#threads of fate au

[dioscouroi]

When the tangled thread that tied them together became visible for them both, each took it differently.

"Oh, it seems we share a thread of fate." Obi-Wan said with wonder in his voice. "How curious that the Force decided to tie you to me in this way."

Anakin had smirked, 'He's mine, mine and only mine!' He screamed within his mind with possessive glee. 'And I will kill anyone who tries to get between the two of us. He's mine!'

[kaleidoru]

"I'll make them all pay."

[sculptorofcrimson]

Thread/Soulmate Warhammer AU

Not really a soulmate AU, but more of "threads of fate" au.

~~~~

Ra’s thread is a thin, fragile thing. The Emperor had been loath to break it, had hesitated, His claws hovering over the delicate braid. He had held it, as delicate as the umbilical cord of a newborn, and grieved as He felt what He had to do. In the end He had wrapped it in gossamer like the finest of silk, and woven it, with infinite care, into His own. 

When Drach'nyen thrust itself in, it had severed both threads.

~

Valdor’s thread is crimson. The Emperor had cut off at his wrist, with the only remnants wrapped around his forearm like a chain. The ends still twitch and tangle, as if waiting for a man he had lost before they even met. The Emperor took the frayed threads of the severed rope, and bound it to Him. 

Now it wraps around Valdor’s throat like a leash. (Or a noose.)

Valdor does not mind. 

(Once, only once, in mere moments before Constantin lowered the blade, he had seen the flash of recognition. The sudden unknotting of a thread of fate both had assumed severed so long ago. 

And then the mercy blow. A horrible moment of terrible pity etched across his victim’s pain-stricken face, and the sadness in those tormented eyes not for himself but for Valdor. 

And, finally, oblivion. )

(He never did know the exact moment when his thread broke.)

~

Sanguinius’ thread is black. He can see it, twisting there, stretching onwards, inked across the sands of time. When he had met Horus, the Angel had stalled, a smile still stretched across his face, noting down the way his thread had wrapped itself lazily around Horus’ arms. Their threads had tumbled and tangled over one another, so deeply intertwined it was impossible to remove without severing one. 

Horus did not seem to see a thing amiss. 

~

Lorgar, his thread brilliant red, wrapped around the Emperor’s chest. The way he had screamed at the fury in His eyes when He had reached up and tore the thread out of His breast, snapping the thin thing in half beneath His claws. The way he had cursed Him, the remnants of the thread pooling around him like shed snakeskin, the scent of Monarchia’s ashes curdling upon his tongue.

~

Alpharius and Omegon’s threads, a single, thick cord that split in half, bobbing and weaving until neither could tell who was whose. It just seems to love knots, looping around itself, around others, dragging others together without abandon. 

~

Vulkan’s thread, thick and dark and braided, glowing softly with a gentle warmth. It trails itself around his chest, wrapping itself around all near and wide, spreading like a kind coat of flame. It is tender, such a lovely thing. It has chipped, and knotted, and frayed over the eons, but it braids on, thick and resolute. Ashes are embedded in its strings now, but their warmth is still there, just buried under the charcoal. 

~

Fulgrim’s thread was made of silk. A beautiful, perfect, fragile thing. It had bound itself around his hands, around Ferrus’ silver hands and his neck. The delicate silk, so pale against the silver. And how pitifully it had shattered, without a cry, without a song, only with the slithering of sick silk as he had snapped it when the Laerblade took Ferrus’ head. 

~

Ferrus’ thread was a chain. It wrapped around his neck and hands. It had pooled itself slowly around Fulgrim, like a lazy snake, braiding itself together into intricate knots with his silk. When Fulgrim took his head from his shoulders, the links had shattered. 

~

Horus’ thread, white and black. It tied itself so languishly over one of his forearms. If only he had known. If only he had seen. If only he had felt the thread tightening, tugging, unraveling as he had sped his way down a path, and never glanced back upon the road he had trodden. When it finally spun itself out of silk, it tied together in one, final blasphemy of angel feathers. Both tips of their threads had been charred together, one longer than the other.

It was Horus that undid the knot. 

He did not even see it unravel when he cut the life out of his brother. 

~

Malcador’s thread. Grey, seemingly thin, but with an impossible, resolute strength. There it was, underpinning the Emperor's thread like a shadow, together even in death. How brightly it had burned, like candlewick, as he sat upon the Throne, eyes bulging, nerves burning, feeling the cells in his body die one by one. It had charred itself to cinders, and then to ash, and finally dust, before his lord made it back home.

~

And finally, the Emperor's thread. It wrapped around Himself, and only Himself, but it branched off like the leaves of Yggdrasil. It curled itself into the veins of His Custodes, it dragged together the binds of His Primarchs, it curled together like one with Malcador. Some branches were frayed, their ends charred, some had curled up into a solitary knot that no longer held another, some burnt like living, writhing sunlight caught in flesh, but some were warm. Some still dreamt, lazily winding through the fog, one out of thousands. They would bind themselves not to men, or to women, but to entire worlds, to every last beating heart upon the land. It was not a leash, or a noose, or a chain this time, it was merely a bridge, the last heart of a dead god who had once gazed upon His people. And smiled.

[alvivaarts]

what's it called when you die and wake up and then remarry your wife but you and your wife have homoerotic relationship going on with the hot guy who's absolutely crush worthy and simultaneously crushed with the weight of your death as his own personal responsibility but you're all trying to fix the timeline anyway (and failing)

something a little gay I guess but hey, second time's charm?

[amandacanwrite]

The Violet Thread of Fate Part Three:

The Scribe's Guild and the Acolyte Errant

Part One || Part Two || Part Three || Part Four || Part Five || Part Six || Part Seven || Part Eight || Join Taglist

Pairing || Elinna Inklynn (Half-drow tav) and Gale Dekarios

Length || 5,400 Words

Scenario || In an alternative timeline for the events of BG3 Elinna Inklynn, an orphan from the Moonshae Islands seeks out the tutelage of accomplished wizard Gale Dekarios of Waterdeep. She has a knack with the Weave, but no money or connections to actually learn how to harness it. She has heard the wizard is a gentleman and a schollar, and hopes she can appeal to him to take her on as his apprentice in exchange for her help around his tower, with his research, and in running errands in Waterdeep. Unfortunately for her, Gale Dekarios does not take on apprentices.

Warnings || Age gap (Perhaps about 10ish years), depiction of depression and heart ache, description of very, very mild body horror. Description of scarring from corporal punishment. Slightly mature themes.

A/n || In the interest of full disclosure: I didn't edit this one. I was too eager to get it out, so please forgive any strange pacing or verbiage. I may edit it tomorrow or sometime soon, but I also primarily write this for fun so I may also not. I actually really enjoyed writing Gale softening up to Elinna a bit, and Elinna sort of losing some of her rose tinted vision for Gale. Perhaps soon they will meet somewhere in the middle. :))

If you like this, you may also like my original works! I have a writing taglist that you can sign up for simply by commenting or reblogging and letting me know you'd like to be added. OR you can fill out this form if you'd like to be specific about which works you'd like to be tagged in.

Tag list || @softvampirewhump @horizonstride @thoughts-of-bear @mymybirdie @tiedyedghoulette @drabblesandimagines @madwomansapologist @hijirikaww @tryingtowritestuff24 @laserlope @auroraesmeraldarose @puckprimrose @dont-try-pesticide @cherifrog @circusofthelastdays  @nourangul

The Scribe’s Guild

Elinna cupped her hands above her eyes, trying to reduce the urge to squint as she looked out over the edge of one of the craggy cliffside peaks. 

“Are you certain you’re alright up there?” Gale asked from the ground. “Not to be a pain, but you haven’t had the greatest track record with heights as of late.”

“I climbed up here–as long as I don’t try to magic my way down, I should be fine,” she called back. “I’m trying to figure out where we are.”

“Any luck?” he called back. 

“You’re distracting me!” she said. 

“Are you one of those people who can only do one mental process at a time?” he asked. “Do you go blind when your ears are in use?”

“I’m one of those people who needs to think to recall the details of all the maps I’ve cataloged at the Nest,” she griped looking down at him. “Now be quiet so I can think.”

She saw him lift a hand and rub the back of his neck before he turned around and sat down to have a pout. She rolled her eyes looking out over the coastline again, trying to cross reference what she could see from her view with the overhead details of maps she’d looked at before.

Gale Dekarios was certainly a…strange archmage. 

Reading transcripts of conversations, reading his treatises–she’d always pictured this stately, almost dry sort of fellow. Someone who would sniff before correcting her about something–or stand perpetually with his nose pointed at the ceiling so you always knew he was looking down at you past it. 

But he was just…well–a sort of awkward, somewhat humorous man. 

They’d been wandering for some time–Gale had a good sense for what was north, south, east and west, but there was only so much that one could do when unaware of where the starting point was.

The shame of things was that they were in some random locale with very few cities about. She’d learned much about Baldur’s Gate, Amn, Waterdeep–places she wished to visit. If there was Gale’s tower nearby–or perhaps Sorcerous Sundries–she could have been able to pluck it out of the landscape with ease. 

Instead, as she looked out off the cliff, she only saw shoreline give way to worn out cobbled roads. Some sort of village obscured the haze of distance and…well nothing familiar. She pursed her lips before chewing slightly on the bottom one; a nervous habit that often left her with metallic-tasting patches on the inside of her lip. 

“Well?” Gale said a bit impatiently. 

She was just about to give him the bad news–that she found nothing of note and had no idea which way to go–when a shadow darkened the ground from somewhere overhead. She looked up to find a black blot against the light blue of the sky–a dire raven with a wingspan of about 10 feet, armored in the colors of a the Scribe’s Guild; pale tan leathers, brass metal and mist green canvas. 

She found herself smiling despite the fact that she’d told herself she’d never look at a Scribe’s Guild after leaving The Nest. She watched for a while longer as the large avian swooped through the sky and then landed on the parapet of a distant stone structure. 

“We’re in luck!” she called down to Gale.

“Are we?” he asked. “You didn’t happen to have found a cleric of legendary skill up there did you?”

“Not that much luck,” she said as she started to climb down the rocky face of the cliff.

“Are you sure you ought to be doing that?” he asked. “It seems awfully dangerous.”

“As we just covered, I’ll be fine so long as I don’t use magic,” she responded. “I’m used to climbs.”

Looking down to find her perch, she carefully lighted her foot on the boulder where she started her climb, and turned to find Gale waiting for her, a single hand offered up to her to assist her down from the small height. 

“You don’t have to do that,” she said. “It’s not that high up.”

“Best not to risk it,” he said. “The twist of an ankle could mean the difference between humanity and ceremorphosis, considering our plight.”

Elinna nibbled on her lower lip and nodded, placing her hand in his. His calloused fingers closed around her hand and he lifted his other hand to grasp her waist. She stepped off the stone and he supported her weight easily, lowering her to the ground smoothly. 

“So,” he said, not taking his hands away yet. “You’ve kept me in suspense, Elinna. Why are we in luck?”

“I just saw a Dire Raven,” she said. “One of the ones we use to transport records between different chapters of the Scribe’s Guild.”

“The what?” he asked. 

“The Scribe’s guild,” she said. “I told you, I was their ward in the Moonshae Islands.”

“Did you?” he asked. 

She sighed and gave him a disappointed look. “You really didn’t listen to me at all back in Waterdeep.”

His hand twitched on her waist as his brow furrowed. “Well that’s hardly fair,” he said. “You were a stranger standing right outside of my home. Why should I have?”

“Courtesy,” she said sourly as she turned away from him and started to walk down the pathway in the direction she watched the dire raven fly. 

She tried to ignore the tingling feeling in the tips of her fingers as her hand left his; the feeling of absence at her waist as she lost the weight of his hand. 

“Oh, come now–” he said, his face screwing with offense and hurrying after her. “Don’t imply that I was being discourteous when you were the one showing up at a strange man’s home unannounced!”

“It’s not as if I let myself in!” she said back. 

“Wait, you still haven’t told me what the Scribe’s Guild is,” he said, finally catching up to her.

“I assumed you would know what it is,” she said looking sidelong and up at him.

“I confess I’ve not heard of it,” he said. 

She sighed and looked ahead. Maybe she didn’t want to tell him if he didn’t already know, she thought. She wasn’t sure she was ready to reveal just how sheltered her life was before heading to Waterdeep. 

But they were now headed for the local archive and he was going to find out either way so…

“The scribe’s guild is a redundancy,” she said. “It’s one of the realm’s most extensive collections of information. If you’re looking for a book, a scroll, a record of some obscure property dispute… you can find it there. I was raised in one.”

“So, you’re a scribe?” he asked her. “You write books–collect this information and dole it out to those who need it?”

She pursed her lips. “I wasn’t a scribe myself,” she said. “I was a clerk.”

“So you were in training,” he said. “Assisting the scribes so that you could take on the task.”

She felt her skin pinken with warmth, afraid to disclose the truth–afraid of what it would look like. “Not quite,” she said. “The ArchLibrarian thought I wasn’t suited to the work.”

“Why not?” he asked. 

“Because I was too fun,” she said, her walls going up a little higher. “If you must know.”

“My,” he said. “Did I hit a nerve?”

“It seems like you’re looking for reasons to think poorly of me,” she said. 

“It seems like you’re hiding reasons to think poorly of you,” he said. “So, what was it? Sleeping on the job? Theft? Did you try to cast a cantrip and  Did you come looking for me because they turned you out and cut you off?”

“Gods,” she said looking up at him, a little line forming between her brows and her face getting even warmer with embarrassment. “You really do think I’m a wastrel, don’t you?”

“No I don’t!” he said. 

“What happened to you being worried about seeming an ill-mannered man?” she asked.

“Elinna–you’re young–youth is made for mistakes. You think I was always an upstanding young man while in attendance at Blackstaff?” he said. “I slept through most of my Calashite lessons.”

“Don’t lie to me to try and get dirt on me,” Elinna said as she walked faster.. “Don’t mock me like that.”

“Elinna–Elinna, would you slow down?” he said. 

“No. I want to get to the Scribe’s Guild.”

“We will get there with plenty enough time before sundown,” he said, grabbing her arm. “Elinna, stop.”

She stopped but didn’t look up at him, she couldn’t make herself do it. She didn’t know what was more embarrassing for her; the fact that she’d hardly seen any of the world, the fact that her guardians felt she was inept and flighty, or the fact that she was quite acting like a petulant child with Gale when she only wished to prove to him that she could be a good student. 

Maybe seeking him out had been a mistake from the start. She’d spent so long reading about Gale and his work–learning about his unique understanding of magic–reading his writings…in some ways she’d convinced herself that he was already a friend. 

She’d never thought about how trying to become his apprentice also meant sharing her qualifications and the more time she spent talking to him the more she realized she had none. 

She could feel him looking at her almost indulgently–like a man speaking to a child. 

She didn;t know why she hated that most of all. 

“Elinna, forgive me for prying,” he said. “I was just trying to get to know you a little better. From what I can tell there is a significant distance between here and Waterdeep and it will be a much more pleasant journey if we get to know one another a little bit as we travel, don’t you think?”

Elinna smoothed her amber hair away from her brow, cupping her hand on her forehead as if checking herself for fever. 

“I’m sorry,” she said, finally. . “I think I’m just tired.”

“I can only imagine…what with going from the islands, to Waterdeep so climbing up cliff sides and now we have to walk even further? We can swap notes later,” he said with a gentle smile. “Let’s focus on getting to this place–maybe they can put us up for an evening or at least point us in the direction of the nearest town.”

Elinna nodded before heaving a great sigh. 

“It shouldn’t be long,” she said. “Maybe just a few hours of walking from here.”

“Excellent,” he said. “Lead on.”

The Acolyte Errant

Elinna was a curious girl. 

She was somehow equal measures breezy and intense; lackadaisical and earnest. He didn’t know what to make of the dichotomy. He knew even less what to do with the strange secrecy she had about her former home. 

Perhaps it was a bit of paranoia–after all, he had his own secrets he was keeping. It was perhaps more than a little hypocritical of him to fault her for hers. 

“So, tell me more about The Scribe’s Nest,” he said, trying to change the subject to something more informative and a little less personal.

“Specifically The Nest? Or the guild in general?” she asked. 

“Mm…if it’s not too personal for you, The Nest. You said that’s where you grew up right?” he said. 

She nodded, wiping sweat off her brow. The day was beginning to get hot, so he had to think they were further down south than Waterdeep and the islands. It was much cooler this time of year–hence the layers both he and Elinna wore. 

“Uhm–The Nest in Moonshae is in an old abandoned temple to Ilmater,” she told him. “My mother left me there thinking that it was a safe place for me to grow up–thinking I’d be cared for by clerics. But The Nest was already there.”

“I see,” Gale said, feeling for the girl but trying not to let it come through in his tone. “I suppose they took you in anyway?”

She nodded again. “They did,” she said. “Still not sure why, if I’m honest–they have a few oaths they had to make in exchange for financial support. Even so, there were other temples in the area that probably could have taken me in. But uh–anyway. The way that the scribes work is they receive funds from the local government and they use those funds to pay a fleet of scouts to get word back to us about the goings on in the world. The scribes record it, make copies of each account and send them to the other branches.”

“Hells,” he said. “That sounds like quite the expensive endeavor.”

“It is–and the scribes outsource the work so that there’s no conflict of interest. No scribes out wandering the world trying to spin tales. They have a motto: ‘We Are The Accuracy In The Indulgent The Composed in the Chaotic.’” She said. “In other words, they try to record everything as plainly and as closely to the facts as possible. In addition to that, they try to have copies of every written work ever produced.”

“How can that even be quantified or verified for that matter?” Gale asked. 

“Like I said–they try,” she said. “It’s all very tedious if you ask me.”

“I’m shocked I haven’t heard of this place–it sounds like a veritable treasure trove of knowledge,” he said. 

“The scribes don’t open the vaults to many,” she said. “They consider their work one of posterity; a record of history, not a resource to be plumbed. They don’t even really indulge in reading the records themselves.”

“That sounds….extraordinarily wasteful,” He said. 

He saw Elinna finally crack a smile at that. “I couldn’t agree more,” she said. “Wasteful, boring, depressing.”

He was itching to ask her if that was why she’d left what she’d had as a home for…well however long she’d been alive. She looked remarkably young, but with half-elves that hardly meant much. For all he knew she was his age. 

“Elinna, do you mind if I ask how old you are?” he asked. 

She looked up at him, her brow quirking. “Uhm–I’ve had twenty-eight summers so far,” she said. “Why do you ask?”

Ah–around ten years younger than he was. No wonder she seemed so restless when she’d come to find him at his tower. Most Wizards were well into their studies at Blackstaff by now, or at least had some reasonable amount of aptitude with the weave. “Just curious,” he said shrugging. “You look young but you’re also not complaining, or panicking, or well–other things I would expect a young person to be doing in this situation.”

He wasn’t sure if he was reading it correctly, but he could have sworn that she pressed her lips a bit to avoid smiling. Was the poor girl such a stranger to praise that the simple pointing out of her maturity could make her have to stop a flustered smile from forming on her lips?”

“I guess I just feel like anything is preferable to being stuck in that dusty old tower,” she said. 

There was a sort of…sadness to her words. A quality he recognized first hand. 

Not sadness, he realized as he saw one of his own feelings mirrored back at him. Regret. 

But that was not a subject he wished to bring up–not when the questions could so easily be turned back onto him.

“Well, Elinna,” he said, changing the subject. “You have Gale of Waterdeep with you–I’m a captive audience as we walk to the guild hall. Anything I can impress you with?” 

It was an olive branch, of sorts. It, of course, wasn’t the first time he’d met some hopeful magician who wanted to pick his brain. Usually he politely shooed them away, but he figured that extending the offer might cheer her up.

“I’m quite well read on the subject,” she answered. 

Wait…had he missed the question while he was patting himself on the back for being open to bragging? “Sorry–which subject is that?” he asked.

Her face flushed and she gave him a furtive look with those pretty green eyes. She cleared her throat and pushed some hair behind her ear. 

“Uhm–you–” she said finally. “I’ve read everything the archive has that even has a tangential mention of your name in it.”

He blinked, feeling glad for the fact that she was looking most pointedly away from him. “Ah,” he said, trying to master his tone. “Well–should we crosscheck the scribe’s records? Tell me what you know and I can correct anything that’s wrong.”

“We’ll be here for hours if I do that…” she mumbled under her breath. 

Now it was his turn to flush–until he realized–

“Wait, I thought you said that the scribes don’t read the records–” he said. 

“I did,” she said, looking over at him with a sheepish little smile. “That’s why they said I’m not suited for the work. It’s why they keep me on shelving duty.”

Ah–that was what she meant when she said she was used to climbing.

Suddenly there was an uncomfortable pressure in his skull as he saw flashes of giant stacks of dusty tomes, heard the squeaking of a half-broken wheel on a cart, felt rawness on his fingertips from shelving books and records; the deep ache of tired muscles.

When he was able to focus again, Elinna was crouched a few feet ahead, her gloved hands pressing on the sides of her head. 

“W-was that a memory?” Gale asked. “Did you just send me a memory?”

“No,” she said weakly. “Gods…that was…I could feel you in my head–”

“I didn’t–it wasn’t something I did on purpose,” he said frantically. 

He felt as embarrassed as a young man might be during his first time with a lover. It’d been years since he’d accidentally used his magic. Not since he was an adolescent. 

“I think it’s the parasite,” she said. “Mindflayers are part of a hive mind–maybe it’s the start of that tether forming to it.”

“I’m loath to face that possibility, but you may be right,” Gale said grimly as he walked over to her and offered a hand. “You alright?”

“Just exhausted, I think,” she said as she took his hand. “It felt like the parasite was pulling at the seams of my mind, extracting those images like thread through the eye of a needle.”

“Aptly put,” he said, finally helping her up. 

“Let’s just hurry to the guild,” she said. 

It was a bit of a grueling trek after that. The pathway mostly uphill and on rocky, uneven pathways. Wherever this guild branch was, it was clear enough to him that the scribes had no interest in being bothered or visited. He wasn’t so worried about himself, though–if anything, he was worried about Elinna. 

Thinking about it–she’d originally mentioned that she was looking for a place to live when he met her and she’d asked him to take her on as a student. He wondered when the last time she’d slept was. It wasn’t uncommon for passengers unused to traveling by ship to sleep poorly on them. The voyage between the Moonshae Islands and Waterdeep was probably close to a tenday, give or take a day or two. 

He felt a little guilty, now, that he had let her climb up the cliffside to help them get their bearings; that he couldn’t be of more assistance with some kind of charm or boon. 

As predicted, it took them about another two hours to make it to the base of a decaying old castle. He didn’t recognize it, and from what he could tell there were no real markings on it to distinguish what lineage or people it could have belonged to at one point. 

He looked up as another dire raven–or perhaps the same one he hadn’t seen before–took flight from one of the crumbling parapets, then he looked over at Elinna. 

She was still damp with sweat, but her exerted flush had given way to an almost sickly sort of pallor. He worried for a moment that she may already be starting the process of ceremorphosis–but if that was the case, why hadn’t the same happened to him? 

“Fucking stairs,” she groaned as she bent over and braced her hands on her knees. “I think I may need to sit for just a moment.”

Gale looked at the stairs and then back at her. He quirked his lips slightly, weighing the number of stairs against the health of his knees. 

“I know once you sit it will be all the more difficult for you to get up and get going,” he said. “Let me carry you the rest of the way.”

She balked at him, her verdant eyes wide and a bit of her flush returning to her freckled cheeks. He tried not to think about how charming the look of surprise was. “Y-you can’t,” she said. “I’m filthy–and drenched besides. And I’ll be too heavy.”

“Nonsense,” he insisted. “You hardly come up to my shoulder–and it’s not as if I’m a fine example of cleanliness at the moment. You can tell me proper decorum as we make our way up.”

“Gale–”

“I won’t take no for an answer,” he said with a little teasing glimmer in his eyes. 

He kneeled in front of her, back toward her, and patted his shoulder. “Climb on,” he said. 

There was nothing for a moment and he almost looked back to see if she was going to stubbornly refuse. But just as he was going to, he felt tentative fingertips on his right shoulder; then his left. She smoothed her hand toward the front of him, drawing a tingling line along his collarbones. He tried not to flinch as her hands joined right over the spot the orb burned in his chest, but he couldn’t stop it. 

She froze and almost started withdrawing. He reached up and closed a single hand over both of hers. 

“Did I hurt you?” she asked him.

“Not at all,” he said. “Remember–I’ve been a recluse for some time. Just forgot what it felt like to be touched by someone who isn’t a tressym.”

There was one more moment of hesitation and then finally, Elinna put her weight onto him, hitching her legs above his hips. 

“Alright,” he said. “Going up.”

He scooped his hands under her knees and rose to his feet. 

Truth be told, she was a touch heavier than he’d expected. And he realized with a bit of rueful interest that her body was a little…softer…than he’d anticipated. Even through her layers of canvas and leather, he could feel the supple swell of her thighs, her hips, her breasts…

He shook his head and cleared his throat as he started to climb the stairs. 

“So, what’s our story?” he asked. 

“Mmn–story?” she breathed against his ear. 

Gods, she sounded like a freshly roused lover in the morning. 

“You’re not falling asleep back there, are you?” he asked. 

“Trying not to,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

“Keep talking to me,” he said. “It will help you stay awake.”

And give me something to stop my mind from drifting to what might be beneath your clothes. He thought with no shortage of disgust in himself. 

“Mmh–visitors are prohibited, usually,” she said, her sleepy slurring sending a chill up his spine. “Since you’re carrying me in…maybe tell them you found me unconscious on the ground. They can refuse scholars, but they have an oath to help the needy. Hence…me…”

“The lady deceives,” Gale teased. “I thought you were above such dishonesty.”

She gave a quiet chuckle. “If the guild needs a bit of encouragement to do what is right, who am I to deny it?” Then after a moment. “Thank you…for carrying me. You didn’t have to do that.”

“It’s no bother,” he said. 

And it really wasn’t, aside from his own traitorous thoughts about her. His knees weren’t even tired when he reached the top of the stairs. He looked back at her sidelong. “Hang onto me will you–afraid I’ll need one of these hands.”

He regretted asking her to do that immediately. Her thighs squeezed a little tighter around his middle and he suddenly wished for death. He opened the door as quickly as he could, and went back to holding her knee. 

Inside there was…no one to be found. At least not at first. 

Then came the sound of soft soles scuffing on stone stairs. He gazed to the right, seeing a shadow elongate as it grew further and further away from some torch or sconce further up on the stairs. 

A moment later, a wizened man peered at him through small spectacles on a crooked nose. 

He was dressed somewhat like Elinna, though the embroidery and fastenings on his clothes were finer. On his lapel, he wore a golden dire raven pin with a quill snatched in it’s beak.The pin was connected to a chain from which dangled a single golden key. 

“You’ve reached The Scribe’s Perch,” he said, his voice quiet and willowy, like it had frayed through years of neglect. “I fear we’re not taking visitors.”

In front of Gale’s chest, Elinna’s arms went slack and her body went a little heavier. Her head rested fully on his shoulder, her sleeping breaths gusting warmly on the back of his neck. He supposed it worked better for the tale he had to weave–though he did worry for the poor girl. 

“I’ve found one of your acolytes on the path some way away from here. She seems feverish–likely hungry and dehydrated. She’s gone in and out of consciousness but told me to find you here and ask for you help. Help for both of us.”

The old man merely tilted to get a look at Elinna with a somewhat disinterested expression. “Mnh…there are protocols in place for this, yes,” he said. “An inconvenience to say the least, though. We will have to make arrangements for your supper.”

Gale felt his ire flare and found himself understanding why Elinna seemed so sour about where she’d been reared. It was a wonder she made it out of childhood with her curiosity and her tenacity intact. 

“If it’s too much of a bother, I can see to producing a meal for us,” he said, trying his best to master his tone. 

“No, no,” the man said. “The smells–the oils–they could upset the balance and focus of the archives. Come–I will see you to a lodging for the night. I am afraid I must ask you to stay there and to not wander our halls freely. And you must leave come morning.”

“I thought you had an oath to help the needy,” Gale said. 

“The qualifying criteria which defines who or what is needy is not agreed upon,” he said. “The girl is unconscious, but you stand and walk freely. Surely she is hardly needy if she has you.”

“She’s one of your acolytes,” Gale said. “Surely you can’t be so callous.”

“She’s not an acolyte from The Perch. We do not allow women among our ranks–their scents and scintillations bring focus away from posterity. I allow you to stay only because she still wears our colors and because we’ve received no missive about a disgraced acolyte,” he said. “But there has been a great collision on the shoreline and we work tirelessly to record it.”

“Well you’re in luck–we’re survivors from that crash–we can help you–”

“No. We only accept the accounts of verified scouts,” he said. “Now come–I’ve wasted precious time already. My quill will have started to dry out.”

Gale bit his tongue and simply nodded–worried that if the man showed is rudeness and disinterest again he would snap at the Scribe and lose them a night of rest and the chance to bathe and change. 

Their ungracious host led them up the stairs, past a massive steel door singing with wards, and to a doorway about as tall as Elinna. The Scribe opened the lock with his tiny golden key–a skeleton key it seemed–and gestured him inside. 

Gale bent a bit at the knees, careful to mind Elinna’s head as he ducked into the room. 

“Thank you,” he said. 

“Supper is at seven bells. Porridge, roasted carrots and river fish–you will have to come retrieve it yourself–the kitchens are down the stairs we traveled up and through the small northern wooden door,” their host said. 

And with that, the man simply closed the door and left Gale alone with Elinna. 

Gale looked about the room. 

It was small, about the size of the larder in his tower, and barren. In one corner, a threadbare sheet hung to offer pock-marked privacy should one bathe in the water-swollen, wooden tub there. There was a single desk with a nearly-spent candle perched slantingly in a chamberstick made of brass. Against the far wall stood the bed–

The Bed. 

Singular. 

Only one bed. 

Oh hells, it would be a very long night indeed. 

He carried Elinna over to the bed and carefully cradled her against his back as he pulled back the mildew-smelling covers. Beneath was an old hay mattress. He felt loath to place her on it, but he hadn’t enough energy to conjure something more comfortable for her. 

He supposed it didn’t matter for tonight–the poor girl just needed some sleep. 

He carefully placed her in the bed and hesitated, pondering.

She’d spent so much time during their travels complaining of the feeling of viscera in her clothes; her shoes. He could only imagine how terrible it would feel for her to wake up, warm and damp from feverish sleep, only to still feel soggy boots and garments on your body. 

It wasn’t proper. He wasn’t even sure it would be welcome. But it was a gesture toward her comfort he could actually provide. 

He carefully slipped off her boots, setting them off to the side in a blood-soaked heap. Then he removed her leather gloves, and finally, the waistcoat she wore. 

Beneath her green canvas, she wore a simple muslin dress that fell just slightly off the shoulders. He noted with a bit of curious mirth, that she had a smattering of freckles across the bare skin of her decolletage and arms as well. He wondered how many times she’d had to sneak away from her duties to get those. 

Then he saw something else. 

On the inside of one delicate wrist, he spotted the hint of a violet patch of skin. In a brief panic he turned her arm over to get a better view of it, worried that her transformation may be starting, after all. 

Instead, what he found was scarring. Violet scars forming a ladder of tidy caning marks on the tender skin of the inside of her arm. 

“No wonder you wanted to get out,” he said under his breath as he brushed his thumb against the marks. They were only barely raised. They’d been there a long time then. For some reason it hurt his heart to think of a smaller, squeakier Elinna as her caretakers tried and clearly failed to tame the wonder out of her. 

Perhaps it was because he had also been punished severely for his ambition and thirst for knowledge, but he could no longer bear to see her in the greens, tans and creams of The Scribe’s Guild. Not when there was so much she’d had to fight to keep hold of. 

He thought he could maybe find a pocket somewhere. If he rested he ought to be able to, anyway. Or if not, he could try to look around the grounds and scrounge something up for each of them to change into. And maybe a few supplies for setting up camp, too, since they wouldn’t be granted time to catch their bearings at The Perch. 

He pulled the worn blanket up enough to cover her arms, but not so high that the smell of mildew could wake her. 

He walked over to the tiny door and looked back over his shoulder one more time to make sure she was still quite asleep. 

And then he slipped out of their sorry room to find a place to restore himself. 

[evagreen-stories]

Broken Bonds | Maelor x f!highborn!reader x Aemond x Aegon

Moodboard for upcoming One-Shot (dropping this weekend!)

Summary: Betrothed to Prince Aemond before the war and having fallen in love with the one-eyed prince, the young lady Celtigar’s heart would shatter into pieces as she learns of his betrayal in taking a mistress and siring a bastard with her while away at war.

Unable to cope with being forced to marry him anyway, she chooses to run away, using the chaos of war to disappear forever, or so she thought.

When fate sends her into the town of Bitterbridge one day, she finds herself caught up in the chaos of a giant riot, sheer terror overwhelming her when she spots a familiar toddler screaming amongst the greedy crowd.

Barely escaping the scuffle alive, she takes the boy in as hers, living as mother and son ever since.

The duo grows inseparable until a decade later, when an unfortunate coincidence would result in the two torn apart forever.

Word-Count: 15k

[imagines--galore]

||The Thread of Fate|| Part One

Summary: Soulmate AU. They say the Thread of Fate connects you to your one true love. It may tangle. It may stretch. But it will never break. Wrapped around your little finger it tightens when it feels your soulmate is close and loosens when they are far. And becomes visible with the colors of your soulmate’s Nation when you finally fall in love with them.

Pairing: Zuko x OroraOC (ATLA)

Rating || Genres || Warnings: T+ Romance. Adventure. A little mention of blood and fighting.

A/N: So I changed a few aspects of the Thread of Fate myth to better fit my narrative. I hope you like it! This is just an AU but I couldn’t help myself. I’m a sucker for soulmates au. :3 Originally I thought of keeping this a one-shot but it got away from me. Woops.

Also I am now taking requests so go ahead and send me stuff. You can find my rules here. Please send me stuff to write!

The first time she felt that tug was when her life was in danger.

The Northern Water Tribe was under attack and there was chaos everywhere. As one of the healers, Orora’s task had been to run through the battle field, find anyone hurt and heal them.

It was madness wherever she ran. The Fire Nation had managed to breach their defenses and many water tribe warriors were facing off against them one on one. She had managed to dodge as much of the fighting as she could, and just do her job, yet it didn’t seem to be enough. With every soldier she healed two more would take his place. Exhaustion was setting into her bones now, and she had stumbled on her feet more then once. But there was no time to stop. No time to rest. 

The water bender leaned against a wall of an abandoned building as she tried to catch her breath. She had been healing since the beginning of the siege, and was starting to grow tired. Lifting her water skin, she quickly emptied it onto the floor, before moving to bend fresh clean water from a nearby canal. The blood on her hands didn’t bother her at all. She had started off with wrapping bindings around her palm but they had gotten soaked rather quickly, prompting her to take them off. Her eyes flickered to the string tied around her little finger. Earlier Orora had felt it tighten, but only slightly. A rather strange sensation since it had never done so before. There was no time to think on it, as she spotted another water tribe warrior clutching his burnt arm and ran to help him.

Once done, she helped him get to his feet while giving him directions to the nearest safe point, Orora turned to move on when she was met with a horrifying sight.

Three Fire Nation soldiers had several healers and wounded water tribe warriors surrounded. One of the firebenders moved to grab a young healer, probably to take her captive. The young woman struggled and screamed, trying to get away.

The terrified look in her eyes, and the desperation with which she fought against her attacker. The cold cruel laughter that came from behind that horrible mask of the firebender. The sounds of fighting around her, screams of her people dying or fighting.

Orora snapped.

With a ferocious scream she threw her arms forward, her movements precise yet fluid. From a nearby canal, several sharp icicles rose and flew towards the Fire Nation soldier, pinning him to the nearest wall. The girl he had been holding, quickly scrambled away as the remaining soldiers turned their attention to her.

Her heart beat wildly in her chest as she turned her icy gaze towards her opponents. They moved to attack her simultaneously, but she quickly rolled out of the way. Still crouching, she pulled water from the canal once more, this time forming twin icicles in her hands. Jumping to her feet, she was quick to stab one of the soldiers in the shoulder, while throwing the other makeshift weapon at the third firebender, just as he threw a fireball at her.

Throwing her arm up, Orora managed to build a thin wall of ice to stop the fireball from hitting her, but she underestimated the strength of the man’s powerful blast and the wall erupted, throwing her back several feet.

Landing on the ground with a grunt, Orora groaned as she felt her entire body throb. The last firebender had managed to dodge her attack and was now making his way towards her. She tried her best to rise to her feet, and was about to retaliate when the world went red.

She stared around in horror as the very moon in the sky turned as red as the blood that coated her parka and hands from her previous healing. The firebender seemed to be surprised at the sudden turn of events as well. But just as soon as the world had turned red, it was back to normal. The colors returned and the moon shone down on them with all her beauty and grace.

Waking from her shock like state, she turned to face her attacker and threw a disk of ice at him. He seemed to break from his trance as well as he was quick to step out of the way of her attack and kick a flame in her direction. The two of them exchanged a few more blows before the world turned dark.

“Wh-?” Raising her gaze to the sky, her eyes widened in horror when she saw that the moon’s light had gone out. It felt as if something within her had been snuffed out. And when she threw her hand out to throw another icicle at the firebender nothing happened.

She barely had time to register the loss of her bending when the firebender, quick to overpower her, gripped her firmly by the front of her parka. Orora did her best to fight him off, kicking her legs as much as she could, but he threw her against a nearby wall, knocking the very wind out of her.

The young girl laid there, winded. The comb that had held her hair back in a bun had come loose, causing her hair to fall around her in messy dark brown waves. The last of her strength seemed to have left her as she watched the firebender approach menacingly, raising a hand with a bright flame burning in his palm. Her vision began to fade, and her head felt heavy as she allowed her body to go limp, fingers trembling and aching from the uncountable number of times she had used to heal others.

What happened next was a bit of a blur, but Orora swore that she saw fire blasting at the soldier about to attack her, knocking him aside and saving her life. Before the darkness claimed her, she managed to see something or rather someone.

A figure - dressed in white - with a shadow - on the side of their face.

And a color. A warm gold.

Then everything went dark.

Later, when she was recovering in one of the healing huts, Orora recalled what had happened. One thing she was sure she felt was the sharp tug on the little finger of her right hand. Where the string connecting her to her soulmate was tied.

The girl frowned to herself.

That couldn’t be right. Her soulmate couldn’t be someone from the Fire Nation.

Could it?

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

The minute he had seen Zhao run after killing the moon spirit, Zuko had wasted no time going after him. The world had gone dark around him, the moon losing its light once the spirit had died. But that didn’t matter to him. All that mattered was him escaping and getting revenge on Zhao for trying to kill him.

He lost sight of the older firebender as he turned a corner, but despite his injuries Zuko was determined to find him. As he jumped from one roof of a hut to another, he was met with a sight that had him stopping in his tracks.

A Fire Nation soldier stood over the prone figure of a young girl. It didn’t look like she was about to put up a fight, as the fireball burned hot and bright in the soldier’s hand.

Whatever had happened, and whatever would happen, did not register to Zuko as something inside him, from the very depths of his subconscious mind and the deepest part of his heart, caused him to react, prompting him to do what he did next.

His hand lifted, almost of it’s own accord, and threw a ball of fire in the direction of the soldier. The ammunition met its mark, as the other firebender barely had time to dodge the fire, before Zuko jumped down and kicked him in the face, knocking him out.

He stood there a moment, standing a foot or two away from the fallen water tribe girl. Zuko turned his face just in time to see the girl’s blue eyes disappear behind closed lids as she fainted. A tug and slight pinching sensation at his right hand had the young prince frowning, but before he could give it another thought, he spotted Zhao running along a rampart.

Zuko, with a backward glance at the girl, gave chase.

[catsafarithewriter]

Day 1: Red Thread of Fate

A/N: Hello, and welcome to day 1 of the 2024 TCR Birthday Bash! Today's prompt is "red thread of fate" and I decided to go down a fairytale-esque vibe.

However this is the one that got away from me, and once I hit 4K I realised I needed to split this up, for my own sanity. So other half of this story (muse willing!) will be on Day 5: Bodyguard.

Enjoy!

x

Baron is quite accustomed to his appearance making a stir – after all, he does have the face of a ginger tabby cat – but as he ignores the whispers of the court around him, he can't help think a household with a cursed heir should really know better.

The servants eye him from the corner of their gaze, bodies angled carefully to their duties, but their attention drawn invariably to him. The ladies murmur behind their fans and the men make no attempt to hide their mouthed comments passed on smirking lips, and the lord of the estate makes the least effort of all to obscure his gaze. Baron can feel himself being measured – from the feline features, to the tired but well-made suit, to the stone crow carved atop his cane – and found wanting.

Still, Baron didn't come to win approval. He glances briefly to the younger woman at the lord's side. Her eyes meet his, carrying all the curiosity of her neighbours, but neutral in every other respect – unlike the guard standing at her elbow. He scowls as Baron approached, but it feels strangely impersonal. Baron suspects he'd receive the same glower if he'd arrived human and dressed in gemstones.

Baron bows, and the whispers shift. He is sure he hears a fan-muffled, "Well, at least he knows his manners."

"My lord," Baron addresses, in a voice that had once been taught to command a room's attention, "I am Baron Humbert von Gikkingen, and I have come in hopes of breaking the curse on your daughter." He nods respectfully to the woman on the lord's left. "Lady Haru, I presume."

She inclines her head to him, a diplomatic smile offered in return.

A bespectacled man at the lord's shoulder coughs. He looks to be a scholar but, given his placement on the dais, Baron suspects he is instead an advisor. "If I may be so bold," the man begins, with the tone indicating this is a polite sentence starter and not actually asking for permission, "but if you have come hoping to break two curses with true love's kiss, then you will be sorely disappointed."

Baron smiles. "Then it is just as well I came with no thoughts of my own curse, and have not in the half-dozen years since it became permanent." He does not add - as fitting as it may be - that if Lady Haru's curse is also time-sensitive, then she has likely missed her deadline as well, judging her age to be akin to his. "Since then, I have devoted myself to travelling and helping those I meet – which is precisely what brought me to your home today."

"And how exactly do you propose to break Lady Haru's curse if you were unable to break your own?" the advisor asks. He peers doubtfully over his spectacles at Baron. "Are you a wizard?"

"I possess a touch of magic, self-taught through books, but I rely primarily on the knowledge, rather than the magic, of my extensive library."

"And where is this library, pray tell?"

"At hand," Baron says, and plucks a book out of thin air. In his library, it belongs on the fourth bookshelf along the west wall, three shelves up, five across. He tosses it to the advisor, who catches it clumsily with sleeve-obscured hands.

"A Gentleman's Guide to Courtly Manners?" the advisor reads.

"Keep it. Consider it a gift of goodwill, if by chance your library doesn't already possess a copy."

He is sure he sees Lady Haru smirk, if only for a heartbeat.

"Onto the matter at hand," Baron says, before anyone else can discern the veiled insult in his donation, "while I have heard many speak of the curse laid upon the Yoshioka line, few seem to know its exact nature."

"Remove your gloves," the lord commands, "and then we shall speak."

Baron doesn't respond immediately. He glances subtly across the court, to see if this is some sort of joke – but the faces are eager, open. Some further back are even straining their heads above the crowds. The advisor readjusts his glasses in preparation.

"If you wish," Baron replies, and tugs off both gloves.

There is a reason he wears the gloves; his hands are as altered as the rest of him, padded on the palms and furred along the back. Even regardless of the advantages of sheathing his claws (books never fare well with them) he has discovered people find them... unnerving.

Still, the court exhales a collective breath of... what? Disappointment? Relief? Certainly a far cry from the usual discomfort.

"Does that meet your approval, sir?"

"It will suffice."

Baron smiles wanly. "I have removed my gloves, sir. Now I believe you promised me a tale."

"There is precious little to tell," the lord dismisses. "In my younger years, I angered a fairy who sought revenge by later placing a curse on my only daughter. Haru."

The name is a command, not an introduction, and at her name, Lady Haru sheds her own silken gloves. Baron waits for the reveal, but her hands look perfectly ordinary – save for a thin red thread bound about her left little finger. As she turns her hands over, Baron sees the end of the thread seemingly vanish into nothing.

"At the other end of that thread is the man my daughter is fated to marry," the lord says. "I want you to find a way to destroy it."

"Why? Is the man not of her favour?"

"The man is impossible to find," the lord replies. "Since my daughter was a babe, I have searched far and wide to find one who posseses the other end of the thread, but all in vain. At this rate, my line shall end here, as doubtlessly the fairy intended. Find a way to free my daughter from this curse, Baron Humbert von Gikkingen, and you shall be covered with jewels."

The advisor critically assesses Baron's height. "Or at least up to the shoulder," he adds.

x

As Baron steps into the lord's library, alone at last, the stone crow atop his cane uncurls into life. It fixes him with a baleful stare. "That little book trick was needlessly petty."

Baron circles the room, assessing the titles on display. "They earned it."

"And if the lord had taken insult? I would have thought you, of all people, would understand the importance of first impressions."

"To take insult, Toto, the lord must first recognise his own lack of manners, and then be willing to acknowledge that to the court." He pulls free a tome and flicks it open. "As it is, it appears my little joke flew over the heads of most."

"I thought it was funny," comes a voice from the doorway.

Baron snaps the book shut and turns to their guest. He bows. "Ah, Lady Haru. What a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

"I thought it wise to meet the most recent 'hero' intent on breaking my curse." She enters, and the bulking form of her guard shadows her. The man is built like a mountain, and about as intimidating. Lady Haru must read something of that in Baron's face, for she adds, "Oh, don't mind him. That's just Muta – he has a heart of gold once you get to know him."

Muta doesn't look like he's interested in getting to know Baron – perhaps unless it's introducing his face to a brick wall.

"The most recent?" Baron echoes, choosing to focus on a safer topic at hand. "How many have tried to break the curse?"

"It depends. Are we counting the snakeoil merchants, or only those who honestly thought they could provide a cure?" She stands across the room from him, but even from that distance, Baron can see she looks more alive than she had by her father's side. She shrugs – the action is loose, easy. "I suppose it doesn't matter – I've lost count of both. But it's been a while since someone has tried. Your crow talks, by the way."

Baron glances down to Toto, still perched atop the cane. "I wouldn't do him a disservice by calling him my crow – he is his own – but yes. This is Toto."

Toto bobs his head in the nearest thing a bird can achieve to a bow. "Delighted."

Lady Haru grins. "You, sir," she says to Toto, "could teach the court a thing or two about manners." She nods her head in return. "Forgive my forwardness, but weren't you a cane when you arrived?"

"Yes."

"Oh. Okay."

"It's a form he often takes upon our arrival somewhere new," Baron explains, in lieu of Toto. "Sometimes it has its uses to have a pair of eyes unknown to others."

"And he likes the drama with my reveal," Toto adds. His tone is fond – but still notably judgemental.

Lady Haru's grin becomes conspiring. "I won't tell a soul."

There comes a series of bells from further within the estate.

"Chicky," the guard warns. "We gotta go."

Lady Haru nods. "Sure. Well, it was a pleasure to meet you, Baron von Gikkingen, and Toto of the cane."

"My friends call me Baron," Baron says. "Or, at least, Toto does, and he's the only friend I have. I would be honoured if you would do the same."

Lady Haru pauses, hand against the door jamb. "My friends call me Haru," she says. "At least, they would if I had any."

Muta snorts. "What am I, furniture?"

"You're practically family, Muta," Lady Haru shoots back. "Anyway, do you want me to invite him to call me Chicky, too?"

"Just Haru's fine."

"Good." She glances back to Baron. "I'll see you around, Baron."

Baron bows. "As you wish, Haru."

x

"Well," Baron says once the room is theirs again. "She seems..."

"Surprisingly okay with siding against her father?" Toto offers.

"I was going to say nice."

"You only say that because she liked your book trick."

"It is nice to know someone in this place has a sense of humour," Baron admits. He sighs and rounds back to the desk. "Well, time to see if I can deliver on my promise. And our first port of call: establishing what my predecessors have tried."

x

The Yoshioka household keep extensive records of all official attempts made to break Haru's curse – although by the perfect (albeit dusty) conditions of the paperwork, Baron supposes he is the first in a long while to check. Possibly ever, actually, considering how many hopeful heroes have repeated past methods.

Even so, it takes the good part three days to collate all the details into one set of notes.

Baron closes the current record and glances down at his efforts. At the start, his notes had been detailed, but by this point they've devolved into a tally score. The movement draws Toto's attention.

"So? What's the verdict?"

"The verdict," Baron says, looking at the long row of tallies for 'cut with blade', "is that I'm amazed Haru has the patience to speak to any aspiring saviour after everything she's been through. Do you know how many times she's had to deal with leeches?"

"I'd really rather not."

"Or the number of potions, elixirs, or panaceas of dubious origins she's been given?" Baron ruffles through his notes. "I think this one is just ditchwater and salt. How about the attempt to override it with another curse, or the three times she's allegedly had to drink powdered unicorn horn? One man even suggested severing the finger in question!"

"Her father allowed that?"

"My father promised to cover the man with jewels if it succeeded," Haru says. She grins ruefully from the doorway she's appeared at, but there is a bite behind the smile. "When that didn't work, he suggested removing the hand entirely, but my father drew the line at that. Apparently it would 'hamper my marriage prospects.' So," she says, "what's the verdict?"

Baron startles back to his notes, still trying to process Haru's nonchalant admittance of her father's willingness to take a butcher's knife to her. "It's... extensive, the attempts made..."

"And repetitive," Haru adds. She perches on the arm of a chair, close enough to spectate but still keeping her distance. "When I heard you had requested the official records, I had to come see for myself. I'm impressed." She leans forward. "Verdict?"

"If my spat of research is enough to impress you, then I am mortified on behalf of my predecessors," Baron says.

"I meant on my curse," she clarifies, but not without humour.

"On your curse? That the fairy did a very good job." Baron picks through his notes, but he can't help but feel pleased at Haru's smile. "Given the... numerous attempts to cut the thread with a blade, it is clear that it cannot be severed by any means. Indeed, it seems to be intangible to all but yourself, and while you can make contact with it while holding a blade, the blade makes no mark on it."

"People always seemed so smug to think up that solution," Haru says. "All they needed to do was ask me – I've known since I was a child that I couldn't cut it."

Baron files this remark away for later inspection. Something about it seems off, but now is not the time.

"People have tried following the thread, burning it, cursing it, uncursing it, cleansing it, all to no avail. In cases where removal of the thread involved... more than just the thread," Baron says, as tactfully as he can manage, "the blade couldn't even cut the skin, let alone remove anything substantial." He tries to ignore the metallic taste the words leave in his mouth, and looks over to Haru. "Is your little finger invincible then, or...?"

She laughs, and a little of the tension dissipates. "No, but that would be nice. No, I've had my fair share of paper cuts and bruises and the like, but when it came to purposeful removal..." She shrugs. "It's almost like the curse knows the intent. It's an ordinary finger until you try to detach it, and then suddenly it's diamond as far as a knife is concerned."

"Just as well, otherwise you would have crushed the finger of anyone you pinky swore with."

"Pinky swore?" she echoes.

Baron blinks. "It's a children's way of making promises. You curl your little finger around the other person's, and then you make a promise. Like this."

Before he can fully process what he's doing, he's leaning across from the desk and intertwining his little finger with Haru's.

"See?"

She freezes.

Suddenly he realises he's holding the finger about which the curse rests – a finger prodded and poked so many times only the magic bestowed on it has probably kept it from turning black and blue... if not worse. He stammers out an apology, makes to retreat, but her finger curls tighter around his with the strength as if it is diamond.

"Like this?" she asks. "Now what?"

From this distance, he can see the way the light catches in her eyes and the way her shoulders square, as if preparing to fight or preparing to laugh and ready for it either way.

"Now I make a promise."

"And what will you promise, Baron von Gikkingen?"

He likes the way she says his title, bereft of awe or hunger, but teasingly instead.

"I promise," he says, and he lingers over his answer. Despite her jokes and her humour, he's also seen the glimmer of a shadow – not just in the corners of her smile, but in the ink of the records too, in the years documented where she has been little more than a riddle to be solved, a puzzle promising riches.

This feels like a test, set by her.

He could assure her he will undo her curse, save her from her fate – but every predecessor of his has promised that, in one form or another.

He could offer something more heartfelt, something genuine to show he understands – but then he remembers her comment about snakeoil merchants. She knows people are capable of saying the prettiest lies with crocodile smiles, promising remedy or help or care, if it gets them what they want. He wonders if any promised her more than a cure – if they set their sights higher than jewels and eyed marriage into the esteemed Yoshioka family.

He wonders how many promised Haru their heart, in hopes of a rich bride.

"I promise," he starts again, "to never use leeches."

She laughs, and he can feel the way it shakes through her from their joined hands. He's passed. "Or ditchwater elixirs?" she asks with a grin.

"Not even with salt," he promises.

x

"Baron," Toto says later, "you absolutely cannot fall in love with her."

"Absolutely," he agrees cheerily. "Cannot, will not, shall not. All the nots."

"Baron. I mean it. Even if you manage to break her curse, do you think her father will approve her marrying someone like yourself?"

Baron raises an eyebrow at Toto. "Do you really have such low opinion of me that you think a pair of pretty eyes and a good sense of humour are enough to make me forgo all sense?"

"I had hoped not," Toto says, "but you're the one calling her eyes pretty."

x

It takes a couple more days for Baron to search through his own library in search of possible remedies. The story of joined lovers is not unknown in his homeland – although the terminology tends to be soulmates – and some books even mention a red thread. No, the difficulty lies in the fact that nowhere is this connection considered a curse.

"At least," he says to Toto, "not by the end. Oh, there are plenty where people ignore it, or try to escape it, but then they fall in love with their fated other half, even if they don't know it. Nowhere does it say how to break a red thread."

"The fairy knew how to lay a curse then," Toto says. "Give an unwanted blessing."

Baron stills. His head tilts in a way that sends Toto's stomach plummeting.

"What is it? What have you just thought of, Baron?"

"There's no record of anyone attempting to find the fairy who laid Haru's curse. Perhaps if they can be found – reasoned with–"

"Then maybe they'll curse you for good measure too," Toto finishes dryly. "You, of all people, should know how capricious fairies can be."

"I'm already cursed, Toto. What else can they do?"

"Lots! How do you feel about spending the rest of your existence as a tree? Or a statue? How about spitting toads every time you talk?"

Baron pauses. "That's a real curse?"

"It's the sibling curse to the blessing where you spit jewels."

Baron considers this. "Spitting jewels doesn't seem much better. Probably hurts more, because at least frogs are soft. What if you sleeptalk? What if you talk while you're eating? What if you swallow them?"

"Remember what I said about fairies being capricious?"

"And yet this is the best lead we've found so far. No one else has tried it yet."

"For good reason."

Baron rises to his feet. It feels good to be moving forward after nearly a week of looking back. "We shall never know if we don't try."

x

"Impossible," the lord says.

Baron smiles, because that's a safer expression than any he might otherwise inadvertently give. "Some would call a red thread of fate or a man with the face of a cat impossible, and yet our world is made of such things. Who are we to determine what is impossible or not?"

"The fairy does not want to be found," the lord retorts.

"And the curse doubtless does not want to be broken, and yet I persevere in the latter. If this can free your daughter, then surely it is worth pursuing–"

"I forbid it," the lord growls.

Baron's mouth snaps shut, curtailing any fine-worded arguments to the contrary. His smile remains, frozen in place, but gone from his eyes. "I see."

x

"You're not going to listen to my father, are you?" Haru asks. She sits, perched on the steps of a bookcase ladder. Baron wonders if she has an allergy against sitting in an actual chair. "You're going to try to find the fairy, right?"

"Lady Haru, the lord of the estate made it quite clear no attempts were to be made in that department," Baron says breezily. "So, naturally, I shall not. But, for good measure, I should probably know all that is already known about the fairy, so that I don't accidentally find them."

"Naturally," Haru echoes, with that familiar conspiring grin. "What do you need to know?"

"Anything, at this point."

"Well then, prepared to be disappointed," Muta grunts. The guard keeps his distance from Baron, but Baron has no doubt that should he attempt anything untoward, Muta would be there in an instant. "When the fairy came to curse Haru, they were robed. No one saw anything of them."

Toto hops across the desk, eyeing Muta. "And you saw this?"

"Muta became my guard only after the curse was struck," Haru says. "But my father and the rest of the court has spoken about it at length. It seems even the fairy's voice was impossible to describe – everyone heard the fairy speak in their own voice."

Baron's shoulders drop. "So, there's nothing to identify them."

"Well... there was the peasant girl."

"Peasant girl?"

"Chicky, if yer father heard you talking of such things..." Muta trails off. "You know he's already reluctant to let you spend time here."

Haru's mouth twists into an unhappy line, but she does not counter her guard's point.

Baron flips a book open, and it does a little to alleviate the strange silence. "Well, in absence of our finding the fairy, we must be moving on to other options. Now, I believe I read here that there is a spring nearby rumoured to possess healing powers..."

"That's already been tried," Haru says.

"Yes, twelve times," Baron agrees. "What harm will one more visit do?"

"Lord Yoshioka knows you've studied the records," Muta says. "He knows you know it won't work."

"True, but how about..." Baron flicks through his notes for inspiration, "mixing salt and powdered unicorn horn into the springwater?"

Haru's nose wrinkles. "You have powdered unicorn horn?"

"No, but no one will know I don't."

Now it is Muta's turn to pull a face. "And how are yer gonna pull that off? Put a little chalk in and hope no one can tell the difference?"

Baron catches Haru's eye, and he can see the exact moment she cottons on. She clasps her hands demurely before her, the very picture of a meek and mild maid. "Such an auspicious visit should be done in meditation, don't you think, Muta? With a small entourage, so that I can better achieve the necessary reflection to partake in such a pilgrimage." She raises her head, smirking. "What do you think?"

"Drop the pilgrimage line, Chicky. It's only an hour by carriage."

x

It takes some persuading, but eventually the lord agrees to the spring visit – with some caveats. Firstly, that Haru's guard will accompany them. (Reasonable, Baron admitted. After all, he has just suggested taking the only Yoshioka heir into the depths of a forest. If he was in the kidnapping business, this would practically be a gift wrapped opportunity.)

And the second is...

Well, Baron knows the man's name to be Natoru, but that is all Baron is sure about. The man in question is short and plump, and carries a permanent smile and a scroll and, as far as Baron can discern, Natoru is here to record the event.

The fact that Natoru has been sent – and not the undoubtedly more senior advisor – makes it clear how little stock Haru's father has put in this attempt succeeding.

That's fine by Baron. If this little outing does cure the curse, then Baron will be the most surprised of all.

The carriage ride to the edge of the forest where the enchanted spring lies is mostly in silence – or at least for the majority of the carriage's occupants. Haru wears a mask of serene grace, and Baron makes a similar show of determined concentration, while Muta is sat out in the driver's seat.

Natoru chatters.

(The speed at which Muta had insisted upon taking the reins (and his further assurance of no passenger space in the driver's seat) makes Baron wonder if he knew just how much Natoru can talk. He doesn't want to assume but... well, if the boot fits...)

So when they reach the forest's edge, Baron is quick to depart, leaping down from the carriage and offering a hand to Haru.

"Lady Haru wishes to make her approach to the spring in meditative silence," he tells Natoru. "So it is best, I think, if you go on straight ahead, and we shall make our slow approach."

Natoru flusters – there's no other word for it – wringing his hands with evident distress. "Oh, but I'm meant to record everything that happens! For posterity! I should be there."

Muta jumps down from the driver's seat. The carriage bounces from the release. "Buddy, it's a half hour walk in absolute silence. It's gonna be, what, two lines at most in the record? You ain't missing anything."

"Well, I suppose..."

"And this way, you can be assured the spring is ready when we arrive," Baron adds. "Ensure there's no unpleasant surprises waiting for us."

"A very good point!"

They watch Natoru's bustling form vanish into the forest. No one speaks until they are quite sure he's not about to bounce back.

"What's his official title, again?" Baron asks.

"I don't think he has one," Haru replies. "Yes-man?"

Toto stirs into life, shrugging off his wooden façade. "Be glad he's no sharper, or he might have taken more to shake. I don't wish to pressure, but we should probably start making tracks, before even he becomes suspicious. You said something about a peasant girl, Haru?"

"Well, I suppose she'll be a peasant woman by now," Haru says. She steps into the forest with such surety that Baron has no difficulty believing she has traced this trail a dozen times. "She was under the care of the fairy who cursed me."

"Like a godmother?" Baron offered.

"A what?"

"Someone who's not blood-family, but who still has a duty of care for a child," he explains.

"Oh. Yes, I suppose you could call it that. Anyway, when my father came of age, his father threw a series of balls – three masquerade dances over three nights – and on each night, a mysterious woman dressed finer than even an empress arrived."

Haru hitches her skirts as the trail narrows, and Baron falls behind her. He leans forward to push the branches around her face out of her way. She throws him a smile that immediately makes the inconvenience worth it.

"On the first two nights, the woman fled at the stroke of midnight, but on the third and final night, my father slathered the stairs to the ball with tar."

Baron falters. Several twigs slap into Haru's face. "Sorry! He what?"

"Tar," Muta says. "On the stairs. Weren't yer listening?"

"Of course, I just... tar, really?"

"It nearly worked too," Haru continues, unfazed. Baron supposes she's had several decades to come to terms with it. "Only, she slipped out of her trapped shoe instead, and still ran. But my father was intent on discovering who this mystery lady was, and so announced that he would marry whomever the abandoned slipper fitted."

"Wasn't that risky, though?" Toto asks. "After all, there surely were a good number of young women who would be a potential fit?"

"It was a slipper clearly created by magic," Haru explains, "made from glass that no mortal craftsman could replicate. And it seemed to work – no matter who tried it, even if it looked right, it never fitted. That is, until a scullery maid stepped forward."

Baron tilts his head. "A happily ever after for all," he says. "But I fail to see how this translates to angering a fairy. Was he intended for another?"

"He didn't marry her," Haru says. "Once he realised that she wasn't an empress, not even a high-born lady, but a servant girl favoured by a fairy godmother, he refused. He smashed the slipper and claimed another woman – a lord's daughter – had fitted it instead. And he believed nothing would come of it – until I was born." She picks up her feet and continues into the forest. "And that's when the fairy cursed me."

"Because of your father's actions?" Baron demands. He hurries after her, resorting to his cane to keep the narrowing path at bay.

"Wielding the other glass slipper and decrying my father for refusing true love in favour of riches," Haru says. "So the story goes, anyway. The fairy claimed that the scullery maid was under their protection, and for his callousness, I would bear a fate worthy of being his daughter." She waves her hand airily. "And poof, red thread of fate. Honestly, if you ask my father, he'll say the fairy must have bound me to someone who's already dead, or some other impossible soul."

"And you?" Toto asks.

"I think it'd be far more fitting if I'm bound to a peasant," Haru replies. "Perhaps a pig farmer. Or a miller. Maybe a shepherd."

"Your father implied your soulmate was impossible to find," Baron says.

Haru snorts. It's decidedly unladylike and a clear indicator, Baron suspects, of how much time she has spent around Muta. "My father has only searched as far as the nobility, and refuses to consider anyone who hasn't got a title. There's probably a fisherman somewhere with a red string around his thumb and no idea what it means."

"And you?" Toto asks. "Does it matter to you if your soulmate has a title?"

"Why would it? Even before I was cursed, I was never going to have a say in who I married. If I didn't have the curse, I would have been long ago married off to whomever my father decreed fit." She shrugs. "I still may not have a choice, but at least I should love them. That's what a soulmate is meant to be, right? Someone you're fated to be with?"

Baron's heart twinges. He studiously ignores it. "Haru, would you prefer it if we found your soulmate instead of breaking the curse?"

Haru snorts again. "If you do, be prepared to start running. My father will have you diced and fed to the koi fish if I end up marrying a pig farmer."

It wasn't a no.

x

To nobody's surprise, the spring trip doesn't work. That's fine, Baron never expected it to. Instead, he thinks on the journey home, brow knitted in concentration.

The key, he decides, is the scullery maid. A fairy might be able to disguise their form and vanish as the need takes them, but mortals are usually far easier to track. And if the fairy really considers themselves a godmother-like figure, they won't have just abandoned the maid the moment Haru's father rejected her.

"The difficulty is," he remarks to Toto as he later pores over yet another record, "the lord did a very good job at scrubbing all mention of her from history."

"Did you expect anything less?" Toto asks. "You wouldn't have even known about her had Haru not told you. It embarrasses him."

"He fell in love. That happens."

"He fell in love with her riches," says a voice from the door. Baron looks up, expecting to see Haru accompanying Muta, but it's only the guard. His disappointment must have been plain in his face, for Muta chuckles disdainfully. "She ain't here. She's off meeting another potential suitor for when her pa's able to marry her off."

"Oh." It occurs to Baron, not for the first – or likely last time – that regardless of whether he breaks Haru's curse, he still has no chance of winning her hand. He opts for a safer topic. "Can I help you?"

"Why would yer want to?"

Baron blinks. "Because that's what I do."

Muta snorts. "No, yer don't."

"I really do."

"Let me tell you a secret I've learned from all these years bodyguarding: nobody helps for nothing. People are kind for money, or power, or for a bride that can give them both." Muta looms over Baron. "So which are you?"

"I'll answer after you."

"What does that mean?"

Despite every instinct screaming at him to flee, Baron stands his ground – even if he can feel his knees shake. He offers a smile. "It means that I can only imagine this show of intimidation – which, top notch, is working – is intended to ensure I don't have any ulterior motives concerning Lady Haru. If people are only kind for money or power, then what is the cause behind your apparent care for her? Tell me, power or riches? Surely it cannot be mere altruism."

Muta stares at him for several long moments, in which Baron is sure he's about to be violently introduced to the nearest wall. Then, "I know all about you, Humbert von Gikkingen."

Somehow, the use of his name feels more threatening than anything else Muta could have said. "If you have any questions, you only ever needed to ask."

"I know what you did to get cursed."

Baron's smile doesn't falter, but it does harden, just a touch at the edges. "Then maybe you'll understand why I have devoted my life since to helping others."

"Because yer scared you'll get cursed again. Yer know there comes a cost with refusing help, so yer make sure yer can never be accused of standing by idly again." The guard tilts his head. "Or maybe yer hoping that enough good deeds will break the curse. But once a curse misses its deadline, it's stuck for good."

"I have no delusions of breaking my own curse. I know my fate."

"Then maybe yer looking for a different kind of prize." Muta smiles, but there is nothing friendly in it. "After all, Lady Haru comes from a rich family. Plenty of money to be made in breaking her curse, but why settle for a hero's bounty when you can marry into a lord's lot instead?"

"I have no interest in riches–"

Muta looms over Baron. "Break her curse, and her father'll marry her off to the highest bidder. Fail, and she'll still be bound to the guy at the other end of the string. Whichever way you cut it, she's outta your reach. Remember that. And if you try to mess with Haru anyway, I'll make sure there'll be so little left of you, the only fish you'll be fit for will be the bottom feeders. So leave, Baron. There ain't anything for you here."

[casiavium]

love how ghiralink can range from they are deeply in love with each other (obvious to everyone but them) but won't even consider holding hands in public to actively trying to kill each other while saying some of the most romantic shit you've ever heard. In the same fanfic even

[anxiously-sidequesting]

**slips and slides into the room with socks on and breaks the wooden table as i fall down on the floor in a haste** so anyways i actually just scared myself because i thought of exactly how deep Malorn's and Malistaire's parallels went. like in post-updated tutorial malistaire was said to have been kind and caring towards his students right. just like malorn right. just like malorn, right? isn't that just like malorn? hey everyone doesn't that sound just like malorn? kind and cares for his students? 'kind' and 'caring' are certainly two adjectives that describe malorn arent they huh? (is slowly sinking in quicksand as i desperately reach out to you as i say this) so if we are to say that malorn and malistaire are two sides of the same coin then what is truly stopping malorn from having one traumatic event from shaping the rest of his life into a descent of madness, grief, and isolation? Guys tell me what the difference is between this reality and an Evil Malorn AU guys? guys hello? hello guys? **(the quicksand has actually transported me to the Backrooms now, no one can hear me call out in distress)**

[anitalenia]

━━━ .°˖✧ soulmate au ⋆˙⊹

꒰ঌ definition ໒꒱ 𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑛 𝑡𝑤𝑜 𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑟𝑎𝑐𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑠 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑚𝑒𝑎𝑛𝑡 𝑡𝑜 𝑏𝑒 𝑡𝑜𝑔𝑒𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑓𝑟𝑜𝑚 𝑏𝑖𝑟𝑡ℎ, 𝑑𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑦, 𝑜𝑟 𝑠𝑜𝑢𝑙 𝑡𝑖𝑒𝑠.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ below you will find sub genres under this category, as well as some useful pairings for this trope. for educational writing purposes <3

note: several of these can also be used in other tropes as well, just depends on how you write it and interpret it.

╰₊✧ ﾟOTHER LINKS . ྀི ⊹ masterlist | romance tropes |

taglist | prompt list | symbol packs | dividers page

₊˚⊹.* ♡ soulbond

₊˚⊹.* ♡ red threat of fate

₊˚⊹.* ♡ soulmate marks

₊˚⊹.* ♡ alternate universe

₊˚⊹.* ♡ mating / mates — can be omegaverse but doesn’t have to be

₊˚⊹.* ♡ soulmates who share each others dreams

₊˚⊹.* ♡ soulmates who share injuries

₊˚⊹.* ♡ the name of their soulmate is tattooed on them

₊˚⊹.* ♡ the worlds colorless / gray until you meet your soulmate and then you see colors

₊˚⊹.* ♡ your birthmark or tattoo matches your soulmates

₊˚⊹.* ♡ you have a watch / time ticks down until you meet your soulmate or you’re given a certain amount of time at birth

₊˚⊹.* ♡ can’t be physically too far from your soulmate or it hurts you both

₊˚⊹.* ♡ you’re soulmates on opposing side of war / your soulmate is the enemy

₊˚⊹.* ♡ the simple one where you feel a spark / sensation when you touch your soulmate and you just know

₊˚⊹.* ♡ there’s a handprint on your body where your soulmate first touches you

₊˚⊹.* ♡ your soulmates voice is in your head

₊˚⊹.* ♡ when you sleep your dreams are what your soulmate is seeing in their real time / their pov

₊˚⊹.* ♡ you form a telepathic link with your soulmate until you find them

₊˚⊹.* ♡ you share a strong physical link where you can feel the same things the other person is feeling while they’re going through them / the sensation of something cold, burning, when they’re having sex

₊˚⊹.* ♡ the closer you get to them the easier it is to find them. ex: colors get brighter and brighter as you approach, their voice closes in, their thoughts get louder / more frequent

₊˚⊹.* ♡ once you hit a certain age / one night a year you swap bodies with your soulmate to find as many clues as you can as to where they are (girllll I’d just book a flight to my body)

₊˚⊹.* ♡ being next to your soulmate heals you from things you otherwise wouldn’t heal from

₊˚⊹.* ♡ only your soulmate can kill you

₊˚⊹.* ♡ two immortal beings searching for each other / immortal soulmates that become human once they get together to live a mortal life together

₊˚⊹.* ♡ human soulmates that live immortal lives once they find their soulmates so they can live forever together / once they hit a certain age

₊˚⊹.* ♡ you grow up with your soulmate and at a certain age there’s a ceremony that finalizes it / you spend those early years learning about the other person and falling in love with them

₊˚⊹.* ♡ your soulmate is the other half of your magic / your soulmates and yours magic is compatible and mixed with your magic it’s stronger than ever

₊˚⊹.* ♡ you keep being reincarnated until you meet your soulmate / once you do you remember all your past lives together with your soulmate

₊˚⊹.* ♡ soulmate who has trauma involving the touch of another person so they hate touching people

₊˚⊹.* ♡ soulmate who is deaf so the other must learn sign language

₊˚⊹.* ♡ a celebrity who has fans always claiming to be their soulmate / celebrity can never find their soul mate because of this and goes on a search + they have major trust issues now

₊˚⊹.* ♡ soulmates who live right down the road from each other and always JUST miss each other at grocery stores, parties, drive past each other a lot etc.

₊˚⊹.* ♡ soulmates who live on the opposite ends of the earth / when one is asleep the other is awake

₊˚⊹.* ♡ your soulmate unlocks your magic / makes you more powerful

₊˚⊹.* ♡ one soulmate is blind and can’t see the colors of the world anyway

₊˚⊹.* ♡ you choose from a group of people who your soul mate should be after a series of tests / learning about and falling in love with them (almost like the bachelor )

₊˚⊹.* ♡ soulmate who is terminally ill

₊˚⊹.* ♡ soulmate is in a coma and always has visions / dreams of what their soulmate is doing

₊˚⊹.* ♡ an immortal soulmate who constantly goes through mortal soulmates because they keep dying

₊˚⊹.* ♡ an immortal soulmate who has lived centuries, eons even, alone and searching for their soulmate

₊˚⊹.* ♡ a soulmate with different beliefs / religion from their soulmate and must overcome those differences

₊˚⊹.* ♡ one or both soulmates are asexual

₊˚⊹.* ♡ hopeless romantic soulmate is very gullible to people lying about being their soulmate

₊˚⊹.* ♡ childhood best friends have kids at the same time, and their kids are soulmates

₊˚⊹.* ♡ soulmate who must wait for their soulmate to be born / grow up before they can get together

₊˚⊹.* ♡ soulmates who stop aging at the same time until they meet their soulmate, then once they meet their lives resume

₊˚⊹.* ♡ your other eye is the color of your soulmates. ex: your soulmate has brown eyes, you have blue. one of their eyes is blue and one of yours is brown

₊˚⊹.* ♡ your soulmate is your boss / you were a lowly worker. it would go against the rules and get you both fired + can be a dystopian kind of thing

₊˚⊹.* ♡ basically any alpha & omega mating stories — omegaverse

₊˚⊹.* ♡ your soulmate always has your favorite song in their head

₊˚⊹.* ♡ you subconsciously hate / love foods / activities your soul mate does

₊˚⊹.* ♡ soulmates separated by war or something tragic + they write letters to each other and don’t get together until they’re very old

₊˚⊹.* ♡ childhood soulmates separated as kids reacquainted as adults

₊˚⊹.* ♡ you can write to your soulmate as they’ll receive it no matter where they are (writing on paper, the letter will appear to them)

₊˚⊹.* ♡ writing on your skin and your soulmate sees it

₊˚⊹.* ♡ you’re an artist, and your soulmate always has doodles all over themselves that you do to yourself

₊˚⊹.* ♡ your soulmate is allergic to animals and always finds themselves sneezing throughout the day because you basically run a petting zoo (you’re an animal person constantly surrounded by animals)

₊˚⊹.* ♡ your soulmate is a criminal and you’ve been trying to lock them up for years or they ARE locked up

₊˚⊹.* ♡ universe where soulmates are very very rare / thought to be extinct but you find yours somehow and don’t know what it means

₊˚⊹.* ♡ soulmate is an ethereal being whose been watching over you your whole life to protect you / guide you OR they’re just a supernatural deity in general

₊˚⊹.* ♡ you run a cupids business to help soulmates meet each other but you haven’t found yours yet

₊˚⊹.* ♡ you can choose your own soulmate and have a ceremony to officiate it whenever you two want

₊˚⊹.* ♡ you don’t believe in soulmates until you meet yours

₊˚⊹.* ♡ your soulmate is someone evil and your family isolates you from them to protect you + your soulmate has never stopped trying to find / get to you

₊˚⊹.* ♡ soulmate is a powerful being who knows you’re their soulmate, but they know they can’t act on it until you do / you’re a mortal and soulmates are all about divine timing so the powerful being can’t rush it sooner than it’s supposed to be done

₊˚⊹.* ♡ soulmate is an evil being and upon meeting you they turn good (or you can turn evil and join them)

₊˚⊹.* ♡ soulmate au with multiple soulmates at once. you all struggle to adjust to mundane living and romance since you’re dating 3+ people at once + it’s really just a soulmate orgy 😲

₊˚⊹.* ♡ soulmate is someone you used to bully (tease) or vice versa

₊˚⊹.* ♡ in a dystopian setting where your soulmate is considered someone bad and you can be sentenced to death for being together / loving each other

₊˚⊹.* ♡ romeo and juliet au where you and your soulmate can’t be together because of family ties

very helpful soulmate trope link I found by @thegeminisage | took a lot of inspo from them

will update when I think of new ones. hope this helps if you’re not sure what story to tell but you want something new <3

[sarahg-fanarts99]

Hello!! The Red Thread Collab by @wolfxblossom has been posted on Facebook! Now I would like to show you the red thread of destiny between Shadow the Hedgehog and Sayuri the Cat, based on the art style of the Sonic Channel page! 😄✨

There are many reasons why both are destined to be together, they can be soul mates, have things in common, or maybe that they were both lonely and lived in a strange place where they had only one friend as company, who showed them the world of humans.

[blorbologist]

I'm currently not watching four-sided dive, but can I just say

"Orym was around 4-5 when Vax came to visit Zephrah in the year off."

!! SO MY HUNCH WAS RIGHT!!

[writtentragedies]

starter call. | @backwaterscum

" --What if they're still out there? I just barely managed to hide before they saw me but..." Beth shrugged, her hand clutching the fabric of her shirt at her chest as she felt a pang of worry. "What if they did see me and are planning to come back-- Sorry, I just... Isn't it crazy how afraid we are to bump into other survivors these days, I mean back when it all started, it was a good thing to run into somebody who wasn't a walking corpse." She laughed but there was no joy in the sound, not at all. "We should get going, it's not safe to stay here anymore." Was anywhere ever truly safe nowadays though? After what had gone down at the prison... Maybe there wasn't such a thing as a safe haven any longer. Still, they couldn't give up and they had to try and find their friends and family.

[ghostaholics]

I just like the idea of Price’s soulmate au (here and here) where there are two dueling ideologies and it’s not clear which one’s right.

The first is where cultures/societies believe that everybody has a soulmate and that you either a) have met them or b) haven’t yet (and it is implied that there are a great deal of people who die never getting to meet theirs).

So when you answer documents, it’s:

Have you met your soulmate?

☐ Yes

☐ No

The second is more pragmatic – more black and white. Like if the whole concept is that you feel your soulmate’s pain in this au, then you should at some point, theoretically feel it during your lifetime; so people believe that you either have a soulmate (regardless of whether you’ve met them or not) or you just don’t have one at all. This one is a lot more popular for people who are older and have soulmates that don’t get themselves into situations with major injuries etc. as in Price’s line of work.

It’s also why when he enlists, he gets to the section in the questionnaire of possible things that can disqualify a person from joining the military (e.g. certain medical conditions, etc.) and he reaches the end:

Do you have a soulmate?

☐ Yes

☐ No

They don’t let you enlist if you do, because you can experience lots of things on the field which would then, by extension, also subject your soulmate to a great deal of pain.

But some people lie to get into the military; they select the second option if their background check holds no evidence of a marriage certificate, because pain is subjective – it’s easy enough for anyone to keep to themselves especially if there are no legal records. It’s mostly the ones who know they have a soulmate (i.e have felt their partner’s pain) but haven’t met them and think they’re never going to meet them anyway (a lot to do with freedom of choice too, probably).

And because Price’s soulmate never gets into trouble, hardly ever lands herself into situations where he’d feel her pain, he’s 99% sure about his answer when he checks that ‘no’ option but later finds out how 100% wrong he was.

[ednamode1]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/51482938/chapters/130108738

Pretty underrated fic ngl