#soulmate mark

[lucylichtenweg]

Merthur soulmate fanfiction

Summary: In a land of myth and a time of magic, where King Uther Pendragon forbade magic, making it illegal for everybody, there was one kind he could never banish from his kingdom. It was the soulmate magic.

Arthur wasn't happy with it, why can't the person he loves be his soulmate...

Well he could always make his soulmate... that should work... right?

Chapters: 1/1

Words: 5379

[undertale-writing-times]

Black stain prompt with passive maybe?

(Also, random thought , wouldn’t nightmares stain blend in with his goop- )

The answer to that is!...Yes.

There was an old insult in the village.

"You're worse than Passive's soulmate!"

It was something that… a lot of the villagers seemed to enjoy using, just to mess with each other. They would never use it near Dream, but Passive? They thought it was so funny to say. Or "I feel so bad for your soulmate. They're stuck with you" and slowly…

Passive became afraid of the idea of his soulmate.

Were they going to be stuck with him? Would they feel unhappy that they had to deal with him? He didn't… he didn't want to force someone to be with him! If they were unhappy with him then- ugh, how could they have done this?

The villagers tainted something that was supposed to make him happy. Something that was supposed to make him feel safe.

Now all he felt was fear.

…

He was sitting under his mother tree, his legs crossed under himself, and he was reading a book. He felt relaxed cause the others hadn't been bugging him much. It was just him… his brother was spending time with the villagers.

Passive decided to just stop trying to get his brother to stop spending time with them. He knew that they didn't care about Dream, they just cared about the good feelings that he gave them. He wanted… he wanted his brother happy.

And he knew that they wouldn't make him happy, but he didn't listen.

Passive perks up when he heard a voice. "Excuse me?" He looks up quickly to see a person standing near the tree. He stands up, putting his book down. If they got too close he would handle it, but he would rather not deal with this.

"Yes? What do you need?"

Why were they talking to him? They didn't seem like they came from around this place, which was a little strange. Why would they be here if they weren't part of the village? He saw their mark covered their arm.

"I'm a traveler, can you show me on my map where I am?" they hold up their map.

Passive clicks his teeth together. So they didn't know who he was, did they? That made… that made sense. He slowly walks over, and leans to look at the map. They press their shoulder against his own, "I'm trying to get here, do you think I'm going the right way?" they press their finger to the map at the town.

"Oh-" his eyes shoot down to look at where they were pressing against each other, and his breath hitches a little in his chest. Oh no. The black marking now was covered in rainbows. Shit shit shit. "That… That is ah…" he clears his throat before continuing "That is where you are now. My village"

"Oh! That's great then, would you maybe show me around?" They look at him with such a bright smile.

Passive lets out a soft mrrr sound and shakes his head, backing away "I need to keep watch on the tree. I'm sure you can find your way" he turns away, rubbing his arm. He could hear their footsteps slowly starting to go away. His knees buckled, sending him down to the ground and he coughs, catching the breath that he didn't realize he had been holding.

They didn't realize. They didn't know.

He was fine… he was safe.

Once they found out and learned who he was, they wouldn't even want to have him as their soulmate. They would be happy he sent them away. He crawls closer to the tree, curling up against the bark shutting his eyes.

This was all going to work out.

[realitybitesyouknowit]

 Every magical person is born with the first words their soulmate will say to them tattooed onto the inside of their wrist. Harry is 14 when he learns the significance of the words "avada kedavra", and the importance of keeping your mouth shut. Soulmate!AU

Harry Potter, T, English, Romance, words: 11k+, favs: 296, follows: 119, Oct 28, 2020, [Harry P., Tom R. Jr.]

[theevangelion]

Soulmates: Chapter XXVII

(Previous Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26)

Months had passed.

The time did to her what it was always going to do. It got harder, everything and nothing, to catch her breath on the stairs, to find the energy to open the highlighter palette and care about those things. She did, but not because she cared all that much anymore. Cat went through the motions because it kept her entirely her own creature.

The cells were dividing uncontrollably, spreading, taking up the real estate of healthy tissue, but it couldn’t metastasise through the grit of who she felt to be as a person. Cat felt that so long as she painted her nails, kept moving her hair in certain ways, caring about things that no longer mattered, then she wasn’t losing any fights worth talking about.

Time at home became sporadic and rarer, but the room at the hospital had the view, and when she opened her eyes from sudden little bouts of sleep, the sight of the city took her with a certain fondness.

Catherine Grant had conquered something far bigger than this battle.

So what if she was losing?

If she felt grateful for anything then it was Kara’s lack of fuss and dramatics. Cat had imagined it, felt it to be a certainty, that the longer time went by doing what time was always going to do, Kara would somehow devolve and find herself in worser straits than she was this time last year.

Today Cat awoke to soft bristles on her cheeks.

“Lips,” Kara instructed as though it were nothing. “There we go. Figured I would save you a job.” She capped the lipstick and put it back in Cat’s purse.

“Thanks,” Cat rubbed her lips.

“Which dress?” Kara showed her a centre fold in a wedding brochure. “Well, not one of these specifically, but which neckline? Which style?”

“None of them.” Cat adjusted herself in the pillows and pushed up. She looked to the side, then the other side, patting around. A moment later, Kara handed her glasses almost automatically. Cat put them on and looked closer. “These are too much for you.”

“Not to be arrogant but I am marrying Lena Luthor,” Kara murmured.

“Not price.” Cat struck her arm with the magazine as though she were an idiot. “It’s too much lace, too much fabric. You don’t want to walk down the aisle on your wedding day feeling like the dress is wearing you—it needs to be simple.”

“Simple like…?” Kara waited for an example.

“Pass me my phone.” Kara did as she was told. It took a few moments, typing, scrolling, finding something that she had already looked at but didn’t want to tell Kara that part. “Here, something like this.”

When Kara took the phone and looked at the screen. Cat watched her expression, analysed it, hoping for something positive, unbothered if it was a frown. She knew her taste was the right taste. Whether Kara agreed was largely irrelevant. Her wedding day—her ugly dress.

“Cat this is beautiful,” Kara whispered.

The dress was vanilla silk, calf-length, quite plain with thin straps, but it had rouging—folds of fabric slightly off-centre at the waist—that drew in the shape and brought attention to the right dips, modest, yet showing off the curve of hips on the model.

In Cat’s mind she imagined Kara wearing the dress, with a very small and clean bouquet of pink flowers, rose gold simple bangle and matching earrings, with small drop diamonds—or maybe white flowers and dark sapphire earrings. Cat ran through different variations, different ideas of Kara on her wedding day, though none of them felt as though she were imagining herself at the alter too.

Cat was thinking about it purely because it mattered to Kara.

Her taste was the best taste when it came to such things.

“The designer has a store a few blocks from here.” Kara’s eyes went wide as she noticed. “I’ll have to call. See if I can get an appointment, what are you doing—” Cat was already pulling herself out of bed.

“What do you think I’m doing?” Cat quirked her brow and pulled out the canula. “Pick your dumb face up off the floor and pass me something to wear.”

Kara didn’t fight or argue, it felt as though they were passed all of that now. She just sighed and rolled her eyes, went along with it anyway, biting and annoyed yet still driving the car while Cat reeled off directions from her phone.

Lena Luthor’s fiancé or not, Kara would never get a priority appointment with a designer like this. Catherine Grant had keys to locked doors in the city. Cat knew it but didn’t say anything, partly because she was being nice, partly because…

She wanted to see Kara in the dress.

She was glad for it.

An hour later, Kara was wide-eyed and staring at herself in the mirror. She had the look on her face, the way Cat imagined she had the look on her face when she tried on that navy blue dress for the gala. Kara looked at herself as though she were beautiful, objectively, in a way she could believe, in a way she could see with her own two eyes.

Cat was inclined to agree.

In her heart, there were so many different versions of herself, and they were persistent but not constant. Cat looked at Kara, and in Cat’s heart there was a twenty-five-year-old version of herself feeling things and thinking thoughts that bore no sense in this reality. Cat didn’t force them away or shove them out this time. She just smiled, did the right thing, and told Kara how well it suited her.

“Can I—” Kara looked between the store assistants. “Can we put this on hold? I’ll call my fiancé and see what she thinks. We could come by this weekend and purchase it.”

Without meaning to, Kara showed herself to be the wrong kind of clientele. The assistants were polite and nice, agreeing, nodding, but they wouldn’t hold a dress like this. People who could afford to buy dresses like this didn’t need to convene and think it over.

“We’ll take it.” Cat produced her card.

“Cat don’t do that.”

“In wax paper, not a bag.” Cat made specifications and took over. “What shoes do you have in the shade? No. Those ones are closed toe—it’s a spring wedding.”

“Cat,” Kara bristled under her breath and looked uncomfortable. “It’s fourteen thousand dollars.”

“Mhm.”

“Cat!” Kara bristled.

“Shut up,” Cat said softly and signed the purchase. “Shut up. Stop, be quiet.”

It was something and it was nothing.

She had seen her soulmate in her wedding dress, one that she paid for.

She knew she wouldn't be there for the day.

[aliceiannalove]

Chapters: 7/? Fandom: Undertale (Video Game) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Sans (Undertale)/Reader, Papyrus (Undertale)/Original Female Character(s) Characters: Sans (Undertale), Papyrus (Undertale), Original Female Character(s), Reader Additional Tags: Soulmates, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Romantic Soulmates, Eventual Smut, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Second Person, POV Third Person, POV Alternating, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Minor Character Death Summary:

Everyone gets a mark, something to tell them who their soulmate is. But what happens when you don’t get your mark? Are you so bad that the universe can’t find someone for you? Are you really that unlovable?

Sans wasn’t all that excited about the surface, dealing with racist humans, bigots doing everything they can to keep monsters from having basic rights. It was all more than Sans wanted to deal with, even if his own soulmate might just be a human. A human soulmate was the last thing Sans wanted, for him or his little brother.

WARNING: This fic is marked as a reader insert due to the use of second person POV, the MC has a name, a look and a personality of her own.

[ew-selfish-art]

DpxDc AU: Tim as a child was never given a lot of information regarding the scribbling messy handwriting that appeared over night all over his arms- naturally he came to his own conclusions.

Tim Drake was home entirely alone at 9 years old and was about to go out for the night to test his brand new long exposure camera lens when he sees the writing on his arm. It’s not English, like he assumed it was at first, but it was using the alphabet to represent… Tim isn’t bad at math but this formula is complex for his little genius brain.

Looking at his camera, he decides he can spare a moment to look it up, solve it, and get back out into old town Gotham in time for Batman and Robin’s final patrol lap. He does just that, finding the problem to relate to some aerospace engineering and then quickly deduces what laws and theorems need to be applied. He finds a pen, writes down his findings in much neater handwriting onto his arm, and goes out. It’s barely a remarkable night at all. He gets a much more memorable photo of Robin roundhouse kicking a hench person.

Things just continued on that way. Tim would find some complex math, physics or chemistry prompt on his arm (surrounded by various question marks or notes or sad faces)- he’d answer it as best he could and move on with his life. Perhaps his parents were manifesting these pop quizzes? Perhaps his subconscious felt guilty about abandoning his studies for more Bat related pursuits? Tim really didn’t care to think much about it once he became Robin- there was too much on his plate and too many peoples problems for him to fix.

Notably, however, after the attack at the Tower, the pop quiz appeared and Tim wrote back that he wouldn’t be able to find an answer to this one. It was the only time Tim questioned the markings appearance and it was because the next thing that appeared was “Hope you feel better soon.”

… his parents wouldn’t include that on a pop quiz. Cursed then. Tim decided it must be a curse, whatever, he’d deal with the implications later in life.

Tim then has the worst year of his life, hes 15, no longer Robin and the questions from his curse are getting less math oriented and more… philosophical. A lot of mentions of death that, in hindsight helped him actually grieve, and a lot of theories about dark matter and souls. Tim answers back as best he can but he’s drained and his answers aren’t very good in his opinion. He gets minimal feedback.

It all comes to a point that he’s at a family dinner, Bruce is at the head of the table, Jason has promised just to stay for dessert, Damian hasn’t thrown a single insult his way and Steph was laughing at him- when a new theoretical model appears on his arm.

“You’re just as bad as Bruce, Timberly. Hiding a soulmate from all of us, how fucking typical.” Jason points out, while watching Tim scribble back some math with a question mark onto his arm.

“A what? No, this is just a curse. I get pop quizzes every now and then.” Tim bats away Steph who rapidly approaches and began to analyze his arm (the rest of the family isn’t far behind).

“Drake. Explain how you came to this conclusion.” Damian seems more curious than anything, if his lack of insults was anything to go off of.

“Since I was young I’ve had at least weekly math check ins, I never had a parent or anyone else around so I assumed my parents had me cursed to ensure I stayed on top of my studies. Sometimes it’s physics or chemistry, for a while there it was a ton of philosophy and behavioral psychology.” He shrugs his shoulders.

“Master Tim, I believe the lack of adults in your life has led you towards a false conclusion. That is most certainly a soulmate mark. The individual to whom you are responding is undoubtedly your other half.” Alfred attempts to calm the room before explaining to Tim. Tim isnt sure if he believes the butler, though Alfred only very rarely lied, so he grabs the pen once more. He writes his first question back: “Who am I to you?”

The room waits in anticipation and within moments a brand new line appears on Tim’s arm and he is vindicated: “We do math together???”

——

The reason Danny is failing English is because his built in homework helper sucks ass at metaphors and has apparently never read any classic literature. The tutor on his arm is great at puzzles and math tho.

Danny gets a reply back one night that he wasn’t expecting (Who am I to you?) and he mentions it to Jazz. Who goes insane that Danny didn’t even question it and just went with “meh, probably haunted” as his explanation for the phenomenon for all these years.

Apparently, if Jazz was right, he had a soulmate who was uh, super fucking smart. That was an overwhelming thought.

The next day Danny is in crisis mode and writes back “Wait, WHAT AM I TO YOU??? Can I help on your homework??”

Danny gets vindicated when the writing on his arm presents a shit ton of dates and information for an unsolved Gotham cold case. See, Haunted.

———

Eventually between Danny becoming the top candidate for astrophysics at Wayne Enterprises and Tim Drake being outed as having contributed tips to the GCPD that solved cold cases- they meet and realize just how dumb they’ve been.

[auncyen]

Soulmate world except two people without marks decide they're going to fake being each other's soulmates with fake tattoos and what starts out as wacky shenanigans to reassure their families they can settle down and be happy ends up with them delving too far into the lore to make sure they get the act right and slowly piecing together, to their horror, that the whole soulmate system is a scheme of their people's gods to make the population boom before an upcoming war.

[the-crooked-library]

i think the primary reason why K/S has such overwhelming appeal is and always shall be that it is, at its core, a soulmate bond that has to be forged. the only way a t'hy'la bond can manifest is through shared toil, hardships, and undying devotion; it must be given effort and put together piece by piece - but at the same time, by the nature of its creation, it alters all realities on a cosmic level, to the point that Kirk and Spock must meet in every universe.

t'hy'la is not spontaneous. it is not a soulmate mark, it doesn't spring to life at first sight or first touch or first word. it is destined - because it is chosen, time and time again. you cannot have one without the other

[twinstxrs]

sam nightingale fabian seacaster deeply tethered in the sense that whenever zelda & gorgug broke up i think they both were very emotionally supportive and there for their friend while also having clearly & openly thought the whole time that zelda/gorgug could’ve done better. also they’re both rich popular bards with talking vehicles who got left alone in their big house at the beginning of a school year so there’s that.

[adriancatrin]

soulmark au sketches. the idea of sokka in proven ‘soulmates are real’ universes consistently intrigues me—how would that impact his skepticism/interpretation of fate/destiny/free will? personally i think he’d be very angry for a very long time and probably not even understand why

[mintcakeart]

I saw this and went full brainrot fugue state, so have some Stobin+Kas!Eddie, as a treat

[tanglepelt]

Dc x dp idea 76

Both worlds are different dimensions.

Danny has always had a mark one that was a clear (shape/animal/hero symbol/whatever) on his wrist. Since the day he was born. His parents always just told him it made him even more special.

The nasty burger explosion happens.

He can’t go to vlad so he hides in the realm. Only to fall through a natural portal.

It’s then the mark gains colors.

Danny realizes the marks are soul-marks in this dimension. I prefer parental marks so that’s what the rest of my idea is for but it could be romantic/platonic as well.

Danny who just lost his entire family and feels completely at fault just says nope. he won’t risk it being a thing. It’s not even his home dimension anyways. So like it won’t match anybody anyways. Right?

So he hides the mark and just goes about life as a homeless teen with superpowers.

He’s not out looking to be a vigilante but if something is happening infringe of him and no one else is acting he will.

One day he gets caught in a bad fight. Ends up injured probably helping someone else not get hurt.

It’s then the soul mark is revealed to be for *insert dc character name here*

For some angst. Danny was original born in the dc. When a mark blackens it means the other person is dead. Or in this case separated by different dimensions. So for a year or two the other person had there marked colored only. Then Danny “died”.

The other person thought he was dead.

[theevangelion]

Soulmates: Chapter XIII

(Previous Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12)

At home that night, Kara felt she couldn’t make sense of it because there was no making sense of it, and so she continued with her life as though nothing had been said about the matter. It was thought of, once in a while, put away and stuffed down, but in the shower, there was too much silence.

The matter simply couldn’t be avoided.

Quietness always allowed for thought processes to procrastinate on things they shouldn’t.

“Hi,” Lena said when the phone was picked up.

“Hey babe,” Kara whispered, juggling the phone between dripping palms as she reached for a towel. “I’m sorry for calling so many times I know it’s still working hours where you are—”

“Do not apologise.” Lena was stern about it. “You do not ever apologise for reaching out, ever, especially when it’s important like this.”

“So you know?” Guilty, Kara felt a weight lift from her shoulders.

“I know.”

“How are you?” Kara did her best to keep it all ticking and steady and without symptom of her own persistent, dribbling tears.

“I'm not the best person to ask questions like that.” Lena sighed. “I'm either great, or as you once phrased it, Miss Danvers, I am...the impulsive, erraticism and paranoia that—many now feel—aptly describes my brother’s downfall into madness—”

“Lena, Jesus Christ, would you stop?” Kara's voice bit more than she meant to.

“Woah.”

“I'm sorry,” Kara didn't skip a beat, softer this time. “I am so sorry. It. It didn't feel good. The joke. I don't know, I'm a little raw. I'm sorry.”

“That's okay. You have every right to feel raw about this too, Kara, you spend virtually every day with Cat. I should have paused and registered that. I think dark humour is my..." Lena sighed and thought. "The jokes are my healthy outlet, but I understand they're not yours. I apologise.”

“Your crutch,” Kara corrected seriously, but she was smiling, and she knew Lena was smiling too. "Don't say sorry. It's been a hard day."

Lena paused.

"How are you?" The concern was palpable.

“I mean…” Kara didn’t know why she was crying. “I mean, yeah, she’s—she’s Cat Grant, you know?”

“At the end of the nuclear apocalypse it will be the cockroaches, Cher, and Cat Grant, I know, she feels indestructible and godly.” Lena talked around all the feelings Kara couldn't quite extrapolate. “But that doesn’t make it any less terrible, baby. I can be on a flight home tonight. I might not get to you until tomorrow morning, but I want to be with you. I want to be there.”

“I feel like it has no right to hit me this hard.” Kara burst into tears. “She’s…she’s awful. She’s the meanest person I know. She’s rude, and crass, and she takes pleasure in putting people down and making them feel horrible! What kind of person does that, Lena?”

“She is all of those things, yes, and somehow also the kindest and most generous person I think any of us know. How do you even make sense of that?” Lena commiserated. “She is both the best and worst for all the same reasons.”

“It’s like…” Kara inhaled and held it for a moment, unsure of why the news had possessed her with such heartbreak. “It’s like every big milestone since I’ve been here. Every good and bad moment, every time I realised just how much I was falling for you, how drawn I felt to you, how connected I felt to you, she was there.”

Strange.

Kara registered it, became aware of it, just as it all rolled and fell off her tongue.

Kara drew a gasp too big for her lungs when she felt the birthmark throb, grow hot, clearing slightly with that distinct heat on her skin.

Lena fell silent.

She fell silent because she knew too.

“Did you…” Lena sounded as though her voice was wobbling, but she coughed and cleared it away. “You just felt the thing now, right? The…birthmark thing?”

Kara kept her palm fixed to the side of her hip and didn’t dare lift it.

“Kara,” Lena whispered. “It’s alright, darling, it’s quite alright. I love you very much and I…” She hung on her pause as though trying to convince herself it was true. “I can say with some certainty that I have known true love with two great and brilliant women in my life, and how very fortunate I am for that, so if you need to put down the phone and take stock of this situation, then I’m here and I’m only ever one phone call away. There are…no bad feelings, only love, always that if nothing else.” Lena laughed sadly, crying and unable to hide it. “I’ll call you when I’m back around.”

[theonceandfuturequeenoftarts]

It happens by chance, and while Harry wishes it hadn’t, this will at least clear up any lingering uncertainty for him.

There’s a skirmish between Harry and some friends from the Order and Voldemort and his Death Eaters, and a couple stray curses happen to catch him – one slices shallowly into his upper arm, the other sends him rolling across the ground. The upshot of this is that the left shoulder of Harry’s shirt is now in ribbons and hanging down around his waist, leaving his chest – and soul mark – bare to the world. Including Voldemort.

Who looks like he’s having one doozy of an emotion.

And that basically confirms the dark wizard hadn’t known, but right now Harry’s bleeding sluggishly and wants to go home and have a drink and pass out for at least a few hours, so Voldemort can rage on his own time. Everyone else from his side has already buggered off, so he’s not abandoning anyone if he does the same.

Unfortunately, the blood loss – while not severe – is enough to slow his reaction time, which leads to him apparating himself and the Dark Lord latched onto him to his flat. Not ideal.

There are a tense few moments of staring at the snake man, waiting to see if he’ll attack or start destroying Harry’s home, but when he doesn’t take advantage – when he just stares and frowns and stares some more – Harry decides he’s too tired for this shit.

“You are just impossible to ward out, aren’t you?” he sighs. The curse of being so physically and magically intertwined with the other man. (Well. And at the soul level, too, but he tries not to think of that.)

Voldemort yanks him by his uninjured arm towards the kitchen light that comes on automatically and stares at Harry’s chest, and the elegantly written Tom Marvolo Riddle thereupon.

Harry scowls when the staring drags on. “Oi, could you quit perving on me and piss off already?”

“You were never going to tell me?” Voldemort demands, ignoring Harry’s half-arsed attempt at distraction.

“Of course not,” he scoffs. “Why the Hel would I? Either you already knew and it didn’t matter to you, or you didn’t – and I wasn’t about to risk baring my soul to someone who has a history of wanting me dead.” He shrugs. “I’m reckless, not suicidal.”

Voldemort opens his mouth with an angrily indignant look, and Harry looks to the ceiling for patience before pulling out of the other man’s grip and opening his emergency bottle of firewhiskey, hidden in the pantry, because this conversation needs alcohol. He pours two glasses (his to the brim) because he tries to be a good host, even to the bane of his existence. And if Voldemort doesn’t want it, well, it’ll save Harry getting the bottle out again.

All throughout this, Voldemort is ranting at him. Harry tunes most of it out – he’s had to hear enough of the man’s monologues to know he doesn’t need to listen to the preamble; the meat of his diatribe won’t come until a couple minutes in, at least.

After he casts a quick episkey on the cut on his arm, Harry leans against the counter, watching Voldemort pace around his modest kitchen. He takes a long, slow drink, welcoming the fire flowing down his throat and warming his belly. And either the other man is taking even longer than usual to get to the point or Harry’s more exhausted and irritable than he’d thought, because he’s suddenly completely out of patience with this situation.

He cuts in boredly, “It’s not like it changes anything. It doesn’t matter.”

Voldemort is immediately before him, looming and enraged. “It matters to me!”

“Why?”

“I’ve waited decades for you,” he says vehemently, leaning closer in an attempt to physically intimidate or pin Harry in place.

Harry barks a harsh laugh. “You waited for a fantasy. You’ve spent my whole life killing and hurting the people most important to me. Some silly mark doesn’t change that – it doesn’t make it better, it won’t make me love you.” He takes a sip and rasps through the burn. “It won’t change who you are.”

“I never received a mark–”

“And that’s unfortunate. Clearly it affected you. But plenty of people don’t get soul marks and they don’t commit mass murder and incite civil wars.” He gives Voldemort a dismissive look, standing up straight and slipping out from between the dark wizard and the counter. He can almost hear the other man grinding his teeth. 

“You have no idea what it’s like, not having a mark,” Voldemort hisses caustically, face contorted in a furious snarl. “The contempt, the ridicule I had to endure. I was denied one of Magic's basic gifts and they took it as proof they were better than me, those worthless fools.”

It’s difficult to know how he would’ve reacted to not having a mark. His burden has been to have the mark of the worst possible person, and he thinks he’s handled it far better than anyone could’ve expected of him. Having no mark would’ve confirmed that he’s meant to be alone, that there’s no one out there meant just for him, but having Voldemort’s mark as Harry Potter essentially means the same thing.

“Maybe you mutilated your soul too much to deserve a mark,” Harry says in a fit of cruelty. Behind the wrath crackling in the other man’s eyes, he can see the misery bloom. As good as it feels to score a hit against Voldemort, he regrets it even more. And isn’t that the exact reason why this damn war has dragged on for so long?

(Harry pushes that thought away wearily.)

“You had choices, Voldemort, and you made yours,” he says quietly but firmly. “I’m making mine, and it’s that I don’t want anything to do with you.”

“This is not a unilateral decision,” Voldemort says, the frustration in his tone edging close to desperation. “Do my wants mean nothing?”

"Your wants." Harry slams his almost empty glass down on the table; his voice comes out dangerously even. “Alright then. Can you bring my parents back to life? No? How about Cedric, or Sirius, or any of the dozens of others whose lives you’ve cut short?”

Voldemort’s mouth is pinched shut, a thunderous frown on his face.

“Hel, let’s start small. Stop this war, swear to never harm another person and get your followers to do the same. You want me to care about what you want? Start by addressing all of that.”

“You ask this of me and promise nothing in return?” Voldemort says bitterly.

“That’s the bare minimum it would take for me to see you as anything more than a murderous, blood-supremacist monster. And I honestly don’t think you can do it, but feel free to prove me wrong.”

That puts an unsettling gleam in the other man’s eyes. Harry thinks back on what he might’ve said to cause that reaction and feels his stomach drop. Oh bother. He’d challenged Voldemort. Harry knows exactly how he'd react to someone saying that; apparently Voldemort is equally competitive (and motivated by spite – he should’ve guessed that).

“...If I am able to–”

“You won’t–”

“When I fulfill your requirements,” Voldemort arrogantly says, face intense. “You and I will explore our connection, and you will meet with me frequently to do so.”

And now Harry is in a quandary. If Voldemort does what he’s been asked, Harry will have achieved what he’s been fighting for all six years of his adult life; if Voldemort doesn’t, Harry’s no worse off than he was before. And he knows the dark wizard won’t give up his cause simply because his soulmate asked, but if Voldemort does…

“You do realise that your soulmate is me, yeah?” Harry clarifies, unnerved by the shift in the other man's demeanour. “You don’t like me. At all.”

“Nonsense,” Voldemort says, waving off Harry’s really very logical point. “We simply haven’t had a chance to become properly acquainted.”

“...Because you’re always trying to kill me.”

“Details, details.” 

Harry would very much like to strangle the megalomaniac who is still in his apartment. “...Uh-huh. Sure, you become a completely different person and we’ll talk.”

He sometimes forgets that magic occasionally disregards sarcasm. This appears to be one of those times, as the heaviness in the air snaps tight around them, signifying Harry’s flippant “sure” just turned this discussion into a magically binding agreement. Merlin’s pierced nipples. So much for intent over phrasing.

Catching sight of Voldemort’s smug smirk, Harry suddenly feels genuinely homicidal for the first time in his life. Sensing his non-existent welcome is well and truly worn out, Voldemort says, “I look forward to it,” and apparates away. Harry pitches a cushion through the space the dark wizard just occupied. It helps settle his irritation a little.

He drops onto his couch with a deep, bone-tired sigh and tosses back Voldemort’s untouched glass of firewhiskey. 

He wonders if he’ll feel disappointed or relieved when Voldemort realises he’d rather keep trying to subjugate Magical Britain than have Harry as his soulmate.

Three days later, the war ends.

[xxbottlecapx]

Fic where soulmate identifying marks exist and Steve and Eddie realize they're soulmates during s4 but after Vecna, Eddie makes no move to be with Steve because he's scared.

Steve tries to at least befriend him, but Eddie is so scared of Steve being homophobic or something stupid like that that he does his best to cut all contact. Eddie doesnt want Steve to 'experiment' with him or something.

Eventually Steve stops trying, and they're just friendly enough to co parent the kids.

Flash forward a year or two and Eddie finds out Steve has known he was bi since Scoops and tries to start something with him only to find out that Steve was so heartbroken because he thought Eddie hated him that he got his soulmark removed. Eddie essentially has to build up Steve's self esteem and convince him he's worthy of love because Steve has spent the past few years believing that he's so unlovable that the person who's supposed to contain half of his soul can't stand him.

[jiveyuncle]

My mind jumped straight to this scene lol

Using this as an opportunity to promote @wittyy-name ’s fic The Marks We Make. I’m on the final chapter rn and FUCK IT’S SO GOOD.

Summary:

Lance McClain constantly dreams of the day he'll finally meet his mysterious soulmate. They don't say much, if anything at all, but they leave him with gorgeous paintings temporarily tattooing his skin. It's not exactly the situation he hoped for, but when he feels the connection between them, he can't bring himself to resent them. As much as he wishes his soulmate would just talk to him, he's resigned himself to being patient. In the meantime, he has a loving family and good friends to help him get by.

Keith Kogane dreads the day he'll finally meet his obnoxious soulmate. He's just an art student who's struggling to find his place in the world. There's so much he hasn't been able to control in his life, and the thought of having a soulmate, just another thing in his life which he also has no control over yet can't do anything about, is a little terrifying. So he ignores the words that occasionally appear on his skin. He has other things to focus on: like being a new student at a big university where his childhood friend and step-brother go.

Read it here: