#if i was stronger it’s be cute to write a little case style fic series

[3l91]

have i talked about how my immediate impression of bokuto was “he reminds me of sherlock holmes”

the brilliance and eccentricities and dramatic mood shifts and the guy who follows him around itemizing a list of his peculiarities

anyway i just think bokuaka would slot really well into the detective genre

[mirkwoodshewolf]

The pipe player; John Deacon x reader

*Author’s note*

Okay so this one was a bit of a struggle cause when it comes to John I can't help but write a bit of fluff because c'mon LOOK AT HIM. HE'S A CINNAMON ROLL!!!! BUT THERE IS A DARK THEME STILL IN THIS STORY SUCH AS ABUSE AND A SCENE OF AN ALMOST ATTEMPT RAPE (Not with Deacy but another character) so IF THIS MAKES YOU UNCOMFORTABLE, DON'T. READ. IT!!! My feelings won't be hurt if you skip this part cause again I felt nervous writing it. So other than that, that's all I have to say, hope you all enjoy this part and I hope to have Brian's and the LAST HALLOWQUEEN fic up hopefully next weekend or before Halloween.

Intro to series

Taglist:

@psychosupernatural​

@plethora-of-things​

@ixchel-9275​

@waddles03​

@geek-and-proud​

@mexifangorl​

@queendeakyy​

@coolcxt​

____________________________________________________________

As you are walking around you suddenly come across one of the kids you recognized from the show during the pipe player’s routine. She was a little girl around 4-5 years old with blonde hair and green eyes holding a brown rabbit plushie in a blue trench coat.  You notice how she’s frantically looking around and her face is in absolute fear. Feeling heartbroken seeing a little girl so scared in a pretty scary place like this, you walk up to her.

“Hey sweetie.” She turns to look at you and she greets you shyly.

“Hello.”

“My name’s (y/n), what’s yours?”

“Laura.”

“Well it’s nice to meet you Laura. Are you lost sweetie?”

“I was trying to look for my daddy, but I think I lost him in the crowd. He told me to head back but I forgot my bunny Mr. Wiggles here. I just found him and now I can’t find my daddy!” She begins to tear up so you comfort her.

“Hey, hey it’s okay. It’s okay. We can look for him together, okay?” she sniffled and said.

“R-really?”

“Of course. Here take my hand so we don’t get separated okay. I’d hate to lose you to a place like this.” She wiped her nose on her sleeve and takes your hand.  As you walk around, you ask her what she can remember that her dad looked like.

But she can only remember that he had dark brown hair.  So that ruled out some of the people that were in the audience and left with what over 1000 more to go.  Soon you both hear a voice.

“Laura? Laura! Laura lovie where are you!?”

“Daddy!” Laura lets go of your hand and immediately takes off.  You panic and race after her calling out her name.  But then you soon see her being picked up by the pipe player, the two of them hugging each other.  So—the one girl in the act was actually his daughter.

“Oh Laura my sweetheart, my darling. Why didn’t you go immediately backstage after the act like I told you?” he asked sternly.

“If I may interject, it wasn’t her fault. She lost her rabbit and she was trying to find him.” You explain to him.  He looked towards you before looking back down at Laura.

“Mr. Wiggles’ is scared of the dark. But it took me forever to find him, when the lights came on I founded him.”

“Well, I do know how Mr. Wiggles feels about the dark so I’m happy you found him. But next time come tell me if you lost him, I thought someone had taken you away from me.”

“I sowwy daddy.”

“It’s alright poppet. You’re safe now, and that’s all I can ask for.” He kissed her forehead and hugged her close.  You couldn’t help but feel your heart skip a beat at the warm family reunion.  “Now go on, join your brothers and sisters in the trailer.”

He sets Laura down but before she leaves she runs up to you and hugs your legs.

“Thank you (y/n).”

“You’re very welcome Laura. Keep Mr. Wiggles close so that he doesn’t get lost again.” She nodded before finally taking off running.

“How can I ever thank you for finding her?” the pipe player said.

“No thanks are necessary. It’s heartbreaking to see a child separated from their parents.”

“Believe me, it’s heartbreaking on the opposite side. I don’t know what I would’ve done had she been kidnapped by some of the freaks that come see our shows.” You nod in agreement because some of them did look rather shady to you.  “Oh where are my manners, I’m John Deacon.” He introduced himself.

“And as your daughter has said, my name is (y/n).” the two of you shake hands with each other.

“Are you sure there isn’t anything that I can do as thanks for finding my daughter? Can I make you some hot chocolate or a warm cuppa?”

“Well…I wouldn’t mind some tea.”

“Right this way.” He guided you towards the back to a four-train like trailer and he guides you towards the main one and inside you see a kitchen as well as three boys roughhousing it up with each other.

“Robert! Luke! DeAngelo how many times have I told you to stop roughhousing in the living room!” John proclaimed in that father-voice.

“But dad Robert and DeAngelo stole my Nintendo switch!” Luke proclaimed.

“Robert. DeAngelo is this true?”

“Well he was game hogging!”

“He wouldn’t let us play a game!”

“I don’t wanna hear it now. You have embarrassed me in front of a guest!”

“John it’s okay….” You try to say but he gently interrupts you by saying.

“No it’s not. Alright boys, as punishment all three of you are not allowed Nintendo for a week.”

“What!?!” all three of them exclaimed.

“Okay two weeks.”

“But dad….” Robert started off but John interrupted.

“Three weeks, wanna go for four?” he raised a brow at his three sons and they remained quiet. “Okay now the three of you go to your rooms and I don’t wanna hear another pipe or rattle out of you.” The boys all chanted out in a mantra-like state.

“Yes father.” Then as they walked out DeAngelo hit Robert over the head while Robert pushed Luke against the back, the three of them muttering angry hisses at each other.

“I am so sorry you had to see that (y/n).” he apologizes to you.

“No, no trust me I’ve seen worse. My cousins Derek and Cody used to go full on out MMA fighting style all over an X-box. My uncle literally took the thing and threw it out the second story window just to get them to stop.”

“Wow, maybe I should take a page out of your uncle’s book and try that.” Said John as he got out the mugs and prepared the tea.

“Please take a seat anywhere.” You opted for the velvet chair since it was the only thing that hadn’t been tipped over in the three boys squabble.

“Hey John.”

“Hmm?”

“If—if you don’t mind me asking. DeAngelo is—is he…..adopted?” The reason you asked that was because unlike Robert and Luke, DeAngelo was a black kid around 10 years old.

“A runaway actually.”

“Runaway?” you question.

“Yes. You know how when you’re a kid and when you’ve always claimed that if you were going to run away, you’d run and join the circus.”

“Yeah.”

“Well that was the case with DeAngelo. We found him about 4 years ago in Chicago. He was—difficult to deal with at first, but that was until I found out the reason why he ran away.” He comes in with two mugs of tea and hands you one as he says grimly, “His father was an abuser.”

“No.” you gasp.

“Yeah. I noticed a few cigar burns on his hip one night and confronted him about it. And ever since then I’ve been looking after him.” Ohh what a saint.

“If—you don’t mind me asking John….”

“I think in the light of the matter you can call me Deacy. All my friends do.”

“So—we’re friends now?”

“Anyone who saves one of my kids I would consider a friend. I hardly ever let the other three I work along with near them. All except Brian.”

“He’s the—underwater act?”

“No that’s Roger. Brian’s the sorcerer.”

“Ohh yeah. Sorry.”

“No, no, no need to apologize. I tend to remember him because only a sorcerer like him could have hair like that. I’ll bet he��d keep the same hairstyle even when he’s old and grey.” You couldn’t help but giggle. “Anyways what were you going to ask?”

“Well, again if this isn’t crossing any lines but I was wondering….how many children do you have?”

“Well I consider all the children who came up on stage mine. But by blood I’ve got six.”

You choke on your tea at the number.  Six kids?! But he couldn’t be older than his early or mid-20’s.

“Does that come as a surprise to you?”

“Well I mean—you don’t look like someone who would have six kids.” He chuckled. “I’m sorry I shouldn’t have said that I was—”

“No, no it’s fine. Roger always calls me a prolific for having so many kids at such a young age. But I can’t help it. My wife and I always wanted a hundred kids.” At that statement you felt your heart secretly break a little.

Of course he was married.  I mean he was cute and all so how could a girl not fall for him.  He just—had this warmness to him that makes you feel like he’d not only be the perfect husband, but the perfect father.

“But sadly though I could only give her six.”

“Whys that?”

“She passed away about nine months ago. Breast cancer.”

“Oh Deacy I’m…..I’m so sorry. How—long were you both married?”

“It feels like a lifetime. An eternity. There was no one else like my Veronica.” His eyes held such sadness and heartbreak at the mention of his wife. “But—I promised her that any kid I would find from here on out, it would be ours. And I guess she keeps delivering to me more kids. All thanks to this.” He then took out his pipe from his undercoat pocket.

“Did she make it?”

“Yeah. It was on our first anniversary together. She said that any lost child that could hear the real tune of this pipe, can feel like they can do anything they wish.” So that’s why some of this boys were able to flip over the 20 volunteers all in a line, or were able to juggle things while balancing on a ball, or jump over 30ft into a pool of water.

“I wondered about some of those stuff the kids were doing. If that had been me, I would’ve chickened out.”

“Now I doubt that. Belief is more stronger than fear, if you can believe it, anyone can do it. Now since you’ve seem to know my life story, I think it’s only fair I get to know yours.”

“Oh no I—don’t wanna bore you to death with my tale.” You say trying to get out from sharing your life story.

“Oh no, no, no, no. I always teach my kids equal trade. If they argue about something, I tell them both to share their sides of the situation. So c’mon out with it.”

“Well…..” you trail off and take another sip of the warm tea before setting the mug down on the table that Deacy had put right side up just as he had sat down on the couch.  “My childhood was—a bit on the…..iffy side.”

“How do you mean?” he questions with a puppy-like head tilt.

“Well,” and you can’t explain how or why you suddenly started telling Deacy your life story.  Maybe it was his aura that made it feel like you can just tell him anything. “When I was six, my mom died of bladder cancer. So I know how hard it is to lose someone to cancer.”

“Oh (y/n). I’m so sorry to hear that. I—kinda know how it feels like to lose a parent at such a young age. My father died suddenly out of nowhere. I was lost for years till I met Veronica. Had it not been for her, I would’ve been kept in my shell.”

“It’s a good thing she did find you then.” You say with a smile.

“Did—anyone take care of you after your mum passed away?”

“Well both grandparents on each of my parent’s side were dead. My mum was an only child and my dad’s brother couldn’t afford to take care of me since he was dealing with my cousins who were teenagers at the time.”

“So your dad was the only one to take care of you?” at the mention of your father, you shift in your seat uncomfortably and nervously pick at your nails.  Unconsciously your shoes start to rub against each other and you can feel yourself getting a little clammy. “(Y/n)? (Y/n).”  You snap out of your daze.

“Huh?”

“Are you okay?” his eyes look at you with the utmost concern, like he’s approaching a frightened child.

“I—I’m sorry Deacy I-I-I was just….it’s…..” you start to ramble over your words and he gets down in front of you and says.

“Hey, look at me.” His takes your sweaty palms and squeezes them comfortingly. “Your cry-talking love, take a few deep breaths with me before you talk again.” He guides you through some breathing exercises to help you calm down.

You follow his guidance and he helps bring you back down to earth and calms the hysteria you were about to go under whenever it came towards your father.

“Better?” you sniffle and nod.

“Let’s just say…..I know exactly what DeAngelo went through growing up. But worse.” John’s eyes widen in horror as he couldn’t believe it.

“You mean……”

“Please John I…..I don’t wanna talk about it anymore.” You shudder in fear as you begin to close yourself up.  John immediately agrees and apologizes profusely in a gentle voice as he pulls you close to him.

You struggle to get out of his embrace because the only time your father ever hugged you, was to teach you a lesson. The more you struggled, the tighter he would hold you until you almost couldn’t breathe.

“(Y/n), (y/n) (y/n) relax. Shhh. No one’s going to hurt you. Shhh, relax. Shhh.” He tried to soothe you but you were still frantically thrashing about.  He hold you close with one arm and with the other reaches for his pipe and begins playing a soft tune.

Almost like magic, you stop thrashing and begin to calm down as you allow John to hold you close in his arms.  It was then you realized this wasn’t a punishment at all. It was a hug. A real, actual, comforting hug.

You’ve always wanted one but due to your father’s favored ‘lesson’ you feared that anytime someone was going to hug you, they were giving you a punishment which left you a bit touch-starved if you were honest.

But now being in Deacy’s strong but gentle arms, the music soothing you in one ear and in the other one his heartbeat assuring you everything would be okay.

Slowly but surely you lift your arms up and cling onto Deacy and bury your face into his chest.  He continues to play his flute and it further relaxes you.  Once the muscles in your body go completely relaxed and you finally stop fighting and just cling onto him like a child, John sets his flute down and places his free hand on top of your head, stroking through your hair.

“I’m so sorry (y/n). Had I known what—I should never have asked you to share such a personal story about your father.”

“It’s okay Deacy. That’s—actually the first time I ever spoke up about it to anyone.”

“Really?” You nod. “Well—I thank you for your trust. I know it couldn’t have been easy to tell me that. Even if you don’t include the graphic details, it’s still brave of you to tell me.”

“I would hardly call myself brave.” You state grimly towards yourself.

“Now don’t go putting yourself down like that. You are strong, just like DeAngelo, just like all the other abused children I find and take in.” he cups your face and stares right in your eyes. “Repeat after me. I. Am. Strong.” You at first don’t say it but with the same look he gave his boys earlier but in a more gentler way, you finally say.

“I am strong.”

“Louder.”

“I am strong.”

“C’mon from the gut. I am strong!”

“I am strong!” you proclaim loudly, he grins at you and he says.

“You damn well are.” You smile and thank him but he tells you there’s nothing to be thankful for.

“DeAngelo’s fortunate. You gave him a second chance. He deserves to be loved and protected by someone like you.”

“But don’t you think you deserve a second chance?”

“It’s too late for me.” You both remain silent before you say after a sigh. “I should get home now, it’s getting late.”

“At least me walk you to your car.”

“Ohh no thanks, I don’t want to keep you away from your kids, besides it’s probably their bedtime soon right?”

“Yeah, I guess. But are you sure you wouldn’t like some company to see that you get home safely?”

“I’m sure.” You stand up but before you leave, you shyly ask permission for one last hug.  John laughs softly but gives you a warm hug.

“You never have to ask me permission for a hug (y/n). Maybe next time I’m around we can spend a little more time together.”

“I’d like that.” You bid John a goodnight and finally leave the circus.

As you arrive home, you hang the keys up along the key ring beside your door when you suddenly hear movement in the house. You freeze because your roommate said that she was gonna be out of town till after Halloween.

And when she makes a confirmed date on when she knows she’ll be out, she sticks to it.  You slowly close the door and immediately turn on the lights but you see no one.  You try to calm yourself down thinking it was just your mind playing tricks on you again.

After showering and brushing your teeth, you walk towards your room only to see a horrifying sight.  Sitting right there on your bed was your father.  He stared soullessly right at you, his eyes cold and hardened.

“About damn time you showed up.” You are frozen right at your spot trembling in fear. “Took me for fucking ever to try and find this place. But when I finally did, boy did I have a field day.”

“H-ho-how…..”

“You should know that I’ve got eyes and ears everywhere. Now I’m gonna teach you a lessons for leaving me you ungrateful bitch.” Your adrenaline kicked in and you fled down the stairs trying to get out the door but to your horror it was blocked shut with the coffee table, kitchen chairs, stools, and a couple of small tables that were used as placements for photos.

You try to hide in the kitchen in the pantry closet but you can hear your father’s voice call out.

“Nowhere to run and nowhere to hide little brat. You’re caught by the cat, and he’s gonna have fun with you. Especially now that you’re older.” Oh god he—he was really going to…..

To your horror the pantry door opened and in his hand you even more terrified because he now held a gun in his hands. He cocked it and forcefully pulled you out of the closet and tossed you down to the ground.

“Take your clothes off.”

“Please don’t do this.” You begged as tears streamed down your face. Without warning he fires a shot close to you, the ringing in your ears making it clear that the next shot he wasn’t going to miss.

“I said strip!” his voice muffled.  Now you had no choice.

You slowly begin taking off your shirt first then your pants until you’re in nothing but bra and underwear.  You father looks down at you lustfully but just before anything can happen, a suddenly burst of wind came blowing in as the windows suddenly were pulled up.

A green bolt of lightning struck and there standing between you and your father was John.  

“D-D-Deacy?” you softly whisper.  He turns towards you and takes off his jacket and covers you up with it, to give yourself your decency back.  He cups your cheek and tells you while making direct eye contact with you.

“Sleep.” You don’t know why, but almost immediately you begin to feel tired as you feel yourself collapse towards the floor.  But John catches you and gently sets you down.

*3rd Person POV*

Once John sees (y/n) fall asleep, he quickly directs his attention to her father.

“Who the fuck are you!” demanded her father.

“I am known throughout folklore in in almost every culture. I have been described in many ways, it is not who I am. But what I am.” As John spoke, a green aura of magic surrounded him.  His greenish-blue eyes changed to a haunting gold, his skin changed to a dark greyish tone, horns sprout from his head, his face grew grimmer and his canines grew into fangs and his nails grew sharper till they reached a point.

But what began to intimidate (y/n)’s father the most were the giant 7-9ft black feathery wings that shot out from his back. He held out his hand and almost by magic, her father was flung across the room towards the barricade he had built to keep his daughter in.  He groaned but then was forced up and felt himself being choked.

John stood before him and just glared at him with soulless yellow eyes.

“You’re…..a monster.”

“Takes one to know one.” John then shoved his hand into (y/n)’s father’s chest taking a hold of his heart.  He groaned in agony before Deacy pulled it out.  Surprisingly he didn’t die. “Ho—how am I?”

“Still alive? Because I’m allowing it. For now.” John took a couple steps back and continued, “Whenever it comes to human manipulation, faes need a power source from the individual they want to control. And there’s no better control than the heart. I’m surprised you even have one.”

Then with a firm squeeze, her father lunged forward crying out.  John continued to squeeze his heart in his hands making him feel every ounce of pain he’s caused (y/n) in the past.

“So literally, your life is in my hands.” He squeezed even tighter and just stared as her father continued to groan and cry out in agony.

“ENOUGH! STOP IT!!”

“Stop it? Did you stop? Did you stop when you forced your daughter to take off her clothes? When she begged you to not beat her? Or when you used a form of affection as a punishment method by constricting her like a snake!? Did you stop then? So why should I?” Finally the heart began to crack and soon a crunch sound was heard and the screaming and crying ceased.

As John slowly opened his hand, all that came pouring out was dust.  Her father’s corpse collapsed to the ground and lay there motionless.  He nonchalantly blew the dust off his palm and said as he glared down at her father.

“She’ll no longer be in fear of you anymore. And she’ll get the second chance she deserves.” He then looks over towards (y/n) and gently picks her up bridal style, making sure that she’s still covered up in his jacket before flying out the window.

He flies back towards the location of the circus and walks towards

the left wing.  There some kind of ritual was set up.  Candles were lit up and essence were burning a calming lavender scent.  At the center of the circle of candles and essence, there was a Celtic design drawn all around the inner circle.

He placed (y/n) on top of the design and prepared some sort of powder.  He mixed some liquids together before pouring it into a small bowl of sand.  Using some chopsticks he stirred it up till the sand turned blue.

He poured some of the sand into his palm and poured it around (y/n)’s body.  Then he took some of that sand and gently brushed it across her forehead and down her nose.  He took out his pipe and began playing a tune that he’s played before one a few occasions.

The powder around (y/n) suddenly sparked into blue fire and her body began to glow in blue magic dust.  The light grew brighter and brighter until the flames suddenly diminished and the light faded away.

Now instead of the normal aged (y/n), she had now been turned back to how she was at five years old.  John soft smiled at her and stroked her cheek before picking her back up in his arms, his jacket now burying her small body as he carried her into the girl’s bedroom trailer where Laura and his 4 other adopted daughters slept.

He changed her into one of Laura’s clothes since they were now the same age.  Allowing his magic to bring back the human disguise he kept he stayed and kept watch over her because he knew what the spell would also do to her once she woke up.

*2nd Person POV*

You wake up to find yourself in a strange room that you don’t recognize.  In fact you can’t even remember how you got here, or who you were in fact.

“Hello poppet.” You quickly turn your head to see a man with short brown hair and warm, gentle eyes.  You couldn’t put your finger on it but something about him felt—right.

“Hi.” You said shyly.

“Do you know your name?” he asked you.  You think about it but nothing came to mind.

“No. Is—is that bad?” you asked nervously.

“No, no not at all.” He said assuringly as he strokes your hair gingerly.  “How do you feel about (y/n)?” you think about it and you nod with a soft smile. “That’s what I was hoping for.” He says gently smiling back at you.

“Is—is daddy coming home?” you ask fearfully. He looks at you confused and asks you.

“Why would you think that?”

“He—he always gets mad when I try to run away. What if he finds me? Please don’t let him find me!”

“Hey, hey, hey shhh shshshsh it’s okay poppet. It’s okay. Your daddy won’t ever find you.” He says as he takes your tiny hands into his large ones.

“Promise?”

“I promise.” He says as he gently lifts his hand to gingerly stroke your cheek.  You slightly flinch thinking you’d eventually get hit but as you kept feeling that gently stroke of his thumb on your cheek, you slowly began to realize that he wasn’t like your real daddy.

You don’t know why but you find yourself getting up and you slide off the bed you’re on and sit down on John’s lap and cuddle into his chest and cling onto him like a koala.  

He smiles down at you lovingly and slowly wraps his arm around you.  Still feeling a bit afraid since this was the common punishment your old dad used to give you, you tense up but John assures you.

“Shhh, shh. It’s okay poppet. It’s okay. This isn’t a punishment.”

“What is it then?” you ask.

“It’s called a hug. It’s something people do to show affection to one another.” You take in his words and said.

“I like hugs.”

“I like them too. And so do your brothers and sisters. That is if you want to get to know them.”

“So—I can stay?”

“Only if you wish to love.”

“I wanna stay. I don’t wanna go home!”

“And you never have to. I can take care of you love. I’m gonna give you the second chance that you deserved.”  You cling onto his tighter and bury yourself deeper into his chest, listening to his gentle heartbeat.

Meanwhile outside the magician Brian along with the cat tamer Freddie stood outside and Freddie asked.

“He did it again?”

“Yep.” Answered Brian.  “What is this—the fifth one this month? He’s been going overboard. Soon enough he could get us caught.”

“Oh let him have his kiddies, after all he and I are in the same boat when it comes to our children. He has his kids, I’ve got my cats.”

“You’re a psycho Fred.” Freddie chuckled sinisterly.

“A lovely psycho darling. But Deacy uses his powers for good and he gets rid of the arsehole parents around the world. Plus it might be good having another little Deacy child around. They at least make Roger a softie.”

“Don’t go there kitty cat!” Roger’s voice called out from his tank.

“And don’t call me kitty cat blondie!” Freddie hisses.

“Alright you two break it up!” Brian comes to stop the two entities.

[foxnonny]

Typo

Because I keep seeing those soulmate mark prompts going around where the character has their soulmate’s first words written on them blah blah we all know the drill, but I wanted to apply it to an OT3 because why not and this is the nonsense that came out. 

Dedicating this to @grimsister for letting me rant at her at length about adoribullavellan and my dear sweet gay Mahanon, to @therealmnemo because they also let me rant at them about adoribullavellan and my dear sweet gay Mahanon, and @heyscience because they sent me a really nice ask about my writing and dear sweet gay Mahanon and I lost in in my inbox for what I think might have been a long time. Also to literally anyone who likes my dear sweet gay Mahanon and has been keeping up with the gra - dilseacht - cairdeas series on AO3.

In case it wasn’t obvious, this is an Iron Bull/Dorian Pavus/Male Lavellan soulmate au fic because why not.

-

Mahanon has heard, over and over again, that soul marks are never mistaken. That those words inscribed on your skin since birth show that you're part of something bigger, something stronger and more profound than can possibly be imagined.

Mahanon's pretty fucking sure his is a typo.

It's not the words themselves - in fact, he's pretty fond of what's scrawled across his ribcage. It makes him feel strange and warm every time he takes a moment in the mirror's reflection to ponder the words.

Oh, he's cute.

Mahanon lived for those words through his awkward adolescence, when his face was all eyes and his mother, Taoirse, thought cropping his dark curls close to his head was the best way to deal with his hair. They sustained him when he hit 5'2 and stayed there, left to stare forlornly up at the world as all his classmates shot up like an evergreen forest around him. 

Oh, he's cute. There was hope in that phrase, hope that someday he might live up to his soulmate's assessment of him.

And he has - or, he likes to think he has. The proportions of his facial features have evened out, his hair is thankfully no longer under his mother's control, and he's come to accept his minute size, even counting it as a potential positive, recognizing that it might increase his chances of being swept off his feet one day by a handsome stranger.

Oh, he's cute. No, the words are not the problem.

The problem, is that under that phrase, written in someone else's hand, are the exact same words. 

Oh, he's cute.

Having two soul marks is unusual, but not unheard of. His parents have two apiece, all three of them having found one another at different times. But each of their words are different, because of course they are. The whole point of soul marks is that none are the exact same.

He spent his late teens scouring the internet for answers, finding loads of help for people with more than one soul mark - reassurances that it's normal, that it doesn't necessarily mean your soulmate is going to die and be replaced with another one like most Nicholas Sparks novels might lead one to believe - but none with his particular problem. In fact, when he tried to explain his situation, many flat-out accused him of lying. He even posted a picture of his marks online to prove he wasn't making shit up, for all the good it did him. No one seemed to have any clue what it meant.

"You'll just have to wait and see," his father Fionn told him time and time again, whenever he sensed his son becoming morose over the marks. "And won't you have a hell of a story to tell when it all gets figured out, hmm?"

So he tries not to obsess about the markings too much, though. He's met people who haven't found their soulmates until they're well into their old age, and while the idea of waiting that long to discover the meaning of his unusual marks makes him feel like he's going to spontaneously combust, he knows it can't be healthy to dwell on them when he might have a long, lonely road ahead of him. After all, a lifetime is a long time to spend in a state of confused suspense. Some days are harder than others, however.

Like today.

His cousin Alaine sent out a message to the whole family this morning, announcing that she was pregnant with her first child by her husband and soulmate, Cullen. They'd found one another a few years back in a very touching story that Mahanon's heard a thousand times over, full of awkward first looks and skirting glances and damn it if it doesn't ache, how much he loves hearing these stories anyway. The ones that end happily ever after.

He's learned to have a sense of humour about his markings, the universe's little clerical error. But it doesn't stop him from wanting that stupidly romantic first encounter anyway.

Mahanon's phone buzzes again, and he bites back a sigh.

Waiting for the bus at this busy downtown intersection is giving him far too much time to think, and mope, as the "Clan Lavellan" group chat floods with congratulations and well wishes to the happy couple. He already sent Alaine a long and very enthusiastic message this morning where he essentially volunteered to act as babysitter to whatever offspring his cousin produces, because he's an enormous fucking sap and he knows any child of Alaine and Cullen's is going to be heartbreakingly adorable.

But the conversation in the chat has turned, as it often does when babies are brought up, to what the child's soul mark is going to be. The marks don't tend to show up with any real clarity until someone's third or fourth year, but in some rare occasions it's legible from birth, and there are all kinds of superstitions around such occurrences. Mahanon doesn't really feel like thinking about marks today.

It doesn't help that sitting at the other end of the bench is an extremely attractive couple that Mahanon can't for the life of him take his eyes off of.

They're soulmates for certain - you can tell by just looking, sometimes. Two men who seem to have found each other at the very opposite ends of their respective lifestyles; one, a very posh-looking man with gorgeous grey eyes, perfectly styled black hair and a moustache that Mahanon's fairly certain would look douchey on any other human being, but just seems to emphasize his full mouth in an achingly appealing way. The other is a mountain of a man with a fucking eyepatch of all the things, a worn black leather jacket shrugged over his shoulders with Chargers embossed across the back. He looks like he could crush a man's skull in one hand, and it's honestly disturbing how attractive Mahanon finds that to be, but his voice is soft as he speaks with his soulmate, his grin full and genuine as the smaller man leans up to kiss him.

"Smaller man." As if Mahanon is one to fucking talk.

He shakes his head. He's moping, and he's staring, and his bus is about to arrive any moment. He stands to take his place in line, glancing down as his phone buzzes once again.

DESHANNA LAVELLAN

but i heard if you play mozart for the baby in the womb the mark shows up faster

TAOIRSE SLIABH

horseshit.

DESHANNA LAVELLAN

it's not horseshit it's science!

ALAINE RUTHERFORD

lol thanks aunties, but I'm honestly more worried about when the baby's popping out then when its mark is showing up

"Move, fuckhead!"

Mahanon glances up to see a skateboarder charging down the sidewalk towards him. With a yelp, he stumbles out of the way.

Stumbles, and manages to catch his foot on an uneven crack in the concrete, tripping over his damn self and toppling back to sprawl directly across the laps of the hot couple he'd been ogling earlier.

"Fuck a fucking duck!" he groans, struggling to right himself and covering his face with one hand, feeling his cheeks flush red with mortification. "Sorry- shit, I'm so fucking sorry-"

He's halfway through the valiant process of trying to scramble out of the two men's laps without putting his hands anywhere wildly inappropriate, when he hears it. Two men's voices, spoken in unison.

"Oh, he's cute."

Mahanon freezes, slowly parting the fingers of the hand covering his face to peek through.

Both men are staring down at him with very odd expressions - a mix of utter amusement, and no small amount of shock.

No small amount of affection, either.

Mahanon gapes for a moment, then his heart swells to such an extent that he's worried he might spontaneously combust anyway, just from the joy of the moment.

"M-Mahanon," he manages eventually, offering a hand and utterly unable to keep the big, stupid grin off his face as he says it.

The biker man takes his hand and helps him up, but doesn't make any moves to evict Mahanon from his lap, echoing that big stupid grin right back at him.

"I'm Bull, and this is Dorian," he says, as the other man - Dorian - offers Mahanon a soft smile and places a hand on his knee. "I get the feeling we're gonna get along."