#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

[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.”

[trekkiehood]

I Wore The Mask Up High (MotA Fanfic)

Ao3 link

Rating: T Words: 3.7k TW: Canon typical violence, Panic attacks, threats of assault (very mild)

Summary:

“Buck!” The shaking brought just enough clarity for him to hear his name. “Gale!” This time shouted directly in his ear. He flinched away and only then realized how accelerated his breathing had become. “Breathe Gale. Come on.” --- Gale's mask finally starts to crack after a run in with some guards. Bucky is there to help paste it back together.

Authors Notes on Ao3

"I wore the mask up high on a daylight run That held my face in its clammy hand" - The War Was in Color by Carbon Leaf

Buck felt the tension before he saw the crowd. As he wormed his way through the uneasy prisoners he heard the murmurs and eventually the angry shouts be lobbed at one of the guards. 

He had no idea what this lieutenant was upset about but he was about to get himself shot. The German sergeant took a step forward and Gale knew they were already working with borrowed time. 

“Lieutenant!” He barked, making it to the front of the crowd. “Stand down!” It didn’t matter what the argument was about. It didn’t matter who was right. What mattered was keeping the guards from using their guns or fists on one of his men. 

The man, a boy really, they seemed to get younger with every shipment of prisoners, didn’t listen, rearing his fist back. 

Gale didn’t have time to think, he grabbed the boy’s wrist, yanking him away from the guard. The lieutenant fell back and was caught by a few of the guys who had gathered around “Get him to his barrack, now.” he ordered the first man who dared to make eye contact with him. 

They nodded, pulling the stunned man back through the crowd. Buck had only managed to take a single step before he felt a hand grasp his left arm. He fought the initial urge to fight back, freezing instead. A gasp ran through the men at the same moment he felt the cool barrel of a rifle level against his right temple. A second guard had joined and apparently wanted an example. 

Gale didn’t move. He barely breathed. But he saw the men before him and knew he couldn’t risk showing fear right now. He had to focus on keeping the men calm and not getting shot. A few men broke away from the group and he could only imagine they were running to grab the Colonel. Hopefully he could get here before things escalated even further. 

Finally, he slowly held his free arm out, palm forward and clear. His left arm was still tightly grasped by the initial guard and he didn’t want to risk being accused of an act of aggression. He wasn’t sure what to do. There seemed nothing to do except to wait and see the outcome of his fate. The Germans were speaking to each other and maybe he could have picked up some of the words if he wasn’t so focused on keeping his breathing even. 

A commotion had broken out and Gale wasn’t sure if that was good or bad. Then he saw the cause. Bucky had pushed his way to the front of the crowd, followed closely by Benny. His eyes blazed with anger but that wasn’t what Buck saw. Gale saw the fear. The panic. The grief.

Buck watched him, begging with his eyes for him to not do something stupid. He should have known better. With a growl, Bucky lunged forward. DeMarco grabbed him around the waist, yanking him back and frantically whispering something in his ear. He wasn’t sure what Benny was saying but after a final shake, Bucky stopped fighting to get free and was released.

All his attention had come to rest on Bucky. He should have known better. Gale couldn’t hold back the surprised grunt when his left arm was twisted backwards and pressed against his back. The guard was going to break his arm. It may not even be intentional. Gale hated how weak he had become. How fragile, brittle, his time in the stalag had made him. He could feel the bones wanting to give under pressure.

The anger sparked in John’s eyes, he grit his teeth and seemed to be using every ounce of control he had left to not lunge forward. Benny’s hand snaked up, grasping hold of Bucky just in case that self control broke.  

Another hand gripped his upper arm in a bruising hold, bringing his attention away from his friend and back to his current predicament. “You are very pretty, ja?” The words whispered accompanied by the hot breath on his neck caused Gale’s mask to slip, if only for a second. His breath caught, eyes seeking out Bucky. “We could have so much fun with you.” A small pause, the crushing grip on his wrist tightening. “But shooting you now would also be fun. Such difficult decisions.” 

Something in John’s face shifted and Gale knew he had to reel in his panic, control himself. Bucky couldn’t come in guns blazing to save him. Not this time. But he would try. If Gale couldn’t manage to tamper the panicked glint in his eyes… 

He couldn't show weakness. He had to bring his breathing back under control. The guard behind him laughed at his obvious distress. 

Slow breaths. 

In through the nose for four. 

Out through the mouth for four. 

Don’t look at Bucky. 

In through the nose for four. 

Out through the mouth for four. 

Look anywhere else but at Bucky. 

“Entscheidungen.” The man with the gun said with a chuckle. He may have brought his breathing under control, but he couldn’t hide his pounding heart. Not from the man who pressed up against him. Holding him in a way that made every fiber of his being want to lash out. 

Buck wasn’t an idiot. He knew how some of the guards looked at him a little too long. It made him cautious to walk alone in less populated areas. To avoid one-on-one interactions with any of the guards, just in case. 

But now there was no avoiding it. The thought lingered in the back of his mind that this whole ordeal had been planned, strategized. They knew he would stand up for his men. Goad any kid into a fight and Gale would be there ready to play peacemaker. Ready to take the fall and whatever punishment they deemed fit. 

Against his will his eyes returned to Bucky. He didn't know what his own eyes said, felt too disconnected from himself to control anything except the steady breaths he had to force, but he saw Bucky's jaw tighten. 

He tried to beg with his eyes. Plead with him to not do anything stupid. To not let Gale’s fate dictate his own. But he knew Buck wouldn’t listen.

John’s eyes only blazed with fury and a desperation that scared Gale. It would spill over soon. Whatever was going to happen was going to happen soon. 

“What is going on here?!” 

Buck’s eyes flicked away to where Colonel Alkire was marching towards them with authoritative steps. A few men followed behind, clearly out of breath, but not stopping until they personally saw that Major Cleven was still alive. 

Nails dug into the flesh in his arm, but the Germans remained silent. 

“Well?!” The Colonel demanded again, now standing only a few feet to their right. “I assume you have a good reason for treating one of my officers like that?!” The Colonel tried not to throw his weight around unless it was unavoidable, trying to save it for when it was really necessary. Buck was thankful that he was deemed necessary. 

“He should learn to watch his tongue.” The sergeant behind him hissed, but released his arm. 

Gale’s breath caught at the sudden change in position, but he steadied himself, slowly bringing his left arm up to match the right. In doing so, his weight shifted, causing the barrel of the gun to be pressed more firmly against his temple. 

Fine.

 If they were going to kill him, better for them to do it quickly. With one bullet. He had no interest in living out the war in some Kraut hospital or having to be put down like a dog. 

All eyes were on the Colonel, but when Buck’s eyes flitted away he saw that John was only looking at him. Their eyes met and Gale knew with sudden certainty that the second the gun went off, Bucky would be dead too. DeMarco’s hand wrapped around his arm wouldn’t be able to hold him back. Nothing would be. 

A riot would break out. Chaos. More men would die.

The Colonel knew that too. 

He stepped forward until he was at Buck’s right shoulder, inches from the man with the rifle.His voice was low, but held no room for disagreement. “If you pull that trigger I won’t be able to control them. Neither will you.” 

“Lass ihn gehen.” The sergeant behind him did not sound happy as he ordered his friend to let Gale go. 

“Nein, das ist unsere Veränderung. Er gehört uns!” 

Buck’s German wasn’t perfect. Far from it. But he understood enough. It wasn’t the “no” that had his eyes breaking from Bucky’s to watch the Colonel’s response. It was the, “He’s ours.”

“Then you can explain to the Commandant and the Red Cross why there was a riot that took out half your prisoners. If you survive it. Because you’ll be the first one they go for.” It was not the normal imposing voice of the Colonel, but one that commanded the same respect. He wasn’t bluffing. They all knew it was true.

The only answer was the same voice from behind him, “Gehen!” 

A harsh pressure on his back had him stumbling forward. The sharp stinging on the side of his head flashed and then went numb with the intense ringing that seemed to come from inside of him. His knees failed and his outstretched arms were the only thing that kept his face from losing the war with gravity.  

For a moment it was like living in the space between a heartbeat. The world, still around him. The only sound, blood rushing in his ears and his own labored breathing. He blinked, hearing muffled voices grow louder. He should know what they were saying. The pisces felt meant for him. But he couldn’t comprehend any of it. A warm sticky substance was dripping down the side of his face, gathering in the corner of his right eye, but he didn’t think his shaking arms would be able to reach up and wipe it away. Or if they would be able to hold him up for much longer. 

Then the world came screeching into a painful clarity. A hand was on his back, words all around him. So much light and color and sound. It was like he was trying to focus a camera while the radio played at full volume.

He was surrounded, his men having pressed themselves between their fallen major and the Germans. The claustrophobia warred with a deep gratitude and love for them. 

“Buck!” The shaking brought just enough clarity for him to hear his name. “Gale!” This time shouted directly in his ear. He flinched away and only then realized how accelerated his breathing had become. “Breathe Gale. Come on.” He thought it might be nice to just lay his forehead against the ground. Yeah. That might be nice.

No. 

Right. 

Breathing first. 

Gale closed his eyes, letting his head drop slightly. 

The grip on his shirt tightened, but he ignored it, focusing on slow breaths. He couldn’t break down. He couldn’t let his men see him like that. He couldn’t let the Nazis win. Not today. Not ever.

“Alright,” He said quietly, shaking his head. His voice was calm if not as strong as it normally was. His breathing was under control now and the ringing in his ears had died down. “Alright. I’m okay. I’m okay, John.” Gale began to push himself up, Bucky quickly moving to help him. Someone else was there too, on his other side. Normally he would push away the help but he wasn’t sure he would have been able to get back on his feet without it. As soon as he was standing, he shook away his friends. The first step almost caused him to stumble. “I’m alright.” He assured them, stepping out of their reach. Needing to prove to himself and the others that he could stand on his own. The adrenaline was wearing off. He needed to get to the barracks now or he wasn’t going to make it. 

But the crowd around him was getting louder. Angry shouts mixed with conspiratorial whispers. He couldn’t let this happen. Couldn’t let his men die for him without cause. 

“Alright!” He shouted as best he could above the crowd. The ones closest to him turned but the rest didn’t seem to notice him. “Alright, fellas, listen up!” A few more looked at him, but it wasn’t until Bucky let out a shrill whistle that all eyes turned. He gave his friend a small nod of appreciation before addressing the crowd. “Everything's fine. I’m okay. Nothing happened. Go to your barracks and cool off.”

“You’re bleeding!” Came a shout from the crowd. 

Gale's hand came up to where he was only just starting to feel the sting of the cut near his hairline. “Just a scratch.” He said confidently, even though he had no idea what had happened or how it had gotten there. “Don’t worry about it. I’m fine, and you are too. Now cool off before something does happen.” 

This time the murmurs seemed discontented, but not on the verge of a riot. Good enough. 

Buck decided to set the example, turning towards his barrack. A handkerchief was shoved in his hand by someone, probably Benny, and he held it up to his face. Bucky was close on his left side and Gale was glad as he felt the last dredges of adrenaline start to fade. Not wanting to appear weak in front of his still frustrated men, he carefully reached out and hooked two fingers into Bucky’s belt loop. It steadied him enough without giving away his current state to the rest of the men. It was also about all he could manage, his arm screaming at him with every small jostle and movement. His fingers felt clumsy and stiff. 

John stepped closer, hand coming up to grip the back of Gale’s shirt. He should push him away, reassure his friend that he was fine and didn’t need the help. But he did need the help. His hand was trembling too much to make the handkerchief of any use, so he dropped his hand, tightening the grip on the cloth as it rested by his side. 

The last several feet from the yard to their own room faded in and out. The only thing he seemed to be aware of was his inner monologue.

In through the nose for four. 

Out through the mouth for four. 

In through the nose for four. 

Out through the mouth for four. 

It was the same rhythmic pattern he would follow before a flight. Or after a bad one.

He blinked and found himself sitting on the bench seat next to their table.

“What can I do?” He heard Hambone say but it sounded like it was from a long ways away. Like he wasn’t even in the room. 

“Keep the rest of the guys out. Send them to the rec hall or something, just don’t let them in here.” That was Bucky. He sounded intense. Buck should probably snap out of it and get him to calm down. “Benny, get some water.”

Gale blinked and found Bucky in front of his face. “Buck? Hey Gale, you with me?” 

He wanted to say yes. He knew that it was technically the correct answer. But he couldn’t get his tongue to move. He also suddenly found that he couldn’t breathe. 

It wasn’t until now, in the relative quiet and privacy of the barracks that he realized that he had been scared. Freaking terrified. And his body was just now giving him permission to fully react. 

He’d been scared before. He’d had bad flights. Lost men. Gotten shot down. Captured. Then the rest of Bucky’s crew had arrived but as the days trudged on, no word on his best friend.  He’d been scared before. 

But nothing like this.

He didn’t know what had happened. What had clicked. Felt different. But it was. 

And he couldn’t breathe. 

“Gale, come on, look at me. Look at me!” 

He obeyed, finding Bucky’s worried eyes boring into him. 

“Hey,” His right hand was taken, the handkerchief falling to the floor, and pressed against Bucky’s chest. “Hey you need to breathe for me. Come on, in for four, you know this.” 

Buck blinked, but he could feel the pulsing of Bucky’s heart and the controlled rise and fall of his chest. 

Right. 

In for four. 

Out for four. 

His forehead found Bucky’s shoulder, finding comfort and stability,

In for four. 

Out for four. 

It was like a rhythm. 

Like flying. 

In for four. 

Out for four. 

“Here.” 

Gale flinched back, head jerking up to find Benny holding out a cup of water. 

Feeling steadier than before, Gale untangled his hand from Bucky's, taking the cup in a shaky hand. 

“I got it.” Bucky said softly, retrieving the water. “Go get the doc.” 

“Bucky-” Gale began to protest, but Benny was already half out the door. “I’m okay.”

“Sure you are.” 

“It’s just going to make them worry.” 

“Well maybe they should.” 

Gale’s eyes met Bucky’s and the concern he saw there opened something in his chest. 

“Here.” 

Buck reached out, grabbing the cup, but John didn’t release it, helping to guide it to Gale’s mouth. 

“I’m sorry.” He said after pushing the water away. 

“Don’t. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

A small quirk to his lips. “You weren’t even there when it started.”

“No but it doesn’t matter. It was a power play. They wanted to intimidate us.” He reached down and grabbed the handkerchief, dipping it in the water. Then looking directly into Gale’s eyes. “It didn’t work.” He wasn’t sure if that was an observation or an order. 

The cloth came up and began to wipe away the blood. 

“When did I hit my head?” He cringed at his own words, knowing that it further reinforced the fact that he was far from okay. 

“The Kraut with the gun.” The pressure used to wipe away the blood increased, but Gale didn’t react. “He wouldn’t let you go. Even when the other one told him to. The gun was so tight to your head it left a dang circle imprint.” 

“It scraped me when I fell.” 

He grunted affirmatively. “Most of the bleeding has stopped now. It don’t think it needs stitches but it’ll probably scar.” 

What was one more souvenir from paradise? 

They sat in silence after that. Buck slowly felt more like himself, Bucky slowly swiping away the blood. It wasn’t necessary. Gale could do it himself. And the medic was on his way. But it really wasn’t for him. John didn’t do well without something to do. 

“What did they say to you?” 

“Hm?” Gale hadn’t even realized he’d closed his eyes until he was opening them again.  

“The guard. He said something to you. What was it?” 

A whooshing sound came from somewhere and he could feel his heart rate pick up. 

He let out a breath, hoping it was disguised as an amused laugh. “Nothin’ important.” 

“Come on Buck, you need-” whatever he was going to say was cut off by the door opening. 

The camp medic wasn’t a trained doctor. If something was really bad they could go to one. But it was easier to keep things in house. To avoid the aid station and keep things off the official records. 

“Let me see.” He said without preamble. Bucky moved to sit beside Gale on the bench, the doc taking his place. After examining his head, he nodded. “Shouldn’t need stitches. If it opens up or you start having head trouble let me know.” 

“Check his wrist.” Bucky chimed in and Gale had almost forgotten about it. It had remained unmoving since arriving back in the bunkroom. 

The doc frowned, taking the swollen hand in his own. 

“It’s not broken.” Gale was quick to note. He’d had broken bones and he knew this wasn’t one. A sprain maybe. But more than likely just a straining of the ligaments. 

“It’s hard to tell with all the swelling. Hopefully it’s just bruised. Can you move your fingers?” Gale found himself relieved when the honest answer to that question was yes. 

The medic sighed. “I can wrap it but I don’t have anything to give you for the pain right now. Hopefully the Red Cross packages will be here soon.”

“That’s all right.” He hardly felt the pain right now he was so tired. “I’ve had worse.” 

Bucky made a noise beside him, but Gale was too focused on not falling asleep to decipher it. 

It was a struggle, but he made it through the doc’s ministering. 

“Try not to use it too much. Get me if it worsens.” The last part was directed towards Bucky. 

“Benny, see the doc out.” Was Bucky’s answer. 

Gale’s lips twitched at the eyeroll given in response. 

As soon as the door closed, John was on his feet. “Alright, here we go. To bed.” 

“I’m fine.” But he didn’t even believe himself. Come to think of it, he wasn't completely sure the words came out of his mouth.  

He was moved to his feet and was glad that someone else was doing all of the work. Gale was flying all engines feathered. 

“Sleep. We'll talk about this tomorrow.”

Gale grunted. There was nothing to talk about. It was over now he was fine. 

But sleep. Sleep sounded good. 

His head hit the pillow and he was already halfway gone. 

“You're not allowed to die.” 

The words were spoken quietly while a think blanket was suddenly covering him. 

“Just… just don't die.” 

He wanted to answer the words. Respond to the words they weren't supposed to say out loud. 

He wanted to tell Bucky that they'd be fine. That they'd both make it out. 

He wanted to make him promise that if Gale did ever die he wouldn't follow. 

But his mouth wouldn't move and wrist was starting to hurt and there was still a strange ringing in his ears. Maybe all of that could wait for the morning. 

Notes:

I rambled about fic ideas here if you're interested :) Please let me know what you think!

[zhuoyichenpretty]

Ep 22-23 Commentary

Ha...I was inexplicably nervous for eps 22-23 and it looks like I was right to be (-: What a rollercoaster. Spoilers below!

I've just come out of ep 23 and uh????? holy shit????? ZYC????

Ok ok but to backtrack, let's do my comments semi-chronologically:

Ep 22:

A carry-over from ep 21 that I have to mention—heck yeah PSJ give WZY hell. She doesn't have all that many lines but she sure knows how to make them count. Also seeing PSJ and WX get screen time just the two of them makes my brain go "yay <3"

Back to ep 22, loved the fake-out sundial ayeee that was a nice Chekhov's gun that also brings the real sundial back into relevance for later. Also me eating up the PSJ and ZYC crumb of an interaction has brought to my attention how starved I am of their screen time together.

This whole ep was a great lament towards the feared inevitable. Every sad downcast look from ZYC, every complicated glance WX gives him. A wonderful, terrible crossroads for these characters. I love that for ZYC especially, it's such an incredible mess of emotion coming to a head. Bad enough that he's come to care about the demon who killed his family and ruined his life, bad enough that he's sworn a blood oath he regrets and tied himself to punishing someone he no longer finds culpable, bad enough that ZYZ's life or death depends solely on his choice and ZYZ is constantly practically begging for death when ZYC wants him to live. How much immensely worse it makes the whole situation that WX is literally ZYZ's soulmate. And obviously the whole team has only grown more and more attached to ZYZ, too. ZYC's personal turmoil aside, how heavy must that responsibility and guilt be? For the finishing blow that only he can deliver to also deeply threaten every other person he cares about? Everyone understands in the abstract what must happen and why, but just like seeing ZYZ lose control firsthand, the gulf between understanding and experiencing is so unimaginably wide. If he kills ZYZ, can there really be no resentment from his friends? From WX?

Also it seems ZYC only wears cloaks so that he can give them to other people lmao

Ah fuck, the farewell drinks. I didn't even factor in how ZYC might not survive the encounter (''': The drama truly was like hm can we possibly give ZYC a worse day than that night his whole fam died? Maybe give him a bunch of new family members and also the blade and the fate and the sole responsibility to potentially irrevocably scar said family members with? And he might die in the process too? (-: haha maybe? (((-:

Oh. Oh. Addendum. I forgot this til I saw it mentioned in another post—ZYC recounting his oath as he watched WX smile when they discussed reviving the tree...I could feel him weighing those words against his own life, against ZYZ's life, against WX's happiness. One way out of this impossible situation is indeed to doom himself. I'm in pieces.

Damn if WX isn't dedicated heart and soul, going into the sundial like that. I'm sad no one could keep her company for those 300 years but also I guess that's kind of an impossible ask (and maybe not survivable for the other non-goddess mortals? I'm admittedly very unclear on sundial time loophole logistics). It would have been nice to see someone offer though, even just to be turned down.

Ooh I like the soul needle fake-out, given this show's penchant for retroactive "actually we had a plan all along" moments. A good subversion of the narrative's own style.

Also I saved this for the end because it doesn't really fit the linearity of my comments but what the fuuuuuuuck oh my god I absolutely flipped out at this scene:

I am at once rabidly intrigued and at the same time not sure if I'll be satisfied with whatever payoff will come for this so I don't want to overindulge in theorizing and setting my own expectations too high. Maybe this is just a fevered hallucination, maybe it means nothing (I hope it means something). But damn!!! What a gorgeous man crazy scene.

In conclusion, ep 22 had some good stuff for me. Plot development and reflection and tension enough that I may have been satisfied with just that one episode. But they gave us two, so onward to ep 23 comments!

Ep 23:

I like how many solid reasons the team has to suspect ZYC being possessed. Even though I withheld judgment during my watch given how quickly the show usually confirms that kind of stuff with a possession mark, just simply casting that doubt made the whole build up that much more intense.

ZYC slowly walking down the corridor with the whole grounds lit a somber and haunting gold—*chef's kiss*

ZYC's monologue to a catatonic ZYZ is so important to me. The closest we'll get to his internal monologue about this whole situation. The kinds of things said when we think there's no conscious listener.

Okay so, having finished this episode and looking back, Li Lun's hands coming up from behind ZYC was not to denote possession (at least in this episode), potentially is a visual from ZYZ's POV, and seems related to the above screencap. I am so, so curious. Once again, I'm stopping myself from further speculation because I want to be surprised but ahhhhhhhhh

PSJ shooting at Ao Yin is so gorgeous. Her action scenes seriously never disappoint—the creativity of her fight choreos!! Also very cool that the whole team is getting to take part in the action, not just the two male leads.

Bai Jiu possession was not on my bingo card but I sure do love that we literally saw the possession take place and I still didn't connect the dots. Good shitttt. Also oh no ): ZYC was telling the truth about the soul needle, he was just tricked ):

Seriously from the Ao Yin case to getting PSJ released to reviving the Divine Wood to getting tricked by possessed!Bai Jiu to making pear soup to fighting ZYZ to fighting Li Lun—when will ZYC get a single goddamn vacation day holy shit.

Also when will WX tear up that contract so ZYZ can stop having a mild heart attack every time he wants to kiss her ): &I love that they saved the 300-year montage for this moment. While their ship doesn't give me brainrot personally, who could be unmoved by that incredible and undisclosed sacrifice? That's soulmatism.

Okay, I'd seen clips of them filming the ZYC and Li Lun fight but damn I did not expect it'd be happening right now!! Right after already taking damage from ZYZ? And my god is Li Lun brutal. The two actors did such an impressive job on this entire fight, what with Li Lun's ease and ZYC's suffering. I really appreciated the extensive hand-to-hand combat after Li Lun literally obliterated ZYC's sword. (Also though, given the origin of that sword, I kept hoping for a flashback to ZYC's brother once it broke, but alas, no dice.) Anyway, the show does not play around about ZYC whump it seems. I was very very shook by that throat punch; that shit legitimately looked like it hurt.

Honestly, I had a hard time with the extended ZYZ and Li Lun conversation at the very end because oh my god someone please heal ZYC lmao. But of course, that's the end of the episode~~

Y'all...check on your local ZYC stans because I was not okay after all that (': I need a heaping dose of comfort after all that hurt, but as always I'm cautious of hoping for much from canon itself. So yeah! Ep 23 was solid, but I would probably be in better shape if today's release just ended on ep 22 ((':

Time to go wait for the cast's Hi6 episode to drop so I can heal my battered heart ;-;

[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.

[wthwhump]

Beneath the Moon Shines a Light Chapter 1: The Wolf

Summary:  Benedict, a nobleman cursed to transform into a beast every full moon, has spent years searching for a cure. The only person who knows his secret is his brother, Anthony. Together, they come across the name of a mysterious witch who may hold the key to breaking the curse— there’s just one problem: she was executed 500 years ago. Desperate for answers, he scours the town, hoping to find someone who might know of her, but every lead turns cold. In need of clarity, he takes a ride through the woods to clear his mind, only to stumble upon an isolated cottage. There lives a secluded woman, her trusted stallion at her side. Wondering if she is hiding something about the witch, he seeks her out, but quickly finds she's tight-lipped, not willing to offer any answers. He senses she is hiding something, and his determination leads him to press her for information. Despite his persistence, the woman remains silent, sending him away with little more than a warning. But Benedict, ever the stoic and proud man, finds himself in a dangerous situation soon after; In a twist of fate, the woman steps in to save him, revealing that there’s far more to her than meets the eye. wordcount: 2.8k warnings: none (that I know of)

Song for inspiration: Hide and Seek - Klergy feat. Mindy Jones

Overview

____________________________

Benedict Bridgerton had always been drawn to the forests, its untamed beauty and calmness, a balm for the chaos that raged inside him. His family’s estate, vast and imposing, always felt too small, too suffocating. He came from one of the most wealthy families in London. His mother, Violet was always pressuring him to find a woman he could settle down with, but Benedict, being the free soul he is, had other plans.

He would always feel a sense of being forced to do things he didn’t want. He was always trapped in fancy suits and soirees, having his mother looking for the perfect wife and his older brother Anthony constantly bickering in his ear. Benedict had nowhere he could feel free from his responsibilities as a noble man, but the forest? The forest was free. There, on horseback, he could almost forget the burden he carried—not only his responsibilities, but also the curse that had slowly but steadily taken everything from him. It had been years since the night he was attacked, since the beast tore into his flesh and marked him for life, but it didn’t scare him away from the woods. But now, every full moon, he became something else—something he feared more than death itself. But no matter how many nights he spent chasing the fleeting promise of a cure, the moon always rose, and with it, the monster inside.

The soft crackle of pages turning echoed in the quiet of the Bridgeton library, the firelight casting long shadows across the room. Benedict sat hunched over a stack of dusty tomes, his brow furrowed as he scanned the old texts. Beside him, his older brother Anthony flipped through another thick volume, his face tense with concentration.

“Nothing,”

Benedict muttered, frustration thick in his voice. “These books are useless. There’s no trace of what I need. No mention of a way out. Nothing!” Anthony didn’t look up from his reading, though his voice was soothing. “We’ll find it, Ben. We just have to keep looking.” Benedict slammed the book shut with a growl, rubbing his eyes. “I don’t know how much longer I can take this. I’m going mad with each passing full moon. We need something, Anthony. A mention, a word, something!” They have been looking for any clue to his curse for years, but now the dead ends are taking a toll on Benedict. His brother's eyes softened, but he didn’t offer a reply. Instead, he handed Benedict another book—a register of lawbreakers in the town centuries ago. “This one might be different. Maybe there’s a clue here.” Benedict looked at the book. “This one? A register of felons? Are you having a laugh?” Benedict raised one eyebrow. “Just try, Benedict. You have nothing to lose.”

Reluctantly, Benedict took the book, flipping through the pages filled with names and dates. He scanned each entry. “Thieving, thieving, murder, thieving..” He said sarcastically, but he read along the pages, something caught his attention—a name written in delicate script: Sofia Crimson. He stopped, tracing the name with a finger. “Sofia Crimson... a witch executed for turning her husband into a ‘beast of the moon’ and killing him.” Catching Anthony’s attention, he glanced at the page, his gaze flicking to his brother’s stunned expression. “What is it?” Benedict’s voice was barely a whisper. “This... this witch, or…or woman who was prosecuted for witchcraft. She died 500 years ago, but... maybe she has a linage? Someone who knows about her?”

Anthony leaned forward, his expression grim. “Do we actually know she was a witch? It was 500 years ago, do you actually think she turned her husband into a… whatever you are?” His hands gesturing to Benedict. “You had to be scratched, why didn’t the husband?” Benedict didn’t answer right away. His mind raced, the weight of the discovery settling in his chest. "I don’t know, maybe she’s the one who made the curse that was given to me..? Then she should be able to end it. What if one of her descendants holds the key to ending this curse?" 

Anthony nodded slowly, a glimmer of hope in his eyes. “Then we find them. We’ll search for Sofia’s bloodline, but I don’t like the idea of witches roaming around, if I was to be fully honest.” Anthony had a displeasing look on his face, but Benedict’s thoughts were already drifting elsewhere. He didn’t know why, but the name felt... significant. Like a faint echo of something he couldn’t quite place. He clenched the book tighter, a surge of determination coursing through him. “I’ll find them, Anthony. I have no choice,” he muttered, his voice harder now, filled with resolve. 

“What do I have to lose anyways?”

The next few days were a blur of frantic research and mounting tension. Benedict spent his waking hours combing through more records, reaching out to local historians, and questioning old families in the town about their lineage and what they eventually knew about their unknown neighbors. He could feel the pressure building inside him, the weight of the full moon inching closer as his bones ached and head pounded and every moment without progress made his desperation grow. Anthony watched him with a growing concern, his brother's usual calm presence replaced by a frenzied energy. “Ben, you need to calm down,” Anthony said one evening, when he found his brother pacing the library again, his eyes bloodshot. “You won’t find anything if you run yourself ragged.” Benedict’s gaze snapped to him. “I can’t calm down. Not now. If I don’t find them—if I don’t find something… someone—then the next full moon…” he trailed off. Anthony sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I know, but using all your energy before the moon comes will just make you feel worse. We’ll find something, I promise.”

But as the day had passed and the moon grew larger, Benedict couldn’t shake the feeling that time was slipping away from him, and with it, any chance of escaping the curse. The name of the witch echoed in his mind like a siren call, a name that seemed to haunt him, even though he had never met the woman. It was late one night when Benedict finally found something—a small clue, a mention of Sofia Crimson’s family still living in the region. He didn’t know who or where they were, but it was a start. He stood at the window of his study, looking out at the vast expanse of trees that bordered the Bridgerton estate. The wind was picking up, carrying the smell of rain and earth. It reminded him of the forest, his place of freedom... a freedom that was well known to him. “I’ll find her,” he muttered to himself, clutching the scrap of paper with the names of a few remaining families that could be linked to the Crimson line. The full moon was coming in a few days. But maybe this was the thread he needed to finally untangle his curse.

As Benedict visited the people that could be tied with the Crimson bloodline, none of them really knew much. They were regular farmers and carpenters with a washed out lineage. Benedict was frustrated by his lack of discovery. He rode through the forest with Apollo, the rhythmic sound of hooves against the soft earth soothing his nerves. The trees towered above him, sunlight trough the branches swaying in the breeze, and for a brief moment, he could almost forget twhat he was looking for, forget the looming full moon that threatened to tear him apart. Apollo's steady pace matched Benedict's thoughts, calming him with every stride. The young horse, of his long-dead companion, was a comforting presence—his steady gaze and familiar warmth making the solitude of the forest feel less suffocating. They both moved deeper into the woods, away from the weight of the Bridgerton estate and the relentless search for answers.

But it didn’t last long.

As he rounded a bend in the path, a small, secluded cottage came into view. Smoke curled from the chimney, and a peaceful stillness seemed to hang around the place, as though it had existed outside of time. Benedict slowed Apollo to a trot, curiosity pulling him closer to the small cottage.

He saw her.

A woman with long, golden hair. Her small frame barely viewed by the distance. She was on her knees, tending the garden, surrounded by vegetables—her hands gently working the soil as a horse, a massive Clydesdale horse, grazed beside her. The sight of her, so serene and grounded in the middle of the day, took Benedict by surprise. There was something otherworldly about her presence, even from the distance. The way the sunlight seemed to catch in her golden hair, the way her form moved with quiet precision—it was as if she belonged in the forest, a part of it. Her horse glanced up from his grazing, his large eyes meeting Benedict’s, but the horse didn’t seem alarmed. He simply lowered his head back to the grass, continuing his meal. She, too, hadn’t noticed him yet, her focus on the work in front of her. Benedict’s heart quickened in his chest, the faint echo of his earlier thoughts crashing back into his mind. The name of the witch. The connection to the witch who could have the power to lift his curse. Maybe she knew her.

Benedict couldn’t stop himself from dismounting Apollo, his legs carrying him forward without thinking. The moment he moved, the air seemed to shift. There was an undercurrent of magic in the atmosphere, something he couldn’t name but certainly could feel. The woman’s head looked up as he approached, and her warm brown eyes, golden by the sun, locked with his for a brief moment. However there was no warmth in her gaze, only the cool reserve of someone who had seen too much.

“Who are you?” 

Her voice was calm, but there was a sharpness beneath it, as though she were already preparing for him to be a threat. Benedict stopped a few paces away, hesitant, unsure of what to say. “I—I'm sorry to disturb you. I’m Benedict Bridgerton.” He paused, trying to gauge her reaction. “I’m just... passing through. And if I may ask, you are…?” “Busy.” She responded immediately. Her eyes taking in the details of his appearance—the strength in his frame, the weariness in his eyes. The tension in her posture never loosened. She nodded toward Apollo. “Your horse seems at ease here. It’s rare to see someone so... calm in this part of the woods.” Benedict swallowed, his throat dry. “Your stallion is also quite, majestic.” He told her, his mind swirling with conflicting thoughts. “Odin.” She said, referring to her horse. Benedict could feel her hostility and it almost felt like a mistake to even be standing there, but he couldn’t turn away. “I didn’t expect to find someone out here.” She tilted her head slightly. “What did you expect?” There was an edge to her question, though her expression remained unreadable. She finally stood up. Benedict could barely breathe. Something about her—her presence, her stillness—made it hard to think straight. His hands clenched slightly around the reins of Apollo, grounding himself before he said anything more. He had to choose his words carefully.

“I... I’ve been searching for someone,” he began, each word heavier than the last. “Someone who might know something about a witch.” Her expression didn’t change, but her body stiffened imperceptibly, a subtle shift in her posture that Benedict caught immediately. The air between them seemed to thicken, a slight tension hanging in the space. She didn’t speak at first, as if weighing whether to respond. Then, her voice was low, controlled, but edged with something deeper. “You should leave. There’s nothing for you here.” The words stung, but Benedict didn’t take a step back. He couldn’t. He’d come this far, and he had to know more. “No,” he said quietly, his voice steady. “This witch, Sofia Crimson. I think she might have been able to… help. But she was executed 500 years ago. I’m just looking for someone who might have a connection to her.” At the mention of the name, her eyes flickered. There was a tightening of her jaw, and she straightened a little more, her gaze sharp. “Maybe the dead should be left…dead,” she said, her tone colder, a veil of caution now covering her words.

Benedict took a tentative step closer. “Probably,” he pressed, his voice laced with insecurity. “ But I found her name in the old register. She was executed for witchcraft, but I’m only looking for someone with her knowledge.” Her eyes hardened at what he had said, and for a moment, Benedict saw a flash of something dark in her gaze—fear, anger, or perhaps both. She took a slow step back, her arms folding across her chest. “So a witch? You know, Bridgerton, that witchcraft is still illegal.” “Yes, I know, but…” “You should leave,” she said sternly, the weight of her words final, though her voice remained calm. But Benedict stood his ground, something inside him unraveling as he felt the pull toward her—the sense that she knew more than she was letting on. “I can’t,” he said again, quieter this time. “I need to know. Do you—or anyone know about Sofia?” The woman’s gaze softened ever so slightly, but there was no warmth in it. “You’re wasting your time,” she said, her voice almost a whisper. “There’s nothing for you here.” “You didn’t answer me,” Benedict said, trying to sound casual, but his voice betrayed the tension rising within him. “Do you know anything about the witch?” The woman’s eyes flickered at the word—just for a moment—but it was enough for him to notice. She froze, avoiding eye contact. A moment later, she straightened, offering a tight smile, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. “I don’t know her,” she said, her voice smooth, but with a thin edge to it. “She sounds like a ghost story. Nothing that I would know about.”

Benedict studied her, the way she avoided his gaze and the subtle shift in her posture that screamed of unease. There was more to her than she was letting on. He could feel it, like a weight pressing down on his chest."Stories, maybe," he said slowly, "but some stories are grounded in truth. Sofia was a witch. And now, I’m looking for someone who might hold the key to her story." She visibly stiffened, and for a long moment, they just stood there, staring at one another. Benedict’s heart raced, and his mind spun with the possibilities. What di the know? Her eyes narrowed, and she seemed to be weighing something in her mind. Then, she stepped forward, putting distance between herself and the edge of the garden. "Please leave," she said firmly, the edge in her tone sharpening. "You don’t know what you’re asking about. Let the dead rest." Benedict felt a surge of frustration. He didn’t have time for this. "I’m not leaving until I get some answers," he said, his voice steady despite the growing tension. "Sofia Crimson... I need to know if you know something about her. Anything at all." The woman’s lips pressed into a thin line, and for a brief moment, Benedict thought she might argue further. Instead, she simply shook her head, a look of resignation crossing her features. "You’re looking in the wrong place," she said quietly, her voice dropping to a whisper, as though she had just confessed something dangerous. "Some things are better left dead, Benedict Bridgerton."

His heart skipped. 

Before he could react, the woman turned away, retreating towards the cottage. Benedict stood frozen, confusion and urgency swirling within him. Was she really just warning him away, or was there something more to her words? Something deeper? As she disappeared inside, the knot in his stomach tightened. The name of the witch echoed in his mind, and for the first time, he wondered if fate had led him here for a reason—whether this woman held the answers he desperately needed. With a quiet curse, Benedict mounted Apollo again. The horse snorted, shaking his mane, as if sensing his rider’s growing frustration. Benedict took one last glance toward the cottage before kicking Apollo into a gallop, disappearing back into the depths of the forest. But even as he rode away, he couldn’t shake the feeling that this was only the beginning. And somewhere, hidden in the shadows of the past, was the key to unlocking the curse that had haunted him for so long.

[whumppromptoftheday]

Okay okay but

Whumper and whumpee who are soulmates

:O always a good dynamic

[samanddean76]

A Distant Memory - DWBB 2024

Title: A Distant Memory

Ship: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester

Word Count: 10,329 | Rating: Explicit

Major Warnings: Rape/Non-Con (non-explicit)

Tags: Alternate Universe, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Established Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, Omega Dean Winchester, Alpha Sam Winchester, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Dean Winchester Whump, Protective Sam Winchester, Protective Castiel, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-Con, Fallen Angels, Confusion, Magic, Punishment, Revenge, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Knotting, Mating Bites, Soulmates, Visions, Top Sam Winchester, Bottom Dean Winchester, Zachariah Gets Punished, Everything Is Not As It Appears, Size Difference, Sam Winchester Has A Large Penis, Written for the Dean Winchester Big Bang 2024, Original Art by QueenSilber

Summary: Dean is an Omega on the streets, just trying to survive. He is picked up and taken back to an opulent condo, where he is told to clean himself up and await his Alpha. The problem being that Dean can barely remember who he is, let alone who his mystery Alpha might be. And he is being plagued by alternating visions. He is either a desperate Omega, half-starved and filthy, or he is dressed for success in a tailored power suit. Every time he catches a glimpse of his reflection, his reality alters.

Sam is trying his damnedest to save Dean, his soulmate who defended himself after Zachariah assaulted him. But the punishment rendered has left Dean unable to distinguish his true reality. Together with Castiel, Sam works to save Dean and punish the monster who led to them being cast out of heaven.

~~~~~*****~~~~~*****~~~~~

I am so thrilled to finally be able to present this story to all of you! It is a twisty, mind-bending adventure, where not everything is as it appears to be. Written for the @deanwbigbang, awesome art was provided by @queensilber and I would like to thank them for all of their hard work! And I also want to thank @jld71 for betaing the story! I hope you all enjoy the story!

Story on AO3 | Art on Tumblr

[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.

[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

[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.