#and they are certainly soulmates even if I see it as cosmic and not romantic

[tindrasuniverse]

I HAD to recreate that moment, okay. 🙏

[pretoriafics]

Runaway: A Teenage Dream alternative version

Hi! Well, I know a lot of you guys have been requesting me a part 2 of Teenage Dream (And it will come soon), but I simply had this idea. I was been addicted to daydreaming playlists on YouTube lately, and I found one who let me pretty inspired. All the links will be in the fic.

Notes: This is not Part 2 of Teenage Dream. It's just an alternative version, okay?

Derek just found a playlist on YouTube that shows him his soulmate from a faraway dimension: you. Now, he is determined to bring you to him. Word count: 1.712 Pairings: Different Dimension!Reader x Derek; Contain: It's pretty romantic, I guess; AU Soulmate Warnings: SONGFIC!!; English is not my main language <3; Inappropriate language Teenage Dream one-shot TEEN WOLF MASTERLIST

It was a cold and rainy night. Stiles and Scott just came out of Derek's loft. It was complicated to deal with them sometimes, with all that teenage stubbornness and stupidity in supernatural stuff. Without mention of the troubles they caused to Derek. Come on, they made him a wanted criminal!

His life is reduced to run away from some kind of threat to keep his survival. Derek was an eternal runaway, and he was starting to get tired of this shit. He can't even remember what home is anymore or how it is to not fear for his own life. Peace was an unknown thing for him.

Derek approaches his laptop on the table - where Scott was before. The werewolf sat on the chair in front of it, ready to turn it off, but he sees something that catches his attention. YouTube was open and in the video suggestions was a video called "a playlist for your soulmate in a faraway reality".

Well... Daydreaming playlists wasn't his thing. However, he was curious and tired. If that playlist would make him calm his nerves and relax, he would listen to it.

Derek clicks on it, and the first song fills the room: Runaway, by Aurora.

I was listenin' to the ocean I saw a face in the sand But when I picked it up Then it vanished away from my hands, down

Tired, Derek stands up from the chair and lays down on the couch. He closes his eyes, just feeling the music and all the stress running away from his body. The music, the rain outside... Yeah, it was comfy. It was... good.

I had a dream I was seven Climbing my way in a tree I saw a piece of heaven Waiting, impatient, for me, down

There, with his closed eyes, he just could hear that song and the rain outside. Suddenly the rain stops, and the music is the only sound that fills the room. The last Hale opens his eyes and finds out different things at his loft: He can't see anything outside. Everything was dark there. His loft was dark too, with weak lights and several light particles floating around the room.

What the hell?

And I was running far away Would I run off the world someday? Nobody knows, nobody knows And I was dancing in the rain I felt alive and I can't complain

It was like his loft was moved to a different place. Even with all his knowledge about the supernatural, that kind of phenomenon was new to him. He never heard anything that could seem like that. Suddenly, Derek heard a female voice singing with the music.

But now take me home Take me home where I belong I can't take it anymore

A cloud of golden dust started to unite at a specific point of the room, and you start to taking form. You were distracted, sitting in a chair with a book in your hands and a laptop close to you. When Derek stares at your laptop, he sees the exact same playlist he was hearing. Sure! Certainly was something pretty weird with that playlist. It was showing him you, a girl he never saw before. You were translucid, almost shining gold. And you were the most beautiful creature he had ever seen.

It was love at first sight.

I was painting a picture The picture was a painting of you And for a moment I thought you were here But then again, it wasn't true, down

You look up from the book with wide eyes, scared. Your eyes run to the playlist on your laptop. Well, you and Derek connected the dots on your minds before staring at each other again. Seems like the playlist in fact showed your soulmate from a different reality. A faraway one. You gave him a smile, and he gave it back to you.

"Can you hear me?" You said, looking at him.

"Yeah. Can you hear me?"

"Yeah!"

And all this time I have been lying Oh, lying in secret to myself I've been putting sorrow on the farthest place on my shelf

Derek gave a step forward to you, memorizing each detail of you.

"What's your name?"

"(Y/N). Yours?"

"Derek."

Your eyes got widen again. Oh, holy crap.

"Hale?" You asked in urgency. He looks at you, surprised.

"Yeah. Do you know me?"

"You are one of my favorite fictional characters. You are literally part of my teenage."

Oh, wow. So, he was a fictional character in another reality! It was creepy and funny at the same time. Derek stares at the laptop of yours, looking at the title of that playlist.

A playlist for your soulmate in a far-away reality.

Hm. He stares at you.

"So..." Derek cross his arms in front of his chest, looking at you "Seems like the part of your teenage is your soulmate in a far-away reality. Do you think this is accurate? Because I think it is."

You felt your cheeks burning, and your stomach froze.

"I think it sounds right."

And I was running far away

Would I run off the world someday?

Nobody knows, nobody knows

And I was dancing in the rain

I felt alive and I can't complain

You gave him a smile, the most beautiful one he had ever seen. Wanting to feel your skin, Derek reaches out his hand on yours, trying to touch you. However, his fingers pass over on your skin. He can't touch you. Upset, he let out a long sigh.

"I think you're too far away."

You are upset as well. You always felt things when you looked at him on your TV, but you always thought it was just a crush that everyone has in some fictional characters. But now you know that, no, it wasn't just a silly crush on a fictional character. Deep in your subconscious, you knew he was destined for you.

"What can we do to solve this?"

"I don't know, but I'll find a way."

Derek looked at each book and talked to every witch he knew. He heard an ancient legend with one of them, that said that, sometimes, the universe opens a bridge to different dimensions. Many werewolves find out their soulmate this way. That playlist was a cosmic event, the universe trying to unite two lost souls.

Then, he finally found a book. An ancient and rare one.

He almost didn't sleep lately. Eager to stay with you, Derek couldn't help but translate each page until he finally could find a way to bring you to him. Sometimes, he was listening to that playlist on YouTube just to see you. You were almost melting in pure love just seeing how hard he was working to stay with you. Runaway by Aurora was filling the loft.

But now take me home Take me home where I belong I got no other place to go Now take me home Take me home where I belong I got no other place to go Now take me home Take me home where I belong I can't take it anymore But I kept running for a soft place to fall And I kept running for a soft place to fall

"Do you found out something?" You asked, looking at him with your eyes full of hope. Runaway by Aurora was filling the loft.

Derek denied, flustred.

"Nothing yet."

"Maybe It's impossible..."

He swallowed hard. Stubborn, he denied. He can't believe it was impossible. There's a way, and he was sure about it! It should have.

"No. It should have a way to bring you."

There, sat at his chair and translating that book, Derek was determined. He simply can't lose you, his peace point. He belongs to you.

And I was running far away Would I run off the world someday?

And then, Derek finally found it! Seems like a simple spell to him. All he needs to do is to pronounce the words with the bridge - which means the playlist - open. He looks at you with a shine of hope in his eyes.

"I think I found it."

Oh Gosh. You felt your stomach froze in anxiety.

"Are you sure?"

"It's my best bet." His green eyes stare at you. "Are you sure you want to stay here? With me?"

You gave him a gentle smile while holds your own hands, playing with your fingers.

"Yeah. I mean, I'm just tired of running from all the shit around here."

He gave you a smile as well. Derek knew that feeling. Hoping that the spell works, he stands up from his chair with the book in his hand. With the best Latin he knows, he pronounces the words of the spell, and you feel shivers all around your body. The sparkly dust seems to be sparkly and luminous than ever, and the darkness outside gives place to the view of the streets.

But now take me home Take me home where I belong I got no other place to go Now take me home Take me home where I belong I got no other place to go

Your body was losing the golden shine, and stepwise the natural tones of your skin were being revealed. Derek's loft was showing itself for you, and you felt your body starting to get warm again. And, done: You was now at his loft. Physically. His voice got silenced, and the only sound you could listen to was Aurora's voice on Runaway.

Derek couldn't believe you were really there, in front of him. Almost without air on his lungs, he put the book on the table and reaches his hand on yours. A large smile was born on his lips when he felt your skin. You felt your cheeks burning at his touch. Wow. You can't believe this!

He pulls you close to him by embracing your waist, and all you could do is smile. You rest one of your hands on his chest while the other one gives him a gentle caress on his face. Without contain himself anymore, Derek puts a soft kiss on your lips. And it felt so right.

It felt like the place where he belongs to.

[cakebeam]

Not sure why it's so hard for people to understand why Malex/Alex fans are upset about S3's screen time breakdowns. They point to the overall show screentime and say see, all the regular nonmains are now equal. The point is that in the season where Malex was supposed to be communicating and happy, Alex (the only gay character) and therefore Malex has significantly less time on screen. So the queer couple is only given preference if they're miserable and fighting and RNM thinks this is good rep.

Nonnie, the screen time is skewed. RNM season 3 has all the characters in a jumbled mess due to badly timed plot points and senseless character pedestal plugging (guess who?) that no matter the screen time, each character's 'journey' this season looks rushed and dumb. Just because the main couple got a similar amount of screen time as Malex, doesn't make Malex look better. In fact, all the couples honest to god, got jack sh*t when it came to build-up or romance this season. It was terrible for everyone all around. Malex just hit the hardest because we waited a F*CKING YEAR FOR THIS (two years if you also include waiting through season 2) and it came out so poorly and unsatisfying I'd rather not even have it at all honestly. Not to mention, the show had a lot to make up for when it came to this specific love story and the writers and showrunner made it clear this season they did not put Malex in any high regard at all. It took 8 episodes out of a 13 episode season just for them to write Malex being together in ANY romantic format (but only after having both of them hug the woman that kept them apart and treats them both like sh*t. They didn't even get to hug each other yet but still were written to hug her first.). I mean, that's enough to tell you what kind of network/show this is.

Facts about Malex that still are an issue currently and will probably never be brought up on this show:

Miluca never declared dead by Michael. He has only been seen caring about her and hugging Maria all season long and this is after he told her he loved her. No explanation as to why he chose Maria over Alex. Or why he was so awful to Alex during that entire time. No reasoning behind Michael only starting to pursue Alex after Maria broke up with him. Would he still have pursued Alex if she hadn't? The writing still says no.

Alex still being written to be cool with being chosen second to Maria. Still being written to worship Maria and wanting to be with her if only he wasn't gay. Is now pushing his brother to date his "dream girl" instead, and this is AFTER having already being in a threesome with her and her then boyfriend (the man he's in love with). So now every family gathering will be involving Maria with Greg while she's now slept with both Alex and Michael...

It's f*cked. The whole thing is gross. It's not romantic. There is no romance around Malex with this sh*t going on. Certainly no evidence of cosmic soulmates being written to be seen on screen. No handprint, no grand gestures by Michael, no special thing just for Malex to have even the walking away from the statue smiling was already done with Forlex, no date and no 'I love you'. I know this is a CW show, and this is very on brand for them, but even the gay/queer couples on other shows on the network aren't treated this badly. Certainly no straight sex for the gay characters are being written in, let alone writing the only gay character to be literally the most emotionally abused and disregarded by his 'friends' on the show and chosen second by the love of his life. What, we're just suppose to be grateful they didn't kill off Alex each season? I mean what the actual f*ck.

[ickle-ronniekins]

cosmic destiny

request from nonnie!! “Hello! I love your writing, I was wondering i could request something for Fred. Maybe a soulmate AU like matching tattoos or you can see how in danger tour soulmate is with a meter or Hanahaki situation? I love your writing sooo much!”

pairing: fred x reader

word count: 4.5k OOPS

A/N: hi love! SUPER CUTE PROMPT, i adore soulmate aus. so i actually did a fred soulmate au with tattoos which you can find here so i figured i’d do something different for this prompt, hope you still enjoy :) also, wtf, i feel like my writing sucks here, soooo feedback, reblogs, comments, anything please? gah ty

tag list: @mintlibri @seppys-return-to-madness @how-do-life-does @fopdoodledane @fredd-weasley @iprobablyshipit91 @semmelsemi @cottageoflove @laneygthememequeen @waschbiber @dreamer821 @the-hufflepuff-of-221b @62442-am @wtfweasleyy @obsessedwithrandomthings @thoseofgreatambition @harrysweasleys @sleep-i-ness @shadowsinger11 @shadychaoticcollection @haphazardhufflepuff @afriendlyneighborhoodhufflepuff @letsfightsomeorcs @theweasleysredhair @purpleskiesstorm @hxfflxpxffs @wand3ringr0s3 @finecole @angelinathebook @highly-acidic @purplefragile @90shermione @zreads @susceptible-but-siriusexual @hollands-weasley @andromedaa-tonks @bbstrawberry0421 @princessof-theuniverse @cappsikle @mytreec @imseeinggred @idont-knowrn @flyingserpxnt @auroraboringalis57 | message me to be added loves!

When Fred Weasley heard all of the girls talking animatedly and breathlessly at the welcome feast about the prospect of finding their soulmates this year, and taking turns eyeing him up and down as if they were certain he was theirs, he couldn’t help but shift uncomfortably in his seat -- his brother, George, elbowed him gently in the ribs, laughing at his twin’s skittishness.

Fred just sighed. The entire Great Hall was erupting with whispers and wandering eyes and annoying giggles. Each and every fourth, fifth, sixth, and seventh year were hungrily searching for, and awaiting, their soulmate, for they would find them before the end of the school year. Or, at least, that’s what the Weasleys had told the twins.

He pretended not to care, he really did -- when his older brothers started chatting him and George up at the Burrow this past summer, and as Ginny, Harry, Ron, and Hermione listened with amazement, Fred had sealed his lips without giving anyone a word. The others had just laughed, keen on taking advantage of this very quiet Fred.

Fred just stayed as quiet as he could. Because everyone knew how he felt.

The problem was, as much as he tried to hide his feelings about the whole prospect, Fred certainly cared. Actually, Fred seemed to care all too much.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to find his soulmate -- he wanted that more than anything. But if he was being honest, he was terrified.

Terrified of finding the woman he’d spend his life with. Terrified if it turned out to be someone he didn’t expect. Terrified, he knew, if it ended up being someone other than you.

Fred had always been a confident bloke, there was no denying that, but when Mrs. Weasley had pulled him into a bone crushing hug on Platform Nine and Three Quarters before they’d departed for school and squealed, “Oh, Freddie! Do bring her home for Christmas, yes? I’ll have to knit her a sweater!” Fred suddenly felt very pressured to bring home a nice girl. Not that he could help it, really. It wasn’t exactly up to him as to when this year his soulmate would appear, or who his soulmate would be. But he could hope. Maybe he could even will it into existence, if he tried hard enough. He swallowed his feelings and boarded the Hogwarts Express, ignoring the fact that seventh years specifically were supposedly going to find their soulmates before the holidays.

He’d always fancied you, and he always thought he made it rather obvious, actually. His flirting was top tier, his compliments heartfelt and consistent -- blimey, you two had even danced the entire night away at the Yule Ball, flushed and giddy from the Butterbeer and dazzling Christmas decorations that illuminated the Great Hall. And yet, the two of you were still not together. Not technically, anyway.

Not for lack of trying on his part, though. How many times had it been that he’d done some over-the-top prank and landed himself in another detention, just to impress you? How many times had he asked you to take a stroll in Hogsmeade? Bloody hell, to have tea at Madam Puddifoot’s? More times than he could count, embarrassingly.

It’s not that you didn’t like him. He was your best mate. What wasn’t to like? That adorable, disheveled ginger hair of his, the constellation of freckles sprinkled across his nose, the very obvious way he could always make you laugh with the nonsense he’d get himself into, the way his face would split into a bright smile at the sight of you -- there really wasn’t anything to dislike, if you were being honest. On the flipside though, there was the whole possibility of ruining the friendship thing, and also the finding your true soulmate thing. There were too many contributing factors, and you didn’t want to lose your best friend. And besides, there was no way that Fred Weasley was your soulmate.

Little did you know, he had a plan to prove that you were.

-- -

“Oi,” Fred whisper-shouted in the dorms one evening. “George, hey! Wake up, mate!”

It was nearly three a.m., and both twins had to be up in just a few short hours for their first day of lessons. A muffled groan came from the bed across from Fred’s. “Fred, I swear to Merlin if you keep talking, I’m going to go and get Ginny and you’ll be on the receiving end of one of her Bat Bogey Hexes.”

“First of all,” Fred began, illuminating the room just a smidge with the light of his wand, “I can take my little sister. Secondly, I’ve got a plan.”

George opened one eye. “A plan? You’ve woken me up in the middle of the night to tell me you’ve got a plan?”

“Yeah,” Fred started, puffing out his chest and looking rather confident indeed. He wet his lips and continued, “A plan to convince Y/N that she’s my soulmate.”

George could not help the involuntary laugh that escaped him. He sat up in bed and rubbed his eyes. “Sorry, mate, but I’m not sure that’s how it works -- see there’s this little thing called cosmic destiny. I’m afraid the universe has your soulmate already picked out for you, no matter how much you continue to embarrass yourself in front of our best mate.”

A thwap! noise echoed in their room when George was hit on the side of his head with a few pillows. He reckoned he had that coming.

“I don’t care about this.. cosmic destiny you speak of, Professor Trelawney,” Fred teased. “I know she’s the one. I’ve known it since we met her. And I’m going to convince her, and then the stars will align.. or whatever,” he said in his best Sybill imitation.

“Merlin, someone’s gone all soft and romantic.” George laughed. Another pillow flew his way but he caught it in midair and placed it behind him. George yawned dramatically and fell back into the massive amount of pillows he now had on his bed. “Whatever you say, Freddie. But please, can the plan wait until morning? Perhaps once I’ve had a few cups of coffee?”

Unfortunately, Fred thought to himself, now fully awake and raring to go, it would just have too.

-- -

When he spotted you rounding the bend in the corridors, no doubt heading to your double Arithmancy lesson (you were adorable, but why on bloody earth would anyone choose to take Arithmancy in their seventh year, let alone doubles?) Fred seized his opportunity and pushed passed his brothers and the sea of students congregating near the Transfiguration classroom. Didn’t these people have somewhere they needed to be?

He ran in the complete opposite direction, hellbent on getting to your classroom before you did. Out of breath after pushing past students and professors alike, he leant himself casually against the wall in the corridor, ran a hand through his messy hair, and took a few deep breaths to slow his breathing. Three, two, one. Like clockwork, you were. You appeared suddenly in the corridor, a gentle grin on your lips that only seemed to radiate extreme giddiness when it split your face into a very large smile.

You stopped in front of him and dropped your bag onto the floor before checking your watch. “Five minutes til the bell,” you said, raising your eyebrows and locking your eyes with his. “Impressive, Weasley.”

He shrugged. “What can I say?” he asked smoothly, wiggling his eyebrows at you and pulling you into a quick embrace. “How’s my favorite girl?”

“I’ll be better once this dreadful lesson is over.”

“Ah -- regretting the double Arithmancy, are we?”

“Never, ever let me make stupid decisions again. Promise?”

Fred laughed at this. You really didn’t know what you were asking, did you? He was the King of stupid decisions. You were adorable, nonetheless. “Fine, but you owe me,”

Your eyebrows threaded together and you held back a snort. “Oh Merlin -- let’s hear it, then.”

“You, me. The Three Broomsticks. This weekend.”

Even when you rolled your eyes back into your head, Fred couldn’t help notice the hint of pink that flooded your cheeks, and the gentle tugs at the edges of your mouth. You were always horrible at holding back a grin.

“One day,” you said breathily. “It took you one day into the new year to ask me out. George owes me three galleons,” you winked.

Fred brought a hand to his chest in a very dramatic fashion, but laughed anyway. It was the same every single year -- it took him less than a week into the new term before he was flirting obnoxiously and doing his very best to get you to go on a date with him. “You and my stupid brother placed bets on how long it would take me to ask you out?”

A smirk suddenly appeared on your face. “It was his idea; I just wanted to win some money.”

You were about to slip into the classroom when Fred positioned himself in front of you, his six foot frame swallowing you whole. You brought a gentle hand to his cheek and his breath hitched at the contact. How was it you were always able to get his heart thumping dramatically? “Freddie, love, we’ve been over this.”

He wiggled his eyebrows at you again. “Darling, you can’t possibly call me love and expect me to believe that you don’t want to pull me into a broom cupboard and snog me senseless.”

“I’ve so very much missed your confidence over the summer holidays.”

“Bet you’ve missed more than just my confidence.”

You both laughed a bit, and then you took a step back from him. The solemn look in his eyes was more than telling -- he wasn’t backing down without a fight, just like every other year. “Fred, we’re going to find our soulmates soon -- what is the point --”

“ -- the point is, Y/N, that you are my soulmate.”

You were a bit taken aback at this; you placed your arms across your chest and raised an eyebrow at him. His self-assuredness was rather alluring, but you couldn’t just believe that. It’s not like either of you had a say in the matter, no matter what your hearts yearned for. You opened your mouth to speak, but silence hung in the air between you both. He took a step closer toward you, and you could easily smell his cologne, for he was now only centimeters away. He gently placed a hand on your shoulder and his lips to your hair, “I will wear you down, Y/N.” It was becoming increasingly difficult to ignore the steady pounding of your heart. He scooted himself out of your way, squeezed your shoulder, and said before disappearing down the corridor, “and I will prove to you that we are meant to be together.”

-- -

Things this year were not turning out how Fred would’ve liked. There was some strange, irritating woman dressed in all pink who seemingly wanted to take over Hogwarts, and she kept shutting him and George down each and every time they wanted to have a bit of fun and showcase their products for respective students. Lessons were nearly kicking his arse, if he was being honest, because he could hardly focus on school work. All he could focus on was that awfully insistent Ravenclaw that had his eye on you.

Worried now that he was no closer to convincing you that you two were meant to be, he was becoming desperate. Ginny and Ron enjoyed this very much, because it wasn’t very often that Fred let others see his vulnerability.

The twins were on route to Potions for a miserable, gloomy Wednesday afternoon; the only thing that even slightly brightened Fred’s spirits was the prospect of seeing you just a few tables away. “George, how many different ways d’you reckon there are there to find your person?”

“How d’you mean, mate?”

“You remember what Charlie told us over the summer holidays,” Fred piped on. He slid into his seat and lowered his voice, so as not to piss off Snape in the corner of the room, who was watching the students enter the classroom. “People find their soulmates all sorts of ways, don’t they? Pretty sure Charlie mentioned someone he knew finding his through matching tattoos, or something -- what d’you think?”

“I.. haven’t really thought much on it,” George told his twin truthfully. “Not really sure, to be honest. Mum was so bloody excited she barely gave me any idea of what to look out for. But I reckon they’re all different, right? Can’t say I’ve ever seen a tattoo anywhere on myself -- unless it’s in a secretive sort of spot.” George winked. He wanted to make Fred laugh, but it was a lost cause now, as you’d just entered the room and sat yourself down across from them both.

It wasn’t unlike Fred to become both more cheeky, and an absolute pile of mush around you.

“Hi there, love,” Fred said casually, leaning against his books in front of him. He tapped his cauldron playfully. “Blow things up here often?”

“Oh for Merlin’s sake,” George stifled a laugh. “If you’re going to flirt, at least be good at it.”

The all too familiar dreadful monotone suddenly filled the room, and everyone went quiet. “Silence……..Mr. Weasley, or I’m afraid you’ll find yourself in yet another detention. Not that that’s particularly… unlike you, is it?”

A few Slytherins started to laugh at Snape’s passive aggressive comment, and George huffed in his seat and pulled his spellbook out of his bag. But Fred hardly moved; instead he stayed where he was, drumming his fingers against the desk, letting his eyes wash over you. “Now, if you’ll open up your spellbooks..”

When Snape’s attention was turned toward a few bored looking Ravenclaws, you scooted closer to the twins and whispered, “Easy there, Fred. Don’t want to go getting on Snape’s bad side so early in the term, yeah?”

As Fred watched you run your painted fingernails along the words in your spellbook, muttering incantations to yourself as if you were studying for another lesson in the middle of this one, he reckoned getting on Snape’s bad side for you would be absolutely worth it.

-- -

“That’s barbaric! Harry, we’ve got to go to Dumbledore,” Hermione insisted.

Everyone was sitting around in the Gryffindor common room, peering at Harry’s red, scabbed, and bloodied hand. Looked as though he’d just come from a detention with Umbridge.

“I can’t believe she can get away with this. Bloody Ministry will do anything!” Ron cried, inching his way closer to Harry on the couch to get a better look. “Fudge is in over his head.”

George scoffed. “Doesn’t help that our stupid prat of a brother is filling the Minister’s head with nothing but praise for his ideas,”

It was unfortunate to see the toll that Umbridge was taking out on everybody. Each and every person close to Harry wanted to report Umbridge’s so-called disciplinary actions, but Harry insisted not too. He didn’t want to bring any light to it; not that anything would help the situation. Dumbledore staying Headmaster was just about as likely as Draco Malfoy not being a foul git.

“Harry,” you said gently, placing a hand to his knee, “I’m so sorry. Let me fix it up for you, yeah?”

Harry nodded thankfully, and Fred watched as you carefully tended to Harry’s hand. Of course. You’d wanted to be a Healer ever since he met you -- and probably before that, too. He couldn’t help but grin foolishly at your compassionate touch, and Harry’s appreciative glance. Fred felt his heart soar so high, he would’ve married you right then and there.

Later on, once most everyone had gone to bed, Fred spotted you near the fire, sipping on a cup of tea with your nose in a book. “Hey,” he said, placing himself next to you. “That was really nice what you did for Harry, you know.”

“Oh, ‘twas nothing anyone else wouldn’t have done,” you waved him off. “Besides -- it’s good practice. Madam Pomfrey says I should try and do as much as I can, if it isn’t a dramatic injury, just to get my feet wet. You know?”

Fred nodded; there was something about your empathy toward others that sent him into a dizzying type of feeling. He adored how softhearted you were. How good-natured. You always had been, ever since he knew you; ever since that time you seemingly nursed him back to health after a nasty bludger hit his shoulder during a Quidditch match during your fifth year.

“How’d this happen, Freddie? You’re normally so on top of Quidditch.”

“Was distracted.”

“By what?”

“By you, darling.”

He remembered your small laugh and eye roll as you’d gone and grabbed him a cup of tea; you’d even helped him carry his spellbooks to class everyday.

“D’you reckon this is something… a girlfriend does?”

“Fred, I have absolutely no problem hexing you, even with your broken shoulder.”

You two were sitting so close now. He was peering at you with what could only be described as “googly eyes”, and he could swear that the rise and fall of your chest was a little bit heavier than normal, as was the tension hanging in the air between you both. Maybe, he thought, that repeatedly asking you out wasn’t the way to go. Maybe he just needed to really go for it --

Just then, Ginny hopped through the portrait hole, looking positively dreadful. Her hair was a disheveled mess, and she kept scratching at her hand. “Gin?” Fred asked, his older brother demeanor immediately kicking into gear. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” Ginny said brightly. If it hadn’t been for her disgruntled look, you both never would’ve known she was upset. “Just got caught up in the library working on an essay. See you for breakfast,”

But something felt strange to you. As you watched Ginny ascend the stairs to the girls dormitory, you noticed her hand was red. It looked as though she’d been scratching at it for hours. She noticed your lingering gaze, and quickly slid her hand into her pocket. Had she been in detention with Umbridge, too?

To Fred, though, this seemed to go unnoticed. He was already back to inching his way closer to you, a copy of the latest Daily Prophet clutched tightly in between his fingers.

-- -

“I’ve got it,”

Fred was sitting next to George, Ron, and Harry in the Great Hall during the feast. You, Hermione, Ginny, and a few other Gryffindors were down the other end of the table, no doubt discussing the prospect of soulmates (a few of the Gryffindor Quidditch ladies had found theirs). Fred felt his insides constrict. He just had to go for it already, didn’t he?

He’d missed the chance to kiss you that night in the common room, the night Ginny had come in looking slightly off. And he certainly didn’t want to kiss you in front of all of these people, especially if there was rejection involved. Fred had always been confident, and he knew, deep down, that you felt the same way he did. But there was always that tiny twinge of self-doubt..

So instead, when he spotted Umbridge acting like a right git to some poor little Hufflepuff who was eating at the Ravenclaw table, he knew he had to spring into action. Especially because this sweet Hufflepuff was now awaiting a very disturbing detention.

“Got what?” George asked, mouthful of cauldron cake. Very stealthily, Fred used his wand to shrink a canary cream and slowly send it over onto Umbridge’s plate. Her cronies were nowhere in sight, and everyone in the Great Hall seemed to be distracted; he honestly wasn’t surprised that it went unnoticed. It grew back to its regular size on her plate, and Fred took a steady deep breath, knowing that in just a few moments, your beautiful sounding laugh would echo across the Great Hall.

“Merlin,” George began to curse under his breath. “Mate, those are prototypes! If she finds out that was us -- “

“Relax, Georgie, would you? It’s like you doubt my expertise,” Fred rolled his eyes, biting his lip in anticipation as Umbridge relaxed herself back into her seat, an air of arrogance surrounding her. She took a slight sip of her tea, and bit into what looked to her like a regular custard cream.

A loud shout engulfed the room, followed by the unmistakable laughs of students from every single house. Umbridge had transformed into a very large canary, causing Professors to jump up, appalled, students to stand on the tables in applause, and you to widen your bright eyes in admiration.

Fred savoured those five seconds in which Umbridge was not dressed in her normal obnoxious colored pink outfits, but instead was sporting very bright yellow feathers and an orange beak. But almost as instantly as it had happened, she returned to her normal self -- her hair askew and in every which direction, her clothes an absolute mess. “Who is behind this?!” she shrieked.

George stealthily high fived his twin underneath the table. Fred, actually seemingly impressed with himself that he was able to pull this off, got up from the table and maneuvered his way through the sea of students to get to you. He sat himself down next to you, his legs facing out toward the middle of the Great Hall, his arms leaning back onto the table. “So?”

“Quite the diversion you’ve caused there,” you replied cheekily, stirring your tea with your spoon and peering into his eyes with nothing but respect in yours. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with the fact that my favorite bird is a canary, would it?”

Fred scoffed. “Love, you act as if I do these things just to impress you, you know?” He elbowed you playfully and then his lips formed a very serious, thin line. “But yes, it has everything to do with the fact that your favorite bird is a canary. And I absolutely do all of these things just to impress you.”

You shook your head and leaned in closer. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

In his attempt to get you to profess your love for him, and the fact that he couldn’t hear anything else but the blood pounding in his own ears due to your compliment, he’d missed the fact that Filch had been watching from the sidelines, and had told Umbridge exactly who was to blame for the canary cream incident. She had George by the ear in one hand, and pulled Fred to his feet with the other. “Detention, the both of you!”

“Fred,” George grunted through gritted teeth, “if this detention alone doesn’t kill us, consider yourself dead, mate! I’m going to kill you!”

You pressed your lips together and attempted to stifle a laugh as Umbridge pulled the two of them out of the Great Hall rather dramatically. The cheers from the students (and some Professors, actually) and the soft, sympathetic glances from you were everything that Fred needed to keep him afloat as he wandered into this detention which held nothing but dread. “Reckon it was worth it, Georgie.”

-- -

Fred Weasley normally didn’t regret things. But this, he did. His bloodied hand was looking worse as time went on, and the scowl from his twin wasn’t helping this detention to move along any quicker. He wrote again, on his parchment, with Umbridge’s stupid special quill, I must not be a burden.

Pft, burden. The woman was a bigger burden than he’d ever be. Finally, the clock struck eight, and he and George were released back into the corridors, both of them rubbing feverishly at their swollen, scarlet-colored hands.

“What d’you say we try and sell more of our products tonight?” Fred asked his twin, trying to lighten the tension in the air.

“Yeah,” George replied, running his fingers over the scabs that were now scarring. “Maybe after I kill you.”

Fred rolled his eyes; he wasn’t going to hear the end of this one.. not for a long, long time. George popped through the portrait hole, and just as Fred was about to enter, he heard his name echo across the moving staircases.

“Young girl heading your way!” said one of the talking portraits cheerily. Fred’s eyebrows threaded together until he spun around, only to be face to face with you.

“Are you alright?” you asked before examining his hand. “That woman is vile, I tell you. Pure vile.”

Fred laughed; the sight of you alone seemed to make him feel that much better. But then he noticed your own hand -- raw and red, as if you’d been picking at it for hours. “Don’t worry about me, what happened to you?”

Fred couldn’t help but notice the way your cheeks went very, very pink. You flushed easily with embarrassment, and immediately shoved your hands into the robes of your pocket. “Oh, erm -- funny story, actually -- “

And then something hit Fred straight in his gut. The words that Charlie had spoken when he’d been telling his siblings about soulmates, and all the ways they could find one another -- when you write on your skin, it shows up on your soulmate’s skin.

Yikes; that could’ve been wonderfully romantic; and yet, here you both were, remnants of Umbridge’s right awful detention plastered on both of your hands -- what a bloody awful way to find out who your soulmate is! However, the feeling of adrenaline coursing itself through his veins at the sight of you, unraveling his thoughts, only seemed to intensify his feelings.

And suddenly, Fred forgot all about the pain in his hand; he forgot about all of those times he’d put himself out there and had been rejected by you for fear of ruining the friendship. He couldn’t even remember a time when he wasn’t so head over heels for you. “Well would you look at that?” he asked, peering down at the very faint words of I must not be a burden on your own hand. “I reckon I’ve found my soulmate. Cosmic destiny, and all that.”

You huffed a bit, but sized him up still. “You’re never going to let me live this one down, are you?”

“Not quite, love. Not disappointed, are you?”

“Disappointed? Never.” You replied dreamily. After a haughty laugh, you leaned in closer, softly pressing your lips to his ear. “Guess you were right, Weasley. You did wear me down.”

His lips met yours in a fiery explosion, and you suddenly both realized how hungry you were for one another. But just as you were both going to hop back through the portrait hole and run up to your dormitory, Fred pulled away and groaned.

“What is it? Not quite living up to your expectations?” you teased.

“Oh no, believe me, it’s better than,” he winked. “I’ve just realized something, though.”

“What?”

He groaned again. “My mum’s going to knit you a Weasley sweater.”

[adiwriting]

Sunday Mornings 6/?

Notes: Because I feel like these two fluff muffins would playfully bicker about whose more romantic, but they certainly would be competitive with other couples... Shout out to @cosmicclownboy​ for the inspiration. 

Week 6: 

If Michael is being honest, he wasn’t sold on the idea at first. When Alex had woken him up at 5am, telling him to grab his shoes and meet him at the car, Michael hadn’t been thrilled. After all, 5am is incredibly early for his day off and he’d been really looking forward to sleeping in. But now that they have arrived, Michael has to admit, he’s coming around. 

After all, being driven out to the middle of the desert, to the same spot that they used to come to when they were kids, just to watch the sunrise together? It’s a pretty smooth move. A move made even more romantic when Alex reveals that he’s packed breakfast for the two of them. 

Michael pulls down the tailgate as Alex grabs a blanket to spread out over the bed of the truck. Just like old times. 

“You know, you don’t have to work so hard to get laid,” he teases as he helps Alex climb into the back. He’s careful to send him a wink though to let him know that he very much appreciates the effort. 

“You’re welcome.” His smile is big and unguarded. It has Michael rocking back on his heels. 

Fuck. He’s seriously the most attractive person in the entire world. Looking at him when he’s like this always catches Michael’s breath. He still doesn’t understand how he’s finally being allowed this after all the shit he’s done, but he’s not going to fight it. 

Michael shakes his head clear and crawls up after him. Alex is already lounging attractively, arms open, inviting Michael to join him. He wastes no time snuggling up beside him. They lay there like that, Michael with his head on Alex’s shoulder, staring up at the few remaining stars they can still see as the sky turns a light blue. Sunrise is nearing. 

“Did I miss an anniversary or something?” Michael asks after several minutes. 

“Can’t I just want to do something romantic for my boyfriend?” Alex asks. 

Michael rolls onto his stomach and puts his arms on Alex’s chest before resting his head against them. “You can. I was just curious what inspired this?” 

“It’s nothing,” Alex says in a way that means it’s most certainly something. Michael stares at him until he continues. “It’s just something stupid Rameriz said to me the other day.” 

“Rameriz? That douchey sergeant who works the gate?” 

Alex nods. 

“What the fuck did he have to say?” Michael asks, silently thinking that whatever it was, he probably still owes him a beer for getting Alex to plan all of this. 

“He was talking to the guys, trying to get advice for this romantic anniversary he’s planning, and then made a joke that I didn’t have to worry about that stuff because I’m dating a guy,” Alex said. “I don’t know, it’s stupid. But it annoyed me.” 

Michael sits up. “What because we’re two dudes, we can’t be romantic?” 

Alex sits up to join him. “Apparently,” he says with a deep sigh. 

Alex rolls his eyes and Michael finds he’s just as annoyed. “Did you tell him that we’re like romance goals?” 

Alex snorts. “Romance goals?” He quirks his eyebrow at Michael, teasing him and damn, Michael just wants to tackle him and have his way with him… but that will have to wait. 

“I don’t know,” he says, ducking his head to hide a blush. “That’s what Isobel calls us.” 

“Good,” Alex replies, and Michael looks up to see him puffing out his chest a bit. “I’m glad somebody appreciates a decent love story.” 

“Decent?” Michael scoffs. “What happened to cosmic?” 

“I just… If I have to hear about Liz and Max and their stupid handprint story one more time, I’m going to scream,” Alex says.

Michael is about to agree, because he has noticed that Max has a tendency to talk about his relationship like it’s the end all and be all. As if he’s the only one that found his soulmate in high school and spent ten years pining… Then Alex’s words click. 

“Do you want a handprint?” he asks, seriously. 

“No,” Alex says instantly then pauses, actually thinking about it. The tension in his body relaxes and he reaches out for Michael’s hands. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean that,” he says much softer this time. “If you ever decided that was something that you wanted to share with me, I would 100% welcome your handprint on me. Because there’s not a single part of you that I don’t welcome. What I meant was… I don’t need it. We fell in love without all of that. When Liz or Max tell me that story, I don’t get jealous, because I know and see all of you without any handprint. And I know you see me too.” 

Michael smiles at that. He feels the same way. He’s sure one day, he’ll try it with Alex just to see how it feels. But the truth is, he’s never done it with Alex because it always seemed like a crutch. Max used his handprint with Liz to show her how he felt about her because he couldn’t say the words. Most of his problems with Alex have stemmed from an inability to communicate, and if he wants this to work, he’s determined not to take any shortcuts. 

“You know, Max is always asking Isobel how to win back Liz,” Michael explains. “I’ll be sitting right there and he won’t even think to ask me about it, even though, between Iz and I, I’m clearly more likely to have advice on winning back your soulmate after you’ve messed up.” 

“That’s because everyone thinks all we do is fuck,” he says, dragging over the cooler he’d packed to start pulling food out. 

“I mean, we do fuck a lot… but that’s not all we do,” Michael argues. 

“Yeah, I don’t think they believe either of us can be romantic though,” he says. “They look at us and see a repressed airman and…” Alex waves his hand over Michael, searching for the right word to describe Michael. 

“Sex god?” Michael teases, earning him a shocked laugh. 

“I was gonna go with emotionally stunted cowboy with too much swagger, but that comment probably says enough.” Alex glares at him playfully.  

Over Alex’s shoulder, Michael catches the first glimpse of sunrise as the horizon lights up a bright orange. Michael nods towards it. “We gonna watch this thing?” 

Alex spins around on the spot to face the sunrise and Michael pulls Alex back against his chest and hugs him from behind, hooking his chin over his shoulder. 

“Anyone that thinks you can’t do romance, is an idiot,” Michael tells him, kissing the side of his neck as the sun slowly paints the sky vivid shades of red and orange, making Alex’s skin just glow. 

Alex smiles at him over his shoulder before turning back around, resting his head against Michael’s shoulder. 

“This may be more romantic than the first time you took me to look at the stars when we were kids.” Michael doesn’t need to see Alex’s face to know that he’s looking smug. 

“Mmmm,” he hums in agreement. He may find Alex’s confidence sexy as hell, but he certainly can’t allow it. Because this morning has been pretty impressive, but Michael has had some pretty smooth moments himself. 

“Well it’s more romantic than me taking you to see the stars, but less romantic than when I surprised you at the airport after your first tour,” he points out, playfully pinching Alex’s side, earning him a laugh. 

“I’ll take your airport surprise and raise you a love note slipped into your wallet before my second tour,” Alex says. 

And, yeah. That’s fair. It had taken Michael a few days to find it once Alex had left, but damn… It had been a hell of a note. Michael still has it in his wallet to this day. Those ten years hadn’t been great, but that doesn’t mean that they haven’t had some truly brilliant moments. 

“No no no. See, I bought an airstream so you could come home on leave and not have to see your father,” he argues, enjoying messing with Alex, mostly because Alex was always super competitive. “I win the romance game.” 

Alex scoffs. “You bought an airstream so you wouldn’t have to sleep in a truck.” 

“I bought an airstream so you wouldn’t have to sleep in my truck,” Michael says. 

Alex sits up and looks at him with narrowed eyes, trying to see if that’s the truth or not. Michael continues to smile at him, refusing to give anything away. Alex eventually huffs. 

“Let’s just agree that we’re both awesome,” he says, grabbing some of the fruit he’d packed before settling back in against Michael. 

“Is that Alex Manes for ‘fine you win?’” 

Alex laughs. “You’re a real jackass.” 

“Your jackass,” he says, stealing the strawberry from Alex’s hand and eating it himself. 

Alex huffs. “There’s literally more strawberries right next to you,” he complains. 

“It tastes better when it’s yours,” he says, repeating the same argument Alex always makes whenever he steals Michael’s coffee. Alex glares at him for a minute and Michael just smiles back sweetly until Alex’s face relaxes and he melts back into him. 

They sit there for several more minutes in silence as the sun seems to settle and the sky returns to a more natural blue, all traces of red and orange gone. Even then, Alex doesn’t move and Michael has no plans to make him. They eat their breakfast in comfortable silence, Michael stealing Alex’s food every so often and Alex randomly bringing their joined hands up to place kisses at the back of Michael’s hand. 

They have nowhere to be and no reason to rush. 

At some point Alex starts humming a song Michael doesn’t recognize, which probably means that it’s the secret song he’s been writing for the last week. The song that Michael isn’t allowed to ask about but will get to hear with everyone else at the next open mic night. 

If there is such a thing as a perfect moment, this is it. He suddenly feels the need to immortalize this morning, even though he really isn’t much of a ‘document the moment’ kind of guy. 

“Do you really wanna piss the heteros off?” Michael asks. 

“What?” Alex sounds resigned, but Michael knows him well enough to know that he’s already agreed without needing to hear whatever Michael is about to say, and he loves that about Alex. He reaches into his pocket and hands Alex his phone. 

Alex smiles at him in understanding, taking the phone from him. He types Michael’s password in and he opens up the camera app and holds it out in front of him, careful to include both of them in the frame as well as their picnic.

“Ready?” 

Michael nods and at the last second, as Alex is taking the photo, Michael kisses Alex’s cheek. 

And that’s how, twenty minutes later, they both end up updating their social media for the first time in over a year talking about love, surprises, and sunrise meals. #RelationshipGoals. 

Tagged: @callieramics​​

As always if anyone wants to be tagged, let me know!

[miss-choco-chips]

hey so I had a quick question about twisted soulmates! so tim knows who his soulmates are, jason knows tim is his soulmate, damian thinks tim is his nemesis, but does dick know? do they all know about each other? love the story!!!

 (2/2)  I also love how you call ra’s a cheap kazoo at the end it really fits him

---

Hey sweetie! I’m glad you liked it. Twisted Soulmates has a very special place in my heart, it’s the first long-ish fic I wrote for the fandom and it’s received so much love, it amazes me. And yesss Ra’s totally is. I read that in a post I saw in Pinterest about someone saying that to “play someone like a fiddle” isn’t a fitting insult cause fiddles are hard to play and should instead say a kazoo, and I thought Tim would think so too.

So to clear the soulmate mess a bit.

….This got really really long so I’m gonna put it under the cut. Also, beware of spoilers of the possible second part!

 Dick knows Tim is his soulmate, but it doesn’t get directly addressed in the fic by anyone else than Tim, and that was on purpose. Dick didn’t get his mark at the same time Tim did. Or rather he did, but he was in costume and didn’t see his own wrist, and then his parents died and the trauma kinda fucked things up and the name got erased. Like, he repressed the whole thing so hard he forcefully forgot about Tim and removed him from his own body. That is, until Tim went to ask him to be Robin again, and when Dick touched him he was bitchslapped by the feeling of the name appearing on him.

But the thing is, Dick is a young man, emphasis on the ‘man’. And this weird little kid is, soulmate or not, a *kid*. Dick is uncomfortable as fuck in this situation. He gets fond of Tim with time, they become friends and he mentors him to make sure what happened to Jason won’t happen to him, but he’s very carefully keeping him at arm’s length in anything soulmate related, because he won’t ever see a twelve year old as some romantic partner just because some cosmic force says he’s destined to be that. Maybe in the future, maybe not, but certainly not when there is this age difference that creeps him the hell out. He has his relationships with other people, which Tim respects because he doesn’t think he has any say on the matter, and they honestly love and care for each other (Tim is crushing hard but he’s a teen and Dick is his hero, that would be expected even without the soulmate thing), and everyone kinda turns a blind eye to the whole thing (except from some of the Young Justice gang, but that’s another thing entirely). Sure, Dick’s girlfriends (or at least the ones that are in the know) look a lil uncomfortable when Dick takes them home and they meet this tiny, starry eyed kid who does his best to be polite, but except for that it might as well be a taboo. The most Dick does is when any danger comes near Tim and he outright freaks out, like when he got Ra’s mark and he flew all the way from San Fran just to fret, but, again, the do love each other, so that might or might not be because of their bond.

Jason as explained gets the mark when he’s attacking Tim at Titan’s Tower. He already had the Joker on his other wrist, so there was no place for doubt. That’s why he left Tim alive, instead of finishing the job like he intended to. The second attempt on Tim’s life was made under Pit influence, because Tim rejected his offer to be his Robin, which Jason’s highly damaged mind translated to rejection to him as a soulmate, which in turn made him really mad, and… yeah. He *does* want to get to know Tim properly and apologize, he felt awful about it all once his mind got cleared up, but like… regret doesn’t just erase all the pain he brought his soulmate, a fact he’s perfectly aware of. So when shit hits the fan with Tim and Dick, Jason is away on a self-discovery trip with the outlaws where he works through his issues, hoping to get himself to a place from where he could start a new relationship with Tim (only if Tim is cool with giving him another shot; he’s hopeful but not going to press, the decision will be firmly in Tim’s hands). He doesn’t know about Dick and Damian, but he does know about Ra’s because he once heard Talia ranting about his father being too ‘soft to his nemesis’, which got him curious enough to investigate. It makes him feel even worse, because the poor kid’s nemesis AND soulmate actively tried to hurt him, which… is really fucked up. So Jason is a hot mess right now, but he’s on the path of redemption.

Damian’s thing was another mess altogether. Damian hasn’t met his nemesis yet (I’m still not 100% sure who is gonna be for him), so when he gets to Wayne Manor and gets his mark as he’s hitting Tim… well, the kid’s been groomed to think of his Father’s other kids as enemies already, its not too much of a leap to consider Tim, his direct predecessor and the one he has to live up to, as his ultimate foe. He also knows about his Grandfather having Drake’s name, so his proud little head gets a high at the idea of having the same nemesis as Ra’s, like some kind of validation to him, like he could someday be equal to Ra’s if he has his same nemesis. Tim tries to correct him, but he’s also busy dealing with the fact that a ten year old is another one of his soulmates, and a murderous one at that, so he’s probably not explaining himself as well as he could, and Damian walks out of that encounter totally sure that Tim is his nemesis (he didn’t see Tim’s wrist, so as far as he’s aware, he’s on the same wrist as Ra’s and thus Drake’s nemesis). He doesn’t know about Jason, but he learns about Dick later on, after he becomes his Robin. They are bonding one night and Dick tells him about his soulmate and nemesis (he’s probably trying to explain something about morals and whatnot to him using that as an example), and Damian can’t even suspect of Dick having it wrong, because the one he claims as his nemesis is one of his worst foes, and no matter how bad, Tim couldn’t be worse than him, so, by elimination, Tim IS Dick’s soulmate. This freaks him out, badly, and he does his best to avoid telling Dick about his mark, because he is still sure about Tim being his nemesis, and that means he is destined to hate the one dick is fated to love; Dick would never choose him above Tim if he was aware of this. He’d never love Damian more than Tim, and that makes the child in him even MORE mad at Drake because jealousy.

So by the time Tim says ‘fuck it’ and basically elopes with Ra’s, Dick is unaware of Jason and Damian; Jason is also unaware of the other two; and Damian only has half the information.

They will find out about the others though (and in Damian’s case, about Tim being his soulmate instead of nemesis), when they find out about Tim’s disappearance (he’s with Ra’s but he’s not exactly advertising it so not a lot of people know where the fuck he is) and join forces to look for him. But that will happen in the second part, if I gather enough brain cells to write it lol

Also, a bit about Tim, if you’re interested!

Tim knows they are they soulmates- even when things get twisted when Ra’s, who is his nemesis, treats him better than the people supposedly destined to love him. Its very confusing, and while a part of him is sure of it, the other is like… maybe Ra’s is his destined one, after all. In the end, Tim decides it doesn’t really matter. Ra’s can be his nemesis, soulmate, whatever- he’s taking him down, hence the last scene where he smiles at having deceived him. And Dick, Jason and Damian might or might not be his soulmates- he doesn’t give a fuck either, he’s not gonna forgive them just because Fate winks at him and pushes him towards them. Oh no, hell no. He’s basically giving up on love, soulmates and all that jazz. He’s gonna use his unique position to do his best to take Ra’s down, even if that means he goes down with him, because he’s a very depressed boy who only feels something when in immediate danger, and sadly the most danger he can be in is inside the lion’s mouth- travelling around the world with Ra’s.

This got really long, anon, sorry! Hope you’re having an amazing day!

[itsomgitsgreenblogging]

My Darkest Self: Critical Role Fanfic

Hello one and all! I’m so excited to have a few little 1000ish word fics to contribute to Essek Week! Basically I took the themes, and asked the question, based on these themes how many different ways could Essek and Caleb meet. This fic is essentially a soulmate AU based off the Day 1 Prompt Shadow (you get your shadow when you meet your soulmate). 

Read the collection on AO3

Enjoy!

Preview:

@essek-week Who are you? Essek wanted to demand. Are you sent here to be my lover? My friend? Or the reflection of my darkest self?

Essek returned to the home of his den rarely, and when he did it was only when necessary. With the news of his new job being what it was, Essek couldn’t figure out any way to avoid it (as much as he would have loved too). And so he appeared at his childhood home with the news in tow, and a dinner was thrown in his honor. In reality, his mother already knew. And Essek knew that she knew. Nothing came as a surprise to an umavi, and the people in the inner circle of the Bright Queen respected Dierta Theylss too much to not give her the news ahead of even Essek. The whole surprise dinner was really a farce, a kind of performance that everyone in Den Theylss put on. The pretend-to-be-a-loving-den act grated on Essek thoroughly, but he said nothing. Sometimes, it was easier to just bite your tongue and pretend.

And so his elder siblings got drunk on wine Essek brought for his own sake, his stepfather vanished at some point, and his mother seemed fit to remain the center of any room she occupied. At the bottom of his second glass he realized it was some kind of irony that he should be given the job of Shadowhand…considering what he was lacking. He made an off-color comment about his miraculous ascension to his mother, who sniffed and raised her chin as if his joke had insulted her on some personal level. His sister pushed the duck meat on her plate into the blood red plum sauce that had been dripped on her plate, painting a rather unappetizing picture. 

“You have received a great honor, don’t lessen it without your low brow humor,” his sister scoffed as she stabbed her food like she was imagining Essek’s face. To be fair to her, she probably was. She had always been the most creative out of all of them.  

“When you meet your soulmate, you’ll choke on that joke,” Verin said with a laugh, giving Essek a hard slap on the shoulder. Essek glared at him, but didn’t say anything. Verin was romantic in a way that Essek simply couldn’t understand…he saw meaning in the stars and his place in the world besides the great cosmic joke it was. Essek highly doubted Verin’s sentiment. After all, Essek didn’t think he would ever meet his soulmate. He didn’t meet too many people, and the Bright Queen understood that about him. Once he took on his official duties, he doubted that would change too dramatically. If anything he would be busy enough that it could get worse. 

The rest of his family crowded him, given permission by his mother’s acceptance. And yet he still caught a glimpse at his mother’s shadow, and wondered if that was a blessing or a curse. 

_____________

It was said the Moonweaver was the one who blessed the world with soulmates, and with it…shadows themselves. A shadow was a mark of existence, a sign of a being made whole. When you met your soulmate you gained some immaterial essence, like two halves being connected. It was that part of your soul that was returned to you upon that destined meeting that granted a shadow, something that would follow you for the rest of your days. 

Each soul was granted only one soulmate, it didn’t reset through your lives…unless your soulmate was also consecuted. His mother’s hadn’t…the Bright Queen’s had. Such was the luck of the draw. Essek didn’t know what had happened to his mother’s soulmate, but just the annoyed and disgusted look on her face when he had gotten up the courage to ask was enough. Essek loved knowing everything, but even he had his own limits. A soulmate wasn’t always a lover or a friend, sometimes they were the darkest part of yourself. But until you had a soulmate…a shadow, you wouldn’t be able to tell. 

Essek, personally, was fine with being considered incomplete. He knew what people said about him from where they thought he couldn’t hear. He was as cunning as a snake, spinning a web as fine as any spider to catch his enemies and tear them apart. Essek was too young by a half, only in his first life, and yet greedy for more power. He had frigid cave water in his veins instead of blood, in fact he was so cold that they didn’t he would bleed if they put a knife to his throat and slashed it. He certainly didn’t have a soulmate, you needed a soul for that. 

That one was the most insulting, Essek thought. He had a soul, in fact, he was more alive than the fools who sold their own to things they didn’t understand without thinking of the consequences of such a bargain. His mind was sharp, and his thoughts unhindered by tradition or money. He sought only the truth. Essek was far more noble than any of them ever gave him credit for. Clearly there was a cruelty in being noble that others simply could not comprehend. Essek understood that even if they didn’t, after all, his family was testament to that fact. Essek would save them all, one day, by virtue of his discoveries. 

He had a soulmate too, and that was just a fact of life. It didn’t mean anything. His soulmate would change nothing. Of course he wasn’t immune to the fanciful delusion he drifted into with his daydreams, that his soulmate might understand him–might help him discover things in a way he hadn’t considered. But regardless, those were flights of fancy and this was his reality. One day he would meet his soulmate or he wouldn’t. And even then, who knows, maybe he was destined to see his shadow spread out underneath him as his soulmate looped the noose over his head. 

That would be a fitting end to it all, Essek thought, for a spider caught in his own web deserved nothing less. 

______________

His soulmate didn’t come to him with a noose, but a beacon held high in the center of the Bright Queen’s cathedral. It was a light he was familiar with, a soft grey like a winter pallor had settled over a star. Their eyes met for a moment, and Essek watched something pool at the man’s feet, cast to the side by the vibrating light that swathed him. In between the next breath he felt the strangest sensation, as if his bones themselves were tingling…maybe something deeper, down at the root of him began to sprout. 

This wasn’t right, this wasn’t fair. This had to be a cruel trick–that somehow the universe was punishing him by returning that which he had given away. All of his scheming, all of his treachery was laid bare in this moment and there was nothing Essek could do to stop it. Who are you? Essek wanted to demand. Are you sent here to be my lover? My friend? Or the reflection of my darkest self? 

What if you aren’t my darkest self? Essek asked any god who may actually exist, dizzy and cold in his panic. What if I am yours? 

Essek looked down, saw his own shadow, and for the first time in his life…he trembled. 

[space-malex]

I am probably in the minority of malex fans but i am kind of excited for the love triangle every tv show its always two men fighting over a girl or two girls competing for a man seeing a show where a bisexual man is openly being in love attracted to and has bonds with both genders i enjoy. the dynamic of maria and alex i am also excited to see do they fall out, how do they navigate both being childhood friends and now being in love with the same guy how does forest effect things

I still do not accept the idea that Maria is actually in love with Michael. She certainly likes him and has feelings for him, but this is not some kind of soul mate relationship where people fall in love after spending a few positive moments together. Right now, Maria is vulnerable and sad and lonely and she’s projecting these feelings onto a man who has been there for her and has allowed her to be “weak” when she’s always expected to be strong. It makes total and complete sense, but I don’t think her romantic feelings run as deep as she might believe they do. Same goes for Michael, even though that’s more obvious bc he outright says he’s in love with Alex and that love is terrible before running to Maria (Carina is like subtlety? I don’t know her). Both of them are people who are in a bad place emotionally and they are seeking out comfort and understanding in one another. They are just going about it the wrong way because they are meant to be great friends and I do believe they will come to that realization. Hopefully during season two. 

As for the love triangle, it is very rarely done well and I don’t like it as a narrative device most of the time. It’s something that doesn’t really happen in real life very much and it ends up hurting at least one person in it and I don’t want that to happen to any of these characters. As for the bisexual aspect, I get what they’re going for, but I can’t say that I’m a fan. To show a bisexual person torn between two people of different genders plays into some unfortunate stereotypes about bisexual people not being able to “pick a side” (which is in and of itself fucking stupid and ridiculous). Keep in mind I am bi but I don’t claim to speak for all bisexuals-this is just my personal opinion. Obviously, Michael’s feelings for Maria and his feelings for Alex are not about their gender. He just has feelings for each of them, gender notwithstanding. But I do feel like it’s a very sensitive topic and throwing a bisexual character into a love triangle with a man on one side and a woman on the other lacks understanding of these sensitive issues.

I think for Carina it’s just “drama” and she’s trying to normalize a love triangle for queer folks. I do appreciate that effort, I really do, but it makes me feel uncomfortable. She’s not responsible for the stereotypes that are applied to bisexual people and the way that some straight people think. But I do think that these issues really need to be approached with a level of sensitivity that I don’t feel from her sometimes. We unfortunately live in a deeply heteronormative society and that kind of thinking is ingrained into so many people, even queer people sometimes fall victim to that mindset because of the sort of influences they are constantly bombarded with and surrounded by.

Pitting a same-gender relationship against a m/f one is undoubtedly going to result in a lot of latent homophobia from an audience and people showing their true selves. Look at it this way. The deck is stacked heavily in favor of malex. Heavily. They have the soulmate bond, cosmic love, ten years of history, deeply in love in present day (even when Michael is trying things with Maria), parallel narratives with the main straight couple, etc. Yet there are plenty of people who give equal or superior value to the Michael and Maria relationship when it’s not even comparable. If we are in a high rise with 100 floors, malex is at the top of the tower and M&M is at like level 6. And I’m not judging people who enjoy the dynamic, or ship it or people who want to see it explored more, not at all. Even though it’s for sure not my thing, I understand enjoying the relationship and wanting to see more of it and wanting to see how it develops. I’m talking about people who genuinely act like this man and woman having sex and developing feelings now is anywhere near the same level or deserves the same kind of acknowledgment as this true love relationship that has been shown between two men. And for an example, I never see this happen with Max and Liz compared to Liz and Kyle or Max and Jenna. People might ship these other pairings, because they enjoy the dynamic more than the heavy soulmate thing that we get with Max and Liz. But nobody seems to deny that’s what’s happening with Max and Liz and nobody tries to undermine it or dismiss it or turn it into something that needs to be “moved on from”. But that shit happens with malex on the regular.

You can ship Michael and Maria without at the same time trying to throw malex under the bus and undermine its importance on the show. The only reason to do that is homophobia. And having a m/m/f triangle encourages that kind of bigotry. I’m not a stranger to coded language and when I see people say things like “Michael and Alex were just a high school hookup let them move on”, it shows incredible ignorance and disrespect that would never happen if they were a m/f relationship. 

Sorry I popped off, anon, I’m not angry at your ask at all I hope you enjoy the love triangle, it’s just my own thoughts and feelings.

[radioromantic-moved]

mordecai vs. the universe

word count: 2200

a soulmate au that got way too out of hand. i mostly wrote it when i was supposed to be sleeping or working. please enjoy it. cara is my 1920s-sona

entropy, noun- lack of order or predictability; gradual decline into disorder.

Soulmates are a complicated business. They’re notorious that way. People joke that everyone who ever wanted to study the process of soulmates gave up after a few weeks on the job. The only real concrete thing that’s accepted as positive fact is the simple the first words they say to you appear on your body in their handwriting a few years after puberty; some get them, some don’t. No dates or timestamps, no scientific explanation, no clear-cut pattern. Soulmates are tricky, multifaceted, and chaotic.

Their lack of organization is one of the reasons why Mоrdecai HelIer hates them.

Although it’s certainly not the only one.

He’s been surrounded by marked people his whole life, almost as if they gravitate towards him. His mother and father were soulmates; his mother doesn’t speak about it often, but on the occasion that his father, now deceased, happens to enter the conversation, he’ll catch her adjusting her shirtsleeves to cover up something, fading, written in a neat, flowing font. His youngest sister got her mark remarkably early--a few months before he left home, she was speculating aloud who the mystery phrase scrawled across her neck would be spoken by, in the dreamy tone of someone who can still afford daydreams. 

He can’t escape soulmates at his place of employment, either. Atlas and Mitzi not only flaunt their matching marks, they’ve been known to use them to entertain--Mоrdecai’s witnessed them reenact their first meeting in a floral, overdramatized skit of sorts, culminating in the removal of Atlas’ jacket so the crowd can see the words written on his collarbone and Mitzi dramatically sweeping back her hair to reveal what’s been penned on her cheek and jawline. 

The words aren’t particularly impressive, either; he paid her a casual compliment on her musical skill after a performance. 

Then there’s Viktor, who never reveals anything about his soulmate, but Ivy swears on her life she’s seen ink on his back before when she catches him off guard. Mоrdecai suspects that she just has soulmates on the brain, though; she’s at the age that most marks appear, and she’s constantly fidgeting with her clothes to check if anything’s appeared while she wasn’t paying attention. 

Mоrdecai finds the whole business to be wholly a waste of time. He has more important things to worry about than romantic entanglements, and he certainly does not need a mysterious, undefinable, uncategorizable force attempting to force him into one. Leave the prettiness and fairytales to AtIas and his wife. When it comes to socialization, particularly done with romantic intent, he could arrange an alphabetized, structured list on all of the things that he would rather do.

Which is why he could not be more annoyed when he sees the sentences crawling down his arm one otherwise unremarkable day.

His mark somewhat matches his mother’s--perhaps they do follow genetic lines in some way, he notes, even as his brain is insisting there are more important things to worry about right now--but his seems to take up more space than his father’s organized writing did. One could hardly call his soulmate’s handwriting neat--it’s a messy scrawl, as if they were writing in a hurry. Well, I’ve been worse off, though I guess not by much, claims this permanent, unwanted tattoo of his, and he’s inclined to agree with it.

He let himself get too secure; he was so sure that he was out of the age range of expected mark appearance, but if his studies of statistics have taught him anything, it’s that there are always outliers in any data pool.

There’s also Murphy’s Law to contend with.

But he will make a plan and follow it to the letter, the way it always does. He refuses to let this distract him. He has a job to do, and this mark will not change that. 

If anyone at the Laсkadaisy notices that he’s particularly taken with long sleeves all of a sudden, they don’t say anything about it. Sometimes he thinks he sees Mitzi giving his arm a sideways glance, but a well-placed stony glare often gets her to back off. 

All is well, for a while. 

Until a soaking wet stranger stumbles into the Little Daisy Cafe on yet another day that would normally be considered entirely ordinary.

Atlas, Viktor and Mоrdecai are seated in a booth near the entrance when the door blows open and someone hurries inside, shutting the door behind them and sealing off the fierce rainstorm raging outside. The stranger takes a seat at a barstool and pulls off their jacket, gathering it into a pile in their arms. They must look sufficiently like a drowned rat, because as soon as Mitzi emerges from behind the counter, she hurries over to the shivering would-be customer. “Oh, my--don’t tell me you just came from out there! Are you alright? You look halfway to the grave.”

The stranger attempts a half-shrug. “Well, I’ve been worse off,” they say affably, “though not by much,” they concede with chattering teeth. 

Mоrdecai’s arm burns fiercely. He rubs it, trying to look casual.

“I’ll get you a towel,” says Mitzi, heading to the back room. She turns around and adds, “Although I hope you’ll clean up that mess you’re dripping all over our floors. We just cleaned in here, you know.”

Atlas heads over to the new arrival, who is murmuring to themselves under their breath. Mоrdecai follows, although he has a terrible feeling that he will strongly dislike the outcome of this conversation. 

“What brings you out in this weather?” Atlas asks mildly.

The stranger takes a towel offered to them by Mitzi and sighs. “Job-hunting gone wrong, I guess,” they say in a dry alto. “One rejection too many, suppose I wasn’t paying attention to much anymore. I got lost, and when it started raining I just ended up more turned around.”

They’re dressed for a job interview; they’re wearing an expensive-looking red suit that would probably come off as more impressive if it wasn’t rumpled and soaking wet. They’re holding a stack of papers that seem to have taken less rain damage than the rest of them; Mоrdecai would guess they were shielding the papers with their body. 

Atlas tilts his head and stares at the would-be interviewee with a look that Mоrdecai recognizes as an appraising one. “You seem decent,” he says slowly. “What, if you had to guess, was the common factor in your rejections from your prospective jobs?”

It’s a loaded question, but Mоrdecai has a feeling he knows what Atlas is looking for. 

The stranger pauses a second. “If I’m being entirely honest, sir, I believe I lack the charm needed to succeed in a career when one’s of my particular persuasion.”

There’s something in her eyes. Mоrdecai has never claimed to be good at reading people, but he has a feeling that there’s something more to her job quest than she’s letting on.

“You know,” says Atlas, “we could use someone else to wait tables around here--we’re rather shorthanded as of late.”

This is a lie.

“If you’re inclined, I’d be perfectly willing to take you on--on a trial basis, of course,” Mоrdecai’s employer says, extending a hand to shake. “What’s your name?”

The stranger at the bar counter only hesitates for a second before shaking his hand firmly. “Cara. Cara Bergman. Thank you for the opportunity, sir.”

Mоrdecai makes his exit not long afterwards. No one cares much; they’re used to him disappearing when he pleases.

He has built his career on being unnoticed, and it pays off. No one notices when he starts avoiding speaking out loud in front of the new hire; if he must say anything at all, he says it in low tones to Atlas or Viktor. No one notices that every time Cara happens to get too close to him, he holds his arm as if it’s been burned.

He has successfully adjusted his plan to include every confounding variable, every scheme and trick and twist of fate that the universe, in its cosmic complication, has tried to throw at him.

Or so he thinks. 

Because as it turns out, Cara Bergman is remarkably difficult to predict.

A crisp knock sounds on his office door, and he heads to open it, almost spouting a reflex greeting--but when he sees who happens to be standing outside, he’s glad he didn’t.

“Hello,” Cara says calmly. “I hope you don’t mind the intrusion.”

She takes a seat facing his desk, and maybe he’s just caught extremely off guard by her sudden insertion into his personal time, but he finds himself sitting back down to face her. He doesn’t say a word, and they eye each other for a few moments.    

Cara breaks the silence eventually. “Look, I know you can talk. You and Mr. May are always off gabbing away in your little booth in the cafe. And from the way you always snap to attention when he says anything, I’m assuming your hearing faculties are in order, too.”

He doesn’t say a word, narrowing his eyes slightly.

Cara continues. “I’d write it off as you just being antisocial, but when I bumped into you the other day, the way you flinched--I thought I’d stabbed you or something.”

So maybe he wasn’t quite as subtle as he thought.

Cara folds her hands in front of her. “I don’t want to take up too much of your time. I’m sure you’re awfully busy with bookkeeping or whatever it is you do. I just want to hear one sentence from you. Any sentence will be fine.”

Mоrdecai considers his options and finds himself woefully lacking. He scratches his arm, which is stinging dully. He meets Cara’s eyes, and he can tell that she’s got a fair idea of what’s going on already. 

He sighs, and throws caution to the wind.

“Alright. I suppose it’s best we finish this sooner rather than later.”

Cara grins toothily. “That’s what I was looking for. And may I just say, that’s really the best thing to have tattooed on you for eight years or thereabouts. Are we factory workers? University students? My guess is as good as anyone else’s.”

Even though he wasn’t sure what he was expecting, it’s a grim confirmation when she shrugs her shirt off one shoulder to reveal his own handwriting penned in inky black. 

Suddenly, one of the things she’s said hits him. “Eight years? I’ve only had a...mark--” he hears the contempt in his voice as the word comes out--“for a few months, five at the most.”

Cara snorts. “What, did you expect something involving soulmates to make sense?”

“Fair point,” he concedes. 

He straightens his cufflinks, unsure of where to continue from here. Luckily, Cara saves him. “I know you’re not excited about this or anything.”

“What gave it away?” he deadpans.

“Look,” she states, side-eyeing him, “I know there’s a lot of pressure on people to settle down once they find their soulmates, or at least make a big to-do about the whole thing. But no one’s making us turn this into a production. Just because we’ve got each other’s handwriting on us doesn’t mean we have to go all--” here Cara leans forward and bats her eyelashes in such a dead-on impersonation of Mitzi that Mоrdecai nearly chokes in surprise-- “on each other.”

“I--well.” 

Somehow, he has been struck silent yet again. Cara has presented something that he never considered seriously before. “Well, what do you suppose we do about this, then?” he asks.

“You know, there’s this thing called a friendship that I’ve been thinking about trying out,” says Cara. “I understand the concept might be foreign to you as well.”

“I have friends,” Mоrdecai protests. He doesn’t realize how indignant he sounds about it until it’s already out of his mouth.

“Lovely,” Cara says. “Now you have one more. Here--let’s shake on it.”

She offers her hand, and he takes it. A jolt of something runs through him like lightning (static electricity, he tells himself, common at this time of year) and all at once, he realizes that his mark has stopped stinging. 

“Now, as friends,” Cara muses, looking at the stacks of books arranged meticulously on his desk, “we should probably find some common interests. Do you like reading?”

“When it’s for work,” he says, turning his head back down to the figures he was calculating before she walked in.

“Well, that’s awfully boring of you. If we’re going to be friends, I’ve really got to introduce you to some H.G. Wells. Oh, or maybe Poe. You’d like him; you’re both dark and brooding.”

He doesn’t dignify her with a response, and waits until she’s left, carefully shutting the door behind her, to lean back in his chair and consider things. 

He refuses to give the universe the direct satisfaction of being right, but he will, at the very least, admit that there are worse ways that this situation could have played out. Much worse.

Her eyes were teal, he thinks, with hints of spring green--

He shakes his head and turns back to his calculations. 

[collective-laugh]

Request - Soulmate Preference for the Main Six

Anon asked: Okay, Bruh hear me out, soulmate au for the main six? 

I didn’t know which soulmate AU you wanted, so I used the string one (because it’s my favorite lol) If you wanted a different one, just send another request and I’ll get it out asap! Hope you like it!

The AU: Two people are connected by one magical string that leads them together when fate wills it.

Asra liked to tug on his string sometimes, and when the string tugged back, it comforted him to know that whoever was on the other end was in the city. He’d follow it for hours, but he knew better than to push the hands of fate, knew that he wouldn’t find whoever was on the other end of that string until the universe wanted him to. He liked to imagine who it might be, imagine what they look like and what they like and if they can do magic too. His mind runs wild, and he wishes there was a way he could know what they looked like, at the very least. He wants to know them, wants to be able to know who he’s supposed to love for the rest of his life.

After Asra finds them, he laughs, and tears spring to his eyes, and all the situations that he considered, every little conversation starter or funny little thing he could’ve said to start their relationship off, but they step into his shop, and they smile at him first, and he…they tell him that they were looking for a deck of tarot, and Asra laughs, rendered speechless for the first time…ever.

 Julian thought it was romantic, in a sense, and then he scoffed, thinking that whoever was on the other end of that string could certainly do so, so much better, and he tries to take one of his scalpels and cut the little red string right off his finger. And…it splits in two, hanging sadly on Mazelinka’s spare bed. He felt empty, inside, like something was stolen from him, but he could tell if it was because the string was gone, or because he was guilty that the string was gone. He ties it back together, the butchered mass of tied red string, and he prays that the person on the other end of the string can forgive them, and, hopefully, still find them.

Julian knows it’s them before the string slips off his finger, by the way they wear their string like a banner of pride, by the way they smile at him and the way their smile just lights up the room, and they just look at him with all the hope and trust he thinks he doesn’t deserve, and he melts before them. They keep holding him in such high esteem, and he can’t grasp why this perfect stream of light want to be with someone like him, but he learns to accept the love he deserves.

 Nadia learns to ignore her string. She considers chopping it off, especially after she marries Lucio, because how could she cause someone so much pain as to drag them along on a journey not even she wants to trek? But, she allows herself to hope, not wanting to interfere with the hands of fate, and resigns herself to a life of motions, and stepping through days while she fell away into Lucio’s shadow, just as she had with her sisters all those years ago. She finds herself staring at the horizon when she rides, wondering if she could chase after the string and find whoever was on the other end and spoil them silly, because all she wanted was someone to love and love her equally. The horizon gives her no answers, and all she can do is chastise herself for being so foolish.

Her love comes after she loses all memory of her husband and the headaches have settled into her mind, edging their way into her sleeping pattern. She hastens to the shop that fateful night, and hardly realized that the tired apprentice behind the counter was none other than her soulmate. She paused, looked them over, and watched as their string fell to the ground, completely unceremoniously, and she can only wonder who this person was that they were not only important enough to be her soulmate, but to appear in her visions.

 Muriel cuts his string off three times in his life, and every time, it reattaches itself around his finger after he sleeps. The first was while he was still in the arena, still the ‘Scourge of the South’ because he knew he didn’t deserve love, not with all the lives he’d taken. The second was before Lucio died but the plague was running rampant. He didn’t want to find love, didn’t want to see his soulmate suffer, so he knew that if he found them in the midst of the plague, he wouldn’t be able to go on. The third time was just before he met them, as he sat in the comfort of his – his very own – home in the woods, and he sliced it off with a kitchen knife, and relished in the few moments of being completely disconnected from Vesuvia, if only for the night.

They’re not what he’s expecting. They smiled at him from the very start, eyes squinting as if they recognized him but couldn’t remember his name, and then squealed when they saw that he was their soulmate. They were kind, and good, and so very talented at magic, and they saw him as a human, as a man, and wanted him to be free more than anything. He’d become convinced this person couldn’t exist, couldn’t love him, but they don’t push, don’t try to entice; instead, they ask to be a part of his life, and walk through it with him, despite the looming danger threatening to tear them apart.

 Portia double knots her string just to be sure she doesn’t lose it, though she’d never really heard of that happening. It was better to be on the safe side, and she knew it was stupid of her to wait up day in and day out for her soulmate to step in and sweep her off her feet, but she knew that under her snark and realist demeanor, she was one hell of a romantic, and couldn’t wait to meet whoever it might be the universe chose for her to love. She hoped she loved them – gods, that kept her up day in and day out, thinking of how she might not love them, or they might not love her, or how they might just stay with her because they were soulmates and it was expected. The thoughts only made her nauseous, so she tried to swear them off until she met them – it was no use judging them before she met them, right?

Portia couldn’t decide whether she was excited or terrified when she bumped into them while on an errand run in the city. Before they could even decide if they were going to walk away from her or help her pick up her things, their strings are falling off, and Portia can forget about remembering the four digit code to the stupid gates because there her soulmate was, standing over her and holding their hand out to her, and she felt like she might freak out. But she was happy. She was so elated she felt like her heart might burst right from her chest, so she throws her arms around them and then, holding them at arm’s length, makes sure to ‘get a good look at them’. The universe did right by her, at least.

 Lucio doesn’t really believe in the whole soulmate thing – his parents were certainly not soulmates, and his mom still had her string around her finger like a damn ornament. So, he walks through life enjoying the finer things, those empty vices, and grabs at power with all the help he can possibly get, and he marries Nadia, and he takes over Vesuvia, and he rules, and he wins, and life is finally looking up for him. But the people murmur about his string, love to gossip about how he didn’t wait for the ‘one’. Public image is everything, and thus, he could have been excited for the plague. If it didn’t get him as well, of course.

It’s actually quite a funny story. Lucio was certain that he’d be saying those exact words years in the future if he and this soulmate actually end did up ‘by the cosmic powers of the universe’, and he found some humor in the fact that the love of his life, his soulmate, met him while he was a ghostly, spectral, goat man, bleating about the injustice of it all and planning on taking their body. It was cruel, it was unusual, and it brought a sneer to Lucio’s goatly little lips. The person can only gape at him, at the string that chose then, of all times, to slip off, and they only shake their head and mutter “shit”. He decides immediately that he already likes them.

[flyingsculptures]

7, 16, 18, 22, 34, 37, 62, 68, and 69

omg u SPOIL me, ilu

7. What did you last eat?

uuuuh, german chocolate cake (had dinner at my parents so i got that fancy shit yummm)

16. How exactly are you feeling at the moment?

mmm, that’s tricky. i feel....ok? i guess. i’m a little out of it and falling back into some troublesome habits, but i’m still keeping my head above water. when i get stressed i tend to completely shut down, so i’m heading that way, but i’m workin on it yo

18. Are you scared of spiders?

FUCK YES I AM AND I’LL OWN UP TO IT TOO

22. Do you want to have kids? How many?

this used to be a hard ‘no’ for me, but it’s starting to change. i told my roomie this once, but sometimes i imagine myself as a single mother of one. probably should talk to a therapist about that one lolol

34. Who/what was your last dream about?

it’s lame, but i had one of those dreams right before i woke up where i was late to work and was in mega trouble, so i woke up in a SWEAT

37. Is it easier to forgive or forget?

i agree with you for the most part. it’s definitely EASIER to forget, there’s no question about it. but i’m not sure you should always forgive. i still struggle with forgiving, sometimes, even when the person has ‘redeemed’ themselves (lolol i can’t even admit redemption without quoting it)

62. What makes you happy?

this is gonna sound hella fake, but tbh seeing other people be happy, it makes me giddy

68. Who’s the last person you had a deep conversation with?

mmm, a really deep conversation? probably @captainlokispeople the other night when i was kind of having an emotional meltdown, lolol thx for dealing with me linds u da real mvp

69. Do you believe in soulmates?

i.....don’t think so. certainly not in the romantic sense. or maybe i should say the widely accepted idea of soulmates? like, no i don’t think there’s that one person out there you’re cosmically linked to, but i do believe there are people out there who you can have a connection to that’s really special and different from anyone else you’ll ever meet. does that make sense? idk. tho i would LOVE for romantic soulmates to be a thing, don’t even get me started lolol

Sorry for this mega long response im very good at talking about myself lolol, ilu sadie u treat me right

[texanredrose]

Everyone’s A Critic

Am I doing Freezerburn Week? Probably not, because I’m not feeling well, but this prompt I couldn’t resist. Soulmate AU based on this post.

Weiss’ brow furrowed as she quickly walked towards the exit, absolutely livid beyond measure. Thankfully, her companion for the showing happened to be just as vexed as her, though they’d made a promise not to voice any grievances until after they’d exited the theater. Hence her desire to be out of it sooner rather than later.

“I can’t believe-”

“Blake,” she said, tone sharp not because of her friend’s frustrations but because of their shared annoyance. “We have a deal.”

“That was before actually watching that trainwreck.” The Faunus’ ears laid back against her skull as she grimaced. “But the books were so good, we couldn’t have expected this disgusting catastrophe.”

However, for all Weiss’ desire to keep true to her word... oh did she have some rather pointed Opinions(tm) about this particular attempt to do justice to a well beloved series.

“It’s not just that.” They pushed out of the studio and into the florescent light of the theater’s hallways, following the throng of moviegoers who faced similar disappointment. “We can get to the myriad of ways they completely missed the point of the books later, because that in itself is a long enough list, but don’t you think we should start with how abysmal that was from the standpoint of just being a movie?” Frustration colored her tone as she quickened her pace, as if she could put physical distance between herself and the mere memory of that disgrace. “They cut so much material out, the plot is completely incomprehensible to one not familiar with the books, and even then is terribly disjointed in trying to be faithful to that. The pacing is god awful, likely because the directors merely googled which passages were most popular and poured all their effort into those scenes, which would make sense if they had all the other events leading up to them to build the tension and significance! As it stands, they’re just isolated moments when the story actually takes time to show itself, but all that is buried under layers of cinematic tomfoolery for the obvious intention of nabbing some manner of award and merely hoping every other scene can support themselves, which they can’t...”

Now that she’d gotten on a roll, the words didn’t stop, flowing from her mouth as she allowed every ill thought she’d kept locked behind her teeth go forth, with Blake nodding on occasion, knowing better than to try stymieing her diatribes once they got started. Thankfully, they usually agreed when it came to books and movies, seeking similar qualities, even if the Faunus tended towards media with a romantic streak. Once Weiss finished, it would be her turn to critique the awful, forced romantic subplot- a subplot, mind, that wasn’t resolved until the third book, and had no place being emphasized this much in the first movie- but that would be Blake’s terf.

“FUCKING HELL!”

Weiss came to a sudden stop, eyes widening as a voice she’d never heard before grabbed her attention with two little words. Ever since she learned to read, she’d become intimately familiar with those two words, seeing as they were tattooed across her left forearm in big, bold, yellow font. Her soulmate mark- and she’d especially attuned her hearing for those two words specifically, and this happened to be the first time she heard them in her life, which could only mean-

“You!” She whirled around, scanning until her gaze landed on the blonde marching towards her, and...

Okay, she’d fully intended to be more than a little cross with the foul mouthed heathen who’d permanently marked her with those very words. However, Weiss was also a mere mortal and currently being approached by a veritable goddess. Tall, with the early evening breeze sending wild blonde locks flying, lilac eyes that shone like gemstones, in a beat up leather jacket that ended at the elbows, showing off remarkably sculpted forearms that certainly looked like they’d give good hugs- crass her soulmate might be, true, but she also happened to be gorgeous, making Weiss a little more inclined to give the whole ‘soulmate mark’ concept more than her annoyance and contempt.

However, aside from being taken off guard by the woman’s looks, Weiss still had to bone to pick with her supposed soulmate, grabbing at her sleeve and pulling it back to show the mark that had essentially mandated she never wear anything other than long sleeves around polite company. “Do you have any idea what it’s like walking around with a mark like this?”

“Oh, you think that’s bad? Check this out.” Without wasting another second, the woman stopped in front of Weiss and reached up, grabbing the collar of her yellow shirt and ripping it.

Right.

Down.

The.

Middle.

And that brought to light three very important things.

One, her soulmate had decent tastes in undergarments. Two, she had the sort of abs that cosmically demanded to have something grinding against them. Three...

... the very, very long wall of neat white script curling across her chest and halfway down her abdomen, the words much smaller than what Weiss had on her arm to accommodate the sheer amount of space required, because apparently her soulmate had been within earshot since she’d started her tirade regarding the movie.

Blake elbowed her side under the guise of pulling out her scroll, stepping away to give Weiss a modicum of privacy with her soulmate- not that she needed the prompt, of course, she wasn’t uncivilized, but still- and pretended to be engrossed in checking her messages.

"You are really hard to stop when you get rollin’, anyone ever tell you that?” The blonde quirked a brow, completely nonplussed standing there with the tattered remnants of her shirt and jacket providing minimum modesty.

“It’s... been mentioned before,” she replied, scrounging for something to say. “So you’ve-”

“Had a novella tattooed across my chest my whole life? Now that you mention it, yeah, I have.” She set her hands on her hips. “And I’ve gone to every book adaptation movie released in the past ten years, thinkin’ I might meet you at one, and, I gotta tell ya- I liked most of them.” A shrug. “Yeah, sure, they aren’t masterpieces, but some of ‘em were quirky, or did one thing really well, or were just entertaining for their own sake, and I kept thinkin’ I was gonna run into you at one I liked and we’d get into this whole fight and, for all they say about soulmates being destined and all that, I have literally no desire to be shackled to someone who’s just gonna tear down the things I like, nuh uh, destiny can bite me, I don’t give a shit.” And even though they hardly knew each other- didn’t at all, really- Weiss found herself holding her breath and hoping her verbal evisceration hadn’t entirely ruined her chances of at least getting to know the woman. “But, the first time I saw this one, I knew- I thought to myself ‘oh, fuck me, this is it, this is the piece of shit my soulmate’s gonna go bonkers over, I’ve found it’, and so I- like an idiot- bought tickets to, and sat through, that piece of hot garbage forty-seven times, just to make sure I didn’t miss you.” Apparently out of steam, lilac eyes darted away for a moment as she reached up to run a hand through her hair, tongue darting out to wet her lips. “So, uh... I guess what I’m getting at is... hi, my name’s Yang, that movie was awful, so do you... want to talk about how bad it sucked some more? Maybe over dinner or a milkshake or...”

Weiss crossed her arms over her chest, head tilting in incredulity. “You saw this how many times?” Then she waved a hand. “No matter; clearly, you’re dedicated, you have good enough sense to recognize terrible when it presents itself to you, and you’re strong enough to endure torture for sustained periods of time.” 

Turning, she prepared to excuse herself from the rest of the evening but found her best friend to be... nowhere in sight, and her scroll buzzing in her purse likely provided the answer to the question of where she went.

If you don’t know how her abs feel by the end of the night, I am renouncing our friendship. Have fun. <3 -B

“Cheek little-” Rolling her eyes, she dropped the device back into her bag and offered a hand. “I’m Weiss. It’s nice to finally meet the foul mouthed heathen I’ve been looking for.”

Yang’s lips quirked up into a smirk. “Yeah, kinda glad I found the critic with a set of iron lungs, too.”

Slipping her arm into the crook of the blonde’s elbow, she turned them both towards the other side of the parking lot where a restaurant sat- not nearly as high class as she’d normally choose, but the proximity and ease with which they could reach it trumped her personal scale at present. That, and a table between them would help keep her from getting distracted. “How about I start making it up to you for suffering through all those showings?”

Much to her surprise, Yang fully meant it when she invited the woman to continue trashing the movie, and had a couple of thoughtful points of her own to address. For being just about the last thing she’d expected from her soulmate, Weiss had to admit... she actually rather liked it.

[silkygoldmilkweed]

I am yours and you are mine

OK. So. The episode of Game of Thrones that follows the fabulous weird intimate-as-fuck emo melodrama of “Blackwater” is “Valar Morghulis.” And in this episode, which follows the epic SanSan intimacy of “I’ll keep you safe. Do you want to go home? etc etc” there are not one, not two, but three couples basically making commitments and pledging to each other.

I THINK THE SHOW IS TELLING US SOMETHING ABOUT SANSAN AND MARRIAGE GENERALLY THROUGH THESE COUPLES ALL OF WHOM ARE DOOOOOOOOOMED in different ways. (Five of the six people involved have since been murdered.)

I’ll circle back to the couples in a minute, but first I must quote problematic Cat Stark from this ep, because I think if there is a message here, rather than some broken models of what not to do, she’s the one delivering it.

Cat to Robb about his feelings for Talisa and their agreement with the Freys: 

“Your father didn’t love me when we married. He hardly knew me. Or I him. Love didn’t just happen to us. We built it slowly. Stone by stone, over the years. For you, your brothers and sisters, for all of us. It’s not as exciting as secret passion in the woods, but it is stronger. It lasts longer... You agreed to it. Treat your oaths recklessly and your people will do the same. If your father lived his life for one thing...”

(1) I gotta appreciate the “over the years” in this because god knows that SanSan has been years in the making. 

They’ve been completely apart for many of those years, but dear god the personal growth! She’s a wolf now; he’s no longer an emotionally crippled thug with a serious drinking problem.

If they are cosmically linked soulmates who have been bound by some inexplicable tie for a long time, they have used the intervening years relatively well. Sansa learned how to survive and make her own justice, and Sandor built a very strong relationship with the only other surviving true-born Stark (by my account Bran is dead) and went to rehab and therapy, etc.

Mistakes were made, to be sure, but they are both better, healthier and stronger people after the fact.

Source: http://devilsbastion.tumblr.com/image/168855312743

(2) “It’s not as exciting as secret passion in the woods, but it is stronger. It lasts longer.” 

This line makes me feel like the writers have read all the Blackwater AUs where Sansa and Sandor run off together and despite best-laid plans end up fucking inside a month. In fanfic they usually end up happily ever after (usually), but in George’s world, Sansa probably ends up married to a Frey, Sandor ends up dying at the hand of god knows who, and without the Hound, Arya ends up raped and dead in a ditch and certainly not the killer she is today.

(Of course, Robb and Talisa do go the forbidden love route and we all know how that turns out.)

(3) “You agreed to it. Treat your oaths recklessly and your people will do the same. If your father lived his life for one thing...” 

I will say this: Sansa tried valiantly to keep her promises and the promises her family made. She agreed to marry Joffrey, arranged thought it was, and she keeps to that agreement.

In the same episode, Theon is whining: “Yes my captors were so very kind to me...Do you know what it’s like to be told how lucky you are to be someone’s prisoner?” but at this point in the story, Sansa is being held prisoner by awful people and being beaten and stripped and threatened with rape at every turn.  So Theon can just shut up. 

And in re Robb, Sansa was bound to marry a much worse prospective spouse than a Frey girl, and yet she stuck with it, even if out of sheer cluelessness. She was offered a “get out of jail free” card by Sandor Clegane, and she refused it. 

As horrible as it is, and as patriarchal and un-woke, Westeros custom says that Sansa was Joffrey’s—to torment or treat any way he saw fit. And, for better or worse, Sansa and Sandor have both internalized the patriarchy in a way that Arya never does.

In season four, Arya asks the Hound, “Didn’t you steal anything from Joffrey before you left?” He says no, he’s not a thief, and then says “a man’s got to have a code.” 

Arya’s talking about gold or other treasure but in the same conversation he calls Arya “the only thing of value I’ve got in the world,” which tells us as clear as day what really matters to him—even though he wants us and Arya to believe the issue is her exchange value in gold.

Sansa is the only thing Sandor wanted to steal, but she belonged to the king and if she didn’t want to go of her own volition—if she didn’t think she needed to be rescued—he wasn’t going to abduct her. 

He probably should have, for her sake, but I suspect he was too hurt when she turned him down to face her fighting him and being disappointed and teary. Sansa’s recrimination and distress was not something he was equipped to cope with at that point. Now Arya he could manhandle, but Sansa, for reasons (SEX REASONS PEOPLE), he could not, would not and did not.

ANYWAY MARRIAGE

He cloaked her in the throne room. She accepted the cloak. 

Did it mean something to them? Did it mean something to the gods? 

We have no idea. It has never been addressed.

But...the line in the Westerosi marriage vows is “You may now cloak the bride and bring her under your protection.” And within weeks he’s saving her from being gang raped (and he’s secretly pretty fucking pleased with himself), and he risks beheading (or much much worse) by attempting to smuggle away Tywin’s prize hostage and get her through the entire war-torn country to Winterfell. 

If that’s not protection, I don’t know what is.

Tyrion’s speech at the Blackwater (after the Hound has already deserted) about defending Your City rings false for the Hound because he literally cares only about one thing in the whole place (maybe two if you count Stranger). Hound figures why not take the girl out of the city rather than trying to save the whole shit city to protect her?

But it doesn’t work, and Sansa and Sandor break up.

Next episode. Sandor does not appear. Sansa does. And three separate couples—all doomed in different ways—make promises.

MARRIAGE PLEDGE #1: JOFFREY BARATHEON TO MARGERY TYRELL

Joffrey: “It would be an honor to return your love. But I am promised to another. A king must keep his word...I took a holy vow.”

Pycelle: “The gods do indeed hold betrothal solemn.”

Joff: “The gods are good. I am free to heed my heart...you will be my queen, and I will love you from this day until my last day.”

OK so mostly this is foreshadowing for Robb getting whacked and Joffrey getting poisoned at his wedding. But it’s also amazing extra-level bullshit. Every single person in the scene is lying through his or her teeth and putting on a show for the court, except for Sansa who is genuinely delighted to be relieved of Joffrey. 

Well, the situation also thrills Littlefinger who pounces on her literally moments after Joff sets her aside. If the Hound had waited maybe one more day he and Sansa would have been so much freer to figure themselves out together--but then it wouldn’t be a heartbreaking romantic separation would it?

But there are a couple of lines I want to highlight as possibly important for SanSan.

“The gods do indeed hold betrothal solemn.”

What if this is true on some level and the gods have considered SanSan to be pledged to one another in some spiritual way? Could the gods actually have been intervening in their favor in some way? Probably not but...maybe.

“I am free to heed my heart.”

So so so few people in Westeros are free to heed their hearts. That’s why the freefolk call themselves that—they aren’t bound by the feudal system and the arranged marriages and the taxes and high-maintenance castles and all that. 

But come season eight, guess who is free as hell to heed her heart? Sansa Stark. She’s even finally rid of Littlefinger. Nobody except maybe Jon Snow can tell her what to do, and I feel strongly that he DGAF who she marries so long as he’s a good man. 

MARRIAGE PLEDGE #2: SHAE DA FUNNY HOAR TO TYRION LANNISTER

Tyrion: “I’m a monster, as well as a dwarf. You should charge me double.”

Shae: “You think I’m here for money?”

Tyrion: “That was the arrangement we made. I pay you and you lie to me.”

Shae: “You have a shit memory. I am yours and you are mine.”

I don’t understand these two. I think Tyrion did love her, but “I pay you and you lie to me” was the truth of it. Their relationship was built on a shaky foundation of business and lies.

In the end she testified at his trial for capital crimes and he strangled her to death. So...as the Hound said to Tyrion in the series premiere, “It’s not hunting if you pay for it.”

You can buy a wife with an army or gold, or you can buy the girlfriend experience from a prostitute, but you can’t buy a healthy, happy and loving marriage, not for any price.

I am a crazy person, admittedly, but I think George’s endgame is two well-deserved happy marriages: Jon & Dany, and Sansa & Sandor. (I wouldn’t mind Brienne & Jaime, Missandei & Grey Worm, and Sam & Gilly also living happily ever after but WE WILL SEE.)

MARRIAGE PLEDGE #3: ROBB STARK AND TALISA MAEGYR

Secret love in the woods!

The theme to this scene is “I Am Yours and You Are Mine,” a lushly romantic love theme by Ramin Djawdi. These are good people, and they are madly in love, and they are doomed as fuck.

As a wise man once said, “What is honor compared to a woman's love? What is duty against the feel of a newborn son in your arms...or the memory of a brother’s smile?”

I wish I could tell you that the series is consistent about punishing oathbreakers, but I can’t. The best I can offer is that the story does seem to treat marriage (and the children of marriage, i.e. trueborns versus bastards) as a special and very important kind of oath. 

The camera focuses on Lady Oleanna Tyrell at Joffrey and Marge’s wedding just as the High Septon says, “...one heart, one flesh, one soul. Cursed be he who would seek to tear them asunder.” And of course, House Tyrell is eventually exterminated. 

George, if not the gods, does seem to value fidelity in marriage and not running around “stabbing” girls you don’t plan to marry. Ned Stark is a saint who never cheated. Cersei and Bobby are both unfaithful, but Cersei went a step further and aborted all of her trueborns and cuckholded Bobby with Jaime’s bastards. Stannis is a cheater. Renly is a cheater--he’s married to Marge but sexes up Loras. Rhaegar was a bigamist maybe--timeline unclear but undoubtably problematic. Ramsay Snow was fucking Myranda while married to Sansa. Theon is a jackass for whoring and banging captain’s daughters whereas Jon Snow doesn’t want to make bastards on Ros. Daario wants to come to Westeros as Dany’s fuckboi even if she’s going to marry someone else but Dany is all “hard pass” because Dany ain’t like that. Brandon Stark (Ned’s murdered brother) was a bit of a fuckboi. Littlefinger gets married and murders his wife within the space of a...day? No bueno!

Tyrion gives Shae a heartbreaking speech when he’s breaking up with her for her own safety about “you are not fit to bear my children, and Sansa is.” Bastards! So much talk about legitimacy or not and what that equips you for, or not, in Westeros. Blah blah thousand-year dynasty.

These are not always our contemporary morals, at least in popular media, but they do seem pretty solidly founded in Westeros: 

Marriage matters. Fidelity matters. 

I do think it is important that we never ever see Sandor interact with other women on the show besides Sansa and Arya (and the farmer’s daughter Sally). 

Not Cersei. Not Myrcella. Not Melisandre. Not whores. He isn’t even shown talking to Dany after she saves him on Drogon. Sansa is his woman. Period. 

Sansa takes marriage very seriously, but she is never in a position to choose her husband or control the circumstances of her marriage. Marriage to Sansa is suggested or arranged, canonically, to Joffrey Baratheon, Tyrion Lannister, Littlefinger, Robin Arryn and Ramsay Snow, and that’s not even including all the fan-made pairings like Sansa-Marge, Sansa-Tywin, Sansa-Stannis, Sansa-Edd, Sansa-Jon, Sansa-Pod, Sansa-Bronn, etc. 

Tyrion is by far the best of the lot of Sansa’s canonical consorts, a list that includes two psychopaths, one sociopath and one disabled child. 

By Ned Stark’s standard of “brave, gentle and strong,” again, Tyrion might qualify as brave and gentle, but the other four fail to have even one of those qualities. Ugh. Sandor is all three, to my mind, although the show de-emphasizes “gentle” in favor of sassy, but we all know that he’s a very different kind of brute from Joffrey or Ramsay.

Three more tidbits and then shutting up. 

** The episode ends with Dany’s vision in the House of the Undying. Drogo says: “Or maybe it is a dream. My dream, your dream. I do not know. These are questions for wise men with skinny arms. You are the moon of my life and if this is a dream, I will kill the man who tries to wake me.”

If Sansa’s dreams are as important as I think they will turn out to be, this line may feel more evocative of SanSan in the future. I mean, LOL, “These are questions for wise men with skinny arms” is a total Sandor POV thing to say, although Sandor does have a rough-hewn wisdom of his own.

** The next episode is the season three premiere, “Valar Dohaeris (All Men Must Serve)” and in that we get:

Littlefinger telling Sansa that “stealing you is treason”

Sansa telling Shae that it’s better to use your imagination and dream than think about the truth, because “the truth is always terrible or boring.”

Ros telling Shae that Sansa is a very important person and reminding us of her connection to Winterfell

And Marge telling little kids that knights “protect the weak and uphold the good”

** And then finally, in the second episode of season three, Sandor reappears and it’s clear that he’s been drunk non-stop since he left Sansa behind. He gets captured while unconscious and when he comes to, the first thing he sees is Arya (he recognizes her instantly) and the first words of out his mouth are “What in seven hells are you doing with the Stark bitch?” It’s clear to me that he determines on the spot to watch over her. He has not been granted the status of protector of Sansa, but Arya is fair game.

Was it divine justice or the hand of the gods, putting Sandor together with his wife’s little sister who needs to be protected? We shall see. We shall see.

“In winter, we must protect ourselves.” “When the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives.” “I miss him.” “Me too.”

[shachaai]

for the AU mix it up, if you want! Assassin AU + Soulmate AU + psychic connection AU! (for EngCan or FrUk? :D, please if you want!)

I went with fruk for this one, and it was a toss-up between this piece or a later piece set in the same ‘verse with them arguing about the Compare The Market meerkats. I’m not sorry. It’s more thieves than assassins here, but please just take it as ‘how not to recruit your soulmate to a shady black market organisation.’May tackle the engcan at another time.

   If someone were to, before this disastrous evening began, have forced Francis to guess which of the many people he was to interact with that night at the gala would be most likely to pull a blade on him and shove it through his shoulder with enough force to hit the wall behind him, Francis would not have placed his bets on the nearly-naked male dancer with the incredibly pert bottom - even after watching the man sneak away from the other entertainers at the gala and following him to the restricted area. If only because, wearing only heels and a particularly strappy body harness, Francis could not figure out where the dancer had been concealing his knife.

Both the thud of Francis hitting the wall and his strangled yelp of pain are muffled by the music and crowds of the gala they have absconded from, a hand tight over Francis’ mouth sealing the deal with a knee pressing dangerously hard against his crotch.

The library where Francis had followed the dancer to is dark, save city lights coming in through a thin crack in the curtains. Grabbed coming in from the lit hallway, Francis’ eyesight is still adjusting to the library’s dim - an amateur’s mistake, making him almost (but only almost) deserving of his circumstances for underestimating the scantily-dressed.

(He could never have fully deserved a knife through his shoulder, though it seems to have missed the bone, puncturing through layers of cloth and skin. For the sake of all things holy - his suit is Versace.)

The curve of a shadowed cheek moves not far from Francis’ face, a low, angry voice inquiring: “Did your mother never teach you not to harass the staff at work?”

“You,” Francis mutters as he contemplates the nerve damage his shoulder with suffer if he goes for his own concealed blade, idly hating how garbled his voice comes out through a grabbing hand (it is ruining the beautiful enunciation everyone he hates hates him for) but primarily concerned with the matter where his whole body is trying not to cringe because he is impaled to the wall and his shoulder feels like it is on fire, “do not look like the one who is being harassed here.”

The dancer does not look at all like he has understood anything that Francis has just said. Francis can see him better now as his eyes adapt to his surroundings, his assailant a contrast of shadows with pinpricks of city light picking out wispy strands of his dark blond hair, the perplexed blink of his eyelashes.

He’s not meant to be here either, something whispers in the middle of the white-hot pain trying to overtake Francis’ mind, which is a ridiculous observation for Francis to make now. Of course the dancer should not be in this library; he’d snuck away from the gala to the off-limits area in the exact way that Francis had been meaning to sneak away from the gala right before he had been distracted by the dancer sneaking away first.

God, if any of Francis’ colleagues could see him now. Gilbert would shoot this mongrel and then never let Francis forget it. Antonio would… Francis is not entirely sure what Antonio would do, to be honest, but he would certainly let Francis put his head down in his lap and pet Francis’ hair very consolingly afterwards, because Antonio is many things, primarily confusing, but he is a darling. Francis sometimes wishes that at least one of them might have turned out to be his soulmate, one of the ones great cosmic justice has decided should be able to hear his innermost thoughts (and vice versa): Antonio, if only so Francis could understand what thoughts went through his friend and occasional lover’s mind, and Gilbert so he could end Gilbert’s ruthless teasing by threatening the other man to think of nothing but French love songs all day until Gilbert gives him some peace. But at first touch, when they had all first met each other… nothing. Their thoughts had remained firmly each their own.

“If you scream…” the dancer murmurs warningly - and does not say what would happen if Francis screams, though the weight of his hand and knee increases on the knife in Francis’ shoulder and on Francis crotch respectively. For someone with such lovely long legs, he has very sharp knees. Francis disapproves of them utterly, especially when applied to his own genitalia. (Francis refuses to die at the hands of someone who is too pointy.)

Refusing to humiliate himself with further garbled mutterings through a palm, Francis attempts to communicate through his eyes alone that he is not planning to scream. It is quite clear to both of them that neither of them are up to any good, and neither of them want to attract the attention of the gala’s security.

The dancer’s hand slips away from his mouth, down to his chin.

Francis smiles. Not kindly. “My suit, connard.”

Really? says the dancer’s expression, loud enough Francis practically hears the word in his head.

“It is Versace,” Francis hisses, having to breathe more heavily through his nose now. His shirt, jacket and waistcoat all stick to his skin, warm with his own blood. “And you have put two holes through the jacket! Do you know how much this outfit costs?”

“I couldn’t give a rat’s ass,” the other man snaps back at him, and Francis feels the angry huff of his breath warm against his neck. If the coarseness didn’t give it away, the crispness of his accent does - Francis has had the misfortune to be stabbed by an Englishman. The universe hates him. “Why were you following me?”

“Why were you sneaking away?” Francis counters, and lets his fingers - slowly - twitch towards his belt. “You think I don’t know you shouldn’t be here either? You were too furtive leaving the party.”

He’s good, Francis’ thoughts murmur and there is something about that -

“So - what?” the dancer scoffs, and Francis would rather like to knee him in the crotch. “You figured you’d follow the dancer in a skimpy costume and blackmail them into sex because you think they’re up to no good?”

Francis is insulted enough his hand pauses groping for his knife. “Stabbing someone into a wall seems rather like the actions of a guilty conscience, do you not think?”

“Self-defence,” claims the dancer, blandly enough Francis knows the shit is lying through his teeth. “I was assaulted by a stalkerish pervert.”

Pervert! Francis bares his teeth, the muscles of his neck going taut in his flash of irritation and making his shoulder shriek in agony. “If this is self-defence, salope, why are you not calling for security?”

I really wish, the voice murmurs in France’s head again, somewhere between exasperated and wistful, that I’d just hit him with the encyclopaedia.

Francis… Francis is nowhere near the encyclopaedias? His brow wrinkles, confused at his own random thoughts. He was supposed to have been in and out tonight: mingling at the gala until he could sneak away to the restricted area and steal the documents his client badly wanted and was willing to pay so much for. The dancer had not been part of the plan. A stabbing had not been planned. A stabbing should not jumble his processing like this unless the blade had been coated in some kind of illicit substance -

“I don’t use poison,” the dancer snaps at him, sounding aggrieved, and Francis can see his features better now, thick eyebrows, eyes liquid black from his pupils and a surprisingly lovely mouth twisted into an extremely unlovely scowl. “If I want someone dead that badly, it’s quick.”

The air freezes in Francis’ lungs, a feeling like something cold and sludgy slipping down his back.

I did not, he thinks, slowly, clearly, and as precisely as he can think with everything suddenly feeling incredibly numb, say anything about poison out loud.

Francis did not. Poison or not, he is in control of his own mouth - he has to be, for his own sanity.

“What sanity?” the dancer asks snippily. “I’m not deaf, and you definitely said -”

“Meeting my soulmate was supposed to be romantic,” Francis mourns, completely ignoring the denial in front of him and all the outrage that earns him. The universe is in the process of kicking him - hard! - when he is already down, so Francis feels fully entitled to complain. “You stabbed me - I was going to be suave!”

Do you even know the meaning of the word? the voice - the dancer’s voice, becoming increasingly familiar the more Francis hears it - asks in Francis’ mind, and if Francis were not currently impaled to a wall, he would put his face in his hands and weep. His soulmate is English. The voice he is going to be stuck with, narrating all of its innermost thoughts to Francis for the rest of his life - unless he kills his soulmate first - is English.

Francis might be a corporate spy, occasional assassin, and extremely good thief, but he has done nothing to deserve this.

“You are not my soulmate!” the dancer hisses at him, sounding as disgusted at the arrangement as Francis is.

Francis has no time for further denial. He has papers to steal, and would rather like to have the knife out of his shoulder - and either the name of his newfound soulmate or his soulmate’s knife through his neck, putting the both of them out of this misery.

“Put your hand on my mouth again.”

The dancer rears back a little. “If this is some kind of kink - ”

“Put your hand back on my mouth, salope. Then you will know I cannot be talking out loud when you hear me think.”

Black eyes glower at Francis, but the palm that had been resting on his chin claps itself back over his lips again.

So you can be trained, Francis thinks, as clearly and loudly as he can.

The eyes in front of him widen, and the dancer shivers - a full-body thing. In only his harness, he really must be cold.

“Fuck you,” he says. And thinks: I’m not paying for your suit.

“You’re buying me a new one,” says Francis, and smiles grimly at the resignation that flashes across the face in front of him. Even better is the realisation that Francis hears echo in his mind, clear, dry English that is already becoming far too familiar:

God, he is my soulmate. And then after a few stunned moments: I want a refund.

[thehostilegospel]

Soulmate(s)

Every now and then I read old writings I haven't shared or purposely didn’t finish. A few years ago I began to write about the concept of a soulmate and how I’m sure I met mine while out of town for work in 2011. I didn’t finish it and I won’t share it. We only spent two weeks together and never saw each other after that. During those two weeks we would sneak away from anything work related and bonded in this cosmic way. I’ve been searching for that feeling every since. I’ve failed miserably. Now that I think about it, him setting the bar so high in those two weeks could be one of the many reasons I’ve been single for so long. 

We always kept in contact and would entertain the idea of meeting up but neither of us were really serious about it, obviously. We had our own complicated lives to live and we just kept it at that. We have a mutual understanding that what we have is sacred, we get each other, we have love for each other, we trust each other, but we will never have each other. Not in this lifetime, at least. But in the next one, I’ll be waiting like clockwork and I’ll certainly know it’s him by the feel of it.

Anyways, this isn’t about him. I preface with this to better explain my views on what it means to have a soulmate/s. For some reason we’ve been made to believe that our soulmate is one person we are romantically involved with. They’re placed on this Earth specifically for us and it's only one person. I’m here to tell you that’s bullshit. They are friends. They are family. They are children. They are lovers. They are people we cross paths with to experience God on a more amplified level. And sometimes that means we only have them for a fixed amount of time. Thus, I think our view on seeking a soulmate needs to change. Our view on seeking anything needs to change. When you know, you just know and you just let that shit happen.

Recently I broke down and put together how Dallas (I have a sperate writing about DDD I’ll post at a separate time), church and basketball has brought me to the closest people in my life, who I view as my soulmates. Long story short, In the 3rd grade I played basketball for Oak Cliff Bible Fellowship in Dallas, TX. This was my introduction to organized basketball which stuck with me long enough to never go a year without playing. By my freshman year of high school I wasn’t making the best decisions and my parents thought it would be best to pull me out of that environment and enrolled me in a private Christian school. I was ready to rebel that whole year. But I knew one thing for sure, I was hooping no matter where I went. I met Briana and Destiny that year. I was from the Eastside, Destiny was from the Westside, Briana was from North Town and we all had three things in common... Our parents forced us to come to this whack private school, we thought everyone there was lame, and we played basketball. We instantly bonded over that. I’ve picked apart how many of my soulmates have blossomed through that one encounter with those two. So here is a letter to each of you who hold a great deal of space in my heart...

Ava

I wish I didn’t have to start this off with you because it instantly makes me want to cry. Just thinking about how small you used to be and the little person you are now is insane to think about. In just 9 years on this Earth you have been such a pillar for all of us. You have been one of the main reasons we had to grow up. I have to constantly remind myself that you’re so ahead of your time because you grew up with us while we were still growing up. I still remember the first time you said my name when you were a baby as I was leaving for work. You amaze me every time I see you. You are so freakin smart and head strong. Your mom has done such an amazing job with raising and providing for you. I am so proud of the little girl you have grown to be and I don’t worry about you one bit. I know you will grow into a young lady who stands firm in what she believes, loves people, and will excel in whatever you decide to do. You just make sure you step into your role as a leader and handle your handle. Also, I still lowkey hope you decide to play basketball one day. Me and BB tried our best to make you a lefty when you were a baby so you could be a shooter. Didn’t really work out but I hope you surprise us in the next few years. You are the reason for us all ❤️

Bre

My God, my God. Where do I even start with you? I guess August, 2004 is a good spot. Girl, that one game you got suspended and I had to run the court without you, I knew I couldn’t ever be without you again! You have been my left and my right on and off the court every since. I can still hear you yelling, “I’m rolling with you!” after a fast break just to remind me I wasn’t out there alone. I knew if you were by my side, I was safe. And I still feel that way 15 years later. You are truly my soulmate. We have cried. We have laughed until we cried. We have been drunk off of our asses. We have traveled different countries. We have been ready to fight everybody with our bad attitudes and terrible mouths. YOU. GET. ME. And there is not a thing I’m more grateful for in this world than simply that. I have seen you grow into such an amazing woman. First a wife, and now a mother. You inspire me more than you will ever know. I knew from the moment we met that you would be more than just my teammate. You have stuck with me through and through and I know that won't EVER change. You and your family have loved me like I was blood and I can never thank you enough for that. You are my home and I love you, eternally. I am so proud of you. I love to see the stars in your eyes when you look at Kwame. You make me feel like maybe I can be a mother, too ❤️

Brian

You got the hell out of Vegas after graduation and I don't blame you one bit! You have been doing your thing every since and it is truly inspiring! I feel like we bonded more once I moved to Texas, and I’m extremely grateful for that. We’re similar in a lot of ways with our introverted personalities and our musical taste. You are truly a stand up dude and I appreciate every bit of you! Continue to keep setting and accomplishing goals. You deserve every blessing that is written in the stars for you. Also, I’m getting the itch to go sky diving again 👀

Cheric

Oh, Cedric 😂 Where do I begin? Initially we called you the “Curtain knocker downer” because you knocked down Mrs. Crystals Curtains up stairs hahaha. You probably don't remember that, but we do. Man, you have been one solid brotha for all of us. I may not say it enough, but I appreciate you so much. We all appreciate you. For never switching up. For always being there. And for always being down to get freakin faded! haha You are one of the few men I know I can always depend on no matter the circumstances. You always come through and you always have our back. Thank you for staying down. Stay focused on your goals and handle your business. One day my mom is gonna call you Cheric and not Cedric 😂

Des

My dawwwwwwg! I knew when I met you in Mrs. Bakers class that we were gonna be down for life. Man, I am so freakin proud of you! You are one of one. I will never have to worry about you making shit happen. EVER. You will always find a way. A way to be creative. A way to make money. A way to network. A way to connect with people. A way to make people feel comfortable. You have been an all around dope ass human being from day one. Sometimes I don’t know how I have a friend as cool as you. You probably are the coolest person I’ve ever known in my whole life hahaha. I have seen you grow so much over the past 15 years and step into who you are today, unapologetically. And it is SO inspiring. You make me so proud! You command any room you go into, no matter the crowd. You are always poised. You always make friends. You are always you. And I appreciate that about you the most. You have been there for me since I was 14. We’re about to be 30, dawg! I couldn’t ask God for a better partner in crime. I have seen you work your ass off for the things that you want and not complain about it one bit. You are the epitome of a hard worker and a rider. Thank you for being by my side throughout these years. Thank you for the advice, the late night convos, and being an all around whole ass person from day one. You inspire me through and through. I love you!

Julian

Oh, the Colombian/Italian brother from another. You are the only person who stuck around from Trinity hahah. I can’t remember how or when we all got so close, but you belonged with us! You have grown into such a handsome and hardworking man. I’ll never have to worry about you making a way. You always have a plan and you always execute. And your musical taste is IMPECABLE! You are so debonair and you always make shit happen. I’m thankful to have you on my team. You always come through when I need you, no matter the cause. I’m so proud of the man you’ve grown to be over the last 15 years. I can’t wait to see how you flourish over the next 15. With you, I know I’ll always have someone to ride around the city, listen to music, and hike with. Stay focused and don’t compromise. Thank you for being you.

Kwame

My beautiful bubbly God Son! Oh, you bring so much light to us all! You can’t read yet, but that won’t stop me from telling you how loved you are. You came along at such a necessary time for all of us. You are such a little inquisitive warrior and I love seeing the little baby you grow to be.  Forgive me for not being there for every bit of your growth, but I’m trying my best. My biggest fear is that I spend too much time away from you and you don’t remember who I am 😕 But I’m so happy I was there to witness your first steps. Thank you for saving that until I was home, Kwammy Kwam ❤️ You are here for a reason. And although I’d love to think that you’re here to bring us all the joy, I know you will grow up to have a true and divine purpose. You have that purpose now and I can’t wait to see it manifest. I also can’t wait to see if you’re weird like your Mom or weird like your Dad. We love you, Ekpoudia!

Lulu

Although you aren’t last on the list, I had to write yours last because there is just so much to say. But I’ll start when you traveled with us to Pahranagat for a basketball tournament (Yea, I got a memory like an Elephant). You didn’t even go to school with us and you sure as hell didn’t hoop hahah. But you were always around making us laugh. After we graduated high school, we became extremely close and we’ve been thick as thieves every since. There are things we get about one another that no one else will probably understand. Our sense of independence and solitude while simultaneously desiring what we know we deserve. And refusing to settle for anything less. If there is no one in the world that understands me and my mess, I know you understand me. I have seen you work your ass off while providing for Ava, even before she was born. You have not only been a mom for Ava, but really a mom for all of us. You are always taking care of us, feeding us, problem solving, listening, and putting together the best game nights and family functions. I used to joke with you and tell you that you could never leave that house because that was the only home I had. But the reality is that home will be wherever you are. You are one of the strongest people (not women) I know. You keep a lot of us together, and I don’t think you know it. You have done such an amazing job raising Ava and it shows. She is destined to be a remarkable young lady. Hell, she already is. Lu, you deserve all the love and security you give to all of us. You are an amazing woman and you inspire me each day through your love and grace. Keep working towards your goals and get shit done per usual. I love you. 

Mikey

You save lives, homeboy! You have been the funniest person I’ve known since you were in middle school. Til this day, I tell people your jokes/quotes because that's how funny you are! In a world where there is so much turmoil and chaos, I always know that when you’re around, we’ll all end up crying from laughter. I’ve also seen you grow from a little kid who clapped his feet together when he would shoot a jumper to a whole ass man who is handling his business! Stay creative through the music and the jokes. You are appreciated!

Mrs. Crystal

You have been a second mother to me and welcomed me into your family without hesitation. Thank you for loving me like I was one of your own. More than anything, thank you for being the matriarch and birthing 4 of the most amazing people in my life. They have kept me kicking, laughing, drinking, and loving. You are so appreciated ❤️

A few months ago after Kwame’s birthday, I left the house to “go to the store” and all my soulmates were there (Brian was on Facetime at some point lol). I came back and walked in and Biggy’s “One More Chance” was playing on Mikey’s turn tables. I will never forget how it felt to walk into that energy. It brought tears to my eyes. That was home. Y’all are home. I believe that I’m so content with my solitude because I have everyone that I need. Yall are everything that I need. Anyone else is just an accent.

Thank you for loving me. 

[cheetahsprints]

Subtle Grace

Summary: Harrison Wells met his guardian angel, in a surprising turn of events. Words: 2637 Sequel: Here 

Links have been fixed. 

Harrison awoke with a splitting headache. He groped for a pillow and pressed it to his face. He groaned. Luckily, the curtains were closed. He felt strange. His mind was hazy. He clawed the information from his depths.

The last thing he remembered, it was raining. He had been tracking Russell Glosson, who was the key to his wife’s murder. The police didn’t believe it had been on purpose. Just a car accident, it happens, they said. A little digging had revealed the truth. The man blocking them at every turn was nicknamed Turtle, slow yet efficient.

He had pulled up on a dead end. He was taking a break at Jitters. By chance, Turtle had showed up there. Harrison had cornered him in the alley. He had his handgun pointed, but then -- but then. The memory tried to slip between his fingers.

He curled on his side and pushed the pillow harder to his face. He forced himself to fight past the muck. There had been another guy. Harrison couldn’t recall his face. He must not have seen it. He memorized faces with ease. He had hit the ground, searing pain climbing all over his right side. There was blood everywhere, mixing with the rain.

He was dying. The last thought was of his daughter. He thought of how he was a horrible father for leaving her an orphan. She would probably find out on the news or have to identify his body. His broken ribs screamed with every sob that had escaped him.

A bright light had blinded him. He’d been by a river, in the height of summer. It reminded him of camping with his late wife, when they were wild and youthful. But she wasn’t there. He had seen himself, floating in the river, which was turning red. Everything was too bright. He ached all over. He thought he heard a flapping of large wings, but he couldn’t see any birds.

He couldn’t figure out how he ended up in bed. He tossed the pillow to the floor. He pawed at his body. He had no injuries. That was impossible. His breathing sped up, panic setting in. He sat up. There was no agony, no blood. There was only the lingering feeling of nearly cracking his head open on the asphalt. He had the sensation that he wasn’t alone. His eyes darted over each corner of his room.

“What the hell,” Harrison screeched. There was a shadowed figure at the end of his bed.

His body jerked, and he somehow flung himself off the bed. His legs were tangled in the sheets. He collapsed on the floor in a heap. He crawled across the floor. He yanked his drawer open and grabbed his gun. He nearly pulled the trigger but considered the shoot first and ask questions later wouldn’t work if he killed the mysterious person. Whoever it was didn’t appear to be armed or preparing to attack him.

“Who are you? Step into the light,” Harrison snarled. The shadowy figure was revealed to be a short man with hair curling down past his shoulders. He held his hands up in a silent plea.

He took him a moment to comprehend the most noticeable feature. Behind the stranger stretched a pair of enormous white wings with a bluish hue. There was a bright blue unearthly glow about him. He wore a red and black tunic. He had some kind of golden crown, and he had matching eyeshadow. He was the most beautiful being Harrison had ever seen. Although Harrison wondered if the angel just automatically had that effect on mortals.

Harrison was one of the most skeptical people on the planet. He certainly didn’t believe in all the guardian angel crap that was the rage these days, especially within his daughter’s generation. But now, the proof was right in front of him. He liked proof.

He could just have a concussion.

“My name is Francisco Ramon,” the angel bowed, “I am your guardian angel.”

“Why did you save me? If angels always protected people, no one innocent would die.”

Francisco absentmindedly plucked a feather. It disappeared in a puff of smoke when he dropped it. The wings folded, and he plopped on the edge of the bed.

“It wasn’t your time,” he said simply. Harrison rolled his eyes.

“So my wife was supposed to die then is that it? She was on some cosmic list?”

Francisco crossed his legs. He tilted his head toward Harrison. “I don’t know anything about your wife. I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Why are you still here? Why can I see you?”

“You sure have a lot of questions dude.” Then Francisco shrugged. “I’m sticking around to make sure you don’t do anything dumb.”

Dude? What was that about? He realized he was still on the floor. He blushed with indignation and hauled himself on the bed. He carefully set his firearm on the nightstand. He narrowed his eyes at the angel casually lounging in his apartment, on his bed. Like he owned the place.

Harrison huffed. “That’s Dr. Wells to you. And you didn’t say why I can see you.”

“Oh. Um. That’s on a need to know basis,” Francisco mumbled, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck.

Harrison had heard of people claiming they had seen their guardian angel. In those situations, the angel was supposedly meant to be with them, usually in a romantic capacity. The notion made Harrison want to step on a bunch of flowers out of pure spite. He dismissed it. There was only so much supernatural elements he could wrap his brain around. Even if his angel was also his soulmate (which would truly confirm the universe hated him), he didn’t believe in fate. He could move on with life, ignoring it.

In most cases, a prominent sign was a certain feeling, sound, or taste they suddenly experienced during the first kiss. He didn’t plan on finding out.

Besides, he couldn’t do that to someone so full of light. He didn’t know exactly what would happen to him when he died, but it had nothing to do with Heaven, or wherever Ramon came from. He wouldn’t belong there.

Harrison pushed off from the bed. He paid the angel no mind as he straightened the sheets and pillows. He stomped to the kitchen, only to find his cupboards had been raided. Various open cereal boxes were on the counter. A single bowl was dirty, sitting in the sink, a bit of milk still in it. He didn’t remember buying all this cereal. Must have been Jesse’s doing, although why she needed different kinds, he had no idea. She was in college, but with her mother’s killer on the loose, he couldn’t allow her to stay in a dorm. She wasn’t very pleased with him.

He began closing the boxes and putting them away.

Harrison turned and Francisco was right behind him. He jumped and slammed his elbow right against the counter. He growled and clutched his arm.

“I was thinking. I’m gonna call you Harry.”

Harrison pointedly ignored him and poured his own bowl of cereal. He almost grabbed the Raisin Bran like a responsible adult, but the Reese’s Puffs Francisco had dug into tempted him. He decided to give in this one time. He hummed at the taste. He pretend his guardian stalker wasn’t watching him.

“You can call me Cisco.”

“I’ll call you whatever I want, Ramon, since you’ve taken that liberty for yourself.”

The angel laughed. It was an empty, snide sound. “You’re really a dick you know that? It was like drawing the short straw when I found out they assigned me to you.”

“Oh, notorious am I?”

“A dozen valiant, noble, kind angels have given up you, and everyone has bets going how long it’ll take you to get yourself maimed or killed. I guess I’m your lucky number thirteen?”

“Leave. I don’t need you.”

“You’re really unbelievable.” Ramon scoffed, “I saved your life!”

“Congratulations. Do you want a medal?” Harrison merrily crunched the cereal between his teeth in a large bite.

He and Ramon had a staring match over the table as he ate. Harrison blinked, but he shouldn’t have expected to be able to win against a nearly immortal being. Ramon brushed his hair behind his ear and smirked. Harrison’s libido didn’t mind how sexy he was, and he wondered if angels were celibate or if they married or had orgies. Did they even have time between looking after the lives of insignificant humans for pleasure? He doubted it. He felt a bit of pity.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

Harrison startled. “Like what? I’m not looking at you any special way. Don’t be stupid.”

Ramon didn’t appear impressed. He rested his cheek on the palm of his hand.

“As though you wanted to have me instead of that delicious cereal. I can’t blame you - I am one fine piece of ass.”

“How do you know I don’t literally want to eat you, Ramon. You are irritating,” Harrison deadpanned. Ramon raised an eyebrow.

“Because I know you, Harry, duh.” Ramon drew a circle in front of Harrison’s face. “I watch you when you’re sleeping, when you’re naughty or nice, all that junk. You’re not a cannibal.”

“That’s Santa.”

“Santa is a guardian for all the children. You only get a personal one when you turn eighteen and enter the fun of adulthood,” Ramon replied. Harrison snorted.

“So Santa is real, angels are real. I’m gonna go ahead and assume God and Satan are real.” Harrison paused, lips twitching. “Is the tooth fairy real? Because I’m pretty sure I’m the one who put money under my daughter’s pillow.”

“No tooth fairy or easter bunny I’m afraid. God and Satan are constructs, but there are demons and dark spirits. And we have a leader, the Archangel. Then there’s the speed force which --”

“Please, don’t tell me more. I still have a damn headache.”

“You did hit your head pretty hard. I’m not supposed to fix trivial ailments.”

There was a short silence.

“Wow, you said please. I’m proud of you Harry!” He stuck out his bottom lip. Harrison tried not to contemplate kissing him.

“Do me a favor and shut up.”

Ramon gave him a wide grin. His smile reminded Harrison of the sun rising. His chest constricted. His wife was waiting to be avenged. He couldn’t afford this distraction. Ramon had other ideas.

Ramon flicked his wrist, then rested his chin on top of his hand. “Don’t worry, I’m not interested in mixing my business with pleasure.”

“Neither am I, especially with someone so far below my intelligence level, to think that I’d betray my wife like that,” Harry snapped. It was a little harsh.

Ramon smacked the table. Harrison managed not to jump. He expected Ramon to bite something back at him. He averted his eyes, picking at his fingernail. Harrison despised his stab of disappointment. His bowl clattered into the sink. He was grateful Ramon didn’t feel the need to follow him to the bathroom.

He changed out of his night clothes. He checked his calendar, and he had taken this day off. The hunt for Turtle had taken a toll on him. He didn’t bother getting dressed, he just threw on a black silk robe and sauntered to the living room. He threw himself on the couch and flicked on the TV. He went through the channels and landed on Star Trek. That was good enough.

He was starting to fall asleep again when the sound of popping woke him up. He scowled as Ramon paced the floor. His wings occasionally fluttered and flapped behind him. The breeze almost made Harrison indecent. He clutched the hem of his robe.

“Is that popcorn?”

“My favorite episode is on next! And I’m bored.”

“Because I’m here to entertain you,” Harrison remarked. To his annoyance, Ramon nodded.

“You’re not doing a good job of putting your life in danger. That’s why I’m in this cesspit in the first place.”

“I’m sorry it’s such an inconvenience for you,” Harrison said sarcastically. “When exactly do you have time to watch any series?”

Ramon shook his head. He leaned over the back of the couch, arms pillowing his head. Harrison tightened the belt of his robe and swung his legs to the floor.

“What?”

“You’ll recall I’m not mortal? You’re not my first assignment. Certainly the worst though.”

Ramon chuckled to himself as he strode back to the kitchen. Harrison stole a fistful of popcorn, much to Ramon’s displeasure. He delighted in such a dirty look on a divine angel’s face. He was achingly pretty. Under different circumstances, he would definitely throw his pride and self control to the wind.

He pictured his wife, bleeding all over the dashboard, glass everywhere. After that, his daughter’s tears. Finally, Glosson’s face flashed before him, sneering and taunting.

“What happened to Turtle?”

“Of whom do you speak?”

Harrison glared. Ramon sighed and tipped his head back.

“Russell Glosson is dead. The other guy killed him, somehow just… stopped his heart.”

“To keep him quiet,” Harrison mumbled.

Something wiggled in the back of his mind. There was one person who it might be. Plenty of criminals killed their minions. But only one was known for for his victims having their hearts crushed, while still inside their chests. Glee filled him. Harrison scratched his nose to hide his smile. He would have to be careful, considering Zolomon was the most dangerous serial killer alive. Then again, he had his guardian angel looking after him. Did that mean Ramon would stop him, or just keep him from going into situations where he would surely die?

Ramon stopped his train of thought. “I can see the wheels turning. You’re thinking of doing something dumb aren’t you?”

His wings were slightly opened. They seemed to twitched with nervousness. The edge of one brushed against his head, and he batted it away.

“None of your business.”

Ramon frowned. “OK listen, against my better judgement, I kinda care about you, Harry. You gotta talk to me. Communication is good.”

“I don’t owe you my inner thoughts.” A curiosity derived from his earlier process struck him.

“Can you see the future? Do you know if I will get injured or worse?”

Ramon wrung his hands. He licked his lips and took a moment to answer. His wings drooped.

“Sometimes. It’s - it’s not precise. I’m a bit of a joke upstairs. They say I could be powerful - only if - only if -”

“You lack confidence. Does anyone teach you, or do you have to - learn as you go?”

“The Archangel used to have training regimens for new guardians. They’ve slacked in the last few decades, no one knows why, and they haven’t seen them much. I’ve never even met them,” Ramon explained.

Harrison dropped his chin. He examined Ramon’s troubled expression. “How about a deal? I try not to get myself into serious trouble.”

“And?”

“And. You let me train you.”

“Are you sure training isn’t just code for experimenting.”

Harrison stuck out his hand. “I promise. It seems a worthwhile project.”

Training an angel seemed like the chance of a lifetime. He doubted anyone could ever claim such a thing. He imagined he couldn’t technically tell anyone. Ramon probably wouldn’t appear to someone else. That would be tricky. But he could serve as a way to keep his spirits up, when his mission was hitting brick walls.

Perhaps, it could also serve to distract Ramon. Harrison would have to take a few risks to succeed. Building rapport was out of the question. Ramon barely tolerated him, and his track record suggested that wouldn’t change.

Ramon took his hand and shook it, and there an incredible partnership would begin.