#reincarnated soulmates

[sunnyrosewritesstuff]

Soul Traitor

Rating: M

Warnings: Graphic Depiction of Violence

Status: In-progress (5/?)

Tags: Reincarnation | Soulmates | Soulmarks | Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence | Past Lives Death Scenes | Betrayals | Misunderstandings | Angst with a Happy Ending | Arkenstone - Freeform | Goldsickness

Summary: Betrayal among soulmates is unheard of in all the free races of Arda, yet that’s exactly what Durin VI, King of Khazad-dûm, endures. Heartsick and angry, he damns the Valar for their choice and earns their wrath in return. He and his former love will be reincarnated until the wrong between them is righted. Thorin Oakenshield, Durin’s lastest reincarnation, believes nothing can break that curse but for the Arkenstone that was stolen so many years ago. Gandalf, the meddlesome wizard, offers a hobbit translator for their quest. Yet, this hobbit may be the key to uncovering more than just a gem. An ugly truth that has remained hidden in the misdeeds and lost words of the past, about to be unlocked and free Thorin and Bilbo from this seemingly never ending cycle.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

New Chapter: Chapter 4- Songs About Gold

It did not endear Thorin to their hired translator, and he spent most of their journey doing his best to ignore the halfling. He thought his company would take cues from him, but Frerin’s hatred was a bit harder to overcome. Frerin made it apparent that they weren’t to engage with the halfling, weren’t to treat him like an actual person. For some reason, it didn’t sit right with Thorin, but he didn’t do anything to stop it either. He could tell that he disappointed Ori. 

His apprentice had a brilliant mind and a large heart. Ori didn’t understand why their race continued to punish another for the sake of one being. It was a source of contention between the two as Thorin had the memories of exactly what that one being had cost them. Still, he wasn’t too surprised when the company factioned to include the halfling and Ori was one of them. Kili surprised him, but not Ori. 

Still the desire to know what was in that journal nagged at Thorin. Sure, he had Durin’s memories, but another firsthand account of what Khazad-dum had been like was almost too much to hope for. The historian in him fought hard against the prince, demanding that he engage with the halfling. He didn’t have to be nice. It was a business transaction after all. He just needed to know. Every day though, he pushed that voice away. He would not, could not, be the one to interact with the halfling. And then the halfling surprised him by speaking to him first. Well, more accurately, warning him. 

Superstitious nonsense, and even if it wasn’t he couldn’t afford to look weak and bend to the commands of this halfling. Not with everything that was riding on this mission. His one chance to change his fate. No, he disregarded the halfling. Even as those determined, pleading eyes haunted him into the night.

Now, it may be too late to regret it.

Thorin weakly opened his eyes, unable to move his body as it was being draped in white cloth and golden baubles from the demons that stole him and his company. Their cold eyes shined brightly in the dark, and their screeches carried a certain cadence. Almost as if they were singing. They glided effortlessly around him, all except for the one at the end holding a long gleaming blade.

Thorin’s eyes drifted close, the energy fading from him fast. Durin, Thorin I, Dain, and now him. He’ll just be another voice in the head of the next dwarf.

For more of this chapter, please click the AO3 link above!

[iberiandoctor]

(Art by the amazing @thepixelagora!)

After 30+ chapters of reincarnation and historical battles, we’re finally at the Mass Effect 3 endgame! So many thanks to @theoriginalladya, @mallaidhsomo and CrimsonShield75 for all their cheerleading and beta help — and to all of you for coming on this journey with me ♥ ♥

Priority: Endgame, mShenko, [M], 17,000 words

Part 1: Citadel to Despoina | Part 2: Thessia to Horizon | Part 3: Cronos to London

[winkle-pickers]

Covenant

[flwrkid14]

Tim Drake Loves Like Odysseus

If there’s one thing Tim Drake knows, it’s patience. He’s spent his whole life waiting—for approval, for recognition, for love. And when Danny Fenton crashes into his life, wild and untamed like the storm Tim never knew he needed, Tim feels like he’s found the one person who makes the wait worth it.

It’s funny, really. How Tim’s life echoes that of his past. Odysseus had Penelope, his constant, the woman he loved with every part of his being. She was his reason to fight, to survive, to return. And now, in this life, it’s Danny. Danny, who smiles at him like he’s the only person in the room, who pulls Tim in close with his easy laughter and gentle teasing.

Danny is Tim’s Penelope, his anchor in a world of chaos.

Tim doesn’t even realize how much of his past love has bled into this life until he’s sitting next to Danny on the couch one night. Danny’s head is on his shoulder, their hands loosely intertwined, and Tim just knows. This—he—is what he’s been fighting for.

It’s not the missions, or the victories, or even the Bat family’s approval. It’s Danny. He loves Danny with a quiet, fierce devotion, the same way Odysseus loved Penelope, with all the yearning and determination that had kept him alive through countless trials.

Tim would do anything for him.

And it’s not always easy. There are nights when Danny’s off fighting his own battles, and Tim waits, holding his breath, just like Penelope had done for Odysseus all those years ago. He knows what it’s like to wait for the person you love, to wonder if they’ll come back to you. But the thing is, Tim knows Danny will always come back. Just like Odysseus returned to Ithaca, no matter how long the journey or how hard the trials.

And when Danny does come back? When he wraps his arms around Tim, pressing a kiss to his temple, Tim feels that same relief, that same overwhelming love that he remembers Odysseus felt the moment he saw Penelope again.

It’s not just that Tim loves Danny. It’s that he waits for him. Fights for him. Lives for him, with the same depth and determination that had driven Odysseus through years of war and hardship, all for the woman he loved.

Tim may not be Odysseus anymore, not fully, but the love? That kind of love transcends lifetimes.

Because Danny is Tim’s Penelope, and no matter what this life throws at them, Tim will always find his way back to him.

[chinzhilla]

You and him were probably soul mates in a past life.

[conceiteddemon]

Been playing Tears of the Kingdom

[demaparbat-hp]

Idk if I'm too late, but I really want to see what you do with "kiss of life"

Before the Sun dies.

[frantic-fiction]

I'll Find My Way Back to You

(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)

Masterlist

“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.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

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

[sevs-corner]

Another one of my wild dreams coming to me, I swear the voices are having too much fun when I’m unconscious, where its the usual Soulmate-Reincarnation trope but the Tf 141 guys always get to meet each other but…you.

Every. Single. Time.

In each new life, they’d always happen to meet, but nearing the end of theirs— a longing always seem to linger in their hearts. Pieces of their memory always missing with a piece of their soul not being fulfilled.

At first, they don’t notice it— it was already rare enough to have 4 soulmates all tied together. So, to think of another partner being somewhere out there? Yeah, that was outrageous.

They were already thankful enough that they had each other, how could they still feel so greedy and longing?

We’re they not enough for each other?

What was lacking? What were they lacking?

When then they hear murmurs of soulmates being together, they all said they’ll feel something snap into place.

They think its the soulmate bond being locked into place, their soul finally complete and fates intertwined.

Yet… they only got to the first couple of steps to that. Seeing that zing in each other’s eyes that recognizes each other as soulmates, the bonding ritual, the return of past life memories…

Every time they get to that point, they’d remember that something was just… missing.

So they try, in each life to the next, to find some way to fix that last piece into place— test out all their theories.

What if there was something wrong that they did? Were they truly partners? What if one wasn’t their mate with the other?

It wasn’t until Price offered the idea that there may be… a fifth person… involved that their tactics changed.

But they never got lucky.

How come it was so easy to find each other but not…you?

They were just about to give up in this timeline, their lives being ran rugged in the military made their hearts weak and souls crushed already— why would they make the extra effort when they already had the partners they wanted right besides them?

But they regret saying that, bringing it up and believing in it when that familiar zing rings across their brains and underneath their skins as they see you— fresh eyed recruit sent right to their team.

It was like their prayers have finally been answered, all the sacrifices their past selves made now coming to fruition—

But you see no zing- you’ve never had one.

That must be another reason why you always happen to miss them- whether it be through an early death, a bad relationship, an unfortunate event, living across the country from them.

But no, you were always right near them. You just couldn’t find them like they did with each other.

It just didn’t click until now for you and they are distraught for you.

They are so happy, souls now complete and their memories as well— but you had nothing.

That feeling of wholeness and unconditional love— you couldn’t feel it.

So they swear, that from then on, they’d always find you next— no matter how many times they’d repeat it, all the struggles and pain, it was incomparable to you who felt nothing from a forced severed soul bond.

My sleepi and awake mind are cooking but im not in the kitchen- send help what the

Masterlist here! Prev dream idea i was talkin about here- its becoming a saga oml

[sunnyrosewritesstuff]

Soul Traitor

Rating: M

Warnings: Graphic Depiction of Violence

Status: In-progress (4/?)

Tags: Reincarnation | Soulmates | Soulmarks | Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence | Past Lives Death Scenes | Betrayals | Misunderstandings | Angst with a Happy Ending | Arkenstone - Freeform | Goldsickness

Summary: Betrayal among soulmates is unheard of in all the free races of Arda, yet that’s exactly what Durin VI, King of Khazad-dûm, endures. Heartsick and angry, he damns the Valar for their choice and earns their wrath in return. He and his former love will be reincarnated until the wrong between them is righted. Thorin Oakenshield, Durin’s lastest reincarnation, believes nothing can break that curse but for the Arkenstone that was stolen so many years ago. Gandalf, the meddlesome wizard, offers a hobbit translator for their quest. Yet, this hobbit may be the key to uncovering more than just a gem. An ugly truth that has remained hidden in the misdeeds and lost words of the past, about to be unlocked and free Thorin and Bilbo from this seemingly never ending cycle.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

New Chapter: Chapter 3- In the Company of Dwarves

“What’s that?”

Bilbo physically jumped in his saddle, causing Myrtle to whine and shift nervously before he could get her back under control. When he was assured she wasn’t about to bolt out from under him, he turned his head sharply to the left where Bofur was watching him with a calculated gaze as he puffed on his pipe.

“I’m sorry?” Bilbo responded, his voice gravelly and soft from disuse.

“That song you were singing just now.” He clarified.

“Oh!” Bilbo exclaimed. “It’s just a little ditty I was making up.”

“Does it have any lyrics?”

Bilbo blinked suddenly, realizing he was actually having a conversation with this dwarf.

“Do you realize you’re talking to me right now?”

A quick grin tugged at Bofur’s face before he schooled his expression once more.

“Aye.” He answered.

“Well, I think, from what I’ve understood so far, you’ll surely catch a disease from speaking to me, being too close to me, probably even looking at me. Just so you know before you take that risk.”

Bofur snorted which had him coughing as he accidentally inhaled some smoke. The rest of the company turned around to glare at them as if Bilbo had somehow choked him on purpose only to roll their eyes when Bofur began to laugh.

“See I warned you.” Bilbo murmured.

For more of this chapter, please click the AO3 link above!

[theboost]

He would find them to third wheel in any universe. Canonically.

[mo-ondrcps]

♖ ˗ˏˋ 𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌𝐒 ´ˎ˗

❛ how fate cruelly plays with your hearts while a stranger desperately try to save you in each dream you had, over and over again.❜

: ̗̀➛ dragon! jiyan x town folk! reader warning(s): reader drowning twice, mentions of death (no major!). content: fem! reader, magical town vibes like magic humans and mythical creatures, jiyan dragon protective of you genre: au — magical town, fantasy, reincarnation, soulmates, romance, slight angst word count: 2.4K author's note: i love protective jiyan, makes anyone feel safe in his arms.

    Water surrounded you, making it impossible to breathe. You couldn't decipher whether you're dead or drowning in the ocean, though a bystander would think you're suffering from both because of your lack of struggle, slowly descending deeper. The light from the waters above your clouded vision continued to fade until a figure above dove in, swimming towards your direction. Unfortunately, his face was only just a silhouette, attempting to reach for your hand and resurface to save you. You wanted to move forward, take the stranger's hand in yours, but an unknown force within you had no strength to do so.

"(Y/n)...!"

    Your name, or what sounds like your name, came out in thick gurgles of water from the stranger. They still persisted in swimming with much of their might to save you. Who is this person? If they continued to sink in deeper with you, there would be no hope for either of you to live. How foolish. Your eyes slowly gave in to the darkness surrounding them before opening once more.

    Your eyes take in the surroundings of your room, all dimly lit by the moon that glanced from the open peak of your window curtains. Your head turned in search of your wall clock.

2:37 am.

    A sigh left your lips, burying yourself further into the warm blankets for comfort. It was the same dream that haunted you for years, the ocean and you sinking into your demised. However, the small moment didn't strike fear in you, at least you hoped not yet. You haven't visited the beach for over ten years now and you always found yourself sticking by the sand whenever your family asks you to come with them.

    You rise up from your spot on your bed, leaving to grab a glass of water before returning to your room. They were both calm, your water and the ocean from your dreams, moving on their own except for the other being more dangerous if you sink in too deep.

    But that man, who was he?

    You thought of leaving it aside, knowing your work starts early in the morning, taking a sip of your water before resting back on the comforts of your mattress.

────────⊹⊱✫⊰⊹────────

"But you never saw his face? That's a shame... You should've seen it if he was cute or not."

    Your eyes narrowed at your friend after telling them the entire story of your dreams again. They always knew what kind of stress you're dealing with, but never knew the answer to how to solve it. At first, they informed you to brush it off as a simple vision your mind had randomly come up with until it grew too frequent for them to ignore.

"You really had to focus on that detail?? I can't just fall for every random stranger in my dreams."

    A boisterous laugh came from the mouth of your friend before shaking their head at your deadpan expression.

"At least they treat us better than the men in this reality. Who knows? With how frequent you meet yours, he might actually appear right through that door!"

    Now a smile erupted your features before bursting into a laugh at how silly they were acting with you. Though absurd, you still appreciate their sense of optimism in your dream related problems. A small chime came from the door, signaling a customer walked into the shop. Your friend gave you a small nod, which you returned before watching them move to entertain them. You, on the other hand, busied yourself in writing a list of the potions you both need to make and what's available to write down and display on the racks.

"Excuse me?"

    A voice deep yet soothing to your ear came in front of you, making you look up to them.

"Hello, what can I get for you?"

    The man was dressed in simple black and midnight green robes embroidered by silk and gold accents, making him stand out only just a bit but not too much to get everyone's attention. It was clear he looked like a soldier or a protector of some kind because of the sword strapped around his waist.

    You thought you would have recognized him because of this small town, but then again, he might be a wandering traveler from afar so you can't assume too quickly.

"Do you have any good potions for healing? I seem to run out myself on the way here."

    The man replied with a slight scratch on his nape. You nod before smiling, taking out a regular sized bottle. It's mixture flowing through green and hues of blue gradient inside, shimmering in utter brilliance.

"That will be fifty gold for a healing potion."

    He reached out from his pocket, pulling a small pouch where he fumbled to grab the amount needed. The man set down sixty-five gold instead of fifty, leaving you surprised at the change. You took the extra, your hands moving to give it back.

"I can't accept this much."

"Please, this shop deserves much recognition for the work you and your companion put through for everyone who needs it. Keep my change."

    Before you could push more to give the extra back, the man bows slightly before leaving the shop. Your friend, who just came back, glanced at the man you just entertained before turning to you with a playful smile you knew you wouldn't enjoy.

"Who was that? He looks so good! I've never seen him before. Do you think he's-."

    Just when your friend was about to ask you for more information about the customer you entertained, you stopped her train of thoughts, speaking ahead of them before it goes in a direction you'll never get back from.

"And don't you think it's your turn to brew new potions to stock while I grab some herbs we need outside? The strength and healing potions won't produce themselves."

    Your friend groaned.

"Let me dream a little. My single life won't move by itself either!"

    Throwing your quill pen at them, you caused them to move aside but still took the blow from the quill thrown at them, laughing at your advancements before heading into the staff room to do their work while you prepared your journey in the forest for herbs. You pack containers, water, and a bit of snacks to aid your short travel. You bid goodbye to your friend, starting your walk into the forest.

    You had a list written by you with a few additions to your friend. You crouched down to pick up yellow and purple flowers, one that radiated like the sun and the other mirroring the deepest night sky of the auras. Since you were here, it shouldn't hurt to grab them for a potion of good sleep. Not that you never tried it before and have it mix with your cup of tea. Your friend suggested this once after experiencing four nights of the same dream in your sleep, but it never worked.

    You move to the next item on your list, which is dewberries, picking at least three before turning your head to the bushes rustling nearby. Your eyes scanned the area before resuming your work of collecting three more until a large hand grabs your mouth, pulling you back towards their body.

"Such luck of running into a lady."

    A skinny man walked into the scene, next to his companion, who took you by surprise. He spoke before smirking. The items from your bag scrambled down after being forcefully pulled away. The man who held you back took one of them, shaking the containers of herbs inside before turning his head back towards you.

"A smart one who can provide and heal too! How much do you think we can make out of her if we sold her to the palace?"

    The skinny man only laughed before ordering his companion.

"Stuff her in the bag. I know we'll make a fortune in that case."

    You struggle in the gruff man's hold who was opting to lift you up while his friend took the large sack they had slung behind his back. Your legs kicked and swung around, managing to injure the skinny man on the groin out of pure luck. But you knew you needed more than that.

"Feisty as well! You'll pay for all the damages you'll do to me and my companion. Now stay still or-."

    A powerful surge of wind ripped through the scene, causing all of you to shut your eyes while your captors try to stay in place on the grass below, gripping onto the strands before getting blown away a few steps.

"You!"

    The voice of a man came, commanding and stern, but there was no man. Only the figure of a large, bright green, slender dragon came in sight. He was exactly like what the stories you kept hearing as a child.

    The Midnight Dragon.

    Its nostrils flared in anger, watching the two men as if they were its prey. The men who held captive of you had their hands tremble beneath their fingertips, eyes staring wide at the force of nature they just angered without moving another muscle.

"Begone or I will banish you myself."

    The men cowered in fear, flinging your body to a shallow lake before leaving in a hurry into the direction of the city. The dragon quickly shifts into a human man, running to the lake before diving in to save you.

    Your arms flailed around to resurface from the water. You weren't sure if you should feel even more terrified now that reality is making you sink deep into the waters just like in your dreams. No, nightmares. If only you agreed with your friend to teach you a bit of swimming, but you were too stubborn, confident enough that drowning would never cross in a moment of your life.

    Right now, you were afraid.

    Maybe it was a warning that you stupidly ignored and now you've fallen deep to your demise. You allowed your eyes to shut, accepting the darkness with the faint figure of the man reaching for your hand.

────────⊹⊱✫⊰⊹────────

    Jiyan thought he could never save you, blaming himself for how slow he was in every haunting nightmare that plagued his thoughts. As if his previous life wasn't enough to make him feel guilty about how much pain you've pulled through and now in this timeline? How much more does he need to suffer?

    He swam deeper, faster, just to grab a hold of your hand before pulling you up with him to the surface. Jiyan carried your body to a nearby tree, setting you down next to it before leaning his head to your chest and mouth to check for your vitals. For the love of the gods, please don't let him see you dead again.

    Using the heel of heel of his dominant hand and the other hand resting on it above your breastbone, he began to push, watching a couple of water droplets leave your mouth. Jiyan counted quietly in inaudible whispers, begging for your revival until slowly a cough came from your lips, causing him to step away a bit to give you some space.

"(Y/n)?"

"W-who- I-."

    You shut your eyes, rubbing away the water residuals that dropped from your hair, regaining consciousness from the events prior.

"What... what did you just say?"

    Jiyan's eyes widen but you didn't catch his surprise, only a clear of his throat before carrying you in his arms again as if you were lightweight. A feather, if he might add, but he'll tease you later. He valued your safety the most, so he took you back home while you had a million questions running in your head, especially how he knew where you lived.

"Stalker much?"

    You uttered above a whisper, making Jiyan shake his head quickly before you act on him.

"I-... You wouldn't believe me if I told you this."

"I'm all ears... Midnight Dragon."

    You didn't know how else to call him besides what the stories and myths had told you. It made Jiyan's heart sink, trying to accept the fact that you will never remember him. Maybe in this life you wouldn't, but it didn't stop him from being your sole protector wherever you go. Why did it have to be him to be cursed to remember everything while you were reborn to forget?

    Jiyan was silent through the entire journey, slipping into the crack of your window with you in his arms, which you forgot to close before leaving. He set you down on the comforts of your mattress before finally answering.

"I've been protecting you endlessly in our previous life and now... Believe it or not."

    Jiyan confessed. It made you confused.

"Previous life? I never remembered anything or been aware of... living longer like you do."

    If it has been that way, maybe you should've had some majestic powers to make you live longer like him. Your thoughts only made Jiyan chuckle softly before ruffling your damp hair, mind racing at what you both could've possibly been, but you had no memory at all whatsoever.

"You may not remember anything about me. But I'll make sure you'll always feel safe and maybe... feel loved by me again in this timeline..."

    Jiyan took your hand, kissing your palm gently. It felt as if a gentle breeze flowed against your skin, gracing you with the dragon's passion and attention. Everything felt like a dream, to actually see the dragon in person who has concealed its identity until years later. Did it have anything to do with your existence? It made you wonder. Most especially with the mystery laced in his words about you and him.

"If heaven ever gives us the chance to meet again, I'll always keep loving you at that time and the next."

    His words held a promise that strangely made your heart accept him entirely. Jiyan smiled, rising from his feet, making you scramble from your seat on the bed.

"Wait."

    He paused, eyebrows raised in question.

"What's your name?"

"Jiyan."

    He blew a soft breeze in front of your face, effectively hitting your eyes before watching you fall back asleep on your bed. It made Jiyan smile, admiring how peaceful you look, waving his arm above your figure to use his own magic, drying your clothes to avoid you from waking up with a cold. He pulled the covers over your body, leaning down to press a kiss on your forehead before leaving the room. Jiyan shut the windows behind him, taking a mental note to remind you about it before disappearing into the night.

    For the first time in your life, you finally got over your nightmares of drowning. Your dreams only painted the image of green and blue hues of a dragon before shifting to the figure of Jiyan, planning on your next meeting with him again.

author's note: took a bit of inspiration from the potions event of genshin. i was trying to find a good occupation for reader in a magical town and thought of that!

© MOONDRCPS. avoid stealing or translating my work to other sites. likes and reblogs on my works are appreciated ᵔᴗᵔ

[sapphistaedine]

thinking about soulmates in the wheel of time. i like to imagine couples from the past keep coming back to each other when they’re reincarnated. they see each other in the present timeline and they’re like oh. i remember you. but they don’t bc they don’t remember anything about their past lives. but a part of them is drawn to the other person. a part of them feels the warmth and familiarity of the other person. their eyes meet and the background fades and the world stops and they’re like yes. you. i know you. we’ve met before.

[valeriianz]

Hiii @embroiderling here. For the way you said I love you, can I ask for 31? Or 27. Or 25 😂 all the options are so good 💖

Thank youuuu

Helloooo! So nice to see you after so long! haha 31: In awe, the first time you realised it also, reincarnation au :D

---------------

“I love you.”

The stranger looks twice at Hob, a beautiful expression of bafflement making his eyes pop.

Hob blinks, the words coming back to him.

“Sorry,” Hob laughs, breathless. He feels a flush growing up his neck. “That just– came out of me. I don’t– here–” Hob scrambles to get his feet flat on the ground and heft himself up halfway, extending a hand to the man he’d crashed into… who looks achingly familiar.

The man, who Hob takes in properly now, hesitantly takes Hob’s hand, allowing himself to be pulled up from the ground, standing now on unsteady legs. They carefully walk out of the bike lane and onto the slightly congested sidewalk. Hob realizes he doesn’t have his scooter until his hand shoots out to catch the thin, gorgeous man, by the elbow as he wobbles a bit.

“Careful.” Hob offers a smile but it feels broken. “You okay?”

The man looks up from the point where they are touching, back to Hob, absolute shock and something like recognition glinting in his eyes.

Hob’s breath catches when he sees that the man is crying. Beautiful blue eyes shine and overflow down pale skin and strikingly sharp cheekbones.

“What’s wrong?” Hob’s grip tightens slightly on the man’s arm while the other hovers between them.

“I don’t know…” The man finally speaks with a voice that sounds like heaven. His fingers shake as he wipes away the tears on his face. “I just feel like…”

His low vibrato cracks as he looks back at Hob.

“Feels like I’ve been waiting an eternity to hear you say that.”

Hob’s jaw drops and his heart soars.

“What’s your name?”

“Dream.”

Hob huffs out a disbelieving laugh.

“It’s– It’s so crazy. I knew that.” Hob laughs properly now at the smile that tugs up the corner of Dream’s lips. “Do you know me? What’s my name?”

Dream’s brows pinch together as he seems to study Hob.

“... Hob.”

The smile that cracks through Dream’s composure is enough to send pin pricks up Hob’s spine, tickling the back of his neck, not to mention how incredibly strange and yet familiar this all seems. Like he’d looked at those crystal blue eyes a hundred times, in a hundred different lifetimes, a hundred different emotions reflected in them.

Then Dream laughs. A bark of laughter that he immediately covers with his hand and finally, for the first time since Hob spoke to him, looking away, the tips of his ears turning pink.

“What’s so funny?” Hob’s smiling so wide he feels his eyes squint.

“I don’t know!” Dream nearly screeches, his visage morphing through something like the five stages of grief before smiling again.

“But…” Dream manages to get himself under control, looking around at the people walking past them, the buildings towering over them, and back to Hob. “It’s a very strange name.”

It feels like an excuse, or some explanation that at least makes sense.

“I love your laugh,” Hob blurts out, feeling more present, all the sudden.

Dream sighs, his body relaxing, like he’s committed to whatever is happening… acquiescing to it. 

“I know you do.”

Hob grins. This is insane.

“Can I take you to dinner?”

Dream’s breath seems to catch, his eyes flicking up and down.

“I feel like you owe me a lot more than dinner.”

Hob laughs again, emotion welling on inside his throat and making his own eyes begin to burn.

“I’m going to make it up to you. God. What is happening right now?”

Dream merely shakes his head, running a hand through his hair and looking around them.

“Are you free tonight? Eight o’clock?”

Hob nods, excitement– like a child, rushes through his veins.

“Let’s meet here,” Dream points to the ground. “... again, if you’re serious.”

Hob nods again. “I’ll be here.”

“Good,” Dream takes a long breath, his eyes seem to burn, instantly watching Hob. “I will see you again.”

An unconscious grin splits across Hob’s face.

“You will.”

[comatosebunny09]

Inspired by @sserpente’s The Sunwalker’s Gift.

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.

masterlist

[yu-huuuu]

[🌸] inspiration:

@uchihaxitachi ,, here, for you *I throw it to you epically*

Also… this is a modern au :b

…

..

.

Itachi looked at the canvas.

He painted the same woman over and over again…

Her beautiful eyes, full of life, painted with acrylic paints that tried to imitate the beauty behind those stunning colors that rivaled any beauty, returned his gaze. He couldn’t remember the first time he dreamed of her.

But his chest felt warm every time he looked at her or dreamed of her.

His classmates thought at first he was in love with a famous person. They asked him if she was a model, then if she was a singer. It didn’t take long before they asked if she was an actress.

He denied each of them.

His brush caressed the canvas as if he were trying to touch her while attempting to capture the beauty of the beautiful woman who haunted his dreams.

His eyes softened with adoration and warmth when he finished.

His fingers trembled with the desire to touch her face, even if it was just a painting. But if he did, he would ruin the fresh paint.

Was she his love of his past life?

How strong was the connection between them that he could still remember her, even after another life?

His beloved… Did she reincarnate too?

His professor approached him with a curious look. — Not bad, Itachi. — The forty-year-old man congratulated him before asking. — Is your girlfriend your muse? —

— No —, was his only answer, after nodding as thanks for his professor’s compliment.

— Do you know her? —

Itachi fell silent for a moment before a rare, melancholic smile with a hint of sadness appeared on his lips. — I think so… —