#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

[whumpster-dumpster]

I need more caretaker-whumpee duos who have an unnatural bond that shares pain. Caretaker just going about their business and suddenly getting taken out by pain that isn't theirs. That panicked realization that they haven't seen Whumpee all day and something has gone horribly wrong

[theminecraftbee]

you know the excellent quadruple life fan comic has me thinking about double life again. and MAN. thinking about the soul bonds mechanically. like, before I get into my meta-analysis it’s worth noting that non-diagetically the soulbond mechanic being based on how many hearts someone has is basically the only way I can think to do it in minecraft that’s sensible, but diagetically…

so do you ever think about how the marker of what made people soulmates in double life was pain?

like, soulmates share injuries/pain! that’s the whole premise! like, to the point that day one people were making up elaborate ways to hurt themselves so they could test for their soulmates! you met your (very romantic-coded) partner and confirmed they were the person you were looking for by hitting each other, generally!

being a soulmate in the double life universe isn’t about being compatible, it’s about literally sharing pain, and it’s just… I think about how for some pairs, they share the burden between each other, and it brings them closer. for some pairs, though, the only way they know how to communicate is by hurting one another. and the thing is, this isn’t just a literal thing. like, mechanically, the thing soulmates do is share pain and communicate with pain, but metaphorically, can you say desert duo doesn’t have trouble communicating because half of how they know how to exist is either sharing in pain or causing it for each other? can you say that ranchers’ strength wasn’t a pair of people who understood each other’s pain and desperation to be better than they’ve been before? can you say that divorce quartet isn’t, well—

so pearl wins after scott hurts them one last time don’t you ever think about that,

[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.

[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.”

[geraskierfanficprompts]

GERASKIER - PROMPT - PURE HEAVY ANGST - VAMPIRE JASKIER

SOUL BOUND -

For some event that is not convenient to explain now, in a prompt. Jaskier is turned into a vampire in the first season, shortly after the accident with the Djin. But Jaskier is in love with Geralt, and in a moment, ends up drinking his blood and creating a soul bond with the witcher. But what Geralt doesn't know after they separate on the mountain… is that vampires like Jaskier create connections forever and ever and need the blood of their companions to survive. With Geralt sending Jaskier away and the witcher unaware of it, the bard doesn't want to force Geralt to stay by his side against his will, and tell him that he literally needs Geralt to stay alive, because without him, he will starve and die. Jaskier thinks this will affect the sense of doing the right thing that has always accompanied the witcher… and for that reason, he doesn't say anything… because he doesn't want Geralt to live a life united with someone he despises and who he doesn't love. With that, in a conversation with Yennefer and talking about Jaskier's vampire status… Yennefer says it jokingly… ''The luck is that you always kept him at a distance, without physical contact… and that prevented, for his own good, Jaskier from drinking his blood. . Geralt becomes serious and asks: ''What do you mean by that?'' Yennefer replies: ''You didn't let him feed on you, did you? Tell me this, Geralt. I need to hear this from you''. Geralt: ''Fuck''. Yennefer rolls her eyes.

And then they meet back up and happy ending!!! Bitebite!!!! Battyboy!!! LOVE Vampires, and I love Jaskier sacrificing things to make Geralt happy. It's not always the healthiest choice, but it's realistic based on his characterization and how much he's devoted to his beloved witcher. Gah, he gets me right in the heart! The heart that makes blood for him to drinK! I could be your geralt, jaskier please

[ff7-has-taken-me-over]

So soulmate AU. Zack and Cloud yeah? Except Cloud doesn’t have a mark. Zack does though, had even met his soulmate already. But now he doesn’t know what to do.

Because he has his soulmate mark and he’s met her and she’s wonderful. Is literally the sweetest human being ever and she’s beautiful and kind and matches Zack so well in his energy and his stupid little antics. But Zack doesn’t love her. Not in the way he probably should.

Then there’s Cloud. Who isn’t his soulmate and doesn’t even have a mark but Zack loves him so much. Loves his dumb spiky hair and his attempts at being stoic when in reality he’s this shy, horribly considerate and kind man. Loves his drive and passion to accomplish his dreams no matter how many times he fails. Loves the small smiles and light blushes he gets when he’s been complimented.

And it’s not fucking fair. It’s not fair to Aerith who is his soulmate and is nothing but supportive of him and loves him and is far too understanding. It’s not fair to Cloud that Zack’s gone and fallen in love with him and now can’t spend a moment away from him, and it’s not fair that Zack wishes, with every horrible, terrible fibre of his being that it was Cloud’s mark he was wearing and not Aerith’s.

[whumppromptoftheday]

Okay okay but

Whumper and whumpee who are soulmates

:O always a good dynamic

[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 :)

[destiny-in-the-universe]

I'm blaming @drawnfamiliarfaces (/aff /lh) for this, but guess what-

I may be working on a fanfic for Chase Young and First Ninja, and it is absolutely insane; I am going feral because somehow, it's turned into a non-traditional soulmate au for whumptober. That's all you're getting for now. I am unstoppable.

I am a threat.

[stvnszlr]

i have so many wonderful fun ( and kinda sad ) fic ideas half written in my drafts that i want to publish :( but i am hitting major writer’s block

someone should bully me into finishing them 😖 or at the very least ask me about them please please please <3

[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.

[howtowhumpyourhiccup]

Death & Rebirth - Chapter 1

Summary: Written for the Fandom-Free Maritime May Bingo.

Toothless felt Hiccup leave, but he felt his return as well. And all he wants now is to reunite with his human.

Warnings: Major Character Death Mention

Rating: Mature

Words: 463

Prompt: Soulmate AU

Fandom: How to Train Your Dragon

Characters: Hiccup, Toothless

Pairing: /

Author's Notes: Eyyyy, what's this? My 400th work on Ao3!!!

I thought it fitting to return to this AU that was my 100th work back in 2020. :)

Enjoy!

-XOXOX-

Even before he knew what a soulmate truly was, Toothless knew he had found his. He knew it was Hiccup. He could never pinpoint the exact reason why, he felt like he made several realizations throughout their life together.

One day, he felt him leave.

Humans with their short lifespans, they were never meant to stick around for as long as dragons can, who can all live thousands of years. That is, if disease, starvation or a battle doesn’t take them out. Toothless had always known. And yet, when he stayed relatively the same and Hiccup aged- albeit a little slower than most- he was still caught off guard when his human got sick and didn’t get better again.

He was surrounded by his loved ones. His wife, Astrid, their children, Zephyr and Nuffink, their grandchildren, their friends and Toothless and his offspring. He was the first of the Dragon Riders to go. Astrid would follow soon after.

Toothless didn’t have that kind of luck, his draconic lifespan forced him to keep going. Even though, what the others saw as Hiccup taking his final breath, felt to him like half of him was being violently ripped away.

For a long time, he was inconsollable. He couldn’t even stay on the island anymore, given the sturdiest prosthesis Hiccup’s grandson managed to conjure up and leaving for the Hidden World with the promise that he would return for routine maintenance.

He didn’t.

It broke.

His last physical connection to his soulmate was severed and Toothless forgot entirely who he was and what he left behind.

After all, at least a thousand years must’ve passed since he last saw the Earth’s surface. The one thing that stayed with him throughout time was Hiccup. His name, his face, his voice, his mannerisms, his personality, his everything. It remained as clear to him as the day they first met lifetimes ago.

And then, just like he felt him leave…

He felt him return.

The Night Fury couldn’t explain exactly how he knew. It was as if there’d been a shift. Unseen, but clearly felt. His heart felt as though it could beat again, it pounded within his ribcage and called for the one whose death felt like his own.

Since his prosthetic tailfin broke, his physique had changed. His wings withered, despite his best efforts to keep using them. And he became broader, his muscles growing for a more terrestrial existence. Despite his age, he became even more of a threat, lest he be seen as weak and easy pickings.

He traveled towards one of the entrances of the Hidden World that didn’t require a swim through the ocean and climbed his way back up to the surface.

And found a desert world.

That was 17 years ago.

[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.

[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.

[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)