to have use yet.”
Daemon cannot help it. He laughs, impressed and infuriated and enraged by this juvenile upstart from some little-known region of Westeros. Who does he think he is?
“And indeed, you are! A fine guard, truly—of a tree.”
“I am the Princess’s sworn shield,” Cole says hotly before catching himself, reining himself in. The man exhales and returns to that vacant, accommodating stance that had first tickled Daemon with enough amusement that he felt it worth venturing over to have fun.
“How interesting.” Daemon steps closer to the man, forcing him to look up into his line of sight. ‘Tis an exercise of dominance if there ever was one. “I seem to recall you had sworn yourself to the elder one, not the younger; Rhaenyra is safely up in her chambers now.”
For whom else could Ser Cristian mean if not you, his little girl?
In three days, he had yet to encounter you. Always there is an excuse presented via messenger to the expectant ears of the King at mealtimes. Whether it be tutoring, minding your nephews and littlest brothers, or simply nowhere to be found, you are a whisper on the wind, a person in name only. If it were not for the frequent mentions of you made in casual conversation across the Keep, he would think you did not exist at all.
Cole smiles tensely. “Allegiances change.”
Daemon quirks a brow at the admission, not having expected such a sentimental acknowledgement from the knight. A change of loyalty, eh? Well, he shall have to see what it is that has turned Caradoc’s head so. Stepping away from the guard with a mocking little twist of the lips, he treads forward into the garden.
What had long been a place of silent contemplation is now alight with the sound of merriment. A group of young ladies all sit about on laid-out furs, giggling over grapes and sweet-wine. It is an endearing display of girlish delight that would have made any other man smile at the scene before him. Daemon is not other men. Staring upon the scene, he wonders darkly at just how many of them he could persuade to let him slip a hand into their smallclothes, to pry apart their coltish thighs, to wet his cock on their maiden’s blood and hear them scream.
He snorts at the thought. Knowing King’s Landing, I’d wager at least half of these girls have already trysted with some man or another.
He rolls his eyes at the sight of that crotchety old Septa—Marlow, was it?—the very same wretch to have ruled Rhaenyra’s childhood household with an iron fist and stern voice, sitting undercover with a silver-haired girl. At first, he thinks this is you. But upon looking at her closer, he sees the Hightower bitch pasted over Valyrian colouring, limbs too long and spindly, not as comely as your little-girl self had promised to be.
Wrinkling his nose slightly, he realises this must be the smaller one. Helen? Helaenys? He cannot think of her name, and nor does he care to know it. Casting his eye across the landscape, he frowns as he fails to see the form of a second silver-haired girl.
“Your Highness!”
Ah, fuck, his mind supplies. The old sow has seen me.
The hag’s eyes are upon him disapprovingly, and it pleases him wryly that he can at least count upon her to remain unchanged by time. Septa Marlow had never liked him, had constantly reproved Rhaenyra for being taken in by his gifts, his attentions, his flattery. He supposes she was right to be so concerned for her naïve charge.
“You have returned.” She sounds disappointed.
“Septa,” he says, bowing to her, though he’s sure the derisiveness of the movement is not lost upon her. There it is—her eyes narrow, lips pursing as she glares at him disfavourably. The young one tracks the interaction with a tilt to her head, wondering just who had come to disturb the peace of the afternoon. “It is truly a delight to see you once again.” Old cunt.
“Hm.” She turns back to the young girl before her.
No doubt proselytising about the dangers of letting a reprobate like me see so much as a slip of an ankle beneath her skirts, he thinks scornfully.
Once it is clear that is all he will get out of the old bitch, he wanders further into the garden. He smirks in an affectation of gentility as the girls whisper to themselves, staring at him, likely plotting their way into his line of sight.
As he passes the shade of the tree, he receives his first glimpse of you in ten years.
You are laid outstretched on the bare grass in a pretty summer gown of pale violet, so like the gown you’d worn that night, the night he’d left you, and your legs are folded at the ankle. He can see the limbs twine through your skirts, the barest hint of calf and thigh contoured by the dip in the layers of silken fabric, and your wild pale hair—that same untameable mess, artful now where it had been unsophisticated once—spills carelessly in a halo about your head. Your eyes are closed, your smile tipped up to the warming sun, your once-cherubic face lengthened, defined. He tracks the familiar slope of your nose, the arch of newly unveiled cheekbones and plumped lips, a red-mouthed nymphet of a girl become a woman in his absence.
Fucking—fucking fuck—
He cannot stop himself from studying you, tracing the curve of your bared neck—and why is the sight so obscene, gods help him—the spill of your tits regrettably encased in the cut of your gown and the way your little hands clasp together in chaste repose under your bust, highlighting the blooming of your body.
The sight exhilarates him. It devastates him. Who the fuck is this—this Maiden come to life, this princess-shaped, doe-eyed dream of a girl? Certainly not the child he had left behind, for there is nothing gangling or babyish about you now. He is utterly annoyed with himself at having expected some flat-chested, androgynous approximation of that little girl grown up.
He calls your name, and your startled head whips to face him directly. Your eyes open and widen in shock and confusion, a quizzical furrowing of brows disturbing the peace that had smoothed your expression only moments before. You sit up further as he advances towards you, making no move to leap up from your place situated below him. ‘Tis a place for gullible girls with pillow-soft lips and pink little tongues held out in prayer, begging to lap up his milk—but you only stare up at him, an utter lack of comprehension on your face. It is then that he knows, as only a man who’d stolen the virtue of half the ingenues now selling their wares in the Street of Silk could know.
How could he have stayed away for so long when an unspoiled prize such as you awaited a conqueror to snatch her up, to teach her what pleasures could be found in defeat?
How could he have stayed away when you—his littlest princess—awaited your beloved kepa?
“Hello, sweetling,” he says, crouching down beside you.
He feels a vicious sense of satisfaction when your brows uncurl, wet posy-petal lips unfurling into an open-mouthed expression of awareness as you recognise the sound of him, take in the ashen hue of his hair and the long-forgotten features that comprise a familiar face.
“Uncle Daemon?” you ask softly.
Uncle Daemon… you promised. Two images are affixed in his mind’s eye, the you of the past and the you before him now, warping and blending confusingly. It alarms him—excites him—to feel the twitch of his cock in his breeches. How can he debase an affection so pure as the one he bears for you?
And yet—as he looks upon you—how can he not?
Self-reproach stirs in his gut as he takes in the slow-dawning smile upon your face, the look of a little girl who’s favourite long-distant uncle has finally come home.
“I did not know you had returned!” you breathe.
Daemon shifts to sit before you properly, gaze roving. He takes in the tumble of Valyrian-white spilling from your crown, the dusky lavender-bruise of your eyelids, the cinch at your waist and all that damnable skin begging for hands to map its surface.
How did you not know? he wonders. It is surely all the city had been gossiping of since his homecoming.
This is not what he chooses to say. “I did not announce my arrival.”
You nod an acknowledgement, humming gently. Then, your eyes—deep lilac, soft, the same as they had ever been—flick to his. “You have been gone for so long, Uncle.”
A wistful sort of sadness, wrenching, steals the insistence from your voice. All at once, your expression is an echo of the forlorn girl he’d all but abandoned in the chill of evening, wide wet stare and trembling bottom lip and flushed nose, though the present display incites an unnerving pulse of—something—in his lower back, in his groin.
Your words speak to a greater loss than just his absence. Who has taken care of you since I left, my girl?
There is an ever-growing inkling taking shape in the back of his mind that you’ve been as terribly isolated as he has been all these years. Any other possibility seems daft upon reflection. With naught to yourself but a sister and father with their own new families and an old Septa to punish your desire before it is even allowed to spring into fruition, how could you have been anything other than bereft?
“It seems I have.” Though Daemon rails at the injustice of it, of a world in which you had not received every little thing you wanted, his taste for debauchery rules him. Helplessly, his scrutiny falls again to the figure below the face. He spies the hint of a collarbone as it peeks out from under an irritatingly high neckline, the darling swell of tits playing at the game of adulthood before they have been invited to the gathering, the flare of hips shrouded in damnable silks and satins. “You were a little girl when I left. Look at you now!”
At that, you laugh. “I still am.” You smile. “I am not so changed, really.”
He cannot resist but to picture that very same smile, lips wide-stretched and exhilarated as your downy-soft cheek nuzzles between his legs like a cat seeking cream. Little girl, little pet, you could be as guileless as you’d like on your knees, wide-eyed ‘kepus?’ as he tugs his laces undone to reveal his—
Fuck’s sake. He swallows, yanks back the tidal wave.
“Surely not.” His eyes rove again over you, uncontrollable, his hand reaching out to tuck the hair behind your ear before he has truly thought it through. “There’s not a trace of ‘little’ before me, talītsos”—the old pet name springs out unbidden—“but a woman grown!”
The turn of conversation—the turn in his behaviour—makes you uncomfortable. He can tell from the way your shoulders stiffen and your spine straightens, from the way you break eye contact with him and shift away ever so slightly, from the pretty peevish set of your rosebud mouth.
“You know, then? What I have been asked by Papa?”
In this, he sees Rhaenyra—the unwillingness to hedge, the direct line of pursuit—though the uneasiness is new. So too is the lack of delight at the pronouncement; it is the greatest wish of all young ladies to be perceived as mature, coveted, worthy of the attention of men. He knows this from experience. And yet, it seems you crave existence of another kind, a wish for anonymity most unlike the spoiled haughtiness of the highborn.
Strange.
It is frustrating, too, to be countered so early in the game of desire. He’d never had to coax out a maiden for long, the allure of his exterior qualities and his princely title and his roguish charm making even the most pious of virgins a willing whore without much work. He had certainly never had to lead Rhaenyra much, for she was all too eager to follow him to the darkness.
A small part of him is raging at the larger, how could you disgrace her so, how could you ply her with your cad’s tricks, but it is growing ever easier to ignore it. The temptation is too great.
“He mentioned it,” Daemon chuckles at the twitch your eye makes at the knowledge. This is different, a concrete evolution that helps ground him in reality, helps him resist the call of memory and the child you’d been. “Why—are your suitors so terrible?”
You sigh, looking down, twisting your hands in the skirts of your dress the way you did as a child. Like it had been when he’d first set sights on your elder sister, he finds that the comparison is becoming less and less disturbing. A moment to grow accustomed to the idea, he thinks, that is all. Child become woman become lover—it is practically a rite of passage for Targaryens to find their way into the beds of their own kin.
Could I? Dare I? As he stares at you, he finds he knows not.
You glance down at your lap. “I do not thi—”
“Princess!” the Septa calls, interrupting you.
Daemon’s gaze settles on her, the drab crone herself, face like thunder as she watches you both from the path. Her hand is out, ushering you forth. Like a marionette whose strings are being jerked, you stumble to your feet, brush the grass from your skirts—revealing the shape of your arse, and if that doesn’t set off a fresh round of depraved musings—and make for your minder, heeding the call as faithfully as any hound.
Then, you turn back. “Oh!”
You look to him startled, as though something has just occurred to you. You plod back up the hill as if on tiptoes, dainty, dropping to his side. Before his foul thoughts have the opportunity to register such a boon, you press your lips to his cheek, a whisper of “farewell, kepus” and the faint scent of rose oil heralding your departure.
In your absence, his head hurts, catastrophic in the wake of such momentous overhaul. He slumps on the grass, staring off into the distance, disoriented by the revelation of you.
Well. Fuck.
Read the story on AO3 here:
https://archiveofourown.org/works/42100623/chapters/105793659
Taglist (😭 thank you!):
Now in the comments!
#terms of endearment │ daemon targaryen x reader#daemon targaryen fanfiction#daemon targaryen#daemon targaryen x oc#daemon targaryen x reader#daemon targaryen x you#house of the dragon#house of the dragon fanfiction#house of the dragon fanfic#matt smith#hotd#hotd fanfiction#a song of ice and fire#a song of ice and fire fanfiction#asoiaf#asoiaf fanfiction#game of thrones#game of thrones fanfiction#got#got fanfiction#house targaryen#fire and blood
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Dick Grayson Canon Lore Stuff:
(TW for Batman stuff, like spoilers and mention of injury/death) Hello, I know very little about the canon Batfamily because I can't exactly just read all of the comics (there's way too many, and they're very expensive T-T) so instead I spent like an hour reading the entire Fandom . com entry on Dick Grayson, and this is pretty much my timeline of important events that I got from that (I'm typing this in hopes that it'll help me remember it).
Dick Grayson Canon Lore Stuff:
•From a very young age Dick Grayson was trained as an acrobat, hence his job as a performer in his family's circus act.
•When he was eight years old, he overheard a well known crime boss threaten the circus performers if he wasn't paid by the circus owner. The owner didn't pay him, and that night Dick witnessed his parents high wire snap, leading to both of their deaths. (He felt responsible for not warning them)
•He was put into a juvenile service system, because social services in Gotham were full. In this system he was often beat up by the others, which led to him eventually being put into a Catholic orphanage instead.
•Bruce Wayne adopted him, but Dick didn't want to replace his deceased dad with a 'stuck up' billionaire, plus he felt like Bruce didn't give him enough attention (Probably because Bruce was still dealing with the trauma of his own parents death and didn't like getting attached to people in case he lost them as well), so he snuck out in hopes of solving his parents murder himself.
•He met Batman, also investigating the murder, which led to him finding out that Batman and Bruce Wayne are the same person.
•They find the crime boss, but he 'dies of a heart attack' before he can be arrested.
•Since Bruce saw so much of himself in Dick, he asked the boy if he wanted to become his sidekick and Dick decided to name himself 'Robin' after what his mother used to call him.
•He was trained for six long, hard months before he was allowed to do any real missions, and he had to go through one full night eluding Batman without help before he was allowed to officially become Robin.
•For the first year or so Dick had a lot of fun with his job, and treated it as a fun adventure he and Bruce participated in together.
•That was until he had a fight with Two-Face, in which Batman and the DA were both stuck in nooses. Dick cut the rope around the DA with a Batarang, but Two-Face had crafted a double trap and this made the floor fall out so the DA landed in a pit of water in which he drowned. This was Dick's first time witnessing an on-the-job death which would serve to haunt him for years to come, plus he got himself a beating from Two-Face (Okay but like, wouldn't he have been like 9 or 10 max Jeezums- 😭🖐).
•Bruce temporarily 'fired' Dick, not wanting to see him get hurt any more.
•Dick served as Robin for a while longer, still working with Bruce and also forming his own Titans team.
•When Dick was 17 he got shot in his shoulder by the Joker, which prompted Bruce to officially fire him out of fear for his safety. Dick decided that he didn't need Batman anymore, plus he had some issues with the way Bruce did things, so he moved from Gotham to New York to be more involved with the Titans, and he dropped out of highschool.
•Bruce didn't really like this, and told Dick that if he was no longer going to work with him he would have to retire the Robin title. Dick left Wayne Manor afterwards, and handed over leadership of the Titans to Wondergirl.
•Unsure of himself and what he should do now, yet not wanting to give up crime fighting now that it was such a big part of his life, he went to find Superman. For a brief while Dick stayed with Superman, and Superman told him of a Krypton hero who had been known as Nightwing. Because of this time with Clark, Dick decided to finally become his own hero free of Batman. He named himself Nightwing after the Krypton hero, and made himself a costume based off of something his father once wore back in the circus.
•Now as Nightwing he helped lead the Titans, though his relationship with Starfire was worsening over time.
•Jason's death was a bit of a turning point in his character. Even though originally he hadn't seemed to like Jason (mainly because Jason acted as his replacement, and because of his not so great relationship with Bruce) Dick seemed to grow into a kinder/gentler person after the event.
•A while after this, Dick discovered that the mob boss who had killed his parents was not actually dead but was in a coma instead. Dick went looking for him, but witnessed him being gunned down before he had a chance to do anything for himself. Bruce claimed that he was worried that Dick would seek revenge for his parents death if he knew the truth, so he told the young boy that the mod boss was dead instead. Dick was obviously upset because of this, and his relationship with Bruce stayed strained.
•While he was still serving with the Titans, Tim Drake sought him out and asked him to return to being Robin (Because after Jason's death Bruce was going crazy without a Robin by his side), but Dick refused because of his bad relationship with Bruce and his enjoyment for his current job. He did help Tim become Robin, though.
•A lot of bad things happened with the Titans, people passed, people left, people changed, but Dick fought to stay the heart and center of the team through it all.
•Despite their strained relationship, Dick tried to impulsively marry Starfire, but the ceremony was interrupted, which eventually led to Starfire leaving and returning to her home planet.
•Bruce was brutally injured by Bane, but because his relationship with Dick was so bad and he didn't want to 'force' his son to return, he temporarily gave the Batman title to the not-so-stable Jean Paul Valley, with Tim there to help him out. Jean proved too unstable, however, and Dick returned to Gotham to help Tim deal with him. Dick decided to step away from the Titans to focus on Gotham, and the still healing Bruce asked him to be Batman until he was alright again which Dick agreed to.
•During his time acting as Batman, Dick built a great brotherly relationship with Tim. In addition, Bruce admitted that he hadn't originally asked Dick to act as Batman for him because he didn't want to force him to come back, and the two finally began to fix their relationship.
•Dick pretends to be a villain working under Deathstroke for a while, until Deathstroke betrays him and kills at least 100,000 people with a bomb. Dick tries to find and help any survivors, but is unable to because of the radiation which weighs heavily on his mind. He also proposes to Barbara Gordon around this time.
•Dick recovers and Bruce asks him to join him and his current Robin in rediscovering his roots. Dick is hesitant, but Barbara insists that he helps, and suspends their engagement for the time being.
•Dick returns to the Titan's tower, because there's someone there pretending to be him. Turns out it's the revived Jason Todd!
•While on a case, he gets buried alive by a mysterious voice that tells him he's 'supposed to be dead'. He has a hard time finding work because he's in a cast, and is having some trouble due to his injuries.
•By this point his relationship with both Bruce and Tim have improved dramatically, and he's close with both of them.
•The Titans decide to reform their group.
•Okay I'm gonna try and put this as simply as possible…
Bruce was targeted by a group called 'Black Glove', supposedly going insane and running away. Dick doesn't want Tim to have to deal with everything himself, so he returns. He gets kidnapped and drugged by the International Club of Villains and is scheduled for a lobotomy, but gets out of it because Bruce's 'insanity' was made up to expose the Black Glove. Batman fights with Doctor Hurt on a helicopter, but the helicopter explodes. Batman is fine and works with the Justice League, but then is seemingly killed in his confrontation with Darkseid. In his will, Bruce begs Dick not to become Batman. Because of his refusal to become Batman, someone else takes up the job instead, calling himself Batman but using lethal methods that Bruce would never allow. This 'Batman' is actually Jason Todd, who shoots Damian and almost kills Tim with a Batarang. Dick and Jason fight and Dick shoves Jason off of a speeding train, seemingly killing him though Jason says they'll 'Meet again soon'. Dick finally decides to become the official Batman, but refuses to make Tim his Robin because according to him, he sees Tim as his equal and not his sidekick. He instead makes Damian his new Robin, which of course pisses off Tim. Tim, believing Bruce to be alive, takes up Jason's old Red Robin mantle and goes searching for Bruce. Dick moves base because the Batcave reminds him too much of Bruce, and struggles because Damian is constantly reminding and taunting him over the fact that he will never truly be able to replace his father. When he next fights Jason, Jason remarks that if the Lazarus pit could revive him, it could revive Bruce too as he's being arrested.
There's quite a bit of stuff that happens in between here, most notably the death of a young boy called Baby D which influences Dick's future character, but since I've been typing for hours:
Thinking about what Jason said, Dick takes Bruce's body from his grave and takes him to the Lazarus Pit. While it does reanimate the corpse, the revived 'Bruce' is angry and violent. This is because it was never Bruce at all, it was actually a clone of him. This gives Dick, Damian, and Alfred a similar hope to Tim, that Bruce is actually still alive. Tim brings evidence that Bruce is actually lost in time, and after a bit of digging and more evidence finding, they manage to bring Bruce back.
•Dick finally becomes Nightwing again, now with red on his costume which reflects his darker and more grim outlook on life and humanity after his time as Batman.
•Nightwing gets stabbed on a mission.
•He also, on a different mission, momentarily dies but they manage to start his heart again.
•Dick puts down his Nightwing title for a while and becomes a secret agent for Bruce, but the wiki has no info on this.
•Dick goes back to being Nightwing, finally returning to his original black and blue suit instead of the black and red one. He reforms the titans, but after working with them for a bit, but ends up moving back to Blüdhaven soon after.
•Someone is sent to assassinate Dick, and he gets shot in the head. He manages to survive, though he has amnesia and for a brief while becomes 'Ric Grayson' until he gets his memories back. When Ric tries to restore his memories he is kidnapped by the Joker who brainwashes him into believing that he was the Joker's sidekick, though he's eventually rescued and gets his memories back. After this event, he officially rejoins the Batman Family as Nightwing.
•There's no info after this.
Grrrrr I might do this for the other characters but idk because this took forever and I am tired lmao
#batman#dick grayson#richard grayson#nightwing#dick grayson lore#nightwing lore#batman comics#dc comics#lore#Canon#canon character#batman and robin#bat fam#batboys#batbros#batdad#batfam#bat family#jason todd#red hood#tim drake#red robin#damian wayne#robin#batman dc#batsiblings#dc batfam#dc batman#the batfam
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zomburbia
Zomburbia: The Web Series!