#soumates

[gr0ssly0bs3ss3d]

please dont leave ... please.. I can't LIVE without you!!

[butterfliesrising]

this love will touch. taste. feel. like fire… and your soul will stir and your heart will race and the awakenings will come again and again. and just. the existence of them… who they are… how they are… it will create all those hurricanes that you feel in your chest walls.

and that's how you'll know. because if they are for you… you'll feel it in your chest walls.

- butterflies rising

[absentmindeduniverse]

This is so wholesome ❤️😍🥰😘💘💖♥️💕

Day 15: Boop!

Today's fic for the Writer’s Month 2021 challenge (see @writersmonth for more info) is a request for one of the winners in my latest Majestic Monday sleepover. Hope you'll like it, @justfollowtheroad! Thank you so much 💙

Today's prompt: word: edge | setting: soulmate AU

Imagine living in Erebor at the time of its greatness, with prince Thorin as your... best friend?

Fandom: The Hobbit Relationships: Thorin x Reader Warnings: fluff Rating: G As usual, you can read this fic here and on AO3.

Khuzdul: Mahal - Aule Kaminzabdûna - Yavanna Tahith (endearment) - little giggler Mudtelê - my heart of all hearts

* * *

Boop!

The legend says that Mahal created the Dwarves from the hardest stone in existence to make them the sturdiest of all the races of Arda, but he balanced their nature with the softness of their hearts, pouring love into them. He wanted his children to be as happy as he was with his wife, Kaminzabdûna, so he made two dwarves from each piece of stone. All the seven fathers of Dwarves, including Durin the Deathless, had partners from the very beginning, their soulmates, but it was to be different for their descendants. Each of them had to find their Other Half.

The legend says that when the time is right and their hearts are ready, a mark will appear on the wrists of each couple. It means that on that day they have a chance to discover the identity of their soulmate. Sometimes they would see a glowing aura around their Other Half, sometimes all it took was a touch, other times the world around them would explode with colours, and sometimes they would simply dream of that person. It was different for each couple. If, however, a Dwarf hadn’t found their soulmate on that very day, the mark would disappear forever along with the chances for ever finding your One.

The Great Library was your favourite place in Erebor.

Being surrounded by countless books and scrolls on each and every subject you could think of, by the smell of parchment, herb tea, scented candles and polished wood, was the best feeling in the world. It was not surprising that a bookworm like you would spend as much time as possible in that place. Every evening you would head to the library. This day was no different, with one exception. There was something on your mind and you hoped you could reach the library before Thorin did to gather your thoughts. You would meet him there almost every day if your busy schedules allowed.

Thorin, or as everyone else would call him, Prince Thorin, was your... best friend. Yes, this is how you thought of him. You had been fast friends since before you could remember, and, if you believed what your mothers said, it all began when you were tiny pebbles. Apparently, one day some kid you played with took Mister Prickly from you, the stuffed hedgehog you never parted with.Thorin valiantly rescued your favourite plushie from the kidnapper, even though punching that boy meant a week with no desserts for the young prince. Since then, you had always had each other’s back.

As a kid, you had a few playmates, but no one was as close to you as Thorin and the feeling was mutual. You simply felt best in each other’s company. He was a Dwarf of few words who often seemed too serious for his age due to his duties, and you were a dreamer who sometimes would forget that there was a real world besides the ones you found in your books. Perhaps the reason that your bond survived until now was that you always felt comfortable in each other’s company: you made him smile and forget about his burdens, while he made sure that you spent some time outdoors and was always there for you.

When you reached the library, it turned out that Thorin wasn’t there yet. You sat by the fireplace, on the edge of your favourite armchair and opened a random book, but you couldn’t focus on the words written on its pages. When you thought no one was watching, you uncovered your wrist for a moment. The mark was still there, looking exactly the same as it did when you woke up in the morning. You swallowed nervously. Some dwarves waited for the mark to appear for years after they reached adulthood, and you received yours so incredibly soon after reaching battle age. You often dreamed about this day, wondered who would be your Other Half and what they would look like. There was never any doubt in your mind that you would find that Dwarf immediately. The reality, however, turned out to be different. A greater part of the day had passed, and you still didn’t know how to find them.

The mark on your wrist looked like a hammer and so you spent the day going through all the possibilities in your head. Were you supposed to find your soulmate, your One, in the Engineering Guild? Or maybe in the Forges? Was he a farrier or a carpenter? Or perhaps a member of the elite warrior unit, the Mahal’s Hammer? On the way to the library you even took a short detour and passed through the training grounds and the artisan quarter; you peeked curiously into several armourer’s workshops; you even passed by the southern halls where the stonemasons used their hammers and chisels to carve breathtaking statues from the green-veined stone. There was nothing. No loving glances, no fireworks, no rainbows, no ethereal music.

What would happen if you didn’t find your One on time? Would you be condemned to lead a lonely life, tormented by the thought that you had a chance of happiness and lost it forever?

Thorin’s arrival interrupted your gloomy thoughts. A small smile appeared on your lips as his large frame filled his favourite armchair, next to yours, but he only responded with a nod, his brow furrowed. It seemed that you weren’t the only one who had a lot on their mind.

“Tough day?” you asked, looking at his aquiline profile and the cascades of his damp hair flowing down his broad shoulders clad in a brown rumpled shirt with yellow embroideries.

Thorin grunted in confirmation and tugged at his beard braid, not glancing at you. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say that he was purposefully avoiding your gaze, but that couldn’t be true, could it? To make matters worse, his fingers drummed on the armrest. You know him too well not to notice how upset he was.

“Lots of work at the forges?” you moved along the edge of your seat, slightly towards him.

“Aye. More than I thought,” Thorin spoke solemnly, as if he was delivering grave news to you.

His eyes studied a bookshelf on the opposite side of the room. He rose as suddenly as he appeared.

“I’d better go.”

“Thorin, what is it?” you stood up as well and took a step towards him.

“Nothing of consequence,” he muttered, looking down, still not meeting your gaze. This was more serious than you thought. He was your best friend and you couldn’t stand idly by while he brooded himself into a dark cloud of gloom. Luckily, you knew exactly what to do.

Before he had the chance to move away, you lifted your hand and pressed your finger against the tip of his nose.

“Boop!” It was all you managed to say, because at the same time the world turned upside down for a blink of an eye.

It was as if a hot current passed through you, a tingling sensation that spread throughout your body, wave after wave, its epicentre in the place where your skin touched Thorin’s. You froze. You felt both hot and cold at the same time, your heart was beating as hard as a hammer against the anvil, some strange sweetness uncoiled in your chest, and you felt as if you were floating in the air. This is when his eyes finally met yours and you felt yourself drowning in the twin azure pools of his gaze. A wave of dizziness washed over you, making you sway.

“Tahith…” Thorin murmured huskily, using your childhood nickname that he was always quite fond of. His arms wrapped around you, steadying you, as if you were a ship on a stormy sea and he was your anchor, your rock.

You held on to him frantically, his shirt crumpled in your fists, noticing the rapid rising and falling of his chest.

“Thorin, what is happening?” you gasped, trying to calm yourself down, dizziness still lingering at the back of your mind.

His throat bobbed and then he did something that he had never done before. His forehead pressed lightly against yours and he gently cupped your cheek. And, to your utter confusion, he smiled widely, his previous sadness gone without a trace.

“I cannot believe it myself,” a small chuckle left his lips. “Tahith, is there perhaps a mark on your wrist?”

“I… How do you know?” You mumbled, but then Thorin’s arms encircled you once more. This time he was pressing you against your chest as if he was worried that you would disappear. You heard laughter budding in his chest and hugged him back, simply because it felt like the only thing you wanted to do. Because it felt right. Thorin murmured into your hair, “Oh, Tahith, you are the smartest person I know, do you truly not know what it means?”

Suddenly it all made sense. All those emotions and sensations, your worries, his brooding. This has to be it.

“Thorin, are you saying that…?” you whispered into his shirt.

“My mark… I noticed in the morning,” he spoke with hints of merriment in his voice as he loosened the embrace to look down at you. “At first, I believed it was a cave mole, so I assumed that my Other Half would be a miner. Mahal, I was such a fool! And so I hated that mark, refused to acknowledge what it meant, I did not even visit the mines!”

“Is that why you were so worried?”

“Aye, and so I went to see you, I wanted to tell you,” he whispered feverishly, his eyes searching your face. “But when I saw you in your chair, sitting with your book, those glasses on your cute nose, I simply stood here, cursing my fate, wishing that my mark would change into a book, but it would not…”

“What is it? Show me,” you took his right hand into your hands as he uncovered his wrist. “Thorin, this is not a cave mole at all!”

“I know, Tahith, I know that now,” he chuckled, sparks of merriment dancing in his eyes.

“How on earth could you confuse Mister Prickly with a cave mole?! I’m deeply offended!” You huffed, faking indignation, while your heart secretly welled with joy.

“I hope both you and Mister Prickly will forgive me one day,” he flashed his teeth at you in a mischievous smile. This was the Thorin you admired the most and, now you finally could admit it to yourself, you adored. You couldn’t stop yourself from giggling.

“What about your mark, Tahith?” he asked, placing his hand over your forearm.

“I spent an hour in the southern halls, staring at the stonemasons at work. By now, they probably think I’m some kind of a creep. I’m never showing my face there again and I don’t want to talk about it ever again. Besides, there is a lot of stone dust in my hair,” you grunted, uncovering your wrist.

“A blacksmith’s hammer! But it is certainly not a stonemason’s tool! Look at the heft, and the profile of the head, the surface…” he started explaining enthusiastically, a true blacksmith’s apprentice. His masters would be so proud of him if they could see him now. Unfortunately for them, they weren’t here, their loss. You had Thorin all for yourself and there was something urgent you needed to do; something you secretly dreamed of, but never dared to act upon it until today.

“Thorin,” you gently interrupted his lecture, trying to ignore the nervous fluttering in your stomach. “If it all means what I think it means, then… Shouldn’t we do something?” A moment of silence.

“Aye, we should. If you would like to, that is,” Thorin stepped from one foot to another, taking your right hand, the one with the mark, into his. Was it the light from the fireplace or were his cheeks above his beard slightly flushed?

“I… I think I would like to,” you admitted quietly, your voice trembling slightly.

He gave you a nod and slowly lowered his face towards yours. Your nose bumped against his and you giggled, but Thorin wouldn't give up so easily. He tilted his head, not letting go of your hand.

When his lips brushed against yours, that sweet dizzying sensation filled you once again, but this time you were prepared and held onto him, wrapping your arms around his neck, sealing your newfound love with a tender kiss that made you both forget the whole world around you.

“That was…” you murmured when your lips parted and your eyes met. You noticed that there was a new softness in Thorin’s gaze, something that had never been there before; or perhaps something that you had not noticed earlier. A flower of deep affection for the Dwarf in front of you bloomed in your chest and you realized it wasn’t the first one nor the last.

“... yes. Very much,” he agreed with a deep rumble in his chest and brushed his nose against yours. “Your lips are as sweet as honey, Tahith.”

“And your beard tickles,” you replied with a chuckle, pressing your forehead against his. “But I think I like it.”

“You’d better, because you are my One,” he brushed his fingers against your cheek. “And I am afraid that you are stuck both with my beard and me for the rest of our lives.”

“It sounds like a very good plan, Mudtelê,” you whispered and your hearts sang in joyous unison as your lips met again.

* * *

Read it? Like it? Spread the love and reblog it!

Fell like reading more? Here is my masterlist for the Writer's Month 2021 event.

Taglist: @fizzyxcustard @shrimpsthings​ @dark-angel-is-back @sherala007 @amelia307 @anyaspidergirl-blog @jotink78 @rachel1959 @saltwater-in-the-afternoon @linasofia @legolasbadass @justfollowtheroad @bitter-sweet-farmgirl @yourqueenunderthemountain @reblogunderthemountain @guardianofrivendell @elrawienthewhite @xmly-xo @tschrist1 @nelleedraws @beenovel @vee-vee-writes @mcchiberry @shalinizhara @dumbassunderthemountain @errruvande

[vixvaporub]

Shadows House by Soumatou – Chapter 196 ♦ Master Christopher

[lilium-dragomir]

[raticalshoez]

i'm having hyperfixation drought so i did what i did best and created a crossover episode

[hoshimirufuri]

[atlasshrugd]

this is your daily reminder that it is a CANON EVENT that josh hutcherson inadvertently inspired jennifer lawrence to pursue an acting career when they were kids long before they ever met. this is some everlark level of soulmatism wtf wtf

[fuck-i-like-too-much-stuff]

Soulmate AU Idea for the whole of We Are Gang

[This is because i quite literally cannot stop thinking about @thunder-point 's AU.]

Chain has been seeing colour since he entered third grade home room to introduce himself. So has Pun, along with twelve more of their classmates.

The first colorful thing Tan sees is red from the small drop of blood on his knuckles after he has punched the cheer captain of the opposing school.

Q doesn't realise that he has guessed the color of the sky accurately till he starts seeing his painting in dimensions like never before at P'Oh's cafe on a random Wendesday.

Peem has high hopes for colors, and they do not disappoint as he sees uniforms of red and blue run across the football field. After the match is over, Tan brings over his soulmate and his soulmates' friends, one of whom stops mid track upon setting eyes on Peem.

Matt has been friends with Toey, and by extension the huge gang of Toey's Hias. Now when Toey finds out that Hia Peem's boyfriend and Hia Tan's boyfriend are actually two of his Hias from school, there are four more boys to become friends with. One of them is into video games, he hears.

[nasuversekinkmeme]

Soulmate AU where Mash and Guda are soulmates. However, when Castoria steals Mash's name, she inadvertently steals the fated connection with it. And in the eyes of the universe, Castoria and Morgan are essentially the same entity. Soulmate au where Guda, Castoria, Morgan and Mash are tangled together fucking every law of the universe, essentially. (Soulmate doesn't have to mean romantic btw)

Oh ho ho!

[deansapplepie]

I don’t believe in colors

For the WIP ask!

Thanks for asking, Murda 🥹🩷 here’s a little of what I have already written for part 2. To whoever didn’t read part 1, it’s a soulmate AU. In part 1, Daryl and reader discover they’re soulmates and it doesn’t go well since none of them believe in soulmates and grew up in very toxic families. Part 1 ends with a truce between them.

“Where are you going this early, sweetie?” Carol asked as you two prepared the meal together.

“Daryl and I are going back to that place.” You said while you were stirring the oatmeal, she side eyed you and you could feel her gaze on you, you just didn’t know what she was saying. “We have a truce, don’t worry I’m not killing him and coming back with the excuse he was eaten by a walker.”

“As if ya could beat ma ass.” He entered the room leaving his backpack and crossbow in a corner.

“You think too high of yourself, Dixon.” You served some oatmeal and handed him.

“I’m aware of my abilities.” He shrugged and sat to have his breakfast.

Hope you like this little tiny bit of what I have already written 🩷

[nicolibbyquotes]

“For a moment, so fleeting it might have existed purely within his imagination, Nico could tell from Libby's eyes that she did know the finer details of Atlas's experiment; that perhaps she even had the same questions Atlas had, and that the same fundamental interest had been piqued. Nico knew her very well— knew her like he knew the fundamental laws of motion— and she was an academic at heart, compulsively curious, determined to have her many questions answered. It was a quality that Nico knew so well because he shared it. Because he, like her, was defined by the many things he wanted so instinctively to understand— a hunger that had come from somewhere ready-built, deep-seated.”

- “The Atlas Complex” by Olivie Blake

[panthera-tigris-venenata]

Fate wouldn’t be that much of a bitch, would it?

Gift for @tiredflowercrown

Flower, I hope you enjoy and that you don’t mind you got the gift now – Anyway, soulmates AU for our favourite mutually destructive threesome for you 💞💞💞

The Tremaine hair salon is full today. A customer in almost every chair, the Hearts by the waiting area as usual, and Anthony is quite glad to leave Dulcia to deal with that. The Hearts kids give him a headache. Besides, she seems to be having fun.

And dear grandmother is upstairs, too. Small mercies.

He leans at the wall and looks at his sisters and cousins currently working at the salon; he shots out his hand to stop little Delilah running by. She shouldn’t be there in the first place.

„Delilah!“ he scolds the little one, „What did we say about running with the scissors in the salon?“

„Not to unless I know exactly who I wanna stab and how to get away with it,“ she recites dutifully.

„That’s right. Now, do you know that?“

She looks around and shakes her head; then she puts the scissors into Anthony’s waiting hand with clear disappointment.

She looks at him and very clearly mouths off „Fuck off“ over Delilah’s head.

„Good. Now go play with Dulcia, yeah?“ She was supposed to be babysitting anyway, and Kazimíra loves getting her makeup done by the little ones. The wackier, the better, and Anthony doesn’t need to deal with any of them in the meantime.

„Dulcia!“ he calls out, „Delllie’s coming over! Don’t lose her!“

„Language,“ he says anyway, which earns him a middle finger immediately repeated by the triplets. The Hearts’ gloves look like they’ve been dipped in blood, as usual. Dulcia’s is lace, which is not good for anything, really.

Whatever.

„Hiii,“ Ginny Gothel greets the salon, „I need my hair done!“

He absentmindedly drags the sharp tips and blades of the scissors over his bare fingers, pretending to look over the salon.

He looks up when the wind chimes play.

„You don’t say,“ he drawls, looking her up and down and lingering on her hair, which forms a frizzy halo around her head, „And here I was, thinking that you go around looking like you just lost a literal cat fight on purpose.“

She walks over the salon, carelessly pushing away Mečislav Hearts and sidestepping his dagger without breaking her stride. Anthony slides the blade of the scissors over his thumb just a bit too hard.

„Fix it, then.“

„Oh, nothing would please me more.“ He pushes her into the chair. The one by the corner, his workstation when he’s actually forced to work. He looks into the mirror – Ginny’s dark eyes and unruly hair.

His own face, tainted by the mark scar on his nose. He refuses to look at that for too long.

He sets down the scissors, out of Ginny’s reach for now, when he notices another thing in the mirror:

„Angie!“ he calls out, „Where are your gloves?“

„I don’t want them!“ whines his younger sister, „I want a soulmark!“

„But–“

He glares at her through the mirror.

„No you don’t,“ he tells her, „Go get your gloves right now.“

„Right. Now.“

She sighs melodramatically but goes, abandoning her client in the process. Said client doesn’t dare to protest. Good for them.

„How about your gloves, Lord Tremaine,“ asks Ginny, turning the scissors in her hands. Of course she does.

„Put that back.“

She reluctantly puts them on the armrest, which should not be counted as “putting down”

„Well?“

He takes away the scissors and fixes his eyes at the reflection in the mirror – at the scar on his nose.

„I don’t need them, Gothel,“ he drawls, „As I’m sure you know.“

She smiles at him innocently and grabs the scissors again, nearly piercing her palm. Not that she cares.

„No–“

He barely takes away the scissors again when Angelica comes back, wearing the same laced gloves as Dulcia, which would do her no good whatsoever. He tells her so.

Ginny is leaning towards the mirror now and grabbing at the shiny accessories Dizzy left there – or possibly the comb, the one with the sharp end for parting hair, and, no. Anthony has had enough.

He sighs, quickly turns around to get the water bottle they keep in the salon for such occasions, and sprays dear Ginny into the face.

„What the fuck, Tremaine?!“ she sputters.

„Don’t touch that,“ he tells her with some satisfaction, „And sit back down.“

She slowly reaches out her hand while holding a strong eye contact.

Anthony sprays her in the face again.

Behave like a cat, get treated like a cat.

In the background, Dulcia and Rosa burst out into giggles, which Anthony ignores. Ginny slowly sits back down, glaring to daggers at him. He smiles at her sweetly.

„There’s something very wrong with you, Anthony,“ she complains.

„Look at yourself first, sweetheart.“

Anthony, notably, doesn‘t spray her in the face again, nor does he argue – she does look good, after all. Instead, he sprays her hair with the water. Multipurpose, you see, and very convenient. 

She looks into the mirror, studying her reflection in great detail.

„I look fantastic, Tremaine, and I’ll look better yet once you do my hair. So get on with it.“

„Oh, could you infuse that with rosemary next time? Mother says it’s great for hair growth.“

Anthony scoffs. By the state of Ginny’s hair, he wouldn’t think she cares at all. Ergo, no answer for her. Just not worth it, nevermind her pout.

Finally, her hair is wet enough to be combed; he sets down the water bottle and gets the comb.

It falls down barely a heartbeat later.

Anthony stares at her hair and his hand in pure shock – no, this cannot be happening. It just can’t.

Fate can’t be that cruel to him, can it?

Oh, who is he kidding.

Of course it can.

„What–“

He swallows heavily as he looks at the newly-coloured strand of hair and the matching stain on his fingers.

„Well, fuck,“ he breathes out softly, looking up to meet her eyes in the mirror.

„Fuck.“

He wordlessly lifts up the strand of hair.

„Oh. Oh.“

Yeah, that about sums it up.

„You’re– you’re kidding me, right?“

„I think we need to go see Harriet,“ he says.

„I haven’t said a word,“ he tells her, „And I aren’t that suicidal.“

He touches his nose – no matter what he tells himself, no matter how much he tries to deny it, he knows it’s not a scar.

Ginny stays seated, looking at herself. She has taken the hair and is now winding it up between her fingers, her eyes wide open in a mixture of fascination and horror.

Anthony touches his nose again, ignoring that the colour is now on his fingers too. 

(It could pass for dye stains, couldn’t it? It could pass for dye stains.)

He grabs Ginny’s shoulder and pulls her up: „We need to go see Harriet,“ he repeats.

And so they go.

Before they exit the salon, he vaguely registers Dulcia blackmailing the customers into silence with the threat of life-long ban from the salon; he tightens his grip on Ginny, just to be sure. But she doesn’t even try to run.

Soon enough, they’re in the port and by the Hope; he asks for permission to board but doesn’t wait for it to come, already walking over and pushing Ginny in front of himself.

„Harriet!“ he calls out, „We need to talk.“

„What,“ she says, coming from the back of the ship, „Can’t you see I’m busy?“

„We were inspecting the rigging, if you must know,“ she informs him, turning her nose up, „Now, why are you here?“

Busy, certainly.

„If that’s what you call daydrinking with Murph, then sure, you were busy, dear.“

He just gestures to Ginny – to the colourful strand in her hair.

„What,“ says Harriet, uninterested, „Did you fuck up another dye job again?“

„Excuse yourself!? I’ve never fucked up a dye job in my life, thank you for asking.“

„Then why’s my brother going around like this?“

„Hey!“ Ginny stomps her feet, clearly annoyed at the argument that doesn’t even involve her anymore, „We are forgetting what’s important here! Me!“

Anthony cringes as he remembers the hairdo Harry Hook requested.

„You might find this hard to believe, dear,“ he says, „But that abomination was his idea. Trust me, I’m suffering too.“

Harriet snaps her teeth at her and Anthony rolls his eyes back. He’s so fucked.

„Fine, whatever,“ she allows before shouting some commands at Murphy and getting a rowdy „Have fun, Captain,“ in return.

„Yes. Her,“ he says, „It’s… her.“

It’s also a conversation better suited for a private cabin than an open deck full of nosey port rats.

„Take us to your cabin, Harriet?“ he requests.

Have fun, yes. Definitely.

Fun.

Harriet marches towards her cabin and Anthony pushes Ginny to follow; the door click behind them soon enough.

„Well?“ Harriet asks again, her back to them. He’s reasonably sure she’s currently getting them drinks and he’s not going to protest.

„It’s–“ he starts, „It’s a–“

„It’s a fucking soulmark!“ snaps Ginny, having finished gawking at the Captain’s private room, „A soulmark!“ She tugs at her coloured hair violently and before Anthony can think, his hand shoots out to stop her.

In turn, Harriet raises her eyebrow and shots back half of her glass, which seems like a reasonable reaction, for once.

Anthony slowly pulls away his hand, ignoring unhappily pouting Ginny.

She tightens her hold to the point of pain and Anthony hisses through his teeth, yanking his hand back and shooting a dirty glare at Ginny who is watching with unconcealed interest, weaving the coloured strand of hair around her finger again. What a bitch.

„Show me,“ demands Harriet, though she has already grabbed his hand and turned it over, holding his wrist in near-bruising grip. He doesn’t even try to pull away.

„Fuck,“ she breaths out, „It’s dye. It’s dye, right? It has to be.“

What a fucking bitch.

„Are you two going to kiss now?“ she asks with feigned innocence and they quickly let go of eachother.

„Shame.“

She smiles under Harriet’s glare that has sent multiple people running and Anthony defends himself before Harriet can start glaring at him too:

„It’s not dye,“ he says, „No matter how much I wish it is. Why does everyone think I’d lie to you? I’m not that suicidal,“ he complains.

„As you wish.“

Harriet’s lips on his shut him up.

„I still don’t trust you,“ she says into his lips, „Go wash your hands, so I can be sure.“

Over the sounds of splashing water, he can hear the girls hissing and snapping at each other: Harriet must be taking care to make sure the whole port doesn’t hear her for once.

He leaves the room to wash his hands even though he knows it will do exactly nothing

Some staggering steps – a thud that Anthony distinctly recognises as a body being violently pushed against the wall. More hissing and something that better not have been sighs.

He looks around for soap and scrubs his hands.

A yelp of pain. Fuck. Does he even want to know what happened?

He quickly shakes away the water and enters the room: There’s a bite mark at Harriet’s throat and Ginny’s lips are stained. She seems undisturbed otherwise, grinning at Harriet as she holds her by the throat and presses her against the wall.

„Anthony!“ Harriet yells and great, the whole port knows what is happening again.

„This bitch bit me!“

Come to think of it, by her standards, Harriet could be more upset, too.

„Oh, for evil’s sake,“ Anthony sighs, „I leave for thirty seconds and this is what happens?“

No reaction.

„Oh, come on. Look at yourself. We are fucked.“

They let go of eachother and go turn to Harriet’s mirror, which has been shattered in a fit of rage a long time ago. Which just means nothing much can hurt it anymore.

„Oh yes, we are fucked!“ exclaims Ginny, „This is not my shade at all!

„That’s what you’re worried about?! Look at me!“ Harriet furiously gestures around and just barely doesn’t hit Ginny in the face.

„Try to yell just a little bit louder, will you?“ he advises her with as much bite ashe can muster at the moment, „I don’t think they quite heard you by the Bargain Castle yet. Or in the Jungle, for that matter.“

„Oh, fuck off, Tremaine.“ If there is any hint of panic in her voice, it will be ignored by both of them.

Ginny is still busy inspecting the damage to her lips in the mirror, thus, she can be ignored too. She isn’t paying attention anyway.

„Calm down, sweetheart,“ he tells Harriet, well aware that he is risking his life with that sentence, „I’ll get you some concealer for that.“

It’s not like anything else can be done now, is it? 

Just conceal the marks and lie and hope it won’t happen again – pretend that fate isn’t that much of a bitch.

[vixvaporub]

Shadows House by Soumatou – Chapter 192 ♦ Monster

[lilium-dragomir]

[lathalea]

Thanks :) It’s so good to know you like it 💙 And they are soulmates after all, cuteness is mandatory!

Day 15: Boop!

Today's fic for the Writer’s Month 2021 challenge (see @writersmonth for more info) is a request for one of the winners in my latest Majestic Monday sleepover. Hope you'll like it, @justfollowtheroad! Thank you so much 💙

Today's prompt: word: edge | setting: soulmate AU

Imagine living in Erebor at the time of its greatness, with prince Thorin as your... best friend?

Fandom: The Hobbit Relationships: Thorin x Reader Warnings: fluff Rating: G As usual, you can read this fic here and on AO3.

Khuzdul: Mahal - Aule Kaminzabdûna - Yavanna Tahith (endearment) - little giggler Mudtelê - my heart of all hearts

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Boop!

The legend says that Mahal created the Dwarves from the hardest stone in existence to make them the sturdiest of all the races of Arda, but he balanced their nature with the softness of their hearts, pouring love into them. He wanted his children to be as happy as he was with his wife, Kaminzabdûna, so he made two dwarves from each piece of stone. All the seven fathers of Dwarves, including Durin the Deathless, had partners from the very beginning, their soulmates, but it was to be different for their descendants. Each of them had to find their Other Half.

The legend says that when the time is right and their hearts are ready, a mark will appear on the wrists of each couple. It means that on that day they have a chance to discover the identity of their soulmate. Sometimes they would see a glowing aura around their Other Half, sometimes all it took was a touch, other times the world around them would explode with colours, and sometimes they would simply dream of that person. It was different for each couple. If, however, a Dwarf hadn’t found their soulmate on that very day, the mark would disappear forever along with the chances for ever finding your One.

The Great Library was your favourite place in Erebor.

Being surrounded by countless books and scrolls on each and every subject you could think of, by the smell of parchment, herb tea, scented candles and polished wood, was the best feeling in the world. It was not surprising that a bookworm like you would spend as much time as possible in that place. Every evening you would head to the library. This day was no different, with one exception. There was something on your mind and you hoped you could reach the library before Thorin did to gather your thoughts. You would meet him there almost every day if your busy schedules allowed.

Thorin, or as everyone else would call him, Prince Thorin, was your... best friend. Yes, this is how you thought of him. You had been fast friends since before you could remember, and, if you believed what your mothers said, it all began when you were tiny pebbles. Apparently, one day some kid you played with took Mister Prickly from you, the stuffed hedgehog you never parted with.Thorin valiantly rescued your favourite plushie from the kidnapper, even though punching that boy meant a week with no desserts for the young prince. Since then, you had always had each other’s back.

As a kid, you had a few playmates, but no one was as close to you as Thorin and the feeling was mutual. You simply felt best in each other’s company. He was a Dwarf of few words who often seemed too serious for his age due to his duties, and you were a dreamer who sometimes would forget that there was a real world besides the ones you found in your books. Perhaps the reason that your bond survived until now was that you always felt comfortable in each other’s company: you made him smile and forget about his burdens, while he made sure that you spent some time outdoors and was always there for you.

When you reached the library, it turned out that Thorin wasn’t there yet. You sat by the fireplace, on the edge of your favourite armchair and opened a random book, but you couldn’t focus on the words written on its pages. When you thought no one was watching, you uncovered your wrist for a moment. The mark was still there, looking exactly the same as it did when you woke up in the morning. You swallowed nervously. Some dwarves waited for the mark to appear for years after they reached adulthood, and you received yours so incredibly soon after reaching battle age. You often dreamed about this day, wondered who would be your Other Half and what they would look like. There was never any doubt in your mind that you would find that Dwarf immediately. The reality, however, turned out to be different. A greater part of the day had passed, and you still didn’t know how to find them.

The mark on your wrist looked like a hammer and so you spent the day going through all the possibilities in your head. Were you supposed to find your soulmate, your One, in the Engineering Guild? Or maybe in the Forges? Was he a farrier or a carpenter? Or perhaps a member of the elite warrior unit, the Mahal’s Hammer? On the way to the library you even took a short detour and passed through the training grounds and the artisan quarter; you peeked curiously into several armourer’s workshops; you even passed by the southern halls where the stonemasons used their hammers and chisels to carve breathtaking statues from the green-veined stone. There was nothing. No loving glances, no fireworks, no rainbows, no ethereal music.

What would happen if you didn’t find your One on time? Would you be condemned to lead a lonely life, tormented by the thought that you had a chance of happiness and lost it forever?

Thorin’s arrival interrupted your gloomy thoughts. A small smile appeared on your lips as his large frame filled his favourite armchair, next to yours, but he only responded with a nod, his brow furrowed. It seemed that you weren’t the only one who had a lot on their mind.

“Tough day?” you asked, looking at his aquiline profile and the cascades of his damp hair flowing down his broad shoulders clad in a brown rumpled shirt with yellow embroideries.

Thorin grunted in confirmation and tugged at his beard braid, not glancing at you. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say that he was purposefully avoiding your gaze, but that couldn’t be true, could it? To make matters worse, his fingers drummed on the armrest. You know him too well not to notice how upset he was.

“Lots of work at the forges?” you moved along the edge of your seat, slightly towards him.

“Aye. More than I thought,” Thorin spoke solemnly, as if he was delivering grave news to you.

His eyes studied a bookshelf on the opposite side of the room. He rose as suddenly as he appeared.

“I’d better go.”

“Thorin, what is it?” you stood up as well and took a step towards him.

“Nothing of consequence,” he muttered, looking down, still not meeting your gaze. This was more serious than you thought. He was your best friend and you couldn’t stand idly by while he brooded himself into a dark cloud of gloom. Luckily, you knew exactly what to do.

Before he had the chance to move away, you lifted your hand and pressed your finger against the tip of his nose.

“Boop!” It was all you managed to say, because at the same time the world turned upside down for a blink of an eye.

It was as if a hot current passed through you, a tingling sensation that spread throughout your body, wave after wave, its epicentre in the place where your skin touched Thorin’s. You froze. You felt both hot and cold at the same time, your heart was beating as hard as a hammer against the anvil, some strange sweetness uncoiled in your chest, and you felt as if you were floating in the air. This is when his eyes finally met yours and you felt yourself drowning in the twin azure pools of his gaze. A wave of dizziness washed over you, making you sway.

“Tahith…” Thorin murmured huskily, using your childhood nickname that he was always quite fond of. His arms wrapped around you, steadying you, as if you were a ship on a stormy sea and he was your anchor, your rock.

You held on to him frantically, his shirt crumpled in your fists, noticing the rapid rising and falling of his chest.

“Thorin, what is happening?” you gasped, trying to calm yourself down, dizziness still lingering at the back of your mind.

His throat bobbed and then he did something that he had never done before. His forehead pressed lightly against yours and he gently cupped your cheek. And, to your utter confusion, he smiled widely, his previous sadness gone without a trace.

“I cannot believe it myself,” a small chuckle left his lips. “Tahith, is there perhaps a mark on your wrist?”

“I… How do you know?” You mumbled, but then Thorin’s arms encircled you once more. This time he was pressing you against your chest as if he was worried that you would disappear. You heard laughter budding in his chest and hugged him back, simply because it felt like the only thing you wanted to do. Because it felt right. Thorin murmured into your hair, “Oh, Tahith, you are the smartest person I know, do you truly not know what it means?”

Suddenly it all made sense. All those emotions and sensations, your worries, his brooding. This has to be it.

“Thorin, are you saying that…?” you whispered into his shirt.

“My mark… I noticed in the morning,” he spoke with hints of merriment in his voice as he loosened the embrace to look down at you. “At first, I believed it was a cave mole, so I assumed that my Other Half would be a miner. Mahal, I was such a fool! And so I hated that mark, refused to acknowledge what it meant, I did not even visit the mines!”

“Is that why you were so worried?”

“Aye, and so I went to see you, I wanted to tell you,” he whispered feverishly, his eyes searching your face. “But when I saw you in your chair, sitting with your book, those glasses on your cute nose, I simply stood here, cursing my fate, wishing that my mark would change into a book, but it would not…”

“What is it? Show me,” you took his right hand into your hands as he uncovered his wrist. “Thorin, this is not a cave mole at all!”

“I know, Tahith, I know that now,” he chuckled, sparks of merriment dancing in his eyes.

“How on earth could you confuse Mister Prickly with a cave mole?! I’m deeply offended!” You huffed, faking indignation, while your heart secretly welled with joy.

“I hope both you and Mister Prickly will forgive me one day,” he flashed his teeth at you in a mischievous smile. This was the Thorin you admired the most and, now you finally could admit it to yourself, you adored. You couldn’t stop yourself from giggling.

“What about your mark, Tahith?” he asked, placing his hand over your forearm.

“I spent an hour in the southern halls, staring at the stonemasons at work. By now, they probably think I’m some kind of a creep. I’m never showing my face there again and I don’t want to talk about it ever again. Besides, there is a lot of stone dust in my hair,” you grunted, uncovering your wrist.

“A blacksmith’s hammer! But it is certainly not a stonemason’s tool! Look at the heft, and the profile of the head, the surface…” he started explaining enthusiastically, a true blacksmith’s apprentice. His masters would be so proud of him if they could see him now. Unfortunately for them, they weren’t here, their loss. You had Thorin all for yourself and there was something urgent you needed to do; something you secretly dreamed of, but never dared to act upon it until today.

“Thorin,” you gently interrupted his lecture, trying to ignore the nervous fluttering in your stomach. “If it all means what I think it means, then… Shouldn’t we do something?” A moment of silence.

“Aye, we should. If you would like to, that is,” Thorin stepped from one foot to another, taking your right hand, the one with the mark, into his. Was it the light from the fireplace or were his cheeks above his beard slightly flushed?

“I… I think I would like to,” you admitted quietly, your voice trembling slightly.

He gave you a nod and slowly lowered his face towards yours. Your nose bumped against his and you giggled, but Thorin wouldn't give up so easily. He tilted his head, not letting go of your hand.

When his lips brushed against yours, that sweet dizzying sensation filled you once again, but this time you were prepared and held onto him, wrapping your arms around his neck, sealing your newfound love with a tender kiss that made you both forget the whole world around you.

“That was…” you murmured when your lips parted and your eyes met. You noticed that there was a new softness in Thorin’s gaze, something that had never been there before; or perhaps something that you had not noticed earlier. A flower of deep affection for the Dwarf in front of you bloomed in your chest and you realized it wasn’t the first one nor the last.

“... yes. Very much,” he agreed with a deep rumble in his chest and brushed his nose against yours. “Your lips are as sweet as honey, Tahith.”

“And your beard tickles,” you replied with a chuckle, pressing your forehead against his. “But I think I like it.”

“You’d better, because you are my One,” he brushed his fingers against your cheek. “And I am afraid that you are stuck both with my beard and me for the rest of our lives.”

“It sounds like a very good plan, Mudtelê,” you whispered and your hearts sang in joyous unison as your lips met again.

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