hello fellow rayllumaniacs!!! idk what i'm doing, i just figured i'd throw a few prompts together for myself but then it became this whole thing and now i have 31 prompts and a graphic. i'm not expecting this to be big, i just thought it'd be fun <3 (disclaimer that these very much lean towards fluff, but that's just my unavoidable stamp on things)
how i'm doing this: starting with July 1st, every other day will feature a new original prompt. for the rest of the days, i've looked through 6 years of rayllum month prompts to compile a few that i thought would be interesting to revisit, or that people who never got to them the first time around would want a crack at!
july 1st: What-Ifs
july 2nd: Dream / Nightmare (2019 + 2020 + 2024)
july 3rd: New Arcana (Sun, Earth, Moon, etc.)
july 4th: [Water] / River / Beach (2019 + 2021)
july 5th: Expecting
july 6th: Stars (2019 + 2020)
july 7th: Ears / Horns
july 8th: Drawing / Muse (2021)
july 9th: Best Friends
july 10th: Engagement (2019 + 2025)
july 11th: Clothing
july 12th: Illness (2019)
july 13th: Parents / Grandparents
july 14th: Wedding / Marriage (2019 + 2024 + 2025)
july 15th: Callum's Birthday
july 16th: White Lies
july 17th: Prince + Princess (2021 + 2024)
july 18th: Hobbies
july 19th: Honeymoon (2019 + 2025)
july 20th: Weather
july 21st: Outside Perspective (2024)
july 22nd: Names
july 23rd: Date Night (2020)
july 24th: Moon Phases
july 25th: Childhood / History (2019 + 2025 MM)
july 26th: Feathers
july 27th: Sightseeing (2019)
july 28th: Moon Cubs
july 29th: Third Wheel (2021)
july 30th: Acts of Service
july 31st: Rayla's Birthday
i'd love for y'all to tag with #rayllum month 2026 so i can see what you come up with, andddd yeah! happy raylluming 🫶
Summary: Very well, if she wants Benedict she will get Benedict.
Masterlist
Previous Chapter // Next Chapter
Words: 1,736
Listen to: SET YOURSELF ON FIRE -by Ruel
A/N: I feel like we're moving too slow bc I'm used to posting three times a week, should I post more often? -Danny
When a story involves a princess, she never misses her happy ending. When a story involves an artist, happiness is constantly missing.
Lady Whistledown, October 1815
Dear Diary,
I have attended my first ball in London. I was ready to write a long and tedious complaint wishing for my stay to be shortened unexpectedly, but the night wasn't the bland ordeal I thought it'd be.
Benedict Bridgerton, who is fun, intelligent, and keeps secrets, has caught my attention. He is to bring his sister Hyacinth today, and we are to discuss my drawing lessons. When I mentioned it to my parents, they were pleasantly surprised that I've taken an interest in broadening my talents and Queen Charlotte offered to call in the best art professor in London.
I politely declined, declaring I had found one. When I mentioned his last name, the Queen said his mother was an agreeable woman, I suppose that means my decision has been approved. My sister is the only one who thinks I've got a secret reason to ask for him. She saw me leave the ball with him, but I assured her this was all very innocent. I'm only looking for a friend.
Benedict can't believe it's been a week since he slept in someone else's bed, the stress is taking over his life like the time he applied for the academy. He would've dared to ignore the princess's ultimata if it hadn't been for Hyacinth, over the moon when she received the formal invitation, she almost cried when Benedict confessed he'd talked to the princess about her. His mother praised him for being a good older brother; even Eloise found it sweet.
Benedict isn't sweet or good. The princess trapped him knowing Hyacinth would, under no circumstances, decline the invitation. The night of the ball he did his best to oppose her, but alas, she isn't a regular lady of the ton, she's a royal who gets what she wants. What an infuriating trait he can't help but envy.
Very well, if she wants Benedict she will get Benedict. He will be so himself that the princess will end the day shocked and scandalized, and she'll never want to see him again. Hyacinth can do well on her own even if he vexes the woman, the young girl is lovely enough to get a second chance.
You wait in the tea room with your sister and parents, a sketchbook in your lap, brand new and unopened. Your foot lightly taps on the tea table's leg while trying to be patient, then a servant comes in announcing your visitors and the four of you stand, but you push the table on accident and spill your tea.
"Mr Bridgerton," you smile while two maids clean the mess behind you. "Thank you for coming. Is that your sister?"
"Your Majesties, Your Royal Highness. Benedict Bridgerton, I thank you for the invitation," he bows at your parents and your sister. "Your Royal Highness," you catch a bit of heat in his gaze that makes you nervous, "my sister, Hyacinth Bridgerton."
Hyacinth bows, face flushed and eyes sparkling. "I'm so very pleased to meet you, Your Majesties. Your Royal Highness— Your Royal Highness."
"You may call me Y/N, we are to be friends," you step forward and offer her a seat next to you. "Your majesty, this is the man I have chosen to be my art teacher," you inform your mother. "His sister wanted to meet me but she's not of age, and I heard so many great things about her I couldn't bear not getting to know her." The girl blushes more, deeply flattered.
"We are happy to welcome her as a friend," Queen Amelia says sweetly. "Mr Bridgerton..."
They all look at Benedict and his soul leaves his body for a few terrible seconds. It is frustrating to be regarded like cattle... he feels bad for teasing Eloise when she complained about her place in the world.
"Our daughter has chosen you, and we have no reasons to oppose her decision," the Queen looks at him as if she can see the devious plan he wishes to set in motion. "Good luck."
The way she says it reminds Benedict of something the princess mentioned in the garden. Something about mishaps, although surely she exaggerated. What kind of accidents can a princess cause that could be worse than what he's experienced with six younger siblings?
Once the Queen and her husband excuse themselves from the room and Marie takes Hyacinth for a walk, Benedict and you are left to discuss the lessons. "We should set the days in which you are to—"
"I will not teach you," Benedict smiles tightly, not wanting the servants to notice something's amiss. "I came to pay my respects and to please my sister, but there is nothing you can do to convince me to teach you."
You stare at him mildly surprised. "Beg your pardon?"
"You heard me," he narrows his eyes. "I don't like to be toyed with, and I won't cater to your demands. I don't know what you want, but you won't get it from me."
"You think this is a game of cat and mouse?" You grin. "That I've chosen you to be some kind of prey?"
Benedict chuckles dryly. "Your Royal Highness, I rather busy myself doting on debutantes than bore to death here just because you think you've got a right over my time."
"Good lord, do calm down, Benedict—"
"Mr Bridgerton," he corrects you.
"Mr Bridgerton." You scowl. "I thought I'd made myself clear when I said all I wanted was your friendship. Unusual as it is, I find it insulting that you think me a bore when you were rather keen to see me again when you didn't know who I was. Or was it the belief that I was attainable and easy what drew you in, Mr Bridgerton?"
Benedict wishes to disgust her, so he confesses with a smirk on his face. "Yes. I wanted nothing but lewd fun. Had I known you were a princess I would've stayed well out of your—"
"But you didn't, so now you've got to own your blunder," you retort steely. "And even so I happen to find you quite worthwhile, smart mouth and all, so I refuse to look past you."
Benedict is caught off guard by the simple, yet meaningful statement. Him, the second Bridgerton, the not-so-bad, yet not-so-good. The brother most people looked at and shrugged, with not much to say other than he was good-looking in the same fashion as all of his siblings were good-looking. And mannerly. And intelligent. And so many other dull adjectives that he wishes he could paint himself a different last name.
He's so used to being barely perceived that to have a Princess looking right at him is uncomfortable. "I'm a sketch artist, not a professor. I dropped out—"
"It wasn't because of lack of talent," your hands tighten on the spine of your sketchbook with discrete passion. "I saw the pieces you forgot in the academy. You had potential."
Benedict's face heats up. "Have you been spying on me?"
"Mr Bridgerton, as a princess, I have to be careful when choosing the people I interact with," you run your palm over the cover of your sketchbook, and he can tell you are a bit embarrassed. "I only did some research on the man I was contemplating as a possible tutor."
"Your life must be deathly boring," he says, encouraged by the fear of having his... preferences discovered and exposed to the ton.
You laugh as if his words weigh nothing. "You think I've summoned you to be my tutor for ulterior motives, and although they're not as cruel as you imagine them, they do exist. I wish for good company, Mr Bridgerton. A friend."
"The ton has plenty of good ladies that could—"
"I do not mind your gender, age, or social status," you brush it off. "I've chosen you because you chose me first. No one else has."
"You're not judging me fairly. I approached you when I didn't know who you were."
"Which makes your decision even more special," you smile. "I'm not a frivolous thing, I've been told no many times, believe me. I know what I want."
Benedict doesn't know why your demeanour and words make him upset, but they do. He wants to kick the furniture and throw it to the fire, yet he stays rooted, clinging to the armrest like you're pulling on a lever that sends bolt after bolt to scorch every inch of his body.
You clear your throat, taught to appear calm even when every muscle in your body demands you to react. You push through your anxiety and speak once more. "Should we try again, Mr Bridgerton?"
Benedict is trapped, not because of a young sister's fancies or a clever strategy from a well-educated woman. He cannot bring himself to turn his back on whatever you're made of.
Has he ever truly known what he wants, like you? Even while studying he was only pursuing fun, not something that he intended to turn into his entire life. But if not art, what then? He couldn't see himself as the head of a family, and certainly not a businessman. You were right, this was his blunder and he ought to take care of it.
"Tuesdays and Thursdays are good. It would be best to use a study or library if the Queen is willing to provide the space. If not, the garden can do."
"I believe she's not fond of people wandering through the halls, they make her King nervous," you conceal the joy his compliance brings you. "The garden will do."
Benedict nods, then pushes himself out of the chair and bows. The remnants of his rebellious self try to repel you one last time. "I wasn't capable of completing a semester of lessons, Your Royal Highness. You'd learn from me as much as you'd do in solitary practice."
"Then maybe this is more your opportunity than mine," you imply unbothered. "I wrote to the Academy to tell them I find your art promising. If you ask for a second chance, I'm quite certain they would be happy to welcome you back. And wouldn't it be nice to know better than me, for a change?"
You smile, and the man swallows thickly, knowing you're teasing but still having a hard time stopping himself from crying with gratitude. You look more like his saviour and less like a fussy witty goblin.
"I'll see you soon, Your Royal Highness," he excuses himself, battling his rapid heartbeat.
The true peril of fatherhood is watching you grow older
The strangest thing, though - the strangest thing by far - was his son. Harrow turned his head to look properly at Callum, the young man standing beside him and yapping about something probably to do with his wife - the fact that he had a wife was still something Harrow was having trouble processing - and was once again hit by an intense wave of complicated emotions he was far too tired to try and unpack now.
For Rayllum Month! No specific prompt because, uh... why not?
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
I have something I’d like to say to The Dragon Prince fandom.
Why is it still a work-in-progress? Why is it not a work-of-success?
You got an unfinished Harrow meta? Finish that A+ piece of writing! People will read it like there’s no tomorrow!
A left-alone Rayllum fanart? Don’t you want the fandom to get to see your babies in your unique artstyle?
Janaya fic you walked away from? Well, march on back because now people are enthralled and want more of your writing.
You can do this. Your limits are where you plant them. Some days, you are energy personified, and others, that previous energy ceases to exist.
Do it at your own pace, but don’t give up. This fandom needs you, and these people love you. Feedback is a motivator for some more than others, encouragement doesn’t work for everyone, pestering yourself until you do it can be effective for a handful of amazing people.
Contribution comes in whatever size, shape, density, width, breadth, scale, and every other measurement term I’ve forgotten because I am not a maths person. My talents sit with writing and drawing, no matter how shitty I consider my pieces.
You matter to this fandom. You matter to me. I hope my words mean enough that you can look back on this whenever you need.
Thank you to @jupiter-dragonsong @parsbooks and @temerity14 for beta’ing!
The First Night
Set after S3
Once the aftershock of the battle settles, there’s little room for teenage apprehension in Callum and Rayla’s relationship, and yet, it lingers.
In every touch, every hand hold, every kiss, there’s an unspoken question—one that is never unanswered for too long, but in the space between present and future uncertainty breeds. There’s hesitation quite like that of their first few kisses and it’s not for no reason.
Despite having lived through and even ended a war together, the two of them are new to being in a relationship. It helps that it’s them; there’s a comfort in dating your best friend, even if you only met them a few weeks earlier. They could make mistakes and be awkward and not lose any sleep over it. They witnessed enough of the other’s messy side on the road to not expect perfection from themselves. Still, they were both each other’s first nearly everything, and it’s hard to shake the nervousness that comes with a lack of experience, no matter how easy getting over any perceived slip-up is.
The first night they spend in Katolis, they sort out the bed situation. There’s still faint traces of adrenaline in their veins from arriving at the castle together for the first time, giving them a pleasant buzzing sensation as they dawdle in the halls waiting for the guest room to be set up.
Callum has his own room, of course, but Rayla’s staying in his home for the first time and he wants to be a good host. It would be cruel to sleep in his familiar space while Rayla spends her nights in the walls of a building she’s only been in for a murder mission. Despite that, the fact that he’s lived here since he was four, he finds himself treading unfamiliar territory as well, in the emotional sense.
He’s never had a girlfriend before. He’s never brought one home before. He always thought that he would end up dating Claudia, and they both already lived together. Any more proximity than that seemed like a prospect (or problem) for future Callum.
It isn’t a future Callum matter anymore. He has a girlfriend (who is his best friend but that’s beside the point) and she’s staying at the castle.
And they’re sharing a room.
It isn’t weird. It shouldn’t be weird, right? They’ve slept near each other plenty of times while traveling across the continent, and it isn’t like they’re going to share a bed. They’re just two best friends sharing a room because one of them has been exiled from her home and has nowhere to go. No biggie.
He glances over at Rayla to his side, rubbing her arm with another and fidgeting with her lip now that they’re alone. She hasn’t said anything since Opeli told one of the servants to bring in another guest bed into the room. In her defence, he hasn’t said anything either. The anticipation has been eating him up a little.
“I think they’ll be done soon,” he says suddenly, trying to break the ice, snapping Rayla out of her stupor. “The servants with the room, I mean– Not that I’m sure, because we haven’t really had any guests in a while, or at all. Now thinking about it, I can’t remember if I’ve ever…”
She chuckles, and he rubs the back of his neck bashfully. He moves his lips to apologise but she stops him saying, “Don’t worry. It’s fine.” Then, she lowers her head in a way that he can’t tell as either shameful, shy, or grateful until she speaks again, softer. “Thank you. For letting me stay.”
He tries not to frown, thinking of the people in her (old) village, who abandoned her. “Well, it’s not like I was going to leave you out on the street.”
“I would’ve figured something out,” she retorts.
He doesn’t doubt it. “I know. I’d rather we stay together, though.”
He inches closer to her, and hesitates for a moment before taking her hand. They’ve kissed before for heaven’s sake, multiple times even. It still doesn’t reprieve him from the anxiety he gets from wondering whether it was the right moment, though. As familiar as they are with each other, Callum has no idea what he’s doing.
He starts to feel the space where his hand is tightly held by Rayla’s become slippery, and whether it’s his sweat or hers, he doesn’t know. She doesn’t make any comment on it, and before they know, the maids have left the room and they’re ushered in.
The space is tidy, unlike his personal bedroom. There aren't the mountains of loose sketches scattered across the floor he’s used to, or worn clothes hanging from the desk chair. It even smells different, like a crisp floral candle that hasn’t yet been tainted by slight notes of sweat, jellytart crumbs, and dirt. For a moment, he feels the sense of nervousness that he knows Rayla is at the unfamiliarity, but he catches himself.
This is just a room he hasn’t been in. For her, it’s an entire kingdom, filled with a culture and customs that he doesn’t expect her to learn, but that she will be exposed to nonetheless.
She notices him taking the room in, keeping her stuck in place as she tries to step towards the pyjamas placed on one of the beds, and offers, “You know, you can stay in your room if you’re more comfortable that way.”
He shakes his head firmly. “When I said I wanted us to stay together, I meant it. I’d rather have you nearby,” and in case his words are too strong, he backtracks, “if you’ll have me, that is.”
She squeezes his hand, sweaty palm and all. “I’ll have you.”
Once they’ve changed, they find it hard to settle into bed right away, even after the strenuous journey. Most of their nerves at sharing a room have worn off by now, but there’s still the buzz that there is for any first night in a new place.
Callum watches Rayla, all cozy in her pajamas, looking out of the window. It’s not intense, but it’s not particularly dazed either. She’s concentrated, but in a way that seems light. Her face is peaceful, more serene than she’s looked these past few weeks.
Ever the inquirer, Callum asks, “What are you looking at?”
Rayla whips her head around. She didn’t realise that she was being watched. Upon seeing his face, sincere and curious—which, of course it was—, she sighs in relief. “Just the moon,” she replies, already turning her head back to it.
He doesn’t respond, instead electing to wait for her to say something more, and surprisingly, she does. “It’s just– Even when I’m away, it’s still there for me. I can feel it’s energy running through me, and somehow,” she turns back to him. “That makes things a little bit more okay.”
It’s simply said, but Callum can read between the lines. Even if the people that taught her to revere it aren’t around for her anymore, the moon is. As much as she had him to rely on, there would always be a piece of her drawn back home, to her own identity.
With the moon following her wherever she goes, her centre would always be with her.
Guess what, I finally finished and posted a chapter for Our Elarion!!!
I haven't worked on it in ages do to life happening and having to make a graveyard of darlings. But the next chapter has at least some amount of progress in it!
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
I want my first fic of 2025 to be fluffy, so we start on a happy note, so I've one wip of Astrid asking Rayla for dating advice and Rayla being like "Hey, just because I'm dating Callum it doesn't mean I know how I did it"
Posted Chapter 5 of TDP fic, “Lending a Hand” on AO3
Read here: Soren Knows, part of the of the Only Love (aka Nerds in Love) M/E series
Summary:
Soren notices something different about Rayllum, much to their surprise.
Rating: This fix is rated E for very explicit discussion and description of manual sex. But this chapter is only “T”.
Excerpt:
Soren’s musings on serving strategy were interrupted by the sound of giggling from the hallway heralding Rayla and Callum’s arrival, holding hands no less.
“Sorry we’re late,” Callum said to the group. His glance at Rayla with a huge, guilty smile and the way she giggled and looked back at him said they weren’t sorry at all. Knowing them, they’d gone back to their room to get ready for supper, gotten distracted making out and forgotten what time it was.
At least they quickly seated themselves and Opeli announced that supper could begin.
