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The only thing Tommy can think, staring down at the writing splayed across his arm, is fuck.
Because this is the thing Tommy has waited for his entire life, that his parents had gushed about since he was little, listening to everyone else talk about how amazing and lovely people bound to your heart was. And - usually, most of the time, soulmates are romantic; it's uncommon, yet possible. soulmates can be platonic. You can find out once you know who the person is, but it can also be figured out by just the color of words on your skin.
The way that soulmates work is that, when you are first born, your heart is randomly linked to a stranger somewhere across the world. Now - it could be platonic or romantic, and it's usually found out from the color of the writing on you. The way you get writing on you, is when your soulmate thinks of a word to describe you, the word pops up somewhere on your body. Like, for example, someone could call Tommy annoying and it would pop up on his forearm.
They don't stay for very long - if the soulmate thinks of a new word, it’ll just add to their skin alongside it, but it’ll fade after a few minutes.
He's spent his life growing up around his friends, who would always talk about how I got a word on me! and When I called my friend cool, it showed up on them! Tommy never got anything. He grew up - now, to fifteen, and never got anything.
Staring down at the Child, bold, in navy blue letters, Tommy tries to not to absolutely fucking panic. Because - an EarthSMP stream just ended, and Wilbur Soot, Tommy kids you not, just fucking called him a child.
It's there, Tommy knows. He skids a gentle, shaky thumb across the script. Wilbur’s my soulmate. Wilbur is bound to me, by his fucking heart. He's my platonic soulmate. Oh, bollocks.
While he's happy, because it's Wilbur; he needs to rethink. Wilbur Soot, one of his favorite youtubers and idols, idols, is his soulmate. Bound to him by fantastical law, by the universe. He's stuck with him, forever.
And that sticks to him - like a glove, fit over his fingers, keeping him trapped inside some sort of contraption that leaves Tommy clawing to get out. As much as he adores the man, he - he can't help but dread what could happen in the future if he ever finds out he's tied to a kid. An - an annoying kid that was bullied in primary school and sat alone at lunch.
That sticks. Tommy doesn't stick.
—
Weeks go by - the EarthSMP is getting big, and Tommy has to deal with poison, the festering in the pit of his stomach.
He spends a lot of time sitting flat on his back in his bed, staring up at his. His LED’s flash at him, pink to yellow to green.
Why Wilbur? Tommy thinks. He hasn't even known the guy for very long - not on a personal level. And while he would like to get close to him, because they're beginning to build a friendship, he doesn't understand how that would warrant them to become soulmates.
He's pretty sure the man doesn't even really like soulmates, per what he had said; I don't really - I don't really like soulmates, y’know bro? It's just, ah, I don't know how to say it. My parents never liked them. It's too, like, fairytale-ish, yeah? Not my thing. I don't want the fuckin’ stars deciding who have to hang around for the rest of my life.
And Tommy looks away.
—
The next fucking shock of the century is when Irritating pops up on his thigh. He's happy it's at least out of the view of his camera lens - because fuck.
“You are so irritating,” Techno sighs. “do you- what do you even get from coming to my base and trying to steal stuff. You - you don't ever succeed, I am not exactly sure why you're doing this.”
Tommy jolts, and - Fucker, comes to mind - but he can't say it. Because the word magic shit goes both ways, and if he says fucker out loud, it'll pop up on the other man. He can think it, and it'll still show up on the man, but Techno will just have to deal with being utterly confused on why he's being cussed out. Fuck. Shit. Balls. Technoblade is my other soulmate. “ I- listen. Listen, Blade, I need your gapples.”
“What do you mean?” The brunette laughs, slightly surprised, “You're - you have a gapple in your hand- what do you mean you need mine?”
His heart is racing. He needs to end the stream - before his chat figures something’s up. “I- you know what, Mr. Blade? Your negativity is making me want to end my stream.”
He can envision the way the man’s going to blink in surprise at the abrupt ending. “Wha- Tommy?”
“Bye!” Breathy, scared; he clicks end stream, leave call - and, horrified - his eyes water. It's only been a few weeks since he found out about Wilbur, the shock of Techno is a bit too much for him to handle.
Of all people. Technoblade. The Technoblade. They've known each other for a few months, and they're soulmates. Tommy is screwed. He brings a trembling hand to his mouth, and clamps it over his lips - his eyes wide, afraid. He's royally screwed.
Fucked. Forever fucked. He has to live with the knowledge his soulmates are-
Tommy shuts off his brain. He's not going to think about it.
—
“You're such a chaotic little shit,” Phil murmurs, a grin pulling at his lips. “My tower - why not go for Techno’s tower, Tommy?”
Tommy, Tommy’s - the Chaotic and Little and Shit individually popping up all of his calf would be a bit comical if he wasn't trying to figure out how to make his lungs function properly again. The letters pop up one by one, and he's mesmerized as the blue darkens after a few seconds, settling within his flesh. Physical proof of Tommy’s tie to- to Philza Minecraft. “I- I've already gone to Techno’s, old man. And I die-”
“You die every time,” Phil's rolls his eyes, ignoring the old man not so subtly slipped in, “Tech kills you, this is old news, kiddo.”
Kiddo across his ankle. Tommy can't breathe. “Yeah. But Techno can catch these hands any day, Phil.”
“Sure he can.” The older blond rolls his shoulders, shifting in his chair, “E for everyone?”
“E for everyone,” Tommy crows, breathless. “mugger by day, murderer by night.”
Phil cackles - but Tommy isn't laughing.
—
“Mom?”
His mother looks at him, smiling. “Yes?”
“How did you know Dad was your soulmate?”
She looks at Tommy’s arm, at the soft pastel blue Sweet engraving, then back at him. She sighs, pitying, “Oh, love.” She runs a hand through his hair, and Tommy leans into the hold. “I called him something and it appeared - and the rest was history. Nothing too interesting, yeah?”
His mother's being benign, and cups his cheek. “I take it you know who?”
“Wilbur,” Tommy whispers. “my- my friends, yeah? Online. Techno and Phil. The streamers. They call me things on stream and they show up on me.” He glances at the Sweet, planted there by Wilbur himself, and tries not to let his eyes water. “I don't know what the hell I’m supposed to do.”
“Oh, darling,” she sits him down on the couch, kneeling next to him, frowning softly. “you should tell them. I’m sure they'd understand.”
“It doesn't work that way,” he says, gentle, broken. “they won't want me. I’m not - I’m not one of them. I haven't known them for too long, and they've known each other for at least a year. I’m a kid they met two months ago. Some teenager. Why would they want me?”
“I don't know why they wouldn't want you,” a hand on his shoulder. “you're you. They don't deserve you if they can't accept you the way you are.”
He sniffles, and looks at his hands, at the Sweet. “I don't want to lose them. I reckon-” he stops, he breathes. “I reckon I will if I tell them. Wilbur’s already said he's not in favor of soulmates.”
“I say tell them,” his mom advises, kind. “but- it's your life. They’re your soulmates. Don't force yourself, and hey! Maybe they'll come to you.”
And maybe they will. Maybe they'll meet up and call Tommy a name and they'll see the imprint. They'll see it. And they could hate him, they could not want him.
That could be what Tommy is.
Unwanted. Suppose.
Unlovable. Possibly.
Obnoxious. Truth.
“Maybe.” Tommy says, noncommittal. “Maybe.”
—
He stares at himself, in the reflection. “Tom, what if they really like you?”
But they won't.
“But they could,” he tries. “I could be loved. Like- like the Minecraft end poem. I could be love, because I am loved.”
But you're not.
“But I could.” he insists, desperate. “I need this. I need them.”
But they don't need you.
He slumps. Eyes dim. “Maybe not. Except I’ll do what it takes.”
The mirror fogs.
—
He's next to Wilbur Soot in Brighton, in a long sleeve turtleneck beneath his iconic red shirt. He prays nothing pops up on his hands or head. Turning to the man, who watches all their friends mingle from afar, “Do you believe in soulmates?”
Wilbur’s head tilts. His brow furrows. “I believe you've asked me this before, have you not? My parents are soulmates, but they're not really- y’know. In love. They're just together because the universe told them to be.”
That makes a lot of sense, especially because of the opinion that pertains to the brunette, “So, because of that, you don't like them?”
“It's just like I told you before, man.” Wilbur turns to him, and their eyes lock. He feels like a glass pane. “Soulmates are - well. Soulmates. Just because the “ universe told you so” doesn't mean you have to listen to it.”
Just because the universe made someone my soulmate doesn't mean I think the same. Thanks, Wil. Appreciate it. “Oh.”
Wilbur looks at him a little closer, and, while his face is blank, expressionless, his pupils expand, his lips twitch. He looks like he's reading Tommy like a paper full of code. As if he can unzip him from behind and pull out all his parts and pieces like a fucking robot. “Why? You- do you- what do you think of them?”
“Soulmates,” Tommy wonders, and Wilbur nods. “they-” and he thinks of the words currently under his shift sleeve, the one engraved up the length of his spine. He can't even see the word - but whatever the hell this magic shit is - he just knows what it says. Ineffable , from his nape, to the small of his back. Selcouth, on the vein running up his arm. “I- well. I think-” he can't explain it. “I want one. Or multiple. It's hard to- to spell it out. I don't think that having one - or believing in having one - is too childish.”
Wilbur analyzes his face. As the other words begin to fade, Orphic begins to spell out on the bottom of his foot. “I see.” Wilbur murmurs, almost to himself more than Tommy. “I get it now.”
And when the rest of the group returns to them - every once in a while, Wilbur’s eyes would flick back to Tommy. As if he knows something. As if he understands.
—
Throughout the months, throughout the occasional Chat points out I have a word peeking out from under my sleeve - and those moments are the most stressful, anxiety-inducing times ever, because chat could clip it or screencap it and they'll figure out that his soulmates are-
One time, during a chill stream with Phil, he had called him a gremlin- and thank God his camera was off, because the word ended up slapping itself right in the middle of his forehead. Close calls like that are- horrible, first of all, and he has to cover himself up on stream just so the three of them don't find out.
And, while, he has small suspicions Wilbur knows, he can't exactly trust himself to make that call. Because, if he confronts him, he could completely out himself and boom, friendship over. Brotherhood over. He has to be careful of what he even thinks about Wilbur, because if Brother ends up popping up on his or Techno’s body, he's utterly, forever fucked. And - he definitely just did it. It's guaranteed Wilbur’s gotten Brother before, and- while Tommy hasn't gotten the name besides during mod recordings with the bit - he can't help feeling a bit bitter - he has a feeling it'll hit one of these days.
Throughout the times, up until June, Tommy gets various different nicknames- some, a bit strange, are from pure lore. Lovely, fat, across his finger; Wilbur. Theseus, on his collarbone; Techno. Son, on the bridge of his nose; Phil. When they meet up in April, with KSI, Tommy struggles to hide a Polite in the palm of his hand from Wil. In Wilbur's early-in-the-morning slash late-in-the-night stream back in February, he gets a Love on his neck. During the Monopoly stream, a Brother gets tossed sideways onto his ribcage, moving up from his hips. He couldn't find out if it was from Techno or Wilbur. Endearing goes underneath his kneecap at Alton Towers - he prays Phil and Wilbur didn't notice it when walking behind him - and he only saw it when he went to the bathroom just to check for words.
But. During the Water Course vlog in June, Wilbur - Wil-
George had gone to change out of his suit, and Wilbur and Tommy had already pulled themselves into warm clothes. He had to borrow a jumper of Wilbur’s- because his own, initially dry, garments had gotten somehow wet despite not even swimming in them.
Tommy had been leaning in his seat, eyes closed, and he could feel Wil’s eyes against him; he was choosing to promptly ignore him. “Tommy.”
He hums. “ Tommy.” More forceful, pushing.
A quiet. Then- “Darling.”
Tommy ignores him, head empty, for a few seconds- and the words settle in. Literally. He sits straight up in his seat, and turns to Wilbur, sky eyes wide as plates. His heart pounds, flying in his ears, and he's sweating absolute fucking bullets. Wilbur, on the other, seems unperturbed. He looks almost mesmerized, his eyes soft yet hard as he watches Tommy panic.
He knows, Tommy thinks, stupidly, horribly, he knows. He knew. I knew he knew. And yet he didn't act on it, because he chose the idea that it would've been better to ignore than act on.
Wilbur’s hand comes up, hastily, and cups Tommy’s cheek. Air won't enter his chest, and he feels like a fish out of water. “Where is it?”
He blinks, wets his lips. Silent, he reaches his hand up, and a few fingers tug on his sweater, the collar pulling down below his clavicle. Darling rests there, almost over his heart, and Wilbur’s pupils dilate. His eyes are locked on it, stony. Unstoppable force meets immovable object. Wilbur’s hand gently moves up, and he presses down on his heart.
“Th-woo,” Wilbur blinks. “your heart is moving at light speed, man, you're alright. I’m not angry. I’m never- I’m not- I’d-” he sounds horrified at the idea. “I would never be angry at you for something you can't control. In fact - I’m really happy- I’d never be upset we're bound together.”
Tommy breathes out. “You knew.”
Wilbur’s lips thin, before lifting. “I had my suspicions. You always wanted to know my opinion on soulmates. And-” He tugs up his sleeve, and there lies Brother. Next to it - Safe. “I had my own leads.”
His bottom lip wobbles. Wilbur’s expression crumples, distraught. “After all this time..”
“How long?” Wilbur whispers, and he's tugged closer to Wil- his heart is calming down, slowing. “How long have you known?”
“EarthSMP,” Tommy mumbles. Wilbur gasps sharply, like the movies. “it wasn't very fun.”
“I've spent my entire past two years wondering if you guys knew about the soulmate thing. Like- I had to filter my own fucking thoughts. I wouldn't be able to say certain names or things on stream because they'd show up on you. You called me child, just a few weeks after we met, and it popped up on my arm.”
Wilbur sits back in his chair, blinking into space. “I’m- I’m taking that all in. First of all - You've spent all this time knowing that me and you were soulmates? Even during the Brighton meet up?” Wilbur inhales. “You must've spent half the time covering yourself up.”
“I wore a long-sleeve shirt and pants,” Tommy says simply.
“Clever,” Wilbur muses. “and - you said ‘ guys,’ as in, multiple soulmates.”
Tommy swallows, he didn't mean to say that. “Oh. Yeah. You, Phil, and Techno. I've known since EarthSMP.”
Wilbur’s eyes widen - and his hand drifts to his mouth, index finger resting below his lips. He can't help but smile, soft. “Your family.”
Tommy nods, eyes burning. “My family.”
He places a fist against his cheek, smiling, recounting back memories. “No wonder Techno and Phil and I would talk about how our soulmate would constantly cuss us out. We had our suspicions it was you, but we had always told each other your’s is probably Tubbo or Ranboo.”
Hold the fuck up. ‘Our soulmate.’ Tommy’s jaw falls open, and he scrambles to grip Wilbur’s jumper. His eyebrows hit his hairline. “You- you guys already-”
“We knew that we had each other as a soulmate,” Wilbur murmurs, and a Sweetheart pops up under Tommy’s left eye - the brunet glances at it, once, and his lips perk. “we didn't know who the last one was. We found out during October. Just after that terraform the Moon stream, yeah? Phil called me an idiot and it appeared on my ring finger.”
“You were smart with it. You never called us names out loud - all the words that appeared were always probably, from you, said in your head.” No escape, Tommy thinks. You can't escape from the judgement since everything you think pops up. “I always got brother on me, somewhere. It was adorable.”
Adorable - on his shoulder. Tommy’s hair falls over his eyes, shielding himself, his gaze . “I thought all this time that you guys wouldn't want me. Me, a child. Some kid you met online to join your little server. Me.”
Wilbur’s heart cracks. “Oh, Tom. You- we, never thought of that. You should've seen Techno when big brother and protection showed up on him. Phil cried when Dad appeared on his arm.”
Phil would be the type of person to do that, Tommy knows. The idea of Techno getting emotional at something Tommy thought of him is almost astonishing.
It’s not surprising when he begins to cry. “You guys-”
Hand on his neck, tugging him to a chest. “Aw. It's alright. You're alright. We love you.”
Mine, on Tommy’s thorax. Love, on his hip, for a second time. Or third. Or fourth. He doesn't know how many times Wilbur has tossed him a careless, thoughtless I love you.
Family, on Wilbur's back. Family, somewhere, oceans away, on Techno’s elbow. Family, engraved on Phil's nape.
(Wilbur tries not to cry. Phil’s already in tears - and Techno isn't far behind.)
—
“All these months,” Phil sighs, snorting. “I’ve been getting Dad and Father figure and Lovely all over me and I never knew who it was from. When I asked Wil or Tech they always said it wasn't them. And now I know.”
Tommy flushes, then corrects himself. “I, well.”
“It's alright Tom.” Phil ruffles his hair. “You're my son.” ( Son, down his shoulder.)
He nods, hiding his face. “Thanks, Phil. You're the only man ever.”
“I always had a feeling,” the older murmurs, stretching. He glances to the front of the bus, then back at Tommy. Wilbur sits next to the younger blond - Tom’s head, boneless, on his shoulder. “you just - it couldn't have been the three of us without you. It couldn't have been. You being there made sense. We didn't know when to confront you. But it appears you already knew.”
“A long time,” Tommy murmurs. “it was really scary when I found out. I panicked. I didn't know if I'd ever be able to tell you guys.”
“I think you always knew,” Wil says. “I think you always knew, eventually, that we'd find out by connection.”
“I did.” And it's true, because that's exactly how it played out. “I knew. I didn't want to face that, though.”
But he's glad he did. If he had known they'd accept him like they do now - he would've earlier in a heartbeat. He just didn't know what EarthSMP Wilbur, Phil, and Techno would do in that situation.
—
“I don't like calling you things jokingly when I’m around you.” Wilbur says, tuning his guitar. The rest of his band is around the corner of their garage. Tommy’s in front of him, holding his omnicord. “They- they pop up on you, and it makes me- it makes me sad.”
“How so?” He pops a crisp into his mouth.
“Well.” C minor. “I called you obnoxious - child, blah blah on stream, yeah? That old bit. But- it's all affectionate there. I saw Obnoxious on your wrist right after you ended the stream, which was moments after. You got up to throw away your coke, and boom. Smack in front of my face.”
Tommy looks up, soft. “How does that make you sad?”
“There’s no tone,” Wilbur turns to him, up from the instrument in his hands. “you can't tell I’m kidding. It doesn't rub me the right way. And you- you kept trying to cover it up.”
He looks down, away from Wilbur’s knowing hazel. The Precious on his heel stares back at him. “Made me feel wrong. I can't bare to look at that shit, Wil.”
“Exactly why I don't like doing it.” Wilbur shrugs, and barely cares to acknowledge the Protective on his cheek. Tommy giggles at the positioning. “You shouldn't have to do that.”
He sighs. “You're my brother, and I love you. I don't want you doing that.”
“Love you too,” Tommy murmurs. A sensation on his bicep - he already knows what's there. Wilbur’s eyes hang onto it, softly.
Wilbur doesn't do it anymore, after that.
—
Techno rubs a hand across the old paperback on his shelf. An arm’s reach from the monitor. Tommy’s pixelated face fills his screen. “You want me to read?”
“Well,” Tommy says, simply, sleepily, “I’m bored. You were the only one online.”
“I’m actually not,” Techno deadpans. “Phil is literally streaming. At -” he squints, “two in the morning, your time.” Psycho.
“Stupid Americans,” Tommy mutters characteristically, “your stupid times. Bet it's like eleven in the morning over there.”
“No,” he laughs, startling Tom. A good sound; Tommy thinks. He should do it more. Company, on Techno’s thigh. He softens. “it’s about six at night.”
“Stupid,” Tommy parrots. His palm reads Sap. He mentally sends Techno the middle finger. “I hate you.”
“Sure.” He pulls out a Greek Mythology book. “You really want me to read?”
“Tired,” simple, quick. “I reckon I’ll fall asleep faster if you do.”
Techno turns to the Theseus page, because he knows Tommy isn't going to want to hear about anything else. And- because Tommy is his Theseus.
He wonders. How delirious is Tommy currently, from exhaustion? “Little brother. Sibling behavior.”
Tommy hums. “You’re like my brother, Tech.”
Ah. Nickname and agreement. So the kid’s got insomnia. “That's strangely sweet of you.”
“I can be nice,” Tommy mumbles. “I’m sle’pin now..”
“I haven't even read anything yet.”
“You being here is enough,” a beat. Two. “night, man.” Tommy registers the Little brother on him; where, he doesn't care to name. It matches the one that commonly appears on Wilbur.
“Night, Tommy.” He closes the book. Runs a hand through his hair, blinks. He holds up his hand, and a small smile breaks through at the Comfort grazing his knuckles.
—
His reflection blinks at him. His eyes are bright. Looking down at his fingers- individual words lay there - and it's expected. He just met up with all three of them. In real life. Soft, Lovely. Family - as always . Mine - again.
Maybe I was wrong.
“You were.”
I didn't expect to be.
“You should've.”
They love you.
“They do.”
The mirror fades away.
—
Tommy used to be like throwing a built lego set against the wall, damaging the pieces, like throwing a glass cup on the ground. If you build it back up, it wouldn't be the same as it used to be.
Tommy, on his heart.