The Mixed Tape

A Polyfarms Soulmate AU where songs sung by your soulmate get stuck in your head. 

Kinda for @charmerweek but also an 11k monstrosity so take of it what you will. 

Also on AO3 


November 2013

*beep beep beep*

A hand slams down on the analogue alarm clock next to the full-sized bed. The hand retreats underneath the Shark’s comforter. The afternoon air is still and quiet. Something shifts around the bed, A tuft of black hair peeks out as a loud groan is admitted from somewhere within its covers. The hand slips out again, reaching for the iPhone resting on the nightstand. A bleary-eyed teen pokes his head out to check the time on the screen.

4:35 pm the phones reads.

“Shit,” the boy curses.

He jumps out of bed. He scrambles to slip on his ratty, black converse. Hastily, he snatches his keys and slings his backpack over his right shoulder. He rushes down the steps, ignoring his sister’s protests to slow down.

“I’m running late,” he shouts over his shoulder. He runs through the garage, picking up his skateboard. He’ll hardly have time for his pregame playlist. He sighs, fishing his earbuds from his backpack, selecting the proper list on his phone before opening the garage door.

“Close behind me!” Chris hollers at his sister. He presses play, slipping his phone in his back jeans pocket. With a foot on the board, he peddles a few steps—allowing the steep hills of San Francisco to carry him all the way to hockey practice. Fortunately, today was only a scrimmage.

“I hope they’re not busy night now,” he mumbles. Thinking of his soulmate—out there somewhere—as he hums along, “the faster we’re falling, we’re stopping and stalling…We’re running in circles again.”  

Meanwhile, approximately three hundred miles south, a girls’ volleyball team is in the midst of a warm up for a regional qualifying game. A tall brunette is in the middle of passing drills with her partner when a familiar song floats into her head.

“Change,” she shouts at the team manager, a petite blond girl in a faded polo and spandex.

“To what?” the manager shouts back.

“In Too Deep,” the girl shouts back.

The manager gives a thumbs up, switching the song quickly. It was commonly accepted on their team that soulmates could be distracting and it was easier to join along with them than it was to counteract their songs with other music.

“Just as things we’re looking up,” she shouts. “You said it wasn’t good enough.”

“But still we’re trying one more time,” her team chimes in, causing Caitlin to laugh.

Somewhere in Massachusetts, a prep school hockey team is in the middle of the third period of a regular season game. One of the defensemen hears a song crescendo in his mind. He chuckles to himself.

“You always know how to make a game more interesting,” Derek chirps his soulmate.

He rushes a winger as he sings, “maybe we’re just trying too hard. When really it’s closer than it is too far.”

In a small town in Maine, a high school senior is amidst a typical party. He tries to ignore the music in his mind. Forcing himself to enjoy the tedious conversation he’s having with someone’s cousin who’s visiting from out of town. Unfortunately, the song has gotten so loud he can hardly concentrate.

“Will you excuse me?” He says, not bothering to hear the answer as he pushes away from the girl. He bolts out of the basement, finding a quiet corner near the backyard door.

“You really suck sometimes,” Will announces to whoever figured out how to make their music so blaringly loud. He doesn’t have much option other than to join in, “cause I’m in too deep, and I’m trying to keep. Up above in my head, instead of going under.”

The song ends almost as quickly as it starts. There’s a few punk songs that come up, and some Kesha that happens at one point. Will has learned not to think too deeply about his soulmate’s music taste. He’s realized that it’s too dynamic and varying to give a real sense of who they are. He feels like he knows them, though. He’d love to know how they get so incredibly fucking loud at the weirdest times, but there’s not much he can do about that…yet. Yet, he keeps reminding himself. Soulmates meet each other eventually, his mom reminds him constantly.

Considering he’s grown up around the same small group of people, Will’s relived it’s not one of them. It means that he won’t be stuck here his entire life. He’s going places. He’s going to fall in love…someday.

The music stops after twenty minutes. There’s a comfortable silence in which the music of the party he’s at is quiet in comparison. It gives him time to decompress. Later, he’s sure he’ll here some Queen or Pat Benatar. He’s pretty sure his soulmate is an athlete, but the jury’s still out on that. It’s something they’ll bond over. He can feel it.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

Kent/Chowder and "the Las Vegas strip is a very bad place to lose your boyfriend."

Especially when said boyfriend is easily overwhelmed by flashing lights and loud sounds, which is essentially the heartbeat of Vegas.

So Kent is understandably panicky when he dials Chowder’s number, hands shaking, praying to whoever will listen that Chowder is somewhere relatively tame and not stood outside the goddamn Bellagio like Kent himself currently is. When Chowder picks up, Kent breathes a sigh of relief.

“Hey babes, I lost you in the crowd. Where you at?”

“Ken, I just went to the bathroom. I’ll be back in like, two minutes,” Chowder says through a giggle, and Kent can’t help but find himself smiling back.

Things that turn 10 years old this year

Portal
Tumblr
Wizards of Waverly Place
Super Paper Mario
The Orange Box
Team Fortress 2
Half Life 2: Episode 2(the most recent installment in the Half Life series)
iCarly
Chowder(the cartoon)
Total Drama Island

Think about that for a second.

  • Bitty: You're smiling, did something good happen?
  • Dex: Can't I just smile because I feel like it?
  • Chowder: Nursey tripped and fell in the parking lot.

As team manager, Lardo is used to looking out for certain signals from her boys.
Shitty swears the most when he’s happiest, but if he says “damn” more than “fuck” then his family probably called, and he needs to come “help her work” (also known as, “watch her work while holding her paints and unironically listening to Black Parade”).
Jack muttering in French isn’t a problem, unless he’s staring into space at the same time. Then it’s time to get Shitty and make a run to the library for a WWII documentary.
Ransom and Holster have been tending to each other’s needs from the moment they met, so it’s just a matter of listening to what they say the other needs.
Bitty’s moods are as transparent as his crush on Jack, so it’s just knowing when to turn the oven off or when to ask him what’s up.
She and Dex have an open-door policy: any time he needs to vent or get angry or just talk without fear of judgment, consequences, or well-meaning advice, he comes to her, and she takes care of him however he asks her to, no questions asked.
She reads Nursey’s poetry on a daily basis. For all his “chill” exterior, his poetry shows a range of passion and emotion that is almost too intense, even for her. She’s still experimenting with reactions - autumnal themes sometimes mean he wants to spend more time with Dex, but sometimes it means he just wants to get away from everything for a while. She’s planning on taking a poetry class next semester as an elective to try to get a better understanding of the boy.
Chowder, though. Chowder is a mystery. When she first met him, she started to treat him like Bitty, expecting his emotions to be just as close to the surface and obvious to understand, but it took her one week of practice to change her mind. The boy had anger, the deep, quiet kind that was all the more deadly for its stillness. On the ice, his eyes were colder than the surface he skated on, and she reconsidered.
She’s not ashamed to say that she stalked him on Facebook (especially compared to the amount of research she did for Jack, and is doing for Nursey). She dug up everything she could find on him, and still came up empty, so she returned to basics. She did what every art major does best; she watched.
She watched how his babbling was broken up by bursts of silence, his enthusiasm by periods of narrow-eyed concentration, his joyful exuberance by naps on the couch. Most of all, she watched him on the ice, how that seemed to be the only place he let the cold take over, the force and ferocity with which he repelled the pucks shot his way. She watched, waiting for the moment she understood what was happening inside his head, until the moment she realized she never would.
“Where are we going?” Chowder asked as they left the Haus, toward the end of the semester.
“The counseling center,” she replied, “but only if you want to.” She swallowed when the boy - the man, she corrected herself, spotting the ice and weariness that did not exist in children’s eyes - pull up short.
“Why?” One word, not particularly angry, but not particularly forgiving, either. Lardo drew herself up.
“Chowder, it’s my job to look after my boys,” she started. “I make sure everyone is okay, and everyone has what they need to get through the season. Maybe this is hubris, but I kinda think I’m good at it.”
“You are,” Chowder interrupted, and Lardo smiled at him.
“Maybe, but even I have my limits. You’re hurting, Chris, in ways I don’t have words for, in places I don’t know how to get to. You don’t have to go into it, but am I wrong?” Silence greeted her, and she watched Chowder’s shoulders slump. “I may not be able to help you, but at least let me get you to someone who can.” After a long moment, Chowder nodded, and they took off again.
“I thought I was hiding it,” he murmured after a minute, and Lardo looked up at him.
“You were, quite well, actually,” she replied. “I never would have seen if I hadn’t been looking. But that’s the point; you didn’t need to. You never need to. Everybody needs somebody sometimes. That’s what I’m here for.”
“Because it’s your job.”
“Yes,” she agreed. “But also because I’m your friend.” They had reached the front of the counseling center. She looked back up at him. “You want me to wait for you?”
“No,” he replied, his eyes already far away, on ice. They cleared for just long enough for him to look down at her. “But can you get Bitty to make me a blueberry pie, for when I get back? I think I’m going to need one.”
“Yeah, course.” She watched as he walked away, before putting in the order with Bitty and sidestepping his concern via text. He didn’t thank her, they never do, but she didn’t need it anyway.
As team manager, Lardo is used to looking after her boys. And in the case of her Californian goalie, that means a weekly walk to counseling and a pie order for afterwards.
God, she loves her job.