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Soulmate Fuckup Meme

The Soulmate Fuckup Meme

There's a name on your wrist. Maybe you were born with it; maybe it arrived around the time you reached adolescence. It's spelled out, in clear script - the script you learned to read first, your native language. It's the name of your soulmate.

What would a world like this be like?

Fucked-up, that's what.

(Based on this tumblr post.)

PROMPTS:
Choose just one, choose a couple, mix and match. Do what you want.

RELATIONSHIP
1: ORIENTATION CONFUSION. The name on your arm is the wrong gender. Maybe you thought you were straight, but the name is the same gender as yours. Maybe you knew you were gay, but the name is opposite-sex. Maybe you just didn't want anyone to know, and you hide your arm, pretend to be something you aren't. But there it is - the evidence glares at you every time you brush aside your sleeve. The name has to be right. Doesn't it?
2: JUST PLAYING AROUND. You're not soulmates with the person you're with. You're just playing around. Or maybe you're really in love - and no one will believe you. How do you face the complete inability of society to accept you? How do you face the inevitable, fated end of your relationship? How can anything be important, when you know it won't last?
3: ONESOMES, THREESOMES AND MORESOMES. You're soulmates with person A who's soulmates with person B who's soulmates with you. What now? - Or maybe you're meant to be in a polyamorous relationship. Or you're asexual, and the thought of that name fills you with dread.
4: ALONE. Your soulmate died. Your soulmate never showed up. Your soulmate never existed. Or your soulmate refused you.
5: FIRST TIME. You've never dated anyone else before. What would have been the point? And now you're moving in, you're getting married - why wait? You're soulmates, aren't you? What could go wrong?
6: TOGETHER. Yep. Here we are. Here you are, and here I am, and here are our names on each other's arms.
7: OTHER.

STAGE
1: INVESTIGATION. So there's this name, and you've plugged it into Google, and the only match you can find is some asshole's Facebook account. He looks like a real jerk. Or maybe you got nothing, and you hired a private investigation firm that specializes in this kind of thing. Now you have an email address, or phone number, or a home address, and what's next is to pick up the phone, write that letter, knock on that door.
2: REVEAL. A superstar's name is on the wrist of a teenager. The President's name is on the wrist of her opponent. Your name is on the wrist of someone in jail. Turns out that name on your best friend's wrist was yours - only you never knew, not until you found out who your parents were. You've just discovered your soulmate, or just revealed yourself to them. What next?
3: GETTING TOGETHER. You're in the early stages. Dating, maybe. Getting to know each other. Moving in, under the watchful eyes of other friends, happy and soulmated and eager to have their view of the world confirmed in you. But do you even really know this person? What makes you so suited, anyway?
4: TOGETHER FOREVER. Maybe you've been together thirty years, and you still have that same fucking argument about who washes the pans after you cook a steak. Maybe you sit in silence because there's nothing to say, and it's incredibly boring. Maybe you work in harmony, but you wonder: is it because you were supposed to be together all along, or just because you never had another choice?
5: TECHNICALITIES. Society won't let you get married. So what if you just change your name to the name on her wrist, and she changes her name to the name on yours… Or maybe you can't get insurance, because you're not married with a soulmate. Don't have the right to vote. Can't get promoted in your job.
6: A BROKEN SYSTEM. Soulmates might be perfect, but people aren't perfect. The world isn't perfect. And this world has screwed you over, time and time again. But - maybe you still found a way to be happy.
7: OTHER.

Originally posted by

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[woe to anyone who gets this jerk]

When Matty's little, before he loses his sight, he reads Wade Wilson on his wrist, and thinks it's weird, because that's a boy name isn't it? But maybe it's a girl name in a foreign country, and anyway, he's just a kid; Dad says he doesn't need to worry about it for a long time anyway.

After he loses his sight, and he can't read it anymore, he remembers Wade, but forgets the rest, because he has more immiediate things to worry about, like learning to navigate the world, and then dealing with his Dad's death, and... He never has time to think about it, is the thing. Never bothers to ask anyone, either. He keeps an ear out for any Wades of course, but it's not exactly a rare name.

Wade had a name too, sharp lines and swooping letters that he used to follow with his finger when he was very small, and it was one of those first things you tried on your tongue when you were learning to read. Letters you practiced in notebooks once a pencil became familiar in your hand.

His is gone now, blurred like tattoo that had been removed, lost under ruined skin and ever healing scars. It's gone from his mind too, taken away with a knife or a bullet or a too-high fall. Sometimes, sometimes it's on the tip of his tongue, or he finds himself tracing a familiar pattern against the table top. His muscles remember where the ones in his head have rotten away.

So the first time he meets Daredevil... or is it the third? Five? He'd fought at his side, or at a distance or they shared a villain on accident-- which is always kinda romantic, like sharing a malt at the ice-cream shop.

But when they meet again, and today the devil is Matt Murdock (because sometimes those things aren't secrets anymore) he knows there's something kinda off, like... if he had a spider-sense, this would be it. But he doesn't, and it's not, and it's keeping his mouth shut for once because his brain is trying too hard to pull up a memory it doesn't have filed.

So he stands in the middle of a lawyer's office and just--

'Off' is one way to put it; Matt recognises Deadpool in the way that you recognise someone you've met... more in passing than anything else. The way he smells (cordite, steel, and blood, mixed with maple and the Mexican from the cart three blocks down), the size and solidity of him, the swords and guns-- And that something else, that he can't put a name too.

"Can I help you?" he asks, idly scratching an itch under one cuff.

Gathering his thoughts is like resetting a cassette tape. It goes in with a push, but sometimes it's upside down, or backwards or the tape is a little too loose and you have to stick your finger in to--

"This isn't She-hulk's office?" he pulls a subway map from somewhere... they fold small and it's heavily creased and at least half a decade old. A business card drops and he moves to pick it up. "That old minx tricked me. I bet you guys are in some sort of secret club."

That makes his lips twitch up a little.

"You got me. It's called the Bar Association," he replies. "There's a secret handshake, and funny clothes and everything."

"I knew it." He snaps, or tries to, except the fabric of his gloves don't quite get the sound out.

Then moves, in the same motion to point at him. "You'll do. But this is totally super hero business, so I hope you packed the right pants." He cocks his head to the side.

"I mean the ones you got on aren't bad, but I wouldn't have gone with the brown shoes."

"These are the black shoes," he says without missing a beat. He knows, because the leather smells different, and the insoles on these are slightly older.

"See, I knew you could see. What a fibber! I mean, I thought Al was putting me on for years, but you've got everyone fooled." He can't quite fold that map back up right.

"The leather smells different. Feels different, too; the black shoes are much comfier."

"Okay sure, that time I was testing you. But next time." He's got his eye on you, Murdock.

Which is still a strange name, like... when was the last time he's watched the A team? It was usually on during Golden Girls so that couldn't be right.

"That's what they all say." The witty banter comes easily - strangely so, actually.

"Okay so you're like the second most bigshotty lawyer in New York city that I can name off the top of my head right.

How much is legal advice now a days? Like free for the first minute and a buck-ninety-nine each additional minute?" He takes up the chair across the room like a patience at a shrink's office.

"Tell me what the problem is," he says. "No charge if I can't help you, and you take less than an hour to tell it."

"Oh man, an hour? I guess I like a challenge." And you know it's going to be bad when he has to take a breath first, like he's gearing up for it.

And it ends up taking fifty-nine minutes exactly to tell, even if Wade rambles or goes off on side stories, it seems to all wrap up flawlessly. The story starts with the Rhino attacking a diner, and somehow the fight had ended up tumbling down town where they ran into the Gorilla, and maybe the Vulture too (even though Wade was sure that guy died of a heart attack months ago). Anyway some kind and concerned citizen had called the zoo to tell them a bunch of animals had escaped, so they'd sent out a truck-- which was still transporting penguins that some neglectful employee hadn't yet unloaded. The truck blew up, (he saved the penguins, don't worry your sweet little face) and with Spider-man's help (where was that slacker?) they finished mopping the streets with Rhino and Gorilla (Vulture got away).

Anyway long story short, his landlord kicked him out for harboring penguins in the backyard pool with out putting down a pet deposit and he was wondering if that was totally legal because he didn't even give him thirty days.

Matt's mouth closes with a click. He hadn't even realised he had it open, but frankly, with a story like that? Well. He shakes his head a little, with a rueful laugh.

"Only in New York City," he says. "Would all of that sound like a perfectly reasonable course of events."

Edited 2016-04-19 15:41 (UTC)

"Also I need to find a place where I can keep penguins, which shouldn't be as hard as it is... I mean Jim Carrey did it." Because he's not going to return them to the zoo, they were the jerks that were neglectful enough to get them (almost) blown up in the first place.

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