#they have all the same adventures as canon but now they're 17 and each others worst enemies

[brrdhouse]

all i have to share rn is au sketches, but what if relativity falls was set in the summer after stan got kicked out, and their distant great aunt mabel invited them up her cabin in the woods. without telling them the other was going to be there

so ford shows up and can't go back to jersey because he doesn't have money for a bus fare and stan's car breaks down so he can't immediately leave, so they're forced to spend the summer together

[nightowlwriting]

summary: you've always known there's a soulmate on the other end of your injuries. when you're working the victory pit during the harvest close festival, though, it's the furthest thing from your mind. ironically, it's the closest mollymauk has ever been to you.

word count: 4.0k

warnings: canon level violence, mentions of molly activating his swords, canon level allusions to war and corruption

title credit: the steve miller band

note: takes place during episodes 17/18, requested from the soulmate abc list: damage done to a person also translates into their soulmate’s body (cuts, bruises and all).

masterlist - request - support my work? - ao3

Throughout your childhood, you’ve been called blessed. It started with bruises and scuffs. Little things that are perfectly normal for a child to receive and not remember. The problem with your bruises and scuffs was that they were not your own. When you grew into your celestially gifted powers, it started to make more sense.

Your family had stories of soulmates bestowed upon their clerics, but it wasn’t something that had happened in many generations. Nobody was really concerned until the wounds you received from your soulmate began getting worse - deeper, taking longer to heal, more life-threatening. It worried you, and your family, but it pressed you to become a better cleric. To find your source of power and lean into it. You heal yourself each night before bed, hoping that you’re giving some sort of comfort to the person you’re connected to. Even if you have no energy spells, you pull a pearl you were gifted when you left your hometown and press your lips to it and let it fill you with the love and warmth of life and still heal yourself. It’s your nightly ritual and, since you’ve started doing it, you haven’t missed it once.

Except once, but really that doesn’t matter because of how you miss it. It’s the Harvest’s End festival and the Victory Pit, and you’ve been conscripted to work it. You hate working for the Crown, but it pays well and allows you to help people. Your clerical skills and magic get used every day and you help the people that really need help. Still, the inevitable war looming over the Empire worries you. You’re skilled for your age, more so than the other clerics who perhaps have years over you, and War Clerics don’t have the longest life expectancy. After the last time that your soulmate died, and the grief and pain it inflicted upon you, you don’t want to do that to them. You try not to think about the several times you’ve felt their death and resurrections, though, because it worries you.

Most of all, it tells you very important information about them. They’re some sort of adventurer, best case scenario. The worst case, though, is that they’re a criminal. Regardless, you’ve become fond of them. The cuts don’t really hurt as much anymore, but they still pucker and scar when you heal them at night. There have been a few times when you’ve gotten hurt and you know that they’ve received those wounds, so perhaps they know about you as well. You hope they do because it would be awfully lonely to be the only one out of a pair to be aware that there is, in fact, a pair.

Still, your soulmate is the furthest thing from your mind as you funnel people into the Victory Pit. Clerics double as security, mostly because the Guard want to watch the fights more than they want to keep people safe, and you grit your teeth trying to keep your prepared spells at the back of your mind. You have several healing spells in your mind, but a few offensive ones as well. In Victory Pits of the past, you’ve had to use them. Now, you’re just sore and aggravated with the hickey that appeared on your chest last night - that you did not receive yourself. It doesn’t bother you that whoever you’re linked to is getting lucky, but it would be nice if you didn’t have to look at the proof for the next week or so.

Someone stamps on your toe and you bite back your curse, skittering backward and colliding with someone who is cursing. “I’m sorry,” You apologize on instinct, turning and grabbing the person by the arms. You’re momentarily struck by how beautiful they are, but you’re at work. “Are you okay? I’m a cleric working in the Pit today.” They glance down at you, baubles and trinkets swinging from their gaudy horns, and you realize with a start that they're purple. It’s not that tieflings are rare in Zadash, but purple ones are. The group they’re with also has a blue tiefling, a small green halfling, and a half-orc. Truly a strange band of people.

“No, no,” The person you’d run into says, voice smoother than you’d anticipated, “I’m alright. Are you okay, darling?” They smile down at you, completely red eyes smiling with merriment as they settle their hands on your biceps in a mirror of how you’re holding them.

“Please, I ran into you,” You shake your head, “Besides, I’m working. It’s my job to make sure that you’re okay.” You give them your name, telling them to seek you out if they shall become injured.

“Oh,” They sweep you grandly underneath their arm, squishing you into the side and stepping toward their group for a few steps, “I will get painfully injured today, but I will seek you out specifically, darling. My name is Mollymauk Tealeaf, and I am fighting with the Mighty Nein. You may call me Molly, all my friends do. I am a man of many friends, and you are one of them now. Keep your eyes on me today.” He winks and then sweeps himself away with a flourish, leaving you standing and a little flustered.

After that, the Victory Pit starts faster than you anticipate. You're stationed in the Pit itself, one of the more powerful offensive clerics on the roster today when you start to put the pieces together. You're not sure why you didn't notice at first, but Mollymauk - Molly - has a lot of scars. A lot of familiar scars. You trace a particularly deep scar on your collarbone as you watch the first Pit fight and wonder. What are the odds? Could Mollymauk really be…? A horrible thought hits you, and you can feel yourself pale. He's fighting in the Victory Pit today. He's going to get hurt, which will either confirm or deny whether or not he's your soulmate but if he is… Shit, you're in for a rough day. You know that The Mighty Nein is slated for the first fight against an Otyugh. They're nasty creatures, although not really native to Zadash you've still had to heal up some rather awful sucker wounds in your time.

You're glad to see that Mollymauk holds his own in the fight, and stays far away from the Otyugh. It's hard to keep your eyes off of him with the idea that he might be your soulmate and you get the sense that he's a melee fighter more so than a magical fighter in the beginning, but then he activates his swords, and the pain blossoms in your ribs as he drags his blades along his.

There's no question now. Mollymauk Tealeaf is your soulmate. Watching the way he fights and interacts with the Nein during their fight with the Otyugh everything about the injuries you've received from your connection with him makes so much more sense. You actually find yourself… Weirdly proud of your scars, then. You've heard about the Nein, how they're swords for hire and defeated the Fey Spider in the tunnels, but still. Mollymauk seems like good people. Maybe it's naïve to hope on your part because he's your soulmate, but you'll take it until you're proven different. You've been doing things like that for most of your life, and you'll be damned if you stop now. You know you can hold your own, too, so that helps. The next fighters pass in a haze to you, as you stand ready to save someone from death the Banderhobb fight passes with no need for clerics, and the fights with the Giant Crocodile and Ice Troll are much the same.

When the Mighty Nein is back up, your senses fire to life. The next monsters are Winter Wolves, nasty creatures with powerful ranged attacks. You steady yourself against the half-wall you're stationed behind, readying yourself for whatever pain Mollymauk is about to feel. The beginning of the fight is tense, and your fellow clerics watch you curiously as your hands grip tight and relax intermittently on the wall in front of you. When one wolf whirls and releases a nasty, icy breath you heave a sigh of relief that Mollymauk wasn't hit but then the other does the same thing. You feel it more than see Mollymauk get hit, sharp shards of pain washing over your skin so intensely that your eyes roll back in your head and the only thing that keeps you from collapsing is the fervent grip on the wall. Someone lays their hands on you and you feel a swell of magic before you shake them off. "I'm fine," You grit out, "Save your spells for the competitors." Even though you could use the healing, there's a reason clerics wait in the wings at the Pit. It's very possible that someone could be on death's door before the end of the day and if they die because you wasted a spell you'd never forgive yourself.

By the time you fight the darkness from the edges of your vision, Mollymauk is delivering the killing blow to the final Winter Wolf. You're not sure how he's still standing, let alone aware of his body enough to swing his swords like they weigh nothing. Your knees practically knock together as you gather your wits, wiping a hand down your sweaty face. The trials only get harder, and one hit almost took you down. You know you should heal yourself but you're not really sure if your nightly heals affect Mollymauk and, while you have no love for the Empire, it wouldn't be fair if your heals do help him. (And, again, there's the preemptive guilt of maybe not having enough energy for a lifesaving spell. You're just too selfish to use your pearl, too, so you have to make do and conserve your energy.)

The next group comes out and whispers flitter down the row of clerics to you: Owlbears are next. They're awful creatures, nasty when there's only one but two are damn near unmanageable. You happen to know these two aren't even mated, but that hardly matters. It's going to be a bloodbath at best, and at worst there'll be a death. Reaching over the wall, you unhook the latch that keeps it connected just in case you need to rush into the field. The beast-keepers are technically supposed to be the first on the scene, but you're also technically more powerful than they are. You rarely listen to the rules at the Victory Pit, mostly because you're a Crown Cleric and not from the Temple of the Platinum Dragon.

The fight is intense and the clerics next to you barely hold you back when several members of the team go down. They have clerics on their team, yes, but it's hard to tamp down your instincts when you were practically raised by your family for clericdom. It's only when you hear the whispering chatter that the beast-keepers are gathering the magical manacles that you jump into action, flinging open your door and sprinting into the field. The gasp from the crowd barely registers in your mind as you dodge an attack, skidding underneath and stopping next to what looks more like a bloody lump of cloth than a humanoid. The beast whirls on you, but you're faster. You've cast spiritual weapon before it can strike, the air in front of you and the injured party member shimmers and then, the first thing you thought of, a replica of one of Molly's scimitars but three times the size, appears and blocks the strike.

The Owlbear reels back again, going for another, but you're right there to block it. The beast-keepers are going to get an earful from you when you're done with the Pit, but for now, you're relieved that they've managed to subdue the beast and you can focus on the fallen. They're not in great shape, and with a precursory feel of their pulse, they're incredibly close to death.

You put your hands on either side of their neck, close your eyes, and pray. It's not necessarily a religious relationship with the deity that gives you the powers you have to heal, but it's still technically a prayer. The contestant heaves a deep breath, and you can feel the life rush into them from the fold between this plane and the next. The other clerics have gotten everyone else, so you focus on your patient. They probably need two or three more spells before they’re fully stabilized, which is going to burn through either your higher energy spells or all of your lower levels. You grit your teeth as you roll your patient onto the blade of your spiritual weapon, using it as a makeshift gurney. They’re already calling for the next team as if the clerics they’ve hired aren’t already spread thin trying to keep this team from dying. The Mighty Nein are at the doors, holding them open for the clerics, and you barely catch Molly’s eyes as you bring your patient off of the Pit floor and into the waiting room. The scimitar disappears as you lay them on a cot, quickly finding the worst wounds and sealing them with magic, burning through a lot of the spells you prepared and the arcane energy that it takes to cast.

The next beasts are angry and wily - displacer beasts - so you don’t really have time to think about how Molly is lingering near you, trying to find a time to talk to you while you’re trying to keep this person from dying. You stabilize them eventually, but the scarring will be intense. There’s nothing that you can do about that with what you’ve got now. Outside you can hear the next team win against the beasts and stress begins to bundle in your shoulders at the thought of how quickly the Pit is moving. Molly is hovering over your shoulder as you step back and begin clearing the blood off of your hands, despite his group being called out once more.

“That was my sword,” He rumbles, keeping his voice down and stepping even closer to you when you turn around. You track his tail thwipping through the air behind him, either very agitated or incredibly curious. Either could be incredibly accurate, and you don’t really have enough time to parse any information from the rest of his body language.

“Yes, it was,” You want to grumble, but it comes out softer than you intended, “Sorry, but you’re being called and I have to get back to my station so that you don’t die.” Molly tries to catch your arm when you slip around him, but with a promise and a smile you turn back to face him. “Don’t fucking die out there, and then we can talk, okay?” You wish that you could tell him, warn him really, that they’re about to face a Hill Giant. An incredible creature, really, but pushed to a near unreachable limit by the beast-keepers and their prodding, angry spears and arrows. It makes you sick to your stomach, but this is your job. The Empire pays your bills and keeps you fed - they would not tolerate any dissent from you on the matter of the Victory Pit and the treatment of the creatures captured specifically for death, no matter how strong of a case you can make. Instead of telling Molly what he’s up against, you casually brush the back of your fingers against his hand and let your magic make its way into his system. He should be okay, you think, the blessings of a cleric are strong.

Making your way back to your station, you fidget with your uniform. One of your friends - using the term loosely because you’re more like coworkers - catches your sleeve as you pass him. He’s grinning, mischief in his eyes. “You’ve never given a contestant your blessings before, what’s so special about him?”

“I didn’t do anything,” You pull away from Brock, “I just told him that if he wins, we can have a conversation. That’s all.” You shoot him a pointed look and then, after glancing around to make sure nobody else is looking, a wink. Brock grins and relaxes into his station, shaking his head. You’re known to push the limits, but outright break the rules? It’s almost unheard of for you. Everyone knows you’re blessed with a soulmate and Zadash is a bustling metropolis, frequented by the sort of people who get the injuries you sometimes show up to work with. They know you’ll need to stick around to find them, so you’ve only pushed the limits the Empire gives you, not outright shoot past them. By the time you’ve found your station again, the Hill Giant is almost out onto the Pit floor, and Brock has probably figured out why you’re so soft on one particular contestant.

The giant knocks out one of the pillars, roaring so deeply it vibrates in your chest. He’s pissed, rightfully so. The spines sticking out of his body make you sick to your stomach, and you have to look away. Your eyes find the halfling that was with Molly earlier, but as she sprints off toward the human woman, you realize that she’s a goblin. An interesting myriad of people traveling together, but you’ve seen strangers come through your town. She fires off two of her bolts, missing entirely, and you watch one arc through the air and strike off of the helmet of a Guard, who yelps.

You snicker as she takes off again, and the human man fires off his magic. It’s strange to see magic come from another person, especially magic that is clearly learned and not given. It almost makes you wish that your magic was learned instead of bestowed upon you but that would mean losing Molly, who you’re already rather fond of. You’re watching the man try to keep his cool and almost miss the other tiefling casting - a giant fucking lollipop appearing out of the air, smacking the giant, and then flames rocketing out of her hands to hit him, as well. You grin when you realize she’s a cleric, too. You wonder if she has a soulmate, but it would be improper to ask.

When the giant reels back and hurls a large chunk of wall, you suck in a breath. Everything is happening so fast, and Molly… Not only will it hurt to take the hits, but he’ll get hurt. It’s not just about you, but if he goes down so will you, and then you can’t help anyone. You’re almost relieved when the giant turns toward the half-orc, but then Molly is sprinting up toward the giant’s legs, his swords out. He’s a melee fighter, getting right into the thick of it and making your skin crawl. Molly’s swords carve through the giant like butter, making you cringe because the giant is pissed, and Molly won’t have time to get away from whatever is about to happen to him.

When the giant whips around, his eyes are fully black and bleeding down his face. You’re almost certain that’s Molly’s doing, but you don’t really have time to figure it out. The giants club swings up, and then down, and before Molly hits the ground your world has gone hazy with pain and darkness.

The pain and darkness keep their hold on you for what feels like forever. You know that eventually you’ll wake up, but floating in the darkness of unconsciousness you think of Molly. Did someone heal him? Is he okay? You’ve felt the other times he’s died, the way it rips you apart inside, the way you sleep for what feels like days before you wake up. Is this the same way? Has Molly died, even for a second, and you’re left to suffer the consequences? The stories your family told you all ended with soulmates together, no longer bearing the injuries of the other, because of the love that they share and the way they give and take equally. Nobody told you stories of soulmates where one dies over and over again - or at least comes close to doing so rather regularly. You’re still floating in the abyss when you hear his voice. Molly’s voice startles you because normally it’s the deity who blessed you with magic that comes to you, reminding you that everything is going to be okay.

But this time it’s Molly. He’s saying your name, asking you to wake up so that he can see your eyes again. Faintly, as you drift closer and closer to the surface, you can feel the light tracings of fingertips against the crest of your cheekbone and the faint wisp of breath against your hair. He keeps speaking, telling you things that you’re not sure you’ll remember when you finally float to the surface.

That happens faster than normal. When your eyes finally feel light enough to open, Molly is there. He looks a little worse for wear, but you can tell he has at least one healing spell in him. When he realizes you’re awake, a large grin splits his face. “There you are, darling,” He sighs, leaning forward in his chair to be even closer to you, “Scared me for a moment there.”

“Now that I’ve found you I highly doubt that you can get rid of me, Mollymauk.” Your voice is hoarse as you push yourself up, one of Molly’s hands curling around your shoulder to help you sit up on the cot. When you’re upright he moves from the chair he had set up next to your bed to sit next to you, his entire side pressed against yours. “You are a man who is constantly in danger.”

“That I am,” He leans against you, his horn pressing into the side of your head but you don’t mind. He’s warm and nice. The aches in your body numb a little bit just by being near him, but Molly seems like he has a bit of an ego so you don’t mention that. “Do you know why we feel each other this way?”

“Have you heard of soulmates, Molly?” You drop your voice to a whisper and turn your face to him, your lips pressed against his lavender forehead, “My family has legends of them, given to clerics to help them become the best healers they can be. Pushed to their limits by the other’s injuries, but also filled with an overwhelming need to be good enough. To have enough power. To protect, and love, and heal.” You kiss his forehead, hoping it’s not too bold, and let one of your last healing spells flow through his body. The last one you cast on yourself.

“It’s rotten work to love me, darling.” Molly finally says, one hand searching yours out, “But I do feel much better having met you. I feel connected, loved.”

“It’s not rotten work to love you, Molly. I’ve loved you for a long time, and I do not plan on stopping now.” You kiss his forehead again and his head turns, his own lips pressing against the side of your neck as he sighs, “Perhaps your work is not done in Zadash, but it should be soon.” You drop your voice to a conspiratorial whisper so that only Molly can hear you, “War is coming, Mollymauk. You, The Mighty Nein… You should run before you’re conscripted to fight.”

“And you?” He asks, red eyes never leaving yours as he pulls you impossibly closer, “What about you?”

“I… I’ll come with you, if you’ll have me.” You watch the shock flicker across his face for a brief moment, but then it settles into something that you can’t find a name for. “But if not, you don’t have to worry about me. I won’t be conscripted to be a War Cleric, not at first. They’ll take the clerics from the temples before they take me.”

Molly caresses the side of your face with his other hand, a small and hesitant smile playing on his face. “Darling, of course, I’ll have you. The Nein will, too. We’re meant to be together, after all.”