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helpinghanikan · 5 years

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Soulmates

Avengers (and Matt Murdock) x Reader

Sum: Different Soulmate AUs for your reading pleasure.

Steve Rogers: Name on wrist

It was just another meeting with the lawyers on Fury’s personal retainer. Four men and women around a table, mountains of paperwork and nothing but droning voices. Making sure that he knew his rights, what people may try to trick him with and that he was a massive entitlement from the government.

His chair squeaks the farther he leans backwards. Your hands clasp together under the chin, sleeve sliding past the wrist in an enticing manner. Top section of dark gray lettering revealing itself over the dark shirt sleeve.

Seeing your name on the retainer list was like a shot of caffeine. It was the same spelling, holding his wrist against the small printed name just to make sure. He hadn’t looked at that name since he was woken from ice, assuming who ever he was meant to be with was either dead or close to it.

He had the chance to check but lost it when all the lawyers nodded instead of shaking hands. For the third time that meeting yours eyes locked for a brief second before looking back down to your papers. By the fourth he was already looking your way and held it.

Something about insurance, something about past personal affairs.

From a clasped hands one slides down your marked arm. Cloth gently pulled downwards, showing more and more of skin until the black not-ink was shown raw. You pretend not to notice Steve staring, pretend to be the good lawyer listening to her colleague.

Steven Grant Rogers

His chair squeaks while turning. Your spot at the edge of the table allowed for the show. A sigh and he slides down in the chair, it was hot in the room, perfectly understandable that his sleeves be rolled up. Arm returning, palm up, to over his thigh. Same font, same spot was your first, middle and last name.

Although there was no difference in volume, and impression from the other lawyers, the entire air turned cold. Clasped hands to your face, staring to the lawyers hoping they’d get your mental message of “hurry up and get out”.

It’d be almost twenty minutes before they got the hint.

Tony Stark: Worlds become color

He started playing the game in high school.

“Everyone line up, lets see if any of you get to be Mister or Misses billionaire.”

For maybe an hour he’d shake hands with every guest willing. An old tradition royalty and nobles did back during the time of swords and mead. The rich still tended to do this, either their child finds their soulmate and they go from there. Or their children became so tired of the years of searching and would give up. Willing themselves to marry within their station.

It was like a game show for his guests, everyone scrambling for an invite just for the slim chance they see color.

You were among the regular waitstaff for the Stark parties. A first out of college job while you worked your dreams as an artist. Rich people and their attitudes were always inspiration for your newest piece.

It was an obvious order that Tony Stark’s hand cannot ever be empty. Black vest and white long sleeves made the staff practically invisible. Anyone near Tony was always ready to replace his empty crystal with a full one. It was four parties into your career with the Starks before you were up next to exchange the glass.

He didn’t look over when you gently took the empty glass from the top rim. Carefully placing the full glass back into his grip, your fingers touch and the glass shatters.

He’s brown hair and dark eyes made caramel in the sunlight. His sunglass, ruby red and silver framed, came off in a flash. The shattering of the glass grabbed everyone’s attention, but without Tony yelling (like other guests have in the past) no one made a move to see if anything could be done.

People talk about meeting their mate and seeing the world’s colors. They talk about who the beauty of the world knocked the wind out of them. They never mentioned how you be left with no idea how to proceed.

“Hi,” You whispered, starting with an introduction.

His arm is around your back, pulling your hard into his center, the other held the back of your neck. Hug was tight, his face presses into the side of your neck like a closed mouth his.

Thor: Red string

Confusion was a word too simple to explain your childhood life. All the pictures, all the story books and movies with the little red ribbons always led outwards. A direction into the world you were destined to follow. Yours didn’t do that, yours went straight upwards.

“That’s stupid,” you friend said when you explained your ribbon. She didn’t believe you, no one you ever told believed you.

Throughout your life different theories came and went; that your mate was an angel, an alien or maybe they were just dead. By middle school you knew what you had to do; you had to become an astronaut. Red line was going straight up and that’s where you had to go.

First time it pointed towards somewhere on earth was a major shock. It wasn’t uncommon for people to take a pilgrimage following their ribbon sometime after high school. You honestly had a plan forming to try and find your fallen angel, but the ribbon shot skyward one morning without warning. It was so sudden that your drink spills all over your clothes.

You never did become an astronaut liked you had dreamed. Not that you ever needed to, one look on the TV and you saw the red ribbon around the wall of the man with the hammer. Hands to your cheeks, how would you ever get to him?

Bucky Barnes: Injuries

The moment you find your soulmate you’re gonna kick their ass.

Walking to lunch your shoulder explodes in blood and bone across the tile. Shock keeps you from the pain but screams of your classmates would ring in your ears for years to come. Sirens, an ambulance ride and your resting in the hospital.

It was like this since you were a new born. A massive injury would appear, and you’d be rushed to the hospital, then there’d be complete radio silence from your soulmate for up to years at a time. It happened several times throughout your life: blasted shoulder, a cut running from your hip to the knee, busted jaw and internal injuries that had you coughing blood. All of these were followed hours later by a headache that had you screaming.

Bucky stared at you in horror as you tell the stories. Laughing at your story that was absolute terror at one point in your life and was now a funny story.

Natasha Romanoff: Markings you make they get

It took some time before your mate wrote back. Years of small messages on forearms and little hearts over the collar bone all to get nothing back. The day your bestie ran up to you with a message of “Hi” in messy ink you almost cried.

One morning, your senior year, there was a smiley face. Right corner of your mouth; two little lines, a dot and a curved line. The ink was thick, like from wet eyeliner, smearing when you touched it. Immediately a picture was taken. With your blue mascara you drew the smallest butterfly on your non-dominate wrist. It would be hours before they drew another, smallest little smiley on your shoulder.

That was how your relationship for a majority of your life. They never responded with words to your questions you wrote out. Only little smileys and hearts on your body. Their way of saying; I’m still here, my Love, I’m still alive.

It continued into your adult life, into your work with SHIELD as a lawyer and into that meeting with select Avengers. Steve Rogers, Vision and Natasha Romanoff, the unofficial representatives of the Avengers to the public world. You sat off to the side, little baby lawyer ready to be asked any question but only acknowledged at the beginning.

Blue pen presses into your palm. Drawing a large heart and adding the little circles within it’s lines. Glancing up every now and then, making sure no one has suddenly decided you’re worth looking to.

The swirls venture past your palm and onto your hand. Around the thumb, under the fingers and down to the wrist. You’re a grown adult with a college degree and your doodling on your hand. Realizing this you turn back tot eh table. Straightening up in time to see Miss. Romanoff looking right at you. You look away after making eye contact, only looking back to see her pen working below her thumb nail.

Two little dots and a curved line appeared on your thumb.

Bruce Banner: First thing said

“Hello, anybody here?” you spoke years before the big guy, when he was just a regular scientist, working to add to his collection of PHDs.

“Yeah, over here.” With no pain black ink sketched over both your wrists.

The interaction was small; you, a professor’s assistant popping in to grab a forgotten file. He, one of said professor’s students preferring the lab over whatever fun his fellow classmates were doing.

“I just need…these.” You said grabbing the file off the nearby table and went on your way. “Oh, okay, goodnight.”

That was the extent of your interaction. You didn’t even say goodnight before disappearing into the hallway. It took a few hours before Bruce noticed his arm, for you it’d be the next morning.

Yeah, over here. Who the fuck said that to you? You greet and talk to so many people at your job, who the hell said yeah, over here to you?

Bruce wasn’t doing any better, there were several people that came into the lab. All asking around the same type of question if the lab was empty or not. Both of you spending the rest of the week trying to remember.

It wasn’t until a case of déjà vu that both of you genius dumbasses realized.

“Hello, anybody in here?”

“Yeah, over here.”

The few second silence was the human equivalent of the dial-up noise.

T’challa: Same heart beat

Yours knees were bruised, hitting the tile floor before the rest of your body. Elbows were next, and then your face followed. Wavering before finishing sideways on the company kitchen floor.

Most get used to these heart problems early on in life. When your Mate decides to run and jump and play while you have to go to bed, when you visit a haunted house and your mate is probably suffering at every turned corner. It was amazing that yours was still alive, since the start of your adult life, your heart has randomly skyrocketed so many times you had gotten used to it.

Slowly down, though. Lowering until you were on your knees, that was something new. Hand to your heart your eyes roll back, hitting the ground.

It was over a day before you woke up. Heart rate began racing again, Nurse looking between you and the monitor, hand on your wrist and asking; “What does your mate do?”

“Piss me off."

Pietro: Whatever they taste

It’s two-forty-six in the morning, and you taste seafood.

Your soulmate must weigh at least three hundred pounds at the rate in which he is eating. From hearty meats to thick pastas in the early morning, late night soups and midday sweets. Mostly candy and ice cream a few times when you’re trying to focus.

Taking a test and strawberry candy is in the back of your throat. Middle of the work day and you’re drooling over some perfect, medium rare steak.

You almost felt bad that all they were getting in return were Ramen noodles and microwave popcorn.

Peter Parker: last thing said.

“I’ll finish it tonight.”

Something said hundreds of times a day in a high school. Students promising teachers and kids promising parents. Because of this Peter had spent years staying on his toes. Aunt May made it her duty to try and calm her nephew, telling him that “It was okay, that’s long long off.” With his aunt’s kind words, he’s never worried about the writing on his wrist.

“See you tomorrow.” You had said, project in your arms.

It would be later that night Peter looked at his wrist. I’ll finish it tonight, he scrubs at it out of habit. Maybe the dark not-ink would scrub away, thus making his soulmate immortal.

Aunt May sits forward on the couch when he comes out. Hands over mouth, she doesn’t respond to “what’s wrong?” Peter taking a seta next to her, quiet as the feed plays through the small apartment.

A missed placed screw in a cars engines and the brakes still work, for a time. They give out during that brief dream like moment when traffic is moving. Panic and the driver can’t stop, panic and she veers to avoid pedestrians, head first into a sidewalk where citizens and shoppers had a few second window to run.

Casualties were in the single digits, they’d grow as the night continued. With the driver clutching his head and sobbing the news caster could only say the cause was still under investigation.

A memorial was already in the works at Midtown in your honor.

Stephen Strange: Mark where they touch you first

Shifting colors from pink, to purple, to blue and into red play underneath your skin and stitches. The surgery wasn’t long, just a small one to remove a screw driver after a serious fall. It was enough that you had to be put under. Waking up hours later with a new glowing side.

For years you’ve been convinced you’d never have soul-mate. No charcoal black spot on your skin anywhere. Friends with black wrist and dark knuckles, one boy had a perfect handprint plain on his cheek. You’d later find out he was to be slapped by the mother of his three children. You’d lie and tell the world that your mark was “somewhere private”. This only suggested that yours was going to be an unsavory character.

The colors were faded under your skin. A sunset waiting to escape from the confines of meat and stitches. You had noticed them after waking from the surgery.

“Who did the surgery?” You had asked the nurse when she popped her head in.

“I don’t- I’ll find out.” He said quickly leaving the person holding their gown chest high.

Only one of the surgeons had come out from the operating room with different colors. He was tall, all leg and arm with the right fingers and dark hair. Even back then he had a swagger confidence, one that had you second guessing the choices of whatever paired off soulmates.

Matt Murdock: Danger meter

One inch below your dominate hand was an eight, written like a scar over the thickest vein. It shifted and changed throughout your life, starting at a one on the day of your birth and growing through the years.

Never in your life would you think that number belonged to Matt. The blind man who is constantly bumping into things and hurting himself on air. Not many bothered in trying to find their mates, it was honestly almost impossible to tell. You were among those people, choosing your blind boy needing protection over those that fit the number.

Your arm would be intertwined with his whenever out. Other hand at the constant ready to move or warn Matt about the dangers of the world. You had only ever glanced at Matt’s wrist once, a deep three on his pulse point. This was the average number for an unarmed adult with one or two self-defense classes. All this told you was that it’d be a real fight if his soul-mate ever showed up.

You don’t see the smirk Matt always had when you take his arm. You sleep too deep to hear the shifting bed and any injury is excused, his smirk coming back as you lecture about he being more careful. You’re only mildly aware of his thumb during the quiet moments. His thumb sliding over the pulse point, slight pressure on the thickest vein, little figure eights over an number you don’t care about.

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Carol Danvers

Airforce captain Carol Danvers, going under the Alias Captain Marvel was a turning point in… The article only told her name once. The rest referring to both her, and the entire assault party, by their alias names.

Not that she was really brought up again. Just like almost every cover of the battle it was almost entirely dedicated to Tony Stark.

You really should be mourning with the rest of the world. Instead your dead looking eyes were switching through the internet. Looking for anything small or large about Captain Marvel. Most of what you found were of military photos, which would mean your destined woman was not only a beauty but a fighter. And the rest were straight up balls of light streaking the sky in the nineties and only a few recently, although no less colorful and powerful. Which could mean your enemy was an incredibly powerful force.

It might be best to just try and not find out which she was.

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Shang-Chi

In terms of the meter a one means your mate is perfectly safe, cozy, and comfy. While a ten means your mate has a bullet flying right at them. It’s hard to remember the last time your meter was below a three.

This was the number equivalent of being near a large and aggressive dog. In elementary school you didn’t understand what exactly this meant. Only that teachers, parents and adults were always double checking your wrist. Asking how old you were and then letting you go with a sigh. Changing the subject to something more fun.

Eventually you had to learn what the meter meant. Especially in middle school when the meter randomly shot up to eight and stayed there for several months.

Stress and heartache for someone you had never met brought with it dropping grades and very late nights. It also brought with it a new personal and family rule of bracelets and long sleeves. As the only thing that could be done was to have the “out of sight, out of mind” approach.

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wolfenwingsshop · 6 years

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Sooo, I posted this on Twitter but, here we go, double-posting back here too.

So, I'm going to challenge myself this week. I suuuuck at drawing X. It's not that he's hard to draw! No. He's quite simple. It's me. The problem is me. It's always been me. I start to doodle and then once it becomes obvious it's X, I choke. I never finish. T_T

I blame most of this on my upbringing, because I was a fat kid (and now fat adult) I was taught I do not deserve to exist. I firmly believed for a very long time (and still do,) that I am more beneficial to people dead than alive. Why does this mean anything about X? This: I still have a horribly huge crush on that damned blue robot, & because of being told MY ENTIRE LIFE because I am a fatass I shouldn't even think about being involved romantically with ANYTHING. well. There y'go. There's also that my family found out eventually and teased me.

Like, my little sister, love her, but she's skinny as hell and retired professional cosplayer- she'd ether be in my corner or attacking me with our 'friends' growing up. My mom just rolls her eyes if I start gushing about X. (Yet she has gotten into BTS, the K-Pop group, and I am supportive.)

There's also the fact that I got pretty publicly attacked on Tumblr fairly early on because I noticed during the MVCI development, yeah. They fixed Chun Li's face? They also gave X an OBVIOUS pubic bulge and my X fangirl ass ate it up. So, I'm used to being shamed for this.

So... my husband totally ships humans/humanoids with furries. I ship humans/humanoids with anything that isn't the same species, robots, reploids, seamonsters, idgaf it's an awesome trope. (Hello Avatar and The Shape of Water, freakin’ A I still haven’t seen The Shape of Water but GODDAMNIT I WILL ASAP) Because of this we both ship the idea of a certain blue reploid with my OC. Yknow, my icon right there. It's an old-as-hell art I did eooons ago (20+ years) when I was roleplaying, managed to hook up with the X in said RP, things happened and my OC got pregnant. The X in that RP was the adopted brother of my dear friend, NovaStrike. Nova and her wife currently live with me, we drove down to NC to save them from being kicked out by Nova’s abusive as fuck parents at the start of the new year.

Anyhow, back then, Nova found out X and my OC had hooked up in that way and was IMMEDIATELY screaming ROLL FOR PREGNANCY!!!! long story short, the dice favored X being a dad. Annnd his RPer was totally ok with it. That's where my icon comes from. They had a little wolf-eared girl with brown hair and green eyes that we named Kasumi, as I was a big DOA fan, as well, and thought it was a cute name.

I bring this up cause even now, there is no mention of X anywhere on the original image. It's on my DA, but I don't even think I mentioned that there either. It's just my poor OC, beside herself that she got knocked up.. lol, also part of the wtf is how does that happen, but yah. I think back then we just figured "SCIENCE!!" and left it at that. Anyhow... I need to stop being so scared. I'm going to try to not be and get used to doodle my boy and not choke. -_- this is gonna be beyond hard.... but there's also the continuation of my memories of WAS, too.

Those stories... my memories.. I refuse to let those die. That stupid RP club stopped me from committing suicide. If I didn't have a literal X hovering over me during some pretty emotional times in my life, I probably wouldn't be here. So, since X has saved my life in more ways than one, I will try, damnit. I will do my best. For today, a sketch of the next WAS memory comic. Our X had an apple tree and greenhouse. His special spot, and only people REALLY FREAKING IMPORTANT got to go there with him. Our Dr. Cain, Zero.. our Roll.. people like that.

Then I got attacked by another member- he literally tried to rape my character, cause I didn't want to date him. I got a few friends to come in and make him stop, but they told our X, despite my begging them not to. So here was 16 year old me, whom already, in case nobody was aware, I am an incest survivor, so I already had bad experiences in being taken advantage of.. this is a character I have a huge crush on and he found our someone else on the team tried to rape me????? Omfg. Now, I had to go to that tree. I was playing a cat-and-mouse game avoiding our X for a day before he finally cornered me and made me come to the tree with him to talk about what had happened.

I wanted to die, y'all. This started a nearly 2-week long stint. Once our X found out that? I had to deal with him checking in with me DAILY for nearly 2 weeks. It got to the point where I went to school teachers to ask for advise on what to talk about with "X", no joke. I didn't know anything about the person role-playing as X, and when they were on, they were strictly IC as X. There was no talking to his player... I was talking to the character, about some pretty heavy stuff, weather I liked it or not. There was even one convo I remember.. Our X had found out my schedule pretty fast- and was in the habit of IMing me (this was on AOL back in like, 96, 97) as soon as I got online after school. He would often ask what I had for my after school snack. I responded once, eh, cheese filled ravioli.. something. "X" again, completely and utterly IC, responds with "That's sounds good! Just a sub tank for me today, I'm afraid..." Again, I never spoke to his player. His player stayed IC no matter what. This of course made me go "#^@%#%##!!!!!!" mentally but I digress..

I think the biggest lesson "X" taught me during all of that, was it's ok to ask for help. I'm not going to be able to handle everything on my own, and the biggest one, during that especially, was it's NOT ok for people to take advantage of me. You take into consideration I was only 16-17 at that time, and in an abusive household and living with my abusers, and having my childhood hero telling me this? This is why he's so freaking important to me. This challenge will be hard, but I will see it through. I owe him that much, in the very least.

#megamanx #my art #WAS #RolePlay #art challenge

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