#soul marks

[manapeer]

Hey, you guys remember the Last Words Soul Mark AU?

Danny always liked his soul mark. It said "I don't know what is wrong with you but can you stop fucking dying, please !?"

Some people found it unsettling, but he liked the energy. It might explain why he was always drawn to sarcastic humor. Also it meant he spent his whole childhood with various temporary tattoos to censor the naughty word.

He didn't pay it much mind after the accident. Yes he was now half ghost, but he didn't die for realsies, so the reference of death was just a coincidence, surely.

Then one day the mark changed.

"I can't believe I married this idiot"

Did... Did his soul mate killed then resuscitate themselves to tell him to stop going ghost???!!!

#dp #danny phantom #last words soul mark au #soul marks #dpxdc #dp x dc #(optional) #did someone do this already #I think not but I'm not sure

[elegantduelliste]

Epistles of Saints & Sinners

Summary:

When Astarion meets the humble bard, Tav, he soon finds out he's the only one between them that knows they are bound as soulmates through their marks. Deciding it's more trouble than its worth, he refuses to tell her along the course of their journey across Faerûn.

But, unbeknownst to him and their companions, Tav is harboring a gruesome secret that she only thought was nothing more than a traumatized period in her life.

As they both come to face to face with their pasts and presents, will they choose to move forward or let it consume them?

Healing isn’t linear—after all.

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Chapter 1: Song

Ao3

Next Chapter

Main Page & Chapter List

Word Count: 2.3k

Pairing: Astarion x female bard Tav

CW: Sexual Language

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I am aware of how cruel the moon can be—the many phases it sheds. Lovers, most vulnerable, suffer from such severity of its usually silvery boon. The waxing and waning of their intimacy. Their lives. Their time. By astral’s will. A day, years, or centuries of seeking out each other's tender lips. The tides of the lune renew what is fated to be.

— Unknown

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One Year Before the Nautiloid Crash

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“Where are you taking me lover? I cannot wait to experience what you’re able to do with that tongue of yours,” the human man headily breathed against his nightly suitor’s ear, while the pale elf placed a kiss along the softness of his jowls.

Astarion hummed into the man’s skin as his mouth slowly trailed pecks down to the side of his neck, in tandem with his uncontrolled gasps of assured pleasure. Ringlets of golden spools, bearing the beginnings of silver finery depicting his age, spilled down above his shoulders.

He wrapped a strand around his finger, tugging gently, allowing him to feel a slight pull at his scalp. ”Dear pet, your hair is like that of a crown fit to sit upon the brows of angels. I am undeserving to keep such holy threads wrapped around my fingertips.” He inhaled deeply whispering low into the shell of his ear, “However, I can think of another, more eager, part of your body I would enjoy having wrapped around me that I will have ruined in sin before the night is through.”

His ears perked up when he heard a sharp intake of air from the minor noble pressed deliciously at his side, as they walked arm in arm towards the tavern. Hazel eyes dazzled with sparks of lust. Another simple target. The spawn was grateful.

The scent of a cheap carafe red was thick upon his tongue as his breath fanned near the vamp’s face. Vinegar piss. Wonderful. “I…I am not used to such salacious remarks. Please do not keep me waiting much longer,” the man keened.

The familiar burn of disgusted bile bubbled in Astarion’s throat. He detested this part of the evening with his nightly liaisons. The purgatory in between.

Come with me, ye bleating sheep to the lion’s den!

Oh, but he would practice his due diligence to get his victims to adore him with his charming swagger and a faux interest in their pathetic lives! Eventually whisking them away to bed with a performance of erotic words dripping from his serpent’s mouth. He could make anyone fall in love with him. Yearning eye contact. A feathery brush against their necks with his fingers. An alluring grin. The promise to know them.

Thousands of denizens he deigned upon for the sake of his one and only exalted master. He was the carrion for the true evil that lurked. The one that tightened the leash around him at every turn.

”Good boy, come eat your rat.”

It repulsed Astarion the moment his victim’s lilting voices careened into his pallored ears to speak of their lives. Adventures he would never have. People he would never meet. Treasures he would never see. Pleasures he would never partake. But, most of all, the sun’s warm grace he would never again feel cradling his skin.

His life ended and began with Cazador in his palace of blood and rape. Whips, chains, and the prettiest of screams. Kennels to contain his most prized pets. Lest he not forget his sudden interest in epidermis poetry! How talented his master was indeed.

The purest of shit to endure.

The people of Baldur’s Gate loved to talk about themselves. And he would listen. He had no choice. He had to feign interest. To enchant them. To indulge. It was all part of the plan—after all.

Ah, but there were times he would come upon those in the flicker of a candle’s light in Sharess’s Caress or burrowing their heads in a pint at a tavern that he would take a more special interest in. A young man that had never been kissed. A forlorn maiden that was escaping an arranged marriage. Maybe even a harlot that was once an aristocrat and had fallen into ruin. Those with stories that lived actual lives outside debauchery and the criminal mind. Rarely, were they people that would undoubtedly be missed, but Master Cazador deserved only the most beautiful beings to add to his “collection” of drained corpses.

In Astarion’s more whimsical moments, he would become the storyteller and regale his prey with memories from his mortal life—at least those he could recall—or fabricate a life that never existed. He would possess positions: a craftsman, a trader, a politician. He had been married, had children, ran away from his family, and widowed. Once, he had owned a lavish manor, with privately catered dinners to his palate. Another time, he had traveled with a king and nearly worked as his personal tactician.

Even so, there would never be a relationship to build upon for the vampire. Their fates were sealed the moment he set his designs upon them, manipulating them by way of exchanged bodily fluids and depraved pants given to the night. Unfortunate souls ripe for the reaping of his master.

“My sweetest treasure, it is not much further now,” he assured his target with a playful smile. He dipped his head to speak against the Adam's apple of the man, lowering his voice a few octaves to vibrate against his flesh. “Then, I will take you again and again until I have had my fill. Would you like that? For me to fuck you until you beg me for mercy?”

The man blushed a deeper shade of red than the wine he imbibed earlier, grabbing tightly onto the vampire’s arm with a few quiet nods.

“Good pet. Follow me.”

It was on the precipice of their journey for Astarion to bed this pathetic mess of a man, that he heard it. The distraction. A hypnosis taking him over, causing his usual instinctual schemes to falter. The constellation that made up his soulmate mark—behind the right shell of his elven ear—suddenly had a strange nerve of feeling pulsing softly.

How curious. Nearly 239 years of life—mortal and immortal—the mark finally comes to life.

He had nearly forgotten about it, a dusty reminder from who he used to be when he was “alive.” More than likely it had faded in color, along with the rest of his skin tone. One would be so lucky to be born with such a mark, a comforting solace of a personal intimate attachment shared with another being. However, it only served as a severed connection from his corporeal mortality—lost against his will. He wished he could scrub it entirely from his flesh.

As they approached the dark alleyway of the Elfsong Tavern, Astarion halted them. His body rigid of this utter intrusion paying pittance to his ears. Eyes fluttering shut, he attuned them to the delicate notes swept upon the strings of a lute just around the corner from them. He took a relaxed breath, his nostrils expanding, reveling in the blithely song gracing his ears.

There was a memory here. One buried well beneath his spawned life, hidden away from the prying eyes of Cazador. A piece, a fragment of leftover humanity just for him. Yes—a song that stuck to the walls of an abode. Safety and comfort swelling within. It brought up a familiar vague idea he once might have felt in his former life. An idea of…home. He nearly retched from the very thought of it.

What a sense of humor the gods have to send such a melody along the eventide’s breeze!

The golden haired man at his side cleared his throat in frustration. “Why ever did you stop?”

He noticed the vampire’s attention was leagues away, no longer concentrated on his promise of an unforgettable tryst. He cupped a hand over the bloodsucker’s crotch, rubbing his softened cock through the leathers of his pants with a frisky grin.

The tune tapered off, and Astarion—still dazed from the music—gradually opened his eyes to peer down at his movements, registering that the evening needed to end. He patted the hand massaging his member and lifted his chin up, quickly pressing a chaste kiss on the side of his mouth.

“You, my darling, have purified the longing puddles of void in my heart. Forgive me, but I must end our soiree a bit early. May I come find you again another evening this week?”

Letting him leave without delivering him into Cazador’s arms, was a terrible decision to execute. Yet, this fucking canticle was a succubus that would not release him no matter how much he could get down on his knees and beg, licking the succulent juices of it’s harmony.

He was starving.

Lips pouting, the dispirited patriar removed his hand from Astarion’s breeches, straightening his overcoat and shirt. He stared at him in shock, his mouth opening and closing several times. “I—I see. I bid you goodnight.”

As he turned to leave, ringlets bouncing with the few steps made, he quickly turned back around with a finger pointed in the air, as if he suddenly remembered he was supposed to deliver an important message to the vampire.

He came closer to him, leaning into his neck, and inhaled deeply. “By the way, darling, you smell of fetid rats and sewer shit. I can only imagine the state that cock of yours must be in.”

Astarion froze. His narrowed crimson eyes followed the man’s mouth flip into a victorious smirk that he wanted nothing more than to carve away with the most serrated edge of a knife. The vamp’s lips tensed. He found himself grabbing violently onto the gentleman’s bicep and swinging him around to push him against the wall of the tavern with a loud thud, nearly cracking the stone.

“Ah, I understand now,” Astarion grinned, pressing a leg in between the nobleman’s, locking him in place. He quickly removed a five inch dagger from this boot without even so much as loosening his grip on him and pointed the tip into the man’s throat. His messy curls fell forward, kissing the middle of his pronounced brow.

“Though I wonder, pet,” Astarion deftly reached inside his mouth to pry his tongue out between his sudden sobs. He dragged the dagger upwards from his throat, to his chin, and then without warning, placed one of the sharpened sides of the weapon against the wiggling muscle. “—just how rough you like it. Given that you have such a tongue to tease me with.”

Drops of sweat beaded at his temple. Panic. And then the begging. Of COURSE he would beg.

“Pleaseth do nat hurrrt me! I…I didnet mean it. I…pleaseth…I ‘ave coin. You can ‘ave as mulch as oou ‘ike! I caan, um, I caan…,” he pleaded, nervously crying. A spittle of saliva coated Astarion’s fingers.

The spawn beamed as he traced the dagger lightly against his tongue. “You know—I think there’s quite an important lesson to learn here, don’t you?”

He nodded quickly, tears streaming, a snotty nose sniffling.

“Well, I’m sure you’ll figure out what exactly that is on your way home. You seem intelligent enough to solve such a conundrum! And I must give myself credit for making it so easy for you.” Astarion lowered his dagger, a menacing smirk pulling the skin of his mouth upwards. “Now, it may be best for you to scurry home—lest I change my mind.”

He stepped away wickedly chuckling with the knowledge that this man that saw fit to cross him, would keep this interaction quiet. With one arm crossed nonchalantly on his chest and another open to his side—dagger in hand—he presented him with a mid bow and the permission to leave.

The lowly patriar bent over, vomiting on the ground. He heaved and sobbed until there was nothing left in his stomach, leaving it to the fates of the acids that resided inside. Poor delicate human.

Taking one step forward, he peered at his predator, checking his features for any signs that it was unsafe to leave. Astarion only continued to grin with impish teeth gleaming in the haziness of the town, glowing eyes unblinking. “Run, rabbit, run.”

It was a final warning; one he didn’t chance as he fiercely strutted away.

It was still dusk by way of the ombré purple and blues cavorting across the sky. The sun was beginning to slumber, bidding farewell to his inamorata moon as her light beamed through the clouds. Astarion tucked his dagger snuggly back into his boot and ran his cool fingers through his curls, setting them back into place. The night had not progressed as planned. This would not bode well. Cazador expected a meal tonight and would expect Astarion to “dine” with him.

Annoyed, he groaned as he crossed the threshold of the tavern. A crowd of people— including small children—were gathered near the front entrance, holding one another with simpering affections towards an elven woman. There was a lute in her hands, slightly weathered and warm in color, with beautifully detailed carvings of flowers inlaid on its soundboard.

Astarion eyed her as he stalked by. At first glance, he was disenchanted. Oh, how delectably plain this bard looks! Her hair is just sloppily braided over her shoulder. Is her eye color truly that muted? Natural makeup adding nothing to allure her audience. Gods, and her clothes! Did bards truly leave their homes looking like that?! Pitiful creature. She may never recover. He thought with a quiet tsk under his breath.

He settled himself against one of the street lanterns across from the tavern. Enough of a distance away to be free of the throes of the audience, but close enough to sate his curiosity he so righteously tried to resist. The perfect wallflower. This woman owed him, after all—for disrupting his composure.

“Play it again! Please please pleeeaaassseee! But, with words this time,” some of the children begged with toothy grins. The rest of the group chuckled and commented about how wonderfully precious the young wee ones were for taking such an interest in music tonight.

The bard smiled playfully from her sitting position on top of an overturned food crate. “Hmm, I suppose I could make an exception for one more song tonight, but then I must pack up to attend to a few things before the night is through.” She leaned forward to tap the nose of a little girl, face covered in mud, mesmerized by the songbird. The girl blushed and excitedly sat up straight.

Lute back in hand, she started off slow, finger-picking at the strings. The children’s mouths were agape and a wave of silence settled the crowd. Up and down her fingers strode, moving like a ballerina across the stage.

She switched to a tone, all emotional sweetness, as she dwindled off from the more gloomy beginning—enthralling the audience immediately. A bit more quickly she moved, her pads lightly touching the strings in cadence with her other hand that’s switching from note to note on the fretboard.

Then, she starts to sing. And her voice is as beguiling as a nightingale.

The lute eased, but her voice only grew louder. It is all delightful confectionaries being made by a chocolaterie and otherworldly siren song in one. Astarion paused, cocking an eyebrow before narrowing his vision towards her. There was a faint longing ache of his soul mark behind his ear that he didn’t register.

Her throat bobbed as she hit a tender note and the vampire couldn't help, but notice how pale and velvety her skin appeared. It was a stark contrast against the darker clothes she was wearing, but it only added to her…well—whatever the hells she had going on over there.

The songbird beamed at her listeners, a twinkle in her eyes. She swayed effortlessly, genuinely seeming to enjoy the moment. It is a gift to her. This quaint stage she has set. An audience that wished to truly engage with her music. Astarion could hear the puttering flits of her heart beating nervously, while she maintained a tight composure—an act he found fascinating, given her profession. She looked so alive as she sang.

As her song steadied for its descent, stopping the instrument in her hands to place emphasis on her voice, he saw her peering out into the crowd, catching his pair of scarlet eyes nearly glowing under the light of the street lanterns. There was an intense smirk pulling at the vampire spawn’s lips as he watched her, regarding her gaze.

He nodded in her direction, a final sinuous grin causing a lovely blush to appear upon the swell of her cheeks. A devil she doesn’t know. A dangerous thing.

The bard closed her eyes, tempering the song to its end. Then there was clapping and coin clinking at her feet. She straightened her back, arms outstretched to her sides like a bird in flight, and she bowed. When she rose, she found herself casually searching the audience for those red orbs and snowy curls against her finer shrewdness, but he had already departed, taking her curiosity and “love” with him.

#baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate astarion #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 astarion #astarion #astarion x tav #baldur’s gate 3 fanfiction #bg3 tav #tav #ao3 fanfic #ao3 #bg3 #soulmates #soul marks #bard tav #spawn astarion #female tav #fem!tav

[spectrum-spectre]

Sorry if this is completely out of nowhere but: Steddie Soulmate AU where your soulmark appears when you realize you're in love with your soulmate. Eddie gets his when he sees Steve kill the demobat and doesn't mention it bc he figures it's unrequited and Steve's soulmark is for Nancy. Steve gets his soulmark when he realizes Eddie put himself in mortal danger to protect Dustin and panics trying to save Eddie so they can have a chance to be together.

I'm honored that you sent this to me <333

this is my first writing ask so I hope i don't disappoint (slight angst incoming but dw!!!)

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Eddie doesn't believe in soul mates; at least, not at first. He thinks the whole "soul mark" thing is some weird fluke, a genetic anomaly that scientists just haven't put a name to yet. The thought that your love for another person could never be enough compared to the mere idea of their "perfect partner?" That you could be happily married with a child you care about, but one day your spouse is suddenly in love with someone else? It's what tore his family apart.

He was 13 years old, see, when his good-for-nothing father met a lady he claimed was his soul mate. He left Eddie and his Mama in the dust, never to be seen or heard from again. His Mama didn't take it well, drank herself to sleep every night and let him fend for himself. Until one day she just... didn't wake up.

It was then and there he decided this whole soul mate thing was bullshit. He moved in with his uncle, his only family left on his Mama's side. He never met his father's side, which was probably for the best. Eddie wore his anger like armour, never letting anyone close enough to possibly break his heart like his Mama's did.

Enter stage right: Steve fucking Harrington.

He's so perfect it's infuriating. Who gave him the right to actually be a decent guy?? He already has the looks and the charm of a living Greek God, he shouldn't be allowed to be nice!

Eddie knew he was screwed the moment Steve threw his sweater at him on the boat. He could already feel the beginnings of a heartache: his pulse speeding up, his breath catching in his throat, the painfully strong urge for a cig to take the edge off. He figured, "hey, why the hell not? I'm probably gonna die anyway, might as well give in to the moment while I can," and wrapped up his flashlight. No need to be embarrassed over a crush if you're dead. It only got worse.

Seeing Steve get pulled under was like getting a tooth ripped out-fucking torturous. Suddenly you're left with a big empty wound that aches to have that missing piece returned to its rightful place, exposed nerves crying out for comfort and protection against the elements.

He could not have been less prepared for the sight he was about to see. Steve aka "The King" aka "The Hair" Harrington, beating a demon-bat thing to a pulp, taking a bite out of it, and spitting out the blood. He is so, so fucked.

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I'll do a part two soon!! It just turned midnight and this is all I could do for right now but I hope you like it!!! Next part will be about Steve >:D

lemme know if you'd like to be tagged!

❤️ 💙 💜 💖 💗 💘

edit: part two is out NOW!!!

#FIRST ASK!!! #TYSM ANON ILY!!! #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie brainrot #steddie ficlet #steddie fic #soulmate au #my achilles heel #steddie soulmate au #my writing #soul marks

[pinkykats-place]

BakuDeku soulmate au

AO3 Fanfic Recommendations

Disclaimers!

None of the stories linked are mine.

Some contain mature content. ✅ tags.

Art work by @cats0p & @shobibizu

Note: If you read any of these stories and like them please let the author know with a kudos and/or comment!

Imperfect by qween_bee

Summary: Babies are born with a soul mark on the back of their neck, similar to a tattoo. The soul mark is generally referred to simply as a person’s mark, and each person’s mark is unique. When a person falls in love, the soul mark of whoever they’ve fallen in love with will appear somewhere on their body. Some people literally wear their heart all over their sleeve… some people get real tattoos to cover the marks of lost lovers. Most people bear the marks of their parents, and vice versa.

Izuku got Katsuki’s soul mark when he was four. Katsuki didn’t get Izuku’s mark until they were in high school, and it threw a wrench into the delicate relationship they’d formed as rivals.

Complete | 11 Chapters

Rated - Mature

Twin Stars by theperksofbeinglarissa

Summary: When Deku saves a woman's life, her quirk is accidentally activated. Her quirk? She reveals a person's soulmate. A star-shaped mark appears on Midoriya's left arm... and on Bakugou's as well. Kirishima is the only one who knows that Bakugou is Midoriya's soulmate, and Bakugou isn't taking the news very well.

Can the twin stars of class 1-A work out their differences and find their happy ending?

Complete | 5 Chapters

Rated - Teen & Up

Under the Skin by spicymacaron

Summary: Izuku was born with the first words his soulmate would ever say to him tattooed on his wrist. Whoever his match is, they apparently think he’s a “shitty nerd”. Some people never meet their soulmate. Izuku begins to think that’s okay. Until he does.

One Shot | No Quirks AU

Rated - Teen & Up

Eternal Comfort by Bakanohero

Summary: Comfort is a feeling so often taken for granted.

Katsuki knows this all too well and has learned to cherish the moments that used to feel so far away.

One Shot | Married AU

Rated - Teen & Up

Shielding Your Heart by ReadingToMusic

Summary: When Katsuki's soulmate, Izuku, is declared legally dead, he's furious. Not because he's angry his nerd went and died, but because his soulmark, the thing tying them together at the most intimate level possible, still has colour in it.

If Izuku was dead, the colour would be gone. Everyone knows that, but no one cares, so Katsuki's going to find his nerd his damn self if he has to. Unfortunately, there's an idiot extra with shitty hair that won't stop touching him, but at least Racoon Eyes has his back.

Ultimately, it takes a manchild wearing a dead hand on his face for Katsuki to make progress in finding Izuku, but hey, nothing worth having comes easy, right?

Only rated Mature for gratuitous Bakugou swearing and mild sexual references!

Complete | 2 CH | Quirkless Midoriya

Rated - Mature

Colors and Shapes by MochiUs

Summary: A story told through soul marks.

One Shot | Quirkless Midoriya

Rated - Teen & Up

Carmine Red by Cadameo

Summary: Izuku loves several different things in his life but if he has to choose a favourite one, it would probably be the ability to see colour in Katsuki's eyes. Which he has been able to since they were four years old.

Lately, though, it seems Izuku's unwavering belief in happily ever afters and on the bond he shares with him is starting to crack. What he sees through those cracks is grey and lifeless and he wonders if he will ever be happy living life without Katsuki in it.

Katsuki and Izuku are soulmates. Katsuki rejected him years ago... or so Izuku thinks.

{One Shot}

Rated - General Audiences

We Burn, We Glow by s_the_queen

Summary: Izuku is turning 18, which means his soul mark will be appearing. He's pretty sure it's not Katsuki. He's pretty wrong.

{One Shot}

Rated - Teen & Up

Fire, Blood, and Snow by @amarisllis

Summary: Katsuki opens his mouth to bark out a question, to ask him what the fuck he’s doing here and why he isn’t inside getting warm like the rest of the sane population of their village, when Deku’s lashes flutter as he steps closer, a groan falling from his mouth. Katsuki freezes, his whole body chilling to a temperature colder than the snows surrounding them.

There’s blood seeping through Izuku’s coat, over his glove where his hand presses against his side.

One Shot | No Quirks AU

Rated - Mature

Permanent Ink by Maxine

Summary: The words that bloom on Katsuki’s arm are painfully familiar, to the point that he can hear the grating, wobbly voice saying them in his ear. They’re specific in a damning way, but at the same time vague enough that it could be someone else who says them. Someone he still has to meet in a situation that hasn’t yet occurred.

…Okay, so that’s a bunch of bullshit and he’s not pathetic enough to cling to desperate hope like that for too long. But he’s got some time to convince himself it’s possible his soulmate is someone else. Anyone else.

Deku’s birthday is still a few months away, after all.

Complete | 25 Chapters

Rated - Teen & Up

#bakudeku #soulmate au #soulmates #soul marks #archive of our own bakudeku #pro hero au #soulmate quirk #fic recs #ao3 fic recs #bakugou x midoriya #bakudeku fluff #bkdk #bakudeku smut #fic rec #ao3 bkdk #soul mates #fanfic recommendation #bakudeku recommendations #ao3 fic rec #ao3 bakudeku recs #ao3 bakudeku #bakugo x midoriya #bkdk fic rec #bakudeku fic rec #2023

[christinesficrecs]

Hey! I am looking for a fic where everyone has soul marks and Derek is a famous actor whose soulmark accidentally gets revealed in a photo. Stiles sees it and realizes it matches his but he knows everyone will be trying to get in touch with Derek about it so he becomes his PA to just get close to him and they slowly fall in love and his soul mark is revealed after I think a charity baseball game.

I tried but couldn’t find it so any help would be appreciated thanks so much!

Pretty sure this is the one!

soulmates tbh by  bleep0bleep | 1.4K

"It’s been five months,” Derek says darkly. “Why am I still getting these proposals? You know these are probably all fake marks.”

Five months since the paparazzi had snapped that photo of him with the overzealous fan tugging at his shirt, five months since millions of people on the Internet realized that the birthmark revealed was in fact, the mark, five months Derek was inundated by claims from people who desperately wanted him to believe that they were his soul-mate.

#asks #sterek fics #ficrecs #lost and found #soulmates #soul marks

[dropofbittersea]

Everyone had a mark scrawled somewhere across their body. A name, usually a signature to represent their soul mate, their one and only true love. Stiles has known who his mark belonged to since the third grade. He doesn't understand how Derek can be so oblivious.

#derek hale #sterek #stiles stilinski #fanfic #teen wolf #ao3 #oneshot #soulmates #soul marks #soulmate marks

[i-choose-you-cyndaquil]

a soul mark au with wednesday having a pretty big mark on her face that she's absolutely smug about. because, obviously, this is proof her soulmate isn't going to be some pitiful creature. look at the size of her mark, they must be an amazing fighter to even have had the chance to land a hit on her

and then in comes enid, who has a soul mark on her fist that she thinks is going to come from a cute fistbump.

but the reality is: enid was so excited explaining something to yoko that she accidentally knocked out the new girl out with her gesticulations.

or

wednesday's soul mark covers a good portion of her side because she's tackled by enid's wolf form upon their very first meeting

#wednesday netflix #wenclair #wednesday addams #enid sinclair #soul marks #au

[marya-blackbone]

A/N: I have played not even a whole game of D&D, so I apologise if this is total garbage (and if this is garbage for any other reason), but here’s a little Soul Mate drabble :)

“Working on a new character sheet, Henderson?” Eddie asks as he sets up his DM’s screen in the rec room one Friday. “That’s a little defeatist of you. Not giving up already, are we?” He smirks; he knows his latest campaign is a bitch – never let anyone say Eddie Munson made things easy for his little sheep – but it isn’t like Henderson to throw in the towel so soon.

“I’m not giving up! I just want to be prepared in case Nog doesn’t make it out of this next boss fight – he’s still wiped out from the last. I thought you’d want me to be prepared. Besides, I’ve been wanting to use her for ages, she just needs a little polishing up before she’s ready.”

“She?” Eddie asks, not bothering to hide his intrigue.

Dustin slides the sheet of paper up the table. There’s a drawing – probably one of Will’s – next to the unfinished stats table that immediately catches Eddie’s attention. What started as mild interest gives way to unfettered curiosity. All for one minuscule detail.

Dustin’s creation is wielding a bat studded with nails. A very familiar bat – one he’s seen every day, etched into his skin, just above his heart. The only tattoo he didn’t spend hours picking out, sketching and re-sketching, but easily the most important mark on his skin.

Greedily, he takes in the rest of the picture – the ridiculous Farrah Fawcett hair, the smattering of beauty marks covering her face – she’s pretty, but not in an overly feminine way; not drawn through the male gaze (way to go Will). She looks a lot less zany than Henderson’s usual style (Pardonme Belchin, I’m looking at you), and even though Eddie lives for Henderson’s crazy imagination, he already knows that this character is going to be his absolute favourite.

Eddie’s mouth is dry when he asks, “This–” he glances at the top of the character sheet, “–Queen Stephanie wouldn’t happen to be based on a real person, would she?”

Dustin smiles, “You bet she is. Coolest person I know,” he says. And Eddie, well, Eddie doesn’t doubt that for a second.

Still, that doesn’t stop him from assuming an expression of faux affront, clutching a hand to his chest dramatically. “You wound me, Henderson. Who could possibly be cooler than yours truly?”

It’s a miracle he’s not tripping over himself literally to wring the answer out of Henderson; a true feat of self-control. But maybe that’s not the worst idea in the world when the kid hedges like Eddie’s isn’t hanging off his every word; like his heart’s not racing like a hummingbird’s.

“Why do you wanna know? So you can key his car or something?” And as much as Eddie would like to take offence, that is actually straight out of the Munson playbook.

But the confirmation that OG Queen Stephanie is a guy is the final nail in the coffin. “Or something,” Eddie agrees faintly. Definitely something – definitely not whatever Dustin’s thinking, however.

But he doesn’t have the guts to explain that, so Dustin refuses to elaborate at all for the rest of the session, the butthead. Eddie feels zero remorse when – coincidentally – later that evening, Nog dies a gruesome death to bloodthirsty cultists. And if that just so happens to accelerate Stephanie's debut, Eddie certainly had no hand in it.

#stranger things #stranger things 4 #eddie munson #dustin henderson #soul mates #soul marks #queen stephanie #steve harrington #alternate universe #drabble #steddie #steve harrington x eddie munson

[errantnight]

Unveiling my NANOWRIMO 2023 project

Inveigling Shadows!

I'm almost done getting the outline finished and cleaned up. I've been very excited to write this story for a while and figured I would take a break from everything else I'm working on for November. I should have a chapter of Raised By Wolves out before then and maybe a spooky Halloween fic too if I get get up the energy!

Project Summary:

Cloud chose the only option he had left, hoping that if he couldn't take Sephiroth with him, he would at least be free. But his Soulmate will not allow him to escape so easily. He'll drag them both against the flow of the Lifestream and emerge in a time that Cloud can be persuaded to willingly become his...

Excerpt:

“I’m sorry,” Cloud's words were so soft he strained to hear them, “I can’t… kill you again. I lo…”

Sephiroth felt something resembling a heart thump inside of his chest, “I know,” he murmured reassuringly, “I won’t let you anymore, I won’t let you go, don’t worry, we’ll go together.”

#NANOWRIMO #nano 2023 #nanowrimo 2023 #ffvii #fanfic #セフィクラ sefikura #ff7 #sephiroth #cloud strife #Soulmate #soul marks

[steddieficrecs]

Best of Steddie

4/?

previous / next

all i need from you (is all your love) by wearing_tearing

"So will you pretend to be my boyfriend for a while?" Steve rushes out to ask, words tumbling out of his mouth.

"Steve," Eddie says, "it would be an honor."

Fake Dating | Fluff

Lovesick in Loch Nora by red0aktree

Even though Eddie's name has been cleared legally, he's still very much on trial in the court of public opinion. Dealing drugs isn't a lucrative occupation anymore, and getting a legitimate job in a town who still considers him a killer isn't much of an option, either. Eddie is beginning to think skipping town and starting over somewhere no one knows his name is the only chance he has left. Steve has another idea.

AKA: Steve gets Eddie a job as an anonymous columnist at a local newspaper.

Slow Burn | Getting Together

Doing Nothing With You by red0aktree

Steve and Robin get a two bedroom in Hawkins. It's perfect, except for all the ways it isn't. Drafty windows, clogged drains, shitty landlord. But it's got a couch. A couch that's often occupied by Eddie Munson. Home isn't really the kind of thing Eddie has much of anymore, ever since his trailer became the primary source for all his nightmares. Luckily, he knows of a semi-comfortable couch where he's always welcome.

Despite all it's problem, the house has perks. Primarily, it's somewhere Steve can actually call home. Secondarily, it's somewhere he can share with the people he loves.

AKA: The fruity four live in a convoluted roommate situation, and romance happens along the way.

Domestic Fluff | Living Together

a map of everyone who loves you by phonemicengineer

Soul flowers aren’t a ticket to true love, he knows that well enough, but they do mean importance, significance, permanence. And so far no one has ever loved Steve significantly or permanently enough to leave some. Maybe that means he’s broken. Maybe that’s why he can’t leave any for her.

So Steve lets Jonathan take Nancy home that night, and tries not to feel too bitter about the matching bracelet of roses on Jonathan’s hand.

Soul Marks | One Shot

A quiet I keep on keeping by ethereal_queer

Robin Buckley is a lesbian.

And Eddie Munson is gay.

And they’re dating.

Well, at least to the outside world.

And to a very, (very) confused Steve.

“I told Steve Harrington you’re my boyfriend.” Through the receiver. Alien words through plastic. He wants to laugh, really he does, but all he can manage is a bit of stunned silence until

“Why the hell would you do that?” With no malice. Not even really a tone to his voice other than curiosity. He of all people shouldn’t really have to ask, because he already knew the answer. He was a liar too.

“I panicked” she says, a shuffling on the other end. “He was getting all… mushy, saying stuff about feelings..”

“For you?”

“I know, right, can you believe it?

“You don’t think you could have told him the truth?” He asks, and there’s silence beneath the static. “Seems like you two are real close.”

And she sighs, and she lets out a noise of frustration that Eddie knows all too well, when you want to tell someone something, need to, and you can’t. You just can’t.

Because it’s Hawkins Indiana and sometimes you have to keep your mouth shut just to stay safe.

Fake Dating | Getting Together

#steddie #steddie fic recs #best of steddie #fake dating #fluff #slow burn #getting together #domestic fluff #living together #soul marks

[kbirbpods]

[Podfic Link] | Length: 45 minutes, 31 seconds

Original Work: Dangerous Truths by kj_feybarn

Star Wars: Jango Fett/Obi-Wan Kenobi/Myles the Mandalorian

Rating: Teen & Up Audiences

Summary: 

“Ben,” Myles kept his voice calm. “I was looking for you.” Jango’s head whipped around, staring at Ben in shock. There hadn’t been time between stumbling on the fight and getting involved in the fight for Myles to explain just who it was they’d just found. Ben’s gaze darted toward the street again. “Why’s that?” Ben asked, tone not-quite conversational. He sounded exhausted, Myles noted, even with only two words to judge and Myles could hear the strange slowness to the words that came when a person was struggling to string a sentence together. Myles tapped at his ribs where the two lies lay. “Found a few scars on my body that hadn’t been there before.”

Notes: podded for @polypodweek 2024 with the author's permission!!

#jangobi podfic #jango x obi wan #jango x myles #myles the mandalorian #polypodweek #polypod #polyam #polyamourous #polyamory #soulmate au #soul marks #podfic #sw podfic #kbirb pods

[elegantduelliste]

Epistles of Saints & Sinners

Chapter Summary:

The bard, Tav, meets an unlikely group of strangers after being kidnapped by mind flayers.

⸺⋘✤⋙⸺

Story Summary:

When Astarion meets the humble bard, Tav, he soon finds out he's the only one between them that knows they are bound as soulmates through their marks. Deciding it's more trouble than its worth, he refuses to tell her along the course of their journey across Faerûn.

But, unbeknownst to him and their companions, Tav is harboring a gruesome secret that she only thought was nothing more than a traumatized period in her life.

As they both come to face to face with their pasts and presents, will they choose to move forward or let it consume them?

Healing isn’t linear—after all.

⸺⋘✤⋙⸺

Chapter 2: Book

Ao3

Next Chapter

Previous Chapter

Main Page & Chapter List

Word Count: 6.9k

Pairing: Astarion x female bard Tav

CW: Sexual language

⸺⋘✤⋙⸺

Time does not afford thee many options to choose in life. Thou dost hold little quantifiable moments for such bounty. It can be a curse or blessing depending on thee. Forsooth, whether by swain, lady, or person’s, the path will always be heavy. The perils of the worth of a life. For isn’t all ye that becomes bound by another in flesh or knowing, all a little broken?

— Withers, page 384 in ‘The Three-eyed Crow’

⸺⋘✤⋙⸺ Present Day ⸺⋘✤⋙⸺

There was no light, but there were hands.

Tav could feel them lifting her. And, oh, they were deceptively attentive in such a charitable way, dancing a possessed mania to chilling silence. It was easy to give into the relaxing ritual they were performing against her skin.

A flimsy piece of cloth covered her eyes as it was tied around her head. The finger pads of one hand, stroked her face lovingly. Ripe enough—it seemed to suggest. Imbued with all her worst and best. A distraction, before they latched onto her naked body and lifted her in one motion into the air.

Was she floating?

And then, she was being lowered into a body of water. It was warm, opened wide to accept the bells she rang, amidst every contract forged with the fiendish and divine choices she’d made.

Her throat felt vacant while she tried to muster any noise. She lifted her own hands to her neck, wrapping them around it, silently begging her voice to be free. The spirited hands rubbed themselves against her in silken waves to hush her.

Tav could feel herself being submerged; her body was pliant, accepting this baptismal relief. She mouthed the words: FORGIVE ME, FORGIVE ME, FORGIVE ME. Then, the hands dipped her down further into the liquid abyss, swallowing her whole.

The water accepted her; she smiled in relief beneath its surface.

It felt like time didn’t exist as she was being comforted by these depths. But, she could feel a hymn reverberating in the distance—a decadent piece beneath the surface of her watery tomb. Ripples of a voice causing gooseflesh to appear all over her body. The sound was cleansing her and offering purification.

She will accept it because hadn’t she endured enough? Hadn’t. She. Endured. Enough?

Then, there was light! It peered down at her from a completely darkened space above. Tav could see it penetrating the cloth wraps binding her eyes.

Salvation had arrived!

Her body was rising and the cloth fell away. The water beneath was now a clear pool, resembling thousands of shimmering black diamonds. The hands had been banished, yet the hymn remained. She raised, she raised, she raised.

⸺⋘✤⋙⸺

And then she woke.

Tav’s eyes opened, but the rest of her felt paralyzed. Panic. They rapidly moved from side to side and then upwards towards a blue sky overhead. Curious skies for the hells.

She opened her mouth to scream for help, but her voice had been stolen—just like in her dream.

The devils of Avernus are sitting on my chest and mean to steal my breath! Dearest, Oghma, please will my body to move!

As her consciousness returned, she gasped with newfound breathing and cried out frightened. She retched from the smell of an unearthly scent of burning corpses. In several contained areas, smokey pillars were rising up, forming inky clouds well above their fires. The realization that it was not Avernus that held her, but that the Nautiloid had crashed elsewhere, and somehow—she survived.

The squirm behind her eyes was palpable. Memories came flooding in all at once of her being taken from the streets of Baldur’s Gate. Images of mind flayers and the pods they kept her in like some kind of unhinged monster, splashed across her gray matter. But, most of all, she remembered the insertion of the tadpole and how the violation of her autonomy was committed.

It was enough to make the elf briefly wish to cradle herself into a ball, allowing the numbness to succumb. But, the ache in her back—the blood she finally saw slowly oozing from the broken wooden stake in the side of her doublet—was enough to force her to stand with an intense wince.

Sand. A beach under her boots. Grit and filth near her wound, luring infection. With shaking hands, she pulled out the wood. Her essence spewed as an offering of tithes to a god of the sanguine. She cried out, alone and sorrowful of her plight. A long rip was made at the bottom of her doublet and a strip of fabric served to tie around her torso, applying pressure to the gash.

And then she saw her lute: smashed into bits. Fragments of colorfully carved marigolds, with singing birds and baby’s breath, lay across the sandy ocean. Strings, once promising to uplift those that witnessed their noise, were now twisted and coiled. A gift from her mother. Her peace. Her one true love—deceased.

Now the lute was laid to break and all that was left was eternal heartbreak.

⸺⋘✤⋙⸺

Like most days during his two centuries worth of undeath, Astarion woke with the familiarity of his body wrung sore and numbness wedged in places he once considered mortal.

Out of practice—eyes rapidly moving to puppeting shadows beneath his lids—Astarion reached out across the ground, searching for the scraps of cold wet fur attached to four puny legs that would serve as his nightly meal. Grasping fistfuls of nothing, he retracted his hand with a pang of hunger shooting through his fangs and the anxiety that he had, once again, displeased his master.

The pale elf forced himself to sit upon his knees, awaiting for the command to unseal his eyes. Head up. Spine straight. Master would not allow for slouching.

Tongue dry like thick ash, he paused before his instinctual apologies started to spill. His hearing hissed with noises he couldn’t decipher. Did he miss the order? He thought he heard the residual shrill of Cazador’s voice, “Boy, open your eyes” amidst the passing tinnitus. A clammy shiver tore down his chest.

A test? Yes, Master was testing him.

A deep intake of breath. The scent of unnatural smoke tinged with the coppery caress of spilt blood, burned heavily in his nostrils. Had the Crimson Palace fallen?

A brave moment willed Astarion to chance opening his eyes.

Streams of a bright light immediately seared his irises. Had mercy finally been granted upon him in the form of the sun beamed god, laden with gilded armor upon his chariot of fire, there to whip the payment of coins from his sight?

He yelped, scrambling to cover himself by batting the light away; danger was in the daylight.

And then, it dawned on him. For the first time in hundreds of years, the sun did not pierce his flesh to dust—it welcomed him into its yoke.

The sudden burst of hues unsullied by tones of shadows, caused his throat to convulse. It was too much to absorb all the colors at once. He heaved over into the dirt on all four limbs, with acidic bile blanketing his palate.

Maddeningly, he laughed aloud, a hand covering his mouth.

The mind flayers—of course.

As with all new discoveries, several notions flashed in his frontal lobe: he could now walk in the sun, the presence of a squiggling worm had burrowed itself in his brain, and he was no longer under the thrall of Cazador Szarr.

But, such revelations would have to wait. Because there were two heartbeats rapidly approaching upon his position and he was wont to put blind faith into any bit of this predicament.

So, Astarion stood up, intentionally leaving the remnants of dirt upon his clothes—for that extra touch of “helplessness”—and the preparation to act with the skills he knew best: weaving deceit.

⸺⋘✤⋙⸺

The sun blazed down on them—demanding they fall to their feet—as they fumbled about for supplies. Leftover carcass from intellect devourers covered their boots. Tav felt like she’d been under a continuous dancing hex from all the stomping she’d done: it proved to be exhausting.

There was ridicule, a silent scoff behind the cleric’s eyes as she followed the bard. She only trusted her as far as two unlucky souls thrown into the fray of such a circumstance would allow. And Tav, with all her tempered patience and quiet observation, decided it best to ignore Shadowheart under that watchful uncertainty.

Upon scavenging, an orphaned rapier surfaced, resting next to its departed owner. Whomever they once were had recently been reduced to a mutilated corpse. Tav muttered a solemn prayer in gratitude for the weapon and the opportunity to wield its blade.

“I hope you know how to use that. I don’t think squishing an actual flayer under your foot is going to suffice,” Shadowheart commented dubiously.

But, Tav held knowledge within the muscles of her joints, the swiftness of a blade she had called her own. Memories etched into her backbone of adrenaline’s flight. And despite her rather natural guarded demeanor, in the moment—she chose to flourish.

Like a bullet slicing through the wind, she thrusted quickly and steadily. Then, she twisted and cut downward, sweat building upon her brow—like a whore in a church. As if to parry, she leaped into the regaling wind, easily coming down for a final paralleled tick before landing gracefully.

“Seems I was correct in choosing you to travel with. We might make it through this after all,” the cleric smirked pragmatically.

Tav presented her with a cheeky smile. She knew she was talented at the blade. The rapier felt heavy and potent in her grasp. She could burn down kingdoms under the servility of her sword, claiming the crown as her own.

However, the bard was no ruler. She would never be queen to any denizens, ruling in the name of power. Being the immolated siren of balladic performances was her calling. She craved—no, needed—adventures of her own and strived to maintain the quiet peace of her heart in between. Because having moments of solitude to observe and appreciate life in slow-moving patterns, served her in ways that no other living creature was capable of.

Yet, hearts can carry many scars. And the breadcrumbs leading to the chambers of hers, have long been consumed. For she waged a holy war and the result was disavowing putting her full trust into anyone. A tactical boundary that often made her feel alone.

They rounded a path, climbing up a hill, and there he was: the ghost of a man. Pallid with partially mussed curls of white silver. Spots of ash and debris clung on the velvety purple portions sewed onto his overcoat. Despite the upheaval of his appearance, it was apparent the high elf was strikingly handsome.

And with his pearly tone of flesh, voice being a lilt to their ears as he begged in earnest, may be as wicked as they come. With pitchforks and order of decrees in tow, town riots are held because of men like him.

“A little help—if you both wouldn’t mind. Please.”

Both of the women eyed him cautiously. The cleric nodded at Tav, urging her to approach him while she stood afar, mace in hand, ready to act should something go awry. The gentleman pointed over towards a heap of bushes, the leaves shaking with the rustling movement.

“Quickly, I’ve got one of those brain things cornered over here! I saw you earlier with that sword of yours. Just one thrust and it’ll be dead!”

Tav walked forward past the pale elf, angling her head to the side to peer through the bushes. A small boar jumped out as she drew near, hurriedly running in the opposite direction. She placed her hand on the hilt of her blade, ready to unsheathe it. It was unlike her to dive right in like this—without her usual focus on the possible outcomes—but he caught them off guard with that pleading gaze in his piercing eyes. And she was absolutely sure he knew it.

Ah, but it wasn’t long before she finally felt the cold steel of a knife at her throat and her legs being swept from underneath her.

“Now, now, I suggest you keep quiet unless you’d like to lose that darling neck of yours.”

He held Tav in a hold on the ground, legs pliant, as they tangled with hers. One arm was holding down her shoulder possessively, while his right hand held the knife pointed directly into the hollow portion of her throat. It didn’t stop her from trying to wriggle out of his grasp, but he was notably physically stronger than her.

There were the occasional noises of boots shuffling a few feet in the dirt behind them and he suddenly seemed angrier as he directed his vision over towards Shadowheart. “Stay where you are or things will become messy! Unless, that’s what you’d prefer.”

“Stow that blade. I need her alive or you will find out just how messy things can get,” she firmly replied.

“Perhaps when my business is through, darling,” he playfully answered.

Turning his attention back to Tav, he pressed the tip of the blade a bit further into her skin. She gasped, staring at it in fear. One small move and he'd surely slice her open.

“I’m going to ask some questions and you’re going to answer. Now—I saw you on the ship, didn’t I? Nod.”

The bard flicked her eyes up bit by bit, directing them from the knife to study his face.

His jawline and cheeks were sharp, strong in such a statuesque manner typically carved into the marbles of nude heroes draped in cloth finery. Then, there was the residual scent. One of aromatic notes—seeping into the air from the tender skin of his wrists—as he continued to closely hold the blade. Woodsy with a crisp aquatic citrus. It was oddly sophisticated, somehow suiting him perfectly. If this villainous man hadn't attacked her, she could imagine the most lovely of sighs pacifying her rosy lips as she breathed him in.

And while the many facets of his outward appearance intrigued Tav in a strange way, it was his eyes that made her breath hitch and her body still. The longer she stared, the more lyrical words she came up with to describe them. Initially, they appeared a bright candy apple red in the sun's direct light, but up close, oh, his eyes were an alluring hue of garnet jewels with flecks of a darker maroon encompassing his pupils.

“Wait! I—,” she murmured under his hold. When he cocked his eyebrow at her, she suddenly recalled her predicament and nodded to try and subdue him.

“Good girl.” The pure smoke of his tone accepted her response. “Tell me what those tentacled freaks did to me! And don’t even think about lying.”

Without due notice, their tadpoles connected on their own and they’re suddenly looking out of each other’s unfamiliar eyes as their minds mangled.

She sees busy, dark streets. Prowling. Waiting. Watching.

Teeth ripping into a soft object as a liquid spews forth.

Staring up at the stars longingly.

Memories of her past are forced into his mind.

A rapier swung in a vast field while an elven man with wintery eyes smiled proudly.

Walls filled with musical instruments amidst tons of hastily written lyrics on parchment.

A younger handsome man with dark hair, yelling before his calloused hand tilted up her tear-stained chin.

“Argh! What was that? What are you doing,” he questioned harshly.

Tav winced, trying to fully grasp what had just happened. “The mind flayer’s worms, they—I think they somehow connected us. I don’t fully understand what’s happening either. I’m sorry.”

The elf furrowed his brow, seemingly considering her words.

He rolled away and stood up, dusting off his clothes. Nonchalantly, he placed the palms of his hands against his lower back, elbows sticking out like bird wings. Shadowheart was instantly at the bard’s side acting as a crutch while she lifted her to stand.

“My name’s Astarion. I was in Baldur’s Gate when I was snatched up by those creatures. I guess we’re in a similar position. And to think, I was ready to decorate the ground with your innards. My sincerest apologies. And you are?”

Tav straightened up, regarding the man’s full height. He stood around 5’9” or so judging by her own stature being a few inches shorter than him. “Tavelle Swiftchoir. Tav is fine enough. And I may have acted the same if the roles were reversed. Thank you for apologizing.”

Astarion gave her a brief bow of his head. “You mentioned earlier you had no idea as to what is happening to us?”

“Judging by what I saw back on the ship, I think we may turn into mind flayer’s at some point. I truly do not have any information beyond that,” she remarked.

“Turn us into—Gods. Ha! Hahahaha. Of course it would turn me into a monster. What else did I expect?” He added in scorned disbelief. “Maybe we can find someone that has more expert knowledge of these things. So that we can control them.”

Control? What a bizarre word to use; one that Tav bristled under. “We need to get rid of them! I cannot imagine any good would come from controlling them. That being said, if you’d like to accompany us—at least until we reach somewhere safe—there is room. It’s your choice.”

Astarion brought his neck back, a smarmy grin stretched from pointy ear to pointy ear. “Of course. I was considering going at this alone, but you seem like a useful person to be on familiar footing with and it’s sometimes always better to stick with a crowd.”

⸺⋘✤⋙⸺

Right away, Tav found Gale of Waterdeep endearing. He was wordy and slightly sarcastic when he spoke. Gleefully, he illustrated the process of ceremorphosis and jested a rather befitting joke asking if anyone was adept with a knitting needle to pry out their new friends from their optical regions.

He had chestnut hair to his shoulders, with streaks of gray swept back from his forehead. The deep brown of his eyes were warm and reminded the traveling minstrel of a tree she used to sit under as she practiced her songs. And there was a certain masculine aesthetic that only added to his attractiveness with his closely trimmed facial hair. The way he spoke was tinged with an intellectual knowing that could come off as haughty—overly self confident—but he also seemed so very awkward.

“You all have every right to be distrusting of me. Wizards carry a certain reputation that not even I have been able to escape. But, I do want to remind you: we share a common goal. And I also do not know any of you. My arcane knowledge will come in handy, should you allow me to journey with you,” he reassured them.

“You seem very promising, especially seeing as you got yourself stuck in that portal of yours,” Astarion mocked.

Tav snorted quietly, "Now, Astarion, it’s his first day. Let’s give the man time to adjust.”

“Har. Har. A minor inconvenience, but one you’re soon to forget once you pay witness to my spellwork—surely,” Gale confidently mentioned.

⸺⋘✤⋙⸺

Astarion noticed Tav first for her heartbeat.

It was vastly different from their other two charges—holding an irregularity like the currents of a river. Hers lacked the strong prideful thrums from the wizard or the confident pounds of the obstinate cleric. Initially, he thought he had heard a quaint misfire of her blood failing to pump properly, but upon willing his senses to zone specifically in on hers, he realized the rhythm was one his vampiric mind couldn’t recall in all his years as a specter.

It did not seem to swiften the pace of its beats, there were simply more of them. The drumming of the bard’s heart was akin to flowing downstream alongside drowning flower petals, oscillating a path away from her, only to be lured back in and managed by the hums of a sweet song once again.

Though, there was something amiss: a quickened stuttering of beats when either him or Gale stood near her. It was so effortlessly knotted into her other unusual thuds, that Astarion had nearly unheard it. A murmur? No. Disease of the organ? Not quite. These gentle quivering rushes were ones he did understand. He had victimized innumerable hearts that bore a similar fleeting spark to hers.

A longing for companionship.

During their journey over the next few days, the spawn monitored Tav from a distance as she bustled around camp. Oftentimes, she sang a calming tune to herself that would make her smile as she performed her tasks—little gestures of kindness he found to be pointless labors of her time.

Every morning, the elven songstress would prepare a pot of hot tea for them from a satchel of loose leaves they found in their supplies. Sometimes, depending on their current stash, she would stroll by Gale’s tent, setting down a bowl full of culled berries for him by the lounging area he formed. He once caught her rubbing Shadowheart’s armor down to save it from dreadfully rusting overnight, when the cleric went to nurse a migraine after a particularly exhausting day of picking off a group of gnolls.

And for him she—

“Astarion! Here. These should keep for a bit until the next time you’re injured and spoil another barracks full of rags again.” Tav pushed a pile of clean rags tied thrice over in twine into his hands. And just because she’s her, there was a stem of wild yarrows placed thoughtfully on top.

Astarion was dumbfounded. He looked down at the linen, noticing some of the blood stains hadn’t washed entirely out, but most of them faded to dulled brownish spots. She didn’t know about his condition—yet. Praise the hells animals still bled red!

“I tried to get the stains out as best as I could manage with what we have in our packs, but at least they’re clean,” she added with a careful smile.

He was taken aback. Why had she done this? And when had she snuck into his tent to remove the rags without his notice? Not even a trace of her snooping left behind—at least, to his detection.

He stared at her, studying her responses to him. “This wasn’t necessary.”

“Of course it wasn’t necessary. I wanted to do it. It’s one less task you have to worry about; one less task you may ask me to help with later on,” she teased.

“Right. I have to admit, all this ‘roughing it’ in the woods seems a little novel.”

The bard nodded introspectively. “It’s definitely not for everyone. I suppose I am used to some aspects of it. A lot of my youth was spent catching butterflies in meadows and falling into muddy creeks trying to knight toads.”

The vampire grinned, watching a soft glow envelop her while she spoke, offering him a small glimpse into treasured memories.

But, he needed to test the waters. A navigated rope of words that may ripple across her body, providing him with a concrete answer he sought.

“Ah, the reverie of youth! Such a wonderful era to engage in a bunch of new experiences. New food. New places. New lovers.” Astarion tilted his head, emphasizing the last word with the faintest overlay of flirtation.

Tav only seemed to humor him with a crinkle to her round stormy eyes, until she tucked a few pieces of hair behind her fair ear—her fair, very flushed ear.

Astarion’s expression fell flat before perking up.

“If you’ll excuse me, the last few days have been quite a lot and I need time to process.” He turned around, heading back to his tent to deposit the clean laundry, with that recognizable incessant tug at his soul.

He did need time to process.

Time to process her.

Because he knew the trade of manipulation as an avian knows their migration path.

The lady of musical blades: with kindness etched in the lines of her hands and introversion deciding her demeanor.

And what kind of victim could properly aid him in heralding his security within their group better, than a foolishly humbled nitwit, with a heartbeat that all but gave her away.

⸺⋘✤⋙⸺

“Tell me Gale, do you have any lovers waiting for you once this is all over?” Astarion wiggled his eyebrows at Tav while the wizard was still turned away, helping to search for a way inside the temple ruins.

“That is—not the easiest of questions for me to answer,” Gale muttered. He found a door leading into the ruins and motioned towards it. “It’s locked.”

Shadowheart scoffed, shaking her head. “You mean just waiting, like a lovesick puppy? Short-term amusements are much less hassle.”

Astarion casually approached the latches on the door, tapping them a few times before exhuming a set of thieving tools. Tav stood at his side watching as his deft fingers worked, jiggling it with a lockpick.

He questioned her in kind, “What about you, my blade-happy friend? Do you have a beau you were plucked from?”

She shifted her weight uncomfortably onto one of her legs. The faintest cast of her expression switched from a yearning to coy saccharine. “I do not. Truth be told, it’s been a while since I’ve been with a lover, but I have also been content without one.”

Astarion regarded her with a toothsome grin, as if he were a kitten she had led to paw at a bowl of cream.

“What about you? Surely, there is someone of interest that has taken to your charming wit,” the bard inquired.

She continued her ardent curiosity as his nimble fingers moved the pick around inside of the keyhole. They were reminiscent of her own, when she meant to play a fast ballad across the strings of her lute.

The pale elf stopped his tinkering, flicking his scarlet orbs to hold her own vision within his own. “You mean a lover anticipating my return with open arms? Ha! Not exactly. However, I’m not opposed to the pleasures of an unexpected affair.”

Oh.

Oh!

Tav chewed on the inside of her cheek, unsure of how to answer. Did he just—?

No. Mayhaps? There had been attractive men who had shown interest in her in the past, peacocking their gait as they strode to her, jingling their pockets of excessive coin as they complimented her. But, with the spell of her melodies heavy in the air, her voice commanding an entire room, it was the mystery of the euphonic song they proclaimed their undying affections for—not the woman they didn’t truly know.

And Astarion may be the first man in quite some time that reacted to her for reasons other than her performance on the stage.

But, would it matter if he had? Her heart was a barren percussive wasteland that betrayed her in the past.

Love lies in a tomb. Covered in weeds, caressed by wandering winds. Frozen in time with the unknown.

Though…she was curious about him.

Astarion was an adventitious encounter that kept Tav on her feet with bewilderment. He would step forward with his charm, only to back away with a distilled gaze, as if he were examining each of them in a specimen jar.

Yet, he was a welcomed asset to their team. Offering to keep watch at night, scouting the area from the shadows, or gods, his skill as a rogue were ones that thoroughly mesmerized her. She didn't think she'd ever tire of being the one in the audience for once when he flipped his daggers around, ready to lead forward at his target.

Shadowheart and Gale were so stuffy in comparison to him. He added the dichotomy of “fun” into the fray and she caught herself gravitating towards his presence on more than one occasion, seeking his brand of levity. He managed to evoke ribbons of laughter out of her with his cynically entertaining commentary when she least expected it. Plus, there was a strange comfort she found in him—as if he had known her for centuries—before even the very blips of matter and capillaries decided to form and create her body in the world.

The door to the ruins clinked opened ceremoniously.

“I doubt this is the first lock you’ve opened. You’re quite skilled with those fingers of yours, Astarion,” Shadowheart jested as they stepped over it’s threshold.

Astarion impishly grinned with a wink, “Oh, you have no idea my dear.”

Tav lightly chuckled, rolling her eyes at the innuendo as she entered through the doorway.

⸺⋘✤⋙⸺

“Hmm. There seems to be quite a few rooms to scavenge through, should we split up? Gale, come with me—I think there’s another place to explore in that direction according to one of the maps I gleaned off this bandit. If that’s true, there’s a chance the entry may be protected by an abjuration barrier,” Shadowheart stated, rolling the map back up.

“Right behind you! Have you noticed the colonies of bats down here? I’m no wildlife expert, but did you know that the mating ritual of bats involves the male biting the female…,” Gale’s voice was an animated echo as they disappeared around the corner.

Astarion quirked a side smile towards Tav. “Well, I guess that leaves the two of us. Don’t worry about them, I’m sure Shadowheart will come to Gale’s rescue if he blasts himself into another portal again.”

“Let us hope she doesn’t decide to abandon him should such an event come to fruition,” she giggled. “Come, there should be some rooms to rummage through this way.”

They trudged on, finding themselves in a chamber of the crypt that had rows of books chaotically shoved into bookcases with a shrine near the back of the room. Most had fallen out into dusty piles, ruined at some point by age and water damage. It appeared to have once been a study of sorts by way of stone benches and scattered doctrines. The cloying scent of moldy musk and rat droppings laid densely in the study: it was almost suffocating.

Tav coughed away the foul smell, attempting to light a few abandoned candles. “Ugh. So, Astarion, I don’t mean to assume, but you don’t strike me as the type that likes curling up to read on a rainy afternoon.”

Astarion sauntered over to a shelf that had a row of old religious texts. He pointed his index finger out, skimming it across the titles about dead gods on the spines.

“Actually, it’s quite the opposite. I’ve had nothing, but time to read,” his face soured. “However, I’ve come to find books can reveal traits about ourselves we didn’t know.”

“The written word has a lot to offer to people. Books give us ideas; ideas can manifest into actions,” she added mildly. “And sometimes, books give us worlds to escape into when life chases us away.”

The vampire observed as she gracefully placed her hands on a book, pulled it out, then pushed it back into place. And then another, until she set her sights on a specific piece bound in weathered leather. It appeared ancient.

He took note of the brightness in her blue-gray irises when she opened the book, a gentle beam upon her lips. Astarion watched how her fingers turned the pages, minding the wrinkled yellowed edges of the paper. The way she glided them delicately across a page as if she were apologizing to it, sent an unexpected shiver down his back.

The Curse of the Vampyr

Harken close and beware the Vampyr. Beware its cold beauty. Beware its charm. Beware its curse. Above all, beware the pale noble, for the Vampyr cannot bear to be of the common folk. How doth one protect from the Beast? Walk not in blackest night, for the Vampyr loves these nights more than any other. If you must walk, do so by the light of our moon and take care. Carry the blessings and marks of your God at all times. But remember, your home is a fortress, if protected well. If you hear a knock in the night, be wary. Let no stranger into your home. If it be a friend, look upon them. Do you find them pallid and wan? See you any mark upon their neck? See you any dirt upon their clothes? Unless their need is great, turn away all but the most trusted. And if the Beast finds a way into your home, flee. Leave love and family behind. You will not save them if you fight. You will not see them again. But they will see you, pale and smiling, calling them into the night.

And then, there was an abrupt diversion against the back of her neck. Breath cool, exhaling onto the delicate tendrils of fine hair that curled at the bottom of her head. That rousing mixture—aquatic and woodsy—threatening to burrow itself right into the marrow of her olfactories.

Astarion’s voice became a dulcet whisper below the shell of her ear. “Have you ever met one? I’ve heard vampires have an insatiable appetite for both blood and flesh.”

Tav leadenly turned around to face him, her grip slowly tightening on the front and back covers of the book.

His voice grew deeper, a molasses any maid would want to dip their tongues into. “And who could blame them? Some of us were created to tempt, while some of us were created to give into temptation.”

Whoosh. Thrum-dub-dub. Whoosh. Thrum-dub-dub.

Ah, there they were. The delicately reserved beats of her sweet chambers she tried to hide from prying vagabonds. Blood thriving, fighting for space in the channels of veins and arteries they flowed. A signal for Astarion to proceed.

His long fingers tapped on the page. “Read it aloud.”

Tav looked up into his face confused. “You wish for me to read to you?”

“Yes. Educate me about vampires.”

She stalled, her breath warm on the underside of his chin. “Forgive me, but I don’t understand why you—“

“Would you believe me if I said it’s because I find your voice to be soothing? I’ve heard you chirping around our rugged accommodations,” he replied with a craftily composed smile.

A crease in her brow scrunched inward. Her lips parted, exhaling a quiet breath. She meditated on his face, pupils adjusting more to his expression in the dimly lit room, weighing her options on the premise of his delivery.

The purr of her tadpole sloshed up against the gate into his thoughts—an involuntary reaction born of hesitancy. Swallowing, the worm withdrew and she cleared her throat without another word on the matter.

Tav refocused on the book, reciting passage after passage of information. He delighted in the elicit shudder she offered to him when the pads of his chilled fingers lightly grazed against her hand. Instantly, she peered up at him, owl-eyed, pink spreading to her neck.

“Keep going, darling. You were reading about theories on where vampires originated.”

She nodded courteously, reading aloud in that perfect lilt of her pitch. Enunciating each sentence with a richness only found in buttercream icing.

Astarion craned his neck to be eye level with hers, a few inches shy of her blushing face. He trained his eyes on the rise and fall of her chest—pretending to be fixated on the pages—as her breathing hastened like a fawn’s during a hunt.

He deeply inhaled her scent. Traces of lavender. Sweat. Arousal.

“Stunning, really,” he whispered aloud, causing Tav to flinch from her concentration.

The bard straightened her head, peeking at him through finely wisped lashes. Her voice broke. “What’s stunning?”

Astarion trailed a deft finger along the side of her neck, a move that would cause her to quiver. He touched a strand of her hair that lay limply over her ear, tucking it back in place so he would have better access. With the very edge of his nail, he lightly scraped it from the top of her helix to her lobe, forcing her to release an inviting moan that she swiftly covered with her hand.

“You.”

She stared at him, embarrassment resting on the surface of her skin. Boldly, she grabbed his hand, removing it from her ear. “I didn’t even think you noticed me.”

“I think it’s quite obvious I’m attracted to you.”

He could hear the way she ached for him. The singing in her blood that pulsed like fireflies, as he ghosted his touch with the promise of something more. A wetness he could sense that settled below.

“But, why?” Tav questioned, still holding onto a few of his fingers lightly as if they would break her, letting them rest near the collar of her doublet.

Astarion leaned in, his cool lips hovering in front of hers. He drawled, “For many reasons.”

Her pale lids were half hooded, the tip of her tongue wet her lips. “Tell me one.”

The elf hooked a gentle hand around her hip as his mouth, inch by inch, came closer to its destination. “Your lovely voice could be a salve to anyone’s wound, but it would be the lure that could sink me to the depths of sin.”

He closed his eyes, pressing himself closer as he readied to kiss her—

“Astarion, stop,” a firm voice muttered, accompanied by a palm pushing flat on his chest.

Scarlet globes flashed open. He backed away from her, allowing space between them.

Fuck.

Tav closed the book, depositing it back into the position she found on the shelf. Bravely, she turned around to face him—her skin a pretty rose—still heaving with lust, trying to catch her breath.

She shook her head, her plait swishing down her back as she walked past him without even so much as a glance of her peripherals. “I’m sorry. I can’t. I just—can’t. Not like this.”

Astarion was confounded—like she had caught him in an uncompromising position that was all part of a strategy quickly gone awry.

Because it had.

“ASTARION! TAV! HAVE YOU TWO FINISHED UP IN THERE? WE HAVEN’T FOUND ANYTHING AND SHADOWHEART HAS, ONCE AGAIN, THREATENED ME WITH THAT VERY SPIKY AND HEAVY MACE OF HERS,” Gale shouted from their location.

⸺⋘✤⋙⸺

Meeting back up, the group was successful in finding a hidden lever that opened the door Gale and Shadowheart had been investigating.

Once inside, they found a large statue of ‘Jergal, the Lord of the Dead’, and an entire temple dedicated to the god. Sarcophagi lined the east and west sides of the temple, skeletons strewn about finding rest on the grounds instead of their cold coffins.

It wasn’t long before those dead scribes rose to fight them, loyalty to the dead god exceeding beyond their deaths. As they were struck down, they met Withers, the eccentric skeletonesque creature hidden in a secret room behind the statue. He spoke to them in cryptic riddles, but offered his assistance to them without directly intervening with their mission.

By the time they reached the surface again, the light had faded from the sky. Everyone was exhausted—overwhelmed by the events of the day—each, welcoming the distance between them as they individually set up their spaces.

Shadowheart meditated outside of her tent before eventually dousing the incense she had lit, heading off to rest.

Gale studied a few of the scrolls they found inside the crypt before, he too, yawned loudly. He imparted a small wave to the companions before disappearing behind the flap of his own abode.

Tav reconvened with her nightly chores, her body moving in uncertain motions as if she were second guessing herself with every step.

Astarion avoided interacting with her entirely. He glanced at her when she wasn’t paying attention: studying her mannerisms, watching her facial expressions morph, or clocking her behavior.

“Not like this.”

He would not make the same mistake twice.

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 fanfiction #baldurs gate astarion #bg3 astarion #astarion x tav #astarion #astarion fanfic #astarion acunin #bg3 tav #bg3 spoilers #bg3 fanfic #bg3 #epistles of saints & sinners #soulmates #soul marks #bard tav #spawn astarion #female tav #fem!tav

[spectrum-spectre]

ITS HERE FOLKS! FINAL PART TO THIS POST!

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

Eddie Munson is not dead. He's not quite sure why that is, though.

He remembers being on the boat, seeing Steve take his shirt o-get your mind out of the gutter Munson, for fuck's sake-and then jumping into Lover's Lake, and... Huh. Well this is a predicament.

It's kinda hard not to believe in soulmates when you can see the edge of a soul mark peeking out from under a bandage. He just hopes the bats didn't chew off a piece of it. Of fucking course they managed to tear away parts of his tattoos, though. He paid for those, damn it!

Better scarred than dead, he supposed. Wait. How is he alive again? Henderson sure as shit didn't carry him; the little brat just had to come back for him and get hurt in the process. So that rules him out. Speaking of Henderson, right now he's talking a mile a minute, won't seem to shut the fuck up about Harringt-hang on a fucking minute.

Steve Harrington carried him out of hell??? Well..... Shit. Maybe they are soulmates.....

Speak of the devil, here he comes. He looks rough, like someone sucked the life out of him. Which is ironic seeing as Eddie was the one in a coma for about five days. He can't help but feel concerned for the other man though. Why does he seem nervous? Are the scars all over his body really so hideous that Steve can't even look at him? He hasn't had time to check a mirror since he woke up, but Wayne said they weren't that bad. They can't be. Right?

"Hey," Steve mumbles, shifting from one leg to another, not able to make eye contact. His focused is fixed on Eddie's arm. On the mark.

'Ohhhhh no,' Eddie realizes. 'He gave me CPR, he dragged my sorry ass for miles, he HAD to have seen my soul mark!! He knows!!!'

"I'm glad you're okay," Steve continues. "We were all really worried about you. I was really worried about you." The last part is whispered, but Eddie catches the words. His eyes wander away from the younger man's downcast face, towards his arms. His left arm, to be precise, where a soul mark rests. It's identical to Eddie's: a bat in mid-flight. Only where the older man has an extra, to go along with the flock already tattoed there, Steve only has the one.

"I guess we have a lot to talk about," Eddie braves with a tentative smile.

"Yeah. I guess we do," Steve replies, a grin of his own growing in return, and oh what a beautiful sight that is.

He's not sure when it happened, or how it happened to him of all people, but Eddie Munson started believing in soulmates that day, and Steve Harrington began believing in fate.

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

Once again, thank you all so much for your patience and support. Sorry that last time I said it would be done soon, but. Life Happened™

I honestly didn't know what to do for the ending. I wanted there to be like, some dramatic build-up and nervous tension but I really just don't have the spoons to write any more. I wish that I could've given this a mote satisfying ending, but at this point the desire to just Be Done overrode the fear of not making it perfect.

If anyone wants to write their own version for the ending, be my guest (just tag me in it pls)!

Happy "Eddie Munson Lived" Day! ❤️ 💙 💜 💖 💗 💘 💝

My amazing cheer team, I love you all so much:

@warlordess @adaed5 @bxlthazar @sadcanadianwinter @darkwitchoferie @grtwdsmwhr @swimmingbirdrunningrock @notaqueenakhaleesi @panicatthediaz @booksandscience @thedragonsaunt @lovelyladylaudanum @vampireinthesun @reportinglivefromsoda @gregre369 @danili666 @trashpocket @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @madaboutmunson2

#can't believe i forgot to tag #ffs #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #soulmate au #soulmarks #soulmark au #soul marks #soul mark au #steddie soulmate au #my achilles heel #my writing #steddie fic

[foxywrites]

Gin Akutagawa Moodboard - Written in the Stars Series

Escaping from the slums had landed them into a makeshift Hell on earth, but even though it had been the Port Mafia, it had been much better than the place that they had escaped from. If anyone else had asked them to leave with them, she would have refused, would have held a blade to their throat right away of treason, but since it was Dazai-san, the very person who had saved them from the slums in the first place, she felt something akin to wonder bloom within her chest after all these years just like it did for her brother.  She wondered what kind of place the man would take them to this time, where they would go. Gin knew that it wouldn’t be the slums, knew that it wouldn’t be the Port Mafia- the thought of going anywhere else felt like dreaming of paradise itself.

#Soul bonds #soul marks #soul mates #bsd #bungou stray dogs #fanfic #bsd fanfic #bungou stray dogs fanfic #au #alternate universe #bsd au #soulmates au #soulmarks alternate universe #dazai osamu #nakahara chuuya #chuuya x osamu #ranpo edogawa #yosano akiko #oda sakunosuke #port mafia #armed detective agency #gin akutagawa #gin akutagawa moodboard #character aesthetic #character moodboard #moodboard #au moodboard #bsdau

[hannahhook7744]

Pull Of The Soul;

Summary: The BEST™ thing that could happen to Yzla has happened. She's gotten a SOUL MARK! Trigger Warnings: Swearing, explosions, and minor injuries. Translations: ¡MAMÁ! ¡MAMÁ, DUELE! ¡MAMÁ AYUDA! = MAMA! MAMA, IT HURTS! MAMA HELP! Shhh... Todo estará bien, Yz, sé que duele pero todo estará bien. Tu mamá llegará pronto a casa pero tienes que quedarte quieta para que pueda curarte. = Shhh...It'll be okay, Yz, I know it hurts but it'll be okay. Your mom will be home soon but you have to stay still so that I can fix you up.  Hope you enjoy @igetthedisneybox .

—————————————————————————

Yzla stared at her mostly hands curiously. Trying not to shake in excitement as she examined them. 

Her older cousins’ words stuck in her head. 

“Ah fuck, they’re still red—”

“Looks like Yzzy’s got a soul mate!”

“Ah fuck, they’re still red—”

“Looks like Yzzy’s got a soul mate!”

“Ah fuck, they’re still red—”

“Looks like Yzzy’s got a soul mate!”

“Ah fuck, they’re still red—”

“Looks like Yzzy’s got a soul mate!”

The ponytailed girl couldn’t help but grin. 

She had a soul mark. She had a soul mate. And she KNEW who they were! Because only ONE person who wasn’t related to her had touched her hands after she injured them months ago. 

“Ah fuck, they’re still red—”

“Looks like Yzzy’s got a soul mate!”

“Ah fuck, they’re still red—”

“Looks like Yzzy’s got a soul mate!”

“Ah fuck, they’re still red—”

“Looks like Yzzy’s got a soul mate!”

“Ah fuck, they’re still red—”

“Looks like Yzzy’s got a soul mate!”

—————————————————————————

Her hands hurt.

They REALLY, REALLY, REALLY hurt. 

“¡MAMÁ! ¡MAMÁ, DUELE! ¡MAMÁ AYUDA!” Yzla sobbed heavily, practically heaving as Reza tended to her hands more gently than she ever knew him to be capable of. 

“Shhh... Todo estará bien, Yz, sé que duele pero todo estará bien. Tu mamá llegará pronto a casa pero tienes que quedarte quieta para que pueda curarte,” the younger boy whispered, looking sympathetic as a pale Hermie handed him the first aid kit. 

Jace and Eddie were cleaning up the glass from the bottle that had exploded in her hands and Harry was off somewhere—presumably trying to find her mother or someone else in her family.

And her hands still really hurt, but…somehow it was more bearable with Reza by her side.

—————————————————————————

Reza was her soul mate! 

She, Yzla Sorcerer of Enchania, was lucky enough to find her soul mark—her other half—on the isle of the lost of all places. And before any of her cousins and brothers had to! And when she was only fifteen, as well!

It was a miracle!

No, even better! It was a dream come true!

She just couldn’t wait to tell everyone!

But first, she had to go tell Reza. This day couldn’t get ANY better!

#descendants #disney descendants #melissa de la cruz #descendants au #wicked world #disney #disney descendants au #descendants yzla #yzla descendants #yzla daughter of yzma #reza descendants #disney descendants reza #descendants reza #descendants fanfiction #soul marks #etc

[sgtwhiskers26]

Older obscure Star Trek

Some stories won’t be old. Some of these stories will just be obscure, or I feel like they need more attention, such as this one, and some aren’t finished. As always, please enjoy and PM me to discuss the Fic’s. 

Like the Ocean

PlayingGambit

Sometimes, the fates have funny plans for us, and occasionally, the heavens come together where you’ve never thought possible, connecting your mind, body, and soul to a Florida man and giving Vulcan social-cultural expectations, the finger. 

#star trek #star trek enterprise #trip x t'pol #older obscure star trek fanfiction #star trek fanfiction #star trek fic #soul marks #ent #enterprise #st ent #soulmates