#the wip was gathering dust in my folder for so long- | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

black-bentley · 1 year

Text

WIP word search meme

I was tagged in this fun WIP meme by @dotsayers and it was an excellent excuse to go and rummage in my WIP folder to see what's gathering dust in there...

rules: share snippets of your work containing each of the words the previous poster selected for you (optional addition: if you can't find the word in your WIPs, or you simply don't have any WIPs, you can just write a sentence around the word)

my words are: wonder, light, shadow, young, fear

Extracts are all from Biggles fics-in-progress (disclaimer: I make no promises about ever actually finishing any of these)

wonder

from a WW2-set Algy/Ginger longfic

"You've had an impressive career," said Raymond, flicking through Algy's file. "M. C., D. F. C., and more mentions in despatches than I'd care to count, both in this war and the last. Every officer who's served with you says that you're one of the best pilots—and one of the best men—they've ever run across. And that's before taking into account your inter-war service, to this country and others." He looked up expectantly.

Algy wasn't entirely sure what he was supposed to say, and so he settled on, "Thank you, sir. It's been my privilege." That seemed safe enough.

"I assure you, Flight Lieutenant, the privilege has been ours. It seems to me, however, that we have perhaps not acknowledged that privilege quite so much as we should. It seems to me," here Raymond paused, and looked Algy in the eye, "that an officer of your considerable talents shouldn't still be playing second fiddle at this point in his career. Not even to a man of Bigglesworth's calibre." Algy's heart sank a little. He'd suspected this day might come at some point—he and Biggles had even joked about it, debating whether they could reasonably share Ginger between them in the event that Algy was ever given a command of his own. "To cut a long story short," Raymond continued, interrupting Algy's thoughts, "there's a Spitfire squadron in East Sussex that will shortly be in need of a new C. O., and I wonder if you might take on the job. Promotion, obviously, to Squadron Leader—permanently this time—and all that that entails."

Raymond sat back in his chair, his sales pitch apparently at an end. When Algy didn't speak, he prompted him. "Well? Would you be interested? I do have a shortlist of candidates, but you ought to know that you're firmly at the top. All yours, should you want it."

light

Algy has the worst hangover of his life

A faint frown crossed Ginger's face. "Well. The party was fun. I had a nice time." He paused. "Didn't you?"

"Honestly, I've no idea," Algy groaned. "All I know is that I regret everything."

"You seemed to be enjoying yourself at the time," replied Ginger, a little stiffly.

"Yes, well, we all make horrible decisions when we're drunk, don’t we? Nothing like the cold, or in this case far too bloody warm, light of day to—"

To Algy's astonishment, Ginger stood up abruptly and stalked away, slamming the door in his wake. Algy winced and rubbed at his temples, then took a mouthful of coffee, and all of a sudden wondered vaguely where Biggles had got to. As it happened, he didn't have to wonder for long; not ten minutes after he had stormed off, Ginger was back.

"Where did you—" Algy began.

"Skipper's missing," interjected Ginger, without preamble.

shadow

von Stalhein spends a long weekend at Chedcombe with Bertie

In the saddle, von Stalhein was transformed. Bertie knew himself to be a capable and sympathetic horseman but he, like most of his friends, had learned to ride rather informally in the garden and on the hunting field, under the watchful eye of first his nanny and then his parents' groom; as a result his own style was more practical than elegant. Von Stalhein, however, had been classically taught, and it showed. He sat upright but relaxed, his hands and elbows soft and yielding, and his heels falling naturally into perfect alignment. There was no trace of the uneven gait that he'd had as long as Bertie had known him, or of the slight hunch to his shoulders that had been in evidence since the events on Sakhalin. The hard years fell away and he looked, Bertie thought, like the proud Prussian soldier he must once have been.

It came as a relief. Biggles had assured him the man could ride, but it was one thing to sit a well-behaved horse on a Sunday stroll and quite another to pilot a fit, freshly-clipped hunter across unfamiliar country, especially on its first outing of the season. From what Bertie could see, though, von Stalhein and Sailor were going to make a nice partnership. The horse had, as promised, perked up as soon as his saddle appeared, and was clearly desperate to be off and running, jogging sideways along the road and spooking at shadows. Von Stalhein sat quietly throughout, occasionally rubbing the horse's shoulder or offering low words of encouragement.

Yes, thought Bertie, he'd do very nicely. He had intended simply to take the horses for a short ride, with perhaps a slow canter up one of the fields, but watching Sailor snort at imaginary monsters in the bushes gave him other ideas.

"Fancy giving them a bit of a leg-stretch?" he asked. Von Stalhein turned, and Bertie caught him smiling before his face rearranged itself into its usual neutral expression.

young

Algy and Bertie go hunting

Around lunchtime, Bertie confessed that he felt Nelson was beginning to struggle to keep pace a little, and stated his intention to hack back to the kennels. Algy was loath to see his friend ride off alone and offered to accompany him, although he felt Artemis still had plenty of running in her. She was a young horse, with plenty of seasons left to prove herself on the field; cutting one day short wasn't going to do her any harm in the long run, and perhaps it was better to take her home while she was still keen rather than tiring her out. They said their farewells to the master and whipper-in, and turned the horses' heads for home.

"I was sure it was this way," said Algy a short while later, standing up in his stirrups to try and see over the hedge into the next field. "But I definitely don't remember passing that big tree stump."

Bertie, further down the boundary, gave a holler and pointed through a small gap in the hedge.

"There we are! I can see the stable yard clock, just the other side of that park."

"So it is," Algy agreed, joining Bertie and following his pointing finger with his eyes. "The question is, how do we get there from here? It's a good couple of miles back round through the woods, and I don't fancy jumping this monster." He looked doubtfully at the hedge.

"There's a lower section just along there, old bean. Can't be any more than four feet, or I'm a Frenchman. I'm sure old Nelson here has one last campaign in him." Bertie patted the horse's neck lovingly.

"All right, if you say so," Algy replied. "Lead on, Macduff."

fear

a sort of AU fic that I desperately want to get finished, in which von Stalhein gets a glimpse of his future

Without asking, he knew where he was; it was what he had always feared, and what he supposed had always awaited him: an unmarked grave in some unknown province, unvisited and unmourned. He made to back away further, tripped over something solid half-hidden in the undergrowth, and almost fell. He crouched to examine it, and saw that his assessment of the grave as unmarked had not been strictly correct. Thrust into the ground was a rust-spotted bayonet, instantly recognisable to his well-trained eye as a British pattern from the Great War. Von Stalhein looked from the bayonet to Lacey.

"You did this," he said. A statement, not a question, but Lacey nodded anyway. "With that?" von Stalhein gestured at the bayonet. He had no idea why he was asking, for the knowledge of his own demise would bring him no solace, but he felt compelled. Lacey shook his head and gave what looked like a snort of amusement. For a moment, it was as though von Stalhein could read his mind.

Tagging anyone who wants to get involved! Your words are: wait, link, basket, hard, caught

#fic #biggles

7 notes · View notes

asummersday · 6 months

Note

5, 11 and 30

5. What work of yours got more feedback than you expected?

Honestly, hollow mind. By the time I wrote thst fic, I'd been lurking in the fandom since November and I had the idea for that fic for a few weeks by the time I started posting. I'm always super nervous to post in a new fandom, so I didn't even start posting until I had the whole thing written lmao. I was planning on waiting a week before posting the next chapter, but by chapter 2 I was already getting so many wonderful comments and I was too impatient to wait a whole week.

I really wasn't expecting it to get popular enough to get fanart! That was such a wonderful and sweet surprise ahjfjckv

11. What work took you the longest to write?

Cheating a bit because its still ongoing, but all the ashes in my wake. Between writer's block and figuring out the plot, its taking me a really long time to write and finish it. Thank u all for ur patience and ur kindness, it means a lot <3

30. Biggest surprise while writing this year?

This might sound a little silly, but getting so inspired by a new fandom that I'm writing a longfic. Mental health issues have really affected my creativity so I've always stuck to oneshots because longer writing projects just felt too big to handle, so I seriously didn't expect to not only get inspired to write a longer fic, but to actually start writing it instead of letting it gather dust in my WIP folder. Its taking me a long time to update, but all the love and positive attention have really kept me going and kept me motivated to keep writing it.

This is so sappy ahdjfkvkv

But thank you for the ask! 💜

#ask game

2 notes · View notes

sarahlizziewrites · 9 months

Text

A few darlings I've killed

In my re-draft of the Adventures of Sitora Lux, I have addressed a lot of alpha comments. One of those comments was:

"Sitora and Raelynn are really sweet together, but the relationship is very flirty from the get go, and they don't get a chance to be friends."

Which is incredibly true, but also kills me because their little flirty interactions are so. cute. In the interest of keeping them for posterity and not having them gather dust in my WIP folder, I'm going to post them on here one by one.

Here's one from chapter 4 (previous):

Raelynn’s voice dropped to a whisper. “They also say that if you wish for true love while you’re in the pools, the Gods will help you find it.” Sitora’s gaze met warm green irises. “I’ll have to take you there sometime.” “That…that would be lovely.” Sitora knew that there were other people around them; other noises from the rest of the bathhouse, but she couldn’t hear any of them. The moment seemed to stretch on and on. Then, a movement of water and a ‘tsk,’ and Raelynn reached up to a spot behind Sitora’s ear. “Look at you - how long have you been in here? And still covered in dirt?” Sitora shivered, as though the water around her had suddenly turned frigid. Raelynn continued to clean the spot on her neck, before saying with a chuckle, “There you go.” “Thanks,” Sitora said, her voice a thin squeak, as she rubbed the spot herself.

TAOSL TAG LIST (ask to be added or removed): @mrbexwrites

#the adventures of sitora lux

3 notes · View notes

grasslandgirl · 2 years

Note

1-4 fic writing asks!!

xoxoxoxoxo mary ILYYY sorry im belated answering this! brain broke <3

1: Which of your fics would you keep the basic plot of but rewrite completely?

a toss up between my eldonado fake dating/tatbilb fic (x) or my d20 bb figayda hmc au (x); i have complicated and similar feelings for both, they were both the longest thing i'd written or posted at the time of finishing them, but looking back i feel like the execution leaves a lot to be desired, the ending on both of them feels rushed to me, and i don't often go back and reread either of them because i can't not think about how i would do it differently now. which, i mean, i guess that's part of growing and improving in any artistic endeavor, you leave behind the things you did before and have to look back on them with both gratitude and a healthy dose of "eugh" but like. yeah. i think i would either rework my eldonado tatbilb, or expand further on my d20bb fic in a way i didn't have the support or the time to do last year

2: Anything that you'd like to write but feel like you're unable to?

mmmmmmm. idk. nothing specific comes to mind at the moment. there aren't a lot of things i really want to write that i don't/can't. like sometimes i'll have ideas that are really complicated and involved and i know from conception i prob won't write them fully out, but they're fun to kind of plot point and consider and think about, even if they never leave a planning doc. and there are a lot of wips i start and then lose interest/inspiration in and end up leaving in a folder somewhere gathering digital dust; and sometimes i remember and come back to them, and sometimes i dont! most of the things i dont think i'd be able to write are also things that i don't have a ton of interest in writing? really heavy graphic violence and angst, porn, etc- mostly when i have an idea for a new swing at something i want to try writing, i talk to my friends and bounce ideas and i try to read things that are similiar in tone/style to what i want to attempt and work from there!

3: How would you describe your writing style?

uhhhh. meandering. too many lists. excessive use of commas and italics. heartwrenching pining and loyalty and dedication and affection. internal monologues and detailed sensory scene setting. uhh? yeah

4: Do you have any OCs? Do you have a story for them?

uhhhuhhh kind of????? a lot of people have prob seen me blog about dna/leah/adam- which are like. pseudo oc's in my mind (though casey will probably argue they're full ocs lmao <3). leah and adam (and a whole additional host of characters that go along with them) started as characters in a very unknown british play (DNA by dennis kelley) and have since, in the seven years since i ran the show, have grown and evolved into sort of original characters? it's hard to tell where the line in the sand is between character inspired by a play and character so far divorced from the original source material it's an oc, you know?

so long story short: i sort of have OC's. i have SOOO many stories (seven years worth) about them. oh my god. (you don't want to see little 16 y/o sav's dna fic though. you don't.)

ask me fic writer's questions from this list!! (my ao3 is also @ grasslandgirl and is linked in my bio <3)

#asks #mwah mwah mwah mwah mwah mary #i lvoe ask games bc i can never answer a question concisely. i always have to give my life story ksjdbvksfjb

5 notes · View notes

askmace · 2 years

Text

WIP Ask Meme

Rules: post the names of all* the files in your WIP folder regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them and then post a little snippet of it or tell them something about it! And then tag some people. (You can make your own post or reblog this one!) I have deemed that this isn’t just for writing either. Sketch titles? Comics? DnD campaigns? If you have an unfinished project, it counts!!

*okay you don’t have to do all of them if you have a truly obscene number of fics cause aintnobodygottimeforthat

@defilerwyrm tagged me in! (Sorry this took so long, it’s been gathering dust in my drafts)

Currently In Progress -

Without Question Thing A Day (Mr. E Subset currently) Sandros & Dillon Don’t Wanna Melt (For You) On The Hunt Tagging anyone that wants to participate. No pressure from me, folks.

1 note · View note

defilerwyrm · 2 years

Text

WIP Ask Meme

*okay you don’t have to do all of them if you have a truly obscene number of fics cause aintnobodygottimeforthat

@catgirlthecrazy tagged me in! (Sorry this took so long, it’s been gathering dust in my drafts)

—

Current WIPs that I have actual intent on working on (and just so you know, it’s mostly absolute filth, come on, who do you think you’re talking to here):

Sowing the Seeds I’ve Taken

Just Words and So Much Skin

Caleb & the werewolf (untitled)

Caught Under Wheels Roll (outlined)

Evilgast bloodplay (untitled, outlined)

No Maker Made Me (outlined)

Winter Soldier Bren (outlined)

Tagging: …Look. If you’ve been following this blog for any amount of time you know my memory is Swiss cheese at the best of times and I can never come up with a suitable list of people. If you write, and you feel like doing this, I am tagging you personally.

#lol it’s not even 5 am no one’s gonna do this #but here we go anyway #ask box games #adventures in fanfic writing #plz how do i fandom

1 note · View note

perikiro · 4 years

Photo

jumpstarter twins 💙

#transformers #idw #last stand of the wreckers #lsotw #twin twist #topspin #*#i had the sketch for this gathering dust in my wips folder for SO long omg

504 notes · View notes

theodora3022 · 2 years

Text

Opportunist

Summary: Idia Shroud thought he is content with just watching you. But when an opportunity present itself, he is not going to let it slip through his fingers.

A/N: Sort of a birthday gift for @187-mg !! This has been colleting dust in my WIP folder for a while now...Now it has seen the light of day! I love Idia too much and my brain just empties when I think of him...

Reader is gender neutral (Let me know if I missed anything)

Warnings: Sfw, Yandere, Unhealthy relationship, stalking, mentions of drugging, Idia being a hermit&creep (nothing new, just here to remind you)

Disclaimer: This is not healthy love and it is MEANT to make you uncomfortable!!

Idia Shroud has found himself having mixed feelings at the sight of your smile for quite a while. On one hand, he would wish to cherish that image in his memory forever (in sketchbook and cloud drive too but shshsh). On the other hand, Idia would sometimes feel beside himself whenever he sees you do it.

This feeling is not hatred. The word “hate” is way too generalized for that feeling. He certainly does not despise you. Why would someone like him hate someone as wonderful as you? But intense unease does stir up in his chest, whenever he sees you flashing that look to your friends.

He needs to gather more intel to make an informed statement or decision.

All it took is for Ortho to offer you some help with textbooks and shopping, to let him lay down appropriate devices. Spying on you? That is such a negative term! Idia has neither the intention nor the reason to harm you! This...this is just to sate his little harmless curiosities towards you! Surely you, someone known for being considerate and understanding, would forgive him for such a minor intrusion!

“Aw, aren’t you a naughty one? It is no big deal, no need to apologize!”

Idia had convinced himself that is how you would react, although you never once expressed such attitude outside of his dream realm.

Before Idia knows it, watching your daily activities has become one, if not his most enjoyed pastime. His brother has made humorous remarks about his interest in you, ever since he discovered big bro’s questionable sketches of you. By having almost unlimited access to your life, Idia found himself desperately wanting to know more. Is his “innocent” curiosity getting out of hand? Maybe, but he is long past the point of caring.

It gives him the sense of companionship he so desperately longs for, without the hassle of a real friendship. One could argue there are other ways to achieve the same outcome, but sadly blue hermit has only so many options.

Yet you are none the wiser to his prying gaze.

Maybe you do know all along, and it never bothers you?

No.

What, is, HAPPENING??

Did you just opened the door, walked in humming, and took a seat on his bedside carpet? Last time Idia checked, his VR lens are charging in the corner.

“Ortho said you can help me with this alchemy theory. I been struggling to grasp it...”

Fortunately(or not), you quickly turn away from him to fetch the textbook-missing his embarrassed, flustered face expressions.

Eh????

This is moving way too fast! Ortho did not even give him the time to clean! (Read: put away some inappropriate material he owns)

However, Idia Shroud knows the rarity of an opportunity, when it is served up to him on a silver platter like this.

Does the pros outweigh the cons?

What are the pros of stopping you from sipping that special lemonade anyways?

"Thank you for the summery drink, Ortho! Now, shall we begin?"

There you are wearing that delightful, polite smile again. The thought of seeing that every morning for the rest of his days...

Begin, for sure.

Not the same for you and him though.

(Ortho: Nii-san just needs a push in the right direction! All done now I can go plan a wedding)

#yandere twst #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere idia shroud #tw: dark content

165 notes · View notes

coffee-in-veins · 2 years

Text

...and another, a red horse, went out; and to him who sat on it, it was granted to take peace from Earth, and that men would slay one another;

— Revelation 6:3

frankly, this had been gathering dust in my WIP folder for ages now, and finally, i had enough courage and music to finish it off

so here, have an illustration for Ch3 "And a great sword was given to him" since it's not often i see Rey depicted during his worst years or giving into his worst zelaous tendencies, and i think should be addressed >:}

some closeups under keep reading because purity seals were barely visible and i've spent way too long on Chernush's head and harness not to show it off

#darkest dungeon #reynauld #dd crusader #restructured refractured recalled #A collection of treasured antiques || my art #The bloodied journal page || my writing

89 notes · View notes

cowboyified · 2 years

Text

Please take this WIP that has been sitting in my folder for uhh... five months, it always feels bad to have something over 5k gather dust. Established wincest, case fic, late seasons, 2.8k-ish

Bridges at night feel liminal. Between places, not here, nor there. The before and after both hidden in the dark. The river is a constant static rush in the background.

His nose has gone numb with the midnight-cold and Sam has popped his collar and tucked his chin to his chest, his cheeks pink under the dim street light.

Dean drinks from his flask and feels whiskey-warm all the way to his stomach. He wants to share it with his brother but Sam politely refuses when he holds it out in offering, even after tempting with a shake so the liquid sloshes and the metal cap rattles. Dean’s broken-hearted in the second before his brother pulls out the rest of the bottle from where he’s had it tucked against his chest, safe under his jacket.

“Figured we’d be here a while.”

“Samuel, you are the smartest man I know.”

The ghost of Not-Annabelle had been making appearances on the bridge on the far side of town again. A blurred figure standing in the middle of the road in typical fashion. It’s victims are only men, which is how they figure this way of baiting will work.

Dean plants his ass on the double white line. The new highway diverted traffic around town, and he’s more worried about disembodied hands than cars.

“Her husband killed her?”

“As it goes.”

Sam takes a long swig from the bottle, and he’s tall from this angle - from every angle - tilting his head back to drink. Dean looks up his body, watching him swallow and feeling distant. His shirt is untucked and he can see the buckle of his belt, the hair at his belly. His giant brother sets the bottle down in front of him, the glass bottom crackling against the road, tilted on the stones.

Sam walks to the side of the bridge and leans his long body over.

“Watch out for trolls.”

“It’s not stone,” Sam bellows, and his voice is carried away with the river.

“What?”

“Trolls only live under stone bridges,” Sam explains properly once he’s pulled himself back upright and is stepping away from the railings. Dean’s chest feels lighter for it.

Sam does a lap of the bridge and Dean drinks from the bottle Sam’s mouth has been on. He hums content and full from the leftover Chinese they heated up in the cabin microwave, warm and mellow from the alcohol.

Sam sits by Dean’s side, shoulder to shoulder, facing the opposite direction so they’ve got the full expanse of the bridge covered. Dean leans in to steal his warmth.

“How many miners do you think drowned in this stretch?” Sam asks and Dean has to take a second to forcibly flip his hunter brain back online.

Dean clears his throat. “If not Annabelle then who?”

“Yeah.”

He starts picking at the label of the bottle, peeling it in tiny strips and building up a pile on the bitumen. “How did we narrow it down last time?”

“I don’t remember,” Sam says, tightly through a frown.

Dean bumps him with his shoulder and focuses on the silhouette of trees in the distance. There's a light still on in the house overlooking the bridge--upstairs bathroom, the window is frosted.

He considers pulling out his bag of gold pieces and using them as a recollection device. Prompt some kind of deja-vu. What would a twenty year old him have done?

The bare-minimum probably.

“All I have are memories of you.” Sam says matter-of-factly. “From around the time we worked here, around Dad’s death. I’d just watched you come back from the brink in hospital for the second time in under a year and everything felt so fragile. It was waiting for a premonition where it would be you that died, not some stranger halfway across the country, and I would look down to find my own hands bloodied. It felt imminent, after learning about what Dad had said to you.”

Dean takes in a breath, holds it. “It was a long time ago, Sam.”

“I was frustrated, I remember that distinctly.” Sam laughs, ignoring Dean’s attempt at consolation. “I wanted answers because I was scared of myself and you wanted to wrap me in bubble wrap.”

All that’s changed there is the amount of bubble wrap required.

Those first few years back together were turbulent. The best days of his life - when things were good. What he’d been dreaming about for years; Sam beside him, the blood of something dead under his fingernails. He felt formidable, fucking immortal because Sam was grinning at him from the passenger seat.

When they were bad it was grisly. A car wreck, shattered glass and spilt blood and pieces of them strewn out over the highway. Hurt more because Dean had had the opportunity to taste what good was like.

Nothing was ever said plainly and Sam was still drunk on California agency--never liked to listen. Dean was obsessed with him because he couldn’t have him gone again.

“So all I’ve got is stupid stuff, nothing case related.” Sam leans back to take the bottle from Dean’s hands. “I hated the tent because you would roll into me in your sleep. It was summer so you would toss your shirt off at night and I had to madly list off all the reasons why I shouldn’t put my hands on you.”

Sam stops to take a drink, rolling the bottle cap between his fingers. He’s swallowing around a smile, but it’s a bittersweet one. “When we got back down to the car after the burn, you were covered in sweat from the climb and the fire and I felt dangerous, felt it under my skin. I wanted to ruin you, wanted to know what you tasted like. Wanted to kiss you. Really fuck things up just to see what would happen.”

Dean is warm now without the drink. Sam is still talking and Dean can’t make eye contact, staring at the light of the bathroom resolutely enough that it burns into his vision and he sees little yellow squares in the trees.

“Meanwhile the wrong body was burning and ten years later someone else has paid for our mistake.”

“Well, we’ve done worse,” Dean says. He means it as a joke but the delivery is all off and it goes over Sam’s head, he gets a disappointed look in return.

“So it doesn’t bother you?”

Dean gets his hands under himself and stands, frustrated suddenly. “Of course it does, but I’m not going to beat myself up about a mistake I made when I was barely an adult. Fuck, Sam--I mean, you couldn’t even grow a full beard.”

He takes a step backwards to rebalance himself as his body sways. Sam’s looking up at him sadly, a pet-store puppy in the window.

Dean looks along the road, brushing out the stones indented into the meat of his palms. “And if you want to go ahead and blame me for it, you don’t need to beat around the bush.”

He’d prefer it, honestly. Having Sam blame him for the preoccupation was better than Sam blaming himself for pining.

“You know that’s not what I meant.”

He opens his mouth to reply and breathes out white fog. There’s a sudden blanket chill in the air and anything he was about to say evacuates his brain-space.

Sam catches on, watches his own breath curl in front of his face and scrambles to his feet with urgency.

“Where?” A whisper.

Dean squints into the dark, patting his jacket down for his back-up salt canister. They should have brought the shotguns, fuck whatever Sam said about scaring the locals. He’s sure they’ve turned a blind eye to the crack of gunshots in the woods before.

There’s a flicker in his peripherals, so quick to disappear he might have imagined it, but something snakes its hands around his throat and the feeling of his windpipe being crushed is not conjured. Dean’s hands fly up to his neck instinctively, clawing at it to let him go, but its fingers are wet and slippery, moss-like; he can’t get a grip, distantly aware he’s being dragged towards the railing.

Sam’s reaching out for him, his hands grabbing frantically at the front of his shirt and Dean tries to say salt but it comes out as a gurgled cough.

Dean goes over the edge.

The pressure around his neck disappears when his back hits the river. The freezing water shocks liquid into his lungs and he splutters, kicks his legs and hopes he’s angled towards the surface. He flails towards the direction of the bank, hands outstretched blindly, pulling at the submerged roots of trees, rocks, scrambling for anything to get his torso out of the water so he can clear his burning chest. For a moment he’s distressed that he might die without his brother. That he left Sam with only unkind last words for him to remember him by.

Something grabs him by the collar, hauling him to safety, and Dean’s coughing up water into the mud in huge bodily convulsions, on his elbows in the muck, vision going spotty.

His throat feels torn raw and he’s close to revisiting his Chinese food but there’s a hand on his back, rubbing in giant warm circles, and his brother, mud-crusted beside him telling him to breathe Dean, just breathe through it.

“God, please tell me you got a good look at it,” Dean croaks.

“Yeah,” Sam laughs, relieved, or disbelieving, Dean doesn’t know. “Yeah I did.”

---

He peels his clothes off onto the floor of the bathroom like a second skin. They pool brown with mud and river water. The walk back to the cabin was horrendous, even with Sam’s extra jacket over his shoulders. He can’t feel his extremities and he has shakes that he can’t clench his jaw to suppress.

The shower spits out cold water, then air, then a harsh spray of heat as Sam kicks something outside. Steam fills the tiny bathroom almost immediately and Dean stands there half dissociated in the warm fog, watching the remnants of the river run rivulets down his thighs.

“Needed coaxing,” his brother says, closing the door behind him. Dean comes back to life when Sam puts a hand on his back, leaning around him to balance the water temperature. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” Dean says, all hoarse, coughs and feels his stomach muscles protest. His entire being aches now.

Sam doesn’t look convinced, tugs his own shirt over his head, and Dean would pull a presumptuous face, waggle his eyebrows, make a joke about shower sex and how its never as good as you think it’s going to be, but he’s bone-tired and admittedly, does just want Sam close.

“Get in,” Sam says, pulling the shitty shower curtain aside properly.

It’s almost too hot, a thousand pin pricks in his fingers and toes as he dethaws, his torso mottling bright pink. Clumps of mud scab off his arms and dissolve down the drain.

The stall was not designed for two people, especially not people of his brother’s size. Sam presses himself against Dean’s back to make space to close the curtain and the plastic of it sticks to the side of Dean’s leg.

Sam readjusts the shower head for their height and the painful part of the heat goes with it, the perfect kind of warm now. He stretches out his hands in front of him to check they’re all still in working order.

“Was it Annabelle?” Dean asks, carefully, talking quietly seems to hurt less. He unwraps the complimentary soap cake, balling up the rubbish and tossing it out the gap of the curtain and onto the floor.

“No, I don’t think so. Annabelle had short blonde hair. Tonight’s had black, maybe brown, she was covered in river reeds, it was hard to tell.”

Dean didn’t almost drown for a maybe but he lets it slide because turning around to give Sam a look would take too much energy, and Sam has draped himself over Dean’s body like a blanket so he’s pretty content to never move again.

The soap is cheap and doesn’t sud up in his hands, rough and not at all slippery, Sam takes it from him. Rubs it with more vigour than Dean had the strength for and returns it soapy. Doesn’t try to wash him, knows where Dean’s line is drawn.

“This isn’t practical,” he says, elbowing Sam in the chest accidentally.

“Do you want me to get out?” Sam asks, reaching over Dean’s shoulder to grab the shampoo.

“No.”

Dean shifts as he washes himself and Sam’s back must hit the cold wall because he says dude, offended. Dean reaches behind to pat his thigh in apology, goes back to scrubbing the mud from where it’s caked under his fingernails.

Dean clears his throat. “About earlier--”

“It’s fine, Dean,” Sam says, putting a hand to his waist and spinning them, so he can get his head under the shower head.

Dean watches the droplets run down the wall, cracked plastic tinged yellow with time. There’s a gap in the curtain and the temperature difference gives him goosebumps. Sam deals out forgiveness for Dean’s temper as easy as that. Has been doing it for the better part of his life. It’s fine, don’t worry about it, it’s okay on loop like a pull-string plush toy. Dean doesn’t deserve it.

“It’s the same for me,” Dean says detachedly, not bothered about whether Sam can hear it or not, with his head under the water.

But his brother hums in response, sliding a hand around Dean’s front, pressing him back into Sam’s chest so they’re both under the water. Sam puts his mouth to Dean’s shoulder, closed lipped, and leaves his head there. Listening.

#my words #the worst feeling when you have something completely planned out but lose the drive to make it come together #perhaps wip posting will bring some motivation back

37 notes · View notes

honey-dewey · 3 years

Text

Soulmate Imagines

Another short not drabbles but not full stories either! I was completely inspired by a post made by @absurdthirst and really really wanted to write the boys in these scenarios! So I completely ignored both of my active WIPS and wrote this instead. Oops? Enjoy these long and indulgent soulmate imagines!

Total Word Count: 5,179

Permanent Taglist: @phoenixhalliwell @star-wars-hell

Din Djarin:

Soul Tattoo AU

“Shit!”

You hummed, turning your head over, vision fuzzy. Din was rushing around the Crest, and you could see red painting his beskar. Was he hurt? You tried to stand, and then it hit you. Oh. You were hurt.

“Din,” you rasped out, blinking as his fuzzy image came into more clarity.

Din looked at you, helmet trained on your face. “Cyar’ika,” he said, taking your cold hands. “How do you feel?”

“Like I got run over by a herd of Banthas,” you said, shifting and wincing. “What happened?”

“Bomb,” Din explained, gesturing to your torso, where you were wearing a thin robe and nothing else. “Hit your side. Patched you up best I could.”

You nodded, swallowing thickly. “Did it scar?”

Din hesitated. “Some of it will. Nothing on your back though.”

Relief flooded you. You had no idea why you were so worried about your soul tattoo, but you were. The beautiful star map to Aq Ventina spanned your entire back, from shoulders to tailbone, the sides creeping over your waist. You’d done research about Aq Ventina years ago, when the curiosity had finally peaked. You’d read up on the history and knew that it no longer existed, decimated by a droid attack decades before you’d even known it existed.

“It’s a beautiful tattoo,” Din said softly, out of nowhere.

“Thank you,” you said, looking at his helmet. “It’s my soul tattoo.”

Din nodded. “I figured.”

And that was the last it was spoken of for almost five months. The next time it was relevant was during a two day long bounty hunt, when Din left to shower and you sat in your shared inn room, cooing at Grogu.

The shower water turned off, and you heard Din drying off. Then he called your name.

“Yeah?”

“Come here.”

Worried, you stood and headed to the bathroom. “Din?”

“Come here.” His voice bordered on urgent, and you immediately shoved the door open.

You were met with Din, completely shirtless yet still wearing the helmet, in the bathroom, no urgent problem in sight. However, instead of being mad, you were focused entirely on the tattoo that spread across Din’s back.

It was identical to yours.

“Din?” Your voice was tiny, so apprehensive.

He sighed, looking at you and taking your hands. “I’m sorry I didn’t say anything earlier,” he said. “But Aq Ventina was my home, so you have to understand that it was odd and a bit painful seeing the star map on your back.”

You nodded. “We’re soulmates,” you breathed. “I didn’t even know you had a soul tattoo.”

Din chuckled. “It’s not like I expose much skin,” he reasoned.

That drew a laugh out of you. “Yeah. But still.” Your fingers danced over the exposed edge of the star map that crept over Din’s side. “Soulmates.”

Din nodded, resting his forehead against your head. “Soulmates,” he agreed. “But only if you’ll have me.”

You smiled. “As if I could ever say no.”

Marcus Moreno:

Color Soulmate AU

To say you were stressed was an understatement. A huge project for Heroics was cradled in your arms, all sorts of papers and binders and information you were carrying to the filing room to be sorted. The stack was tall, which was probably why you didn’t see your boss until you ran directly into him.

“Fuck!” You shouted as you fell on your back, folders going everywhere. Marcus Moreno, your boss, was toppled next to you, also swearing.

“I am so sorry!” You said hurriedly, scrambling to gather the papers, eyes focused on your task. “I really should’ve looked where I was going and-“ you looked up, shock killing your words.

Marcus’s eyes were brown. Very very brown.

You gasped, your task entirely forgotten. “Oh.”

Marcus was staring at you with just as much shock as you were staring at him with. “Oh,” he echoed.

Your fragile moment was shattered by the click of heels and another employee coming over to check on you, her voice frantic.

“We’re fine,” Marcus reassured, standing and dusting himself off. Without saying anything else, he walked quickly away.

Once all the files were secure, you headed back to your desk and pulled out a small box of crayons. You’d never seen color, not ever, so this would be interesting. At least it would be if your hands would stop shaking.

One of your coworkers, Matt, came up to you as you used a teal crayon, marveling at the color. “Oh? You met your soulmate?”

You nodded, looking up and noticing the vibrant purple color to Matt’s tie. “Yeah. Bumped into him in the hall. Literally.”

Matt grinned. “Who is it?”

You cringed, the embarrassment setting in. “Mr. Moreno.”

“Mr. Moreno?” Matt practically yelled. “He’s our boss!”

“Yeah, I know!” You retaliated, checking your clock and scrambling up. “Fuck! I gotta go, that huge meeting is in ten.”

Matt smiled. “Good luck!”

Despite Matt’s wishes, you were fairly certain the presentation was a disaster. Marcus was missing, which was odd, and you ended up tripping over your words and getting a huge migraine halfway through the presentation. After sheepishly explaining the scenario, you were told to go home and adjust, you could redo the presentation tomorrow.

Of course, tomorrow was just as bad. Marcus was actually present, wearing a yellow tie that kept distracting you and forcing your words out in a jumble.

After the train wreck of a presentation, you decided this was a situation that called for a large hot chocolate. Getting one and settling in the cafeteria, you sighed, swirling your drink with a spoon. You were a certifiable mess.

The creaking of the chair brought your attention back to planet earth, and you looked up, nearly choking on your spit. “Mr. Moreno!”

“Please, I think we should be on a first name basis,” Marcus said. “So.”

“So.”

Marcus tapped the table. “I’m sorry I ran off yesterday. I just, well, I haven’t seen color since my- Since Clara died.”

You nodded. “I understand if you don’t want this,” you murmured, looking back down at your drink. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” Marcus asked. “No! I’m, well, a little excited.”

That shocked you. “Excited?”

“Yeah.” Marcus nodded. “Excited. Missy’s over the moon, of course.”

You grinned. “Thanks. Sorry I’m so nervous. I’ve never seen any of this before.”

“Really?” Marcus said. “Oh I definitely know what we’re doing first.”

“What?”

Marcus smiled, taking your hands. “You’re going to love sunsets.”

Max Phillips:

Black Mark Soulmate AU

“Oh no.”

You stared at your boss with nothing short of mild fear. Max fucking Phillips. There was no goddamn way. You’d known him very briefly in college, but this, this was unexpected.

He smiled at the employees, shaking hands as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

As if his right palm wasn’t the color of fresh stained ink.

He walked up to you, holding out his ink stained hand. You were hesitant to accept. After all, your right hand was equally black. But handshakes were common, very common among soulmate meets. Max Phillips was not your soulmate.

You were able to tell yourself that until the moment your hands touched, the blackness turning into a beautiful swirl of bright colors.

Max’s eyes widened as he looked at you. “Your hand.”

“Yours too,” you said, letting go of Max’s hand and letting him examine the watercolor of reds and purples that spread across his skin.

Max took a nervous breath. “No. Something must be wrong.”

You were shocked. “Max. Is it really that bad?”

“You don’t understand!” Max snapped, scaring you a tiny bit. He leaned closer, so you could see the devilish gleam in his eyes. “I have no soul.”

Your blood chilled as you saw the overly sharp teeth and the hint of red behind the deep brown in Max’s eyes. “Max.”

But he was gone, disappeared from right in front of you. Blinking a few times, you turned to your computer, determined to uncover the truth about your mysterious boss and the still tingling rainbow of colors on your palm.

Frankie ‘Catfish’ Morales:

Countdown Soulmate AU

The countdown timer was surprisingly unnerving.

Actually, was it really that surprising? It was counting down to the most important day pretty much ever. Yours had always had years and years, much longer than any of your friends, but you didn’t mind. That was just more time to prepare.

Of course, when you woke up one day to find that the timer that had read seven months suddenly read twelve hours, you freaked the hell out. Taking deep breaths, you calmed yourself and got dressed, texting your best friend and asking him when he wanted you over for movie night. He responded with eight, and promised that you’d love his friends.

With one last deep breath and a glance around your apartment, you left for the day.

And ended up with a popped tire on the side of the road ten minutes before eight.

Screaming your frustration into the night darkened woods and frightening some poor birds, you sighed and called roadside service. An hour, at least, before they could get to you.

Your next call went to Benny, who you apologized to and told him you’d make it up to him.

Your final call was to no one. You simply sat back in your car and waited for roadside service while you tapped away at some mind numbing game you’d downloaded on a whim.

Headlights were visible in the distance not even ten minutes later, which shocked you and then worried you. Who the hell was out on this road this late at night? Were you about to be murdered? Who would find your body? Would Benny still hold true to his promise and wear a lime green tutu to your funeral?

The car stopped when it saw you, and your anxiety skyrocketed. You quickly texted Benny one last time and locked your car.

“Hey!” A few sharp knocks and a face in the window. “Do you need help?”

You were trembling, trying to keep a brave face. “Tire popped.”

“Oh.” The voice sounded genuinely worried. “That sucks. Where are you headed?”

“A friend’s house.”

“Did you call roadside?”

“An hour.”

“Oof. Hungry?”

“What?” You looked over, seeing the dimly lit silhouette of a man holding up what was probably a granola bar. “Yeah actually, I am.”

The man’s cheeks lit up, and you assumed he was smiling. “Well you’re gonna have to open up if you want it.”

You hesitantly cracked the door and watched the man step back. The car lights illuminated him fully, revealing a very attractive man holding a slightly squished granola bar.

Turning in the seat so that your legs were hanging out the car, you took the offered food, smiling as you ate. “Lord this is good! Thank you!”

The man shrugged. “No problem. I’m Frankie.”

You mumbled your name around the granola bar, and then froze as your wrist burned warm and then cold, a clattering alerting you to the fact that your timer had fallen off.

And from the look on Frankie’s face, so had his.

He looked back up at you, seemingly nervous. “So can I get in the car now? I promise I’m not a creep.”

You nodded, still slightly shocked as Frankie got into your car, sitting in the passenger seat. It was silent for a minute before you spoke. “So. Soulmates.”

“Soulmates,” Frankie agreed. “I’m glad I shared that granola bar with you.”

Your phone pinged, and you swore softly, answering Benny’s text and then rereading it. “Do you, by any chance, know a Benny Miller?”

“Yeah,” Frankie said. “I was headed to his place when I saw you.”

“Me too.” You showed him the text, which read ‘Dude! Be careful! My buddy Frankie’s coming along, so if you get attacked, he’ll totally protect you. Also, totally not wearing that tutu because you’re not dying first.’

Frankie smiled. “You’re in on the tutu thing too?”

You laughed. “Oh god! Not you too!”

“Yeah!” Frankie said, laughing along with you. “Benny totally already has it, y’know.”

You sighed. “Damn. That’s wild.”

The hour until roadside service arrived was filled with stories and bonding. After your car was towed, you got in Frankie’s truck and headed to Benny’s, arm in arm.

“Hey, Frankie found the murder victim!” Benny said happily, opening the door. “Oh shit, dudes I was starting to get worried about you.”

Frankie shook his head. “Actually, it couldn’t have played out better.”

Jack ‘Whiskey’ Daniels:

First Words Soulmate AU

You sighed, taking a breath. Today you were meeting your baby brother’s coworkers at a work party. It wasn’t supposed to be so damn nerve wracking, but your stomach was a ball of anxiety. “Danny, are you sure about this?”

Danny, or as he was better known at work, Tequila, nodded. “Hell yeah, it’ll be fun.”

You tugged your bracelet, trying to cover the words winding across your wrist.

What’s a pretty little thing like you doing in a place like this?

The Statesman Fourth of July party was apparently a big deal. There were sure as hell a lot of people. You stuck by Danny’s side, smiling at his coworkers and eventually sitting with a woman named Ginger. She was nice, and when Danny wandered off to flirt with someone, she stayed with you, giving you names to attach to faces.

“Oh, and that’s Jack,” she said, pointing to someone talking to Champ. “One of the longest lasting agents we have.”

You eyed Jack. He was handsome, especially with that cowboy hat. He must’ve noticed your staring, because he wandered over and sat down at the table.

“So, what’s a pretty little thing like you doing in a place like this?”

You took a breath, gripping the hem of your shorts and trying to think without looking awkward. A thousand responses rushed through your head, and you finally picked one you hoped wasn’t weird. “I dunno cowboy, why do you ask?”

Jack recoiled as if he’d just had ice water poured on his head. Ginger stood, shocked as Jack ran away. “What just happened?”

You were nearly speechless, tears starting to well up. “I think my soulmate just ran away from me.”

After a good long crying session in which you sobbed openly into Danny’s jacket and he vowed to absolutely murder Jack, Ginger gently explained Jack’s past with his previous soulmate. Which sent you into another round of crying and made Danny even more pissed.

He ended up taking you home early to watch shitty movies and eat tons of ice cream, comforting you as you numbly ate half a pint of Ben and Jerry’s on the couch.

When he left for work the next day, you made him swear not to hurt Jack.

You got a call from Ginger two hours later telling you to come pick Danny up.

Marching into Statesman again, you found Ginger at the entrance, lips pressed tight. She led you to the infirmary, where Danny was proudly sporting a black eye and a split lip. Jack was laying in a bed next to him, pressing ice to his cheek.

“Control your fucking brother!” He yelled as soon as he saw you, sitting up in the bed. “He nearly killed me!”

“Oh shut the fuck up!” You snapped back. “You best be glad I’m not petty, or else I’d have let him kill you.”

Jack was, wisely, silent as you helped Danny up and out of the building. Danny was also silent, but was definitely smug about it.

“Y’know I totally won that fight,” he said as you exited the building.

You sighed. “Sure. Whatever. Let’s go home.”

The next day, you got a call from an unknown number.

“This is Jack,” the voice on the other end said when you picked up. “I’m calling to apologize for beating your brother up.”

“Apparently he won the fight.”

Jack snorted. “Sure he did. Look, I’m sorry.”

“Apology accepted.”

A pause. “Cool. See you around.”

“Yeah. See you.”

He hung up first, leaving you with a dead hole in your chest. When you would see that cowboy again, you didn’t know, but when you did, oh boy was he in for it from you.

Ezra:

Pain Sharing Soulmate AU

You were screaming.

Well, screaming may not have been the word to describe the feeling. No, the agony in your right arm was numbing pain, the kind of pain that brought out animalistic noises and made spots dance across your vision. You writhed on the floor, clutching your upper arm and begging someone, anyone, to make the pain stop. A few nurses you worked with tried to dose you with painkillers, but nothing could touch soulmate pain.

Finally, after what seemed like hours, the pain began to fade. You’d had some aches in that arm after a stab that was really painful and you’d assumed some kind of injury that your soulmate had sustained was being treated. But that, that harsh, indescribable pain that had you sweating and panting on the floor with your head spinning, you had no explanation for that.

After that, the nurses set you up in the break room with fluids and a light snack. Your right arm still hurt like hell, but it was manageable now. As time passed, the pain passed, until it was no more than a dull ache once more, with some odd numbness that lingered in your fingertips.

Of course, on the day you decided to try working for a few hours, your soulmate went and got himself fatally injured again.

Gasping and falling sideways, you gritted your teeth through a scream as your gut lit on fire, as if someone had driven a knife into your belly. It was the second time in three days that your soulmate had put you through this. What the hell was he doing?

Yet again, you were put in a room to wait out the pain, probably scaring patients with your sobs and pleads for any merciful god to put you out of your misery. This pain refused to fade, and you completely missed the wail of emergency sirens as a new patient in critical condition arrived.

Eventually, finally, the pain forced you unconscious.

You woke a few days later, breathing deeply as you realized you weren’t in any pain. The faint voice of a doctor met your ears as you slowly regained your senses.

“We’re all shocked they survived. With pain like that, I surely wouldn’t have been as strong as they were. First it was their arm, and then their stomach. We still don’t really know what happened.”

The doctor turned to you, and smiled when he noticed your open eyes. “Finally, you’re awake. We have someone who wants to talk to you.”

You grumbled, trying to string together the past few days. “What?”

The doctor gestured to a man sitting in the other bed in the room. “This is Ezra, our critical patient from a few days ago.”

“I was too busy being stabbed in the stomach to notice any crit patients,” you pointed out.

“Yes, well,” the doctor said with a smile. “He may have some answers for you.”

You sat up, rubbing your aching head and facing the other man in the room.

He looked like hell, face sunken and shining with post injury sweat. You reasoned that you probably didn’t look much better. But the interesting thing about the man was his bandage wrapped right arm. Or more accurately, his lack of an arm that was wrapped in bandages.

“Hi Ezra,” you said slowly, rubbing your temples. “Is this my headache or yours?”

Ezra chuckled. “I think it’s yours,” he said. “I can’t feel any of my own pain right now.”

You sighed. “Doc, can I get some painkillers? I got a headache.”

The doctor nodded, grabbing a few pills, but you shook your head. “The good shit, please.”

Smiling, the doctor picked up a syringe and lifted your left arm, considering your right still felt a bit numb. “Countdown?”

“Nah.”

The doctor gave you the painkillers, and you watched Ezra wince at the pinch from the needle as it hit your skin. Laying back as the painkillers took effect, you sighed, looking at Ezra. “I’d love to stay and chat,” you murmured sleepily. “But this stuff works fast.”

Ezra smiled. “Don’t worry songbird,” he said. “I’ll be here when you wake.”

Javier Peña:

Soulmate’s Name on Wrist AU

“Get up! New client!”

You groaned, adjusting your top and trotting into the hall, standing with the group of women waving and giggling at the new client. He looked up at your group, a light grin on his face.

“He’s cute,” you said to the woman next to you.

She nodded. “He’s a regular at places like this,” she said. “Says his name’s Javier.”

You froze, the small name tattooed on the inside of your wrist practically burning. “Javier? He got a last name?”

“Not that he’ll share.”

In the end, you were Javier’s lucky victim, mostly because when he asked your name and you responded, his watch-covered wrist twitched. So he was your soulmate. Or at least you were his. He showed you bliss, paid you handsomely, and left without a word but with a spark.

Two weeks later, you ran into him again. You’d been in touch with a man at the US embassy about cartel stuff, mostly that the cartels had been reaching out to people like you and you wanted to stay safe, and the man had invited you to come over and give a statement. You were hesitant, of course, but the man looked kind enough, and the other employees knew him well enough that you felt secure.

“This is my partner, agent Peña,” the man said as he gestured you into a room. “But,” he said slowly, eyeing the bare name on your wrist. “I think you knew that already.”

“I did.”

Javier took a breath. “Can we get this done with?” He said, trying to sound annoyed but only succeeding at stressed.

Your statement was quiet and precise, and before you knew it, Javier was walking you out.

“Javier,” you tried.

“Don’t,” Javier growled. “Just go, forget you ever met me.”

“I can’t!” You all but yelled, grabbing his wrist so he couldn’t walk off. “I’ve been wearing your name since the day I was born, you think I can just forget all of that?”

Javier was quiet. “You think I want a soulmate?” He asked quietly, and you froze.

“I’m sorry?”

“No!” Javier growled, shaking his head. “I mean, fuck. This job, if they find out you’re connected to me, they’ll kill you.”

Your blood went cold, but you kept your composure. “Hate to break it to you,” you said, shoving Javier’s sleeve up and exposing your name written on his wrist. “But we’re already connected.”

From that day forward, you were under protection. You quit your job, moved reluctantly to an apartment that was secured by the embassy, and barely left the brand new apartment for anything. The war on drugs dragged on, and every so often, Javier would shuffle across the hall and find solace in your arms, always leaving before dawn.

One night, after a particularly hard day, you and him were tangled together on the couch, name wrists pressed against each other. Your skin burned and prickled at the intimate contact, but Javier was so lost he didn’t even notice.

“Javi?”

“Hm?”

You smoothed through his hair. “Will we ever be safe enough to be soulmates?”

Javier was quiet. “I don’t know.”

You sighed. “One day, I hope we will.”

Another long silence, and then Javier spoke up. “Me too.”

That morning, you woke up in his arms instead of in an empty bed, wondering exactly how life would shake out now that you had fallen in love with your soulmate.

Maxwell Lord:

Dream Sharing Soulmate AU

“I’m going to cry,” you groaned, pressing your head to the table. “He hasn’t slept in days.”

Your coworker, Ellie, sighed. “Hon, you just gotta keep trying. Go home, rest up. Get some sleep.”

You stood. Ellie was right. Just because Max wasn’t sleeping didn’t mean you had to punish yourself. You’d been going rounds with him for months, and it was really starting to weigh on your own sleep schedule. All you needed, all you wanted was to go home and sleep for days to correct your broken internal clock.

Your apartment was cold when you got back, and you quickly fiddled with the thermostat before stripping and falling into bed, cuddling up with the blankets and falling asleep almost immediately.

Just as with every night your soulmate didn’t sleep, you didn’t have a soul dream. Instead, you had your regular dreams, all nonsensical and silly. You woke up at one point to eat before falling back into bed, still exhausted.

This time, your dreams were different. You were in a soul dream, which meant he was finally sleeping.

“Max!”

No response as you ran around the elementary school, but you quickly skidded to a stop, seeing bullies mock a young boy for his lunch. That was your Max as a child, and you immediately rushed to his aide.

“Max.”

The real Max, the one who was asleep right now, looked at you with worry, finally tearing his eyes off the bullies. “You.”

“Me,” you said softly. “You need more sleep.”

Max shrugged. You knew who he was, after all, who didn’t? But the suave businessman you knew on TV was very different from the scared man you knew from your dreams. “Wasn’t tired.”

“For three days?” You asked. “Max, that isn’t healthy.” You felt a tug on your gut, a signal that your dream was starting. “C’mon.” You held a hand out, offering Max a reprieve. “My dreams are kind.”

He accepted, taking your hand as you led him to your dreams. In your subconscious reality, you were a child again, laughing and ice skating with your parents.

“Can you skate?” You asked Max, still holding his hand. He shook his head.

You smiled. “That’s okay, you can learn.” You snapped your fingers and skates appeared on both of your feet. “C’mon!”

Turned out, Max was an abysmal skater, but he was laughing by the time your bodies were ready to wake up.

“I don’t wanna go,” he admitted, and you grinned, squeezing his hands tight. “Can we do this again?”

“Tomorrow night,” you promised. “I’ll find you.”

For almost a month, you rescued Max from embarrassing or painful dreams, taking him to your more comforting dreams. Occasionally, he’d do the opposite for you when you had a nightmare, but you mostly spent the nights in your dreams, watching fireworks or going swimming. His darkest secrets were no longer secret, and he trusted you with everything.

“Y’know,” he said softly as you and him watched a Fourth of July fireworks show from when you were seven. “We could do this in real life.”

“We could,” you murmured, leaning closer to him. “The fourth is, what, next week? Doesn’t DC do a beautiful fireworks show?”

Max nodded. “We could make our first shared memory.”

You smiled. “We could,” you agreed. “We will. I’m not too far from DC, I can totally drive down on the fourth. I’ll pick you up from work, how’s that sound?”

“Sounds perfect,” Max murmured softly. “Dreamlike even.”

You laughed. “Dork.”

“Hey, you fell in love with me!”

“Yeah,” you said, looking at Max’s firework illuminated face. “I did.”

Pero Tovar:

Color Soulmate AU

You pressed the leaf between your fingers, trying to gauge how sick the plant was. The grey color didn’t worry you, because you were fairly certain it was still green. “It just needs more water,” you determined, standing and brushing yourself off. “Try watering these plants daily instead of every other.”

The woman you were helping nodded, and you smiled at her as you walked back to your own garden. Rolling your sleeves up, you got to work tending to your plants.

It was hours before you looked up, alerted by the sound of hooves on the ground. A mysterious man was sitting atop a horse, his hair long and greasy, his face creased from what you imagined was a grueling ride. He jumped off the horse and stumbled in your direction, leaning against the fence. You stood, abandoning the plants in favor of helping the man.

He shook off your help, but stopped the second his hand connected with yours and both your worlds exploded with color.

You stumbled back, the sudden colors shocking you as the man reeled from you, his sun battered face full of shock.

“I’m sorry!” You said quickly, steadying yourself and reaching out to the man. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” the man said firmly, right before he passed out.

Two days later, the man woke up, his partner by his side. The blond man had showed up yesterday, introducing himself as William and the mystery man as Pero Tovar.

Pero looked around, nervous as he saw you in the corner, slowly and methodically mending his shirt. “William, quien es este.”

William shrugged. “I don’t know. Not a nurse, from what I can tell.”

“Diles que se vayan.”

“I’m not leaving,” you said, without looking up. “And please continue to talk about me in a language you assume I don’t understand.”

Pero blinked a few times. “You’re smart.”

“I pick up on languages fast,” you said, setting down the mended shirt. “Who are you, Pero Tovar?”

William looked between you two before finally speaking up. “Should I leave?”

“Please,” you said.

William left, and you crossed your legs. “So, who are you?”

“No one you should know,” Pero growled, getting up and grabbing his shirt. “Just forget you ever met me. You have your colors, go live a happy life.”

You frantically tried to keep him in the village, but he left with William as soon as the local medic deemed him okay.

For the next week, you slowly learned colors, finding your favorites with much trial and error. Some of the village women who had lost their soulmates in battles consoled you as you grieved for a man you barely knew, a man who had given you a universe of change and then left as if it had been nothing.

Almost exactly one week later, the sound of hooves rang out again, and this time, you didn’t look up from your gardening. At least, not until the visitor entered your garden, standing in front of your vegetables.

You looked up at him, taking in a much neater and more groomed Pero. He seemed nervous, shuffling from foot to foot.

Standing, you raised an eyebrow. “Can I help you?”

Pero nodded, handing you his dagger.

You took the weapon. “What’s this?”

“In my culture,” Pero began. “When a man is ready to settle with his soulmate, he must give them his most prized weapon as a way of showing he is ready to stop fighting and raise a family.”

The dagger gleamed in the sunlight, and you smiled. “Well then, I guess I should make dinner for two, shouldn’t I?”

Pero grinned. “Yes, that would be nice. I’m hungry.”

91 notes · View notes