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The Pilgrim (Part 1)

This is the first half of a Zimbits soulmate AU, where you can feel the pull of your soulmate like a compass. This is a first draft, so no corrections have been made so far. I just wanted to throw it out there. There will be a second and final part to this- and I’ll do my best to write it soon. 




Dear Mama and Coach,

I’m sorry to leave with only a note, but this is something I have to do. I left for my pilgrimage. I know I’m way too young, but I couldn’t wait. … I think my soulmate is dying. I felt the pull stop for a full minute. It never happened before. I can’t wait another four years before seeking them! I hope you understand.

Also, I didn’t tell y’all because… I think my soulmate may be a man.

I hope you’re not too mad at me. I’ll call.

I love you both,

– Dicky


North. The pull had always pointed North. Sometimes, when Eric changed cities, he tried to triangulate the feel, but there was never enough difference in what he felt to pinpoint a precise location on a map. His soulmate could be in any of the states above Georgia, or- well, they could live further North. He wondered what would be worse for his parents, that his soulmate was a man, or that he was a Yankee.

He’d stressed about it for years but, now that he was stuck on a bus for who knew how long, he couldn’t stop worrying. He fidgeted with the cheap pilgrimage kit he’d bought at Atlanta. A map of the United States, a plastic ruler, a tiny pencil and a miserable looking compass that didn’t seem to point in the same direction if he shook it a bit. It was all he could afford, since the bus ticket from Madison to Atlanta, then Atlanta to… wherever, took most of his “borrowed” money.

That was another thing. His parents would be so mad when they noticed he took from his savings account. That money was supposed to go to his skating class- or more recently, his hockey equipment.

Maybe he could have asked. Maybe they’d understood, and offered more, and Coach would have lent him his own brass compass, the one inherited from his own father, the one he used to follow the pull until he found his own soulmate. Maybe his mother would have kissed him on the forehead and maybe she’d have offered to ride with him wherever the pull led him- North, North, always North…

But maybe not.

It wasn’t something Eric wanted to risk. The steadiness of the pull had stopped, for just a minute, maybe more, but that was enough to change Eric’s own life. He had someone, somewhere, whose soul was compatible with his- who was maybe a lover, a friend- and that someone’s life had blinked.

He held back his nervous tears, fidgeted with the compass once more.

(more under the cut)

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HISTORICAL REVISION “Twenty-five years ago, author Andrew Solomon called on designer Robert Couturier to help breathe new life intro a crumbling New York townhouse” - and the story is still being written.” - photography: Douglas Friedman - text: Andrew Solomon - styling: Martin Bourne - AD March 2017

  • “The Dome Room features a stone fountain from France and mosaics designed by artist Farley Tobin.”

So uh, this is what happens when you watch too much Red vs Blue, and then you decide to play Scrabble late at night (ft. all my faves)