batnsonswrites

[batnsonswrites]

i know, i know we'll never get them on screen together, but the idea of robert pattinson's awkward, almost vampiric social recluse bruce wayne with david corenswet's bumbling, bright eyed farm boy clark kent has me frothing at the mouth

[batnsonswrites]

Whumpuary 2025!

these prompts came together through community submissions and then a voting form where people voted for their favorites, here are the top 53 prompts

i want to try a slightly new format where there are still only 15 days for creation prompts but with additional community prompts/questions. those are entirely voluntary but are here to possibly inspire some community interaction and trying new things

i'm excited to see some awesome creations in january!

go here for info/rules/tagging go here for faqs

text version of the prompts and rules is under the cut

(image description note: there are 31 numbered prompts, on each odd number the text color is black and on even numbers the text color is white)

Whumpuary 2025

a whump-themed multi media creation event for january

create for at least one prompt from each odd/black number to complete the challenge community prompts (even/white) numbers are voluntary

main prompts

1. sacrifice | headache | "this will hurt" 2. how did you find the whump community? 3. choice | storm | black eye 4. what are your favorite whump tropes? 5. "do you trust me" | manhandled | chills 6. share your favorite whump creations (others or yours!) 7. unfair fight | insomnia | "no one is coming" 8. what media genre do you like whump in? 9. trapped under rubble | gunpoint | out of time 10. write your own whump prompt 11. "i didn't ask for this" | blood | abandoned 12. create something in a new/less familiar medium 13. close call | sleep | choking 14. what's your favorite character dynamic? 15. handcuffed | dead | "please, stop" 16. leave a comment on a whump fic/art/creation 17. drugged | "i'm glad you're alive" | revenge 18. favorite whump medium? (movie, book, art, ...) 19. "let them go" | overworked | head injury 20. send a nice message to someone in the community 21. bruises | "who are you?" | immortality 22. take 10 minutes to work on a wip 23. backhand slap | alone | "i can't do this anymore" 24. what do you take inspiration in? 25. "i'm fine" | missing | drowsiness 26. draw/doodle something whumpy 27. stuck in a loop | twisting the knife | rescue 28. find a creator in the #whumpuary tag and send them an ask 29. kidnapped | "don't leave me" | devotion 30. make a whump meme 31. say something nice about your own work

alt prompts

hiding impaled "i'm fine" rain betrayal hair pulling darkness falling

rules & info

-any medium is allowed (art, writing, gifs, edits, ...) -prompts are open for interpretation (but the context does have to be whumpy) -create for at least one of three prompts on creation prompt days (black/odd numbers) to complete the challenge -if you're not aiming for completionist you can do however many prompts you want any way you want -community prompts (white/even numbers) are voluntary and don't count for completionist (but can be combined with creation prompts if applicable) -use alt prompts to replace main prompts you don't like some works posted on tumblr will be reblogged if tagged correctly -#whumpuary2025 -#whumpuaryno1 (number of the prompt(s)) -#sacrifice #head injury #"i'm fine" (the prompt(s) you're using) -any trigger/content warning tags -any additional tags (fandom, oc, other used tropes, ...)

[batnsonswrites]

if I could marry a post it would be this one

Here me out. Ted. Rom-com loving Ted. Not discovering until he's well into his forties that he's aromantic.

Not realizing that what he liked about those movies all these years was the promise of being loved and the possibility of closeness and the idea that one day everything was going to make sense.

Not realizing until long after the divorce ink dries that part of why he tried so hard to hold onto Michelle was that he knew deep down that something about the way he loved was different, but he never knew why or how, so he just kept trying to fix it and make it work.

Ted not realizing anything until he's about to leave Richmond, when he tries to have a parting conversation with Jamie and Jamie is the one who puts the idea into his mind. Because Jamie, who's been working on himself, has finally realized what he wants, and it's like a nuclear bomb has been dropped on Ted's whole world.

Ted panics. Ted goes through all the stages of grief. Ted cancels his flight back home - temporarily - because he is too afraid to look at his ex-wife with this knowledge rattling around in his head. Because despite the fact that it's got nothing to do with how much he loves his son, in some ways it feels like it has everything to do with how much he loves his son because it's about how Ted loves.

(And then while Ted remains in Richmond he ends up officially in three separate qpr with Beard, Rebecca, and Trent. It does not fix all his problems, and he still has to figure out how to be closer to Henry, but it helps and he is loved The End)

BOY WILL I EVER HEAR YOU OUT ON THIS ONE

you say aro character and im already criss cross applesauce on the floor listening intently and boy this is SO GREAT im completely in love with this concept. what a story you’ve painted here, what a trajectory of ‘I didn’t know that was possible and now im re-evaluating everything in my life and that i thought i understood about myself

im literally giggling with delight walking home from the bubble tea shop thinking about this oh my gd. your mind.

(also the Aro Epiphany Contagion is so real ahsjsbsj Jamie And The Accidental Ripple Effect He Has No Idea He Caused-)

[batnsonswrites]

I know you were asking about the hurt/comfort prompt for last night, but if you're still doing it could you do #14? 🥺🤗 thanks!

OKAY! so this is definitely NOT a drabble. Try more like almost 700 words lollll. But here, have some Orym and Dorian feels!!

“Your hair is a mess,” Orym says suddenly one night early into their travels together, after a long day of trudging through tangled branches and trailing leaves. Dorian huffs, hating the reminder. 

“I know, I hate when it gets messy like this,” he grumbles, sitting down on the bed and starting to painstakingly separate twigs and leaves and tangled knots from his hair. Orym chuckles from the other side of the room as he takes off his armor. 

“Will always got so many leaves tangled in his hair, too, I always told him to cut it but he refused, so I always made him let me braid it for him. Whenever he tried it just fell out in five minutes,” he says softly, a small smile on his lips as he recalled his stubborn love. He looks up when Dorian makes a small sound of frustration at a particularly nasty tangle in his hair, and he laughs softly again. “Here, let me help.” 

“Oh! No that’s okay, you don’t–” Dorian tries to nonchalantly protest, but Orym just waved aside his protest like it’s nothing. And to Orym, he’s sure it truly is nothing. This is something kind to do for a friend, Dorian knows this. But he can’t help how he freezes in place when Orym sits behind him. He hates it, hates how quickly he’s transported back to being a child with his hair being yanked and pulled and painfully detangled without any care or thought. And he hates how easily Orym can read him. He feels the way Orym’s fingers still just before reaching his hair. 

“Dorian?” Orym asks softly, confusion and concern lacing his words. “Is this okay?” He asks carefully, and Dorian hates the way he feels right now. 

“I’m fine, it’s just… I don’t usually like… people touching my hair,” he explains lamely, knowing it’s not even remotely a fraction of what the real issue is but not really knowing what else to say. But Orym, gods bless him, somehow immediately understands. 

“I won’t hurt you,” Orym says so achingly gently, and Dorian somehow immediately trusts him. He forces his shoulders to relax, closing his eyes tight as Orym starts carefully detangling each individual strand of Dorian’s hair. It’s a surreal experience. Dorian’s never felt anybody handle his hair with such care and gentleness before. His mother had always demanded he cut it, to make the nannies’ lives easier, but Dorian could never bring himself to cut it. So his nursemaids and nannies, and sometimes his own mother, had simply taken their frustrations out on his hair. But Orym? Orym made it feel like this was a luxury. 

Dorian isn’t sure when Orym finishes detangling it, but eventually he realizes that Orym has started braiding his hair. Dorian is surprised, given the last time someone tried braiding his hair for him there was a lot more crying and yelling involved. Instead, Dorian notices Orym is humming happily under his breath, and he smells the light fragrance of flowers. 

“Do I smell flowers?” He asks suddenly, so thrown by the novelty of this that he can’t even stop it. Orym’s fingers still for a moment mid-braid, and he chuckles softly. 

“Oh, yeah. Sorry, old habits,” he says shyly. “I used to do this for Will and my sisters, i always druidcrafted some flowers into the braids,” he continues, and Dorian feels warm inside thinking about Orym doing the same thing for him he used to do for his family. 

“It’s okay, I like it. I just wasn’t expecting it,” Dorian assures him, and Orym continues humming softly as he continues braiding. Dorian lets himself relax even more, almost leaning back into Orym as he braids. He smiles to himself, listening to Orym humming a gentle melody and enjoying the way it feels to have his taken care of so well.  So this is what it feels like to have people who care about you, he thinks to himself. He finds he quite enjoys it.

[batnsonswrites]

For the drabbles: "You're burning up."

HO HO!!! Let’s seeee, how about good ol’ Mac and Jack. Definitely not a Drabble because I can’t write only 100 words to save my life. I think this is nearly 300 words lolll

“I’m fine, Jack, it’s nothing,” Mac lies, turning away from the doorway and hoping Jack hasn’t noticed the flush in his cheeks or the feverish look in his eyes. But he’s got no such luck. Jack is through the doorway and stepping in front of Mac in seconds.

“I know you’re lyin’ to me, Mac, would you just look at me for a sec?” Jack says firmly, an almost pleading tone to his voice, and Mac sighs. He looks up at Jack slowly, and he sees the way Jack’s brow furrows in a mix of concern and anger. “Mac… you look like shit, kid. You really expect me to let you go to work like this?” Jack says, raising one eyebrow and waving a hand at all of Mac to prove a point. But Mac is stubborn, and he hates the idea of Jack having driven all the way here to pick him up for work for nothing, so he sets his shoulders and looks away.

“I’m fine, Jack. Just a cold,” he sniffles, trying not to let Jack know just how much his body is aching. And then Jack steps closer and before Mac can even react, he’s pressing the back of his hand to Mac’s forehead. Jack instantly pulls away with a hiss.

“You’re burning up!” He accuses, and Mac knows he’s lost. Jack shakes his head and grabs Mac by the shoulders, maneuvering him towards the living room and kicking the front door closed behind them. “That’s it, I’m calling Maddie, you’re on bed rest today and I’m taking care of you. No arguments!!”

And honestly, Mac couldn’t even complain if he wanted to, because the second he sinks onto the couch, he’s out like a light.

[batnsonswrites]

Pick a number, get a drabble

Hurt/Comfort Dialogue Prompts

"I know you're hurt."

"You're burning up."

"Just breathe."

"I don't feel good."

"Eyes on me! C'mon keep those eyes on me."

"That's a lot of blood."

"Come on, breathe, breathe, don't you dare--"

"How long were you planning on hiding this?"

"Easy, easy. You're okay, I've got you."

"I can't find a pulse!"

"Don't you dare die on me."

"Everything's okay, go back to sleep."

"can't--breathe--"

"I won't hurt you."

"Talk to me."

"Stay still."

“You don’t look so good.”

“I think I’m gonna – ”

“Tell me where you are, I’ll come get you.”

“Please stop.”

“How much sleep did you get last night?”

“It’s over now.”

“I’m okay. You don't need to worry about me.”

"You're not supposed to be up and about."

“Go to sleep. I’ll still be here when you wake up.”

[batnsonswrites]

The shout dissipated but its outline still rang in the air. Jason’s chest heaved and he blinked, trying to grasp at the words that had filled the void. He couldn’t remember them, too overwhelmed by the acid that had spattered as they burst. His throat ached. The roaring rage had ripped through the muscle on its way out, and he felt rawstung into the meat.

He had forgotten. How had he forgotten how it felt to stumble out of the comedown. To be invincible, powerful, unstoppable, gone, the world smeared brilliant green, and then to collapse back into the dingy world of his body to pick up the pieces of whatever had been broken in his absence. How it made him feel sick and turned inside out and confused. He still had the power, that twitchy, unstoppable might, but it was fading fast. What had he done while away?

Every breath hurt as it sucked through his teeth and past those raw muscles. He swallowed, convulsively, with no spit to wet his dry mouth. His hands spasmed, full. Jason blinked again.

Wide blue eyes stared back.

“It’s okay.” The words were whisper-thin, wheezed past the grip Jason had on Tim’s neck. He could feel Tim’s Adam’s apple move as he struggled to swallow, to breathe. “He won’t hurt me.”

It felt like Tim had said those words before, flung out like his arm at the rest of the family surrounding them, all frozen in tableau like hostages in an armed standoff. Or maybe they were innocent onlookers; Tim the hostage; Jason the gun, the bomb.

Read the rest on AO3

[batnsonswrites]

For the Batfam fic writing prompt post: Any characters + pushing through exhaustion?

The air felt too full, still reverberating with the vestiges of Tim's final shout. The ringing made his ears hurt, the sound already fading but the heat behind it remained.

Yelling had been less of a choice and more of a need, a way to vent off the pressure into a little explosion instead of one that would level city blocks. It was too much of everything—the case, the squabble over the comms with Dick, the knocked-over Coke can, the gritty sensation behind his eyelids. Bruce had just been the tipping point. Tim knew he probably hadn't meant to sound so... so Bruce about asking for an update. But Tim got prickly over perceived disapproval in the best of times, and this was not that.

Tim sucked in ragged, heaving breaths, not sure if he wanted to yell again, or cry, or turn his back on Bruce entirely and pretend this had never happened. Please, he just wanted Bruce to forget this had ever happened.

You yelled at Bruce. For asking a question. For checking in on a case he's working on. He's going to bench you, and you'll deserve it. You should have figured this out by now, you stupid—

Tim's shoulders had scrunched up to his ears of their own accord, a habit he thought he'd left behind in middle school. He was an adult now, practically, but he felt like a squabbling kid, mouthing off for no reason.

Bruce was staring at him, but not in horror or confusion. Anger? It had to be anger. Tim had snapped at him for asking a question. Bruce had to be angry. Dick had been angry. Maybe Bruce hated him.

"Tim," Bruce said slowly, and made Tim want to wince. This was it. He was going to get fired. Kicked out. Sent away forever and ever. "When did you sleep last?"

Tim blinked. That was irrelevant. But Bruce not yelling back was such a relief that he choked down the sob building in the back of his throat and tried to think.

"Uh," he said as he dug the heel of his hand into one scratchy eye. "Dunno. It's Thursday?"

Bruce's face had a way of changing without changing at all. Like, if Tim snapped a photo of a second ago and now, they would look exactly the same, with grooves scored into Bruce's forehead and around a mouth set into a flat line. But they were different, the one sort of settling somehow into the other, the rise and fall of a determination made.

"You're done for tonight," Bruce said, not an order so much as a statement of fact.

"No!" Tim protested even as Bruce reached out and flipped off the computer monitor. "Bruce, I have to, the case, I told Dick—"

He had told Dick he'd solve it, had all but bit Nightwing's head off for questioning how long it was taking him. Dick would hate him forever if he failed. Or maybe he already hated him forever, the snot-nosed idiot Robin wannabe who couldn't even crack the string of murders before the killer struck again, and this was Tim's one chance to make it right, and—

Tim whup!ed in surprise as Bruce lifted him off his feet with a grunt, too startled but to hold rigid like a fainting goat as he was hefted bridal style. The slight huff out Bruce's nose was his only concession to the slipped disc from last month but Tim remembered and it made the panic rise again in his chest.

"Bruce," Tim tried protesting again, but it was like trying to beg with one of Gotham's famed gargoyles. They really were eerily similar.

"Dick signed off hours ago, and you should have, too," Bruce said, and the even-toned rebuke made the corners of Tim's eyes prick with tears. "Jason and Damian are taking over for now."

Great, great, so he WAS the weak link, then, and everybody knew it.

Bruce carried him up through the house, not slowing or faltering. Tim was too concerned with pushing his luck or tweaking Bruce's back to struggle too much. Besides, just the act of being still, without his focus held captive by case files and police reports, had let exhaustion seep into his bones like acid, eroding the marrow into brittle, bitter strips. He hurt, he realized, in every joint from his cricked neck to clenched fingers to aching ankles. How long had he sat hunched in that chair?

Tim expected Bruce to put him down at every step, or, failing the sensible release, to set Tim down in his own room and leave. Instead, Bruce bypassed Tim's bed entirely and went to the hammock suspended in the corner. He sat crossways, the wide, interwoven body of the hammock stretched to support Bruce from his head to the back of his knees, and Tim still held against his chest.

Bruce breathed, a low and soft pushed between his lips, and closed his eyes.

"Bruce?" Tim whispered, unsure of what exactly was happening. Or, more pressingly, "I don't know what the weight limit on this thing is."

Bruce just grunted, appearing already halfway to sleep himself.

Tim's chest still felt full of hot, prickly static, but maybe the tears running down the back of his throat would drown it out soon enough.

"No one hates you," Bruce said, seemingly psychic until Tim remembered it was one of the fears he had shouted out in the echoing pit of the Cave. "You'll feel better after you sleep."

He wouldn't. He wouldn't feel better until the case was closed, until people stopped dying, until he was sure Dick didn't hate him, Bruce didn't hate him—

Bruce didn't seem like he hated him. Tim sniffed as Bruce's chest rose and fell beneath him in deep, steady breaths.

The calloused base of Bruce's thumb rubbed slow circles into Tim's temple. "Sleep," Bruce said.

This time, Tim did as he was told.

[batnsonswrites]

Blue Bloods S13E01 (✚) ↳ By Request

[batnsonswrites]

Hi I just want to write that your story "Hoodies & Hockey" is really brilliant. I like it very much and thank you for writing it.

SOMEHOW I MISSED THIS BUT AHHHHH THANK YOU!!! I really appreciate it and I’m so glad you liked it!

[batnsonswrites]

Okay but. Geralt with auditory processing issues.

The mutations wreck havok on the senses. Sure, they make his hearing range incredible, but they don’t help with the processing, and he’s constantly hearing everything at once. It’s worse for Geralt than the other witchers because he’s had the Grasses twice. (Or because he’s autistic, duh.)

It’s half the reason he communicates so much with grunts, because most of the time he’s only got half of what the other person said and he just lets them interpret his grunts however they want.

And sure, he’s heard Jaskier sing so many times in taverns and courts and his songs are catchy enough, but he’s never actually managed to catch the lyrics. It’s just all gibberish to him. As soon as there’s the lute, and noise, and they’re in a city or a town so there’s people around, he just doesn’t understand any of it. It doesn’t make his “fillingless pie” comment any less insensitive, but it does give it some context.

Every winter the other witchers will make comments about the songs they’ve heard on the Path, about this or that adventure, and Geralt is just like. That. That’s what the song was about. Oh. Eskel isn’t great at auditory processing either but he’ll ask the bards to play over and over until he’s got most of it, and since they’re songs about witchers, the bards usually comply. It’s nice to hear good news of his brother. Then he’ll tease Geralt mercilessly all winter about it. That’s the only reason Geralt even knows so much of what Jaskier sings.

However, he likes hearing snatches of song while Jaskier’s composing, when they’re camping out in the open or in a forest and there isn’t too much noise around. Then he can actually understand the words, sometimes.

He’s very, very good at pretending he can hear just fine, and he’s been doing for so long, but he does feel a little guilty about making Jaskier think he doesn’t like his music. He just doesn’t know how to explain, doesn’t think Jaskier could get it, because no one ever has. Then while they’re all in Kaer Morhen after the mess with Voleth Meir, the other witchers start asking Jaskier to sing, even though he doesn’t have a lute. They’re all completely quiet during his performances, and every time Ciri or Yen or anyone makes a noise and they miss a line, Eskel will ask Jaskier to start over. (Eskel isn’t dead, obviously.)

And one day Geralt finds Jaskier hunched over a desk, with a pile of parchment beside him and his notebook open in front of him, frantically copying something.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“I’m making copies of my songs,” Jaskier answers. “I’ve actually published the whole songbook in Oxenfurt, you know, but we can’t get it here, and Eskel said that having the lyrics would help, so I’m trying to make enough for everyone.”

Geralt’s mind is boggled because yes, having the lyrics written down would help immensely but he would never have thought to ask, let alone that Jaskier might actually be willing to write them down for him, and what’s that about a songbook? He almost just grunts and leaves him to it, but he remembers that he promised himself to at least try to communicate better with Jaskier after the mountain, so he asks in a very small voice, “Can I have one?”

And Jaskier’s jaw hangs slack for a moment before he coughs and hands him a stack of parchment. “I wasn’t sure you’d want it,” he mutters almost to himself.

“I always want to know what you’re singing,” Geralt says.

Jaskier’s eyes are wide and shining when he hugs Geralt, and his voice cracks a little. “I wish I’d realized sooner that you couldn’t hear it.”

That night he sings his entire song cycle a capella in front of the fire, his eyes boring into Geralt the entire time, as Geralt follows the lyrics along for the first time.

And Jaskier’s songs are really fucking good, actually. Geralt is hardly an expert, but he can see the way he bends and stretches language to make it flow and how he weaves the stories together and he can feel the love in how Jaskier sings about him, about them, and—

Is that what he’s been missing this whole time?

Brought to you by: the long-ass time it took me to get into The Amazing Devil’s wonderful music because I couldn’t fucking hear the words until I sat down and listened to every song while following along with the written lyrics.

[batnsonswrites]

For @appalachianapologies who wanted some whump Matt 😏

I mean, who doesn't?

[batnsonswrites]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Stranger Things (TV 2016) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Steve Harrington & Dustin Henderson, Steve Harrington & Nancy Wheeler, Robin Buckley & Steve Harrington, Jonathan Byers & Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington & Eddie Munson Characters: Steve Harrington, Dustin Henderson, Eddie Munson, Robin Buckley, Nancy Wheeler, Jonathan Byers Additional Tags: Post-Season/Series 04, Fix-It of Sorts, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Found Family, poor steve, his house is not his own, Argyle and the party are mentioned, Not Canon Compliant, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, steve collects family Summary:

While some things have gone back to normal after Hawkins was nearly ripped apart, one thing hasn’t: Steve’s house is almost never empty anymore.

———————

Steve Harrington gives Dustin Henderson a spare key, and it leads to a whole chain of events. Honestly, Steve finds he doesn’t mind.

[batnsonswrites]

Hey just read your strangers thing fox and it’s really good, I just wanted to ask about the thing in the beginning if it’s like lyrics or something cause that sounds like that could be a really good song

Hey!! Thank you, I’m glad you liked it! It’s actually a little poem I wrote while writing the fic, but I am also a bit of a songwriter so I always try and put melodies to things so there’s always a possibility of my poems getting turned into songs. But thank you I’m so glad you liked it!!

[batnsonswrites]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Stranger Things (TV 2016) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Steve Harrington & Everyone Characters: Steve Harrington Additional Tags: Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma, Hurt, Angst, a little look into the way steve shoves all his little problems into a dark corner, Hurt Steve Harrington, Character Study, Post-Canon, Canon Compliant, Not Canon Compliant, brief references to season 4, but no spoilers, Steve Harrington Needs a Hug Series: Part 1 of Bend Until You Break Summary:

Realistically, Steve knew none of them were coming out of this unscathed. He may be dumb, but he’s not that stupid. You don’t face the things they’ve faced without taking some hits. Hell, he’s taken his fair share of physical damage (he hears Dustin’s voice say “HP, Steve! It’s HP!” in his head), and he knows they all have nightmares. So yeah, Steve knew, but that doesn’t mean he’s prepared for it.

——————

A brief character study about Steve Harrington and his inability to address and deal with his own trauma while simultaneously helping everyone through theirs.

[batnsonswrites]

I’ve once again bitten off way more than I can chew and decided to start writing a very in-depth analysis on post-show stranger things and how all of the characters (the kids and teens, mostly) deal with the after-affects of everything, both physical and mental

what did I do to myself

[batnsonswrites]

Okay just a thought but between being buried in a mine and then passing out from lack of oxygen, drowning, and being buried alive in a small box, Charlie Hudson is bound to have some issues with small spaces/claustrophobia yes? I’d like to think so. I mean there’s at least 3 separate instances where he was trapped and could not breath. I’m sure he’s gotta have some kind of issues surrounding that. Imagine him waking up from a nightmare where he can’t breathe, getting nervous in elevators and feeling like the walls are closing in around him because he feels trapped and the last time he was trapped he was losing oxygen and nearly died. Just imagine the sort of panic he could potentially go through and of course Rex trying to help calm him through his panic. Idk I like angst you guys.