![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
via http://ift.tt/2mNdQsT:
lightshadowverisimilitude:
elvenavari:
because-im-freaking-greed:
diminuendodaydreams:
let-gavin-free:
princess-tuna:
let-gavin-free:
Soulmate au where when you write something on your skin with pen/marker/whatever the hell you want, it will show up on your soul mates skin as well.
Imagine having a super artistic soulmate who draws flowers and designs and really beautiful patterns all over their arms and person 2 just sits there and watches the little lines appear on their arms and they can’t stop smiling and it’s their favorite part of the day
Imagine person 1 being super forgetful so they scribble down all the places their appointments are and person 2 tries to decipher them and figure out where they’re at and they meet and they see their writing on their hand from across the waiting room/ coffee shop/ etc. and they scramble to find a pen and write ‘found you’ on the back of their hand and person 1 sees it and they lock eyes and
Wow I like this au
YES
imagine person 1 drawing a giant penis on their forehead because they’re an asshole
Also, this works for platonic/poly soul mates so some people can draw a dick on their foreheads and it ruins like four people’s meetings
@lightshadowverisimilitude: Do you have time?
(2300 words, so look for the cut if you’re on mobile)
Handwriting
Tony had been writing on his skin his entire life. Sure, most people wrote on themselves occasionally, just to see if someone would write back. Tony had started doing it mostly to tick Dad off, but he’d found that it was a surprisingly good medium for record-keeping. He taught himself to be abidextrious, because wasting a whole arm’s worth of writing space just because of brain orientation was stupid. He doodled equations on his arms, drew schematics on his legs – he’d designed at least half of Dum-E’s original code right on his own body in bits and pieces – and occasionally just wrote out nonsense.
When he was seven, he’d taken a sharpie to the inside of his left forearm and wrote Are you there?
No one responded, but he traced over it with different colored pens every day for a month until Dad saw it and went off on one of his drunken rambling fits. “As if anyone’s ever gonna respond to you,” he’d muttered.
Tony started asking his questions on his ribcage after that. Once, high on Speed and ready to take on the world, he’d managed to cover himself from chin to toes in ink, a long rambling poem-turned-treatise about why soulmates were an irrational concept. By the time he was thirty, he’d stopped asking questions, but he couldn’t quite give up the habit of writing on himself.
His whole R&D team thought he was nuts the first time he’d stripped off his shirt to find that one line of code he was sure he’d written down the night before, but they eventually got used to him walking around only partially clothed half the time. Most people thought he was nuts, really, for a lot of reasons, but writing on himself just to write?
Don’t you think it’s disrespectful? A prim young socialite had asked him once, batting her big eyelashes at him because she apparently couldn’t turn of the flirt response even when her voice was betraying her body language. What if you met your soulmate tonight and she ended up with all this ink on her in public?
Who says my soulmate would be a she? Tony had responded instead of arguing that, at 39, he was pretty sure there was no soul in the known universe that would meet whatever arbitrary requirements had been set down by the mysterious Higher Powers that would match his soul.
So it took him awhile to notice the handwriting that wasn’t his. It was three weeks after The Invasion and Tony was pulling 18 and 20 hour days separated by bouts of biology-forced unconsciousness, doing what he could to get the city back on its feet. He’d patched the Stark Tower reactor into the power grid to the city a much needed boost, had personally funded dozens of projects to dig out homes and mount rescues, and spent most of the day in the suit, moving wreckage and collecting Chitauri tech.
Either tell me your name or stop writing all these numbers on my skin, read the text in 52-pt block letters down his right leg.
Tony blinked at it. He screwed his eyes closed, gave them a few good rubs, and opened them again. Yup, letters still there, dark and a little sloppy, and they looked. Irritated?
“Jarvis?” Tony asked very calmly. “Have I been behaving like myself lately?”
“You are currently functioning on six hours of sleep, and that is longest rest period you’ve entertained for the past twenty-two days. Your caffeine intake is four times the suggested limit, and you fell asleep in the suit last night. In short, sir, yes. You are behaving quite like yourself.”
“Okay, yeah, so sass aside. Do I have like… an alter ego? Is it possible that I’ve been. I don’t know? Mind controlled? Did I write this on myself?”
He stretched backward so Jarvis had a clear view of his thigh, pointing to the disquieting letters.
“A handwriting analysis would suggest that you did not, sir.”
“Right, so? Does that rule out alter ego or mind control?” Tony asked, doing his best to remain calm, but seriously, someone else in control of his mind and body? Not only was that personally terrifying, but that could have major bad-news ramifications for like. The entire planet.
“It does not specifically rule out a dissociative identity disorder,” Jarvis said, “Nor would it theoretically rule out mind control. However, I have been monitoring your vital signs very closely since The Invasion, and I have not noticed any discrepancies.”
Tony nodded – he knew that, he’d ordered it, even given Jarvis the shutdown overrides for the suit if he fell below a certain threshold of rational behavior, but obviously they’d missed something. “I’m grounded until we figure this out,” Tony decided reluctantly. “Don’t let me leave the tower until we have an answer for this. Let’s start reviewing the data. Pull of video files, pupillary response records, and vitals.”
“Of course, sir,” Jarvis agreed readily. “May I posit another possible answer to this predicament?”
“Shoot,” Tony invited, already scanning over Jarvis’ data, and yeah, wow, blood pressure much?
“Perhaps this is a message from your soulmate, sir.”
Tony scoffed. “How about a reasonable hypothesis that doesn’t have 42 years of data to the contrary.”
“It is widely documented that compatible partners do not start manifesting soul ink until after they have come into physical contact with one another’s skin,” Jarvis reported as if that was something that anyone over the age of seven didn’t know. “You may have encountered your mate in the past twenty-two days.”
“Unlikely since I’ve been in the suit for most of that time, and most of the time I wasn’t in the suit, I was at home. In bed. Alone. So unless you’ve been letting spy ninja assassins into my room to see if they are my ‘compatible partner,’ that’s probably not it.” Tony pulled his brain scans since The Invasion and set them to play through, showing which areas of his brain were active, looking for any abnormalities that the system may have missed.
“There is an easy way to test the hypothesis, sir,” Jarvis continued.
“I’m all ears.”
“You could write back.”
Which was a preposterous suggestion. Tony continued scanning through the gathered data, and didn’t leave the workshop until Pepper chased him out with a sandwich and a pillow.
Keep reading
lightshadowverisimilitude:
elvenavari:
because-im-freaking-greed:
diminuendodaydreams:
let-gavin-free:
princess-tuna:
let-gavin-free:
Soulmate au where when you write something on your skin with pen/marker/whatever the hell you want, it will show up on your soul mates skin as well.
Imagine having a super artistic soulmate who draws flowers and designs and really beautiful patterns all over their arms and person 2 just sits there and watches the little lines appear on their arms and they can’t stop smiling and it’s their favorite part of the day
Imagine person 1 being super forgetful so they scribble down all the places their appointments are and person 2 tries to decipher them and figure out where they’re at and they meet and they see their writing on their hand from across the waiting room/ coffee shop/ etc. and they scramble to find a pen and write ‘found you’ on the back of their hand and person 1 sees it and they lock eyes and
Wow I like this au
YES
imagine person 1 drawing a giant penis on their forehead because they’re an asshole
Also, this works for platonic/poly soul mates so some people can draw a dick on their foreheads and it ruins like four people’s meetings
@lightshadowverisimilitude: Do you have time?
(2300 words, so look for the cut if you’re on mobile)
Handwriting
Tony had been writing on his skin his entire life. Sure, most people wrote on themselves occasionally, just to see if someone would write back. Tony had started doing it mostly to tick Dad off, but he’d found that it was a surprisingly good medium for record-keeping. He taught himself to be abidextrious, because wasting a whole arm’s worth of writing space just because of brain orientation was stupid. He doodled equations on his arms, drew schematics on his legs – he’d designed at least half of Dum-E’s original code right on his own body in bits and pieces – and occasionally just wrote out nonsense.
When he was seven, he’d taken a sharpie to the inside of his left forearm and wrote Are you there?
No one responded, but he traced over it with different colored pens every day for a month until Dad saw it and went off on one of his drunken rambling fits. “As if anyone’s ever gonna respond to you,” he’d muttered.
Tony started asking his questions on his ribcage after that. Once, high on Speed and ready to take on the world, he’d managed to cover himself from chin to toes in ink, a long rambling poem-turned-treatise about why soulmates were an irrational concept. By the time he was thirty, he’d stopped asking questions, but he couldn’t quite give up the habit of writing on himself.
His whole R&D team thought he was nuts the first time he’d stripped off his shirt to find that one line of code he was sure he’d written down the night before, but they eventually got used to him walking around only partially clothed half the time. Most people thought he was nuts, really, for a lot of reasons, but writing on himself just to write?
Don’t you think it’s disrespectful? A prim young socialite had asked him once, batting her big eyelashes at him because she apparently couldn’t turn of the flirt response even when her voice was betraying her body language. What if you met your soulmate tonight and she ended up with all this ink on her in public?
Who says my soulmate would be a she? Tony had responded instead of arguing that, at 39, he was pretty sure there was no soul in the known universe that would meet whatever arbitrary requirements had been set down by the mysterious Higher Powers that would match his soul.
So it took him awhile to notice the handwriting that wasn’t his. It was three weeks after The Invasion and Tony was pulling 18 and 20 hour days separated by bouts of biology-forced unconsciousness, doing what he could to get the city back on its feet. He’d patched the Stark Tower reactor into the power grid to the city a much needed boost, had personally funded dozens of projects to dig out homes and mount rescues, and spent most of the day in the suit, moving wreckage and collecting Chitauri tech.
Either tell me your name or stop writing all these numbers on my skin, read the text in 52-pt block letters down his right leg.
Tony blinked at it. He screwed his eyes closed, gave them a few good rubs, and opened them again. Yup, letters still there, dark and a little sloppy, and they looked. Irritated?
“Jarvis?” Tony asked very calmly. “Have I been behaving like myself lately?”
“You are currently functioning on six hours of sleep, and that is longest rest period you’ve entertained for the past twenty-two days. Your caffeine intake is four times the suggested limit, and you fell asleep in the suit last night. In short, sir, yes. You are behaving quite like yourself.”
“Okay, yeah, so sass aside. Do I have like… an alter ego? Is it possible that I’ve been. I don’t know? Mind controlled? Did I write this on myself?”
He stretched backward so Jarvis had a clear view of his thigh, pointing to the disquieting letters.
“A handwriting analysis would suggest that you did not, sir.”
“Right, so? Does that rule out alter ego or mind control?” Tony asked, doing his best to remain calm, but seriously, someone else in control of his mind and body? Not only was that personally terrifying, but that could have major bad-news ramifications for like. The entire planet.
“It does not specifically rule out a dissociative identity disorder,” Jarvis said, “Nor would it theoretically rule out mind control. However, I have been monitoring your vital signs very closely since The Invasion, and I have not noticed any discrepancies.”
Tony nodded – he knew that, he’d ordered it, even given Jarvis the shutdown overrides for the suit if he fell below a certain threshold of rational behavior, but obviously they’d missed something. “I’m grounded until we figure this out,” Tony decided reluctantly. “Don’t let me leave the tower until we have an answer for this. Let’s start reviewing the data. Pull of video files, pupillary response records, and vitals.”
“Of course, sir,” Jarvis agreed readily. “May I posit another possible answer to this predicament?”
“Shoot,” Tony invited, already scanning over Jarvis’ data, and yeah, wow, blood pressure much?
“Perhaps this is a message from your soulmate, sir.”
Tony scoffed. “How about a reasonable hypothesis that doesn’t have 42 years of data to the contrary.”
“It is widely documented that compatible partners do not start manifesting soul ink until after they have come into physical contact with one another’s skin,” Jarvis reported as if that was something that anyone over the age of seven didn’t know. “You may have encountered your mate in the past twenty-two days.”
“Unlikely since I’ve been in the suit for most of that time, and most of the time I wasn’t in the suit, I was at home. In bed. Alone. So unless you’ve been letting spy ninja assassins into my room to see if they are my ‘compatible partner,’ that’s probably not it.” Tony pulled his brain scans since The Invasion and set them to play through, showing which areas of his brain were active, looking for any abnormalities that the system may have missed.
“There is an easy way to test the hypothesis, sir,” Jarvis continued.
“I’m all ears.”
“You could write back.”
Which was a preposterous suggestion. Tony continued scanning through the gathered data, and didn’t leave the workshop until Pepper chased him out with a sandwich and a pillow.
Keep reading
