What if your soulmate tattoo isn’t about the first moment you meet, but the last moment you have with each other?
Enjolras has ‘do you permit it’ on the side of his hand, trailing from his wrist up to the tip of his pinkie so he always wears gloves to hide it. In his spare time, he’s always wondered what kind of soulmate he would be, that his partner would have to ask his permission for something as their last words to each other.
Grantaire doesn’t have a tattoo, or rather he has a multitude: quotations upon quotations from books and poems and random things he overhears in the street, to hide the fact that nothing appeared on his eighteenth birthday. And he’s always assumed that it meant he doesn’t have a soulmate, because there isn’t anyone else’s soul worth as little as his.
And when the national guard have them cornered and Grantaire asks, 'Do you permit it?’, Enjolras visibly starts and yanks off his glove and he shows Grantaire the writing just before he slides their hands together. Enjolras has a tan line from wearing that glove all the time and his hand is pale with the writing stark upon it and Grantaire can barely believe his eyes. Enjolras opens his mouth to say something, and then -
You discover an entrance to a vault. The door grinds open and you find it leads outside. You look back and see a solid wall behind you.
You attempt to repair your hunting rifle with another one. You remove the barrel from the spare and put into your rifle. You hear a grinding, snapping sound and the rest of the spare parts are gone.
The mole rats are just over the hill. You’ve seen them following you for the past several miles. You snuck past some deathclaws a while ago. Looking back towards the ravine where the deathclaws were, you see the rats again. You backtrack and they are gone, their silhouettes in the hills to the south. The deathclaws are gone as well.
You mined the bridge last night. In the morning, you’re awoken by explosions. You rush to the bridge, but there’s nothing there. Another one of the mines detonates. There is a loud moan and the sound of something heavy falling over. Later it rains, and from your shelter you see the outline of something lying there.
The nuka-cola bottle has been refilling itself, and the liquid is getting darker and thicker each time. You feel faint and take another gulp. The liquid tastes slightly metallic. You feel even more faint.
“Patrolling the Mojave almost makes you wish for a nuclear winter.” You aren’t in the Mojave. You have never even heard of the Mojave. You wonder what this soldier is doing in Washington.
You plant a grenade in the raider’s pocket and dive for cover. It doesn’t go off. The raider walks over to you and asks if you lost this. There is nothing in his outstretched hand. You feel a hard lump in your back pocket. The raider is smiling peacefully.
Your geiger counter begins ticking as you walk through Freeside. You stop and look around but see nothing. The counter ticks faster. You sense something moving behind and above you but you cannot turn your head. The counter slowly stops ticking. You still cannot move.
Your Pip-boy says you are suffering from a broken leg. You feel fine. It lists a broken arm, a shattered skull, a torso full of bullet holes. Your personal info disappears from your Pip-boy.
The raider warns you to back off. You rush in close. He warns you again. Your machete separates his head from his body. He continues warning you. You leave the camp but his voice carries even miles away.