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athousanderrorsvia http://ift.tt/2neLWGM:
seananmcguire:
tinybro:
a random soulmate au idea i had, where a person has a mark/tattoo on their arm to represent their soulmate and it spreads as they grow up to incorporate different things that represent the person or have some significance to them and eventually you have a full sleeve tattoo and it’s neato.
(and just think of the potential shenanigans from people trying to interpret their tattoos. like “goddammit is this dog supposed to represent loyalty or do they just really fuckin love dogs??”)
Words are rare.
Images, sure, both abstract and photographic. The lucky ones are the ones who get a literal portrait of their soulmate, something they can use as a point of comparison as they wander through the world, looking for their other half. But words? Actual, written words, worked into the body of the tattoo like they belong there? Rare. Almost, well, freakish.
Shaun’s words came in when he was three years old, standing out stark and black against the inside of his arm. And even that might have been okay–might have been something they could write off as normal–if they hadn’t been written on both sides. Two soulmates. Two ways to divide his heart. And two sets of words. RISE UP WHILE YOU CAN on the right; WAS IT WORTH IT on the left. The usual images surrounded them, but the words…
Oh, the words were how he knew that he was special, and how he knew that he was screwed.
By the time he was six, he knew two more things for sure: that he was never going to let George die, and that he was never going to wear short sleeves again.
By the time he was sixteen, he knew the words on his left arm were a lie, because there was no one else for him, no one else in the whole damn world.
By the time he was twenty-six, he knew that even liars can tell the truth, once in a while.
Words are rare. But people who live in them so completely that they refuse to listen to anything else are rare, too.
seananmcguire:
tinybro:
a random soulmate au idea i had, where a person has a mark/tattoo on their arm to represent their soulmate and it spreads as they grow up to incorporate different things that represent the person or have some significance to them and eventually you have a full sleeve tattoo and it’s neato.
(and just think of the potential shenanigans from people trying to interpret their tattoos. like “goddammit is this dog supposed to represent loyalty or do they just really fuckin love dogs??”)
Words are rare.
Images, sure, both abstract and photographic. The lucky ones are the ones who get a literal portrait of their soulmate, something they can use as a point of comparison as they wander through the world, looking for their other half. But words? Actual, written words, worked into the body of the tattoo like they belong there? Rare. Almost, well, freakish.
Shaun’s words came in when he was three years old, standing out stark and black against the inside of his arm. And even that might have been okay–might have been something they could write off as normal–if they hadn’t been written on both sides. Two soulmates. Two ways to divide his heart. And two sets of words. RISE UP WHILE YOU CAN on the right; WAS IT WORTH IT on the left. The usual images surrounded them, but the words…
Oh, the words were how he knew that he was special, and how he knew that he was screwed.
By the time he was six, he knew two more things for sure: that he was never going to let George die, and that he was never going to wear short sleeves again.
By the time he was sixteen, he knew the words on his left arm were a lie, because there was no one else for him, no one else in the whole damn world.
By the time he was twenty-six, he knew that even liars can tell the truth, once in a while.
Words are rare. But people who live in them so completely that they refuse to listen to anything else are rare, too.
