#lotr whump

[comfort-questing]

winter vigils

(single-handedly making the sickfic and extra angst the War of the Rohirrim fandom obviously needs... to be continued later)

(slight oblique spoilers for War of the Rohirrim but like. not much if you know the general plot)

--

They would call it the Long Winter, years after.

Hera knew it only as today, and yesterday, and some unguessable tomorrow perhaps to come. As layers of pale snow, trodden down by the boots of the men on their watches, tracked into the halls and barely melted by the faint warmth of the guttering fires. As pitiless stars shining through the heavy cloud-wrack above by night, her breath frosting on the air as she walked the walls, eyes stinging and face numb with the wind as Wulf’s siege tower grew higher each day outside the gates. As a bed left empty, and a bearskin blanket she curled up under each night, its familiar scent fading ever fainter, until the harsh voices of the crows woke her to another icy dawn.

The healers were busy all day now, attempting to sequester the sick from the well; futilely enough, since everyone eventually gathered together wherever the warmth was, even if the coughs spread faster than the smoky hearths alone could explain. The old woman with the keys shook her head and talked of plague, which was almost a welcome change from ghost stories. After all, the children weren’t afraid of sickness, although maybe they should have been, and the adults had too many other things to fear, more visible and difficult to ignore - such as the siege tower, and the uncomfortable emptiness of the storerooms.

In the lower rooms of the keep the horses were growing gaunt as well, hay stores as meager as all else, moldy oats shaken and sorted and toasted to draw them out as long as possible. Hera made sure Ashere had his ration each day, feeding him slowly from her cupped hands, the soft reality of his lips against her palms a sensation she could almost lose herself in. With her eyes closed, and the chill aside, this could have been any day. Any place, and anyone, perhaps, waiting for her when she opened her eyes again.

*

It was there in the makeshift stables that Hera first noticed herself coughing, and wearily blamed it on the close air in the keep, and paid no attention to it for a day or so. She wasn’t the only one by far, and there was so little medicine left anyway now for her to ask for, and Olwyn’s worried looks were easy to evade when there were so many things for Olwyn and all of them to be busy with and look worried at these days.

But one morning the stairs down to the stables seemed so miserably manifold suddenly, that several times she had to pause to rest, and she sat on a barrel to give Ashere his oats because her knees didn’t want to hold her up by that time. She hadn’t been able to get properly warm for longer than she could bear to think of, but that day the shivers ran up and down her skin in long desperate waves, legs achy and trembling beneath her.

Somehow, she made it upstairs again, breath coming short and coughs shaking through her, and crawled to the fireside to stretch out her numb hands to the blaze. Lief found her an hour later, as he came with the firewood alotment: huddled by the burnt-out hearth, knees drawn up and head resting against the carven stone of the walls. He nodded at her over his armload but then peered closer, worried; it wasn’t like her to sit idle.

“My lady?”

She raised her head, cheeks flushed, eyes strangely bright in her half-starved face. “Hullo, Lief.” Then, “I’m sorry - are they looking for me - I am so tired.”

“Oh, dear,” said Lief, blankly, and dropped his firewood outside the door with a great clatter, the quicker to go find Olwyn.

[generic-whumper]

Frodo doing what he does best, getting stabbed by a Nazgûl 😏

[whimper-whumpee]

The press of his hands was enough to drag me back into awareness, the flash of burning pain like a brand on my ribs.

"Stop screamin'. Enough!" His voice, irritated and rough, managed to silence my agonized shriek to a mere whimper.

"What... are you doing to me?"

"You're bleedin'. I'm tryin' to stop it."

His large hands encompassed a good portion of my side and chest and an alarming amount of blood pumped over his hands despite how hard he was pushing. I was shivering, I realized, and my heart thumped wildly in my ears.

"Am I going to die?"

"No." The short answer made me flinch but the look in his glowing eyes told me he was desperately trying to convince himself more than he was trying to convince me.

I tried to breathe calmly, but the pain licked up my side with every breath and I felt myself fading into the warm dark once more.

"Tark? Don't you dare shut yer fuckin' eyes. Hey!" He was shaking me now, voice rising, but my vision went dark

[lancedoncrimsonwings]

Don't think he was the *first*, but he was the first character I actively imagined in Whumpee scenarios; Aragorn from Lord of the Rings.

There are a lot of Whumpy moments across the films, but specifically;

THIS battle and it's aftermath in particular:

Plus the honorary 'Hottest Door Opening In The History Of Film' mention;

The injuries. The blood and grime. The exhaustion. 10/10

My favorite moment though? Definitely when he falls unconscious whilst grabbing/holding the Palantíri to save Pippin;

I still use that trope of magic item sapping all their energy/knocking them unconscious to this day.

I am quite decidedly still 100% a massive fan of Aragorn Whump to this day, I fully think it was my Whumpy awakening tbf...

(Also @aceofwhump at it again with the phenomimal Whump gifs damn!)

Idk if this question has been asked before but whatever

What was your first exposure to whump in (modern?) media?

Doesn’t have to be modern, could be from like- the Bible or something

Be it be a tv series, book series, movie, comic or whatever else!

My first probably the Original Charmed Series, Season 1 Episode 5; Dream Sorcerer

RAHHHH IT WAS SO GOOD SNCKWJCWJDW (I haven’t watched the original in years though, so maybe it isn’t as good as I remember- but still)

To describe it: one of the main characters (Prue) is taunted and stalked by a dream sorcerer who attacks women who he feels have scorned him (rejecting his advances), by torturing them in their dreams, then killing them in them as well. (Can go one for multiple nights if the women fight back enough) but them Prue ends up killing him, so it’s all good

The whump was sooo goodddd literally get chills thinking about it

[eerieechos]

‘Curufin got burns on his arms from holding onto Fëanor as he fucking exploded’ is a revolutionary god tier idea that I am subscribing to for the rest of my life

[delicatewhumps]

rb this and put in the tags the first time you got whumperflies

[friendship-ditch]

Whumptober Day 31 - Asking for Help

Platonic Aragorn x Fem!Reader ✼

Summary: Aragorn hits his head and has no choice but to ask the nearest person for help.

Warnings/Notes: I'M DONE! WHUMPTOBER COMPLETED HELL YEAHHHH

Word Count: 1356

 Aragorn had never been the best at taking care of himself. Ever. It was always ‘make sure everyone else is alright,’ then tend to his own wounds. More often than not this ended up with him in a worse situation than before; see: ignoring injuries until they get infected, nearly bleeding to death, and about 25 other accounts.

  That was the case once more.

  He didn’t remember hitting his head too hard in the skirmish in the woods… but apparently he had. He’d been flanked by orcs unexpectedly and upon realizing there was no way he could kill them all, took the risk and jumped into the river.

  Perhaps it was there that he hit his head. The water was ferocious, fighting to keep him like quick sand and nearly drowning him in the rough rapids. He would’ve likely drowned had he not managed to kick off a rock and float to shore, but he was rather woozy at the time and still couldn’t recall the exact details.

  All he knew was that he woke up, drenched and cold, on the shore of… somewhere he couldn’t quite recognize.

  The rocks beneath his bleeding head were a foul pillow to his aching body. He felt frozen to the bone, limbs jolting with shivers. He tried to sit up but was overcome by a wave of dizziness so he lowered himself back onto the ground with a grunt. He must’ve hit his head harder than he thought.

  It took a few moments of contemplation, and a lot of pain, but eventually Aragorn managed to sit up. His world spun even faster and he squeezed his eyes shut, lifting a hand to his forehead. It came away slightly stained with blood.

  Eventually Aragorn managed to stand. He was already not the most precise walker due to various wounds to his ankles and legs over the years, but now every step he took was uncalculated and clumsy. He’d be lucky if he made it a mile from the water before collapsing… but what other choice did he have?

  It was either wander in search of shelter and help, or give in and die. The latter wasn’t the most enticing, so he forced himself to walk despite the pain and dizziness. 

  Beneath him the ground changed from gravel and rocks to rough dirt and roots. He had to step carefully. It was a struggle, though. If it were not for the thick woods he was walking through and the stumps he caught himself on, he would be face down once more.

  After an hour or so of wandering Aragorn began to feel just… worse. The injury on his head was pounding as though someone was hammering a nail into his skull. It stopped bleeding long ago but during his trek he managed to stumble and bash it against a tree, starting the bleeding once more. His whole body felt warm, unnaturally warm against the chill of the coming night. He wouldn’t be surprised if he’d caught a fever in his weakened state but he tried not to think about it because there was nothing he could do.

  His stomach ached and his limbs felt almost too heavy to move. Every step was a struggle on his trembling legs. 

  Then, something came into view. A house of some sorts… a cabin or a cottage, tucked in a small clearing of the trees. Was he hallucinating? He had to have been. There was no way this sanctuary was so perfectly placed just at the end of his strength. A warm glow emanated from the windows, smoke billowing from the chimney. This had to have been a dream.

  With no other option left Aragorn decided to take the chance.

  You were sitting inside your home, tending the fireplace when there was a strange noise at the door. Some sort of a thumping sound, almost like a knock.

  You’d had quite a few strange visitors during your time in the woods, but nothing could have prepared you for this. When you opened the door, you found a half dead, half conscious man slumped at your feet. For a second you wondered if this was a joke but when you bent beside him, he groaned.

  “Help… please��” Aragorn whispered, voice raspy and hoarse. His eyes were closed and he was just barely hanging on. 

  You stared at him for a moment and in the split second he opened his eyes, he stared at you. And then he was gone, chest softly rising with breaths but whatever strength he had was utterly depleted.

  Aragorn woke up on another hard surface. For a minute he wondered if he dreamt it all and was still lying upon the shore. But it wasn’t rocks under his back… it was solid and flat. He reached a hand to touch it. Wood? 

  His eyes weakly fluttered open, then winced at the light. He felt warm, but no longer excruciatingly warm. It was a comfortable temperature. He was inside, on top of a table.

  There was a cold cloth draped over his forehead and a bandage overtop the deep gash. The smell of herbs was in the air, heavily. Where was he?

  “Hey, easy there.” You watched as he tried to sit up, knowing it was no use to try and keep him down. You planted a hand upon his back and eased him into a sitting position. “You’re okay.”

  Aragorn let out a weak groan as the world faintly spun around him, but it was nothing like before. He rubbed his eyes to clear the blurriness and they fell upon you. He could faintly remember your face. “Who are you?”

  “Y/N.” You replied, taking the cloth from his head and dunking it into a cold bowl of water. Then you laid it across his brow once more, soaking up any escaping droplets with a towel. “Who are you?”

  “I am… Aragorn.” He hesitated on whether to refer to himself as Strider or not, but decided it wasn’t worth the hassle. 

  “Well, Aragorn, I’ll tell you now that I’ve never seen someone with a concussion fight so hard. You weren’t close to dying or anything, but you’re stubborn.”

  He let out a weak laugh at that. “Stubborn? I suppose that’s right…”

  “You were feverishly fighting me, not that you remember… that’s probably a good thing.” You tilted your head. “What happened to you? How in the world did you end up here?”

  Aragorn told you what he could remember of his story of the orcs and the river. It hadn’t occurred to him that you were only getting him to talk to distract him from the horrible pain of removing the bandage from his head, but he cried out when you pulled it off. He stared at you like a dog who was rejected a treat, wary and uneasy, but then settled back down. “Ow…” He rubbed his forehead. It wasn’t bleeding.

  “Sorry.”

  “Don’t be.”

  You made a soft humming sound and stepped back, observing your work. The gash on his head had begun to heal pretty well for something so makeshift.

  “How does it look?” Aragorn asked hesitantly, a little embarrassed he had to rely on the help of a stranger, but thankful either way.

  You smiled. “Much better. You’ll be just fine with a little rest… as your medic, I cannot let you leave in this state, by the way. At least stay the night.” 

  Surprised, but not about to disagree, Aragorn returned your smile with one of his own. “If you wish.”

  He had a hearty bowl of stew and then took some medicine to help ease the dizziness, which was almost gone anyway. Afterwards you settled him down on the couch beneath a blanket and ordered him to sleep, claiming it would help him heal faster.

  Aragorn was in no position to argue, nor did he really want to. He was safe, warm, and had gotten the help he needed. It wasn’t often that he put his trust into strangers but you’d only given him reasons to do so, so he let himself drift off in your care.

[wild-lavender-rose]

Hi!! I’m a huge fan of your writing, especially the lotr and mash fics! I was hoping I could request some sort of hurt/comfort for Legolas if that’s okay! But if it’s alright can they already be in an established relationship? Honestly anything you write is incredible and I’m so excited that you’re back! But please don’t feel pressured to write anything if you’re unable to! Thank you!!

Thank you so much for your kind words, they revived me from my slump of no writing motivation. I hope you enjoy this piece, I really enjoyed writing it <3

The moment you saw him you knew something was wrong. He was leaning against the throne room pillar, listening to the others. On the surface he seemed calm, attentive. His arms were crossed, one hand resting against his rib cage. But you knew him better than the others, even than Aragorn. His stance may have seemed relaxed, but you saw the truth in the careful positioning.

“My love,” you crossed to him, dropping the pack from your shoulder with a soft thunk. Legolas looked up, brow furrowing. “Mel nin,” “Can you assist me? My arm,” you held out your right arm, revealing the bloodied bandage you had wrapped around the gash an orc’s knife had sliced into your skin. “My lady,” Aragorn stepped forward. “Perhaps I can assist,” “Thank you, Aragorn. But I would rather have my husband tend to the wound.” You looked imploringly up at Legolas. “Please.” “Of course,” Legolas straightened, his hand lingering against his side before reaching out to take yours. “Come with me.” You interlocked your fingers with his, allowing him to lead you away from the others as they continued their conversation. Legolas’s stride was even, matching yours. His face was a perfect mask of calm. You waited until you had found a small side room full of medical supplies. The moment after Legolas closed the door you were before him, prodding gently at his armor. “Take it off.” “What?” Legolas’s brows furrowed. “You’re injured, now is not the time for,” “You’re the one who’s injured. Now take it off.” “It’s nothing, a minor bruise from a fall.” “I’ve seen how you’re protecting this side. It is more than just a bruise.” You frowned when Legolas pulled away from your touch. “Do not hide this from me!” Legolas took hold of your arm. “This needs to be treated against infection.” “Legolas, I have already said,” “Allow me to care for you and then you may care for me.” The firmness in his tone silenced your objections. Irritated at his stubbornness, you simply nodded, allowing him to lead you over to a tall table. Legolas took you by the waist and sat you on the table in one smooth motion. It still surprised you, his elvish strength. It made you, a fearsome warrior in your own right, feel small and delicate when he so easily moved you where he wanted you.

He unwrapped the bandage, revealing an ugly inflamed wound underneath. “Orc?” He glanced up at you, face inches from yours. You nodded, resting your forehead against his as a wave of pain washed over you. “Wasn’t fast enough.” “Did you kill him?” He reached for a fresh roll of bandages and a bowl of salve, wiping his hand on his shirt before dipping his fingers into the concoction. “Of course.” You straightened and steeled yourself as he applied the salve, hissing at the icy sting. “Easy, easy,” Legolas took hold of your arm, steadying you. “It’s fine,” you set your jaw as your fingers gripped his sleeve. “What did you fall from?” “I’ve forgotten.” Legolas began to re-bandage the wound. “I want to see.” “Patience. I’m not finished.” Pain subsiding, your grip on him eased. You waited as he tied a final knot to keep the bandage in place. Once finished, Legolas leaned down and pressed a kiss to the bandage. Your smile was soft. “Thank you.” “Of course.” His blue eyes looked into yours. Your fingers trailed down to his shirt. “Please, love.” Legolas studied you for a moment before giving a hesitant nod. “Thank you.” You reached up to touch his face, causing his mask to flicker, revealing the true pain he was in. “Let me care for you.”

Fanfic Masterlist

[frodothefair]

꧁ Chapter 7 - The Fall ꧂

READ ON AO3┃READ FROM THE BEGINNING

SUMMARY : Lothíriel of Dol Amroth marries Éomer King of Rohan, but she despises her new home, with its unfamiliar landscape and customs. She seeks to escape the only way she knows how, but when her plans go awry, she finds healing and love in a place she never expected.

CHAPTER SUMMARY : Lothíriel and Éomer King go riding out of Edoras together, and Lothíriel learns more about the man she married. All is going well, until she proposes a contest.

PAIRING : Éomer / Lothíriel RATING : M┃WORD COUNT : 6.5 k chapter, 42 k total THEMES : arranged marriage, enemies to lovers, angst, whump, mental illness WARNINGS : suicide, medical procedures, violence - overall nothing graphic

PREVIEW :

“Ah, but would it not be too boring?” [Éomer King] returned, a cockeyed smile playing on his lips. But Lothíriel shook her head. She could no longer restrain her features, and when she spoke, it was through a smile of her own, though she did her best to suck in her cheeks. “Oh no, not in the least,” she replied, allowing an edge of winsomeness into her tone. “For in truth, I am quite eager to know what you and Éothain do all day in your meetings, surrounded by your mountains of parchment… I’ll wager that the two of you gossip like a pair of fishwives.”

TAGS : @emmanuellececchi @konartiste @from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras @dilettantefeminist

[aceofwhump]

Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers

[comfort-questing]

the one legitimate complaint I can manage to scrape up for The War of the Rohirrim is that I really could have used 1-2 less deaths and 1-2 more after-action healing dramas but isn't that like.... my opinion on most everything I watch.

(unironically though it is SO GOOD. kind and sad and beautiful and dark and scary and grim and hopeful. going to watch it again this week heh.)

-crow

[spinnenpfote6]

I previously thought I might be weird and kind of a little sadist for writing a Frodo Baggins one-shot where he is violated and abused but looking around on AO3 this seems to be a fairly common and beloved theme in LOTR fanfics

So I guess torturing a cute little creature with big sad eyes is very popular and we all have the same kind of depravity going on

(But thinking about it, LOTR itself is a Frodo whump story so I guess as fans we're just the more extreme version of that)

He's just too perfect to NOT be used for this type of fanfic

[echo-goes-mmm]

Ambrose and Elliot #29

Masterpost

Previous

Next

Warnings: implied past non-con

Elliot tucked another shirt into his bag. Master Ambrose had told him to pack enough for two days, but Elliot added an extra set of clothes just in case.

He hefted the luggage bag off his bed; and truthfully it wasn’t that heavy. Months ago he would have struggled with it, but not now.

He glanced out his window, down at Ambrose hitching the horse to the cart.

It wasn’t Ambrose’s horse; instead borrowed from Mr. Michael Tallow (who owned a wheat farm).

Ambrose looked to be nearly finished, which meant it was time to go. 

Elliot picked up his coin-pouch. Ambrose had said he should make a bank account to keep his money safe, and Elliot wasn’t going to argue. 

It was cold out, but the snow on the ground was gone. Instead, icy mud made the ground soft and wet. His boots made the mud squelch with every step.

Mr. Tallow’s horse looked at him with big brown eyes as he approached, and Elliot avoided the animal to put his bag in the cart.

Elliot didn’t know much about horses; just that they were big and kind of scary.

“Elliot, this is Billy,” said Ambrose, petting the horse’s face. “She’ll be taking us to Sunside, and then to Lakeview.”

Billy snorted suddenly, and Elliot flinched. 

“Technically her name is Willamina, but I like Billy for short. What do you think?”

“It’s nice.”

Ambrose must have sensed his discomfort. “She’s really gentle, if you want to pet her,” he said, voice soft and calm.

Elliot liked it when Master’s voice went all gentle and steady, like Elliot was a cat and Ambrose was coaxing him.

He might find it condescending, if he were a person. Like in the Before Time.

But it was Ambrose, and he loved Elliot. Even though he wasn’t really a person anymore. There was only kindness in his voice, not derision.

“Okay,” he said. Elliot stepped around the cart to Billy, and she flicked her ears.

He hesitated. 

Ambrose gently took his hand and guided him to Billy’s neck.

Her brown coat was rough, and dirty, and very warm.

“See? Nothing to worry about.” 

___________________

The weather was chilly, but Elliot’s winter clothes kept him safe. He worried about Billy for a while, until Ambrose told him she would be warm from pulling the cart, and her breed was hardy.

Still, he was glad to see the looming white mountains brimming with snow pass further and further behind them. 

They ate a packed lunch on the way; sandwiches and a mix of dried fruit and nuts.

The sun came out behind the clouds after a few hours, and Elliot enjoyed the fresh air and sunshine on his face.

Ambrose showed him how to steer, and handed the reins to him. He only managed it for a few minutes before he got too jittery, but Ambrose seemed pleased that he tried.

___________________

It was evening when they got to the inn. It wasn’t one he recognized, but he still shook when they pulled up to the attached stable.

Ambrose and the stablehand talked as Elliot grabbed the luggage.

“Oh, thanks,” said Ambrose as Elliot handed him his bag. 

Elliot didn’t say anything, trailing behind Master on the way inside. 

The inn was busy, which helped soothe his anxiety. A busy innkeeper wouldn't have the time to be cruel.

“Name?” asked the woman at the stand.

“Ambrose, one night, please.”

She nodded, jotting it down. “Double bed, or two singles?”

“Two singles.”

She turned around and took two keys off a hook labeled, ‘six’.

“Here you go,” she said, “room six is on the second floor, and the bar and dining room is that way.”

“Thanks.”

Ambrose handed Elliot one of the keys.

They headed upstairs, and Elliot picked the bed furthest from the door.

“I’m going downstairs to get a drink and some dinner,” said Ambrose. “Do you want to come?”

Elliot shook his head.

“Alright. I could have someone send a plate up for you; is that okay?”

“Oh, um, sure. Thank you.”

Ambrose smiled, and ruffled his hair on his way out. “Of course, sweetheart.”

___________________

Ambrose settled down at the bar. It had been a while since he’d gone out, and he was looking forward to a drink.

“Daiquiri, please.”

The bartender made it quickly, and Ambrose tipped him well as a thank you.

He took his time with his meal, and made sure one was sent up to Ellie.

Ambrose hoped Elliot was alright. He always hoped he was alright.

A woman slid into the seat next him, tall with dark hair.

“Hi,” she said, “far from home?”

“In a way,” he replied, nearing a smile. “How about you?”

“Definitely. Hey, can I buy you a drink?” she asked, tapping the bar next to his almost-empty glass. “I’m Amy, by the way.”

“Ambrose. I’m really flattered, but I’m married.”

“I don’t see a ring,” she smiled. “Are you sure?” 

“I left it at home,” he said truthfully, side-stepping the fact he hadn’t worn his ring in decades. “Can’t be too careful on the road.”

“Mm,” she said, batting her eyelashes. “I see.”

“I don’t think my husband would appreciate infidelity, and considering my assistant and I are sharing a room for a business trip, I’ll really have to pass.”

“Ah, well,” she sighed, “maybe the lady in the corner booth is single.”

Ambrose glanced over at the booth. A redheaded woman sat alone, sipping on a pint.

“I wish you luck, Amy,” he toasted her, with the remains of his daiquiri. He finished his glass, and ordered another as Amy left the bar.

___________________

He swayed upstairs into the room. Ambrose unlocked it in a smooth motion, which told him he wasn’t as tipsy as he felt.

Curse being a lightweight.

He could see the outline of Elliot on his bed, bathed in the moonlight of the window.

“Are you drunk?” asked Ellie, quiet as a mouse.

“No, love. Just tipsy.” His brain was running a little slow, but it caught up to Elliot’s quickly enough.

“I’m not gonna touch you,” he said, sitting on his own assigned bed. He began to toe off his shoes.

“Okay,” said Elliot, and something was wrong.

Something was always wrong, but Ambrose didn’t mind.

Well, he hated that Elliot was suffering, but Elliot was his closest friend, and Ambrose would do anything for him.

“Have you been scared up in the room this whole time, sweetheart?”

“...no,” he said, “Just when you came in.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

Elliot huddled smaller on the bed, but didn’t say anything.

Ambrose couldn’t see his face in the dark, but he knew what Elliot looked like when he was scared.

“Could… could I ask why you’re scared of me here, instead of at home?” He didn’t understand why Elliot was so frightened. They shared a bed at home, sometimes, what made sharing a room for a night scarier?

Elliot turned, and Ambrose could see part of his face in the moonbeams.

“I’ve done a lot of things in inns,” he said, shame in his voice. “For food. And sleep. It wasn’t… nice things.”

“People hurt you, and you let them because otherwise you would starve,” Ambrose guessed, and Elliot flinched, burrowing his face into his knees.

“Yeah,” he said, choked up.

“That’s not your fault.”

“Isn’t it?”

“No. It’s their fault for hurting you. They didn’t need to do that. They could have just helped.”

“I dunno.”

Ambrose swallowed thickly. He wasn’t sober enough for this conversation, but he’d do his best.

“Well. I know it isn’t your fault. Can that be enough, for now?”

“Mm,” sniffed Elliot. “I- I think s-so.”

Ambrose hesitated. “Do you want me to come over?”

“No, no, I- could you stay over there? Please? I don’t… I don’t think I want to- to be touched.”

“Okay. That’s fine. I’ll be here, if you need me.”

“...maybe just a hug?”

Ambrose slowly walked over, as not to spook him, and Elliot wrapped his arms around him.

Ambrose gave him a tight squeeze, and Elliot let out a shuddering breath.

“Thank you,” said Ellie, pressing into him. “For not… for not hurting me.”

“Of course, love,” he said, “Of course.”

taglist: @cupcakes-and-pain @secretwhumplair @paintedpigeon1 @whump-blog @whump-em @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @starfields08000 @littlespacecastle @mylovelyme @whump-cravings @zeewbee @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @keepingwhumpwiththekardashians @fanastyfinder @roblingoblin285 @whumpzone @snakebites-and-ink @astrokea @magdalena-writes @latenightcupsofcoffee @tobiaslut @whumpsoda @loserwithsyle

[letthewhumpbegin]

Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring (2001)

[eerieechos]

Had to put the twins in the same post bc separating them makes me Sad

[what-would-your-blorbo-do]

This poll was submitted to us. If you’d like to send us your own scenario (plus different ways a character might react to said scenario) so we could make a poll for you, feel free to send them to our inbox.