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To put it lightly, the soulmate thing was hit or miss.
Say you do believe in the nature of 'one true love' and not the more realistic possibility that you will love many people throughout your life. Say that those words on your arm are a thing that will be said to you not only by your perfect match, but that this mysterious connection was also calibrated to happen at a time in which you are most receptive to a new relationship. Say you aren't cosmically unsettled by the notion that a passing phrase has more understanding of your own heart than you do.
Say all of that, and then combine it with the fact that the first thing most people say to a new person is 'Hello.'
There were a whole lot of people who could claim to be soulmates from that alone. It's really not the most effective system. No, the hit new thing was horoscopes, and in more anarchistic circles, cosmetic modifications that make the words unreadable.
Arthur wasn't quite ready for a tattoo or hot poker, but he was uniquely exempt from the whole affair.
Oh, many people thought they were exempt. They'd usually have something cryptic or written in a dead language, not realizing that linguistic majors needed love too. The presumption was that if your soulmark was strange or dark or mysterious, it meant your soulmate would be as well. Nevermind that the least important interaction between two lovers is usually the literal first word, and it in no means sets the tone for a lifetime connection. If anything having a weird soulmark just makes it easier to pick out in the ocean of 'hellos' and 'excuse me's.
But Arthur was actually exempt, because his words were fucking rediculous.
'Banana Cream Fuckface'
Arthur had been eleven when it first manifested, and the nuns had mistaken it for simple delinquent profanity. But after multiple washings the crude soulmark remained, and they could only look at each other and puzzle over how the hell that phrase would come up organically with anyone.
So Arthur joined the throng of self-pitying anti-romantics who wrote poetry about their unlikely fate, and then had to watch with varying degrees of frustration as most of them stumbled upon their soulmates anyway.
It was in that space that he met Bella, and it must be remarked, neither of them were under the impression that fate had anything to do with it. In fact, it was the unspoken agreement that fate only needed to serve them for about twenty minutes, which wound up being ten because of how much Arthur had to drink that night.
After that they would have been perfectly happy to remember each other as no more than a single name on equally long respective lists, if not for what followed next.
"Pull back your sleeve."
The cold, domineering glare of the man whose daughter he'd impregnated could have burnt a hole through Arthur's skull. He made a fist with his left hand, and pantomimed a small shifer.
"I-it's rather chilly in here…" He stammered.
Daniel's lip curled. "I'm old, boy. Not stupid."
Arthur cast a glance sidelong at Bella, who could only shrug. Her eyes were still puffy from whatever she and her father had been discussing as Arthur waited outside. With her downtown loft apartment on the line, she and Arthur agreed beforehand that the plan was whatever Daniel wanted until further notice.
Arthur drew a shaky breath, then slowly did as he was asked.
Daniel stared. Arthur sweated. Bella's face was in her hands.
"Are you making a fool of me?" Daniel asked at last. "Where is your true mark? Is this more of your… bohemian nonsense?"
Bella shot up to her feet.
"It really is his mark, Father!" She cried. "There's no other visible words on his body, and I've seen quite a lot of him–"
"Bella!" Arhtur half-hissed half-whimpered.
"And I've had it up to here with your judgement and- and your tyranny!" She cried, pointing the finger. "You've held my school expenses over my head since the very start! Art should be free! Education should be free! 'Freedom of education shall be enjoyed under the condition fixed by law and under the supreme control of the state'. You're just a pig hoarding resources, like my college fund, and my apartment!"
Very little that followed was productive, but to her credit Bella held it together well after they were kicked to the curb. Her pride followed them all the way to Boston. They cut their hair and got jobs. Rented a flat above a shop. She had a bit of a hard time upon learning that the working class don't get two weeks off in the summer, but otherwise they were making the most of it.
Until they weren't. Until Faroe, her tiny fingers tracing the strange letters on Arthur's arm, and him panicking at what he would tell her when she inevitably asked about them. Until the concern became devastatingly moot.
Until he was picked up, de-pickled, and given a new life in a new city with a new friend with far too much interest in his sordid past.
"...Damn." Parker whistled one night after a round of drinks. "That's… highly specific."
"I haven't met her." Was all Arthur offered.
There was silence as he yanked his cuff back down, the old shame obscured once more.
"I think I want to meet her too." Parker laughed. "Looks like you've got a live one in your future."
Arthur was disposed to roll his eyes again, but it was the first time anyone had ever taken his soulmate seriously. It hadn't occurred to him to interpret words as an insult. Perhaps he did have a fated match, and would make a spectacularly poor impression.
He shuddered to think of what might be written on her arm.
⁜⁜⁜⁜⁜
What's that?
Arthur was interrupted from the already difficult task of bedding down in a creepy abandoned apartment building by the sudden question from John.
"What's what?" He asked.
His shirt, which had already been through quite a bit in their travels, had the sleevers pushed up to the elbow to help with the desert's heat. Arthur could feel in his shoulder that John had lifted 'his' arm to hold in front of their face.
The words on your arm. I saw them in Harpers Hill, but we never had a chance to discuss it. What does it mean? 'Banana Cream Fuckface.'
Arthur sighed. With everything that was going on, he'd forgotten that the arm he'd lost was the one with his soul mark on it. The implications of John stealing it wasn't lost on him, and it took a moment for him to beat a fresh wave of anger out of his voice.
"It's my soul mark." He explained. "When I meet my one true love, those will be the first words she says to me."
A dark chuckle rattled in Arthur's skull.
You'd waste supernatural foresight on something as pointless as selecting a mate?
"I didn't come up with the system, now did I?" Arthur spat. "All humans have this. It shows up on our bodies when we're young, we grow up, meet our soulmate, and that's it."
That's it? John asked. Humans have such quaint ideas regarding fate.
Arthur closed his eyes. He was not going to rise to that. That was what John wanted.
"Well she's probably not waiting for me here in the Dreamlands." Arthur said snidely. "So if you're ready to stop gawking at my arm, I need sleep if we're going to make it through the blue light tomorrow."
Hmm. Was John's only reply, which was a blessed relief in Arthur's opinion.
It didn't come up again for the remainder of their journey, not even in the prison pits where they had nothing to do but insult and negotiate with each other. It certainly didn't come up in Addison, feral as Arthur was, and as desperate to redeem himself once John pulled him back to himself.
They ditched the car in Albany, got a shave, a fresh set of clothes, and sat down at a diner to eat before catching their train.
"Anything good?" Arthur yawned as he held the menu up for John to read.
Just the usual fare. Burgers, sandwiches, pie of the day…
He trailed off. Again. But just as Arthur was about to snap at him, John said:
Arthur we need to leave.
"What? Why?" Arthur asked.
There was a telling silence.
There's. Um. A man. He's staring at us. He might be from Arkham, or in league with Larson.
"How could you possibly know that?" Arthur whispered, hunching his shoulders.
I-I don't know. It's just a feeling. I don't like it here, we should move on.
Arthur growled. "I need to eat John."
There was a diner car on the train. John said. We can eat there.
It was strange, but as they drew closer to New York, John continued to behave strangely. He'd forget things, lose time, drift off. It was difficult to tell what was going on with him in general, the interaction faded quickly from Arthur's mind.
It helped that it turned out they had been followed by the Butcher, anyway. Amongst all the other things that were up with him, an overreaction to sitting in a diner was a small thing.
It took them ages to gather a moment to breathe, and only then it was as they were waiting for Oscar to finish packing Daniel's bag.
The conversation between them in the bar had been heavy, it inspired a degree of reflection that Arthur hadn't been prepared for.
"It just seems so amazing. Unlike me, he actually wants to do good through the system that hurt him."
Sounds foolish to me. John muttered. I don't see why you're so fascinated by a remorseful drunk.
"I don't know… I just…" Arthur let his head fall back. "A man with a similar backstory to me. With similar ideas to mine. Similar… vices. And now he wants to help us because he feels this pull towards me. It seems almost like destiny."
But it isn't. John said.
Arthur chuckled darkly. "Yes, yes I know. This must all seem silly to you–"
He didn't say it.
"What?" Arthur paused, perplexed. "He didn't say what?"
Your soulmark. I do not recall Oscar's first words to you, but they certainly weren't 'Banana Cream Fuckface.' I think we both would have remembered that.
"Well, you know us humans. Our 'quaint' ideas about fate." Arthur shrugged. "Perhaps it's deeper than a few ridiculous words on my arm."
John gave a dark scoff, but then Oscar was coming back. Then had bigger fish to fry, larger problems between, dirtier laundry to air out. By the time the dust settled they were out in the rain in the goddamned 13th century, and Arthur was about ready to give up on the concept of 'fate' altogether.
"Why not!" He laughed as he and John danced in the fairy ring. "Maybe I just have this stupid mark because my life is destined to be a long line of ridiculous twists I had no say in!"
At least its not fucking Kayne! John laughed back.
"Well I dare her to find me now!" Giggled Arthur. "You know if we did, I think I'd turn her away for her own good!"
For her own good! John cried in absolute glee.
The both of them fell into hysterics. Arthur fell harder of the two.
And then he was in the lair of Horig.
Horig did not say: 'Banana Cream Fuckface.'
Neither did Evrard, Vale, Antione, or Alia. Lilith certainly didn't say it, and even if she had, it wouldn't have meant much since she'd apparently spoken to Arthur first a long time ago.
How difficult would it have been for her to just carve 'My favorite' into his arm? She was planning on fucking with his life anyway.
Then Arthur was dead, and then Arthur was facing down being even more dead.
I can't believe you've giving up like this! John snarled, his rage just barely obscuring his heartbreak.
"I'm not giving up, I'm choosing to let you live."
It was as much of a struggle for Arthur to keep the fear from his own voice.
But… John stammered helplessly, But your words! You never found her! You still have a destiny, this can't just be it for you!
Arthur's chest tightened with a laugh. God– he hadn't even thought of the stupid thing since they landed in the Dark World!
"It was always a shit system." He said. "There are many who don't find their soulmate. I'm sure she'll be alright, especially as my first word to her would have been: 'What.'"
A nice, regular sort of soulmark. She was probably already married. Realizing that released a tension in Arthur he realized he'd been carrying for a long, long, time.
But what about you? John asked. How can you let it end like this?
"Because I'm giving you a gift, John." Arthur said softly. "And a gift is the truest expression of love. And… and I do love you, John. You're here with me now, not some mystery woman with words on her arm. And I want to give this to you. I love you."
What came after that was a blur. Arthur rambled. John sobbed. Through it all Arthur just barely held a smile over his fear. He knew that if he were to falter just a little John would pick up on it, and that would be enough for him to break. Arthur couldn't take this chance from him.
When the poetry had been recited and the hug was over, all that was left was to walk into the light. Arthur could have sworn he saw it as he went, and his final thought was relief that at least one of them could live on to be complete.
⁜⁜⁜⁜⁜
…To the left, they occupy a building, the rooms of which are open and exposed to the pathways below, like hives… hm. They work to breathe life into this place again.
Not good enough for you?
Arthur startles from his thoughts to realize that Lilith had addressed him. He sucked in a sharp breath, wiping his hands helplessly on his clothes.
"No, sorry, y-yes, thank you. Wow, I-I…"
Lilith cut off his useless stammering with a laugh.
You don't need to thank me. You asked. I'm just trying to be a cooperative guest.
Arthur swallowed. Right. A guest.
That was what they all were in the end, weren't they? John, Yellow, and now Lilith. Just passing through, and in the wide expanse of their eternal lives, it must have only felt like a single night spent in the Arthur Lester Motel.
"I'm just– the King in Yellow." Arthur said. "Not John, not Yellow, but…"
Lilith hummed sympathetically.
It was more than just the malevolent entities, though. No one else had stuck around either. Not his parents, not his only childhood friend, not Bella, not Daniel, not…Faroe. Or Parker. Or any of the people he'd met after opening John's book for that matter. So many meetings, each taking up such a specific, short period of his life. Sliding right out of it like water off a ducks back.
Arthur wasn't the sort of person that made things stick.
"You know… I had a soulmate." He murmured.
Did you now. Lilith asked in a flat tone that betrayed how little she wanted him to elaborate.
"Not everyone does." Arthur said. "There are some who just… never get their mark. And even if you do have a mark, there's no guarantee you'll meet that person."
He rubbed his left wrist– a part of his body that hadn't even been his for the longest time. He hadn't even been able to see the words written there for himself these past months.
"But I had a person." He said. "There was someone out there who was meant to stay."
Yes well… Lilith sighed. In life, there are many roads…
Arthur waited for more. There wasn't any.
Lilith scoffed with frustration.
That's all I've got, kid. She snapped. Listen, I'm not an oracle or anything, and frankly, the whole soulmate thing is pretty stupid. To most men finding their 'one and only' just means they've identified someone they can treat like dirt without repercussion.
Without thinking, Arthur slapped a defensive hand over his wrist as if he could protect it from her cynicism.
I think the bigger picture here is more important. Lilith finished. That might not be the nice answer, but it's the honest one. And when you come back from whatever this pointless diversion is, I bet you agree.
"The bigger picture." Arthur repeated coldly. "Like how you played a part in ensuring that I never truly found a home in anyone?"
Would you have wanted to? Knowing what you're for? Lilith asked.
The worst part is, he wouldn't have. Even without knowing.
His soul mark had always been a joke.
Well, well, well. Lilith said suddenly, her voice lilting with interest. It looks like the Dancers have delivered us.
Arthur came to a stop, drawing in a shaky breath. He didn't have the strength to ask, but Lilith painted a thoughtful picture anyway:
…The street is filled with rubble, but just beyond, a fallen pillar lay. Across the paved pathway and sitting upon it… as if it were a marble throne… sits the King in Yellow. Beside him, naked with a collar around his neck made of bone, is a man from… Addison? Larson something– why?
Lilith prattled on about Larson's sudden re-emergence, but Arthur could barely hear it. He couldn't see the presence staring down at them from on high, but it was felt sure enough. Arthur wanted to squirm, to cover himself, but at the same time his curiosity for what had become of his friend was overwhelming.
Was John really gone? After all that Arthur had done just to keep him, could he have disappeared the moment he wasn't looking?
…The King has not moved. We're nearly there. His presence is quite… menacing, from the perspective of a human. Let's hope he remembers you.
Arthur winced. The mention of Larson had him thinking of Addison, and how this situation might not be too far off.
Listen, Arthur, whatever you think you know about John, whatever closeness you shared, just do me a favor and treat him like a king first.
Did he have it in him to do it all again? Another all-powerful entity just passing him by, willing to participate in the apocalypse, then check out of his life again forever?
You don’t know what it’s like to have that kind of power, you don’t know what it’s like to… to remember.
Arthur had failed Yellow, but maybe he had done her a favor. Maybe in shuffling her away faster than the others, she'd had some peace.
Your friend may or may not be gone, but… no matter what, he will surely be–
"Banana Cream Fuckface."
The voice seemed to boom over the distance, touching every wall and speck of rubble. There was a distant flutter as some winged creatures were spooked from their hidey holes, and in the aftermath of the King's voice Carcosa waited in answer. Arthur stood stone still, useless eyes wide, jaw agape. Even Lilith was stunned
"Wh-" He stammered. "What?"
There was another rumble, at first mistakable for thunder. But it turned out to be a chuckle, and soon the voice of the King in Yellow was drawing closer.
He's… um. Crawled down from his throne. Lilith said, recovering from her own surprise. He approaches us and peels his cloak back from… oh. On his arm there are oozing gashes that spell out: 'What.'
"Banana Cream Fuckface." The King in fucking Yellow repeated smugly. "Your words."
"What…?" Arthur repeated dumbly.
"Yes." Said the King. "And those are mine."
…The wound looks recent, like he's carved it with a knife himself. Lilith said.
There was a grunt of annoyance. "It still counts. So long as it is said out loud, not within your own head, Arthur. That was technically the first thing I ever said to you."
Finally Arthur seemed to recover. "That… that can't be how it–"
There was a sound of fluttering pages that came from the spectral place between Arthur's ears.
No, he's right. Lilith said, sounding surprised herself.
"Do you have a book in there–?"
"What matters," The king insisted, "Is that I have said your words, and you have said mine. Now we are bound. That's how it works."
"But…" Arthur stammered. "But…"
It was an uncanny thing to feel a whole city's worth of eyes on you when you are blind. Arthur could just barely keep his voice from cracking with outrage.
"You cheated!"
The King made a dismissive sound.
"All is fair in love and war." He said. "You once said that I must choose who I am to be, so it stands to reason that I choose my own mark."
Arthur's face grew hot. "You–!"
As riveting as this debate is. Lilith cut in sharply. Does this mean that you're going to help us?
"Of course," said the King in Yellow. "My soulmate is involved, so I am as well."
His soulmate. What fucking planet were they on? One moment Arthur was unceremoniously resurrected from the dead, the next his lifelong search was ended by divine intervention.
"A-alright." He mumbled.
Hm. Lilith hummed. Not what I planned for, but it will have to do. Come along, lovebirds–
"--I consider it more of a spiritual connection than a romantic one." The King interjected.
Ugh. Lilith groaned. Come along soulbirds, let's focus on the task at hand, shall we?
Arthur could only nod and be prodded along by the gentle touch of tentacles. He was still a bit stunned, but by his reckoning he imagined his soulmate was five times his size and composed primarily of tentacles.
Was he even upset about this development?
Arthur really thought he ought to be.
But as they continued to the body of Hastur, made their little plans, their promises, and ultimately led to John– the real John, returning to Arthur's eyes, he couldn't find the will for it.
"So… welcome back." Arthur smirked at their first moment alone.
John huffed a laugh in his mind.
To the house..? Or to the home?
They both laughed. Arthur traced his finger over John's wrist. The wrist that bore their…
"Wait, does that mean that Yellow is my soulmate?" Arthur asked. "Or… because you have the left arm..?"
…Don't worry about it Arthur.