Ok I’m at work and I cannot stop thinking about a soulmate au with Dwayne (because he’s my fave) where a psychic or someone tells him that he’ll meet someone with like a specific tattoo or birthmark

Sure thing! Currently the child birth post is taking a lot longer than I expected, I’ve only just finished the David segment, I still have Paul, Marko and Dwayne to go but hopefully they’ll be done before Wednesday.

Dwayne’s Fate

Halloween rolled in and yet the plethora of tourists never seemed to cease. All over the boardwalk they flocked to every newly decorated attraction, sporting cheesy plastic masks, sharing caramel apples, hugging each other as they went into the haunted house... Dwayne couldn’t help but feel the sharp pang of envy overtaking him. The young native pushed his mess of windblown black hair from his face, utterly tuned out while Marko and Paul were scoping out the beach honeys clad in bikinis and shorts. Instead he leaned on the handlebars of his bike, watching the couples pass by. Eighty-One Years. 

He had been a vampire for eighty-one years. In all that time he’d never considered anything outside of his own pack, his coven of brothers who had become vampires alongside him. It was decades of wild nights! He thought he could never want anything else. But when Michael waltzed in and swept up Star and Laddie... he felt almost dark, in a sense. 

Something changed in him the night he came back. He wasn’t sure how. What mattered was that he, and his brothers were alive once again. Well, not alive, but still. Now he was back to terrorizing the night time streets of Santa Carla like he always had. Only, it wasn’t like always.  A part of him wished there was something more to all this. He had hoped one day to settle down when he was still alive but opportunity seemed to be almost gone by this point. Drumming his fingers on the handlebars of his bike, Dwayne grew increasingly impatient remaining in place. Swinging his leg over his bike he sighed with Marko turning to watch the road hog waltz away.

“Hey, Dwayne, where you headed, man,” he called, looking up. 

“For a walk. I can’t sit here all night like you suckers,” Dwayne retorted, stuffing his hands in his jacket pockets. Silently he wove through bustling crowds, barely lifting his eyes. Anyone who was in his warpath quickly learned to dodge him. Thoughts plagued his head, more than he had before to the point they were cluttering against each other. 

“You there,” a voice called over the unruly sounds of Santa Carla. Dwayne hadn’t thought much of it until an elderly woman quickly wove through. “You! You! Yes, wendigo-boy!”

The term gave him pause, looking back at the silver haired crone waddling his way still pointing her dried up finger until it was inches from his nose. “Yes, I could sense the aura of you and your friends across the way. Your dark presence is unmistakable.”

Dwayne swatted her hand away with a grimace, taking a step back. “Bug off you old bat, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he hissed, turning from her.

“Your past may not define your future! It is not too late to find one who can bring light to your darkness,” she insisted, running in front of him. 

Again Dwayne groaned, This broad was persistent. Even when he tried to walk away a third time she managed to swoop around him. 

She was easily in her late 80′s with wiry silver hair barely contained in a low hanging bun. Feathers stuck out of her hair, clanking armfuls of metal bangles rang whenever she moved her hands. Each boney finger cracked, dawning a ring on each that barely hung of aged flesh. Beady brown eyes practically stared into his center which made it impossible to to look at her face. Whenever she spoke he could see her crooked snaggle tooth accompanying her worn voice, raspy as if she had swallowed sandpaper. Wrapped around her burnt orange dress was a worn leather belt chipping away sporting a purple satin bag tied around it. Whatever it was she wanted to discuss was not going to wait. When his internal debate grew to be too much, she finally snatched him firmly by his wrist and began to pull him where she was determined to be. There was no point in questioning any of this, all she did was answer in stupid riddles.

"All will be answered! But you come with now, otherwise you will miss it! Then who knows when it'll happen again."

"It". Whatever this "it" was carried some weight as she used the term frequently. Although reasonably irritated, something in Dwayne felt the need to follow. He resisted the urge to rip her arm out of it’s socket, and instead rapidly shuffled his feet so he didn’t step over the hobbling broad who couldn’t be more than five feet tall- even when she wasn’t hunched over. The way she wove through tourists was eerily timed. Almost perfect. Nothing caught her off guard. Bobbing and weaving. Worst of all no one was moving, everyone around them seemed utterly oblivious to her presence! Pulling him forward she shuffled her way to a small caravan. The dusty old piece was barely illuminated by a single light hanging over the door, wedged between the old donut place and the Santa Carla Gift Shoppe.

 Still clutching his arm, they continued up creaking wooden steps that practically sang as he carried himself atop them. He can as convinced any moment this whole thing was going to collapse. The red door swung open slowly on it's own. Must've been rigged or something to do that. Meanwhile Dwayne had to duck just to avoid hitting the doorway, not that it mattered to the scatterbrained lunatic he decided to follow. Only when they were indoor did she finally release his hand and immediately shut her door behind him. It was decently bigger than what was let on initially. Tucked away behind a thick red curtain was a bed built around an arching stained glass window. It must've been somewhat decent before, athough this woman was such a hoarder you wouldn’t be able to tell at first. What books didn't fill her towering cases were strewn about the the floor in piles. Pages were stained with ink, notes written in old languages stuck to the walls between massive oil paintings depicting glorious battles, mystic creatures, ancient ones he had never seen. Plants were either hanging from the ceiling or over grown in corners. Dwayne made the mistake of sniffing at the strange red mushrooms poking out a dense pot of wriggling soil. He immediately recoiled watching worms surface just to burrow beneath the cakey mud. There were chattering cages hidden behind the bedroom curtain, ones he couldn't see into. Lined up along the wall was an oak desk draped in a velvet purple fabric coated in metallic gold zodiac symbols, completely covered end to end in bizarre herbs, animal parts, even live critters kept in an array of apothecary jars. Shelves held more, beakers of unrecognizable fluids bubbling over rickety bunsen burners. Thick crystals caked in dust jutted out beside a faded wooden box with bizarre pieces of jewelry spilling over, cobwebs gathering in untouched nooks. Rather than lamps or lanterns she had candles everywhere. Dribbling onto the floor, pouring over wrought iron candelabras, wiggling wisps of light spilling around the corners. By the kitchen space were cabinets sporting different colors of even more candles, many carved into with unfamiliar writings. When Dwayne picked up a dirty bottle covered in cobwebs off the crowded oak desk, there was a loud THWACK that made his ears wring.

“Ow! Hey-!”

Before he turned around she had a broom to his face and smacked him again. “No touching,” she demanded, yanking the bottle from him. 

“If I wanted to, I could kill you, you old hag,” he snarled, rapidly stepping towards her with fangs bared. Again, broom.

“Hush! You are not as your bothers are. You desire the knowledge, yes?! You shall not get a word if Alma is dead. No use then!”

Dwayne grumbled a sour huff, rubbing the top of his head. Again he questioned his personal sanity for humoring this hag wielding a mighty broom.

All the while the self proclaimed Alma shuffled around him, snatching up handfuls of bottles and plopping then atop another overcrowded table. Repeatedly she used the words "fool" and "knows nothing" clearly referring to him. Mostly because every time she said those words she'd look over her shoulder at him.

Black as night, her worn iron stove roared when she stoked the fire withing it's oven. Just atop the surface was a heavy black kettle nestled above a scalding red coil. It rattled and hissed, moaning when plumes of steam billowed out into the air. She mumbled and “harumph”ed her way through the caravan. Clanking down a tea set on a worn old silver tray she rapidly shuffled back to her stove to retrieve the screaming kettle still singing it's tune. Without missing a beat she dropped something inside it. It took two trembling hands she poured the water over the strange herbs she had previously retrieved into two cups. The dainty porcelain pieces were etched in golden, ancient writings atop another circular table covered by a deep blue table cloth. With that, she plunked herself atop a creaking old chair, staring at Dwayne with those beady eyes . 

‘Why the fuck am I still here with this old bat?’

Dwayne barely managed to fit in the rickety old seat that squeaked beneath his weight, staring down at the petit cup. The muddied liquid still bubbled, steam spiraling to carry an unbelievably sickening scent. Not necessarily horrible, but utterly confusing. The more he looked at it the more it seemed alive. “I am not touching that.”

“Hush! Nonsense! You shall drink as Alma does, and you will see.”

Dwayne hesitated, watching her sip at the herbal concoction. This was clearly the dumbest decison of his afterlife, but he had already died twice. What was there to be afraid of?

 “On the boardwalk.. you called me ‘wendigo’. What makes you say that?”

“I can see your true form,” she calmly explained, setting down the cup. The leaves barely floated at the base. If he turned his head he swore he could see it forming into the shape of a fanged jaw wide open. “Blood and flesh pave your future, but even those who dwell in darkness deserve a lantern to ease the suffering.”

So, she knew what they were. What he was. “Then why help me if you know I’m a vampire,” he questioned, expecting the tea to be brewed with holy water. 

“It is not my place to judge your path. I have come across many of your kind in my years of living. They all do what they must. So, drink.”

Dwayne hesitated once more, only to lift the beverage to his lips. It was bitter. The taste was reminiscent of biting into tree bark, all he could do is scrunch his nose. 

Then, Alma’s figure began to vibrate. He could see pieces of her breaking off, the room surrounding him peeling away, like old paint off a dirty wall. Strips crumbled to his feet. He attempted to move only to find himself firmly planted to his seat. There was nothing. No sound, no sight, only black. 

With a sharp inhale he opened his eyes to streams of orange. A... sunset?

Dwayne was amazed he could even remember what a sun set looked like. However, there was nothing that could take away the memory of the fire that filled the edges of the sky. Drips of night seeped in, miles of tall wheat grasses swaying in the breeze enveloping him. Still wedged in place he could only sit there, savoring a sight he would never see again.

But when he heard it, and he froze. A laugh. A twinkling bell chiming from far away. Flashes of E/C orbs flickered holding the sun within. A pearly smile whispering his name so softly it sent chills running down his spine. S/C as smooth as satin running a hand on his arm. The face cut in and out, but what he continued to see over and over was a symbol. An inky raven with wings draped over a woven dream catcher. Thick cords wove between each other into intricate details, each hole giving him pieces of who she was. Yes, she. He could hear her voice vibrate through the air. Not what it was saying, but only the sounds it made. “Alright alright, enough,” a raspy voice commanded. 

Dwayne finally jumped up and out of his chair, crashing back down to earth and only the dusty floor of Alma’s caravan practically wheezing for air. He felt like he had just been running for hours!

“Come, come let’s not be dramatic,” Alma snorted, shuffling over to take his tea over to her rusty old wash pan piled with dishes. 

It took a moment to get ahold of his bearings, swearing if he had a heartbeat right now it’d be jumping through his ribs. “What... the fuck... did you give me?!”

“No time for that, child. The bird is waiting for you just beyond the docks,” she began to babble again. Bird? Again that raven flashed before his eyes while Alma pried him off the floor. 

“Wait- but I don’t- will you quit shoving me?!”

Alma continued to yank him until he was out the door barely catching himself as they ran down the steps. “Oooh any minute, any minute. No time for dawdling!”

Quickly she took him by his arm and swung him back out into the crowd, stumbling into a young woman who nearly yelped.

“Oh shit are you okay,” she asked. A few girls giggled at him until she made a face, waving them off. “Sorry I didn’t see you there. Are you alright uh-?”

Just across her collarbone sat a raven tattoo nestled across her chest with winds spread over a dream catcher trailing into her shirt, the trickles of beads left hidden in her blouse. When he looked into those perfect E/C orbs holding the sunset beneath them he could only smile, setting her heart immediately ablaze. With a massive blush tinting her cheeks an adorable crimson hue she pulled him to his feet, unaware once he was standing that she still had not let go of his arm. Looking behind him Dwayne still expected to see the batty old woman sitting outside her caravan. Instead... there was no one in sight. No caravan either. Just an empty alleyway only sporting a few dented old trash bins overflowing with garbage. Slowly he turned back to the girl, positioning himself closer as his crisp smile beamed over cinnamon flesh.

“Well what’s your name first?”

“Y/N,” she spoke with a tender tone, pushing a lock of hair behind her ear.

“Y/N. I’m Dwayne. Nice to meet you, princess.”