Fics like stairs to the streets to the gutters to the sea

Neil Josten is covered in marks. The soulmate one isn't any different. Soulmates are a weakness, his mum tells him, and his is the kind of shit people say when they catch you. You get caught, you die. But privately, deep down, he thinks it makes him stronger. Not the person on the other side, he has no time for that or them. But the words. For a very unlucky runaway who has to constantly reinvent himself to live, BETTER LUCK NEXT TIME running down his achilles is almost encouraging. Andrew Doe tells the coach in juvie that he doesn't give a fuck about exy, it's just a way to pass the time. He wakes up the next morning with a fuck-off huge soulmark on his clavicle, stretching from shoulder-to-shoulder: FUCK YOU! WHOSE RACQUET DID YOU STEAL? It’s the dumbest fucking thing he’s ever seen in his life. He understands physics intimately, the arcs, circles, trajectories, external forces. This is one of many that's acting on him, but it's a shot he intends on blocking. Or: If you're lucky, the first words your soulmate says to you end up somewhere on your body. Andrew Minyard and Neil Josten must be the unluckiest people on the planet, to get stuck in each other's gravity.

Fics like stairs to the streets to the gutters to the sea

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