spectraspecs-writes:

ask-the-egos:

virgilisaneternalmood:

claroquequiza:

zaiyofics:

the-ghost-of-keith-kogane:

fandangoing:

Okay guys hear me out.

A soulmate AU where you have a black stain where your soulmate is supposed to touch you for the first time and it turns to millions of colors once they do.

Like, so many people with their right palms all black, waiting for that one handshake.

People who have black knuckles who are scared for years that they end up punching their soulmate or something and end up coming home with their knuckles turned all shades of red and blue and purple without them noticing because sometimes your hands just brush together.

Someone having a very visible black palm on their cheek that they try to cover up because people will just know they will be slapped one day.

Just

consider the possibilities.

a handprint on your upper arm that bursts into colors during a fight you’re having with a close friend because you tried to walk away and they grabbed you–you never noticed that you never touched them until right now

twin handprints on your chest because your soulmate happens to be the paramedic who steps in to give you chest compressions that one time you almost died

a handprint on your palm but it’s not upside down like a handshake would be, you’re puzzled until you give someone a high five and the colors appear

someone you just met brushes a leaf off your shirt–RIGHT WHERE YOUR HANDPRINT IS YOU ALWAYS WONDERED WHY IT WAS ON YOUR PEC

I actually love this one a lot

Someone who is born with no mark at all–what a tragedy! But one day, a dear friend offers to braid their hair. They’re not even half done before they gasp and let it drop–their black palms and fingers are afire with color–

–and so is the half-done plait, bright against solid black hair.

OKAY THIS ONE WINS

NEW AU!!! AAAA

Imagine you have a black stain on your hand, thinking that it will be a handshake. Every handshake you get, you look, just checking. But to no avail. It bothers you for a while. Every hand you hold, every high five, every hand shake, every time you give something to someone and your hands touch, you find yourself looking to your palm with hope, only to find the black stain still there. But then you accept it. Sometimes it takes a while for people to meet their soulmate. You think it’s more important to follow your dreams now, and see what happens later. And your dream is to be an actor.

You go into the theatre. During one show, there’s a stage slap. Stage slaps, you just put your hand up where that person is supposed to hit. No big deal. Just a dramatic high five. For the first several months of rehearsal, the slap is blocked out but never done. Usually it’s just a dramatic arm swing by the other actor. He’s playing your abuser but he’s actually a really great guy, goofy, feminist, polite, likes to bring fresh-baked cookies to weekend rehearsals, plays the kazoo with a passionate spirit, and loves that same niche band that you do. You get along with him really well. Then comes tech week. You of course have to do the slap during tech week – everything comes together during tech week. During a dress rehearsal, running the show just like it was opening night, you do the stage slap. You continue on with your lines, doing your stage cry, but the other actor stops. Doesn’t say his line. You deliver yours again, louder. Again, nothing. 

Now you’re starting to get pissed. It’s tech week, come on! Get with it, dude! You deliver your line again, wondering why the director isn’t saying anything. “Y-” he finally stammers, “Your hand.” He meant to whisper, but his lapel mic picked it up, amplifying it across the theatre. Now you’re just confused. You look at your stained hand – 

You’ve never seen so many colors. 

You look at his.

The same colors as yours.

“Okay, we got it!” the director shouts, “You’re soul mates – start the scene over, I want to get through act two before the end of the day!”

Yes, of course. This is a great moment, you’re ecstatic. But you’re also a committed actor, and the show must go on.

About C.A. Jacobs

Just another crazy person, masquerading as a writer.
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