#philcoul

when Tony Starkson was a young hatchling, he was told that there was always someone out there for him. there was always another half of his soul, his potential life partner. now, years later, he has yet to find that life partner. and, well, he sort has given up hope. after all, it was quite hard to find someone who understood dragonian, and had a patch of scales on their skin too.

the genius gave a drawn out sigh, laying on his back in the lab. calculations were swaying back and forth and his Ai was running out ideas. maybe he needed a vacation. he hasn’t visited his clan in months after all.

Tony had started out as a normal kid.  He’d had a name on his wrist when he was born.  A normal one.  Janette Louanne Kingsley.  But he was nine when he woke up one morning to find it scrubbed away, the area red and angry.  He’d screamed.  And everything had changed.  Teachers shot him pitying looks, his father couldn’t look at him at all.  But he’d lived with it.  He moved on.  It wasn’t as though he was the only person in the world whose soulmate had died before they’d met. 

When he got to college, everyone had wanted a piece of him.  Someone without a name was perfect for random hookups.  Guilt-free or something because there was no one waiting for them.  Some people had told him he’d be alone forever, but they’d been wrong.  Because he’d found Phil.

He snuggled closer into Phil’s arms, just barely awake, but reached down to scratch an itch on his wrist.  The scrape of his nails felt like it was setting the skin on fire though and he jerked back, pulling his hand from beneath the covers to see the brand new writing.  Gerard Megan Halsley?  Who the fuck was Gerard Megan Halsley?  “Phil!” he said urgently. “Phil, wake up.”

SEND “DON’T YOU REMEMBER?” FOR MY MUSE’S REACTION TO WAKING UP IN HOSPITAL WITH NO MEMORY OF YOUR MUSE, THEMSELVES OR THEIR LIFE