#soulmate whump

[whumpforthewin]

Hello Whump Community!!

I Hope You’re Doing Well! This is a little different than my usual posts!! I Just Self published my first Novella!! And I think you’ll enjoy it.

“In a world where soulmates exist, people find their soulmates through feeling their pain and celebrate their meeting and bonding by feeling everything from them. Notorious mafia don Lucien Sharp has wanted to find his soulmate, but has had other things to worry about, like growing and expanding his empire. So when his products are stolen, he confronts his biggest rival about it. And accidentally finds his soulmate, Bryce O’Connor, the third in command of his rival in the process.

But Bryce promptly rejects him, leaving him to gasp and suffer with an incomplete bond. Lucien tries to deal with it by giving him space, but when his inner circle is attacked that is no longer an option.

Now Lucien must decide how much he is willing to lose. His soulmate, his best friend, or himself?”

There is soulmates, betrayal, love, and whump! The prompt I was given was “soulmates, rejected bond, and mortal peril” which I deliver on!

Check this out! https://a.co/d/0ovCy3n

#whump #whump promo #soulmate whump #gun whump #emotional whump #whump community #whumpblr #whump tropes #angst #kidnapping #implied torture #comatose whumpee #whoomp for the win #whump story

[stevebabey]

steve harrington but it's that jeff winger moment from community. if u have seen community, u will know... my first stobin-centric piece <3 tw for parental neglect and a prior act of self-harm. this is absolutely on the steve harrington has bad parents train <3

“Steven, this is ridiculous.”

Robin freezes in place. Her hand hovers over the remote she's just placed back down, her limbs locking up one by one at the sound of the voice at the door.

It is not a familiar voice. She knows who it is all the same.

She fights not to move, knowing the couch springs, old and rusted, threaten to reveal her hiding place, even if it is her house. Robin is very much allowed to be here. Expected, even.

But Steve? Steve is not.

It’s why there’s one Christine Harrington on the dingy porch steps.

It’s an unwelcome surprise — even after all the fuss of the 4th of July, a thousand police sirens, endless NDAs, and too much blood on his uniform, Steve’s parents hadn’t shown.

Out of town, Steve had said, his bashed in face making it impossible to read his expression. His eyes were haunted and misty but Robin couldn’t tell if it was from the horror of the night or… a loneliness far older.

So Robin had done the fussing. Had dragged him home with her, shooed away her rightfully nosy parents, and mended him up on her bathroom counter.

Steve had been silent, a little wide-eyed as she worked on each cut, each bruise — but with her gentle touch, he had been helpless to do anything but melt beneath it.

He’d called her Robbie for the first time that night. They’d fallen asleep with their hands intertwined, her arm hanging off the bed to reach out to him on her bedroom floor.

Robin still hasn’t met Steve’s parents, even though it’s been more than a couple months since that night.

She’s been to his house countless times too. She knows where the spare key is, if she ever loses her own copy, that is. Knows which stair squeaks on the way up to the second floor and how the lock on the downstairs bathroom gets jammed too easily.

She’s eaten the best grilled cheese of her life in their kitchen, sitting on the counter.

She’s laughed so hard she’s cried on their couch, getting the throw pillows wet with her happy tears.

She’s still never met Steve’s parents. Til right now.

Christine Harrington has her arms wrapped tight around her frame and Robin has no doubt that on her face is a frown that could make babies cry.

She can’t see her face though. Can only just see a glimpse of her tense body from where she sits. Steve blocks part of her view, his own tense frame in the doorway.

He’d answered the door instead of Robin only because he had the foresight to glance at the front window after the first rap at the door. It was late. Robin’s parents certainly wouldn’t knock at their own home and neither of them were expecting visitors.

The expensive car in the drive, a sore thumb along Robin’s street, had given away the identity of just who was knocking so late in the evening. So, Steve had opened it.

“Mom—”

“I mean utterly ridiculous.” Steve gets cut off without second thought, Christine continuing on as if she hasn’t heard him at all.

“Did you expect us to spend all evening chasing you around? Figuring out where you were tonight from the Carlton’s across the road?”

She’s got this snippy tone that Robin’s heard a thousand times from teachers. Patronising. Too cold for it to seem like a genuinely concerned parent.

“The Carlton’s?” Steve echoes, a bit meek. His shoulders have rolled forward, sinking down a bit and Robin can see his tight grip on the door. Still, she stays frozen, rooted to the couch.

“Yes, Steven.” Christine says his full name again, all bite. “Imagine the shame your father and I felt hearing that. Hearing who you had been associating with.”

“Don’t say that.” Steve grits out immediately, anger bleeding into his tone.

The muscles in his back ripple as he forces his shoulders back, as if he had remembered how to stand up straight at the mention of his friend.

Robin aches; at the reminder of the stark differences of their upbringings and at Steve’s unquestionable loyalty. She finally unfreezes, sitting up a little straighter and leaning forward more— ready to spring up from her seat.

She’s not sure what for exactly. She sorta really wants to go slam the door on Steve’s mom’s face and go back to being bundled up on the couch with him. The urge is strong enough to make her fingers twitch.

“Why are you here, Mom?”

There’s a strain to Steve’s question, even though he doesn’t falter in appearance. Robin can’t see his face either though. She hopes it’s got the bitchiest expression Steve can muster.

“Don’t be smart, Steven.” Christine reprimands coldly. “I know that we may have taken a larger absence than intended but that’s not any excuse to parade yourself around with the strays of this town.”

Strays. Robin feels the word pelt into her and burn into her skin, sinking all the way down. It feels like cold water has tipped down the back of her neck. An unwelcome pit forms in her stomach.

She had known, of course, the reputation of a family like the Harrington's. She hadn’t quite known the extent they would go to protect it. Policing your child's friends over a matter of image is absurd.

Somehow, Robin can see how Steve grows even tenser at his mom’s words— hackles raising like that on a dog. His knuckles turn white. But before he speaks, Christine is barreling on like she hasn’t just slandered every one of Steve’s new friends.

“And to leave the house in such a state?”

Robin hears her sigh heavily, as though this really is the biggest problem in her life — which she can’t fathom in the slightest.

There was nothing wrong with Steve’s house. No mess beyond the usual evidence that someone, you know, lived there.

“Mom, I—” Steve starts again.

“Well, I’m sure you have your reasons. You always do.” She says it so pointedly, like Steve was known for peddling lies to weasel his way out of trouble.

It’s so un-Steve it makes Robin blink hard, wondering if she had heard right.

Steve was honest. He owned his mistakes and he took things on the chin. It was something she had liked most about him in the beginning.

Back when it was all snark and Robin told herself she was never going to be his friend, in this universe or anything other. That even then, reluctant co-worker and nothing more, Steve was honest and decent to her always.

“Now, come on now.” Christine Harrington huffs out her demand. “Your father is waiting in the car and there no use winding him up more than you already have.”

Robin’s stomach turns at her words. It had been a topic of discussion between them, one night weeks ago, lips loosened by the dark. I feel like a dog to them, Steve had admitted quietly, his breath against her pillow and his warmth under her sheets. Like they just leave alone most of the time but expect me to perk up and come running the moment they call. I hate it.

“I’m not coming with you.”

The words stammer on their way out like he had forced them out— and Robin wants to sing she’s so proud of her best friend.

“Excuse me?”

“I’m not coming with you.” Steve repeats himself, the words a little firmer this time. “I’m… I’m spending the night here, with my friend Robin.”

He trails off, the words weaker, losing steam. Robin rises to her feet, the tell-tale squeak of the couch springs letting Steve know she was still here. Still right behind him.

It makes him stand a little straighter.

“I— I’ll come home in the morning.”

Christine Harrington makes a little scoffing noise, a high pitched faux laugh as if Steve’s said something amusing.

“Tell me when did I raise such an ungrateful brat?” She muses meanly and Robin doesn’t miss the way Steve flinches lightly. “We give you free rein of the house, apt time by yourself, and yet when we request you to spend a single evening with us—”

“You’re not asking, you’re demanding.” Steve cuts in, his voice more heated now.

“Oh hush, Steven. You act as if we’re so awful.”

It’s all dismissal. Everything, every word, a dismissal.

“I just can’t win with you, can I?” Christine sighs again, disappointment dripping from the sound. “Either we’re not here enough or we’re here but you can’t find time to have dinner with your family. Which is it, Steven?”

In the doorway, Steve begins to bristle. Robin really, really wants to slam the door now — if only to stop this conversation that seems to keep cutting deeper and deeper into her best friend.

She steps closer to him, moving as silently as she can, and makes sure to stay out of sight as she places a hand gently on the small of his back.

He’s shaking, she realises.

Her heart twists painfully in her chest.

Then, deathly calm, Steve says, “Did you know in 7th grade, I lied and I told everyone in my class that I got appendicitis?”

Robin blinks at the change in subject, the strangeness of Steve’s comment. She does remember that, vaguely. A boy in the year above— it had been a wildfire rumour that had turned out to be true.

Or so she thought. Staring hard at the planes of Steve’s back, the pit in her stomach yawns with an anticipation of devastation. Her hand on his back curls up a bit.

“You and Dad were gone for the whole month to Washington. It was the first time you had ever gone for that long and you didn’t even tell me until the day before you left.”

“Steven—”

“I just wanted someone to worry about me.” He steamrolls on, tone too casual for the story he was telling. “And it worked."

A beat.

"But then Cassie Lange asked about the scar.”

Robin’s hand on Steve's back twists up tighter. She feels like she knows what’s coming— but wishes it to be not true.

She doesn’t want to think of Steve, little twelve year old Steve, doing all that he can for a scrap of attention he was supposed to be getting from his parents.

“And rather than admit I’d lied…” The words come out too tight. “I went and found your sewing scissors and I made one.”

There’s this icy bite to Steve’s voice, his shoulders tensed back up. Christine still hasn’t said anything.

“I hurt like a bitch but it was worth it. I got a card from every single person in my class.”

“You wanna see the scar?” He asks— then he’s moving, his hand rucking up his sweater and shirt and exposing the skin of his stomach. Christine makes a noise like a muffled gasp. Robin feels a bit sick. Steve drops his shirt.

“And I kept all of those cards I got —all 17 of them stashed them under my bed in a box that I still have til this day.” He exhales through his nose. “Because it was proof that, at some point, somebody actually gave a shit about me. Because you didn’t. You didn’t then and you don’t get to now.”

His words hang in the air. There’s a long stretch of silence where Steve stares down the woman on the porch— someone closer to a stranger than a friend.

“So, I will see you at home, tomorrow.”

And then he slams the door to Robin’s house shut with a finality that shakes the air. Robin tenses up at the loud noise. Steve doesn't move, just stays staring at the closed door.

Behind them both, one of the noisy pipes in the house makes a loud noise. It sounds worse than usual as it breaks the silence.

Outside, Robin hears the click of heels on the pavement as they quieten, moving further away.

The pit in her stomach tightens immeasurably, a faint bile taste in her mouth. She finally remembers to smooth out her hand, pressing it flat against Steven’s back— another reminder that she was there.

If he wanted to talk or he didn’t, she was there.

Suddenly Steve sighs, an exhale so large that he shrinks down a couple inches, his shoulders dropping. It sounds exhausted.

He finally turns away from the door, to Robin, and she can only hope her face conveys every ounce of love, of support, she feels within her chest.

“Steve…” She breathes softly.

He wasn’t crying but just the sound of his name, spoken so delicately, seems to inspire tears. Robin catches the tremble of his lip and moves without thought— throwing both her arms around his neck and wrestling him into a hug.

Steve goes easy, his arms snaking around her middle and holding her back so tightly it nearly makes her squeak. She doesn’t though— just lets him bury his face in her neck, taking these big shuddering breaths, these half-formed sobs that break her heart clean in half.

She doesn’t know how long they stand there. Car engines drone as they pass by the street. The streetlights seem to get brighter. Steve presses himself so close to her, as close as he can, and Robin hugs back just as tight. She gives him all the time he needs.

She wonders if there’s an indent of him on her when he finally pulls back — a Steve Harrington shaped outline imprinted on her soul. It feels like there is.

If she could trace it, she thinks, it would be whatever shape love takes.

“Thanks Robbie.” He croaks out. He’s started scrubbing furiously at his face and she can see the wet sheen of tears as he wipes them away.

Robin doesn’t move far, just unwinds her arms a bit and lets them fall back to her sides. There’s an ache between her brows from how long she’s been frowning in concern. Steve looks more disheveled than usual, his usually perfect hair looking flatter — but he looks lighter too, somehow.

“No need to thank me, dingus.” She says, voice soft. She faux punches his chest and then regrets it when his lips don’t even twitch upward. It’s weird to see Steve all undone.

Robin thinks back to that conversation and the callousness of Steve’s mom. Her uncaring tone, the use of his full name like an insult.

She thinks of what Steve had said.

“I’m sorry you felt—” The words get stuck in her throat which grows thicker as she thinks about it. About a self-made scar on Steve’s abdomen, made by a twelve year old boy who just wanted someone to worry.

“—That you felt like you had to do something like that to yourself. I’m sorry no one noticed what you really needed.”

Steve nods slowly, his eyes glazed with a far away look as he stares somewhere over Robin’s shoulder. He gives this little shrug, a little huff through his nose.

“It’s okay.” He says, voice a bit distant. “I mean, it’s not but… even if I hadn’t meant to tell you, I’m glad someone knows now.”

It takes another second before he finally seems to shake himself from his thoughts, turning to properly look at Robin. His eyes are red-rimmed and the tip of his nose is pink. Tell tale signs of tears.

“I’ve never told anyone that before.”

Robin swallows thickly and it takes effort to choke down the urge to cry.

“Well,” She starts. It comes out too high pitched and tight and she clears her throat. “Thank you for telling me.

Some kind of smile plays on Steve’s lips, as if he can tell that she’s fighting off her sniffling and it’s sorta funny to him. It is, a little.

Because instead of being embarrassed or feeling pitied, he feels… delightfully surprised to have her care so much. To be so upset on his behalf.

“Oh, c’mon Robbie,” He gives her that same faux-punch in the shoulder she did earlier and it actually succeeds in making her lips pull up at the edges. “None of that.”

“You’re such a dingus.” Robin says. It comes out a bit wobbly still. Sue her— she doesn’t have Steve’s insane ability to bounce from one emotion to another in a single second.

Steve grins. He wanders back to the couch and flops down onto it. Robin follows and when she sits down, it’s a fraction closer to him this time. He gives one last scrub of his face, wiping the last of his tears away.

She nudges him with her thigh. She has to check just one more time.

“You alright?”

Steve smiles, crooked in that way that lets her know it’s completely sincere. He reaches forward and presses unmute on the remote, the film they’re watching starting up again with a buzz.

Steve presses his thigh back against Robin’s and in the dim lighting of her living room, his eyes glitter with an emotion that threatens to make her want to cry once more.

“Course.” He says. “I got someone checking up on me now,”

Another pointed nudge of his thigh against hers. “I’m better than ever.”

#everybody say it with me now: OOF #the writing of this episode is so good and i simply cannot resist the brainworms when it fits too well #i love making them hurt so they can comfort each other <3 #robin remains to this day the only one who knows the truth about that scar #stobin my beloved #ruby writes steve & robin #... new tag used shlay #steve & robin #steve harrington #robin buckley #stobin #platonic stobin #platonic soulmates #stobin ficlet #stobin drabble #i love these besties w all my freaking bones #idk tell me how i did. or dont. but please #steve harrington has bad parents #steve harrington whump #steve harrington hurt/comfort #platonic with a capital p

[whumpster-dumpster]

Soulmate AU where soulmates share a sense of taste. Character A knowing Character B hasn't been eating because they haven't tasted anything in a while. Their tongue itching when they eat something A is allergic to. Knowing they're overworking when it's cold coffee for hours on end. Knowing they're sick when they taste bitter bile. Knowing they're in trouble when all they can taste is blood.

#whump #whump prompt #writing prompt #soulmate au #starvation #allergies #overworking #sickness #blood #blood loss

[villainousauthor]

Would you plss write something where a villain and hero realize they're soulmates? Thank you<333

Hero grunted in pain as they clutched their abdomen and tried to catch their breath. Their head swam, and their vision blurred as they attempted to gain their bearings. One second, they were in a massive fight against several villains. The next, they found themselves being pushed back through a portal. Supervillain was likely to blame for that, with his ability to warp people anywhere in the world.

Hopefully, their communicator wasn't broken in battle, so they'll be able to send their location to their team. If they could even find it.

They try to stand, and immediately, their vision starts to darken around the edges and their head throbs. With a hiss they fall back to the ground.

"Careful, you probably have a concussion."

Hero cranes their neck to see Villain a few feet away, remarkably less injured and approaching. They don't have any weapons drawn, but still, hero feels their heart lurch.

They open their mouth, trying to speak. "I didn't see you go through the portal.. " Even their voice is laced with pain.

Villain is closer now and stops a few feet away, kneeling so they're at eye level. They seem to be assessing Hero's current state. Probably to see if they can easily finish them off, Hero assumes.

"I came in after you." Villain says nonchalantly, like this is the most obvious thing in the world. They eye the blood currently dripping down Hero's head, and the large gash in their arm.

Hero snort, and their chests aches in protest. "Why, to finish the job? Make sure I don't come back?"

Standing up and getting closer, Villain rolls their eyes.

"No, idiot. One day, if you die, it's not going to be at Supervillain's hands. Or because you bled out in-" Villain looks around at the tall trees, the lack of buildings or signs of civilization. "- the middle of the...pacific northwest? I don't even know where we are." They finish, unsure.

Hero tries to sit up as Villain kneels down again, closer this time. "I don't know either. I lost all my tech, I don't even have a way of contacting my team."

"Lucky for you, my stuff faired much better." Villain says smugly, and Hero wishes they could knock the look off their face. "I'll send my location to my henchmen, and they'll come to get us."

Villain reaches out for their arm, and Hero immediately finds themselves flinching away. Villain's lips press into a thin line.

"I'm not going to kill you, like I said. Unless you want to bleed out before someone arrives, you should let me treat your wounds." Villain's voice is firm as they pull a small first aid kid off their utility belt.

"I'm not going to bled out, it's not that bad." Hero tries to keep a defiant edge to their voice. For all they know, Villain will kill them, probably inject them with some poison or something just to make it easy.

"How bad did you hit your head? Are you blind suddenly? Because it looks pretty damn bad." Villain opens the small kit, showing Hero the contents. "Look, normal first aid crap." Their brows are furrowed, frustrated by Hero's reluctance.

Finally, after several tense seconds, Hero relents. They nod and slump their shoulders, as Villain moves closer now.

"The amount of trust issues you have is ridiculous..." They grumble under their breath as they slowly pull the damaged and blood-soaked sleeve of Hero's uniform back. They get a good look at the deep and long cut. Their frown deepens.

Pulling off their dirty gloves, Villain speaks again as they reach for something else.

"I'm going to have to clean this before I dress it. You might need sutures, though." Grabbing alcohol wipes, they use one hand to hold Hero's arm steady, grabbing their forearm.

Hero immediately hisses and jumps back, wrenching their arm from Villain's grasp.

"Jesus christ! Cleaning it shouldn't hurt that much!" Hero exclaims, even more tense. "What did you do, burn me?" They demand, but then they see Villain's expression. Their eyes are focused on Hero's arm, and their face looks cloudy and unreadable. They don't respond to what Hero said, like they didn't register it.

Hero looks down at their arm, and their eyes widen when they see it. Right on their arm, below the wound is a handprint. A completely different shade than Hero's skin tone, it stands out. A soulmark. Right where Villain grabbed them.

"Oh..." Is all Hero can manage to say in this moment. Villain seems to snap out of their trance and reaches for Hero's arm quickly, wrapping their hand back around where the mark is. It fits perfectly.

"This is...this really...this wasn't here before, right?" Villain asks, even though they saw Hero's completely blank and markless skin moments before. They unknowingly tighten their hold, and Hero yelps, their arm still in pain.

Pulling their hand back like they were burned, Villain finally meets Hero's eyes. "You're..." Villain trails off, shaking their head. They look away, palm to their forehead like they're trying to process this.

Hero feels like the forest floor will open up any minute and swallow them whole. If it weren't for their probable concussion, they're sure they would be taking this a lot harder. It feels like there's a charge around them now, an electrical current, live and dangerous between them.

Finally, Villain swallows and talks. "Let me just...let me just treat your wounds, and we can talk about this later." They manage.

Hero just nods as Villain returns to their first aid kit, ignoring the spark and air of tension now between them.

#hero x villain #prompts #dialogue prompt #original writing #hero #hero prompt #villain #villain prompt #villain x hero #superhero #whump #injuries #soulmates #asks #writeblr #writers on tumblr #writing prompts

[whumppromptoftheday]

Okay okay but

Whumper and whumpee who are soulmates

:O always a good dynamic

#whumppromptoftheday #whump #whump prompt #whumpee #whump idea #whumper #strawbearydreams #ask #ok but like. whumpee trying so so hard to make it work bc theyre supposed to be together #and whumper seeing how far they can push it bc whumpee isnt going to leave #and just. whumpee wanting to leave but they CANT bc whumper's their fucking SOULMATE #good prompt

[katyawriteswhump]

The Highwayman, the Stableboy & the Christmas Bride (Stobin/Minor Steddie)

Written for @steddieholidaydrabbles Day 17--Platonic Stobin Day. When Robin is forced into an arranged marriage, she and Steve take drastic action...

WC: 939. Rating: T.

CW: none really. Tags: Historical AU. Minor Steddie. Crossdressing. A bit silly.

***

Lady Roberta burst into the stable-block, petticoats trailing in the muck. She flung her arms around Steve: “It’s horrible enough that I’m marrying a man three times my age—and that he’s a man! Why does it have to be at Christmas?”

“I suppose Lady Buckley was trying to soften the blow.” Steve rested his cheek on her hair, rubbed circles on her back. In all their years of friendship, he’d never seen her so distraught. “Surely Lord Hootenanny’s fortune cheers you?”

“I couldn’t care less.” Robin sniffed hard, in her wonderfully un-ladylike manner. “Maybe you can become his stableboy and leave with me?”

“I suppose you’ll still require a snot-rag, but… uh…” The tremble in his voice betrayed him. She peeped up, wiped her eyes—pushed his hair from his brow and gasped. 

Damn. He’d wished to conceal his latest bruise.

“What happened?”

“Your fiancé’s boot collided with my face. Apparently, his stirrups weren’t shiny enough. I don’t think he’s going to want me.”

The determined jut of her chin was as distressing to Steve as her tears. “We must run away. There’s no other choice.”

“You say that every week. We’ll be caught, and you’ll have to marry him anyway.”

 And I’ll be flogged to within an inch of my life. Or, just as likely, hanged.

“If we don’t run, we’ll never see each other again. I’ll miss everything about you—even the stink of the horses. You’re my best and only friend.” Her head sank to his shoulder again. “But I don’t want you getting hurt.”

I can’t stand the thought of you getting hurt. Or of you living in the power of that violent bastard.

He groaned softly. She was right. They had no choice.

***

After midnight struck, he scaled a rope to her window. She threw up the sash, and he scrambled through. He thrust at her the bundle he carried, which had made climbing harder than usual: “These riding britches should fit you fine. You got the gown for me?”

She gestured to some crinolines on her four-poster bed. “There you go—one of my maid’s. I adjusted it myself.”

While she changed in her closet, he slid the gown on. It slipped straight down and puddled around his boots. “I see your legendary needlework has not improved,” he grumbled. She emerged, looking delighted and dashing in her britches.

As she pinned the gown about him, however, her hands trembled, and terror gripped him too. Lady Roberta would hopefully pass for her twin brother under the shadows of night. Her rogue of a brother was often seen sloping around with serving wenches—hence Steve’s heinous disguise. The plan after that, nevertheless, was fraught with even greater danger. 

Riding together on her brother’s horse, they made it through the village. Steve cursed the skirts that forced him to sit before her, side-saddle, with the pommel gouging his thigh. Once into the forest, a full moon lit their path, ensuring they remained vulnerable prey to pursuers from Buckley Towers, or…

Robin gasped, hastened their trot. 

“What is it?” asked Steve.

“Pursuers. Only one, mayhap. We can out-speed them.”

His heart lurched miserably. “Are you insane? On a steed carrying two? Sweet Jesus, I feel my neck stretching already.”

“If we die, Steve, I vow we die together.” 

He clung, white-knuckled, to the saddle. Robin pushed into a gallop. Their pursuer proved not only faster, but knew the terrain better and overtook them. Soon, a vast stallion and its rider blocked the track, silhouetted against the moonshine. Could this be a henchman of Lord Hootenanny, who would flay Steve alive on the spot?

“Get out of our way, or I’ll blow your brains out!”  That was Robin, who’d whipped out… “I stole one of Papa’s duelling pistols,” she whispered.

“Maybe you should first ask if I be friend or foe?” came a reply that set Steve’s heart hammering more excitedly than ever.

“This is your last chance!” Robin sounded desperate, out of her mind. “Let us pass, or—”

“Robin, no!” He grabbed her arm. Her shot flew wide. The blast and recoil sent them tumbling from the saddle of the spooked horse in a cloud of choking gunpowder. They landed in the mud, in a tangle of his petticoats. Ow, ow, ow! My ribs! The whalebone corset had been a terrible idea. His ears rang with the crack of the pistol, and the sound of a familiar laugh.

“Eddie?”

“Stevie, my lad, I thought it be you. Why are ye banged up like a doxy?”

“You know him?” asked Robin; damn, he was glad she was alright. “What’s a doxy and why are they banged up?”

“He wants to know why I’m dressed like a whore.” Steve took Eddie’s hand, who dragged him to his feet. Steve offered Robin the same assistance but found her scrambling up, unaided. “Meet my lover, Robin. Hellfire Eddie.”

“The infamous highwayman?”

“One and the same.” Steve turned to Eddie. “I didn’t think you’d get my message so soon.”

“My spies act fast,” said Eddie, slapping Steve’s padded derriere.

“Not in front of a lady!” seethed Steve.

Lady Roberta, however, looked pleased as punch. “Can we join your gang? Oh my goodness, I can become a notorious highwaywoman!” She flung her arms around Steve and smacked a kiss on his cheek. “Steve, this is singularly fortuitous. Our lives can start over.”

“Till we ALL get hanged,” mumbled Steve.

Eddie insisted Steve rode with him, rather than Robin, for the journey back to his thieves’ lair. 

“Then out of that ridiculous finery,” husked Eddie. “You know I like to wear the petticoats when I plow ye.”

***

Thank you for reading :)

#platonic stobin #steddieholidaydrabbles #steve harrington whump #stobin friendship #platonic soulmates stobin #stranger things fanfic #steddie #steve and robin #stranger things au #stobin

[evilwriter37]

A/N: I have to thank @jayalaw for the title!

Rated: mature

Warnings: self-harm

Relationships: Dagur/Hiccup

Word Count: 2,232

Summary: Dagur had always been curious about who his soulmate would be, and he wasn’t worried about the pain that would come with it. He expected to feel his soulmate’s pain at the age of 15 like everybody else. But that’s not what happened. Instead he finds himself feeling that pain 3 years later, and he doesn’t make the connection of who his soulmate is until the treaty signing at Berk. Hiccup isn’t ready to have anyone as a soulmate, never mind Dagur. What ensues is a war of strife and longing for love, life, and understanding.

#Getting a Scar Out of It #dagcup #httyd #how to train your dragon #dagur/hiccup #dagur the deranged #hiccup haddock #whump #hurt/comfort #soulmate au #httyd au #fanfiction #writing

[killacharacterbingo]

Bound by Fate

The concept of fate is found in many cultures and myths. Essentially, it is the notion that every event in history, from a small individual level to a larger scale, is predetermined by some superior power. It's all part of a larger plan, of a destined mechanism. Whether mortals understand these machinations, or are in any capacity aware of them, varies from interpretation to interpretation.

It isn't uncommon for this concept to extend to interpersonal relationships. The idea of soulmates, a person another is destined to share their life with (typically in a romantic sense), is intrinsically tied to fate. The red string of fate, written in the stars, and other ideas of similar caliber are other applications of the concept of fate.

As such, this prompt relates to two (or more) characters whose lives are tied together by some superior, supernatural power that has a plan the characters tie into. It doesn't necessitate the romantic connotation, but it can also include it in the form of soulmate AUs, to name one example. The important part is that the death in fics using this prompt is directly linked to how characters are intertwined by destiny in whichever way the author chooses.

#killacharacter #killacharacterbingo #writing challenge #bingo challenge #writing event #whump #writing bingo #whumpee #bingo card #whump prompt #fate #soulmates #soulmate AU #red string of fate

[irondadfics]

Hi! I was looking for a fic I read a whiiiile back. It was a platonic soulmate fic. But no ones knows there soulmate unless they touch each other or meet eyes?? Something like that. Bust basically there’s a situation when Spider-Man needs help and Tony takes a helicopter to help him, and when Tony give his hand to Peter to grab on, either their hands touch or their eyes meet and Tony is so surprised he almost drops Peter. It’s confusing I know sorry! Idk if you’ve seen this fic so I figured I’d ask.

this is for you! Happy reading

while collecting the stars, i connected the dots by mjscorner

Their hands touched without gloves or gauntlets or technology keeping them apart. Skin-on-skin contact, and Peter's entire life was suddenly flashing before Tony's eyes, and Tony's before Peter's. He choked on a gasp and squeezed his eyes shut as the memories began flooding all of his senses all at once, overwhelming every atom in his body with a warmth so intense he was melting. Every tear, every hug, every kiss planted to the kid's head, every anxious night spent worrying recklessly about the kid was coursing through his veins. Tony's eyes snapped open in a heartbeat as he stared down at Peter like he was the most precious miracle to ever walk the Earth, Peter mirroring his intensity. "P-Peter?" OR you see your soulmate in your dreams, both platonic and romantic, though you don't remember them in the morning. only physical touch can wake two soulmates when they are blind to each other in the real world.

#foundfic #platonic soulmates #whump #alternate universe

[naensut]

Today a very quick art. Mirabel was poisoned and she’s not out of the woods yet. Someone knew a weakness in Julieta’s gift and took advantage. Isabela’s knowledge of rare plants is needed to make an antidote. Bruno is really good at blaming himself. He is good with a sword and seeing part of the future, but sometimes it’s not enough. 

You can recognize my art when someone is on the verge of dying and someone else is crying beside them. Yayy... Takes me back to another similar art I made ;) I sense a pattern here...

Part of the “fantasy-kingdom-au”.

#encanto #encanto fantasy kingdom au #royal madrigals #encanto au #devine madrigals #platonic soulmates #mirabel madrigal #bruno madrigal #hurt/comfort #whump

[whoopsmorewhump]

It's okay just to say 'I'm not okay' (platonic stobin fic)

Robin and Steve feel each other’s pain more than they’ll admit, even to each other. From Whumptober day 30, “It’s okay just to say I’m not okay” bridal carry; plus, another lovely prompt from pearlravenlapis (not quoted here, as it gives too much plot away!)

Rated T; no warnings; Also on AO3.

***

The day had started more than okay.

This adorable girl rocked up at Scoops, with the latest issue of “UFO Reality” tucked under her arm. Robin blurted: “You read it yet? The story on alien skulls inscribed with teeny, snack-sized messages from Elvis totally slayed me dead.”

Dream-girl’s shy smile turned Robin’s knees to jello.

She introduced herself as Maud, and they chatted UFOs for the next forever. Right until a square-jawed, smug-as-hell knucklehead loped into the store, and Maud announced he was her boyfriend.

Now, Robin watched her latest unrequited crush sharing a Strawberry Sundae Extra with her excruciatingly not-worthy-of-her date.

“Seriously, Robin,” said Steve, levelling at her shoulder. “I’ve seen more electricity between a pair of squashed ants. They’re not even talking.” 

Robin wasn’t in the mood for chirpy delusion: “That’s because they’re mainlining ice-cream, Steve.”

“She’s hardly stuffing her face. She couldn’t stop blabbering with you.”

Unable to endure the sight any longer, Robin swung her attention onto him. He was chewing on… Hmmm, to be fair, that was only his first banana of the day. Unusual. He dumped half of it, uneaten, on the hatch.

“Did she even actually wanna talk to me?” wondered Robin out loud. “I honestly can’t remember if she got a word in edgeways. You know how it is, when I can’t stop talking. It’s a fault, believe me I know—"

“You were fine. You said stuff. Maud said stuff back. And it’s not a fault—your mom spouts nasty bullshit, you should accept that. My point is, that girl you like totally—”

“—hates me.” Robin sighed.

“No. She’s probably confused.” He sniffed, pushed his hair from his brow. “She should dump that moron’s ass. Who hangs out in an ice-cream joint when it's this damn cold? It’s practically snowing out there."

"It's not cold in here, Steve.”

“It’s goddamn freezing! I mean, it’s this stoopid outfit—what fascist dictator makes their staff wear shorts in winter?”

“Stopped caring. I'm too institutionalised into looking like a dweeb.” She peeped back, to where Maud spooned a cherry into that jack-ass jock’s cakehole. Argh! She wanted to scream. Instead, she mumbled: “Shit-birds, do you think Maud thinks I'm a dweeb?”

“Jesus, how many times? Look, she reads dweeby UFO mags. So do you! Beyond that, I’m not an alien mind-probe, so quit bugging me already.” She gawked at him—wtf? He skittered his fingers over his eyes, groaned. “Sorry. This stupid cold is making me cranky. I honestly reckon Maud liked you. It’s just—”

“—horribly, insanely, eternally complicated?” Her fists clenched so tight her fingernails gouged her palms. On top of it all, she’d suddenly gotten this anxious dread, churning in her gut. Huh? Go figure. “I guess I’ll just keep smiling through. See my customer service smile?”

She bared her teeth maniacally.

“Remind me to get a mask of that for Halloween.”

“That bad, huh?”

He smiled, kinda pensively. “Nah. If I was a babe into babes, I’d still be battering down your door.”

She wanted to hug him then—despite his germs, which she was kinda grateful she hadn’t caught. Yet. A bratty little mall rat clanged on the bell, Steve hurried off to serve, and Robin continued feeling really, really shit. Right up until he caught her in the backroom, dabbing runny eyeliner with her knuckles.

She turned her back on him. Habit, really.

“Hey.” His hand landed softly on her shoulder. "What's wrong?"

“Nothing new.” It’s her turn to sniffle.

“Look, I’m sorry I chewed your head off."

“You apologised already, Steve.”

“I’m apologising again. For the whole goddamn human race. I mean, I totally get your thing with UFOs, because, honestly, you deserve another planet. A better one. Worse thing is, I used to think like the dumbest dumbass in this world of crazy, till I met you, and now… Look, things will be better for you someday, because nobody deserves it more. Till then, I know it sounds cliché, but I’m here for you, and I guess… I dunno, when you have this much bullshit to put up with, it's okay just to say you’re not okay sometimes.”

She flung his arms around him and sobbed noisily into his shoulder. He patted her back, then rubbed soothing circles, and she sobbed even harder. She didn’t really know why she was crying. Yeah, what he said touched her deeply. But she’d never been a random public crier, today’s flop was nothing out of the ordinary, and she couldn’t even blame her monthly cycle… Uuuurgh.

She lifted her face, sniffed hard, grimaced. “I made your uniform all soggy.”

“No sweat. I dig your snot.” His sarcasm dropped off: “Any better?”

She shrugged. Superficially, yes, she felt less doom-y. Her catastrophic life remained just that, however, and that weird unfocussed dread loomed ever larger. 

He reached into his pocket, brought out a paper napkin. “It’s clean, honest. Although I guess the cost of that hug was probably catching my cold, so who cares, huh?”

“I care.” Ew! “And yeah, that had occurred.” She still couldn’t quite bring herself to regret the hug. However much she hated them with anybody else, she had to admit that it’d released happy chemicals. She blew her nose noisily. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. Uh, you’ll probably need another for the eyeliner. There’s black goop, like, everywhere.”

She whipped out a powder compact with a mirror. Oh yeah. She’d gone for the full-on Joker look. Possibly, this was why she averted her despairing attention and started scrutinising Steve.

“Steve, are you okay? You look kinda—”

“—terminally dweeby? Or terminally dweeby and totally wrecked?” Catching his own reflection in the little mirror, he dabbed his slightly-less-buoyant-than-usual hair back into place.

“I was thinking more along the lines of a bit peaky.”

“It’s just this stupid cold. Plus, the crappy lighting in this dump. Seriously, sometimes guys need make-up too.”

She used her mirror to stare at him harder than herself now. Yeah, he looked pale, the shadows around his eyes nearly as shouty as her make-up malfunction. She snapped the mirror closed, spiralled back to face him.

“Steve, something else is wrong, isn’t it?”

“Woah! You’re, like, witchy when you do that, right?”

“Witchy?”

“Okay, maybe a bit psychic.”

“Alien brain-probe-y?”

“Yeah, that too. I mean, I figured I didn’t want to bother you, but…” He threw his hands up in surrender. “Let's just say my father has been extra cranky and disappointed in me lately, even by his short-tempered standards. That means extra shouty, and…” He rubbed his brow wearily. “Makes me feel even shitter about my life, I guess.”

“I’m sorry.” She longed to pay back that hug, though even with Steve, she was too squirmy and inexperienced to initiate one. He left then, anyway, heading back out front.

They were both uncharacteristically quiet for the rest of the day. He seemed exhausted, and smothered increasingly regular bouts of coughing. She wanted simply to get home, bypass her mom’s daily character assassination, and then sob and bitch to herself about life in general. 

When she finally sank her face into the soon-to-be disgusting and soggy pillow, that feeling of dread overwhelmed her. She simply couldn’t stop worrying about Steve, to the point she felt ill. Which was ridiculous. After all, he was at the end of a phone line, right?

She snuck out past her mom—who was howling her butt off at some screamingly homophobic sit-com—and dialled Steve’s number. When his dad answered, she gritted her teeth, forced herself to be mega polite. 

“Hi there, Mr Harrington. Sorry to disturb you. Is Steve there, please? It’s Robin.”

“Robin? Are you the latest girlfriend?”

“No,” she managed to grind out. “I’m the… friend-friend.”

“Don’t try to be cute.” Seriously, I wasn’t! “If you see him, tell him he owes me a thousand bucks.”

The line went dead. Robin dropped the phone, stared at it as it swung from its coiled wire. What just happened?

She went back to her room, sat down on the edge of her bed. If Steve wasn’t in, was he on a date? He hadn’t mentioned one. That said, given her eternal back-catalogue of disaster on the dating song-list—and her latest episode of moping—he probably didn’t want to upset her. She switched off her lamp, tried to sleep.

Impossible.

What his Dad said rankled, and made no sense anyhow. Why did Steve owe him a thousand bucks? That was a year's wages! Then again, Steve had mentioned something a while back about his tightwad parents charging him rent. It was probably what they’d been rowing over.

By the early hours of the morning, that sensation of dread had flourished to the point where she could no longer stand it. Sleep wasn’t happening, so she pulled on a warm coat and scarf, headed out, and grabbed her bike.

Once Henderson had gotten over the initial shock of her tapping on his window at four a.m., he considered her theory seriously enough: “You reckon his parents threw him out, and he’s sleeping rough somewhere,” he clarified, while he unlocked the wheel of his bike. “Why didn’t he tell us?”

“He can be kinda proud like that. Plus, I was having a beyond-horrible day.” She clutched her handlebars ever tighter. Steve hadn’t needed to tell her, anyhow. She’d known, and her anxieties flurried toward panic. He’d been getting up sick, right? As her clouding breath confirmed, tonight was bonkers cold.

Dustin jammed his woolly hat down over his ears. “Right. If you were sleeping rough in Hawkins, where would you go?”

They tried the bus station, the shop fronts on Main Street, even the High School outbuildings. They wound up outside the police station, debating about whether to go in. 

“Nobody will take us seriously,” pointed out Dustin. “I mean, he’s not technically missing. We don’t have any evidence that he’s not at home in his bed, comfortably snoring, while we’ve been cycling around freezing our faces off.”

“He’s not,” said Robin, and creepily—witchily? —she’d rarely been more convinced of anything in her life. “He’s in trouble. I know it.”

“Seeing as we’ve looked, basically, everywhere, I’m going to need something a bit more scientific than that.”

“We’ve barely started!” protested Robin, as a police wagon drew up beside. Chief Hopper got out, bleary eyed and with a cigarette hanging from one side of his mouth.

“God, that was a wasted call-out,” he muttered, then, belatedly absorbing who they were, said: “What the heck are you two doing here?”

“Being total idiots!” said Robin, so loudly even the Chief baulked. “It’s so obvious! Why didn’t I think of it before?”

Hopper looked crankier. Dustin gesticulated wildly with his thickly mittened hands: “What!?!”

“His car! His dad said something like, ‘Steve owes me a thousand bucks.’ That’s about the value of his car, right?”

“Steve Harrington?” asked Hopper. “Yeah. Kid’s got a nice set of wheels. Anybody gonna enlighten me what you’re doing here at this godforsaken hour?”

“Steve’s been sleeping rough,” said Robin. “In his car.”

“What? Last night?” Hopper frowned. “Temperatures have been sub-zero.” 

“Yeah, we know,” mumbled Dustin. “We also don’t actually know for sure that Steve isn’t home, and this isn’t all in her he—"

“It’s not in my head, Henderson. He’s out there. Chief, you’ve got to help us find him.”

Hopper wearily stubbed out his cigarette, swung open the passenger door. “Get in.”

***

Shivering hurt. His teeth hurt from chattering. As the night got colder, Steve curled up in the backseat of his car and discovered everything hurt.

He never knew cold could feel like this, like how his gran used to describe it—creeping through his veins and into the marrow of his bones. Whatever the heck that was. He was wearing, literally, all his clothes. What the hell else could he do?

He'd used the heater the previous two nights, since he’d taken off from his parents’, basically homeless. Now he was out of gas, and there was no chance of getting a refill can till next payday so…

He curled even tighter, wrapping his arms around himself. Like a hug. He recalled how he and Robin had hugged earlier, how he’d felt better after that, about… everything. Which was stupid. Because it’d solved nothing for either of them. He faintly hoped he hadn’t given Robin his germs. If they even were germs. Who needed germs, when you were this damn freezing?

At length, his fingers and toes stopped hurting and turned numb. Then, at last, he sensed some warmth. Which was weird, but then again, he felt increasingly weird—his skin kinda prickly as if he sweated, then suddenly, he was way too hot. Which was totally nuts, and confusing, but he’d take it. He shrugged off his blanket, which slid into the footwell. He might have removed his scarf, which was getting suffocating, but he was too damn tired.

He slept, shallowly, and the darkness beneath his eyelids grew pitted with white. It wasn’t like snow. Nothing was that yielding or soft. He hadn't the strength left to rub his eyes. He threw all his effort into his next, shallow, whistling breath, and… Christ! It suddenly made sense. He could see his lungs, right? Which was insane, but his fevered little mind saw it anyhow. They seemed all brittle, lined with scratchy glass, scraping and tearing with every breath, until...

An ice-toothed gale blasted him sidelong. Robin's scared face veered up in front of him. Uh, he’s definitely hallucinating, right? Nobody knew he was here; nobody should know. He needed her, though. Kinda figured he’d die here without her, and then… he was just plain scared.

He closed his eyes. Too much. Waaaay too much. And, shit, maybe that wasn’t Robin. Maybe it was her aliens, and those were lights from a spaceship—a UFO?

Somebody—some thing —slid an arm around his shoulder, another under his knees. He was scooped up, and felt the sensation of being carried. His stomach performed a feeble flip. Am I dying? Am I dead? Or am I zooming to another planet!?!

Then nothing. Until…

His lungs still felt too tight. He was lying somewhere warm and soft, however, and the air didn't burn or freeze, nor make him prickle and sweat. In fact, it was kinda soothing and sweet, though it still proved a struggle to get enough.

Somebody squeezed his hand. Somebody or thing was holding his hand! Aliens? If so, why wasn’t he freaking out? He pried his too-sleepy eyelids open. Robin! 

"Steve!" She smiled and gave him another squeeze.  There was a plastic mask over his mouth and nose, and he lifted a hand to bat it away. She stopped him, settled the mask again. “I’d leave that, it’s the oxygen. You’re okay now. You’re gonna be just fine.”

He tried to talk, though speech wasn’t happening. Just an embarrassing croak. Her make-up was smudged again. He almost forced his dry lips into a smirk. He must look worse, but with Robin, that’s okay.

A nurse turned up, checking his pulse, and the oxygen machine, fluffing the pillows. She talked, but he was too sleepy to listen. Robin bobbed up again, working her face strangely, and he couldn’t read whether she was about to laugh or cry:

"Look, Steve,” she burst out, “yeah, it's okay to not be okay. Next time, can you please be more specific about EXACTLY HOW NOT OKAY YOU ARE."

"Okay," he wheezed, and she started up talking again. Her voice soothed him, even though he was too far gone to listen. 

He isn’t okay. He feels weak and jittery and everything aches.

From this new all-time low, he can’t even start to think about what his future might hold without wanting to yell. Which he can't even do! But her, and their friendship—it’s good. Which was probably why, even now, he’s feeling her pain again, just as strong as his. He hated how she suffered every single day, keeping her hopes and dreams a secret. Jesus, whatever hurt her, hurt him, too. And he was stupidly grateful for that, which made no sense either.

Perhaps he should tell her, when he’d gotten his voice back? Before or after he’d thanked her for having somehow saved his life. Or perhaps that would sound crazy and a bit creepy. Or witchy and physic? Huh, hadn’t he accused her of that earlier?

Listening to her talking, he ebbed and sank into somewhere safer and warm.

****

Part of this fic series (whump, platonic stobin & steddie fic)

#stobin fic #stranger things #stobin fanfic #platonic stobin #platonic soulmates stobin #steve harrington whump #i love them #whumptober2023 #stobin #platonic with a capital p #steve & robin

[promptsforyourwhumpfic]

Whump Prompt #1060

Submitted by Anon - thanks!

Soulmate AU except your soulmate is the person that is going to directly influence your life the most. Most people have their romantic partners, their best friends, family members, etc. as soulmates. Not whumpee, whumpee has whumper, because what whumper does to whumpee is going to change them irreparably. 

Cue angst about being connected to whumper, while whumper sees it as a sign that they’re meant to be together and whumper changes their entire life and devotes it to hunting whumpee down, while whumpee has to leave everything behind to escape whumper

#soulmate au #soulamtes #whump #writing #prompts #angst #tw: abusive relationship #romance #stockholm syndrome

[sushisocks]

Hey there! I believe you said in another post that the final confrontation would be unlikely to happen if lenny and sean were alive, so i'd like to ask if you could expand on that pls(if u havent already and i just didnt see it lol)

Btw on a side note im actually super invested in your sean content😭😭the fandom seems to only talk ab him to label as an idiot, so as a fellow sean lover the way you characterize him has me so in love❤️❤️❤️❤️

Oh Anon you are SO LOVELY!!! Thank you not only in giving me the opportunity to rant more about Sean and Lenny (which I am always so willing to do), but also for your super kind words!! Sean is very dear to me, and I'm glad my reading into him as much as I do strikes a chord with other people ;;u;;

The way the general fandom often characterizes him isn't very surprising to me, given his personality & the surface level impressions he gives, but maybe for now I'll save THAT rant for another time, else we stay here forever lmaoo

So, to start answering your question, I believe you're talking about my post from a few months ago, where I talk about how I believe Sean & Lenny would've sided with Arthur & John if they'd lived to see the final confrontation. In it I mention how I find that final confrontation a lot more unlikely were Lenny & Sean to survive that far and stick around for the entire thing.

Now, WHY do I believe this? I touch on it briefly in that original post, but let's really get into it here!!

Okay to start off, there's a LOT of ways I see things going, in regards to Sean and Lenny, were they both to survive, because it adds SO MANY variables, but let's start at the very top.

At a meta level, it is important to recognize that RDR2 is a prequel to RDR1. This meant from the get that RDR2, as it is canonically, was bound to a certain outcome, to set up for RDR1. This ALSO means, that every step from the start of RDR2 was very much there not only to lay the groundwork for the end of RDR2 but also add another emotional layer to RDR1. This is all certainly things we are aware of already, but I think it's important to have that context in mind while we talk about alternative outcomes.

Because, see, Sean and Lenny HAD to die for the outcome in RDR2 to be the one it is. Not only them, but Hosea, Kieran, Molly, and Susan's deaths are ALL integral and important to the story, they ALL make a difference and contribute in pushing the story a certain way, and in reinforcing the steadily increasing hopelessness which infest the gang from Sean's death and out.

So if we're like "what if none of them died?" there are suddenly a LOT of new variables for every mission and every scenario we know from the game, which need to be considered. This is true EVEN if the change in survival count is only reduced to Lenny & Sean.

How different do you not think Shady Belle would have felt, initially, without Sean's death hanging over it? What about the bank job -- would Lenny & Sean end up on the boat to Guarma? What would've happened to them there, then? Would either of them be caught by the Pinkertons instead, with John or in his stead maybe? What other options would there have been, where would they end up at the end of that?

And already here we have to consider how those experiences might've impacted them psychologically, because of who they are.

In the post I mentioned earlier, I talk about how Lenny is new to the gang and probably isn't as stuck in it mentally as Arthur and John, nor do Sean and Lenny have the same emotional attachment/baggage in regards to Dutch. They're loyal of course, because they feel a sense of obligation to the gang, because it provides them with safety, friends, and allies, in an otherwise unkind world.

But what then happens when that changes?

How do you expect Sean and Lenny to respond when the gang starts turning on itself? When Dutch visibly starts losing it? When people start snapping at each other and threatening one another in the middle of camp?

(I have a half-formed thought here about how people would ABSOLUTELY be snapping and talking down to Sean in a way more cruel way towards the end of the game, for trying to keep things light and easy, yknow, fulfilling his role in the gang. I can only imagine what that'd end up doing to him, tbh.)

And, I'll be repeating myself from other posts here, but how do you think Lenny, a young black man painfully aware of the social structure as it exists in America at that point in time, would react to realizing what Dutch's plan with the Wapiti is? Same goes for Sean, who has SEVERAL instances through the game showing him just as politically aware as Lenny - certainly moreso than Arthur.

Would the outcome for the Wapiti tribe be the same, do you think, if Charles had more people than a very sick and tired Arthur to lean on, willing to help? Would Lenny in particular want to stick around to see Dutch attempt to drive the tribe into the ground for his own gain?

Also, I'm sorry but like, Lenny has a camp interaction with Dutch where he disagrees with him (about Miller, Dutch's favorite author) and explains why in a very well-articulated manner. In one instance, Dutch gets straight up offended by it, bcz Lenny can argue very well (and is RIGHT mind you lol).

I do absolutely believe that Lenny would not just sit around quietly in Beaver Hollow. I'd expect him to be among the most vocal in their discontent with the situation, and probably the best at arguing against Dutch.

That is, up until a certain point. Lenny is a young black boy, and Dutch is a white authority figure. Watch Dutch snap and yell at him, like he does John in Ch6 for example, and see how much longer Lenny sticks around fr. The trade is loyalty for safety and the same in kind. Why do you think members start leaving when things start looking their worst? And don't you think Lenny would be among the first to see the writing on the wall?

Though that is hinging on that very specific vibe in Beaver Hollow, where they're all scattered and losing their ties to one another. Add then in Sean, who is VITAL as social glue, and for making conversations easier. If he, and Lenny, and Mary-Beth, Tilly, Arthur, Charles, etc etc, insert your favorites here, managed to retain some of that community feeling, despite it all, then I absolutely see Lenny sticking around for them.

Same goes for Sean, tbh. I can see him leaving earlier, bcz the trade stops being equal and bcz he's not being taken seriously, and I can see him staying, for his friends.

There IS also a version of things where things are similar and I do see Sean siding with Dutch; but that is a very sad and lonely Sean, who is VERY different from where he's at in Clemens Point, and I think that's an unfair perspective to take for him in general.

Okay so, now we're back to that final confrontation, after I said I found it unlikely, why is that? Because, with every question I've posed thus far, about what Lenny & Sean's reactions might've been to canon events after their deaths, I have essentially presented a variable that comes with their survival to those points. Them being there for it, HAS to mean a change, has to mean something different happens, because their deaths are direct contributors to the path we already know the story takes WITHOUT their presences.

Now, what are those differences and changes? I honestly can't answer; something being different earlier or later can butterfly-effect into something completely new or remarkably similar to what we already know. I could sit here all day and wax poetic about all the different options and possibilities for where things could go, were ANY character to survive past their death point, BUT thankfully, that is what fanfiction is for, lol.

I hope this satisfied some of your curiosity, dear anon!! It was a lot of fun for me to write and think about, so thank you very much for asking!!!

#red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption meta #rdr2 #sean macguire #lenny summers #dutch van der linde #arthur morgan #rdr thoughts #teki talks #long post #im sorry this took me a while to answer i had to sleep and then do my irl things and then Stew on this for a while #i hope this all made sense tbh idk if i lost the plot at some point in there. im SURE there's a tangent or two but yknow #ALSO if youre interested in reading a potential take on how things couldve gone if Sean and Lenny survived to chapter 6 #my fic Attentive Vigor is a soulmate au game rewrite where their survival is VITAL for the ending to be different from what we know #im almost finished with it! 4 chapters left that im really excited to share #if you like macsummers and sean whump it's got a lot of that after you get past the initial chapters lol #had to do a lil plug lol bcz this topic hits v close to home after all #asks #rdr asks #meta asks

[katyawriteswhump]

Home to you (Platonic Stobin Day fic)

Written for @steddieholidaydrabbles, Day 17, Platonic Stobin. A year or so after the events of S4, Steve and Robin both struggle to get on with life. They had NOT planned in any way to spend Christmas together…

WC: 984. Rating: T.

CW: None (except only a small Steddie subtext in this one!) Tags: Chronic pain, OCD, platonic soul mates.

***

Steve had just gotten through the kitchen door—Wham’s ‘Last Christmas’ blasting in his ears—when his boss got right in his face.

“You’re fired, Harrington.”

“Come on, man, no way.”

“You’re late. Again. You sleep through your alarm. When the order bell goes off, you sit and chill, like you don't freakin' hear.”

Oh, I hear, dipshit.

Your crappy bell sets off a stabbing pain between my eyes, and I’m blacking out, or shitting myself I’m having a stroke. So, yeah, I take a moment. I’m still your best waiter, plus it’s Christmas Eve!

He didn’t say it. Wished he had.

Ten minutes later, he was out on the snowy street, half-a-week’s pay in his pocket. Not enough to settle his rent. He was jobless, verging on homeless, out of meds. Yeah, he knew where he wanted to go. Christ, he missed her, but…

He sucked it up, called his mom: “Not working after all. I’ll be home tonight.”

“That’s… lovely. I’m afraid Aunt Lobelia has your room, and the couch is taken—”

“Wow. Can I go in the stable with the donkey?”

“Very droll, darling. For Christmas Eve nibbles, it’s the carparking we’re really concerned about.”

Carparking? Hilarious! He'd sold his car to pay medical bills. That was gonna be a fun conversation with his Dad.

In the queue at the bus depot, the fumes worsened his headache. He sat cross-legged on the ground, his face in his hands, spiralling deeper toward despair.

He heard mutters: “Is that guy drunk?”

Hilarious! Again! Like I could touch alcohol these days.

He wanted to punch somebody. That ache of loneliness settled in his guts, panged tightly in his chest.

Screw them.

He got on a Greyhound in the wrong direction. It sure felt like the right one to him.

***

She found him sitting on the steps of her dark university halls, curled forward with his arms around his knees. He was actually wearing that ghastly overlong scarf she knitted.

“Steve?” She wanted to blub, her rush of emotion kinda overwhelming. “Thought you were working Christmas, too?”

He looked up, groggily, started to rise. Two seconds later, they were in each other's arms.

“You're freezing,” she murmured, her cheek tucking against his scarf.

“Back at ya. There’s, like, frost on your stupid, crocheted bobble.” She hugged him a little tighter and took him inside. Beneath his jacket, he wore the ‘lame-ass’ sweater she knitted for him too.

They sat on her bed, sharing a tube of prawn cocktail Doritos. Everything pent up inside her burst free:

“My waitressing gig is the worst. Next a-hole who grabs my butt is gonna get slapped silly. Talk about objectification—it’s a billion times worse than Scoops.”

She noisily crunched a Dorito; he crunched one, too: God, I miss working together. I miss you so much.

“I’m totally behind on my college work. Nobody else gets it, because they, like, have money, and go home for Christmas, but my mom’s not talking to me, and—”

She paused for another crunch. They shared the last Dorito. He sank heavily against her shoulder, and before she knew it, she’d gotten his head in her lap.

I hate touching people, having them touch me. Then there’s you. Something else she didn’t need to say.

“It’s spookily quiet here, Steve, with the other students gone. I end up, like, checking every window and door a thousand times, because if it's spooky, there’s gonna be spooks, right? Or other supernatural shit, because after what we’ve seen, nothing can be ruled out, and don’t get me started on what I do when the lightbulbs flicker… uh, Steve? You okay? Too much prattling?”

“I’m with the spooks,” he mumbled. “Hot for the quiet. Though you’re not making my head any worse, so shoot.”

Nope. She’s done. With Steve, she can have this thing called comfortable silence.

She stroked his hair; it’s still damp, but they’re warming up, snuggled together. She skittered fingers across his brow, down his cheek. His face is toasty hot.

“Your fingers stink of prawns.” His snicker tugged her lips into a smile.

“You can talk, Mr Dorito-breath. I’ll wash.”

“Come straight back—you’re helping. Best treatment I got, till I can bag more opioids.”

She turned on the faucet, wanted to scream: I hate how nobody cares about your pain. I hate the price you paid for helping others, saving lives. You never ask for help. Why can’t anybody see? And then there’s Eddie. Healing all alone, while living on the run...

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, when they’re settled back as they were.

“What the hell for?” He slid his hand under his cheek, taking some weight off her knee.

“Oh… nothing. I guess, it was… nothing.”

“You think about Eddie much?” He tugged that smile from her again, this time blurred with tears. Brain-share, huh?

“Only every single day.”

“Yeeeah. Me too.” He unleashed a long, shuddering sigh. “He called last month. I'd drop everything and run to him, if he just... said the word."

"Did YOU say the word yet?"

A faint harrumph.

"If you never tell Eddie how you feel, Dingus—"

"Hey, is it midnight yet?”

“Yeah." She shook her head, lovingly. "Merry Christmas, Steve.”

“Merry… Christmmm…”

He sighed again, long and slow. She sensed immediately that he’d fallen asleep. 

That night, she only checked the windows and doors twice.

***

It was great to wake without an alarm piercing his skull. Without that grind of loneliness in his gut.

They’d squished into the single bed. He’d gotten most of the pillow, and she’d hogged most of the blanket. His head hurt less, and Robin’s soft snores had to be one of the few sounds in the world that didn’t bug him.

Okay, they grated a bit. He was still stupidly relieved to be here.

He curled up behind her, spooning like a pair of furry sloths, and went back to sleep.

#platonic soulmates stobin #platonic stobin #stobin fic #stobin friendship #steve and robin #steddieholidaydrabbles #steve harrington whump #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fic #steve harrington hurt/comfort

[hearts-are-connected]

I finally got this chapter finished! I hit such a writer's block for this one. Haha

Thank you to everyone that's read my little story, it means a lot. Thank you so much.

#alan wake #alan wake 2 #alex casey #saga anderson #platonic soulmates #whump fanfiction #hurt/comfort

[faerieriddle]

Steve Harrington is suppose to have a perfect life, perfect girlfriend, perfect grades, perfect facade, and a straight way to college. Steve Harrington is eighteen, heartbroken, and stuck in a dead end job. Steve Harrington wakes up sweating with his hand reaching towards a spiked bat leaning against his bedside table. Robin was the first one to notice his hunched shoulders, the thin skin under his eyes far too bruised, and almost hidden flinches. The first time he had to lay on the floor in the backroom because ohmygodhecouldn’tbreathe she just closed the shutters and left him some ice. She didn’t even know about the alternate dimension shit yet and she just didn’t ask why he was so messed up. Maybe that’s why he thought he loved her, no one had quietly cared for Steve like that in so long. After the mall burned down and on another late phone-call she whispered “Steve, I-I think you have PTSD” and Steve’s world tilted to the left. He wasn’t allowed to be broken like that. That wasn’t suppose to be in his cards (that his parents roughly shoved into his hands the day he was born). He’d just been knocked in the head a few too many times he wasn’t broken. That was for soldiers who came back from the horror of the trenches not Steve.

#steve harrington #robin buckley #steve pretends a lot #steve deserves better #theyre besties #theyre soulmates your honor #steve harrington whump #stranger things