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#Reincarnated soulmates AU
frantic-fiction · 2 months
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I'll Find My Way Back to You
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(Can't find source of pic if it's yours let me know)
Astarion x GN!Reader
Prompt: A century after Tav passes Astarion comes across an artist who is oddly familiar and paints moments that seemed to be pulled straight from Astarion's life.
Thank you to @justporo for letting me use their idea. Go show them some love.
Warnings: Tav's death, brief mention of s*icide, angst with a happy ending
Word Count: 4.6k (Oops kinda went overboard)
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“There’s no world I wish to live in without you,”
“My dear Astarion, we will find our way back to each other. This is not the end.”
Over a century has passed—a long, lonely century without Tav by his side. Astarion doesn’t understand how he’s endured, not with the void in his chest that appeared the moment he laid them to rest. The absence of his person, his love, his Tav, has left Astarion once again alone. 
For nearly a decade, he found himself trapped in a state of near-catatonia, a prisoner of time within their empty home. He wasted away, the days blending into one another, each marked by a silent ache in his chest—the void left by Tav’s departure. Tears soaked into the earth of the carefully tended grave, adorned with vibrant flowers from Tav’s garden. He often contemplated surrendering to the sun’s embrace, letting its rays turn his existence to ash for a semblance of peace.
He yearned to end the pain, yet he refrained. He made a promise whispered with heavy hearts and painful sobs—a promise that forced them to confront the harsh reality that Tav would always leave first. Instead of embracing the end, Astarion wasted away, a ghost of his former self, yearning for the return of his love. Change arrived when Tav visited him in a dream; the details were blurry, but Tav’s beautiful smile was etched in memory. The sweet words in that dream eluded him, yet upon waking, a faint lightness settled within him. Astarion graced the night with a flicker of energy for the first time since Tav’s passing.
Tav would have wished for him to move on. They would have wanted him to live. The stagnant life he clung to wasn’t what Tav would want for him. So that day, Astarion gathered his essentials into a bag and set forth as soon as the sun dipped below the horizon. Only momentarily stopping to bid his love a final, tearful farewell. Since that moment, he hasn’t stopped moving.
Astarion believed Tav would take pride in the life he’s built—the good he’s accomplished over the many years. He traversed all over Faerun, from Waterdeep to Skull Crag, never lingering in one place for too long. He wasn’t the hero Tav was, but he aided towns against monsters, dispatched goblins, and took odd jobs to help however he could. Throughout his travels, he dedicated most of his time to sharing stories of Tav, ensuring their memory lived on. When he first heard the bards’ songs recounting the Hero of Baldur’s Gate, he knew he had succeeded. Now, you can’t sit in a tavern without hearing tales and melodies about Tav.
Every day, he longed for Tav to be by his side. He yearned to feel their soft skin, experience their tender kisses, and sense their warm arms encircling his waist—the echo of their laughter dancing in his ears. He missed every aspect of Tav and would do anything to see them again. Yet, the world ran out of miracles for him. Instead, he learned with time to cope, to come to terms with their absence, and keep them close to his heart. 
***
Astarion traverses the dusty cobblestone of Wyrm’s Crossing and finds himself back in the heart of Baldur’s Gate—a city he’s consciously avoided for most of the century. It’s a place drenched in memories from his past life with Cazador, but mostly, the streets seem to be haunted by the presence of Tav.
His return to Baldur’s Gate remains shrouded in mystery. All he can discern is that he awoke one day in Daggerford, gripped by an inexplicable yearning to revisit the city. A compelling force tugging him down the Sword Coast, Astarion initially dismissed it as mere homesickness, scoffing at the notion. Yet, the persistent thought lingered, infesting his mind until he could no longer ignore the instinct to return.
The city remains strikingly unaltered despite the passage of time and the trials it endured. The same piss-stained cobblestone, alleyways cluttered with remnants of urban life, and a diverse array of inhabitants navigating the night. It’s an unsettling constant, especially juxtaposed against the transformation of Astarion’s existence.
Wandering through the back alleys and side streets, Astarion meanders aimlessly. Occasionally, a sight triggers memories, evoking a lump in his throat. The Elfsong Tavern, once familiar, now bears a different name and identity, a formal establishment concealing the echoes of nights spent in Tav’s comforting embrace. Bloomride Park, the graveyard, and the docks—all weave together, painting a vivid tapestry of Tav’s omnipresence.
Amidst the tumult of emotions, Astarion grapples with why he subjected himself to this emotional turmoil. The urge to retreat, to flee Baldur’s Gate before the dawn breaks, lingers within him. Yet, the itch persists, buried deep within his bones, propelling him forward. He silently promises himself the night to wander the city, and by this time tomorrow, he will be on his way to another town for another adventure.
Venturing into a dim, isolated street, Astarion observes a solitary lamplight spilling its soft glow from a store window. Peering through, he discovers a small art studio. Within, a graceful elf seems to dance with a paintbrush, each stroke deliberate yet flowing. Like a harpie song, Astarion is mesmerized and utterly captivated. He watches on silently, observing the elves happily consumed with their work. It gives him a wave of nostalgia, moments of watching Tav as they painted, unaware he was watching from the door. Astarion could almost hear the sweet hums that filled the room between brush strokes. 
Then he freezes, gaze snapping to the paintings that adorn the studio, scattered reflections of his life. Images of Karlach, Shadowheart, and all the others grace the space. However, it’s the depictions of himself that seize his breath. Compelled by an unseen force, Astarion walks right into the studio. In a far corner, he sees an intimate portrayal—an embrace that resonates with familiarity. 
The bell rings, and you break from your artistic trance. Startled, you look up, and there stands the pale elf in the doorway—the hero of Baldur’s Gate, Astarion—the man who has clouded your dreams for as long as memory serves. Startled, you look up, and there stands a pale elf in the doorway—the hero of Baldur’s Gate, Astarion—the man who has clouded your dreams for as long as memory serves.
The dreams began as mere fragments—white curls, sharp teeth, delicate hands. Gradually, they evolved into more vivid scenes—muffled conversations by a campfire, laughter and gentle shoves, and stolen kisses between bed sheets—private moments of a stranger, a byproduct of an active imagination intertwined with an elven crush. Or at least that was what your mother would say. Now, the subject of those dreams stands before you.
Astarion, surrounded by the art that mirrors his life, fixates on a miniature portrait. The details are hazy, yet he recalls the campfire, the desperation in his gaze, and a significant confession followed by an embrace.
You pick up a fallen brush with a trembling hand, placing it in a water cup. Asterion was just as breathtakingly beautiful as your dream portrayed, but to see him in person has your heart hammering in your chest and your breath quickening with nerves. Wiping paint-covered hands on your smock, you took a deep breath and gathered the courage to approach Astarion. 
Staring at the portrait, you utter quietly, “This one’s my favorite. Though I wish I could have captured the others’ images better.”
“Tav.”
“I’m sorry?”
“The person you painted. My partner Tav, they used to paint too,” Astarion’s voice carries the weight of unspoken emotions.
“Oh, yes. They were the leader of your group, if I remember correctly. I’m sorry for your loss.”
Astarion remains silent, the canvas now a source of unbearable memories. He moves through the studio, examining the art up close. It’s weird to have your muse perusing around your gallery. It’s embarrassing to have Astarion see just how many pieces have been dedicated to him. What do you do at this point? Should you follow him, tell him about each piece and the dreams behind them? No, that seems pretentious, so you retreat to the canvas you’ve been working on for the better part of the week.
This piece was different—a symbol rather than a person or scene. Rings of unknown runes fan out in jagged edges, evoking a sense of beauty tinged with profound sadness. It disturbed you to your core, but you needed to paint it. It’s how it always goes. Once a dream pops into your head, whether it’s a scene, a person, or a symbol, it refuses to leave until you’ve laid it on a canvas. Picking up the brush, you dip it back into the red paint and continue to bolden the lines. 
“Who are you?” Astarion’s voice is right behind you; you jump, knocking a pot of paint over. Cursing softly, you quickly right the pot, attempting to salvage the spilled paint. Paint isn’t cheap, and in your non-upper-class circumstances, every drop is precious.
“Oh, I’m sorry; I have been very rude,” you offer your name. “I, of course, already know you, Astarion. It’s hard not to come across the tales of the heroes of Baldur’s Gate, but I guess—” Your rambling trails off pathetically as something changes in Astarion. There’s tension in his shoulders, a coldness in his eyes. Nibbling on your bottom lip, you nervously play with a loose thread on the smock.
Astarion scrutinizes you with a piercing gaze, his eyes lingering on your face as if searching for hidden truths. The air becomes taut, charged with an almost palpable intensity. Then, as if propelled by an unseen force, he reacts like a tightly wound rubber band snapping. Reaching out, he harshly pulls you to him, bearing his teeth at you. Your stomach drops, shocked by the aggression. 
“Have you been following me? Stalking me?” His voice carries a storm of anger, his grip on your shoulders unyielding, the coldness of his touch akin to ice piercing through the fabric of your being. “Don’t lie to me because I’ve shown one person that fucking scar, and I buried them.”
Your heart races, fear coursing through your veins as you whimper a response, tears welling up in your eyes. “I-I don’t know, I’m sorry,”
“Don’t lie!”
“Please, I’m so, so sorry. I don’t know; I have dreams; I don’t know why, b-but I dream of you,” your voice falters, and your vulnerability is laid bare. “I dream of you, your friends, and places I’ve never been. I’m sorry, I’ll stop, I promise.”
As abruptly as his hands seized you, they vanished, leaving you stumbling to your knees, unable to contain the torrent of tears streaming down your face. Curling in on yourself, you can’t stop the cries of apologies and promises of never picking up a brush again, of burning every last piece in the room. 
Astarion looks down at you, his expression shifting from anger to a complex amalgamation of horror and something else—perhaps realization. Stepping away, he leaves you rooted to the spot. Your gaze fixed blankly out the window. Odd and conflicting emotions swirl within you—fear, confusion, longing?—all clashing fiercely. Amidst the tumult, one thought emerges with undeniable clarity—this won’t be the last time you see Astarion.
*
Astarion’s breaths come in ragged gasps as he runs through the barren streets, escaping the grasp of the haunting memories that threaten to consume him. His thoughts are a raging storm, and he pays no heed to the bewildered faces of those he rudely pushes past. The town of Rivington is a blur as he sprints through it, a desperate escape, picking a direction and refusing to stop until his body aches, halting only when the sun begins its ascent above the horizon.
In his frantic need to run, there was no consideration for shelter from the sun’s relentless rays. Mercifully, he stumbles upon an abandoned cave. Dry, dusty, and shrouded in darkness, it becomes his refuge. In a corner, he sinks slowly against the cool, rough wall to the ground, seeking solace in the obscurity.
Astarion pulls his knee to his chest, pressing his forehead against his crossed arms. Shaking and shivering, a stark contrast to the bitter summer heat enveloping the cave, he clings to his vulnerability. Eyes shut tight, jaw clenched, fingernails dig deep into his arms as if attempting to anchor himself in the reality that threatens to crumble around him.
Desperation claws at him, and he yearns for Tav. The desire to feel Tav’s warm embrace, hands crossing over his chest, pulling him close, torments him. He longs for the soft whispers of love and the gentle press of lips. Astarion can’t navigate this without Tav. He’s a mess, barely holding on, living each agonizing day, acutely aware that the best part of him is gone, and he can do nothing to reclaim it.
The cruelty of encountering such intimate moments from his past life with Tav wounds him deeply. These were moments meant for him and Tav alone. Realizing that a stranger could capture those cherished memories intended for one person alone turns his stomach.
Anger becomes a conduit for his overwhelming emotions, and the terrified look on the artist’s face is etched in his mind, an indelible scar on his conscience. Shame burns within him, a searing reminder of the boundaries he violated. Physically assaulting someone in their own space—what would Tav think of him now?
The artist adds another layer to Astarion’s confusion. The familiarity is uncanny—the excited calf raises, the almost-stumbles afterward, the nervous lip biting, puffed cheeks during deep concentration, and the mindless dancing when no one is watching. Every little thing the artist did mirrored Tav, and with all his memories physically displayed, Asterion finds himself lost in a sea of confusion. Why does this stranger resemble his love so deeply?
The bards’ tales of soulmates and reincarnation, once dismissed as mere children’s stories and fiction, now claw at the edges of Astarion’s consciousness. What if? What if Tav found their way back to him? Weirder things have happened in his long life, and the possibility plants a seed of hope within him.
Yet, he forcefully suppresses that hope. It won’t serve him, not now. Instead, he resolves to learn more. By nightfall, he returns to the city, catching the first boat to Waterdeep. After a day and some change, he stands outside the Wizards’ tower, resentment simmering as he contemplates turning to Gale, his best chance at answers.
A groan escapes Astarion as he hangs his head, and a series of knocks echo on the thick wooden door. “This better be worth it…”
The door swings open on its own into a dimly lit foyer. Astarion follows a familiar path, the cool air and faint scent of ancient tomes embracing him. He ascends the staircase with nostalgia and reluctance, each step echoing the countless times Tav and himself sought knowledge and assistance within these walls.
As he pushes open the study door, a scene unfolds before him. Gale is hunched over a worn scroll, graying hair ruffled, and a small pair of reading glasses set on the tip of his nose. The room is bathed in the soft glow of candlelight, creating an intimate ambiance. Notes adorn the margins, evidence of Gale’s ceaseless quest for understanding.
Gale looks up, a broad, warm smile gracing his features, and Astarion is momentarily transported back to the times when this sage was only a joke he poked fun at across camp. Removing his reading glasses, Gale pushes up from his desk, an air of welcoming familiarity enveloping the room.
“Well, look who the tressym dragged in. How are you, Astarion?”
Astarion stiffens as he is pulled into a spontaneous hug by Gale. The embrace is both unexpected and oddly comforting, a physical manifestation of the genuine camaraderie they’ve shared through the years. Astarion, unaccustomed to such displays of affection, awkwardly pats Gale’s back before gently pulling away.
“I’m afraid I’ve been better.”
Gale’s eyes convey concern and understanding as he gestures for Astarion to sit. The worn chair creaks under the weight of memories and the weightier burden of Astarion’s troubled soul.
“Then sit down, my friend, and tell me how I can help.”
***
Days of tireless research and a network of favors exchanged between magical acquaintances have led them to a glimmer of hope. Though not expansive, the discovery hints at the possibility that souls entwined so tightly may have a magnetic pull toward each other. A pull is so strong that souls can find each other in different lifetimes. Tales have described soulmates experiencing memories from previous lifetimes together, but they were vague at best. The specific remains elusive, shrouded in mystery, yet it’s enough to kindle a spark of hope within Astarion’s lonely heart.
Gale, ever the bore, offers a gentle reminder, “Now, just remember, if you try to force feelings before—”
“I would never!” Astarion’s retort carries a venomous edge, an unspoken warning to watch his following words carefully. Gale raises his hands in defense. 
“My point is the brain is a prickly thing. It’s best not to rush anything it’s not ready for.”
“Yes, yes, you have said this five times already. Would you please activate the portal? I have an apology to make.”
Anticipation hums in the air, a palpable energy that courses through Astarion. A fleeting smile graces his lips, and for a moment, the weight of his grief is replaced by a glimmer of life.
Looking at Astarion with a fondness born of shared trials, Gale responds, “Of course, Astarion.”
With a confident shake of his wrist, he activates the magical circle, and the room is bathed in a radiant glow of bright runes, their purple luminescence dancing in the semi-darkness.
Astarion steps toward the portal, his heart pulsating with trepidation and newfound hope. However, before crossing the threshold, he turns around to face Gale, clapping him on the shoulder.
“Thank you, Gale. I will not forget this.”
“It was my pleasure. Now, I expect to meet this lovely artist sooner rather than later.” Gale’s parting words hang in the air, infused with the hope of rekindling a connection beyond the realms of understanding.
*
Back in the heart of Baldur’s Gate, Astarion swiftly navigated the bustling streets, an air of anticipation accompanying him. His purpose was clear—to reach your studio and beg for your forgiveness. A brief pause along the way allowed him to acquire a small bundle of daisies, a spontaneous choice fueled by the memory of Tav’s fondness for these delicate blooms.
As Astarion approached the studio, a surge of uncertainty clawed at him. Hesitation gripped his every step, the shadow of fear etched across his features. The fear in your eyes during the last encounter was seared into his memory. Had his previous outburst irreparably damaged any chance of reconciliation? The conflicting forces of his desire to see you again and the instinct to flee wrestled within him. Yet, he pressed forward, forcing himself down the street, and there you stood.
The scene that greeted him was a chaotic masterpiece of colors. Paint adorned your cheeks and arms, a testament to the artistic fervor that consumed you. Your hair, a cascade of untamed strands, framed a face that mirrored both exhaustion and creative passion. Astarion had a sudden urge to brush the strands away and press a soft kiss to your cheek, something he often did with Tav.
Your weariness was palpable—shoulders slumped, eyes half-lidded. Perhaps, he pondered, he should postpone this encounter, allowing you the reprieve of rest. The realization that he might be the last person you wanted to see compelled Astarion to take a step back, an unspoken retreat.
But just as he moved to leave, your eyes jumped up to meet his, you froze mid-stroke, and Astarion couldn’t read your expression. He should go. Why did he think this was a good idea? He’s just about to run when you nod for him to come in. Obliging, Astarion found himself standing awkwardly within the studio; you went back to painting. Your brush danced across the canvas, applying a vibrant shade of blue in deliberate strokes. Astarion’s attempts to break the silence faltered, his words dissolving into the room’s stillness.
“What are you doing here, Astarion?” The steadiness in your voice pierced the calm. You tried to hold on to your anger for the man all week. But upon seeing him standing so lost on the street had your resolve crumbling. You can’t deny the mild excitement that fluttered through your veins upon seeing him again.
His voice, momentarily lost, found its way back. “I-I came here to apologize for last week. My behavior was deplorable, and I wish to make things right.”
A wry amusement flickered in your eyes as you evaluated the bouquet, now slightly worse for wear under his tight grip. “And you believe a bundle of broken daisies would win you my forgiveness?”
Astarion, caught off guard, looked down at the bruised bouquet. “Um…well, I was hoping for roses, but they were fresh out.”
A snort escaped you as you put down your paintbrush and approached him. A tentative touch on his forearm transferred the flowers from his grasp to yours, eliciting a shiver down his spine. The longing to reach out is strong, but Astarion holds still as you retreat.
Intently studying the daisies, you began to divide the bundle into two piles. Astarion watched silently, recognizing echoes of Tav’s essence reflected in your actions. While understanding that you were not Tav, the profound sorrow gripping his heart seemed to ease in your presence.
“Half,” you declared suddenly.
“Pardon?”
“Half of the daisies survived.”
“And where does that leave us?”
With a theatrical flair, you pondered the question, pacing the room. “That, good sir, is the question. What is my forgiveness worth? I did luck out; daisies are my favorite, so you’re a step farther than roses would have gotten you.” 
Astarion, grasping the playful undertone, decided to play along. With a hand on his hips and a wicked smirk, he responded, “Well, I am a pretty lucky man. Now, please, I beg, what more can I do to gain your forgiveness?”
You hummed softly, tapping your chin. You keep Astarion in suspense for a moment before you suddenly turn to the man. “How about…I get dressed, you take me out to dinner, and we’ll go from there?”
“Okay.”
“Okay.” The agreement hung in the air, a hope for something more lingering. 
***
The dinner evolved into an evening stroll, a seamless transition from pleasant chatter to playful banter. It was an unexpected evening, but the time spent with Astarion was so easy, so familiar you didn’t want it to end. Reading about the saviors of Baldur’s Gate was intriguing, and dreaming of a vampiric elf held its allure, but nothing compared to the tangible presence of the real Astarion.
Astarion embodied the epitome of perfection – handsome, intelligent, and endowed with a wit that had you giggling all night. He was the quintessential gentleman, the embodiment of every mother’s hopeful wish for their child.
What started as a single date quickly snowballed into a series of enchanting encounters – one date led to two, then five, until you found yourself drawn into his orbit every week. The pace was exhilarating, and being around Astarion felt like being charged with an electric current. It was not just addictive; it was a whirlwind of happiness, and you couldn’t help but revel in it.
If one indulged in whimsical tales, the idea that Astarion might be your soulmate would have crossed your mind. His ability to read you so intimately sometimes felt like he delved into the depths of your mind.
The dreams persisted, evolving into a kaleidoscope of memories that intertwined your moments with Astarion and a phantom era where someone else shared his company. Astarion, at times, would cast glances at you as you transferred another dream to canvas, an anticipation lingering in his eyes. Despite his attempts, he couldn’t veil the disappointment when the visions resulted in nothing more than another painting adorning the wall.
Then, it occurred on a serene spring day, three years since Astarion first entered your studio. The sun had yet to set, and you found solace curled up with Astarion. Limbs tangled, chests pressed together, hands intertwined – a tableau of intimate connection. His cold nose nestled against the crook of your neck, his white curls playfully tickling your nose.
Behind your closed eyelids, soft images of a forest clearing unfolded – Astarion shirtless, beckoning you towards him. Something clicked, and suddenly, the foreign memories that greeted you each night became a mosaic of your own experiences. The floodgates opened, overwhelming you with a lifetime of moments – kisses beneath the stars, laughter resonating around a campfire, and heart-stopping close calls with death.
Astarion often spoke of Tav, a robust and kind soul who played a pivotal role in shaping him. He wouldn’t be who he is today without them. You now knew a bit better; yes, you had nudged him along the way, but his growth was his own, and you couldn’t be more proud. To think of the years he spent without you, the grief he must have had to push through. If the roles were reversed, you don’t believe you would have been strong enough to keep going.
Startled from his slumber, Astarion found your body descending upon his, your hand meeting his chest with firm slaps. “Stop you, little gremlin.” Groggily, he attempted to restrain you in a tender embrace. He was met with your swift departure from his lap. He heard the patter of your feet retreating from the bed.
“You are a bastard, Astarion!”
Fully alert and by your side instantly, “What did I do, my sweet?”
Worry etched into every crease of his face as he cupped your jaw, looking frantically into your eyes. You intertwined your fingers with his, your other hand reaching out to caress the skin of his hip. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Your voice is barely above a whisper.
Astarion scrutinized your face, his eyes delving deep into yours. The faintest furrow of his brows betrayed his thoughts. As if following an unspoken script, he pulled you in by the waist, foreheads gently meeting.
Glistening with unshed tears, Astarion whispered, “You remember?” His voice trembled.
“Yes… maybe it’s all still tangled. But yes, I remember Tav – well, I remember us.”
Astarion’s smile widened, his fangs peeking out, and his lips met yours in a heated kiss spinning the two of you around the room. It was a slow dance of lips as if Astarion had all the time in the cosmos to savor this moment. While you could quickly lose yourself in the embrace, you were privy to all his subtle tricks. You turned your face when he attempted to draw you back into the kiss.
“Gods, Astarion, for three years, you knew and never said anything. I’ve painted you for almost as long as I could wield a brush, and for three years, you knew why!” Another slap graced his chest, and tears trickled down your cheeks, eagerly wiped away by his thumbs.
“I wanted to, my love. The moment I realized I wanted to. But this couldn’t be rushed; you can’t rush the mind.”
“Star, I’m so sorry I took so long,”
“No, stop; you took as long as you needed to return to me.” His forehead rests against yours once more, and the room stands still for a moment. “What matters is you’re here, in my arms, and I’m not letting go anytime soon.”
A choked sob mingled with a chuckle, and you nuzzled closer into Astarion, hiding your face into his neck. “Gods, I love you, Astarion.”
“And I love you.”
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Okay loves, let me know what you think. I've been working on this for over a week and still find some sections I'm not all that happy with, but I want to move on to other pieces. Any and every interaction makes my day.
Taglist: heartfully10, ayselluna
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comatosebunny09 · 5 months
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Inspired by @sserpente’s The Sunwalker’s Gift.
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Imagine being a shopkeeper, selling heirlooms and antiques in a quaint mom-and-pop shop.
Business is incredibly slow. You find yourself flipping through the worn, deckled pages of a book, your chin cradled in your palm. There is nary a customer in sight. Not since that new, mainstream jewelry store popped up down the street.
You’re about to close up shop early to enjoy what’s left of the day—it’s lovely outside. Too pretty to be tucked between these browning walls. But the jangle of the store’s bell lures your attention to the door.
Finally.
You look up as you prepare to greet the store’s newest occupant. But you forget how to talk—forget how to breathe—rooted to the floor like a basilisk has petrified you.
He’s ethereal amid the sunbeams pouring into your tiny store. All wintry-skinned, thin, and tall, dark lenses perched on his sharp nose. Rounded cheeks, petal-pink lips, and foxlike features.
His hair is what entrances you. Swaying like snowflakes in the breeze, and you wonder if it’s as soft as the snow it resembles. Vaguely, you register it sifting through your fingers, smell it exuding the faintest hints of rosemary and firewood.
The stranger surveys your shop, one hand tucked in his pants pocket, the other holding onto an oversized coat. Even his stance is princely. Nothing captures his attention for too long as he peruses through your wares, feigning interest in your rickety things.
You suddenly feel insecure; small—he strikes a picturesque figure amid the dusty antiques lining your shelves. The store across the way would probably suit someone so devastatingly beautiful better.
Nevertheless, you remember how to speak. Square your shoulders, plastering on your most welcoming grin despite your nerves exploding like solar flares beneath your skin.
After smoothing out the wrinkles of your attire, you offer the customer a warm, rehearsed “Welcome!”
He perks up at the sound of your voice. Lips twitch into a half smile, silver brows lifting slightly. Your heart hiccups at the sight.
The stranger saunters towards the counter, carrying with him the scent of bergamot and brushed sage. It’s a homely scent. Somehow nostalgic as he leans towards you, tilting his shades down to ingest you with eyes the color of smoldering coals.
“Good afternoon, love,” he drawls, his accent thick with regality. The purr of it causes your body to flood with warmth. It’s almost dizzying, the ground shifting beneath your feet.
You swallow, your throat thickening with your voice. “What brings you in today?”
“Actually.” He looks thoughtful, a long finger tapping his chin. Suddenly, he snaps his fingers like all the world’s secrets bare themselves to him. “Maybe you can help me with something.”
You watch with bated breath whilst the stranger retrieves something from his coat pocket. It catches in the sunlight. Glints a pretty ruby red as he places it on the display counter with a resounding clack.
“I’ve been trying to part ways with the damned thing for ages. Yet somehow, it always finds its way back to me.” His gaze is far off for the barest of seconds before he replaces it with a nonchalant shrug, waggling his hand dismissively. “It’s long since served its purpose. An antique, if you will. I wondered how much it would go for if it still holds any value.”
He speaks of it so contemptuously. As if it’s been a burden to carry all this time. But it’s beautiful in its simplicity. Tarnished gold, carved with intricate runes you can’t quite decipher. It houses a gorgeous crimson stone that seems to hum and swirl with energy—with power. Perhaps it’s a trick of the light or your nerves causing you to hallucinate.
You’re delicate as you hold it against the sun’s rays, further studying its design. In your peripheral, you capture the stranger’s eyes, regarding you with something you can’t quite place. Disdain? Curiosity? Fondness? Whatever it is, it unnerves you. Makes your mouth fill with sand as you clutch the ring in your palm, intending to scrutinize it some more in the back. It radiates against your flesh despite it being so frigid.
“I’ll have to take a more thorough look at it,” you conclude, masking your shakiness. You muster another smile. “Would you like some tea in the meantime? It may take a while to appraise it properly.”
“No thank you, darling,” replies the fair-skinned stranger, leaning against your counter in an easy slouch. His smirk is back, boasting what you mistake for a fang, peeking through the plushness of his lips. “Never had a taste for the stuff.”
“Coffee your thing?”
“Gods no.”
“Water?”
He waves you off with a quiet scoff, venturing away to prod and examine the other little trinkets in your shop.
“Take all the time you need, love. I’ve nothing but time to spare. And, by the looks of it, so do you.” He eyes you over his shoulder with mirth gracing his countenance. A flash of affection colors his gaze before he busies himself again.
You huff a laugh at his peculiar mannerisms, disappearing behind the curtain of the back room to fetch your jewelers loupe. All the while, your mind swims with wistfulness.
You can't help but feel like the handsome stranger who’d fatefully wandered into your shop is watching you, burrowing deep into your soul, even through the thick veil of your curtain.
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officialdaydreamer00 · 4 months
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𝙴𝙻𝚈𝚂𝙸𝚄𝙼
"The final resting place of heroes and the virtuous.
When the concept of reincarnation gained currency in the classical world, the two Elysian realms were sometimes tiered — a soul which had won passage three times to the netherworld Elysium would, with their fourth death, be transferred to the Islands of the Blessed to dwell with the heroes of myth for all eternity.
Blessed be, the destination of two fated lovers..."
finally closing the book, you let out a soft sigh. it wasn't that you didn't enjoy mythology stories like such, far from it exactly. yet somehow, it always gave you a sense of familiarity, as if you had been through it before.
you shook your head. mythology were just stories people of ancient civilisations made up for their beliefs, of course. that was just a silly thought you had, right?
... right?
you felt a pair of arms snaked around your waist, warm and gentle as if you were made from porcelain. a familiar scent that belonged to your beloved, the comfort of which your confused soul sought for. lips leaving a fleeting kiss to your tensed neck, murmuring a voice, beautiful and soothing, you yearned to hear.
"i'm home."
right, you smiled. it didn't matter much, as long as he was still by your side.
"welcome home."
as long as your bond still prevailed.
your fated, your beloved.
𝙴𝙻𝚈𝚂𝙸𝚄𝙼 — 𝙰 200+ 𝙵𝙾𝙻𝙻𝙾𝚆𝙴𝚁𝚂 𝙴𝚅𝙴𝙽𝚃
(From 20th to 30th of November)
— by Lovejoy Studios
A Twisted Wonderland AU sets in an inestimable timeline, where the gods are very much real. And you, dear one, and your beloved are reunited at last, after centuries old of godly tragedies.
𝙰𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗𝚝:
In Elysium, you may decide who shall play the god, and who shall play the human. Of course, both can be gods, or both can be humans.
I unfortunately cannot stop the tragedies you might have faced in your first lives, though, for Greek mythology shows no mercy for its heroes. That, dear one, you have to figure out yourself.
𝚁𝚞𝚕𝚎𝚜:
• You have to reblog this post, and spread the word to the best of your abilities. The more people who knows, the more effective it shall be.
• Seek the Oracle of Delphi and tell her your wishes. You may need to specify your beloved one, and a scenario you had in mind, else the Oracle would tell you a... less than appeal vision. However, if that is what you wanted, then I will not stop you.
• Examples of what your ask should be like:
"What is my destiny with Malleus Draconia? Would it end with us happily in love and dancing the night away under the night sky?"
or
"Tell me my destiny with Jade Leech. Would he truly be my fated one, had we ended up like Theseus and Ariadne?"
Be as creative and detailed as you wish, dear one. I am not here to hinder you from finding your destined end.
May the Fates be kind to you.
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format is inspired by the great mage of misery, @ceruleancattail
🏷️ @azulashengrottospiano @aqua-beam @siren-serenity @dove-da-birb @shinysparklesapphires @vioisgoinginsane @shyhaya @hisui-dreamer @axvwriter @names-are-dumb @leonistic @iseethatimicy @cecilebutcher @moonlit-midnight @krenenbaker @ryker-writes @cookiesandbiscuits @minimallyminnie @xen-blank @cave-of-jade @mermaidfanficlibrary @taruruchi @thehollowwriter @edith-is-apparently-a-cat @wordycheesecake @enigmatic-pers @jaylleoo14
note: i might not write for characters i find hard to characterise correctly (i.e. pomefiore trio, jamil, leona) but i will try my best to
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edwardbabygirlteach · 6 months
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I’ll always find you.
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As pirates.
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As creatures of the night.
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As life long friends.
I promise that I’ll always find you, in any reality.
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Vampire Arthur: [chuckling] We're like two sides of the same coin.
Merlin: [freezes]
Vampire Arthur: [concerned] Merlin?
Merlin: [tears falling] Fuck, hearing that shouldn't make me cry. He would've called me a girl for crying, I uh [wipes away his tears] shit, sorry. [tries to smile]
Vampire Arthur: [curious and slightly jealous] Who?
Merlin: [shakes his head] Someone from my past, anyways—
Vampire Arthur: [holds Merlin shoulders trying to peer into Merlin's eyes] Tell me who holds your heart still?
Merlin: [looks back at Arthur then to the side] A King, whom I'll wait forever for even if it kills me each day to do so.
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Sukuna's Wife and Yuuji's Onee-chan (Sukuna x Reincarnated!Y/N) Part 1
I’m an actual big sister–the eldest. What a pain. But who can hate someone as adorable as baby Yuuji? I’d hate the world less if there were more Yuuji’s in it. 
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You were neighbors with grumpy old man Wasuke Itadori. The other children and even most adults didn’t like him, but you got along well with the guy. You liked that he didn’t talk down to you like the other grownups.
As a child, you hated children. (You hated people in general, but kids were a piece of work.) One exception was Yuuji. You met the toddler when Wasuke announced that he was now an orphan. 
Yuuji was a loud baby, but that wasn’t always a bad thing. When he cried, he let out fat globs of tears and his cheeks swelled. But it didn’t take much to make him happy. Just seeing you made him smile that toothless smile of his. 
He seemed to like you a lot. Maybe because you shared his grandpa’s personality. 
Over the years, you grew close with the Itadoris and you always walked to and from school with Yuuji.
You didn’t have any clubs or after school activities because you preferred to watch over Wasuke, who would yell at you for neglecting your social life. 
You were there to hold Yuuji’s hand when the eldest Itadori died. 
Yuuji didn’t cry and you didn’t want to force him to talk, but you became more sensitive and protective of him. 
Despite his protests, you cleaned the Itadori home, did Yuuji’s laundry (which you haven’t done since he was in grade school), restocked the pantry, and cooked his meals. 
One night, however, Yuuji didn’t walk home with you because he had a meeting for his club, but he promised he’ll come back in time for dinner so you carefully prepared his favorite meal. 
Yuuji was a good boy, the best boy, actually. He was genuinely sweet to everyone, he did his chores, and above all, he always, always informed you if something changed in his schedule because even though he was taller and stronger than you, he knew how much you worried. Even during the rare moments of disagreement between you two, he would always inform you if he couldn’t make it to an appointment. 
So when a whole hour passed without so much as a text message from him, you grabbed your bag and jumped out the door and into a cab heading straight for his high school. 
Your breathing became heavy the moment you reached the place. Something was wrong. Your bones ached. 
The air was heavy, thick with tension as you shakingly destroyed the campus gate lock with a rock. 
Yuuji was family to you. You practically raised that boy. If anything happened to him you would never forgive yourself. 
You didn’t have to search far for him though. A giant mass, some creature blocked the moon from high above and you just knew your brother was there.
You never ran so fast your whole life.
As Yuuji was being wrangled by the monster, your body moved before you could think and you ran forward.
“Yuuji!” You screamed, throwing a rock at the creature’s eye.
The thing didn’t let go of Yuuji but it was definitely paying attention to you now. 
Frozen, you watched futilely as it reached for you. 
Like a voice in the water, you heard a stranger call out to you–you didn’t even realize that someone else was here. It didn’t matter. You were going to die. You shut your eyes, silently asking Yuuji for forgiveness. 
Time stills–
Your tears pool.
But nothing comes.
You dared to open your eyes and realize that you’re not even standing anymore. You had collapsed on the ground. The monster was nowhere to be found.
Looking down at you was Yuuji, but at the same time, it wasn’t Yuuji. Sure the man in front of you was wearing his jacket and had his pink hair, but this wasn’t your brother.
“Finally,” the imposter whispered and your heart sped up with familiarity. 
“I found you.” He stretched forward his arm, trying to touch you but someone clapped and you gasped–a third party now cradled you in his arms. 
“Sorry,” the white-haired stranger holding you chuckled, but he wasn’t talking to you, he was talking to Yuuji’s imposter. “We can’t have you hurting civilians now, can we?”
There was a pause in the air.
You gulped. 
The tattooed Yuuji glared at the man holding you. “Let her go, or I’ll–”
He grabbed his cheek and when he spoke again, you could hear Yuuji, “Hey, what’s going on now? Give me back my body!”
“Y-Yuuji?” You muttered.
“Ah, nee-chan! You’re safe, thank god!”
“What’s happening?”
“That’s my question.”
Yuuji’s face turned again, and the voice of his imposter growled, “Don’t address my wife so casually, you brat.”
Another pause in the air.
You didn’t know what kind of face you were making, but you would’ve laughed at everybody else if you weren’t so baffled at the declaration.
The imposter: <( ̄︶ ̄)>
Yuuji:  ( ・◇・)?
The the fair-headed stranger holding you: Σ(TωT)
The black-haired teenager you’ve never met before: ( ̄□ ̄;)
After what felt like an eternity of silence, Yuuji’s chin turned and he spoke up, “Nee-chan, I didn’t know you were married.”
Another head turned. “Don’t call her ‘nee-chan,’ and how dare you look straight into her eyes.”
“Nee-chan, have you considered getting a divorce?”
“I’m not married, Yuuji!”
Part 2
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orqheuss · 10 months
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In any version of reality
(Ominis Gaunt/F!Reader FLUFF)
Reincarnation!Soulmate AU
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Summary:
In the world of soulmates, ties told through memories of past lives and reincarnation, Ominis was sure that he had to be a very new soul. *** Ominis Gaunt was more sure than anything in his life that he did not have a soulmate. He had heard tales from others about their experiences, how lovely it was to finally find the one you had been searching for through any timeline, and he had resigned himself to the fact that his soul was too new to have a past life. But, after hearing you sing in the deserted music room sends him on a journey back in time, could he have truly found the person he had been longing for since before the dawn of creation?
Story is based off of "Epic iii" from the Hadestown 2017 Original Cast Recording.
Word Count: 4.7k
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In the world of soulmates, ties told through memories of past lives and reincarnation, Ominis was sure that he had to be a very new soul. He had heard stories told through grapevines, whispers in the night of people finding their loves at a young age; how their timeless histories came flooding back to them like a torrential downpour of emotion they couldn’t identify until they tasted their loves name on their lips— heard their voice flitter through their ears like a soft ocean breeze for the first time. Some said it happened suddenly, as soon as they brushed against each other or looked into each other's eyes for the first time. Those people said it was like being struck by a falling star, burning to the touch and gloriously wonderful all at the same time. Some said it happened gradually, after years and years of knowing each other, only to be triggered by an oddly familiar moment in time or a feeling, like a song murmured from an ancient gramophone in the corner of a room they’d long forgotten about. Those people said it was warm, like a blanket you’d just cast a drying charm on— like they were coming home after a long trip and the hearth was already lit for their arrival. No matter how much he longed to tell stories like this himself, how much he yearned to find that grand, timeless love that he could only read about in books, the universe did not have a past life to spare him. 
For a while he blamed his parents, like they were the ones that ripped him into the world before one of the many ghosts floating around in the stratosphere could latch onto him and call him theirs, but he knew that they had no control over ethereal beings like that. Then, he blamed his disability for his woebegone-ness. Every story he had ever heard told tales of looking into their soulmate's eyes and seeing the world as it was for the first time— could it be that because he could not see he would never know the feeling of holding someone's gaze and seeing yourself as you truly were the day your ageless soul was born into the world like a bursting supernova? Not knowing anyone else that suffered the same blindness as him, he didn’t have anything else to go off of. And so, that was the only answer his feebly human mind could give him— the only thing that actually made sense in his brain.
Being born without sight had never really bothered Ominis much until he got to Hogwarts. His childhood home was dreadfully quiet, and very few members of his family were home at a time, so he didn’t have any sounds invading his sensitive ears very often. All of that changed as soon as he crossed the threshold of the grandiloquent school. The tall ceilings echoed all voices like a cathedral tower echoed the hymns of a choir— he knew everyone's business better than his own, sometimes before his peers even learned of it themselves. With that came the knowledge of everyone's soulmate encounters, each story different from the last but just as magical each time. Down the castle stairs, tucked away in the corner near the one-eyed witch, Ominis heard Adelaide Oakes recount her story of brushing against a muggle boy in her village and seeing a post-colonial British soldier standing at her doorstep, stretches of farmland spanning farther than her eyes can see over his shoulder. In potions, he heard Garreth Weasley whisper to his cauldron partner about how he had known his soulmate for years, only realizing that they were meant to be after seeing them lounging on the shore of the pond behind his house— one moment they were strewn across the damp, summer-green grass, and the next they were curled around his past in a bed made of purple silk, the Paris skyline just beyond his reach through their bay windowed apartment. He could distinctly recall all of the details of Sebastian’s revelation, having heard how he saw himself galloping through a field of flowers with a lovely princesses arms wrapped around his waist, pressing her delicate fingerprints into his shiny chain-mail armor as they laughed into the sun many a time before drifting off into a dreamless sleep in their common room. Even Leander Prewett found his one true match, spinning the tale to anyone who would hear in their herbology class about how he was a British king once, married to a beautiful woman dressed in green with a matching choker necklace of pearls and emeralds— how the large “B” charm caught the light just right during their private garden strolls to make her blue eyes sparkle (Ominis also remembered the next day when he stumbled upon the frazzled Gryffindor in the library annex, filled with dread as he poured quite anxiously through the books and reading about that particular necklace, as well as the pretty neck that went along with it. Poor sod). 
No, Ominis Gaunt had not found his soulmate yet, nor did he think he ever would, and he was perfectly fine with that, thank you very much. 
At least, that’s what he told everyone when they asked. 
What didn’t help his case, unfortunately, was that he was irrevocably and incandescently infatuated with the new fifth year. It had taken him some time to get used to their presence in his inner circle. All of his friends had a very distinct magical signature that he memorized after knowing them for some time— every magical being had one, really. Magic to Ominis felt like the fizz of cider against his skin, some slightly more carbonated than others and carrying a different taste in his mouth. Anne felt like the sparkling citrus water that the kitchens would bring out on particularly hot days before finals. Sebastian felt like the burn of firewhiskey on an autumn night, the bonfire in the center of the circle warming the tips of his nose and ears. Both were refreshing and lovely in their own right, but his newest friend was something he had never felt before. He was never able to feel someone else's soul under their skin and determine how old it was, but there was no way you were a young, or even new soul like he was. Even your magic felt old. Your signature was the most distinct one he had ever felt in his short life; it wasn’t a soft fizz like the others, or a pleasant warmth, it was a firework in his chest. You smelled like the smoke after a particularly rowdy Guy Fawkes Night and felt like tiny smoldering ashes falling against his skin, not too hot, but more of a pleasant kiss of heat. He got used to your voice quickly, no matter how your laugh made his knees want to buckle and cause his heart to race faster than a stampeding graphorn, but your magic took some time, even after he found out about your proclivity to ancient magic. There was something so distinctly familiar about it to him, like he had met you before coming to the castle. He didn’t recall ever doing so, but his family threw so many parties in his youth he wouldn’t really question it if he did. Once he started to get used to the feeling, maybe even crave it a little, he realized it was too late to stop the tumble his feelings were taking off your sweet, summer-side cliff. 
Ominis knew that you hadn’t found your soulmate yet, but it was only a matter of time before your soft brushes and lingering stares disappeared into the air like everything else in his life. He was doomed to never have anyone by his side, but he knew deep in his heart that you were not destined for loneliness like he was. You were a flowering weeping willow at the edge of a monumental body of water, and he the lowly lake lapping at your petals as they fell, forever in the others orbit but never within arms reach. 
That’s how Ominis found himself wandering that day, high up the many stairs of the magical castle and steadily walking towards the deserted music room, his favorite place as of late. Very few people knew where the room was, let alone that the school even had a music room to begin with. Here, he could wallow in his self pity with only the soft sound of his piano to keep him company. About a week ago a line of melody came to him in his dreams, soft and sweet but full of so much empty melancholy that he was on his feet at that very instant, quickly jotting down the notation on one of the many pieces of sheet music that he had lying around his desk. Ever since then, he had gone to the musical tower in the sky to sit by his lonesome and chart out chords like constellations. The song was ethereal to his ears, something that came from the universe itself as a gift that he was destined to write. Ominis was nearly done with it after hours of slaving over the parchment and quill, his fingertips surely staining the ivory keys of the baby grand piano to the point where the house elves despised his presence. He was like a man possessed whenever the melody came to mind, like something in the world was trying to tell him something very important but it couldn’t find the words to do so. The notes rose and fell like a bird flying south for the winter, wings stretched across the sky, swooping and diving only to rise again and kiss the sun. Some parts felt like a walk through a beautiful meadow, the sun on his shoulders and the wind blowing through his hair. Others were dark, like descending a staircase into the very center of the world with no light to guide you, just its ghostly melody to call you home. And some were both at the same time— a shady spot under a corkscrewed sycamore, tiny graves for the woodland creatures of the forest taken over by the wilds of nature, hidden off the beaten path in lamentable isolation. It told a story of everlasting, encompassing love that was ripped away too soon, found again after searching every possible and impossible place for their hand to hold, only to have to part ways once again until their effervescent hereafter. It reminded him of some of the muggle mythology he picked up last year for some light reading during one of his bouts of nightmares— how each tale began weaving together a love that would break the very fabric of the universe until it was taken from the pair by Fates' terrible string. The blond could tell that the song needed lyrics to be complete; Ominis was many things, but he was not a poet. So, much like his future to come, the song would forever remain unfinished. Even still, his forlorn melody kept him company, and he was perfectly fine with that. 
Today was different; Ominis knew that as soon as he rounded the bend to the music room and felt a presence inside. The blond cursed to himself, resigned to find another corner of the castle to mope in his hopeless romanticism for the time being until the other person left. He turned on his heel and was about to leave when a sound stopped him in his tracks, his ears pricking up like a startled deer. From the crack in the door came a haunting voice, soothing through a melody that was vaguely familiar to the boy. He curiously took a few steps closer, pressing his ear to the tiny opening to hear better. The voice was one of the most beautiful things he had ever heard. Its tone was clear like the church bells outside his family home, soaring around the room up to the top of its spiraled ceilings and diving downwards towards the bordeaux patterned cherry floor. It caught the acoustics of the room like a wind chime in the beginnings of spring, and his entire body visibly softened at each lift and fall of its gentle ballad. Ominis listened intently to the lyrics as they made their way through his ears, swirling around his brain and kissing him just behind the eyes with winsome adoration. 
Heavy and hard is the heart of the king King of iron, king of steel The heart of the king loves everything Like the hammer loves the nail.
The woman’s voice was like honey in his favorite tea, soothing and with just the right amount of sweetness. Her dulcet tones took Ominis into their arms and waltzed with his heartstrings like two ghosts lost to time. He couldn’t help but keep listening, diving deeper and deeper into her saccharine song. 
But the heart of a man is a simple one Small and soft, flesh and blood And all that it loves is a woman A woman is all that it loves. And Hades is king of the scythe and the sword He covers the world in the color of rust He scrapes the sky and scars the earth And he comes down heavy and hard on us.
Hades. Something about the name shook the blond to his core, the word feeling strange at the tip of his tongue like a word he knew but couldn’t remember. Little flashes of light burst behind his closed eyes, bright but not painful, carrying the feeling of…grass under his feet? He wasn’t truly sure what he was feeling, but he knew it wasn’t the wooden floors of the hallway anymore. For a moment he could feel the luscious heat of the spring on his skin and hear the soft call of whippoorwills from the tree tops just beyond where he stood, even though it was a cold and stormy winter outside the stone fortress walls. He continued to listen to the song, careful to not let himself be known to the angel of music just out of his reach. 
But even that hardest of hearts unhardened Suddenly, when he saw her there Persephone in her mother's garden Sun on her shoulders, wind in her hair. 
Persephone. Why was that name familiar too? Why could he suddenly feel the phantom of long, thick hair stream through his fingers like a waterfall, the tresses gently caressing his skin in a way that he only dreamed of? Ominis flexed his fingers, swaying his hand in the air to feel around for a sudden body in front of him; he found nothing there except dust and stale air. The scent of wildflowers invaded his nose harshly, leaving him twitching and fighting off a very unbecoming sneeze until the strong scent pittered away to a delicate gale of sugared anemone and aster flower. The taste of nectar and pollen were heavy on his tongue. He listened closer, eager to hear and experience more. There must be a charm on their voice, the boy reasoned. That had to be the reason he was experiencing all of these things so suddenly. 
The smell of the flowers she held in her hand And the pollen that fell from her fingertips And suddenly Hades was only a man With a taste of nectar upon his lips, singing: La la la la la la la…
It was like suddenly being dropped into the icy waters of the black lake. That melody, no wonder it was so familiar to him; it was the piece of music he had been working on nonstop for the past week! Just as the realization dawned on him, the magical aura of the person behind the door struck him harder than anything he had ever felt before— harder than when he had first felt it outside the Undercroft what felt like years ago. 
It was you. You were the one singing.
You were the missing piece to his lonely symphony. 
Seeing flashes of your past self did not feel like how Ominis originally thought. It wasn’t quick like a speeding bullet into the brain, or loud like a confringo smacking into the pillars of the Undercroft. The flashback started soft and hazy— his vision blackening around his normal shadows and all sense but sight returning first. First came his smell, his hearing, his touch, and his taste while he listened to your silvery cadence fade away into the heavens. All of the feelings that had come one at a time earlier suddenly slammed into him in an influx of sensations, shocking his system into a more startling consciousness than before. Lastly came his sight, coloring his once grey and silhouetted world with a plethora of hues that he had never heard of before. If the boy was being honest, in all the moments where he had imagined finding his soulmate, he hadn’t pictured anything at all. He had never known the gift of sight, so how could he truly prepare himself for what it meant to see? Was that what green was, in the grass below his shined oxfords? Was that blue, in the sky above that stretched on forever? Was that yellow, in the little bumblebee that buzzed around his head searching for a flower to land on? There was so much that he wanted to see, so much that he wanted to know now that he could. His subconscious reminded him that this was not the time for that though, when he spotted a figure bent at the waist in the garden just over the hill from him. 
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Ominis gulped against the knot forming in his throat, the lump pounding with the beat of his heart just under his ribs as he stepped out of the trees and into the clearing. He had never seen a creature as beautiful as you before; it was like everything in his life had led up to this very moment of meeting. Watching the way your hair glimmered under the summer sun like the jewels adorning his home as you tended your mothers garden, he was nothing more than a man in the presence of a nymph of the forest— something otherworldly, something too beautiful to touch. The sun danced across your skin like the finest silk, creating star-kissed freckles at the apex of your shoulders and down your toned arms, and oh, how could he do anything but remove his hat from his head and gaze at you with awed, enraptured revelry? The air around you smelled like his future— like pomegranates and the promise of forever. He felt in his very being that you were his one love, far before he truly understood the meaning of the word. The emotion could not be named with words, only the feeling of coming home. All he knew is that he needed to know you more than he needed to breathe, more than he needed to eat and drink and sleep and live. Your souls sang in tandem with each other, calling your names into the void and waiting for the shout to come back to them— to sing with them forevermore. Ominis was useless under your charm, like a siren luring an unsuspecting but oh so willing sailor to his doom under the frothing sea waves. He had never spoken to you, but he knew in that moment he would happily die by your hand if you would just meet his gaze one time. He would build whole worlds for you if that was what you wished— tear down entire galaxies if it would make you smile his way. 
All of his dreams came true seconds later when you stood from your hunched position, tossing your hair over your shoulder in the intricate braid you wore, each strand decorated with the honeysuckle that bloomed at your feet, before turning and staring at the man before you. You startled at first, unaware that you were being admired for so long by someone so breathtaking. The blond haired beauty under your maple tree  was like winter incarnate. His hair was quiffed and slicked away from his face, allowing you to see his strong jaw and perfectly sculpted facial structure. Your eyes drank him in like a garden in a drought with his tasteful three-piece suit, black from the collar at his neck to the wing-tips of his shoes— an unusual color for somewhere so sunny. He was as pale as fresh fallen snow with tiny moles breaking up the color— birdseed trapped in a thin layer of ice. He would be called monochrome if not for his eyes. They reminded you of the Grecian sea, those eyes. Like two pools of seafoam, or two small bouquets of baby's breath and cornflower. Your heart called to him like a lighthouse across a stormy ocean. Fate rarely ruled your life, you’d decided that from a young age after listening to the warnings of your mother, but if the Fates brought you him, you would listen to their words from now on. With one glance it felt like you had known him for years, and yet you didn’t even know his name. He was your past, your present, maybe even your future if you allowed it. He was not one of the flowers like you, more like one of the dead, but you’d happily plant your gardens in his domain. You’d plant flowers that thrived in the dark and the cold, flowers that only bloomed under moonlight, if it meant the universe would be kind enough to let you keep him. 
It was you that spoke first, breaking the spellbound trance you both were in from the first moment of contact. “Hi…” 
Your voice was like the sweetest music ever played— sweeter than those of the muses, those of the deific. They were nothing, for it was you who was truly divine. He was the moon, and how he longed to know the sun. 
His voice was little more than a breath as he murmured in return, still caught up in the sheer transcendence of your beauty. “Hello…”
Your soft laugh shook him from his stupor, softening the frozen heart in his chest as you warmed him in both body and soul. He cleared his throat, shifting his feet for a moment before taking a bold but respectful step forwards, his hand reaching out for yours like a sunflower reaching towards the brightest star in the sky. Around you, the mockingbirds began to sing a tune for your love. You couldn’t help but think it was familiar, like something from a dream you’d had long ago. Their soft song echoed through the trees, each new whistle bringing a new melodious harmony. 
La la la la la la la~
“My name is Hades,” he said, the softest smile you had ever seen turning the corners of his mouth. 
You return his gaze shyly. There was a smear of dirt across your face, painted across the turn of your nose and the rosy apple of your right cheek like a thick splattering of freckles. The man thought he had never seen anything so beautiful. 
“Persephone,” you whispered, smiling ruefully at the flustered pink that colored his face. “What took you so long?”
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In a moment it was all over— Ominis’ world dyed grey once again and only the shadows of the things around him visible. Never had he mourned his sight before, but before he had not known the beauty of seeing the night sky in your eyes; he did not know the delightful turn of your lip when you grinned or the crinkle of your nose when you laughed. He knew now that you were not the thing that he could not have, you were the thing that the universe created just for him to hold. You and him were not just a weeping willow and a babbling brook; you were the water that breathed life into your roots and the tree that fed the fish under his waves. You were not simply the sun and the moon, passing constantly but never crossing paths for long; you were an eclipse, two celestial beings dancing together and showering the world with your lovely glow. 
You both had done this dance before many a time— taken many a shape before. How could he have ever thought of you as anything other than his other half, his soulmate, his world? He revolved around you, and your benign gravity kept him steady. 
That pull was why he had just enough courage to push open the door to the music room, stepping into the sunlit space and basking in the feeling of your seraph-like presence. Ominis knew exactly where you were when he spoke, his soul knowing the feeling of yours for longer than this earth had been breathing. 
“Persephone.” It was a breath. A whisper. A prayer. 
You looked at him like he hung the very stars you love so much in the sky. There was no one else in that moment, just the two of you and the soft echo of your past lingering in the lines of sheet music strewn across the piano bench. 
“Hades,” you simpered, a smile glowing in your voice. 
It was moments later that he was upon you, hugging you like your body needed to be a part of his, kissing you like you were the oxygen he needed to live. You met him with the same enthusiasm, finally whole after years of being apart. You pressed your face into his neck, soothing tiny kisses along any skin you can reach, stretching from his collarbones to the tip of his nose. He smiled down at you, his hands reaching up to cradle your face like he was holding starlight in his palms. 
“I never thought I would find you again.” 
You laugh, your own hands reaching up to cover his. His heart skips a beat when you nuzzle into his skin. “I knew we would find each other again, just as I knew the sun would rise again every morning.” 
He was frowning now, a look that did not suit his face in the slightest. He couldn’t help but feel insecure after his years of festering in his terrible self worth. “But how?” 
You flipped his world on its axis, removing his hands from your face and in turn placing your palms upon his, caressing your thumb along his jawbone. “Ominis, my darling Hades, did you think I ate those pomegranate seeds unwillingly? Did you think I did not wish to fall into your darkness with flowers in my hair?” You stood on your toes, bringing his face down further and raising yours to rest your temple against his. You found your happiness in his tiny smile. “My love, I chose you that day in the garden. I would find you in any lifetime, any version of reality that calls our name. I would never let you stay too far from me, that I promise to the gods themselves.” 
He sealed your words with a kiss, accepting and agreeing with your terms proudly and eagerly. Never would you ever separate again. 
And so there you stayed that day, curled in the far corner of the music room with your soft, no longer so lonely melody singing from the baby grand piano. You took turns feeding each other grapes from the vine, laughing like you were the world's sunlight and lounging under the tresses of your own created sky. Behind that, now closed, door was the real world, a terrible thing that brought torment and woe to even the happiest of souls, but in that little space at the top of the tower, you had found your own personal cosmos. 
The king of the dead had finally found his queen of the flowers once again. 
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purpleyoonn · 8 months
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Dance of Time 4
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D A N C E   O F   T I M E
“A love like that was a serious illness, an illness from which you never entirely recover.” -Bukowski
Summary: You were finally back in the hometown you left right after graduation, researching the mysterious manor that laid outside of the town limits. Your family was acting weird, and the owner of the manor seemed to know more about you than he should. Everything changed when you entered the manor, and you weren’t sure your dance with time was going to last very long.
Pairing: Vampire BTS x Human Reincarnated Reader
Status: random updates
Genre: soulmate au, reincarnation, yandere themes, possessive boys, angst, fluff,
Warnings: smut, violence, tempers, mentions of death, murder, some explicit descriptions of violence, blood,
Chapter Warnings: more flashback scenes, yandere boys, mc deals with her feelings in a weird way, rage room, mc’s creative insults, not much
Taglist: @psychosupernatural @carolinexkpop @strxwbloody @strawberry-moonpies​ @dustyinkpages​ @iamkookiesforyou​ @anaspectoflife​ @btsw1fe​ @yoongisgirl69​ @toughbook​ @yoongibabs​ @mageprincess7​ @dahliasbouqet​ @wittyreader​ @peachandmomo​ @sinceritythatcouldntbedelivered​ @m1sss1mp​ @yourleftsock​ @skyys-universe​ @cryingpages​  @drissteele​ @dustyinkpages​  @crushedblackroses​ @fluffy-canada-pancakes​ @blaaiissee​  @iiitsmaria​  @azazel-nyx​  @g-h-o-s-t-b-a-b-i​ @knjkitten​ @kleirielk​ @foreverweareyoung7​ @lachimolala22019​ @namuficxs​ @94z-93​ @kimgmzmc​ @thenaverse​
Masterlist // Chapter 2 // Chapter 4
————————————————–
Previously on Dance of Time:
“Who is Ellie?” Were the only words to leave your lips as sobs started to sound out instead. Their eyes seemed indifferent to your words, despite the sparkle of happiness glittering within.
“You.”
“Well, I didn’t think she would take it like this.”
“What do you mean? You thought she would go along with everything?” Jimin looked at his mate, eyes narrowed in disbelief. Taehyung shrugged, placing his nose in Hobi’s neck as he sat on his lap. He was in a grumpy mood after you broke his nose and Hobi’s vanilla scent always calmed him down.
They had to lock you in your old room so you wouldn’t try to run away from them again. You already broke the window in the library that overlooked the large garden. For your own safety they made sure you couldn’t break anything in the room, not wanting you to try and hurt yourself again.
Telling you everything had not gone to plan, as some of them had previously hoped.
You stood there for a couple of seconds before making a run for the door, shoving your body against it as you tried to turn the doorknob. You had tears down your cheeks, impeding your vision as you tried to leave.
Jungkook was shocked when you managed to get rid of Taehyung’s arms around your waist, the youngest of the coven having widened his eyes at your actions. He might have been naive to the idea that you would welcome them with open arms and soft lips.
You were their mate, and you were gaining your memories back, so why did you try to get away from them? Jungkook couldn’t comprehend your actions. He couldn’t fathom the thought of finally having you back in their arms and you wanting to leave.
“Darling, you’re going to hurt yourself.” Jimin had tried to remove your grip from the door, had moved forward so you wouldn’t hurt your shoulder against the old oak door.
“Don’t touch me you overgrown mosquito!” You yelled as you felt another set of arms wrap around you, effectively holding your arms against your chest and pulling you away from the door.
“Overgrown mosquito…” Namjoon breathed out, a small smile on his face as he heard the insult come from your lips. You still had the same favor for creative insults.
However, the smile left his lips when you brought your head back quick, knocking you and Jin over as his nose started to bleed, crooked and bent. You pushed yourself up and away from them before they could blink, rising to push at the window to get onto the small balcony that laid outside the glass.
Namjoon lunged for you, grabbing your waist and turning you to face him, but you kicked and threw your body against the window, effectively smashing the glass and cutting little pieces of the skin of your hands and knocking Hoseok out of the way who had come to try and block the window as an escape route.
“Darling!” Jungkook rushed forward to help Namjoon now that he had managed to restrain you, keeping you held tightly against his chest, facing him so he doesn’t end up like Jin or Hoseok. Jungkook crowded against your back, making sure that you wouldn’t be able to get away this time.
“Darling, I know you have a lot of feelings right now, but that’s no way—”
“Oh, go put a sock in it, you limp needle!” You growled out, interrupting Jin from continuing his sentence. Yoongi could hear his elder mate’s jaw clench and his nostrils flare as your words set in.
“Limp needle? How dare—” Yoongi cut him off this time, moving to pull the elder behind him before gesturing for Jungkook and Namjoon to move towards the door.
“Why don’t you go and put or littlest mate in her room? Give her some time to think everything through. Maybe she’ll calm down enough for lunch?” He gives you a hopeful look, only for your own eyes to narrow back at him.
“I’m not going to be eating with you! Who knows, maybe this is all a trick so you’ll be able to eat me for lunch!” Your voice fades away as Namjoon carries you to your old room, his grip in your thighs and back tight so you can’t kick him.
Jimin had hoped you would accept them right away, but he also knew that you were not going to just let them welcome you with open arms and promises reiterated from the past. He could sense the frustration and fear in your scent, he could sense the tightness in your muscles and the way your fists clenched as Taehyung held you.
He knew that this was going to be a tough courting period, that you would try your hardest to fight the bond you didn’t realize you had already accepted when you were at lunch with Namjoon earlier that week.
Your dreams and visions of lifetimes past would only get stronger, more potent as time went on. He hated that he couldn’t wait until you were seeking them out, just like you did before. He missed how you would quietly watch him, waiting until the moment you thought best to interrupt him, your desire for touch overriding any other thought.  
“Let me out of here,” A crash could be heard as you threw something against one of the walls, followed by a sigh leaving Namjoon’s lips. “You big bunch of dinosaurs!”
Yoongi held a grin on his lips, loving how feisty you were getting. He found the insults to be creative and witty. Simply put, you were being a brat, and he couldn’t help but want to go up there and have you say those to his face as he moves at a punishing pace.
“Well, at least her names are getting more creative.” Hoseok lets out a breathy laugh at being called a dinosaur. “I wonder what else she will come up with?”
“She should calm down soon. You remember how she was as a child. She has to get her thoughts in order somehow.” Namjoon brought up.
You always had issues expressing yourself, internalizing everything and then melting down later when everything got to be way too much for you. You would come home from school crying, needing an outlet to help you collect your thoughts and make sense of them.
It wasn’t healthy, but they would help you with it now that they had you back.
Maybe you could pick up gardening again?
“Do you think she’s run out of energy?” Hoseok asks once the room went silent. They couldn’t hear anything from you now, the floor above them giving no indication of any movement.
“Give it a couple minutes, maybe she is just refueling more so she can break the desk in there next.” Jin quipped; still upset at the way you treated him.
“Oh, stop it. You were the first to mate with her last time. Just give her some time, Jin.” Namjoon brought a hand up to the back of Jin’s neck, giving it a gentle squeeze before standing up from the couch.
“She is not the same person we remember. She is not Ellie no matter how much we wish her to be. But she is still our mate.” Namjoon’s next words were unspoken, but still heard by everyone in the room.
“She is still ours.”
You, on the other hand, were beyond enraged that these men just claimed you were theirs, with no prompt from you, and locked you in a room when you disagreed with them and tried to leave.
You should have known something was wrong when the man who never wanted to be interviewed before about the manor suddenly deciding to talk with you about it. Your “luck” was purely an opportunity for the men to enact their plan to take you.
You had tried to knock the door down, but it seemed to be reinforced with steel. You tried the window and came up with nothing, the glass thick enough for not even a bullet to break it, you guessed. This meant you were stuck, and you didn’t like it.
You had no remorse for any of the things the men had furnished the room with, choosing a pretty looking vase to smash against the wall first. You were in your very own rage room, smashing and breaking anything you could see.
However, when you went to smash a small table into the dresser, you faltered in your steps. Something within you was keeping you from doing any damage to the ancient dresser. It was ornate in design, the intricate woodwork had you stopping and moving to get a closer look. 
You ran your hand up the flower design running up the bottom of the dresser, pressing softly on one of the petals by the edge and jumped back in shock.
The bottom panel of the dresser had fallen, revealing a hatch that held a couple of things. You noticed an old hairbrush with colors of lavender and cream, a handkerchief, and a book. You reached for the book, an innate need to see what was inside running through you.
Picking the book up, you moved back over to the bed, your footsteps soft as you did. Sitting in the middle of the large bed, you couldn’t help but to take a deep breath as your fingers grasped the cover of the book, turning it over to reveal handwriting that was oh so familiar to you.
Love does not end with death.
Some things are meant to last forever.
Your own handwriting stared back at you, the black ink peering into your soul and making your heart skip. It was as if your past self knew what would happen to her. And it crushed your soul all the same.
Turning the page again, unable to continue looking at the familiar script, you found old pictures, piercing eyes staring into your own. You recognized yourself within the image; the caption reading “Ellie and Jungkook”.
You recognized Jungkook as the man who helped bring you back to this room. You now understand the look of hesitation as he closed the door in your face. The forlorn look as he struggled with Namjoon’s decision.
You turned the page again to see the caption reading “Ellie, Jimin, and Taehyung. The morning after”. You were in the middle of the bed, with one man on either side of you, looking at you with an overabundance of love and adoration on their faces as they looked over at you.
You closed the book with a huff of exhaustion. You couldn’t understand why they looked at you with the same loving and adoring glance as they gave Ellie. They didn’t know you. You were not Ellie, nor would you ever be.
You could feel tears begin to fall down your cheeks as your breathing picked up. You were so overwhelmed by a flurry of emotions and things you didn’t understand that you couldn’t hold yourself back anymore.
You couldn’t understand why you wanted them to comfort you as you broke down. Why did you want them to whisper words of reassurance, of promise, as they held you. You hated the feelings building in your chest at your own presence, alone in the unfamiliar room.  You wanted to hate the way they made you feel at a single glance, but you couldn’t.
You looked so much like their Ellie, and your feelings were soon becoming the ones she undoubtedly felt towards them. But you weren’t her, and you didn’t want to just lay down and let them pretend like you were. You were not her and you were not going to be a replacement like they wanted you to be.
It actually made you mad how easily you were falling for them in the little time you had been alone in the large room. What did they think? A couple of measly items from your past self and an old album would have you rushing to them, declarations of love pouring from your lips?
You threw the album away from you, crossing your arms at your chest as you tried to come up with a way to get out of the room again. You couldn’t understand why you were angry at the men, besides them kidnapping you. There was something building in your chest, something that had tears flowing down your cheeks, unable to stop the onslaught of them.
Somewhere, deep down that you wouldn’t acknowledge, you knew that you were upset that they weren’t with you, holding you like your body seemed to remember. You were upset and missing something that you remembered from your past life, something you never got in this one.
Soon, your angry tears turned into wistful tears, something compelling you to pull the album back to yourself, opening it up again and turning through the pages that tugged on the corners of your mind, nostalgia pulling at your heart.
You hated not knowing why you were feeling the way you were.
-*-*-
Not even the smell of food could bring you out of the cocoon you built, trapping and hiding yourself away from the seven men who made your heartstrings appear out of nowhere, tugging and yanking at them.
It was warm under the blankets, and you knew that someone would be coming to try and get you soon, at least, you thought they were. You had no clue if they could eat normal food, or even drink water. You didn’t know anything about them other than that they claimed to be your soulmates and they drank blood. Oh, and that they seemingly lived forever.
You were right though, soon enough you heard footsteps get closer causing you to bury yourself deeper into your cocoon. You didn’t want to see them and have your heart melt again.
When the door opened, you stayed still, hoping they would think you were sleeping and leave you alone. It didn’t seem to work.
“Darling, we have food for you.” Jimin called out, straining his ears to hear your breathing coming from the bundle of blankets on the bed. He assessed the damage you caused to your old room before moving forward, Jungkook walking quietly behind him.
You could hear their soft footsteps, the creak of the wooden floor giving them away. You hadn’t responded to Jimin’s voice, remembering his name and voice from one of the stupid visions you couldn’t figure out how to stop.
“Do you think she is asleep?” Jungkook whispered in Jimin’s ear, causing your heart to speed up, hoping you got away without seeing them. They both heard your heartbeat though, causing a little laughter to come from the two.
“Baby, we can hear your heartbeat. We know you are awake.” Jimin spoke again, jumping onto the bed and jostling you a little.
“So, why don’t you come out of there and eat your lunch?” Jungkook suggested, only for you to shake your head, inadvertently making your cocoon of blankets shake.
“We ordered your favorite from the diner. The waitress said you used to get it all the time growing up?” Jungkook moved forward, holding the plate of food carefully as he sat on the edge of the bed. He and Jimin were elected to be the ones to bring your food up, Namjoon suggesting you wouldn’t want to eat in the dining room with them. Hoseok almost snuck up with them but Jin had to pull him back to the couch. Instead, Hoseok was elected to go and get the food from the diner with Namjoon.
But in reality, they had all wanted to spend some time with you. They knew if you were in the dining room with them all, more things would be broken and even more feelings hurt, as you still didn’t understand what was going on.  
Your heartbeat sped up a little at the mention of your favorite food, but you knew it was just a ploy to get you out of the room, and out of your little cocoon. You felt safe in here, you didn’t feel safe with them. You wanted to go home.
“It’s just Jungkook and I. We uhm, we weren’t sure if you wanted any of the others to come in.” Jimin spoke, completely unsure of himself and his words, and your heart grew uncomfortable in your chest. These stupid feelings had you wanting to pull the man into your cocoon with you, make him feel safe.
Slowly, you pull the banket that was covering your face down, seeing it was in fact, just Jungkook and Jimin, Jungkook holding your favorite comfort food. The bowl of homemade macaroni and cheese with bacon crumbles on top smelled just like you remembered, and it made you feel even more at ease with the two vampires.
“We thought it might make you feel more comfortable if you ate in here… we can leave if you want?” Jimin’s voice sounded sad, yet hopeful as he finished his sentence. Jungkook had already handed the food to you once you managed to get yourself out of you small cocoon. Neither of the mates wanted to leave you alone again, but they would if you wanted them to.
However, now that your fear, and accompanying adrenalin, had subsided, you were tired, both physically and mentally and all you wanted was to be cuddled and held like when you were younger. You were so exhausted that you went with your instincts and let them stay, even pulling them into your half cocoon and practically laid on Jungkook as you slowly fed yourself.
You started to trust the two with your whole body, not just what memories and feelings you were receiving from your supposed past life. Despite your inner reluctance and fear, you fell asleep with them in your bed after you’re your tummy was full and your body cozy and warm..
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baeshijima · 1 month
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soulmate "we would find each other in every lifetime" au, but whenever you find each other there is always just a slight mistiming.
in some instances you meet mere moments before disaster strikes. in others you are forced to be enemies due to untimely misunderstandings. sometimes you only catch a glimpse of the other in passing before they disappear as though they never existed. there would be the odd occasion where only one of you recognised the other, with them not knowing who you are or of the history which haunts your conscience.
and then there would be times you find yourself desperately holding the other, the tears which burn tracks down your cheeks being the only source of warmth on their cold skin.
despite the unnerving predictability fate has in store for you, you both cannot help but to hope that maybe — just maybe — this next lifetime will be kinder to you both; kinder in a way that your souls are not torn apart before they can even meld together.
(though such sentiment never comes true, it doesn't stop the feeble hope from burning aflame when you cross paths every lifetime. repeatedly, incessantly, and without fail.)
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melloraconteur · 6 months
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"And this urge to run away from what I love is a sort of sadism I no longer pretend to understand" - Martha Gellhorn
Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader
[Reincarnation au]
Word Count -> 453
IMAGINE...
For years Simon has dreamed of you.
He recalls his mother asking him who you were over breakfast. He didn't have an answer back then, and before he could say something, his father stumbled out of the master bedroom and told him to go to school.
He knew that look in his father's eyes, knew that refusing to would only make it worse on his mother. So, with a guilty feeling that rested in his gut, he went off to school.
Even when he was grown and had enlisted, he found himself dreaming of you. Well, he calls them dreams, but they felt so real.
A dream of you curled up beside him, a fire crackling in the fireplace and the wind howling outside. Another dream of you dancing with him, leading him effortlessly through a difficult dance. In every dream, it is only the two of you, doing mundane things. In every dream, he cannot recall your name nor your features, only the feelings of warmth and protection that he seldomly saw in his young life.
When he formally meets you, he is gobsmacked. He knows it is you that has been in his dreams since he can remember. He knows that you are the cause of the warmth and protection that left him yearning in the morning when he succumbed to sleep.
Still, he greets you like he does everyone, even though you are the same rank as him. You appear to not mind his gruff tone and instead take it in stride, like you've done this before.
It both scares and comforts him. No one has been in tune with him like you are, though some have gotten close, they usually die.
When he's having an "off day" you'll accommodate him. You'll take notes for him during debriefs when he spaces out, you'll accompany him in the gym, though you do your own exercise, you are always in the corner of his eye. This is a new territory for him and he doesn't want to fuck up something good like he always has.
You aren't there for just his off days, you hang around him, despite him telling you that you should probably do some paperwork. You only chuckle and tell him you'll do it later.
Sooner than he'd like, he finds you both sitting in his office, him filling out reports and you filling out charts.
He finds it mortifying when he finds himself in grumpier moods when you are out on a mission, when the medic who is treating him isn't you, when your attention isn't on him.
He finds that every part of him, when he's around you, yields to you.
His blood sings yours, yours, yours!
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hopelessbromantic3652 · 6 months
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I’ll find you in every universe…
snsmonth day 1: soulmates & au
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wannaeatramyeon · 10 months
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Jake Kim x Reader: Soulmates
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He comes to you as Jake Kim this time, leader of a gang in Seoul. A smile that charms you, that always has done and always will.
The same line leaves your lips once more; words you always utter upon your first meeting.
"Can I help you?" except today you're unimpressed, arms crossed and shoulders tense. Already late to school and your only concern is to pass your class.
The lackeys by his side are disgruntled at your disrespect to their Boss, even though he smiles at you, completely bewitched already. You'll come to know them as Brad and Jason. You'll share laughter and tears together over the years, they will comfort you when you cry at Jake Kim's passing, share stories deep into the night about the best man you all have ever known.
He has come to you in many forms and under many names. A song and dance as old as time itself.
Destined to meet each other every lifetime for a brief moment, a taste of happiness that lingers in both your souls, seeking each other out forevermore.
"Jake Kim," he introduces with a wink, holding out his gloved hand.
You scoff and slap it aside, brushing past him to get to your destination.
Unbeknownst to you, that hand has explored every inch of you over and over, seared fingerprints onto your skin that you could never truly forget. Fated to hold you again soon.
"See you around!" He shouts to your retreating back.
"Whatever," you roll your eyes, but your body still turns around for another look and Jake waves. You notice the scar across his nose and lips.
Lips that have left kisses imprinted into your soul, that it remembers in every existence. First kisses under stars and moonlight, kisses when you take one another as husband and wife, kisses when you have to say goodbye and depart the earth once more.
The stars are already aligned. You have seen him before and you will see him again tomorrow. And all the days after that.
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mint-mango · 1 year
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in another life, i would have really liked just doing laundry and taxes with you.
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simp-for-long-hair · 7 months
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please click for better quality
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Some fanfic au vinyls 💙 which ones would you play on repeat?
@swayamev
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sweetestofchaos · 3 months
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Run From Me - Two | K.TY
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p. vampire!taehyung x vampire hunter!reader
g. soulmates - enemies to lovers - reincarnation - unrequited love
r. 18+
w. depictions of sorrow - mentions of murder
wc. 2k
an. divider and support banner made by @benkeibear. betaed by the wonderful @theharrowing
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The fear in your eyes, that look of pure distrust and hatred. It burned him from the inside out. 
It killed him to speak sure words but he couldn’t hold back any longer. How long have you lived this life of murder? How many of his brethren have you slaughtered like sheep? Yes, he loved you. He had loved you through all and every minute that he saw you. He cherished whatever time he had with you. Today was no different. As he held you in his arms, inhaled your sweet scent and felt your pulse beat against his own cold dead heart…he loved you.
He watched as you fled from his sight. He heard your boot steps thud against the hardwood flooring of his home as you ran, creating a larger distance with each step. The front door was yanked open and slammed shut, the bolt catching, causing the wooden door to bounce against the wall harshly. Taehyung was sure there would be a dent the size of the door handle. From the window he watched you run out into the rain, your body getting soaked in seconds. His fingers twitched and he clenched them at his sides. What right had he to drag you back into his home? He had threatened you after all. This was his fault, was it not?
He cursed himself as your body grew smaller and smaller in the storm. The distance between the two of you was uncomfortable to say the least. A dull tug at the string of fate around his heart that connected him to you could be felt. He hadn’t meant to lose his temper but to see you standing before him with a wooden stake…it brought up old memories that he only wished he could forget. Has he proved you right after all? Had he finally become the monster you had painted him to be?
A flat huff of a laugh slipped past his lips and he turned his back on the window. You ran away from him. Again. What did this make, now? How many times had he let you slip through his fingers? As much as he loved to tease, the game of cat and mouse had long since lost its humor. This new game, this punishment…Taehyung hated it. Almost as much as he hated himself. He lowered himself into the blood red velvet settee and draped an arm over his eyes as he sighed. 
“When will this misery end?” Taehyung questioned out loud. “Have we not suffered enough?!” His voice rose as he spoke to the air. There was no reply and he laughed bitterly, his arm dropped now to his heart. It beat, faintly. The only sign that while he was a vampire, he was still able to feel.
“Damn you!” He growled as a murky red film blurred his vision. “Damn you and your love!” He cried as red tinted tears streamed down the sides of his face. 
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You ran. Downpour be damned! You had no choice, no matter what Taehyung had told you. You knew better than to trust a vampire. Why would a monster such as himself ever speak the truth? You didn’t bother to return to your home, opting to stay in a hotel for the night to buy yourself a little time. You needed to disappear and regroup. You couldn’t fight Taehyung on your own. You needed help.
The following morning, you made multiple calls from different burner phones and gave generous tips to people who were willing to make a few easy dollars. They acted as runners between your friends and yourself. By six at night, you had a new identity and a plane ticket to Luxembourg. You hired a professional hair and makeup artist to give you a makeover, turning you into someone that even Taehyung wouldn’t recognize. It was a magic trick that you haven’t had to do very often. This only maddened you farther because you felt like you were wasting money, but it was for the safety of all mankind in the end. 
You needed help and there was one man on your mind. Twenty-one hours and thirty minutes from Seoul, South Korea to Luxembourg, Luxembourg; with two layovers. You were exhausted. The plane ride was filled with turbulence and you couldn’t sleep well. When you arrived there was a car waiting for you. Silently, you climbed into the backseat and stared out the window as the car pulled off.
The partition stayed up the whole ride and you were thankful. You did not have the strength to converse with anyone at this moment in time. Your mind was stuck on Taehyung’s words. What did they mean? Well, you guess it didn't really matter now, had it?
The city, famed for its fortified medieval appearance, slowly became scarce the farther the car drove until you came upon houses with vast amounts of land in between them. The car came to a rolling stop in front of a set of wrought iron gates. The gates slowly swung open and the car crawled uphill to a small manor that sat alone surrounded by forest. It felt like you should have been visiting someone of royal blood, but no. 
You were here for Ji Sung, an old friend of your family. The man was a warlock, a very powerful one at that. He would often help your father on hunts and taught your mother everything she knew about healing those who were infected by a vampire’s bite. 
As the car stopped in front of the stone manor, you rubbed at your chest. Your heart felt heavy, like it had been turned to stone. The front door of the manor opened as you climbed out of the car, and there stood Ji Sung in all his glory. The older man was handsome. His features were sharp and strong, you knew he had been a real looker when he was younger. His hair was a dark onyx that rivaled the night sky, cut low and styled out of his face. Brown eyes were whiskey warm and his smile was disarming. The car pulled off and Ji Sung opened his arms wide to you.
“Welcome, welcome! Come in!” Ji Sung waved you into his home and you hurried up the steps, not waiting to keep the older man waiting. He ushered you inside, a hand hovered over your lower back as he shut the door behind the two of you.
His home was impressive. It felt like you had been transported right into the renaissance era. You fought the urge to call Ji Sung ‘Lord’ and the thought made your lip twitch. Ji Sung gave you a quick tour of his home before he showed you to your room and informed you of when dinner would be ready. You thanked him and locked your bedroom door, only after you heard his footsteps retreat. You were ready to rest.
The bed was huge; the white oak ornate hand carved headboard created the perfect vision of rest with a soft and plush pale blue upholstered footboard that matched the headboard perfectly. The bedding was a mix of blue silks and white cotton. A delicate look for such a massive room decorated throughout in white oak furnishings, cream colored rugs and blue accents.  
As you stripped off your pants and crawled into the bed, your body seemingly gained a hundred pounds as you dropped into the cloud-like mattress. Grabbing the edge of a blanket, you rolled yourself into a human burrito and promptly drifted into the land of dreams.
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Merlin: You want me to do what?
Vampire Arthur: Go as my date? Just for one night.
Merlin: Okay...Arthur you got a shifty look about you now.
Vampire Arthur: [coughs] Well you see, since it's Halloween, we'd be in costume, obviously I'll be a vampire King and you my dear will be dressed...in this! [Holds up a lovely black and red gothic dress] Fit for a queen! [Smiles, fangs showing]
Merlin: [smacks forehead] You are insufferable.
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