#But it exists now | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

blitzendoggo · 2 years

Text

Truly Meant for Each Other

Sandra has always knew her soulmate's voice, but she wasn't prepared to meet him.

Sandra (the recepitionist)/Glib Soulmate!AU

Fair warning this one gets sad.

“God Damn it, they went after the horse again!” the voice swears bitterly in her ear as she continues typing away at her computer.

“Take a deep breath before you work yourself into a frenzy,” Sandra replies calmly. She knows he won’t listen to her, but it’s worth a shot if it keeps him from shouting profanities into her head while she is trying to get work done.

She had always heard his voice in her head. Everyone always had someone’s voice in their head. People always said it was their soulmate, but Sandra never thought she could ever love her internal voice. He used to always be scared and anxious, the only thoughts she would hear from him were swear words and silent prayers that whatever accidents he would encounter wouldn’t kill him.

“Shit! Oh, God, please don’t kill me!” He used to scream, most likely unaware that he was telegraphing it mentally as well.

And one day he changed.

Arguably, for the worse.

He was thrown out of college and turned into a vampire, morphing most of his emotions from fear and anxiety to a constant simmering rage.

“I’m gonna kill that fucker!” Would play like a mantra at least once a day for about a year after the incident.

Rage makes him unpredictable, chaotic even.

Sandra didn’t like this. She was born in the order realm under Aldor’s reign but once the old “King” was disposed of, she was far more aware of her surroundings; however, she, like most Aldorians, valued Order above all else. Of course, she doesn’t hold it to the same standard she once did, but her old ideals make it very difficult to agree with any of the thoughts her “soulmate” sends her way.

But, of course, Sandra preferred the rage to the bouts of depression that would sour her mood as well.

“Why can’t I just die?” He would moan pitifully, and Sandra would have to remind him that if he killed himself, she would probably also die. The threat of killing an innocent person kept him stable for most days.

The worst days would be when he was completely silent. Sandra made it a point on most days to not try and talk to her soulmate, wishing he would stop talking to her, but on those days she would get worried. She would ask pointless questions, just hoping he would respond.

“Do you have a favorite color?”

And some days he would respond. Tired, broken, but not dead.

“Blue.”

And he might keep it going for a few minutes.

“How about you?”

Before stopping the conversation with a simple, “I don’t want to distract you from your work.”

But the days she dreaded the most were when he wouldn’t respond to her questions, or to her pleading. She had heard the stories of what it would feel like to have your soulmate die. It would be the worst pain she had ever felt. Sometimes he would apologize or tell her he was just having a bad day, other times he wouldn’t say anything for a few days, leaving her to be anxious the entire time.

Since living under Friday’s rule, things have definitely been better for the receptionist. Her job is fun, and she doesn’t have to pretend to be a drone. Her soulmate has also been quiet, but not alarmingly so, allowing her to have enough peace of mind to work undisturbed.

At least it was undisturbed.

S.G. and Mr. Goodbid had come, just as Friday had told her they would. She led them to Friday’s chambers before returning to her desk. Not even ten minutes later a little frog man, a very old Shadar-Kai, and a bored-looking warforged came in through the front door.

The frog approaches the desk and very tiredly, yet obviously frustrated, says “we are looking for a sparkly mannequin and a man in a business suit who are probably yelling about Friday, have you seen them?”

“Oh, you mean Mx. S.G. and Mr. Goodbid?” Sandra asks, reading over the file.

“Yeah, them,” the little frog says, looking at her strangely yet not saying anything.

“Well, they were just led upstairs, but I can take a message for you,” Sandra says, and the frog goes from frustrated to borderline fuming.

“And why the hell can’t I go upstairs?” He all but shouts. Something in his voice makes Sandra pause in her writing. She knows that voice from somewhere, but she can’t place it.

“Because you are not authorized?” She says slowly, stopping typing for long enough to look at the angry frog and the other two men questioningly before returning to her work.

“Bullshit!” The frog screams.

“I’m sorry, but I have no idea who you are,” Sandra says, only a little apologetic.

“Do you have any idea who the fuck I am?!” He roars at her, which would be more intimidating if her wasn’t on his tip toes to see over her desk’s edge. “I broke into this building not even three fucking months ago!”

Sandra opens her mouth to respond when in her head, clear as day, she hears, “this god damned receptionist! Who the fuck does she think she is?!”

Sandra studies him for a long moment before squinting at him. “Now, that was quite rude to say about me,” she says bluntly.

Glib looks at her confused, not noticing as S.G. and Mr. Goodbid walk down the stairs.

“Hi guys,” the old man says, head still staring forward -it was at this moment that Sandra realized the old man had no eyes- drawing the frog’s attention away from her.

“Oh, hey,” Glib says slowly before seeming to come back to his senses. “Can you tell this lady I’m with you?”

S.G. looks to Goodbid who nods and steps up to the desk.

“I’m sorry, Miss, I didn’t get your name,” Goodbid says apologetically, but his face is all smiles.

“Oh, I’m Sandra,” she tells him, straightening her blouse. Glib’s eyes never leave her, as if he is trying to wrap his head around everything.

Goodbid chuckles before nodding. “Well, Sandra, the frog is with us. Oh, and the old man.” He flashes her a grin that probably works on most people, but Sandra has a strong will and no tolerance for flattery. She smiles at him anyway.

“Oh, my apologies,” Sandra says turning back to her computer. She begins tapping away to update, fix, or create files on all three of them. “There must have been an error in my system.” She types for another few moments before there is a ding and a flash of green light from the machinery around her desk. With a mostly feigned apologetic smile, she motions them up the stairs.

They start up the stairs immediately, everyone except for the frog who is still staring at her.

He slowly approaches the desk, cocking his head to the side.

“I’m Glib by the way,” he says slowly, almost unsure about what to do with himself.

Sandra makes a noncommittal hum. “I’ll update your file, then.”

He watches her silently for a few moments before asking huffily, “that’s it?”

“What do you mean?” she asks, deciding that playing dumb will hurt them both less.

“Well, I’m your soulmate and you don’t seem to care.” He is barely containing his rage; Sandra can tell by his tight tone.

Sandra stops typing and decides that its now or never to cut off this damaging relationship that they seem to have. With a deep breath, she forces out “We are not soulmates. You are a parasitic voice that has caused me nothing but stress and frustration for all of my life.”

Glib stares at her slack-jawed before it is quickly replaced with anger. “You fucker-!”

“Oh please, I have to listen to you scream all the time. Save it for later and go catch up with your friends before you get left in this realm and I have to deal with you for the rest of forever.”

She goes back to the systematic typing of her computer. She doesn’t look up when Glib screams, nor when he stomps away.

She barely flinches when she feels that cord that wraps around her heart pull dangerously tight. She doesn’t react when the faint hum of an open telepathic line goes startling silent.

She doesn’t react until later, once she has gone home, and she habitually waits for her internal voice to complain about something mundane.

Then the pain comes as she suddenly realizes all the little things he would do for her. Like only yelling when he knew she was awake despite having mentioned to her that he was practically nocturnal. Or how he always complained about something at around the same times of day. Morning (about an hour after she woke up), midday (when she would be eating lunch), and evening (just before she would go to bed).

It hit her like a ton of bricks that he was subtly letting her know he was still alive while maintaining her peace.

She also realizes one thing that makes her heart squeeze painfully. Glib’s life is a series of unfortunate events, something that they had talked about on one of Sandra’s more chatty days, and he probably views his soulmate as just another mistake.

Religion had been ruined for her when she was quite young -Aldor made it mandatory to worship him as Order itself but Sandra was never a mindless drone like the rest of them, something that she always blamed on having a soulmate while no one else did- but she slowly sank to her knees at the foot of her bed and sent a prayer out to Friday.

Within seconds Friday was walking into her small apartment, a tight fit for a horse so large.

“You prayed for me, my child?” She asks in her normal benevolent tone.

“Tell me I didn’t fuck up,” Sandra says. She’s not going to cry. She simply won’t. “Please tell me I didn’t mess this up.”

Friday studies her for a long moment before slowly lowering herself into a sitting position and guides Sandra into a tight hug with her neck.

“I’m so sorry my dear,” she says quietly.

Sandra will never admit to the tears that are streaming down her face or how hard she is truly crying.

“It wasn’t supposed to happen this way,” the white horse says soothingly, Sandra is lost to the feeling of grief which was catching up to her.

“Can’t I fix it? Please tell me how to fix it!” She pleads, burying her fingers into the soft white fur.

Friday shakes her head sadly. “I’m sorry, but he belongs to another, now.”

A choked sob rips from Sandra’s throat.

“You were never truly meant for each other.”

3 notes · View notes