Mikannie one-shots

Fuck the Universe and Fuck Me Too

It's one of those Soulmate AUs where everyone gets a mark and if the marks match, then they're soulmates.

Also, this is like, the most developed a character I've written on wattpad has ever been.

This has smut in it. Yay

They're relatively recent, started barely a decade ago, and no one is exactly sure where they come from. Some say they're an evolutionary advantage, but they don't encourage sex and many soulmates are same-sex. Some say the government issued them as classification systems or population control. And, because they started in the early 90s... yeah. People are kinda assholes about it.

Most people think it's the work of their God. The whole 'soulmate' thing isn't exactly new. No one actually knows what these marks are. If they're even the mark of a heartmate. Just that most people born after 93 had at least one, shared by someone else, and the owners of those marks were compatible.

The mark comes in on your thirteenth birthday, however you measure it. There's seemingly no way to predict what or where it will be. Annie used to dream of her soulmate. But by the time she was six, she couldn't imagine how anyone could be with her without irritating her.

When she was seven, her mother got a boyfriend, Mark, and suddenly they weren't eating cup'o noodles for dinner every night or limiting showers to only five minutes. Mark read Annie books and taught her long division. He showed her how to hold an axe properly to chop wood with the most force, how to takedown opponents much bigger than her, how to fix up his truck. He pulled her sweaters over her chest to check that her ribs were no longer visible and she was gaining weight properly. Mark hated music. He smashed the radio and cassetes one morning during breakfast. He slapped Annie's mother across the face when she sang or hummed while doing the dishes. And just like that, music ceased. Her mother stopped singing like a canary in the mines. Her underwear started going missing. He changed in front of her. Screamed more and got red in the face. By the time she was nine, her mother looked tired and worn, desaturated. She drank more, hugged Annie more desperately. Annie knocked over a gallon of gasoline one day and Mark ripped a patch of her hair out. Her mother chased him off with a shotgun and she never saw Mark again.

She turned eleven, and Annie spent days without food, slept in the days and woke in the night, raged at the world for her own existence, stopped speaking. And suddenly, when she thought of her heartmate, she stopped thinking: I don't want one and started thinking: they won't want me.

Junior high came along. Boys got bigger, angrier, louder. They took pictures of her ass and grabbed her in the halls. They called her a hook-nose and a fag. They pulled on her ponytail and put their hands up her skirt. She burnt her clothes, cut her hair. Teachers told her to think about her future and she pretended she wanted to be an artist instead of saying: "I don't know. I can't imagine myself as an adult. I heard stripping pays well?"

The upperclassmen boasted and compared their marks, trying to find photos of celebrities who's marks were visible and weren't edited out, as if a middle school boy who wore basketball shorts and grey knee-high socks and soccer cleats, who called other boys 'sissies' and hadn't figured out deodorant yet would be Drew Barrymore's heartmate.

Other girls would talk about crushes, pray that when they got their mark it would match their newest 'one true love'. They would talk about their crush's jawline, his hair, ignore his knobby knees that bruised green and the scent they carried of sweat and Axe body spray. Annie wondered if she was broken. Preferred to think other girls just didn't have standards or personalities. An eighth grade girl, Ria, with a high ponytail and glossy lips who only ever talked about boys and makeup and fashion asked why Annie always sat alone at lunch, if she wanted to join her and her friends, offered to paint her nails. Annie said no.