#soul match au

[da-birb-writes-sometimes]

Of Truths & Dreams; Malleus Draconia

Dreams can tell you a lot about a person. Their wants, their fears. But sometimes they can tell you the truth, and sometimes it isn't pretty.

Supporting Characters; Lilia Vanrouge & Malenoa Draconia

Content; Soulmate AU (I call them soul matches), gender-neutral reader, can be read as familial, platonic, or romantic, Chapter 7 spoilers, canon divergence, hurt/comfort

Content Warnings; Chapter 7 spoilers, overblot stuff, swearing

Word Count; 5 K

Don't put my work into AI, I will hunt you for sport.

Prologue & Lilia's Story | Sebek's Story

Malleus was born into this world alone. His mother, dead, and his father, missing. It was a miracle that he even hatched, as Draconia eggs required love to hatch. And his grandmother was ridden with grief, over losing her only child. It was no wonder why he was delayed by several centuries. And despite everything, he hatched. But despite his hatching, the love and adoration that people gave him, he was alone. Malleus didn’t feel loved, not in the way that mattered.

His subjects, his guards, his teachers, even his own grandmother loved the idea of him. And he was raised away from the outside world, within the dark halls of Briar Castle. Malleus was an idea, and the hope for the future rather than his own person. It was a lot for a child to handle. So, of course, he would sneak out when he thought no one was looking. The guards would realize rather quickly that the sole heir to Briar Valley, their most treasured royal, was missing. But Malleus didn’t care.

“Good evening,” he greeted the raven gargoyle that was at the westernmost turret of the outside wall. Malleus looked in the direction that the raven did, looking out into the moors. A dense fog had rolled in, covering everything in a white haze. “Do you ever wonder what’s out there?”

He knew that the stone wouldn’t answer him, but he asked anyways. “Grandmother tells me stories you know,” he sighed, taking a seat in one of the carved-out alcoves in the ancient stone. “That Briar Valley will one day be mine to keep. But I cannot rule without a soul match.”

Soul matches were quintessential for the Draconias, after all, it was their own ancestor the Thorn Fairy, who had gifted the fae the blessing. But Malleus had yet to find any trace of them in his dreams. Typically, members of his family were born with their soul match already in their dreams, but Malleus had yet to meet them, his dreams still being black and white, and no blurry stranger to speak of in sight. It was distressing, and he heard the whispered concerns of his grandmother when she thought he was in bed.

And those whispers played in his head. “Is there something the matter with me?” All the young prince got for an answer though was the distant cawing of ravens, and the approaching sounds of footsteps. “Did I do something wrong?”

It felt like he did something wrong. Why else would the Thorn Fairy withhold his birthright to a soul match? Why would she punish him? Had he already not been punished enough?

“So that’s where you were hiding,” the familiar voice of Lilia pulled Malleus from his thoughts. “Come now, young prince, you can’t hide away forever.” Lilia offered his hand for the young boy to take. 

Malleus looked at his outstretched hand to his face, and placed his hand in Lilia’s. “Did I upset everyone again?” His voice was quiet as the two of them walked hand and hand down the uneven steps of the turret’s staircase.

Lilia hummed, “Upset? No. Worry? A little bit.” He was used to barking out orders in the battlefield, not looking after children, let alone one so precious to the Valley. But Lilia felt that he needed to, for both his Queen, and the late princess. He had a duty to keep, an oath that he lived by; to protect the royal line.

Malleus frowned, giving the moors a final look before he and his keeper descended into the heart of the castle. “I just wanted to find them.”

“And you will,” Lilia gave the prince a practised smile, as it was still something he was getting used to. “It may just take some time is all.”

“But mother and grandmother both were born with their soul matches already in their dreams. Why is mine not with me now?” Malleus was starting to spit a bit of fire, clearly becoming upset with his own frustration. “Why must they keep me waiting?”

Lilia took a knee, and gently placed his hands on Malleus’s shoulders, looking into his eyes. “Good things come to those who wait. It must mean that the Thorn Fairy is taking her time in finding the best match for you.” Lilia’s eyes searched Malleus’s and he propped himself back up. “So since it is taking a while, they must be very special.”

Malleus was still upset, but that put him at ease. Good things come to those who wait. So the longer he had to wait, the better his soul match should be, and that put his turbulent mind at ease… for now.

…

…

Malleus was standing in the thick fog of the moors. And it was deathly silent, not even the crickets or the throaty calls of frogs filled in the silent din. “Another dream,” he sighed to himself. 

Of course it was a dream, which was obvious due to everything being in various shades of grey, white, and black, but also because he wasn’t allowed past the castle’s outer walls without someone else accompanying him.

“Why have you brought me here,” Malleus quietly asked the fog.

It is said that the Thorn Fairy lived in the moors, that she protected the moors. She put up an impenetrable wall of thorns, to protect her people from those who wished to destroy them. But the moors remained silent, and barren of colour or life. Malleus hummed to himself the lullaby that his grandmother sang to him while he was still a baby, and still in his egg. He has heard this song over the centuries as he lay dormant. Permanently etched into the deepest recesses of his mind. The lullaby was crafted solely for the fae to learn of soul matches.

Malleus stopped humming. He hadn’t met them yet, so it didn’t feel right to hum the original lyrics. “I’ll know you. I will walk with you once upon a dream,” he sang slowly, walking to nowhere in particular, the fog moving gently with his movements. “I’ll know you, that look in your eyes will be so a familiar a gleam.” 

He started dancing by himself, making the fog swirl around him. “And I know it’s true that visions are seldom all they seem. But if I’ll know you, I know what you’ll do.” Malleus made one large twirl, and all the emotions he had were summoned as fire, setting the dry grass of the moors ablaze, yet he was untouched as his dream was slowly being reduced to ashes.

“You’ll love me at once,” he whispered quietly, “the way you did once upon a dream.” Smoke filled the air, and where there was once light, white fog, there was now heavy, black smoke.

It was simply a dream though, nothing more. But dreams reveal truths, even if we don’t want to confront them.

…

…

…

Malleus had missed the entrance ceremony… again, at least Lilia was all over it, but it still rubbed Malleus in all of the wrong ways. But was it really his fault? He had never received an invitation… due to his electronics acting up again due to his own magic, so maybe it was his fault. Maybe next year! … Oh right, he would be a fourth year and not studying within the confines of Night Raven College, so in actuality, there was no next year.

At least there was a familiar face that was new to the dorm, and Sebek was overjoyed and followed Malleus dutifully. But that didn’t really change his own inner turmoil; he is next in line to be king, and yet he wasn’t able to attend something as simple as an annual recurring event? It troubled him, even as he was preparing himself for bed, adjusting his custom pillow just so.

I just wish I were invited? A proper letter. He mused in his own head, before finding himself back in the moors. It was always the moors. By this point he had traversed the entirety of it, and seen everything it had to offer, all of its little secrets. Not hard when he’s had nearly a century of time to do so.

He started humming his version of the lullaby, as he mindlessly floated along a path that he had made with his own footsteps, well trodden. Good things come to those who wait. That’s what he’s told himself, night after night. That’s what he told himself every morning when he woke up. He was getting tired of waiting. He was supposed to have been born with his soul match already in his dreams, but no one had ever appeared in Malleus’s dreams. He was always alone in the moors, with not even animals to keep him company. He was not only isolated in his waking world, the real world, but he was also isolated in his dreams.

Malleus was all alone, he had been alone for a while. Yes, he may have guards, and loyal servants, but above all else, they saw him as their next king, not Malleus; they didn’t see him for him. So maybe it was fitting that he didn’t have a soul match either. Maybe the Thorn Fairy wanted him alone.

Right as those feelings surfaced though, his dream changed. Malleus was very much still in the moors, but the silence was gone. The soft chirping of crickets filled the void. There was life, and it was all at once. The fog was still there, but Malleus could also see the faint lights of fireflies, glowing softly. This, this was new, and he didn’t know what to make of it. The once still moor was now gently rustling, breathing.

In front of him, the fog became dense, and a figure slowly emerged from it, looking around in a confused state. But they then turned their full attention to Malleus, and everything became saturated in violet.

Good things come to those who wait. They were here, they were finally here. Malleus was finally not alone.

“It is a pleasure to finally meet you,” he greeted with a slight bow of his head. He did not know who they were, did not know of their upbringing or social status, but none of that mattered. They were his soul match, which usurped everything else. 

He watched curiously as his words floated in front of him, a harsh, neon green. His soul match did the same, watching as the words faded away.

“Uh, nice to meet you too?” Their words, your words, floated in front of Malleus, the same shade of green as his. “Who are you? Where am I?”

Malleus hummed, intrigued by their reaction. Perhaps they were not taught of soul match bonds, which would be understandable, as not all families knew of the bonds the Thorn Fairy had gifted them. “I will explain all in time, for now though, let us walk together, and enjoy this moment. Shall we?”

He extended his hand, waiting for you to take it, but right as your hands were about to meet, your form turned back into mist, leaving Malleus alone yet again in his dream. “Hmm, they must have woken up suddenly… perhaps tomorrow night then…” He murmured to himself, and continued down his footpath, watching the fireflies blink in the distance.

…

…

That was a weird ass dream, and you were kinda thankful that Grim had rudely woken you up. Kinda being the key word. And you couldn’t really get back to sleep, instead just staring up at the decaying ceiling above you, just wishing that you could go back to sleep. But what was up with the formal-speaking stranger? Why were you in some sort of swamp? Why was everything purple? And why were your words floating in front of you and a bright ass neon green? It was only your first night too… maybe this was just your brain coming up with weird scenarios to distract you from the weirdness you experience while awake? Maybe some inter-dimensional travel side effects? Like some form of jet lag that messed with your dreams? Sure, let’s pin it on that.

“Ughhhh, I hate it here,” you groaned. It would be a few hours before classes even began, so you had plenty of time for utter boredom, how fun. At least you had borrowed some books from the library, a mix of general information — since that ‘headmage’ hadn’t given you a proper welcome or a lowdown on how this world functioned — and just some interesting looking cover. Don’t judge a book by its cover. Sure, but when the book was a deep violet leather-bound book, with green metallic filigree? How could you not be curious about it? It was stunning.

“Of Truths and Dreams,” you whispered to yourself, that was the title of the book, the font in the style of calligraphy from medieval texts. How old was it? Were you actually allowed to touch it, let alone read it? It looked like it belonged in a museum.

You carefully undid the metal clasp, in the shape of a dragon’s claw. Curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back. And you began reading.

Dreams can reveal much about a person; their wants, their fears, their memories. Dreams also hold power, and such power has been bestowed to the Draconia family. And this power comes from our ancestor, the Thorn Fairy.

You snapped the book shut. This wasn’t just a book, it was a diary. You shouldn’t be reading this… but this was a chance to learn more about this world. Learn about it from… You open up the diary again, and find the owner’s name written in the same calligraphy as the title. Maleficia Draconia. 

-

As with all fae, our family too is blessed with soul matches who enter our dreams as we sleep. Our family is different though, as we are born with them already in our minds; our dreams tinted in a colour that represents both of us. They are of utmost importance to us. Without them, we cannot rule. They may become an advisor, a confidant, and in some cases, a lover. That is for both parties to decide though, we cannot use our power or status to influence their decision, no matter how we feel about them, Malenoa. Do not let our draconic greed dictate the relationship. It surfaces as a song. I know you, I walked with you once upon a dream. I know you, that look in your eye is so familiar a gleam. And I know it’s true, that visions are seldom what they seem. But if I know you, I’ll know what you’ll do. You’ll love me at once, the way you did once upon a dream. Ignore that song, my love, for that is the greed speaking, and not the truth. Ignore it at all costs, for it will stain the heart…

The rest of the diary was left blank, the edges of the paper charred. Turning it back over, you noticed that the entire back of the book was blackened, blackened by fire. And even though you didn’t know who Maleficia was, she had helped you a great lot. Whatever that dream was, that was no ordinary stranger. They were your… soul match? Yeah, whatever that meant.

…

…

Malleus found himself walking outside of his old haunting grounds, Ramshackle dorm. He was surprised to find it now occupied, but his sadness had morphed into something far more pleasant. He had gained a friend. He had gained you.

“Good evening, Child of Man,” he greeted you, taking notice of the large yawn that escaped your mouth. “More tired than usual I see. You do not need to walk with me tonight if rest is what you need.”

Malleus meant well, in his own odd and formal way. “Eh, it’s nothing, Tsunotarou. I’ll get some shut eye in a bit,” you waved off his concern, and shot him a small smile.

He gave you back a tiny smile, remembering the last time that he gave someone a full smile, they were left scared, not happy. He didn’t want to scare you off. That’s why he let you decide on a nickname for him, that but also names hold power… but he trusted you, he just didn’t know how to bring it up. He didn’t want your friendship to change just because you found out he was the Malleus Draconia, but he also knew that you wouldn’t really care. You didn’t seem like the type to treat him any differently just because of his title. He didn’t want to risk it though.

So the two of you walked around the outskirts of Ramshackle, fireflies lighting the way. Something about them felt familiar though, and it wasn’t from just your nightly walks with your horned friend. You could have sworn you saw them in a dream… now wasn’t the time for that, now was the time to enjoy what time you could get with your friend.

“Hey, Tsunotarou,” you asked him, turning a bit so you faced him. “Do you have a soul match?”

Malleus’s pupils dilated outwards, becoming more rounded rather than harsh slits. “Yes I do, Child of Man. I am rather surprised that you know of the subject,” he breathed out. You really were full of surprises, weren’t you?

Surprised? “How so?”

Malleus hummed to himself, a melody that sounded familiar, but it evaded you. “The bonds of soul matches of fae are only known by fae, which is why I was caught by surprise of you knowing of the term. That is all.” Do you have one, Child of Man? But why does the thought make my tongue go bitter?

“Found it in a book in the library,” you mused. You mentally kicked yourself, you could have given it to him, he may know the family of the previous owner. Maybe you could go hunting for it the next time you found yourself in the cramped halls of the library. A rather large yawn escaped from you, and that was your, and Malleus’s, queue that it was time for you to head off to the land of dreams. “Any who, night, Tsunotarou! Sweet dreams!” You waved him goodbye as he vanished into a puff of fireflies, off into the night.

…

…

And they were both asleep again, but something felt off. Like there was something dark tainting the dream. It was a familiar sensation, one that made the hairs on your neck stand on end; blot. There was blot in the dream.

“Are you alright,” you asked your soul match, carefully watching their reaction.

They hummed, and turned to look at you curiously, green eyes practically glowing in the dark violet lighting, pupils relaxing from their tight slits into more relaxed ovals. “I am alright, just thinking is all,” their words floated in front of them, still the neon green they were in the beginning.

But the alarm bells were screaming in your head. Screaming at you that everything was definitely not alright. This, this was being calculated, being considered. “You just seem preoccupied… like your mind is elsewhere is all.”

They tilted their head, “I am right here with you.” Their words were blunt, as they typically were. “However,” the lighting darkened, being tainted with more hints of blot, “are you planning on going anywhere?” Are you planning on leaving me, like everyone else?

The words hang heavily in the air. It was no use lying to them, as it would only worsen the situation to lie. “Eventually I have to… I have to go back,” you said carefully, gauging their reaction.

Malleus’s pupils turned into slits again, but he remained calm on the outside. “Go back to what? Do you not like it here?” Do you not like me?

You looked around the bog, “That’s not the case. I have responsibilities back home. I need to go back. I’m …” Sorry. But the word didn’t come out of your mouth. What did you have to apologise for? It was not your fault that you came here, but why did it feel like it?

“I too have responsibilities,” Malleus said quietly, words barely visible. “You cannot go back.” All of the pleasantries were gone, this was a command. “You are staying here with me.”

The blot thickened. Could someone overblot in their dreams? And they started singing, and it was the tune that they’ve been humming since their first shared dream.

“I know you, that look in your eye is so familiar a gleam,” they cupped your face, looking softly into your eyes. “And I know it’s true, that visions are seldom all they seem. But if I know you, I know what you’ll do…” The violet lighting of the dream had turned almost black, the only lighting being the neon green words dancing around you. “You’ll love me at once, they way you did once-”

You shot up awake, heart beating so fast that you could feel and hear it. You didn’t need your soul match to finish the lyric, for you knew it already… for you had read it in that fire-charred diary. “… upon a dream,” you breathed out.

Your soul match is Malleus Draconia, Tsunotarou, and this was bad. The greed had taken over… alongside the blot. 

…

…

Malleus looked over the forms of his sleeping classmates, singing the lullaby again. He could see everybody’s dreams, except for yours, and it was equally as annoying as it was endearing. Of course his Child of Man would be filled with surprises. Malleus only wished that his soul match was here, for he wished to see their deepest desires, to see how they would be the hero of their own tale. But when he closed his eyes, and tried to teleport to their dreams, he saw nothing. It distressed him too, he knew they were asleep, but he couldn’t see anything.

“Where are you,” he chuckled darkly, a mix of anger but also fear. He should be able to see them, but he saw nothing, nothing except for the moors now engulfed in ink. Devoid of colour and life. 

Soul match bonds cannot break, at least not easily. Either they were no longer of this world — which they were not, Malleus could sense that much ��� or they were underneath a sleeping spell, a Draconia’s sleeping spell.

It meant that they were on the island. They have been so close this entire time. “Now, wherever could you be hiding,” Malleus sighed, looking into every single person’s dreams, looking for his soul match. Their dream should be tinted violet, singling them out to him. And as Malleus hopped from dream to dream, not once did he find the familiar colour. But they were here… he just couldn’t see them. He couldn’t see their dreams.

That left one option. There was only one person who he couldn’t see the dreams of. “You are full of surprises, aren’t you,” he floated over to your sleeping form, coming to sit next to you with a fond look in his eyes, “my dear Child of Man.” And he started humming that song of his, trying to pry into your mind, trying to get back into your dreams, where he could keep a diligent eye on you. “Looks like we have indeed met once upon a dream… that must be why your eyes are so familiar a gleam.”

…

“Yeah, this, this is beyond bad,” you muttered to yourself. You were back in the swamp, up to your chest in thick ink. The once pleasant dream was now, effectively, a trap; a giant glue trap if you will. 

A boom of thunder overhead underscored your statement and brilliant flashes of bright purple and green lightning provided the only light for you, everything else was shrouded in darkness caused by the blot. Caused by Malleus. But why, why did he overblot?

“They found a way for me to go back home.” Oh. You're leaving, and add onto that, Lilia coming out from nowhere and saying that he was also leaving because his magic had dried out… That’s why.

“TSUNOTAROU!” You yelled out into the swamp, but all you got as an answer was your own voice causing ripples in the ink. “TSUNOTAROU?!” You tried again. Nothing.

Names hold power, Child of Man, do remember that. You took in a deep breath, steeling yourself for when he manifested himself here. “MALLEUS DRACONIA?!”

A bolt of lightning hit a few metres in front of you, morphing into bright green fire, and then Malleus was standing in front of you, or rather, a part of him. “You called?”  He glided easily over the ink, and looked down at you, assessing you.

“What have you done, Malleus,” you refused to tilt your head upwards, instead looking up with your eyes, head remaining level.

Malleus knelt down in front of you, despite him being vastly stronger and of higher status, he still viewed you as his equal. “I did what needed to be done.” He said it so matter of factly, like it made perfect sense. “Now everyone will be happy.”

“You can’t force people to be happy,” you said back, looking into his eyes, searching for the Malleus you knew, searching for your friend. “That’s not for you to decide, Malleus.” 

Malleus just hummed at your comment, and he tried to change your dream to something more pleasant, but you remained stuck in the ink. Why can I not change it? I should be able to change it. “They deserve to be happy… You deserve to be happy. Do you not?”

I mean, yeah it would be nice, but I would rather it be because of something other than an overblot, but ya know how it is. “Yes, but not like this… Let me help you, Malleus.”

“I do not need help,” he hissed, tilting your chin up. “Let me make you happy.” 

The ink rose, and it was now up to your neck, and you were floating in it. You spared a quick glance down and saw a gentle lilac light shining down from the bottom. This may just be a crazy idea, but it was one worth taking.

You looked back into Malleus’s eyes. “Do you promise?”

Malleus smiled at you, “Of course I do.”

You grabbed him by the arm and pulled the both of you under the surface of the ink, making your eye towards the lilac light.

…

You crawled out of the ink and found yourself, and Malleus, on the outside walls of a grand castle, roses vining their way up the facade in full bloom. Everything was in a gentle lilac light, and fireflies glowed green despite it being daytime. It was idyllic, it was peaceful, the only thing out of place being the blot that dripped off Malleus. Yet it was contained to him, disappearing into a gentle puff of green sparkles when it hit the ground.

“How,” Malleus whispered, his words now a light green, no longer a harsh neon. “How are we here?”

You didn’t know, all you did was follow the light from the bottom of the inky depths. “Do you know this place?” You had no idea where you were, but you weren’t complaining, since you were no longer up to your neck in blot.

Malleus looked up, and there was the familiar raven gargoyle from his childhood. “This is my home,” he turned to look at you curiously. “How did you bring us here, Child of Man?”

“They didn’t,” a velvety voice said. And coming down the stairs was a woman, who looked like Malleus except older, looking like she was probably in her thirties. “I did, my love.”

She gracefully walked over, and cupped his face, looking over his features. And you could have sworn that you saw her absorb some of the blot. “You have grown into a fine young man. But you have let greed overshadow you.”

Malleus looked like he had seen a ghost, and he was frozen in place. “Mother?” His voice was quiet, barely even coming out. “But how?”

The woman, Malleus’s mother, hummed gently, combing her fingers through her son’s hair, slowly absorbing the blot from him. “You can thank them,” she turned to you and gave you a mischievous smile, “all thanks to your soul match.”

She turned back to her son, her face shifting into a more solemn expression. “My love, let me bestow a gift on you… but you won’t see me again. This is the last thing I can do for you. Let me do this though; for you and everyone you love.”

You can’t force people to be happy. 

Keep everyone you love close to you, guard them, hoard them.

You’re my friend, I’ll always be with you, even if we’re far apart!

You’ll love me at once-

This was wrong, and Malleus choked on his own blot. The greed, the dark parts of the dragon had won. “Please,” he coughed. 

His mother embraced him into a hug, “Spinning wheel of fate, undo this thread of darkness. As Queen of Briar, I shall bestow upon you this gift.” She placed a kiss on his forehead, and all of the blot was gone. “I love you,” she whispered, before her form vanished gently into green and lilac sparkles.

“I’m sorry,” the words floated over to you. Malleus looked tired, exhausted. How much magic had the blot taken from him? He opened his mouth again, but closed it, at a loss for words. “And I understand if… if you want nothing to do with me.”

From your times dealing with overblot, you knew this wasn’t his fault. Overblots are due to trauma, from bottling it all up until someone broke. “Why would I not want anything to do with you? I’m still friends with the others.”

Malleus looked into your eyes, but all he found was honesty… and love, love for a friend. A genuine love. 

You extended your hand, “So come on, Tsunotarou. Let’s move forward together.”

And he took your hand. The path forward was sure to be bumpy, but he knew that you would stick by his side, even after this.

Fin!

Author's Note; And this concludes the Soul Match AU! I know in my poll people voted for a fluffy ending, but uhhh, I was possessed by a vision. I might continue this AU for other characters in the future, but for now this is where I've leave it. Thank you for reading!

Tags; @xxoomiii @eynnwwyjth @twistwonderlanddevotee @savanaclaw1996 @krenenbaker

If you like my work, please check out my masterlist [there are 9 other Soul Match works btw]

[martlet-my-beloved]

I feel like Martlet would want to go with Frisk out of the ruins. After the time she seperated from Clover she would not want that to happen with another human child.

i dont think there would be any circumstance where martlet could ever bring herself to let frisk go alone tbh. its either frisk stays in the ruins with her and toriel as long as they like or they go out into the underground together. by the end of uty's pacifist, martlet definitely has ZERO trust in the guards and asgore to just let a child walk out into a world ready to kill them on sight.

i mean, im pretty sure im not fooling anyone by doing the whole "will they wont they" about frisk leaving the ruins XD. it's really only a matter of time before they confront toriel about it, and martlet wouldnt hesitate to follow right after them. she's brought a human through the underground once, and she'd do it again no questions asked

currently i think this au takes place around 5 or 6 years after uty? so martlet definitely had time to think about her time with clover and definitely knows about what toriel does. she knows the game plan. either she helps keep the next human safe in the ruins or she keeps them safe out in the underground. still a royal guard, after all.

First - Previous - Next - Masterpost

[askamnesiamoonjumper]

Hattie + 😴

Again I’m late to this but YAYYYYY had to draw her in the game pajamas <3 (but did edit the socks to be blue bc the canon green is v cute but my need for color consistency is too great)

[leonisloresmith]

How are baby cookies made?

Storks… Storks deliver them, that’s how.

[dozydawn]

Soul Train Line Dance, December 1984.

Lovergirl by Teena Marie.

[nat-20s]

For the ask meme: pov?

POV — something that’s already happened, retold from another character’s perspective

MARTHA TIME BABEY!! this is set in season 3!! also this got longer than i was anticipating so uh readmore time <3

Martha knew about the (in her opinion, a bit on the nose) rosebush that resided splayed across The Doctor’s ribs, and how it didn’t used to have thorns wrapped around it. She obviously knew of and thought fondly about the caduceus snuggled to his clavicle that matched her own. (and oh, how she remembered that day, him and his confusing heartbeat and his eccentricities, including pulling down the collar of his shirt with an enthusiastic “This one is you, isn’t it!”.) She was even aware of the swirling vortex wrapped around his wrist that faded in and out, belonging to one Captain Jack Harkness. That one was..interesting, to say the least.

But The Doctor tended to stay rather bundled up. Logically speaking, it was entirely possible that he had several more marks that she would never bare witness to. She just kind of assumed otherwise, though. The Doctor hardly seemed the type to accumulate soul marks willy nilly, and even when he did, they didn’t seem like they would be all that private. Definitely not a soul mark on the upper thigh type bloke, by any means.

Then he had to go and get himself shot. Sure, she wasn’t an expert in xenobiology (yet- she had some plans), but generally speaking, large wound treatment was the same regardless of species. Step 1: get them into a position where you can accurately assess the wound, for the love of god, Doctor, stop being a baby, take off your shirt, and stay STILL. Step 2: Stop the bleeding. Luckily the shot through the shoulder had been from laser fire rather than a bullet, cauterizing the wound. Clearly meant to injure rather than kill, thank god. Step 3: If bleeding is under control, clean the wound. She didn’t have all the resources she’d like, but the Tardis did provide a fairly extensive first aid kit, including sterilizing wipes that The Doctor, uh, probably wouldn’t have a bad reaction to. Hopefully. Step 4: Make the open wound no longer open: aka bandage it up and threaten to put a cone on him if he starts messing with it.

The final step, which was really only in this specific case, was stop focusing on the wound and see a large dark spot out of the corner of her eye. Curious, and just a tad worried that there was some Other thing going on, Martha actually studies the blotch between his shoulder blades. It’s not a blotch, or a wound, or a rash, but rather the spitting image of a beetle. Oh, interesting. Clearly a soulmark, though the color is slightly faded, and she couldn’t think of who it might go to. Swallowing down just the ever so slightest twinge of jealousy over The Doctor being connected to yet another someone, she couldn’t help but ask, “So who’s this one then?”

She even threw in a slightly cheeky grin, because she genuinely was more curious than anything. Instead of direct response, of course, The Doctor only replied with a “Huh?”

“The beetle? Smack dab in the middle of your back? You know the one!”

With a scoff, The Doctor hastily puts his (first) shirt back on, and sucks in a breath through his teeth as he pulls on the brand new bandaging. “I most certainly do not know the one. I don’t have a mark on my back!”

Martha rolls her eyes at him. “Do you really not know? It’s not exactly subtle.”

The Doctor turns to face her, stares for a moment, then...sonics his own back. Apparently that does something for him, because as he squints down to the readout? he lets out a classic, “What?”

“I mean, it’s not that odd of a mark, is it? Almost terrestrial, for you.”

“No, that’s not. It’s not the mark itself, it’s, well, I don’t know who it belongs to.”

“Wait, I thought you had this sort of thing all, I dunno, cataloged out? Filed and color coded and everything.”

“Yeah, I mean, it could be her-”

Martha’s eyebrows raise and she covers up another of the littlest, ittiest, bittiest pang with a teasing, “Oh her? You’ve got a mystery woman out there? Or should I say another one?”

“No, no, no, not like that, just someone I ran into-”

“Yeah, right, someone you ‘just ran into’ is someone you have a soulmark with.”

He grimaces ever so slightly, at it’s not from that stupid shoulder of his. “Yeah, you’re right. Can’t be...Well, should be interesting to find out, anyway. Now, where were we? Trensalor, right?”

He’s dashing off to the Tardis console before she can respond, and she lets out a sigh. She knows full well this conversation isn’t getting anywhere any time soon, so might as well go with it. Privately, she hopes that whomever this mystery person is that is now written on The Doctor’s skin is decent. Maybe even someone she could get on with, ideally.

She hasn’t yet discovered the beetle wing on her back.

[ooeygooeyghoul]

AUGH this armor is so good on him he's so HAMSOM!! Shiun is forever a Warrior main, but he branches out into Gunbreaker as his second class when the time calls for it. The secondary class decision is more related to my love of gunswords and tanking than a certain handsome stranger (if you believe that).

Been grinding GNB and will eventually grind for that sweet dyable set. Driven forever by the desire to make this glam a reality and fulfill my obsession with the black-and-white contrast dynamic and the symbolic imagery this could have between him and Thancred.

I'm normal about it. Promise.

[specialagentartemis]

Grade a fanfic trope meme - soulmates because I feel like I know what the answer will be, but hard mode, is there any variation or twist on this trope that would make you grade it higher

For the fanfic trope ask game

[F] Hated these for a long time. I only ever saw one type: you have one, fated soulmate, and it is a romantic partner, and even when I liked the ship in question it sucked the fun out of everything. Both because of the idea that amatonormativity is a divine law of the universe which is an inherently horror concept to me played off as nice and cute, and that it was a contrived shortcut to get over the whole "actually building a relationship" part. Boo. Also, under the surface and never addressed, All Soulmate AUs Are Inherently Dubcon. You Do Not Get A Choice.

However,

[C] I turn out to be able to quite like variants where 1) you can and usually do have multiple soulmates, 2) it reflects all sorts of different important relationships in your life, not just One Romantic One, and crucially 3) the soulmate soulmarks are more reactive rather than predictive. React to the person you have become and the person they have become, meshing. Soulmates as compatibilistic time travel. Your soul recognizing itself across time and leaving a tangible mark on your body. We played with that in Wolf 359 a little, and in Murderbot fandom bringing the strong a-spec and self-determination themes of the series into it, in ways that make me go, I can see something interesting and compelling in this. I actually have half a fanfiction sitting in WIP drafts that was a conscious effort to grapple with my ambivalence with the trope, find a way to make it feel like something amorally natural rather than insidiously horrifying. (Part of it is having a character who hates the whole idea and rejects them rather than thinking soulmates are of course the Best Thing Ever! And another who comes from a culture who tattoo over soulmarks the moment they appear - each tattoo representing someone in your life who is/is going to be very important to you, but you don't feel deterministically compelled to Make It Happen.)

So deep down the twist to make me grade it higher is anthropological worldbuilding and Ted Chiang's time travel philosophy lol. Okay, if that's true, how does it affect the world and society? Who cares about shipping I'm here for WORLDBUILDING and METAPHYSICS

[thebaldchoicemachine]

What if each of the Main Characters had killed one of the 6 humans (except for Papyrus; and in Toriel’s case, it was an accident) … What if even when the Souls are harvested, and in jars… Their Spirits can still haunt their Killers… What if the Spirits haunt their Killers, by sitting on their shoulders and quietly death glaring them (their sins; literally on their shoulders) … And only the Killers can truly see the Spirits… Killers: Toriel + Asgore + Undyne + Alphys + Mettaton + Sans! 👻

what if the ghosts join Frisk after they make friends/peace with the killers... or by having their power absorbed. And each monster loses their trait after killing them.

Toriel - Patience

They were such a sweet child but were very ill. They'd been sick for as long as they could remember (part of the reason they ran away). Toriel completely broke down while caring for them, unable to take the memories of Chara and her past failures. Panic and intolerance overtook her. In the end, her neglect caused her to fail. Again. Toriel gave the soul to Sans in misery.

The child was grateful and un-vengeful. They were, after all, a patient and tolerant thing. That's not to say they were happy with her. Their hauntings consist of a wordless presence. It's chilling, instilling in her a deep irritation and panic. Enough to make her fight instead of losing another child. Total kills: 0

Sans - Bravery

They were scared, but they went on anyway. Sans could see it, and he could respect it. They were tough. They reminded him of Papyrus in a way. ...Or, that's what I'd say if he had taken the time to get to know them. He caught them on the outskirts of Snowden and they were dead where they stood. It was a lazy, cowardly kill.

The kid faced death head-on with an ire. They knew from the moment they fell that it was likely, maybe even inevitable, and they went on anyway. That's what made them brave. Their hauntings are wordless, blunt-force trauma that pierce Sans's numbness with flat and gripping terror. They LOVE to taunt him. Especially by hanging around Papyrus. Sans is too busy being protective to think about what good friends they would have made. Or maybe it's just easier to pretend he doesn't notice.

Total kills: 4 (defending themself)

Undyne - Integrity

They were a good kid. They'd been doing well in the underground, being upfront and sincere about what they wanted: to go home. Their plan was to meet with the king and plead their case, believing that integrity was their best weapon.

Undyne, at first, did not realize they were a human. They were the first one she encountered. Their mistake was telling her the truth. If they'd just been a little less moral, a little more dishonest, Undyne may have been a very good friend of theirs. But between Asgore and this new human, Undyne knew where her loyalties had to lie.

Their hauntings are loud, mournful, and direct. They knew what was happening was wrong. Everything about it was wrong, the other children, them, and they fought back. Undyne's honor was stolen from her the second she landed her first blow.

Total kills: 0, but they took Undyne's eye.

Alphys - Perseverance

Alphys didn't mean to kill them. She watched them march onward, curiosity and resolve equipped like tool and weapon. They journeyed forward with a persistence Alphys envied. She didn't mean to kill them, but it was her traps that did them in.

They were the first soul she experimented on. It was mostly their extract that fed the amalgamates. When they haunt her, it's in the shadow of her own failures. Her eagerness worn away, her willingness to give up and hide rather than press onward and face her consequences.

Total kills: 2 (accidents)

Mettaton - Kindness

They tried their best to be a friendly face. A select few monsters took pity on them and helped hide/disguise them on their journey to Asgore so they didn’t run into many people.

Mettaton’s original body was designed to find and kill humans, however. He discovered them sneaking their way through the core. Their death was messy and slow. Bombs will do that to humans. Even as they died, they tried to talk to him. Their hauntings are cold and quiet. Trying to cope Mettaton threw himself harder than ever into being LOUD—visually, audibly, metaphorically, every way possible—and in the process became unkind to his friends, especially Napstablook and Alphys.

Total kills: 0

Asgore - Justice

The only child to make it all the way to him. They knew what had happened to the monsters was wrong. They also knew the kings decision was a cruel, repressive, immoral, cowardly, and intolerable one.

Asgore is burdened by every soul he holds, but they haunt him directly. They talk to him. They ask him questions about every decision he makes. They sit across from him while he eats. They are the judge that carries his soul. His act destroys him.

Total kills: unknown

[ezlebe]

What are the premises for your other soulmate AUs, if you don’t mind sharing

Greg drags his hands down his face, leaning back in his chair with a creak. He swallows hard, peering at the drop tiles between his fingers, then lets one of his hands fall to rub hard at his collarbone.

“Fuck,” he whispers, slumping deeper into the chair. He has to sign, at this point, right? It would be sort of fucked up if he didn’t do it. Or he could bring Tom into the… No, that wouldn’t work.

He looks down at the pastry basket, Tom’s half-eaten leftover muffin crumbling and squished, and curves forward until his forehead hits the desk. The worst part is like how unsurprised he is about it; like, he is pretty shocked, but it doesn’t feel like he is enough. He’s heard so much come out of Tom in the time he’s known him that him declaring himself some vague embodiment of Greg’s tat halfway through a breakdown is sort of… baseline? He didn’t throw anything, really –

Oh, except the coatrack.

Greg peeks at the coatrack over his arm, then feels his nose scrunch, and shoves himself up from the chair. He picks it up and straightens his coat, tugging it to hang even, and stares at it, until eventually he’s leaning hard into the wall next to the door.

Okay, so it just took it a few minutes to fully hit him.

He stares at the floor next to the coat rack for a while, until he blinks finally and it burns, then stands back up while awkwardly smoothing his hands down his shirt. He swallows thickly, as he takes a step back, then another, and reaches for his phone at his desk.

He isn’t really sure what to say, or what he does eventually say, but Kerry seems to understand it. He nods, almost forgetting to answer aloud, when she offers an approval of the decision, a confirmation of where to courier documents, then drops the phone while it clicks to hang up. He realizes blankly that they really, truly don’t seem to realize that he was who got Kendall the papers. He wonders, consequently, if maybe anyone thinks it was Tom, or something, since he knows that would have to be the next assumption after seeing the hearings; after the way he seems to have resigned to prison.

He doesn’t want Tom to go to prison. He kind of doeswant to stick him in like another mail room, maybe, which feels a bit like a cell, but that’s pretty much the end of it. He definitely doesn’t want him any sort of gone, not now, even though he can’t like know for sure that Tom is really the reason why he’s got a tat of the name of an emperor slash Star Trek villain slash Italian word for black across his collarbone.

It is sort of nice to know what it actually is supposed to mean, if he is? Greg’s mom thought it meant his soulmate was going to be some full-of-himself tyrant, which isn’t… totally wrong, really, but it’s also not that abstract, because Tom said he was Nero, so Greg didn’t have to figure it out. And Tom just mostly wants to be a tyrant.

He doesn’t manage see Tom the rest of the day, though he does try peeking in the office and even lingers around Shiv from a distance, but it’s maybe for the best; he might say the wrong thing, when he isn’t even sure he wants to say anything at all. It’s not an ideal circumstance – Tom is married, is his boss, and already like has a lot on his plate. He doesn’t want to be like the final straw that breaks Tom. He can’t really handle crying very well and Tom already got way too close.

He picks up pizza on his way home, a few hours later, then stares mindlessly at a television that he realizes is muted some twenty minutes after he turns it on. He winces, then turns it back off, deciding it might just be simpler to go to bed early; he’ll feel less heavy in the morning.

He stares at the mark on his chest, after he takes off his undershirt, shower already spitting water behind him. He wonders what Tom’s must be, as he forces himself to turn around, if it’s just Sporus, or if it’s something else he might associate with Greg; hopefully, it’s just Sporus. He’s sort of wary of what Tom might think of him, even if it’s fond to Tom, it might not be all that great, like a silhouette of a sasquatch, or a paper shredder, or like… who knows, not something great to recreate for a vow ceremony.

Not that they will do that.

Or have one.

Tom is pretty married.

He nearly falls against the edge of the drain when his phone starts to buzz at a familiar tempo, and is thankful he’s mostly rinsed off, as he rushes out from under the water. He hurriedly turns off the spray, as he reaches for his phone, thumb slipping and slipping across the screen until it finally opens under the damp wet.

“Hey,” Greg answers, fumbling the phone, then setting it down and tapping speaker, while reaching out for a towel hanging on the bar; fuck, it’s damp – he really needs to do laundry. “This is Greg.”

“Obviously,” Tom says, sharply, then falls quiet, breathing in and out loudly into the speaker. He clears his throat, low and rough, “Just wondering what part of my humiliation convinced you to sign?”

“Oh, uh,” Greg fumbles, staring at his bare chest in the mirror with a nervous laugh. He touches at the letters, slowly tracing what he once thought was just messy handwriting, but turned out to be some kind of Roman. “Just… all of it?”

Tom breathes loudly into the receiver for a long while, then croaks out an unhappy laugh. “Great.”

“I-I, like meant –” Greg stutters into silence.

“Fuck off,” Tom snaps, then abruptly hangs up.

Greg sighs quietly through his nose, then rolls his eyes upward, as he taps at Tom’s name to call him back.

“What?” Tom demands, pitchy and defensive, but he did pick up, so can’t be that upset.

“I’m just like kind of bored, now… ” Greg says, glancing from his bed inviting him through the door. “Are you doing something?”

“I’m trying to choose the fed camp I want to be sent to.”

Greg runs a hand up his forehead, briefly staring up at the ceiling. He exhales a sigh, as quietly as he can, and drops his head. “Do you even choose it, not like… the jury, or whatever?”

“Judge, Gregory,” Tom says, followed by a low, harsh, unintelligible mutter, then a shallow clear of his throat. “No, I’m not doing anything, but I’m making myself available; apparently, Kendall nearly killed Logan.”

“What? But, I – I like just saw him?” Greg says, pulling his shirt on and trying not to be too annoyed that no one called him. “Unless you mean in some… business sense?”

“Nope, definitely the ol’ classic sense. They went on a hike and your dear uncle is old.”

Greg blinks rapidly down at the phone. “Uh. My grandpa goes on like a lot of hikes?” He says, though he wonders if it counts as a hike or just transportation, on those instances Ewan just won’t drive. “Kendall went on a hike?”

Tom offers a short, raspy laugh. “I do assume it was a pristinely groomed trail, Greg.”

“I could like come over,” Greg says, “Is Shiv there?”

“Have you looked at the time, lately?” Tom says, low and snide, and it almost feels like a jab at the watch thing, though Greg hasn’t yet managed to tell him the specifics about it. He’s run through it in his head, because Tom would get it fixed, if just to make himself look good, but he’d be a dick about it and Kendall the whole time. “She’s in her room.”

Greg blinks twice and furrows his brow, as he looks down at the phone.

Tom sighs a loud wash of static into the receiver. “You really want to come laugh to my face?”

“I’m not laughing at you, Tom,” Greg says, injecting a spare bit of hurt into his voice, as subtle as he can manage, though he’s really just sort of tired.

“I wish you would,” Tom mutters, not picking up on it, seemingly firmly stuck in his determined self-pity.

“I’m like not,” Greg insists, slowly, relaxing his voice with a low sigh. “So?”

Tom is quiet for a few beats. “Whatever, if you insist.”

~

Greg uneasily stands by, close but not quite embroiled, as Tom digs new depths for his prison problem; he talks about this guy who’s probably scamming him about preparing for it, and even takes Greg’s suggestion about shouldering all the responsibility, which is nice but not really like him, at least not to even joke about it. It’s not like he should even be a Christmas tree, really; the only bauble he should have is the one that like he technically gave Greg to begin with, not any from some slippery jerk in Sales.

He does kiss Greg out of nowhere, though, after sweeping through his office like a storm when the dam breaks, so maybe Greg just isn’t on the right wavelength to understand the plan. He isn’t really sure he wants to be? But he can tell it’s moving in some direction. He just has to watch and wait for the right time to pull out the tat, once Tom has evened out a little more steady, and… Yeah, after Greg has handled this thing with Kendall turning into a jerk about him going back to Waystar.

Like, Greg needs his job? It’s not like Kendall was offering to pay him.

~

Greg ends up asking out Comfry because it is hopefully, maybe a good position to appear extra gentlemanly, so she might not put out some exposé on him. He’s not exactly sure what that would entail, but he suspects his before-Waystar life, and while that’s mostly a lot of doing nothing with his mom, it perhaps includes like him shotgunning with shirtless guys and a YouTube video where he pretends to review a coke bottle bong. He doesn’t technically have a reputation to ruin, but he also doesn’t want to start one up that he has to improve.

The whole angle also, in a way that probably shouldn’t feel good, makes Tom this total mopey jerk that Greg can’t help poking at every chance. He spends combined days and kilometers across an ocean looking up at Greg like he wants to stick him in another mailroom, only it’s a windowless closet in his penthouse, and that’s not like great, but some sick part of Greg is ready to sign up. He’s been preparing how to lift his chin the right way, if Tom tries to kiss him another time.

Either way… It can’t be any worse than whatever is going on with this wedding. He actually suspects the guy is Caroline’s soulmate, but that she hasn’t told him, or anyone else, and he can empathize with it; he’s just not in a position where he can entice an unknowing Tom and spring it later in a similar way, not when Tom’s other option is Shiv. It would take a lot of finessing for Greg to get Tom any kind of anything, talking to the right people, propping him up with some light to heavy fibbing, and a lot of time, too, but Shiv… She just asks her dad.

He doesn’t have any castles, either, which he suspects would equally attract Tom.

He idly switches tracks halfway through the trip to courting the Contessa, who does have castles, and while he knows it won’t like actually go anywhere, it’s sort of nice to pretend that he could get one in a divorce. He manages to even shift Comfry to the Contessa, since he knows she hates working for Kendall, so that’s technically two birds, and then, as the night winds down, tries for a third by embellishing his affections a bit to Tom, who listens to it all with an expression like he’s legitimately contemplating a murder.

It’s a pretty good look on his face, somehow, stern and square, and Greg finds himself absently reaching up and scratching against the tat under his shirt.

“Greg, listen,” Tom says, an odd tone to his voice, as he jerks a chair from behind Greg in a pointed gesture. It’s easy to sit without thinking at all.

Tom asks him to make a deal with the devil, which could be Logan or Kendall, at this point, but Greg knows for sure that it’s Tom, so he does; it’s not really that hard, after Tom tries to guess what Greg could want most in the world, and it’s just Greg, as if that’s how he feels about it. It makes him feel fluttery and off-balance, getting another acknowledgement of the tat, and ends up eagerly grasping back at Tom for a hug.

It’s less ideal when Tom walks away, leaving Greg standing awkward. Greg looks around, contemplating if he should follow, but he ends up sitting back down while rubbing into the back of his neck, then jumping when a nearby server asks if he’d like a drink. He would… Yeah, but he really just wants something cheap and familiar? And it’s pretty unlikely Molsons exists in Italy.

He ends up with something called a Peroni, which isn’t really hitting the home feel he’s suddenly looking for, but it’s close enough. He’s mostly just holding an empty bottle by the time he gets the fortitude to wander up the stairs that Tom had disappeared up, darkness settled comfortably around the castle, and he stumbles into an evident aftermath in a room off the courtyard.

He peeks in and sees his cousins and Tom, Gerri, and Karl working in something, and no one especially looking at each other. He thinks Roman might be sort of crying, while Kendall is staring hard at a window, and Shiv… is the one now who looks murderous, but it’s not at all the same sort of murderous as Tom had looked earlier, because it’s directed like a laser at Tom. Tom, who is pretending not to notice, who’s posture is smug and self-satisfied, who’s talking mostly at a visibly annoyed Gerri.

The devil was probably Logan, then…

“Are you drinking fucking beer?” Roman asks, wetly, sour expression daring Greg to mention it.

“I was?” Greg says, looking down at the bottle, then shaking it to show its emptiness. “What happened?”

“Dad killed us,” Shiv says, tightly, hands wrapped tightly at her elbows where she stands at the edge of the room. “He… He somehow knew we were coming up here.”

Greg does his best wide blink, nodding and looking down at the papers at the table. “Huh. You could sue him, right?” He asks, peeking down, as Kendall flexes his hands to fists. “I’m doing that with my Grandpa.”

Roman practically growls beneath a sneer. “I’m not suing my fucking Dad.”

“He like would you,” Greg says, rolling the bottle in his hands. “Turnabout, you know? I mean, if he doesn’t act like he loves you, why, like… act like you do him?”

Kendall grimaces with a bite at his cheek, eyes sweeping down, as he lifts a hand to rub at his head.

Shiv suddenly looks like she’s not breathing at all, paling and maybe more furious, but her face is half turned away.

“What the fuck does love have to do with it?” Roman demands, stumbling up from the floor, then sinking into a nearby chair.

Greg straightens but manages to smother an impulse to step back. “Isn’t that why you wouldn’t?”

“Fuck off,” Roman snaps, expression twisting with a sullen scowl, while he voice gets worryingly throaty. “He loves us, assface; it’s the business.”

“…Right?” Greg says, looking away from Roman, before the reflexive urge to ask it he’s okay gets him like tackled. “So li-like do the business thing?”

Roman exhales an angry wheeze. “Shut up, you don’t know shit, Cousin Cuck.”

“Where’d you get that beer, bud?” Tom interjects, voice oddly soft, then sharply clearing his throat with a swift cough. “That wasn’t at the ceremony.”

“Oh, uh?” Greg lifts it to look down at the label with a low grunt, then he shrugs and peeks back up to Tom. “I asked and someone like found it… in the kitchen?”

“Let’s go get a couple more,” Tom says, stepping around the squat table in the center of the room. He walks past Greg to the door, plainly expecting him to follow. “Could use them, huh?”

Greg exhales a pitching hum, then looks around, for a trash can, hurrying toward one to drop in the empty bottle. He turns to catch up with Tom, seeing he’s disappeared around the corner in the courtyard, but he might be waiting just beyond it to scare him.

“Sporus,” Shiv says, all of a sudden and barely above a breath.

Greg looks over his shoulder with a blink, reacting to the name before he can really think about it, and incidentally makes eye contact across the room. He sees her face somehow pale further, turning her particularly corpse-like, minusing a pair of high spots of color against her cheeks.

“Is that a code word?” Roman demands, after a horribly tense few seconds, looking between them with sweeps of his red-rimmed eyes.

Shiv drops her head with a shake. Her voice is some weak attempt at snide, trembling at the back in a way Greg has never heard. “Shut up, Roman.”

Greg nearly trips over his own feet in haste to leave the room, as his pulse grows to a thud between his ears. He nearly runs into Tom, who was definitely waiting to scare him, but now looks at his face and immediately just seems comically resigned.

“You’re not taking their side already, are you?”

“Oh, uh – what?” Greg says, rubbing at the back of his neck with a glance over his shoulder. “No.”

“Ever the champion at playing dumb,” Tom tuts, eyes rolling plainly, even in the dark, and his shoulders spread while an elbow angles out almost wide enough to dig in Greg’s side. “You know, part of me appreciates your instinct to play both sides, as small as it is compared to the part that just hates it.”

“I’m really not,” Greg insists, then drops his voice, mostly joking, as he mutters under his breath: “This time.”

Tom huffs out an angry sort of snort, as his hand making solid contact with Greg’s shoulder in a shove.

The server is oddly eager about taking them to the kitchen and showing off the beer. They speak in low Italian blended with choppy English, and gesture until Tom and Greg both have a number of bottles in grasp, then laugh loud and escort them straight back to the courtyard, smiles wide and abundant, and Greg assumes they think it’s celebration for the wedding.

Tom sticks a bottle in his jacket, as he covers the neck of the bottle with his other hand and pops the cap.

By magic, or something.

Did he do that with his ring?

Greg stares for another beat, then offers his own bottle.

“How’d you open the other one?” Tom says, pretending to be put upon, even as a wry smirk sweeps his lips while he takes the bottle.

“They did it for me,” Greg says, watching as Tom, again, opens the a bottle like it’s nothing with the ring. “How do you – Were you married before?”

“You don’t need to be married to wear rings,”  Tom says, dismissive, holding the bottle out with a wag. “You can even wear one just to open beer.”

“Oh,” Greg says, taking the bottle back, as Tom seems to palm the cap in a similarly practiced manner into the pocket with the other bottle. “How much did you drink?”

Tom opens his mouth, like he’s thinking about snapping something, then simply shrugs while lifting the bottle to his mouth. He pulls back after a beat, looking at the label. “What the fuck?”

“Yeah, it’s like…” Greg looks at his own bottle with a sigh. “Italian?”

Tom shakes his head and lifts the bottle again for another drink.

“You’re not, like – we’re not actually going back, right?”

“Would rather not, no,” Tom says, scratching at the edge of his chin with the back of a knuckle.

“Cool, uh – ” Greg nods, scratching up his hairline, as he scratches the lip of the bottle with his thumb. “My, like – my accommodation isn’t that far?”

Tom turns to look with a wide eye roll. “Your accommodation? Someone’s been watching travel vlogs.”

Greg shrugs and scratches at the bridge of his nose. “It has a pool?”

Tom mutters something under his breath, then lifts the bottle while tipping his head. He follows Greg without further argument, as he turns toward the stairs down toward the waiting cars.

Greg is relieved when no one else is at the little villa, when they pull up, probably all still back at the reception. It means he can slip into trunks and a less scratchy shirt, slump onto a lounger to finish beers that he halfway is drinking just to watch Tom do the ring trick, and suffer no witnesses when he stares after Tom decides boxers are good enough for swimming. He is not super into swimming, not like in the doing laps way, but Tom really seems to be, moving back and forth under the water and the dark sky. It’s mesmerizing in some kind of way, and he sets an empty bottle aside, lifting his head when Tom pulls himself out of water, then opens his mouth, not quite thinking, while Tom shakes water out of his hair.

“Did you like – uh, did you tell Shiv about the Sporus thing?” Greg asks, and realizes all at once that maybe he wasn’t really waiting for Tom to be ready, but that he was, perhaps, scared it was only him. He wishes he could swallow the words back into his throat.

Tom looks up with a start, markedly stepping wrong over the edge of the pool. He winces, as he looks down, halfway laughing in a pitch with no humor. “Wha-Why?”

Greg feels his mouth twitch, looking away from Tom, dripping with pool water and boxers plastered to his… thighs. “She like maybe called me that?”

Tom is quiet for a solid beat, then croaks out another laugh. “Oh. She… Well, she must have seen me watching the documentary?”

“Okay, sure – ” Greg says, nodding with a drop of his chin, remembering though that Tom sure had said book. “I-I was wondering if maybe it was…” He leans up and starts to yank at his shirt, movements jerky, until his shirt is gone and his tat is plain across his collarbone. “Uh, maybe?”

Tom openly gawks, lifting a hand and swiping it down his face. He stumbles forward and reaches out, then yanks his hand back, staring wide down at Greg like he’s waiting for a punchline.

Greg finds himself hunching, breathing out a tight, stuttered laugh. “If-if it’s not –”

“Shi-fuck,” Tom says, as he pulls down the band of his boxers with tetchy fingers.

Greg scrambles at the lounger, then feels heat flare in his face and satisfaction bloom against the back of his mind at Sporus scrawled against Tom’s hip. It’s in a similar writing as Greg’s, messy and with funny letters, and inarguably matching him.

“How did you like know?” Greg asks, dragging his eyes up from the tat. The light from the pool and the deck casts Tom in two shades, and he lets his eyes drop, staring at the dark writing peeking on his hip, where the waistband has half curled up. “About how mine said Nero?”

Tom wets his lips, as his eyes dart away, keeping that way for a pair of seconds before they sweep back. He exhales a weak croak, “I didn’t, I really didn’t, bud. I just…” He gestures widely with a jerk of both hands. “I wanted it to be.”

Greg feels a brief tightening behind his sternum, shifting his jaw with a swallow. “You did… Really?”

Tom blinks and a brow quirks up, dropping his hands to his hips. “Yes? Should I fucking apologize – did I trap you in some – ?”

“No, Tom,” Greg interrupts, shifting on the lounger and wondering if he should like maybe get up, or something, but Tom might push him in the pool. “It’s just… like, flattering?”

Tom stares for a solid beat. “Oh,” he intones, blinking a few times, then glancing away toward the lit hill beyond the pool in front of them.

“Like, I never… thought of that as an option, you know,” Greg says, jumping slightly and heat flushing his body, as Tom abruptly drops to sit on the edge of lounger and stare down at him. “Cart before the horse, or however that might go.”

Tom narrows an eye with a sharp turn of his head. “You didn’t think your soulmate would like you before you were their soulmate, Greg; is that how you felt about me?”

“Oh, no? I mean, I never thought about the soulmate angle, no, but not, um…” Greg tightly shrugs with a turn of his head into his shoulder, crown rubbing the coarse weave of the chair. “You’re not like exactly an unattractive individual, really.”

Tom slowly turns his head, brow climbing his forehead, as a smirk plays around his mouth. “Did you want to fuck me, Greg?”

“It could be, perhaps, put that way,” Greg mutters, heat flooding further up his neck.

Tom hums lowly, tilting his head with a markedly considering look. “More or less than either of your vapid courtiers?”

“Yeah, I don’t, uh – ” Greg wets his lower lip, breath hitching, as Tom suddenly, lightly touches against his tat. “That was a – I thought of that as a business-type match, more than a bed-type –”

“Hold on, you tricked those poor nice ladies, Gregory?” Tom interrupts, shifting his hand and his thumb presses hard and warm to Greg’s lower lip, along the damp spot where his tongue just peeked through. “Absolutely unconscionable, courting yourself an ignorant beard.”

“I don’t think they, like…” Greg swallows shallowly, craning his neck up, as Tom leans further in and over the lounger, practically on top of him. “Re-really expected otherwise?”

“I do,” Tom says, as his lashes drop with a plain glance down Greg’s body, then the pressure of a familiar hand in an unfamiliar place – settling low on Greg’s stomach. “Which is rude as fuck to say, but you are also hard as iron, buddy. I didn’t know you were so easy.”

“Yeah,” Greg agrees, weakly, as his dick jerks in some attempt to reach the foreign pressure against his waistband.

He wants to blame the soulmate thing but he’s just as sure that it’s really mostly Tom. He looks at him sometimes and sees something in his eyes, not quite harsh, in a way, but definitely in that vicinity, and just… He’s wondered at limits, somewhat, and is accidentally stumbling into his own.

Tom looks up, just briefly, toward the doors into the villa, and Greg would swear he feels the sweep of eyes like a physical thing, but that could just be the thumb along his cheek. “You done peacocking out here, you big turkey – we could solve this problem inside?”

“Could ju-just stay out here?” Greg counters, wondering if there’s any way he could roll his hips in a subtle, non-desperate way.

“I don’t think so,” Tom says, his tone some odd blend of steel and amusement. He does drop his hand another few centimeter or so, plainly taunting, while his smirk gets wide. “I’m not going to risk sharing you.”

~

“Do you think it’s like reincarnation?”

Tom rasps out a wheezy laugh into a bottle of mini fridge Perrier. “God, I hope not. Nero was not a nice fucking guy, to put it mildly.”

“Well, like,” Greg says, looking across the pillow with a turn of his head and a rub of his chin into the seam. “No one really, you know, knows anyway since the only records left about him were written like way after he died.”

“I cannot believe,” Tom snaps, tone lilting with familiar, amused ire, as he rolls over to set a hand against Greg’s sternum, pressing him into the mattress while he angles up in a loom. “You lied to me about – What did you say, the IP?”

“Yeah, um…” Greg says, dragging his teeth along his lip while he feels his cheek twitch against a smile. “You like really… romanticized it, it seemed like.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Tom says, abruptly slumping, bare chest smacking against Greg’s and halfway knocking the air from him. “You try growing up with a mutilated sex slave on your hip.”

“People, uh – ” Greg stutters, as Tom stretches out against him, elbows and knees settling against his in crooked, unyielding positions. “People think Nero was the devil?”

“Nero is not the devil,” Tom says, as he digs up through Greg’s hair with curling, scratching fingers. “He just works for him. Big difference.”

Greg huffs out a laugh, quickly smothered by Tom’s own smirk.

[dove-da-birb]

Love how my brain will spit out 4K in a day one time and then decide that it doesn’t know how to write other times.

Lilia be nice to me, let me write this fic.

[da-birb-writes-sometimes]

Of Truths & Dreams; Sebek Zigvolt

Dreams can tell you a lot about a person. Their wants, their fears. But sometimes they can tell you the truth, and sometimes it isn't pretty.

Supporting Characters; Silver & Professor Trein

Content; Soulmate AU (I call them soul matches though), gender-neutral reader, can be read as familial, platonic, or romantic, enemies-to-friends-to-*insert your relationship here*, reader is done with Sebek's bullshit, bullying Sebek hours (affectionate)

Content Warnings; Talk of death, swearing

Word Count; 5 K

Do not put any of my work into AI, that shit steals. If you do I'm eating your kneecaps.

Prologue & Lilia's Story | Malleus's Story

Sebek knew, even as a young child, that his parents’ marriage would end in heartbreak. That his mother would be left alone for centuries, heartbroken, because of his father’s humanity, because he was mortal. If you know something will only end in heartbreak, why go forth with it? Are a few decades of happiness truly worth it if it will bring centuries of loneliness? 

He used to not think in that light, but the whispers of fellow children, and the look of concern in his grandfather’s eyes upon seeing a single strand of silver in his son-in-law’s hair. His father was ageing, and when compared to the fae, he was ageing rapidly. His mother would still be young when his father would be growing old and senile. That’s what started the seed of bitterness, of resentment, of fear. 

Sebek was scared. He was scared that he may be dealt the same hand of fate; that his lifespan would be short like his father’s. And afraid that he would outlive him by several centuries if he inherited the fae lifespan. Both terrified him, and he was only six. Six years old and sitting on the tire swing that hung from the hawthorn tree, a scowl etched into his forehead. “It isn’t fair,” he muttered under his breath.

“What isn’t fair?” The gentle voice of his father startled Sebek, who fell off the swing. The older man picked him up and dusted off Sebek’s clothes. “There we go, not even a scratch,” he chuckled, ruffling his son’s pastel green hair.

How can he be so happy? Sebek scowled, and he felt a warmness build up in his eyes, tears. “Nothing,” he spat and ran off.

Unlike his mother, Sebek could lie, and it came easier to him than his siblings. It’s because I’m closer to him. And that scared him. It scared him, and he didn’t know why. He loves his father, but his humanity, that scares him. 

Pushing something away is much easier than accepting it, even adults, both human and fae, do it. Keep that fear and hide it away, under a mask of superiority. But the truth will always come out, one way or another.

I hate you! But he didn’t, Sebek loved him, but it was easier to pretend to hate something than to love it and then for it to wither before your very own eyes. 

…

Sebek’s dreams had colour, except for one. It was a mix of fae and human, and a sign from the Thorn Fairy that he had a soul match… but why was there one colour that was missing? His dreams should have been black and white, but the sky overhead was blue, the poppies in the field a brilliant red, and the centres of daisies a cheerful yellow. But one colour was missing, green. Where green should have been, there was nothing but shades of grey.

“Is anybody there?” His voice called out. He could hear his voice, his words weren’t floating in front of him. There was also no one else in the field with him. Sebek was alone. “ANYBODY?!”

He started running, he didn’t know where to, but he needed to get away. So he ran, and he kept on running until he came across a path which forked out into two directions, a crossroad. Sebek needed to choose. Left or right?

On the left, there was a butterfly flitting lazily down the path, whereas on the right was a hornet, its stinger wielded like a sword. The butterfly reminded him of his father, as butterflies do not live for long, and were seen as demure things. The hornet reminded him of his mother and grandfather, fierce and ready to defend; they, and the hornet, were knights. They feared nothing.

Sebek took off running down the right-hand path and kept on running until he came across a familiar castle, the castle where his grandfather worked. The fires glowed grey in Sebek’s eyes, but he knew they must have been green.

“Who are you?”

Sebek startled at the voice and he turned around. Standing behind him was a boy around his age with silvery hair, and lilac eyes. He could clearly make out his face, and his voice. The boy was clearly human, and that irked Sebek; his soul match wasn’t here but this random human child was? Behind him was the butterfly from earlier, glowing white and fluttering about before coming to rest on Sebek’s chest, resting on his heart.

Go away. Leave me alone. But Sebek bit his tongue and marched into the castle. “A future knight,” he boasted, bottling down his true emotions. “I’m going to be a knight. Like my grandfather!”

The boy walked behind Sebek and gave him a sleepy hum. “That’s who you’re going to be,” he said matter of factly, “I asked who are you not who are you going to be.” Not even three minutes of knowing each other, and the relationship between the two children was off to a rocky start.

“Names have power,” Sebek huffed. “How do I know you won’t use it to cross me, human?” He spat out the last word, human, his anger out in the open, his insecurity showing itself. “You tell me yours first.”

The other boy raised a pale brow at the hostility but decided it would just be better to accommodate rather than butt heads. “Silver. And you?”

Sebek huffed, but he could tell that the boy, Silver, was being honest with him. “Sebek.”

Silver offered him a soft smile, his eyes going from the butterfly which was still resting on Sebek’s heart to his face. “It’s nice to meet you, Sebek.”

And then Sebek woke up, blinking his eyes groggily. The only thing he could remember being the castle, his wanting to be a knight, and a butterfly that wouldn’t leave him alone.

…

…

…

The mirror took less than a second to place Sebek into Diasomnia, there was no better or other option. And Sebek was happy, so happy that he could continue serving Malleus, or in his words ‘Young Master’. Scratch that, Sebek was overjoyed. But the ceremony, which should have been perfect, was marred with chaos, because of a human. A magicless human.

Sebek shook his head. Today was good, regardless of the chaos. It should have not mattered, but Sebek couldn’t help but feel that it would have repercussions, a butterfly effect of sorts. It had the hairs on his neck stand on end. He could worry about it more in the morning though, he was of no use to anybody if he didn’t rest.

~

He was on the tire swing in the backyard, slowly going back and forth with the gentle breeze. What am I doing back here?

Usually, his dreams were about training, about being a knight, of protecting the Draconia line… not of childhood places, let alone at his own home. And sitting on the tire with him was the butterfly, still pale and glowing.

“What do you want,” he questioned the insect. 

But the bug paid him no mind and took flight, doing gentle loops around his head. And as Sebek watched the butterfly, he noticed the slow shift in his dream. Everything started to take on a green hue, and the butterfly was now a brilliant pastel green. That could mean only one thing.

They were here. Sebek didn’t really know what to think or feel. On one hand, compared to many, he hadn’t been waiting for very long, which is seen as a kind gesture from the Thorn Fairy. But on the other hand, Sebek was confused about what his colour difference could mean, and why now of all times? He didn’t have the time to go chasing after some random stranger. He had a duty to uphold, and if they got in the way, or possessed to be a danger to his Young Master… well, Sebek knew what he would have to do. 

The air in front of him shimmered. They are just entering the REM part of sleep now. Sebek clenched his fists and righted himself up, standing straight as a board. First impressions meant everything after all, and he for one did not want his first impression to be someone sitting on a tire swing and questioning flying insects. 

The air stopped shimmering, and they appeared in front of him, their appearance hidden because ‘Good things come to those who wait’ according to the Thorn Fairy. 

“Yeah, sure, why not. My day just had to get weirder,” their words floated in front of them, irritated. Sebek could feel their eyes looking him over, inspecting him, judging him. “Who are you supposed to be, huh?”

Sebek wasn’t sure what to expect when he first met his soul match, but he wasn’t expecting someone so… rude. Well, rude in his eyes at least. He felt his eye twitch, but he held together his composure. “I am your soul match!” The words were barked out, but they just floated in the breeze with no volume. The only thing that indicated that Sebek had said it loudly being the exclamation point at the end, as well as the sharpness of the letters.

But his soul match, even though he couldn’t properly make out their face, did not look impressed, and that rubbed him the wrong way. Every fae child grew up waiting in anticipation for their soul match to enter their dreams, to see their coloured hue tint their shared dreams. So why weren’t they more excited? 

“Did you pay any attention to me,” he huffed, still standing at attention, like his grandfather taught him. “I said that I’m your soul match!”

His soul match just brought their hand to their temple and massaged the spot. “I heard… saw? … you the first time, buddy,” they muttered tiredly. “That’s nice, that I’m your ‘soul match’,” they did air quotes around the term, “but I have no idea what that means or why I’m here.”

Sebek felt a lump form in his throat. Fae know about soul matches, even if it was kept secret from the outside world, fae knew. That meant that his soul match wasn’t fae, and other clans knew of the term, which only meant one thing. His soul match is human. 

They were weak and short-lived. Sebek had taught himself to look down on humans years ago, so why now, would the Thorn Fairy make his soul match human? The part of himself that he most feared?

…

…

…

You were running on fumes. Of the meagre sleep you were able to get, you were rudely interrupted by some stranger blathering about how humans were inferior. And quite frankly it pissed you off, royally so. You already got enough shit from everyone else about being magicless in a magic-dependent world, but for your ‘soul match’, someone you barely knew but was supposed to make you happy, constantly berating you for something that you couldn’t change. Yeah, you avoided them at all costs. And when you couldn’t avoid them? Well, you ignored them. It was much easier to ignore someone when you couldn’t actually hear them; all you needed to do was shut your eyes. Could you sleep when you were already sleeping? Well, you were. It was better than paying any attention to your bristly companion.

At least the tree you were resting under was nice, but you could feel your ‘soul match’ staring daggers at you. Cracking an eye open you found them standing as straight and stiff as a board, an air of a scowl surrounding them. 

“Who pissed in your cereal?” 

Your ‘soul match’ reeled back, and you saw a bunch of nonsense spelt out in the air before they controlled themself again, going back to their stiff posture. “THAT IS RUDE AND UNBECOMING TO SAY!” Their words were all capitalized, a sure fire sign that they were yelling at you. But since your first, and honestly disastrous, meeting weeks ago, it had very little effect on you. If anything, it was funny; seeing someone who held themself in such high regard be nothing more than a yappy dog. 

You waved them off, shooing away their words. “You didn’t answer my question though. Did someone piss in your cereal?”

“NO!” They shouted, looking so fed up with you. “You are so… so… so ANNOYING,” they fumbled around with what word to use but finally decided on one. Annoying. “Humans are so annoying! The lot of you!”

And there they went again, on their anti-human tirade again. Seriously, what is their problem? “Better annoying than some stuck up prick,” you countered.

You knew you were playing with fire, but you didn’t care. You just wanted to piss them off. You were tired of playing nice in your waking hours, so in your dreams? You could be as snarky and confrontational as you pleased. Consequences be damned.

They were fuming, and sputtering. “How dare you?! What makes you think you can just act like that?!”

You sighed and got up from your resting spot, and moved over to them. “Because. I. Can.” You poked them, hard, in the chest with each word. “And what makes you think you can act like that? Like an entitled asshole who demeans and belittles others who are different from you?! What is your damage?!”

And right as your soul match was about to answer you, you left the dream, waking up from your own frustration.

Looks like it was yet another night of a restless sleep, only to be met with disappointment and wanting to do nothing more than prove everyone wrong. Prove them wrong about you, and for your soul match, prove them wrong about humans.

…

Understandably, you were not in the best of moods that day. At best you got maybe three hours of rest before you woke up due to pure frustration at your ‘soul match’ and their sour disposition. And it was noticeable, well, noticeable to some people who could pick up the subtle shift. That your smile was a bit too forced, and that you weren’t fully paying attention.

Professor Trein noticed, and Lucius had stayed on your lap throughout the entire class. And as he was walking up and down the aisles, making sure people were actually doing their work, the older man tapped you on the shoulder. “Prefect, a word after class,” it was said quietly enough that you were the only one to hear that, and he went back on patrol.

Shit, was I spacing off? You just hoped that it wasn’t anything serious. The last thing you needed was Crowley finding out about your grades slipping or any other infraction, and getting on your case and bringing up your situation for the nth time. So, the rest of the class seemed to drag on for what felt like forever, even though in reality, there were only fifteen minutes left. But every time you felt the anxiety spike, Lucius would shift in your lap or knead his paws into your uniform, dragging you away from obsessing over it. And finally, the bell rang.

“You guys go on without me,” you said to Ace, Deuce and Grim, shooting them a tired smile. “I’ll catch up with you.”

The trio waved you off, and headed off, leaving you alone with Professor Trein, who was sitting at his desk, preparing for his next lecture.

You took in a deep breath, trying to calm yourself. “You wanted to speak with me, Professor?”

He set his papers down, and motioned for you to take a seat, which you did. This, this meant something bad, you could tell. Why else would he motion for you to take a seat?

“Prefect,” he sighed tiredly, “have you been taking care of yourself?”

Of course he noticed, Trein, unlike your friends, noticed the familiar look. He noticed the tenseness in your shoulders, and the dark shadows under your eyes. Noticed the cheerful air grow weary, which was such a pity. You shouldn’t have to shoulder everything you do, especially while juggling all of the responsibilities and new knowledge that you’ve been acquiring. 

You looked down at your lap, fiddling with your fingers. “No, not really,” you admitted. 

Professor Trein nodded, since he already knew that, even without the confirmation. “I won’t press you for details, but I’ll have a discussion with the others, about lightening your workload. Please, do take care of yourself, Prefect.”

Take care of yourself. That’s something you hadn’t really been doing, what with all the errands, the near-death overblot incidents, and the piss poor sleep you’ve been getting lately because of your ‘soul match’.

“I’ll try.” You couldn’t guarantee anything, but you would try.

“Alright then, that’s a start. Now, off you go, lest you be late,” he collected the papers he needed and adjusted his coat, ready for his next lecture. “Be kind to yourself, Prefect.”

…

…  

Sebek woke up that day irritated. What is your damage?! Who did that human think they were? But that statement irked him more than it really should. He wasn’t harmed, his value and worth was not impaired. So why was he so affected by the phrase? Why should he care so much about what a stranger said to him? Because no matter what, they are still your soul match. He shook his head and marched out of his room, going ahead and performing his morning duties, his mood being apparent, following him like a storm cloud.

Silver noticed this as Sebek came to a stop beside him, ready to greet Malleus. “Something is obviously upsetting you,” he murmured, shooting him a sideways look while still standing at attention.

Sebek glared at Silver out of the corner of his eye, his brow slightly pinched. “It’s none of your business,” he hissed under his breath. The last thing he needed was for the Young Master to catch wind that he was distracted while on the job. Malleus wouldn’t really mind, but Sebek wouldn’t forgive himself for his own ineptitude. 

Silver sighed and turned his eyes back towards Malleus’s door. “It’s better to admit something than bottle it up Sebek. Eventually the truth will come out, one way or another.”

“Now is not the time for that,” Sebek said, trying to control his volume. “And it doesn’t concern you.” It concerns only me and them. 

Silver raised his brow but left well enough alone, he knew better than to egg Sebek on when he was in one of his moods. But he knew that the truth would come out, and he felt like it would rear its ugly head sooner rather than later. He just hoped Sebek didn’t just blow up on the wrong person. Not because Sebek was bad for feeling whatever emotions he was feeling, but because not everyone understood him.

Maybe even Sebek didn’t even understand himself either.

…

…

You and your soul match were back at the house, but instead of standing straight up like they had a stick up their ass, they were sitting in the tire swing, swinging gently back and forth. And the butterfly that always followed them around, was resting comfortably on their chest, right above their heart. Here was this usually grumpy and tall person, swinging on a tire swing, a butterfly on their chest, and it was kind of cute. In a really weird way. But you could tell they weren’t happy, muttering to themself.

Usually, you would poke the bear to get a reaction out of them, but tonight you didn’t want to. You were too tired to put in the effort. Plus in all the weeks of antagonising each other, you hadn’t really gotten to know them.

“Hi,” you said, coming to rest beside the tire swing.

Your soul match — who was in actuality, Sebek —  gave you a curt nod as a hello back. Something was on his mind.

“What did you mean the other day?” He turned to look at you, eyes probing to try and find something that would tell him who you were in the waking world. But your appearance remained fuzzy, except for your eyes, which gleamed softly in the green lighting of the dream. He hadn’t really paid them any attention, but now he was lost in them, and what he saw was tiredness. “What did you mean by, what is my damage?”

Sebek wasn’t angry, which surprised you. You would have thought he would be a thundering storm cloud, but he was more like the cool breeze that came once the storm had passed. And you noticed his eyes, chartreuse with vertical slits. You could have sworn that you had seen those eyes before, you knew those eyes, but the person in mind was evading you.

You sighed, and the butterfly that was resting on his chest took flight, did a loopdeloop, and came to rest over your heart instead. “I don’t know, “ you admitted. “I was angry and tired. My life is just hectic and sleep is usually an escape from that, but instead I found myself in here with you… You didn’t really help either. Kept on looking down on me for being human, so I kinda snapped… I’m sorry.”

Sebek felt his voice get stuck in his throat. I should be the sorry one. But instead he offered his hand to you. A handshake. “Don’t be sorry for your anger; it’s better out than to let it fester.”

You took his answer to heart. It felt weird, the two of you were at each other’s throats for so long, but because of your combined tiredness and realizations, there was a truce of sorts. “So,” you looked Sebek in the eye, “what does this make us?”

He raised a brow, “Well, we are soul matches. The Thorn Fairy decides upon a person who will bring out the best in you, and in turn, you do the same for them.” He scratched the back of his neck. He knew that he had to tell you everything, but it felt like he was doing something wrong; technically this is breaking a rule, but you deserved to know. “We can be anything we want to be. It’s up to us.”

“Huh, that’s nice I guess. That we get to choose what we are. Thought for a second we would be forced together by the narrative to be in a relationship,” you chuckled. But it was nice that you could choose what the two of you were. “For now how about uneasy friends?”

“Uneasy friends?”

“Yeah, ya know I can’t forgive you that easily for dissing my entire species. Kinda hard to forgive that.” Your tone was light, but you were serious. You couldn’t just go from being dearly detested to buddy-buddy with your soul match.

Sebek pursed his lips but he knew that he was in the wrong. “I’m sorry, truly.” And it was genuine. Sebek didn’t hate humans, he loved them, but that love scared him because he knew that they wouldn’t last forever. That you wouldn’t last forever. 

You leaned back, splaying out in the grass. “Well, explanations can wait. I for one want to cloud watch. You wanna join?”

Sebek rolled his eyes but decided to humour you. “What does that cloud look like?” To him it just looked like an odd blob.

“Hmmmm, kinda looks like a crocodile in a blanket burrito,” you mused. And you were kind of right, but it still looked like an odd blob to Sebek.

…

…

…

Things had quieted down in your and Sebek’s dreams, and for the first time in weeks you felt well rested and not like you were going to randomly pass out in alchemy class only to find yourself headfirst in a cauldron. Plus you felt like you could actually get along with your soul match now, but you still liked to bug them just a little bit so the two of you could bicker. It was fun to see their reactions.

“So, if you’re fae, that must mean that you’re super old right?” You had a shiteating grin on your face, and your words floated around their head, poking at them to mirror what you had said.

Sebek rolled his eyes, he had become accustomed to your sense of humour, it was charming in its own bewildering way. “I am not old!”

You bumped his shoulder, “So you’re just a kid? Ew, gross.”

“I AM NOT A CHILD EITHER!” There it is, that spark, like a bolt of lightning. “If you must know, I am attending a mage school! Therefore, I am not old.”

You hummed, thinking. “What school? Maybe we go to the same one? Although I probably would have recognized you, what with your… unique personality and being fae and all. I don’t think I could mistake you for somebody else.”

Sebek faltered. They attend a mage school? “What do you mean by that, human?” 

There was that word again, human, but this time it was said with fondness, without hostility.

“Personality or school?”

Sebek sighed, and massaged his temple. “Why do I feel like you’ll just answer both?”

You sent him a wink, “Because I will!~ Part of my charms.” You chuckled but decided to humour him by getting straight to the point. “Well, even though you can be prickly, you care very deeply. A bit awkward, but in an endearing way. Loud, and opinionated. It would be hard to miss you, ya know. I mean that in a nice way too, by the way.” You stopped, and considered what you were going to say next, as it could mean finding him in the waking world much easier, but you were ready to meet him. “As for the school thing, I go to Night Raven College.”

“WHAT?!” His words were the largest that you had ever seen, and you knew that you probably would have needed to cover your ears if you could actually hear them. “YOU GO TO NIGHT RAVEN COLLEGE?! SINCE WHEN?!”

Sebek was distraught. You were so close but he didn’t even know? How could he be so blind?!

“Judging from your reaction I’m guessing you also go there, huh? Small world after all, I guess.” Your words didn’t reflect how you were actually feeling though, they mirrored Sebek’s perfectly. “Since you’re fae, I’m also guessing that you’re in Diasomnia. Am I right?”

Sebek looked at you, beguiled. “Y-yes! And what of you?!”

You opened your mouth, but no words came out. Huh, weird. “Looks like that’s a dead giveaway…” you muttered. Seems like the Thorn Fairy wasn’t going to make this easy for the two of you. But you got an idea. “Tomorrow at lunch, meet me in the botanical gardens! By the roses!”

You were snatched out from the land of dreams by your alarm going off, but you knew what you needed to do. You were ready to meet them. You were ready to meet your soul match.

…

…

Sebek was nervous. After so much he was finally going to meet his soul match. He knew he had seen those eyes somewhere before, been subjected to their teasing on several occasions, but the dreams kept your identity secret, shrouded in mystery. But now, now he and you would know. So why was he nervous? You had come to know him in your shared dreams, but Sebek was nervous that you would reject him once you knew who he truly was.

So he had arrived at the botanical garden in a sprint, having run from his class the moment the bell signified it was over. And it was empty, save for the butterflies and other pollinators that flitted about. It gave him time to gather his thoughts, and he paced by the roses, trying to place where he had seen you before. It was all so annoyingly familiar, it was on the tip of his tongue, but your face and name evaded him. Sebek wasn’t used to being nervous.

He had placed nervousness as weakness, as something human. He couldn’t afford to be nervous, not when he had a duty to the crown to fulfil. But maybe being nervous wasn’t bad. Maybe being human wasn’t bad. Yes, they were weak and had their faults, but that’s what made them beautiful. And Sebek realized and accepted that that was just as much a part of him as it was a part of you.

Sure, it was messy, but Sebek was coming to accept that part of himself because of you. And it would be a work in progress, as he had years of a combination of an inferiority and superiority complex due to the mixture of fae and human, but he was willing to work on it. Not just because of you though, it was a combination of you, accepting himself, and forgiving his father. 

He was mad at him for so long because it was easier to be mad than to love and then lose him. He was mad for his mother. But now he just wanted to say that he was sorry. That he loved him, that he loved him so much that he was scared of losing him. 

The door to the botanical garden opened, and Sebek froze. First impressions are everything! He was about to straighten himself up, but he remembered the last time. This wasn’t a first impression, you knew him, you’ve known him for a while. So, he relaxed, he took a seat on the bench next to the roses. And focused on calming his breathing.

A butterfly, a pale green butterfly, flew around his head before coming to rest on his shoulder, crawling leisurely until it got to a comfy spot, sitting above his heart.

He looked up from looking fondly at the small insect to find you, his soul match, standing in the middle of the path with a butterfly, the same colour as his, resting on your heart.

“I knew that you felt familiar! Ha ha!” You smiled, like you had just won something.

And Sebek felt the same. 

Fin!~

Author's Notes; I love Sebek, but I also like bugging him, so I kinda made the reader a menace in this one. Go forth! Be menaces in the world! Huzzah!

Tags; @xxoomiii, @eynnwwyjth, @twistwonderlanddevotee, @savanaclaw1996

Masterlist~

[quiverymango]

Omori Eater!

Fanart of @beeejayy's Omori x Soul Eater AU!

I love this funky little AU so much <3

Ref image below cut:

[caffemochachoco]

band milgram au stage names

these are so generic im so sorry :(

btw all of these are the english translations, the actual ones are in japanese :,)

es gets their warden title lmao

haruka's one is 'blue butterfly'

yuno's one is 'sweet cherry blossom(s)'

fuuta's one is 'fire god' (tysm borealis <3)

muu's one is literally just 'honeybee'

mahiru's one is 'strawberry' (the shortcake from ily ruined me)

amane's one is 'pear child'

mikoto's one is 'double eclipse' (placeholder for now)

kotoko's one is 'wolfberry'

shidou and kazui don't have stage names

[breezy-cheezy]

I kept telling myself I’d do more but also kept not doing it. Also I need to advertise my fic. SO. Some Genshin Daemon AU aesthetic/edits, from my Daemon AU fic in particular!! I posted chapter 4 recently, this is the FURTHEST I’ve made it with a multi chapter, huzzah. Still lots more to go. But we’re GETTING there :D 

Crepus’s daemon is a Gyrfalcon named Clarimonda (meaning “Intelligent Protector)! She is just as loving and doting as her human counterpart. 

Diluc’s daemon is a a Norwegian forest cat named Ailihannah, which is an amalgamation of Aili, Irish for “Light” or “bright one”. This is merged with Johannah, which means “God is gentle, kind, patient and merciful”. Essentially “Bright one from God.” The link is to the domestic cat analysis, but as usual I picked out a specific breed that matched. Norwegian Forest Cats are. BIG. Very athletic and fluffy too. Anything that doesn’t quite match I’ve chalked up to severe trauma ahahaha ✨ (surprise I give another of my faves a cat KJHSDLJKF)

And Kaeya’s daemon is a Cross fox named Tikvah, which is Hebrew for “Hope”, but in the sense of hope that binds, or an expectation for something. His is especially fun because foxes are technically a very successful invasive species? And the Cross Fox is a rare mutation in red foxes, which matched very well with some differences I could see in her to signify differences with Abyssal daemons :)

ALSO a different version of Diluc’s aesthetic but with some mean foreshadowing in it. Can you spot it? ;P

[tbrma]

DAY 3 - Soulmates (+sci-fi)

Soulmate AU where you don't see colors until you meet your soulmate’s eyes for the first time.

On Ao3

For the first time in his life, Madara wakes up to a monochrome world.

It shouldn't be possible. He tries rubbing his eyes, closing them as he presses the heels of his palms against them. Stars bloom across his eyelids, but when he opens his eyes again nothing has changed. Eventually, he gets up. What the fuck. Now he understands why people are given time off work after finding their soulmates, even his own apartment looks foreign and unnavigable with the colors stripped out of it.

He wanders around aimlessly, waiting for the world to start making sense again, and he's so shocked that he almost doesn't hear his phone's ringtone back in the bedroom. He turns around sharply and runs straight into a wall. Still confused, but now also pissed and in pain, he reaches his phone just in time for it to stop ringing.

"What the fuck is it today!" Madara growls in frustration. He checks his phone for the caller - Izuna - and swears at the screen: he somehow managed to waste a whole hour without even starting to get ready for the day and he should already be at the precinct.

His brother calls again and Madara picks up immediately.

"Izuna," he says instead of a greeting.

"Where are you?" his brother half-screams, sounding already done with the day. "Did you forget about the briefing for-".

"Izuna," cuts him off Madara, "I can't come in to work today."

"What!? Today of all days-"

"I can't see."

"WHAT!?" Izuna all but screeches and Madara can imagine how that got everyone's attention by the way the background noise he can hear through the phone drops to almost nothing. Wonderful.

"I can't see colors anymore," Madara clarifies, and with that admission an awful mix of dread, anger and, worst of all, hope settles on his stomach like a rock. He can't see colors anymore. It shouldn't be possible. He's probably just sick. Knowing his luck, of some rare and understudied illness that will kill him badly in a week’s time or something equally tragic.

Izuna is speechless for a whole minute on the other side of the call. Then he says: "I'll be there in ten minutes. Don't move," and hangs up in a hurry.

Madara waits for him.

The following days are full of hospitals and doctors and specialists and tests and Madara hates it all the more because it ends up being totally useless. Nor the blood tests nor the electrodes can find what's wrong with him. His eyes are fine. His brain is too. He's as healthy as can be expected from a man his age with a job as stressful and dangerous as being a policeman is now. In the end, everyone agrees that it's normal, it's just that…

He hasn't met his soulmate yet. The soulmate Madara has known all his life that he doesn't have.

He had made his peace with his condition- with the way he was born destined to a life… not of loneliness, but without that special someone, the other half assigned to him by some higher being, the one that could complete his everything. He’d accepted his fate a long time ago. But that's ruined now, resignation replaced by idiotic hope that Madara wishes he didn’t feel (again). Because it simply isn’t how the world works anymore: it's more and more common nowadays - though Madara had been one of the first recorded cases - that people are born already seeing color, that is, without a soulmate. And it’s a condition no one has recovered from, ever.

It's just Madara's luck that on his first day back on duty after the mandated leave period for colorvision change he gets one the cases he dreads the most: malfunctioning android. Madara isn't a fan of robots. By now, you couldn't go a day without having to rely on their work, be it at restaurants, in public offices or even at the precinct, and yet it was more and more common that they stopped working correctly, sometimes to the point of becoming outright violent. He really couldn't understand why developers kept creating always more advanced models when they couldn't even control the existing ones.

Madara snaps himself out of his self-commisereting thoughts and rubs his temples, already feeling tired as he listens to his brother debrief him on their way to the scene.

"It's not that bad this time," Izuna says to cheer him up, "it's at the Senju Industries. The CEO Senju Butsuma managed to catch the smuggler before he could leave the workshop."

Madara umms distrustfully. "Is the machine dangerous?" he asks as he starts the old-school car. His father had tried to convince him to use a self-driving model with the excuse he couldn't see as he's been used to, but Madara refused. People could call him a control freak all they wanted, but he is going to keep driving himself until it's made categorically illegal.

"It's just some sight problems, so it shouldn't be," answers his brother, checking the file. "The android is a hyper-tecnologic model designed for research and data analysis, T0-b-RAMA. He's the prototype of Senju Hashirama's RAMA line - pretty self-referential name, if you ask me."

Izuna shoots a disgusted grimace Madara's way and Madara huffs a laugh.

"In any case," Izuna continues, "the android had been running for eleven years without significant issues until it started malfunctioning on the 19th last month. Since the malfunction wasn't deemed dangerous, it wasn't decommissioned immediately, but the source of the problem hasn't been located yet and the CEO decided that the robot would be decommissioned today."

"Let me guess, the engineer wasn't okay with that?" Madara says with an annoyed sigh. He has seen this Senju Hashirama guy on the TV a couple times and he distinctly remembers thinking that someone who smiles that much, no matter how smart, has to have a screw or two loose. Apparently he had been right.

"Yes!" exclaims Izuna, eyes sparkling, because he follows this kind of case like one would a trashy telenovela. Right now, Madara envies his enthusiasm. "He said he'd accompany his prototype to be decommissioned and instead he tried to smuggle it out. But! It seems that the android itself stopped him because it didn't want his creator to face repercussions for its sake!"

Madara snorts. "I doubt it," he says, "it's probably just not broken enough to leave the company without proper permissions. You said it yourself: it's a last-generation prototype. It probably has more anti-theft protocols in its body than wires."

"Well, the security guards claim that that's what it said when it refused to be led away," rebuts Izuna, "and I don't see what they'd get out of lying about this."

"Publicity? All that 'our androids really are loyal' kind of crap?" Madara shakes his head. "This case will be all over the news this evening and everyone will be buying Senju machines like crazy for the next month."

Izuna pouts at him and then turns to glare out the window, mumbling something about Madara's lack of romanticism under his breath. "Whatever," he says, "that's not the point. The point is, right now Senju Hashirama locked himself in a security lab with his robot. Since he's the only one with the right credentials to open it, Senju Butsuma called us to assist him."

Izuna is right, it doesn’t look too bad, Madara thinks, though he doesn’t say anything out loud so that he won’t jinx himself.

The Senju Industries’ massive main branch is slowly coming into view as Izuna lists the more boring information he needs to know - the building the workshop they're headed to is in, the type of security lab and the right protocols to open it - until they finally arrive at the gates. 

“We’re here for the android theft attempt” Madara says to the security guard and the woman lets them through with the indications to reach the best parking spot.

“This place is a fucking labyrinth,” Izuna mutters with a frown. "You'd think they would have someone guide us considering that they're the ones who need our help."

Madara can’t help but umm in agreement, feeling utterly lost.

It takes them ten minutes of bickering to find the parking spot that was reserved for them and, once inside the building, another ten minutes of walking and backtracking and almost getting lost before a woman in a suit finally meets them to lead them to the right room.

“How long does it take you to train new recruits to navigate this place?” his brother asks and the woman laughs.

“They wish we trained them!” she answers, a sadistic smirk pulling at her painted lips, and it’s Izuna’s turn to laugh. The two of them chat amicably for the rest of the way and it’s only Izuna’s obviously relaxed demeanor that keeps Madara’s own nervousness for his first case without being able to see colors at bay.

However, Madara’s mood sours immediately upon arriving on the scene. The room they enter is not that big, but it has a glass wall that shows an enormous lab beyond. The glass is interrupted only by a high-security metal door and a console with a number of devices Madara doesn’t care to name as well as an intercom, which is currently being used by two men he recognizes as Senju Butsuma and his son, Hashirama. The two of them are fighting loudly from different sides of the wall, and the son is - and this is why Madara despises this kind of case - sobbing between words, a protective arm thrown in front of the figure standing beside him.

“-still performing perfectly in any other area! He takes care of all his duties and more! How can you just throw him away?” the man’s voice cracks through the intercom and Madara can see Izuna’s expression grow more somber at his obvious anguish.

“If it’s malfunctioning even slightly, it’s not worth the resources it uses!” booms the CEO, face contorted in anger. “It’s a thing and it’s broken!”

“He’s not a thing! How can you not see it?” Hashirama shouts, grabbing one of the machine’s hands and gripping it tightly. “He’s family to me! A brother!”

Madara’s stomach twists uncomfortably. The man is clearly delusional, but Madara can’t help but sympathize with his desperation, because if someone tried to harm Izuna he would do way, way worse than lock himself behind an unbreakable wall.

A man in a suit, probably Butsuma’s secretary, thankfully manages to interrupt the ugly (and frankly useless) fight and gets the CEO’s attention. Senju clearly takes a moment to breath and get his anger under control before marching towards Madara and his brother, still scowling.

“I trust you have received all pertinent information?” he asks bluntly.

“Yes, Sir.” Madara answers, barely managing not to respond to the scowl with one of his own. He doesn’t like this man and his cold anger at all.

“Take care of this mess, then.” Having said his piece, he walks away, apparently no longer interested in his son’s obvious distress.

Izuna shakes his head after him and then turns to Madara. “I’ll try to calm him down a bit,” he says, pointing at the engineer now sobbing uncontrollably as the robot rubs his back in a way that is both disturbingly human and disturbingly other.

Now that he’s truly watching it, Madara finds himself strangely captivated by this android, unable to divert his attention. It’s pale haired and pale skinned, with starling glowing lines running through what little of its skin is not covered by plain, dark clothing. And it’s beautiful, Madara realizes, long-limbed and elegant, with a face that would look perfect on the cover of a magazine. But what really gets his attention is its expression as it murmurs something he can’t decipher to his creator: impassive, at first glance, but Madara is known to be quite unreadable himself and he can’t help but think that it’s more resigned, or tired or… even a bit sad.

Izuna has begun talking to the researcher while Madara was distracted, so Madara follows him to the console, still staring despite knowing that it’s extremely unprofessional. There’s something about him- it, Madara corrects himself mentally, have I seen it somewhere already?

The android must finally notice his staring because it turns towards him, its eyes focusing on his badge and then meeting his, and Madara is startled by the shocking contrast between black sclera and-

Red eyes, he thinks in wonder, because it’s a color he has always favored, how lovely.

Then it registers. Madara’s knees buckle under him and his hands catch the console just before he can very embarrassingly fall on the floor. Izuna immediately catches him at his elbow and asks him something, but Madara can’t hear him over the ringing in his ears and the sound of his own frenetic heartbeat.

They stare at each other, Madara wide-eyed and sweating and the android - what was his name? Madara wishes he had paid better attention when Izuna was talking - still impassive but not really, with his head slightly tilted to the right as if in deep thought. They stay like that long enough that Izuna stops talking and the researcher finally stops crying, and then, like a spell being broken, the android blinks and turns calmly towards his creator.

“I’ve stopped malfunctioning,” he states.

“What? Really?” Then begins bawling again and lunges for a hug that the android accepts with a distinctively long-suffering expression.

Izuna tugs at Madara’s arm and finally manages to get his attention.

“Are you alright?” he asks, voice full of worry, while his eyes roam Madara’s face as if to find some clue about what has gotten into him.

Madara opens his mouth to answer, but only manages to give his best impression of a fish out of water. He takes in the blue of his brother’s uniform and the pink of his skin, so familiar and dearly missed. The neon hues of the blinking lights on the console. And once again, the mesmerizing red beyond the glass, glowing from the patterns on the android’s body and face…

Oh my God, Madara thinks as he takes in the android’s strangely focused eyes that meet his own once again. If Madara can see colors again then that is his- his…

Oh, shit.

-

-

@madatobiweek2022 <3