#and the soulbound is a promise in a way

[rainyinautumn]

once upon a time, when I was in the process of calculating death stats, I was chatting with a friend about it and they asked me who the most innocent player in 3rd life was. an interesting question, but first we had to define what "innocence" was.

in the end, we decided that "innocence" was, more or less, "goodness." it was primarily based on whoever had the fewest kills, but to narrow things down further, other factors would be considered. did they ever try to kill people? were they loyal to their allies? did they steal? cheat? grief? who truly didn't deserve what happened to them?

according to that definition, the most innocent player in 3rd life was Jimmy. as you all know, he was also the first one out.

on to last life. Jimmy is out first again, yes, but someone actually narrowly beats him for the Most Innocent Player award.

it's Tango.

and then, in double life, the two of them are soulmates. it's as if the universe took the two players who would not play its game viciously enough, brutally enough, cruelly enough, and doomed them by giving them each other. it cursed them for their innocence because the life series is not meant to be a game of kindness and mercy. it is not a game of making vows with your ally. it is not a game of giving your life away to save others. it is a death match. and so, for their goodness, they will die first. together.

[lizzieolseniskinda]

TOM RIDDLE - soulmates don’t exist PT. 3

SDE MASTERLIST - x FEM!reader (POC!friendly)

SUMMARY: everything changes for you when snape gives you a certain memory. will you be able to do the task that dumbledore has given you?

WORD COUNT: 4677

GENRE: angst-ish (but not really)

CONTENT WARNING: soulmate (soulbound) & time travel au, english is not my first language, i took names of professor in harry's time (it's easier that way)

You were walking through the Hogwarts courtyard, bundled up in your robes as the wind carried a hint of the colder months that were coming. The sun filtered through the canopy of orange and red; it was a cold day without the sun. As you approached the Gryffindor common room after breakfast, you spotted Lucas—tall, with his messy black curls and easygoing grin—leaning casually against the wall.

“There you are!” he called out, pushing off the wall and strolling over to you. “I’ve been looking for you. Fancy coming with me to Hogsmeade? I’ve got some things to pick up, and I thought you could use a break from all the studying.”

You raised an eyebrow, interested. “And by ‘things,’ you mean what exactly?”

“Important stuff!” Lucas replied with mock seriousness. “Like sweets from Honeydukes and a new quill, since I keep losing mine. And, of course, we have to stop at Zonko’s - can’t leave without some supplies for our next prank on Maeve.”

You let out a laugh, feeling the tension of the past few years slip away. You figured you could use a shopping day - it was a Saturday after all; you could just study after. “Sounds like a plan, though I’m not sure if Maeve would be happy with another one of your ‘masterpieces’.”

“She’ll survive. Besides, I’ve got a new idea that’ll totally blow her mind; just wait and see,” Lucas nudged you playfully.

As you made your way down the long, winding path to Hogsmeade, a sleek black cat caught your eye. It seemed to be lingering just out of reach; you’d seen the cat a few times today, always trailing a few paces behind, watching you with its bright, curious green eyes. It had followed you from the common room to the courtyard, through the grounds, and now it was walking behind you and Lucas as though it belonged with the two of you.

“Look at that,” you murmured, glancing over your shoulder at the cat. “It’s been following me this entire day.”

Lucas turned around, narrowing his eyes slightly at the feline. “Huh, that’s a little weird, don’t you think? Cats don’t usually follow people around for no reason.”

You crouched down and extended a hand toward the cat. To your surprise, it didn’t hesitate. The cat padded forward and nuzzled your palm; its fluffy and soft fur was warm, despite the chill in the air. You smiled, scratching it behind the ears.

“I think it likes me,” you said, looking up at Lucas. “Maybe it's a stray. What do you think?”

Lucas crossed his arms and looked at the cat with a suspicious expression. “It's a little too good to be true, don’t you think? A mysterious black cat following you around Hogwarts. You know there are loads of horror stories about witches using cats as spies, right?”

“You're paranoid,” you rolled your eyes at him, but smiled.

“I’m cautious,” Lucas corrected, though there was a small teasing glint in his eyes. “But if you’re set on keeping it, we should make sure it’s not... I don’t know, an Animagus or something. Better safe than sorry, right?”

“You think someone’s been using this little thing to spy on me?”

Lucas shrugged, but he was already pulling out his wand. “Could be, perhaps. There’s a simple charm to check for such things; it won’t hurt the cat - you have my promise.”

You stood up and took a step back, “Okay, but I’m telling you, it’s just a normal cat.”

Lucas raised his wand, pointing it at the cat as he muttered the incantation under his breath. A faint blue light shimmered from the tip of his wand. It surrounded the cat for a moment before fading away.

You both stared at the cat in silence, holding your breath, waiting for whatever was about to happen. But the cat just blinked up at you, then licked its paw nonchalantly.

Lucas let out a breath, “Phew... what do you know? It’s just a regular old cat.”

“Told you,” you smirked, “looks like you’re now stuck with me and my new pet.”

The cat - as if it sensed your affectionate words - let out a soft purr and wound itself around your legs once more. You knelt down and scratched behind its ears again. A bond was already beginning to form. The only problem was the lice and many more things that were scattered across its fur.

"Alright, alright," Lucas said, laughing. "I suppose it shouldn’t be a problem.”

With the cat in tow, you and Lucas continued down the path to Hogsmeade. The bustling village was already alive with students and locals; shops were gleaming with fresh stock and festive decorations for upcoming festivities. As you entered Honeydukes, the warmth of the shop’s interior enveloped you, along with the sweet scent of sugar and chocolate.

“So, what’s your go-to sweet?” Lucas asked as he grabbed a basket, eyeing the chocolate frogs with heart eyes.

“Maybe the peppermint toads?” you said with a grin, grabbing a small bag from the shelf. “They’re the perfect balance of sweet and refreshing.”

Lucas pulled a face, “You’re a maniac. It’s all about the fizzing whizzbees.”

Both of you wandered through the aisles, piling your basket high with various candies - sugar quills, licorice wands, jelly slugs. At one point, Lucas tried to sneak a handful of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans into your bag, but you caught him just in time.

“You’re not tricking me into eating vomit-flavored beans again!” you narrowed your eyes at him.

Lucas laughed, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “Fine, fine. I'll save it for someone else.”

After stocking enough sweets to last almost a month, you and Lucas headed to Zonko’s. The shop was just as chaotic as expected, filled with exploding fireworks, laughing gas, and all manner of joke items. Lucas was in his element, darting from one display to the next with an excitement you hadn't seen since your first year at Hogwarts when you'd go shopping with the Weasleys.

It made you wonder if there was a Weasley in this timeline, or a Potter; surely there must—

“I’ve got it,” Lucas broke your trance, holding up a box of nose-biting teacups. “We’ll switch Maeve's regular tea with one of these. Can you imagine the look on her face?”

You shook your head, grinning, “You’re terrible.”

“Hey! You’re the one who agreed to come with me,” he replied, winking. “Makes you an accomplice.”

After spending almost an hour in Zonko’s, you finally dragged Lucas away before he bought the entire store. The two of you made your way back to Hogwarts, the pockets of your robes stuffed with sweets, joke items, and - in your case - also a black cat nestled happily in your arms.

“Already thought of a name?” Lucas asked as you strolled along the path.

You looked down at the cat, who had fallen asleep in your arms, still purring softly. “I’m not so sure yet; maybe something like ‘Shadow’?”

“Shadow,” Lucas mused, “hm, not bad; fits the whole ‘following you everywhere’ thing it’s got going on.”

You laughed, feeling the warmth of the cat’s fur against you. Despite the whirlwind of chaos that had brought you here, there was something so comforting about the small creature that had decided to be your companion.

And as you and Lucas made your way back to the castle, joking and teasing each other, you felt like things were normal, like you were just a regular student at Hogwarts, living in a time untouched by war and dark magic.

You went to sleep that day feeling better already, with the small feline curled up at the end of your bed, purring, its little collar having a little bell that you bought in a shop.

The following morning, you made your way down the main hall, the familiar hum of chatter and clicking of cutlery filling the air. It was officially your second week at Hogwarts, and though you were still getting used to the time period, you started to have a routine.

You reached the Gryffindor table and spotted your friends, already gathering around a platter of toast and eggs; some of them had pancakes. They waved you over and made space as you slipped onto the bench beside them.

“Morning, y/n!” Maeve greeted brightly, pushing a pitcher of pumpkin juice toward you. Her curly hair was a little wild this morning, as if she didn’t care. “Sleep well?”

You poured yourself a glass. “Pretty well, all things considered. I think I’m getting used to these weird ancient beds.”

Alicia snorted, her red hair falling into her eyes as she reached for a stack of pancakes. “Weird ancient beds? Try getting used to the weird ancient ghosts! I had Nearly Headless Nick hovering over my bed last night, telling some kind of story about jousting. I barely slept.”

“Better Nick than Peeves, though. That poltergeist kept chucking ink at me during Charms yesterday,” Maeve giggled, spreading jam on a piece of toast.

You laughed, feeling a warmth in your chest that you weren’t expecting. These girls had made everything feel… lighter. The constant worry in the back of your mind lessened. Here, in the morning sunlight with breakfast laid out before you, you almost forgot the real reason why you were here.

“Mm, speaking of Charms,” Maeve said, glancing at her timetable. “We’ve got it again this morning. Think Professor Flitwick will finally let us practice summoning spells?”

“I certainly hope so,” Lilith spoke as quietly as ever, but her eyes were sparkling with excitement. “Right? I’ve been dying to try action on something bigger. Imagine being able to summon an entire plate of pastries!” Lucas exclaimed.

“As if we need more reasons for you to get distracted during class, Luca,” Alicia rolled her eyes.

They continued to chatter about the day ahead while you found your gaze wandering around. The students were busy with their own conversations; some were studying, others were yawning over cups of tea, while some were also scribbling down last-minute notes for their morning classes. Everything felt so normal.

When your eyes landed on the Slytherin table, the illusion of normalcy shattered. You’d almost forgotten about him.

Tom Riddle. He was sitting at the center, surrounded by his usual group of admirers. He was composed, elegant even, as he buttered a piece of toast, speaking quietly to a blonde male next to him.

You looked away quickly before his group—or him—could notice you staring. “You’re awfully quiet this morning,” Maeve nudged you with her elbow.

“Everything alright?”

You gave a smile, hoping it didn’t look too strained. “Yeah, just thinking about today.”

“Don’t worry about it too much; it’s only the second week,” Lucas smiled. “Besides, you’re part of the group now. We’re in this together.”

“No backing out,” Lilith added, and for a second, you thought you’d melted.

You smiled, relaxing. You felt it reach your eyes; a sense of belonging wandered around in the back of your mind.

Breakfast continued, and so did the conversation to a more light-hearted topic: Alicia’s and Lilith’s excitement about the next Hogsmeade trip, Lucas’s plans for another elaborate prank on their dorm mate, and Maeve’s ongoing battle with Peeves. You listened, laughed, and chimed in the conversation whenever you could.

Maeve slung her bag over her shoulder and stood up. “Come on, y/n. Let’s see if we can make it to Flitwick’s class before Luca drags us to the kitchens for more pastries.”

“I resent that,” Lucas called over his shoulder, “but I do want more pastries.”

You smiled and grabbed your bag as you followed them out of the Great Hall, trying to savour the last few minutes of peace before the day truly began.

⋆｡⋆˙⟡charms class:

When you arrived at the Charms class, it was buzzing with quiet energy as tired students filed in, quills and textbooks clutched in their hands. You took a seat next to Maeve on your left side. Behind another desk with space in between you two sat another girl—Slytherin.

“Good morning, everyone! Today, we will be practicing summoning charms—Accio!” Professor Flitwick said loudly, standing on a stack of books at the front of the class as he clapped his hands to get the attention of all the students.

An exciting murmur passed through the room. You realized how, in their fifth year, they learn about summoning spells in this timeline, while in Harry’s timeline you learned more defensive spells or memory spells. The difference was huge.

Summoning charms were pretty basic, but growing up in times like you did, you almost had no time getting used to a simple spell like Accio while you could easily Obliviate someone or use the Patronus charm.

“Partner up!” Flitwick instructed. You turned to look at Maeve, who was already grinning at you.

“I’ve been practicing this all week,” Maeve said, wiggling her eyebrows. “Let’s see if I can summon a bigger thing than a quill this time.”

“Alright, but if you summon a desk by accident, you’re responsible,” you teased her, setting your wand on your desk.

Maeve pointed her wand at one of the cushions Flitwick had left for practice. “Accio cushion!” she shouted, her wand slicing through the air.

The cushion zoomed toward her, though it wobbled slightly before landing in her arms. “Not bad, right?”

You clapped lightly. “That was impressive!”

Maeve jokingly gave a little bow to you. “Your turn!”

You focused on a cushion that was lying a few feet away, envisioning it flying smoothly into your hands. After a flick of your wand, you called out,

“Accio cushion!”

The cushion shot toward you with more speed than you expected, hitting you on your chest slightly and knocking you back slightly. You laughed, catching it just in time. Maeve burst into giggles beside you.

“Well, at least it's working,” you said with a grin. Putting the cushion down, you glanced around the room and caught sight of Tom. He was practicing at the far end of the classroom. He performed the spell flawlessly, his cushion gliding into his hands with barely a flick of his wrist. His focus was intense, almost unnerving.

You quickly turned towards Maeve again, not wanting to dwell on him.

⋆｡⋆˙⟡potions class:

The potion classroom in the dungeons was dark and cool; the only source of light was flickering. A mushy and earthy scent of ingredients filled the air as you sat down next to Alicia at one of the tables near the back.

“Right,” Alicia said, pulling out her ingredients. “I’ve got a good feeling about today’s potion. We’re supposed to make something simple, so there’s no way I can accidentally melt my cauldron like last week.”

You snickered. “Simple or not, I still think you have a way to make the easiest potions chaotic.”

Before Alicia could respond, Professor Slughorn’s jovial voice boomed across the room. “Today, my dear students, we will be brewing a calming draught. Quite useful for, uh, stressful situations.” He winked at the class. “-“I’m sure none of you feel stressed, though.”

You could feel the irony of the assignment, given how much stress you were actually under without anyone really knowing. You could probably use a calming draught or two just to get through the day.

Slughorn’s face was surrounded with enthusiasm as he demonstrated the first few steps, his eyes darting over the class with interest. You gathered the ingredients you needed and carefully measured out the valerian root, hellebore syrup, and the fluxweed oil.

“So, you think Slughorn’s going to invite you to one of his little parties?” Alicia asked as she ground some peppermint into powder.

You shrugged, keeping your focus on your cauldron as you stirred it clockwise. “Not very likely. I don’t really know what those parties are even about,” you lied. You went to one meeting with Hermione and decided to never go again. Simply a waste of time.

Alicia raised an eyebrow. “Well, Slughorn kinda ‘collects’ talented students. You’re smart, plus you’re new and kind. So, I’d say you're prime Slug Club material.”

You smiled at her. “We’ll see,” you said quietly. “Plus, I think Riddle is in Slug Club,” Alicia whispered.

You almost spilled the peppermint that you were trying to add into your potion. “Sorry, what?” you gaped at her. She scoffed at you and smiled. “Don’t act dumb; I always see you looking at him.”

Your potion turned to a soft blue—that was a good sign. “What??? No, I don’t…” you mumbled and glanced over at Alicia’s cauldron, which was bubbling a little too vigorously.

“Uh, Alicia... are you sure you didn’t add too much oil?” you asked her, eyeing the bubbles. “You’re not getting out of this conversation, Y/N,”Alicia said while she kept adding oil.

“No, no, I’m serious; look at those bubbles.”

“Oh, oops,” Alicia gasped and quickly turned down the heat under her cauldron. “Well, at least it’s not melting this time.”

You laughed softly, helping her adjust the potion before it boiled over. Potions was always a mix of stress and humor with Alicia. Seems like you're not as slick as you thought you were.

⋆｡⋆˙⟡transfiguration class:

Dumbledore’s class, there was a different energy in the air. The room was spacious and bright; high arched windows were letting beams of sunlight in that illuminated against the desks. Dumbledore was standing at the front. “Today,” Dumbledore began, “we will attempt one of the more advanced transfigurations: turning inanimate objects into animals. Quite the leap from last week’s matchsticks to needles, wouldn’t you say?”

Maeve leaned over to you, whispering, “What if we give a four-legged animal six legs by mistake?”

You snickered quietly.

Dumbledore waved his wand, and a stack of stones appeared on each of the students’ desks. “Your task today is to transform this stone into small creatures of your choosing: a mouse, perhaps, or a bird. Be gentle and focus.”

You pointed your wand at the stone, visualising a small bird. With clear focus, you flicked your wand, saying the incantation softly.

To your surprise, the stone started shifting, wings sprouting from its sides as it transformed into a tiny sparrow. It fluttered its wings in confusion before hopping onto your desk.

“Well, aren’t you just the star pupil,” Maeve teased with a grin. She was still poking at her half-transformed stone, which looked more like a stone with some fur on it.

From the front of the class, Dumbledore’s eyes met yours briefly, and he gave a small approving nod. You continued helping Maeve when you caught a glimpse of Tom Riddle a few rows ahead. His magic was perfect—obviously. The stone in front of him had turned into a sleek, black raven that perched on his desk with eerie calm.

You sighed, forcing yourself to focus more on Maeve and her furry rock. There would be plenty of time to think about Tom later, but the time was ticking, and you knew it

Shadow, the cat that you’d taken in, padded silently beside you as you made your way to the library. You smiled down at him; Shadow had proven to be nothing more than a sweet, lovely companion. The cat had followed you everywhere except for classes.

“You like books, don’t you?” you murmured to the cat as you entered the library, earning a few curious glances from other students. Shadow flicked his tail and trotted ahead of you, his sleek form disappearing between two towering bookshelves.

The library was quiet and warm, even after dinner. The air was thick with the scent of old parchment and dust. You loved it in the library; it felt like a sanctuary, a place where time stood still.

Wandering through the shelves, you scanned the spines of the books you passed. Every so often, you’d glance behind you to make sure Shadow was still with you. Reaching a shelf tucked in a quiet corner of the library, you found a book you'd been looking for - The Founder’s Legacy: A History of Hogwarts. It was a book you needed for your Muggle Studies.

You pulled it down and tucked it under your arm, turning to leave the aisle; but when you did, you noticed Shadow was gone. “Shadow?” you called softly, careful not to disturb the other students. The silence of the library seemed to grow louder, your eyes searching for the black fur you had grown accustomed to.

Frowning, you stepped out of the aisle, looking around for any sign of the cat. Only a few students were scattered around the tables, their heads buried in their studies. Then, out of the corner of your eye, you spotted him.

At one of the far tables, seated in his usual spot near the back of the library, was Tom Riddle.

With Shadow.

Your breath caught in your throat. The sleek black cat had made himself comfortable on the edge of Tom’s open book, his paws kneading the pages as he purred contentedly. Tom didn’t seem bothered by the interruption. In fact, he was watching the cat with an odd expression - almost as if he was amused, though his features remained calm and composed as always.

For a second, you just stood there, contemplating all your life’s choices. Seeing Shadow so comfortable made your heart race. Tom Riddle, the person you were meant to change, was casually petting the cat you had taken in, and it made your situation feel even more surreal.

But only you couldn't keep standing there forever, staring at Tom Riddle.

So, you summoned up your courage and slowly walked over to the table, forcing yourself to remain calm even though you could feel your chest preparing for a panic attack.

“Looking for this?” His voice was soft but cold as he gestured to the cat with a slight raise of his hand. Shadow meowed happily and stretched out his paws, pushing against Tom's book as if he had claimed it for himself.

Hearing Tom’s voice changed something in you; a warm feeling spread through you.

“Yes,” you said, your voice steady, trying to ignore all the feelings you were feeling at once. “I didn’t realise he’d wandered off.”

Tom’s eyes lingered on you for a moment, studying you with the same unsettling intensity you’d noticed in class. Then he looked back at the cat, one hand absently touching behind Shadow’s ear. The cat purred louder, pressing into the touch as though he had always belonged there.

“He seems to like me,” Tom observed. You had to hold back a scoff, so you forced a smile. “He’s a friendly one.”

“I can see.”

You weren’t sure how to respond to that. You cleared your throat and stepped forward, reaching for Shadow. “Well, I should get him out of your way; he’s probably disturbing your reading. Or studying, or whatever…”

Tom didn’t move at first, and for a brief second, you thought he might not let you take back your cat. But then he pulled his hand back. Shadow, oblivious to the tension, stretched lazily before hopping off the table and rubbing against your leg.

You cradled Shadow in your arms as you tried to steady your nerves.

You felt Tom’s gaze linger on you for a moment longer before he turned his attention back to his book, his expression unreadable. “Be careful,” he said, his voice low. “Not everything that follows you is harmless.”

You blinked, taken aback by the sudden shift in his tone. Was that a warning? Or something more? Before you could reply, Tom had already turned the page of his book, his focus shifting away from you as though the conversation had never happened

A chill ran down your spine as you hugged Shadow closer. Your heart was pounding in your chest, and you turned around.

Tom’s cryptic words echoed in your thoughts. You were halfway to the library’s entrance when you spotted Lucas striding toward you, hands tucked in his pockets, that ever-present grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. He seemed completely at ease, as though the world was just a big joke waiting to be told.

“There you are!” he called out in a low voice, somewhat mindful of the library’s strict silence policy. He walked right up to you, his sharp blue eyes scanning your face before flicking over to the spot where Tom was sitting. “I saw you over there, chatting with Riddle.”

“Yeah... Shadow wandered over to him,” you smiled slightly, still not fully calmed down, but Lucas’s presence helped a bit.

Lucas smiled. “Look, I’m just gonna say it: I’ve seen you stare at him at times, and you look like you’ve seen a ghost. Whatever he’s said to you—”

“He said something about not everything that follows you is harmless,” you interrupted him, needing to get it off your chest.

“Okay, stop. That’s freakishly creepy,” Lucas gaped, stealing a glance at Tom. “Just... try to ignore him. Riddle’s either got everyone thinking he’s the hottest thing to walk these halls, or they think he’s bloody weird.”

Your curiosity piqued. “And what do you think?”

Lucas paused, his eyes narrowing slightly as he considered the question. His grin returned. “Both.”

You chuckled at his bluntness. “Both?”

You walked out of the library, your book long forgotten on the table you were supposed to be studying at. “Yeah, he’s good looking. I mean, objectively speaking,” Lucas said. “But there’s something about him that’s off. Like, he’s too good at... well, everything. It's unnatural; people are drawn to him, but they’re also... I don’t know, scared of him. You know? Even if they don't want to admit it.”

You nodded, thinking back to how Tom had looked at you - the way his eyes seemed to see right through you. There was definitely something unnerving about him. “He’s strange. Almost like he’s always one step ahead of everyone.”

“Exactly,” Lucas agreed. “It’s like he’s playing a game no one else knows the rules to. Trust me, best to keep your distance.”

“I wasn’t planning on making friends with him,” you said, shifting Shadow in your arms. The cat blinked lazily up at you.

“Good, I’ve got enough trouble without having to rescue you from the dark and mysterious Tom Riddle,” Lucas replied, giving you a reassuring smile.

You let out a laugh. “Thanks, Lucas. I’ll be sure to tell you first if I get in over my head.”

Lucas grinned. “I’ll be there, wand at the ready.”

The two of you started to head toward the common room together, the tension that had been knotted in your chest since your encounter with Tom slowly began to ease. Lucas had a way of making things feel lighter, like no matter how complicated the situation got, he’d find a way to make it less scary.

“Anyway,” Lucas said, slinging an arm around your shoulders as you walked, “enough about Riddle. Did you get what you came for? Or are we heading back in for round two of ‘Tom the Cat Whisperer’?”

You smirked, shaking your head. “No more rounds with him for today, thanks. I think I’ve had my fill of mysterious brooding for the time being. But I do think I might’ve left my book in there.”

Lucas laughed again, his voice carrying through the halls. “We’ll get it first thing tomorrow. And if you do like him, just don’t go falling for that whole dark-and-mysterious thing. I won’t judge you.”

You rolled your eyes, nudging him playfully. “Please. You know I prefer my friends a little less brooding and a little more… fun.”

“See? That’s the right attitude.” He gave you a wink, his smile warm and genuine. “Stick with me. I’m way more fun than some dark wizard-in-training.”

You couldn’t help but smile back. As strange and intense as things had become, Lucas was a constant source of light. Maybe, just maybe, he’d help keep you grounded as you navigated the dangerous path ahead.

a/n: posted a bit earlier, but umm, i was thinking of naming the cat crookshanks first - so she has a reminder of hermione, harry and ron. but idk :( alsooooo, i'll probably update on sunday for this serie (loads of homework)

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[leth-writes]

Yandere batfam x reader part 4!

The cafe, Little Spoon, was extraordinarily quiet for this time of day; last time you had been the line had been out the door to get a drink, let alone sit at the tables and enjoy a meal. Yet, you supposed the complete lack of jobs and the constant villain attacks had created the perfect storm to kill most small businesses. In that light, you were happy such a small cafe was able to stay open, especially with the encroaching giants in the area. Sitting at the table, picking at your bagel with your head down, you felt shame. Having dumped your entire life story out for TIm and Jason to pick at, you felt weirdly hollow.

It felt like someone had scooped out your insides with a dull spoon, and you stared despondent down at your mangled bagel. Jason was texting again, and Tim was staring into the distance, lost in thought. You got the feeling you were the subject of his reverie. It felt weird, seeing them both so lost in their own worlds, especially after the intense way they had stared as you explained your reasoning behind choosing their family.

You didn’t know what to do now, and shame radiated through your core at facing the victims of your crime face to face. No matter how much you had apologized, and how much they had promised they didn’t mind, it still felt hollow, like you wouldn’t ever be able to make up for what you’d done.

“Well, I sicked Barbara on your landlord; if he’s got any dirt, she’ll dig it up.” Jason sighed as he plopped his phone down on the table, leaning back in his chair. “It’s probably a mafia connection. We’ll have to alert the … authorities.” Tim pondered, still half lost in thought and staring out the window. The idea of your landlord, the very one who had indirectly put you in this situation, and who you still hadn’t seen, having some sort of criminal connection had never crossed your mind; you couldn’t believe it was even possible. Hell, it was the type of thing to happen in film, not in real life! Yet, the more you thought about it, the more it made sense; it would explain the constant patrolling from the bats the last little while, you supposed.  You stared at Tim’s face in profile, noticing the sharp turn of his thin, high nose and his full, pink lips. You couldn’t believe you were soulbound, destined to have some sort of relationship that only time would reveal. You weren’t sure what your next steps were, but you felt guilty enough to do whatever Tim and Jason would suggest.

Jason abruptly stood up, making meaningful eye contact with Tim. “Hey, I’ll get you a coffee. Want anything else to eat besides that poor bagel?” He questioned you, a half-smile gracing his chiseled face. You shook your head mutely, unwilling to ask for even more. Besides, you weren’t feeling hungry, the anxiety killing any appetite you may have. Tim had turned to look back out the window, so you occupied yourself with glancing around the small room. The only other customer was a young Asian woman, maybe mid-twenties, with choppy black hair ending at the nape of her neck and flaming her face in floaty whisps. She was looking down at her phone, small mouth upturned into a smile, with her chocolatey dark eyes locked onto her screen. She was giggling slightly, evidently at the response from whoever she was texting.

As you attempted to get a closer look at her screen, both out of boredom and curiosity, Jason crossed your line of sight and sat a large porcelain cup and saucer in front of you. “Here,” he started, “It’s hazelnut. Drink up, then we can leave for the manor so you can meet the others”. You took a small sip as he sat down, looking behind you toward the door. 

“I’m sorry, I don’t really feel comfortable going to the manor. I can’t impose on your family, not after everything I did…” You responded, taking another sip of the rich, thick drink. Jason huffed playfully, rolling his eyes and smiling. “I told you it’s fine. You aren’t the first and you won’t be the last, but you’re definitely the cutest,” He smirked as you hiked your shoulders toward your ears in embarrassment. “Listen, the least you can do is meet the others. I’m sure they’d love to get to know you for who you really are, they’ve been curious for ages,” Tim turned toward you, staring earnestly into your eyes and gently gripping your free hand. 

“I… I don’t know…” You said hesitantly, pausing to take a large sip of the drink and glance out the window. What did you have waiting for you? Your apartment was empty and the neighbors weren’t exactly great company as of late, and the constant rejection while looking for work was definitely taking its toll. You yawned, overcome with a wave of sudden exhaustion. Your adrenaline must have crashed after it spiked earlier, you supposed. Through the fog of the exhaustion, you found yourself nodding along to their gentle affirmations as they led you out to the car that was now parked in front of the cafe. If you were more conscious, you would’ve questioned it, but the exhaustion wiped you out and you ended up passed out, laid over Tim’s lap as he ran his hand down your back and whispered reassurances.

Getting in the car was the final mistake that sealed your fate.

[just-trying-to-fangirl-in-peace]

Kill and make up (Sauron x fem!Elf!reader)

-> in which you and your husband discover that Celebrimbor has escaped with the Nine, and it brings out the uglier side of your relationship

Warnings: evil!reader, brief eye injury, intense argument between spouses: reader and Sauron aren’t physically violent with each other (only like a hand grab and a shove), but they scream and throw things towards each other (he does it by accident, she does it on purpose, neither get hit); seeing and touching a severed finger, sadistic tendencies, lots of violence, murder, allusions to smut, fucked up relationship dynamics (as usual with these two but this may be the most deranged one I’ve written to date)

Note: part of the evil!reader collection. For context, reader has been married/soulbound to Sauron since before Adar killed him and infiltrated herself in Eregion as a smith while she waited for his return.

Sometimes you wonder if, when you and your husband bound yourselves to one another and part of his power was bestowed upon you, he had not let some of his short temper trickle into you as well.

But you never were entirely level-headed, even before Morgoth took you. The difference now is that you have tasted the fulfillment of giving in to your more violent urges in the past, which makes for even greater frustration when you must, for practical reasons, withhold.

Hence why you are now striding down the chaos-filled streets of Eregion, rather than watching over Celebrimbor whilst your husband commands the city’s defences. You do not trust yourself to leave him intact so he can finish the Nine unless you take the time to cool down after the little stunt he tried to pull on you.

He was only just applying the final touches to the very last of the Rings, and not a moment too soon. The siege had gone on into the night, and soon there may not be much of Eregion’s people left for your husband to promise he would spare so long as Celebrimbor provides him with the Rings. You meant it as a gesture of encouragement, truly—the way you idly fiddled with the keys to Celebrimbor’s shackles as you sat by his side, all but dangling his freedom before his eyes.

He must have noticed, though he did his best not to glance your way. You supposed he was taking some refuge in the work, throwing himself into it so that he might forget his less than savoury circumstances. That was fine by you. The thoughts in his mind were of little consequence, so long as his hands performed their duty with their usual skill.

And skilled they were indeed. Your eyes had drifted to the distance, glazed over with boredom at some point after your husband had left you alone with Celebrimbor, but you were pulled out of your little reveries of ruling Middle-Earth when you realized eight of the Nine now stood each in their holder on the other side of Celebrimbor, all shiny and brand new. Your fiddling with the keys had stopped then, and you stood to walk there and lean over Celebrimbor’s shoulder, touching the cool metal of one Ring in awe as you admired them.

“You have outdone yourself, really,” you praised, and meant it. The designs of the Rings varied, but they all possessed the same utterly impeccable kind of beauty, and the fact that you knew they had been made with your husband’s precious blood... you would wear and cherish them forever yourself if they weren’t meant for more practical purposes.

Celebrimbor, however, didn’t seem as proud of his own work.

“I had little choice,” he muttered, not looking away from the Ring in his hand.

You straightened yourself with a little sigh, and placed a hand upon his shoulder.

“This really is a pity,” you confessed. “I always hated being your so-called ‘subject’, but I can’t say you ever gave me another reason to dislike you. And your talents are bound to prove most useful in the future as well.”

At that, he looked up at you with a fresh kind of disbelief in his eyes.

“Am I to be your prisoner for the rest of my days, then?” he asked, nearly a challenge.

“That would be quite bothersome for everyone involved, wouldn’t it?” you said, perfectly pragmatic. “Hopefully, we can come to... understand each other. My husband and I are more than willing to make some allies of your value.”

By which you meant conveniently skilled or powerful beings who would serve your purposes blindly, much like you expected the Orcs to do, but the word ‘ally’ had a better ring to it.

It was plain to see in Celebrimbor’s eyes that he was hardly convinced, though, as he kept his stubborn silence. The time was fast approaching when your true conquest of Middle-Earth would begin, and it was never too early to plant the seeds for the network of opportune connections you planned on weaving all throughout it.

But also, you did enjoy being the equivalent of a cat playing with a mouse.

“How about a peace offering, then?” you said, plastering an inviting smile on your face. “A little show of good faith, to prove that your suffering in itself is far from our end in all this. Once you finish the Nine,” you made a show of holding up the keys, then tucking them safely away in a discreet pocket at the waist of your dress, “I leave you free to roam about the room, and merely lock the doors behind me whilst I deliver the Rings to my husband. Not that you’d make it two steps into the streets without being dragged back here by your own guards, but, as I said—in good faith—I shall spare you the humiliation of trying.”

There was a slight furrow in Celebrimbor’s brow as he hesitated. How confusing it must have been for him, to reconcile the kind tone of your voice he’d heard so many times with the cruel reality of who you are.

“Well,” he said tentatively, “I suppose that would be a bit better than my... current position.”

You gave him a bright smile, satisfied you had managed to bring him in agreement with you for the first time since he learned the truth. That was how it began—small victories, little ‘yeses’ here and there, until the intended target settled into a collaboration, or rather subservience, that was most convenient to your plans.

As you passed by Celebrimbor to return to your seat, he turned around on his stool and grabbed your hand, calling your name with sudden urgency. Your instinct was to shake off the touch, but, with only a tick in your jaw, you stopped to indulge him. You were playing nice, after all.

“Was truly all of it a lie?” he asked in a disheartened breath. “Was there no part of you that... wanted this life you have made for yourself here with us? The craft and the friendship we shared?”

He was quite the pitiful sight, looking up at you with that glint of hope in his eyes. You were quite sure that had been snuffed out the moment you had told him the story of how the bond between you and your husband had been forged, the salvation you had found in it from Morgoth’s cruelty, erasing all doubts that you and him might ever betray one another now.

Even Celebrimbor wouldn’t be so foolish as to believe he might still sway you with his words. You suspected what he was truly after—but you played along. In fact, you even stepped a little closer, and held up the hand with which he had grabbed yours, patting his knuckles condescendingly.

“Why would I want to serve you as a smith of Eregion,” you said, “when I could be served by all others?”

Celebrimbor’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, containing the nervous tremble of his voice as he spoke, “I may have been Lord of Eregion, and as such above you in station, but I never thought of you as anything less than my peer and my companion. Sauron—your husband,” he corrected, perceiving your ire at the less than savoury Elvish term, “he may believe even himself when he claims to consider you his equal, but with time... with the Rings...” He sighed, closing his eyes as if it pained him to speak the words, but in the end met your gaze and said with all the sincerity he could muster, “I do not wish to see you hurt.”

You tilted your head and knitted your brow in sympathy, softening your gaze as well as your voice.

“Oh, Celebrimbor,” you sighed, “have you come to care for me so much that my fate still concerns you after all I’ve put you through?”

“I’m afraid I have,” he confessed quietly.

You were meant to be surprised, intrigued, perhaps even touched. Distracted, in any case, your focus drawn to his face and the one hand of his you held within your grasp. That was his intent, which you had sensed since the very beginning of his entreating speech. He had some reason to believe his idea would work. His smith’s fingers are, after all, nimble and quick, as his craft demand them to be. But unlike you, he is a stranger to deceit and the mere attempt at it suits him ill. The only reason he succeeded in his little misguided endeavour was because you preferred to end his satisfaction, rather than prevent it altogether.

“They say imitation is the highest form of flattery,” you all but purred to him. “Alas, you have not the talent for treachery that I do.”

With that, you wrenched your hand from his and grabbed his other one. His struggle was brief and futile as you forced that fist to open, and retrieved the keys he had just subtly slipped out of your pocket.

Any trace of poorly feigned concern vanished from his face, replaced by the frustration of defeat. You tsk-ed to yourself as you shoved the keys back into your pocket.

“And here I thought you were becoming reasonable,” you lamented, leaning against the table by his side with your other hand planted onto your hip, much like an irritated teacher. “What did you imagine? That you would unlock yourself when my back was turned and then... what? Outrun me? Fight me? I know you’ve never seen that particular side of me, but I assure you, I am as skilled in combat as you are in your craft.”

He couldn’t hold your scolding gaze. He turned back towards the table and leaned his elbows on it, resting his forehead upon his clenched fists, no doubt trying to stave off a stress-induced headache and crushing sense of hopelessness. Still, to ensure he knew better than to underestimate you next time, you intended to grab his chin and make him look you in the eye as you made one final threat, but he spoke before you had the chance to.

“In that case,” he admitted, lifting his head, “I suppose I was going about it all wrong.”

This time, you didn’t see it coming. By the time you jumped out of the way, he had already grabbed a small recipient on the table and projected the powdered metal inside straight into your eyes—real powdered metal, not the blood your husband had passed as mithril. The burn of the fine shards in your eyes was instant, forced them shut and ripped a cry from your throat as you scrambled away, one hand covering them—

Celebrimbor grabbed that elbow to yank you into his lap, but that only made it all the easier to drive it into his ribs, knocking the breath and a short scream out of him. You needed no eyesight for that—only sharp instincts and red-hot anger, and you had quite enough of both. He hadn’t even managed to find your pocket again before you escaped his grasp and stumbled out of his reach, even without seeing where you were going.

A quick thinker, the bastard. The moment he understood he could not defeat you by sheer strength or deceit, he had attempted to blind you instead.

With a string of anguished grunts, you fumbled around blindly until you knocked into what must have been the railing to the upper side of the forge where you and Celebrimbor were, with enough force that you might have toppled over it if you hadn’t caught yourself. Gripping the metal, you squeezed your already shut eyes, and tried to concentrate through the pain and mend the damage. You may not have had to do it in recent years, but you’d had enough such experience under Morgoth’s rule. Gradually, the burn dimmed, and the metal in your eyes dissolved, and you were left shaking with wrath as you opened your eyes.

In different circumstances, you might have slowly turned towards him first, made him cower in terror under your murderous gaze before you sprung into action. But you were beyond such theatrics now. With the swiftness of a snake lunging to sink its fangs into a victim, you whipped around, marched over to Celebrimbor and grabbed his throat so quickly he didn’t even get to gasp before your other hand yanked his head back by the hair.

“You are going to regret that,” you growled. Rage boiled within you, a furious thirst for revenge, an all-consuming urge to return the pain he had given you tenfold and hear him scream—

But the Nine were not finished.

It was with tremendous self-restraint that you slowly lowered your face an inch away from Celebrimbor’s, your ragged breath hitting his quivering lips.

“...later,” you whispered viciously. “Finish!”

He gasped for the breath you had denied him the moment you released him with a shove, nearly falling from his chair with the force of it. No amount of deep breathing in his presence would stop the blood roaring in your ears. So, you stormed down the stairs and out of the forge, slamming the doors shut behind you without even locking them.

He was in shackles, after all.

As you reenter the forge room some time later, you are pleased to say you have regained your composure. Nothing like a stroll through a raging battle to calm the senses, especially when you were briefly treated to the sight of your beloved standing upon a distant rampart, tall and fair as he commanded the forces of Eregion.

If not for the need to maintain appearances, you’d have called for his attention through your bond and blown him a loving kiss from below.

“All right, Celebrimbor,” you say now, shutting the doors behind you, “I believe we must clarify some—”

He’s gone.

Heart pounding, you practically fly across the room, running up the stairs to the empty desk where Celebrimbor had been sitting before. Your husband could not have freed him. Could he? You had only just seen him outside, and the Rings are gone as well. Had they been finished, surely he would have reached for you through your bond the moment he had learned of it, called you to bask in the victory at his side. You scramble through every object on the desk, turning them over, opening cases, looking for any sign of the Rings.

Something squelches beneath your foot. But before you lower your gaze all the way down there, something else catches your eye on the floor—Celebrimbor’s shackle. Still locked. Blood-stained.

Entirely mechanical, you reach down and pinch the wet thing beneath the sole of your foot between two fingers, lifting it to your eyes to confirm your suspicion of what it is.

A severed finger.

When you wish to, or when the circumstances demand such a thing, you have many more vicious and sophisticated ways of expressing anger than mere spoken words. However, at times such a predicament arises where you are simply reduced to plain old foul language.

“Fuck,” you breathe out.

If the Rings were not finished, that is going to be a problem. But you have a feeling that they are, which is precisely why Celebrimbor has resorted to such a desperate gesture to withhold them from you and your husband.

Speaking of whom—his familiar steps are echoing down the hall.

Nearly releasing another expletive, you rush right back the way you came, down the stairs and across the room and out the door just in the nick of time to slam it shut before your husband would have stepped inside. He halts before you, taken aback.

“Love,” you greet him with a small smile. He’s seen enough of those to know which ones are fake. Not to mention the slight tremor in your voice, the alarm you’re attempting to conceal on your end of the bond, and—if those weren’t quite enough—the severed digit in your grasp which you seem to have acquired in your husband’s absence.

It’s endearing, really, how your skills of deception vanish like smoke in the wind when it comes to fooling your husband in any regard.

“I see our friend has upset you once more,” he remarks calmly, eyeing the finger in your hand. “However, I should hope you allowed him to finish the Rings before you claimed your little trophy, beloved.”

His smile is ever-so-slightly tense, his tone ever-so-slighty warning, and you are a lot more than slightly flustered to realize that in your haste, it had slipped your mind to do something so simple as to toss away the bloody finger in your hand.

You do so now, furiously wiping off the mess on your dress for lack of a better outlet for your nerves.

“I did not...” you begin. “Celebrimbor has apparently...”

“What is it?” your husband demands briskly. He knows something is wrong, wrong enough to have you acting so flustered, and that can only mean it will anger him beyond belief.

You release a sharp sigh, and quite frankly, give up. There is no way to break the news to him gently. So, you fix your husband with as stern a look as you can. “If you could just refrain from tearing this whole place to the ground—”

But he has already pushed past you and burst into the forge room.

“—that would be nice,” you finish to the empty hall, then follow him inside.

“Where is he?” your husband growls, storming up the stairs and staring at the empty desk with wide, crazed eyes as he shouts, “Where are the Rings?”

“He must have taken them,” you tell him, angered but far more level-headed than him as you climb the stairs as well. “They were nearly finished, and—”

An entire wooden cabinet clatters to the ground, furiously toppled by your husband. But the sound is barely the buzz of a fly compared to the deafening roar that tears out of his throat. You halt near the top of the stairs and wince, waiting for the sound to die down. No doubt it echoed to every Elf below, even through the ruckus of battle.

This... is the sort of thing you were hoping to avoid.

How nice of you to inform Celebrimbor that his absence has been noticed, you think, simply because such quips are in your nature. You know better than to say it—but you are both fraught with powerful emotions, and your bond turns volatile, and things slip through. You know he’s felt the reproach the moment his furious gaze turns upon you.

“Perhaps I should ask...” he says, eerily quiet as he approaches you, “where were you?”

Someone else might have fled, or fallen to their knees to plead for mercy under such a withering glare. You, however, have the luxury of knowing that you are the only being who has or ever will remain perfectly unscathed despite incurring your husband’s wrath. So, you climb the last of the steps and meet his gaze head on, unintimidated by such theatrics.

“Celebrimbor attempted a most distasteful treachery,” you declare, arms crossed defiantly as your husband comes to tower above you. “He tried to steal the keys to his shackles by blinding me with powdered metal. I knew better than to risk damaging his precious fingers—or worse—in retaliation before his work was finished. As such, I stepped outside.”

“You left him alone,” your husband fumes in disbelief, “because you couldn’t keep your daggers sheathed?”

“Oh please,” you scoff. “You’ve made far more strategically inconvenient kills for far less. I was merely being practical.”

“Practical, you say?” he mocks, whipping away and striding back to Celebrimbor’s work table. “Pray tell, how come you were within his reach to begin with?” He proceeds to toss every item away and open every possible compartment, his voice growing to a hoarse shout with each accusation he spits. “Were you perhaps taunting him, goading him, playing with your food as you can never seem to refrain from doing?”

“Oh, so when you do it, it’s fine,” you raise your voice right back, uncrossing your arms so you can gesture as frantically as he behaves while he moves to deface another table. “When I do it, it’s irresponsible.”

“What is irresponsible,” he points a finger at you, “is that you left the Nine and our most valuable asset unattended so you could go for a stroll!”

You’ve seen dragons with less fire on their hottest breath than that of the rage ignited in your chest. You surge towards him and snatch his accusatory finger in a death grip.

“I needed a break,” you scream in his face, “and he was in shackles! And he’s obsessed with his craft—which very much requires hands! How was I to imagine he’d be idiotic enough to chop off his own fucking finger?!”

“Enough!” he roars over your screech, prying your hand from around his with a powerful shove. Your calf hits Celebrimbor’s desk stool as you shuffle back, and you kick it with a yell and a burst of your power that sends it flying over the railing and splintering to pieces on the steps all the way at the entrance to the forge room. The same destructive force is behind the glare with which you fix your husband.

Forget not tearing this place to the ground. You feel as if you could crack every table in two with your bare hands, you could shatter all the windows with nothing but a shriek, you could crumble the stone floors with the stomp of your foot, you could— you could—

You turn on your heel and storm away. The moment you do, your husband demands in a gruff shout, “Where are you going?”

“To fix this!” you snarl. You whip around to face him, your voice dropping to mocking sweetness before it builds right back into a hoarse scream. “But please, do keep smashing to pieces every single object in your sight. I’m sure Celebrimbor simply stashed the Rings in some hidden corner whilst he went for a nine-fingered stroll in the rubble!”

With that, you leave again. The sounds of destruction resume behind you, but you block them out the same way you do your husband’s inflamed end of your bond. Until you’ve nearly reached the stairs, and some glass object hits the railing with a loud smash, shattering to pieces. Relatively close to you.

You don’t even look down. You simply stop, take a breath in the sudden silence. Turn around. Then, chin high, perfectly poised and in the most controlled of tones, you ask your husband:

“Did you just throw that in my direction?”

Rage rolls off him in waves—but he has ceased his rampage, and there is the subtlest hesitant crease of his brow as he looks at you.

“Don’t be absurd,” he says stiffly. “I was hardly even looking your way—”

But then he’s dodging a projectile—a metal case you had picked off the ground and chucked his way in the blink of an eye.

“You weren’t looking?” you growl, already snatching a creasing hammer from the table to throw his way next. “You weren’t looking? Well, I am!”

He catches the hammer, swats away the chisel that follows with his power, advancing through the enemy fire until he can grip your wrists and pull them to his chest to stop you from gathering further ammunition.

“Save you energy, love,” he growls as you struggle in his grip. “Try as you might, you cannot harm my flesh.”

“I know! That’s why I’m trying!”

You wrest yourself out of his hold, chest heaving as you stumble back a couple of steps. For a moment, your ragged breaths are all there is. But the storm is far from over, and the moment you open your mouths again, your voices escalate into screams once more.

“You, on the other hand,” you accuse, nearly in tears, “the moment my back was turned—”

“You know very well I cannot hurt you!”

“But you wish to hurt me?”

“I wish to hurt something!”

“So do I!”

Your roar echoes in the chamber, your throat raw, your every muscle trembling with rage. You cannot harm my flesh. But you could harm his soul. You could, simply by doubting him. You have. It brings no satisfaction. It isn’t what you want. What you want is for him to kneel and beg forgiveness for his words, or maybe to fuck you so hard you forget he ever said them at all.

But you can have neither, because you are no longer alone.

They must have arrived when you and your husband were at the height of your screaming match, thus why you only now turn your heads to see them entering the room—ten or so guards, led by Captain Malendol and, supported by him as he limps to a stop, Celebrimbor himself.

“Marital spat?” he derides flatly, a shred of defiance in his voice even as he cradles his thumb-less left hand to his chest. From the appalled way in which Malendol looks at you, it’s plain to see that Celebrimbor has somehow regained the trust of his guards and exposed you for who you are, once and for all. Or perhaps the glimpse he’d caught of your lover’s quarrel had been proof enough. Either way, you’re so ablaze with rage, you can’t even bask in the grand reveal.

“Foreplay,” you reply dryly—and there is, after all, a bit of satisfaction in the various degrees of shock and discomfort that flash across the guards’ faces.

“Where are the Rings?” your husband demands, ice cold as he passes by you and descends the stairs.

“Not here,” Celebrimbor answers. “They will be far  from your reach by now.”

“Oh, come now, Celebrimbor,” you coax with all the goodwill of a viper as you join your husband down the stairs. “It was such a silly thing you did to that precious hand of yours. If you return the Rings, maybe we can find a way to mend it.”

His eyes shine with tears, which he holds proudly back.

“The loss shall be well worth it,” he says, pained, “so long as it ensures that neither of you will ever touch a Ring again.”

You grit your teeth, his audacity adding fuel to the already blazing fire of your rage. Whatever retort you and your husband might have made, you are rudely interrupted.

“Seize them!” Malendol orders, and his soldiers march forward. “By order of the true Lord of Eregion, you, Sauron and—”

The words die in his throat. He’s choked out, jaw slack and quivering as he struggles against your husband’s power. The soldiers halt, gazes shifting hesitantly between you and your husband and their captain.

“I believe you’ve spoken my wife’s name quite enough times already,” your husband says. Any other time, you would be delighted. With Mirdania gone, it’s time for the Elf whose affections you had entertained only closely enough to grate your husband’s nerves to meet his own end. Perfect symmetry, mutual satisfaction. But you are beyond being assuaged by such games in this moment.

You grip your husband’s arm, and fix him with a gaze which demands that he meet it. It would be so easy for him to flick that wrist of his and have the guards fall upon their own swords. But that would leave the issue of your unconsummated lust for violence, and when such a volatile feeling bounced off each other in an endless loop through the bond without release, it led to nothing good, not even for you.

So, staring in your husband’s eyes, you hiss, “Let us hurt something.”

You need not say a word more. Your husband narrows his eyes at you briefly, but the suggestion immediately sinks in. Malendol sputters a panicked breath as his throat is released from your husband’s power, a look of even deeper dread than before written on his face, but he repeats his order.

“Seize them!”

And his soldiers, now valiantly joined by their captain, advance on you once more. The sight of them circling you with swords drawn as you and your husband stand back to back is quite invigorating. It even brings a little smile and a quip to your lips.

“Might you be so kind as to lend me that?” You point to the sword of the guard facing you.

And answer your own question—with lightning-fast mayhem.

A concealed dagger is brandished from your sleeve and you swiftly send it flying to its new home in the guard’s skull. A quick pull of your power draws the hilt of his sword to your hand whilst your other imitates the dagger-throw and sword-stealing with another guard, and by the time three others have attacked, you have more than enough steel in your hands to meet their own with a loud clang. Behind you, similar sounds of confrontation are made by your husband and his own side of opponents.

It is to be noted that the ensuing fight is by no means a desperate struggle for escape on you and your husband’s part. In fact, the guards are hardly your main focus, even as you single-handedly hold your own against several of them at the same time and, over the course of the following few minutes, decimate them one by one. You simply wish to feel your bones rattle with each blow you land, to hear the tearing of flesh under your blade, to give yourself an outlet of your anger whom you have no reservation to make bleed, when the true source of your rage is quite off-limits in that regard—and driven by the same compulsion to inflict pain as you.

Now, you can really have a go at each other.

“You realize,” your husband begins between easily placed parries, wielding a guard’s sword to which he had helped himself, “this only serves to prove my point.”

You glance briefly at him, kicking a guard in the shin whilst you block another’s blade. “Which is?”

“There is work,” he grabs one by the helmet, “and there is play,” then slits his throat before attacking another. “And you, my love, tend to confuse them.”

“Yet here you are,” you retort through grunts of effort, “indulging me as though you take no joy in it yourself.” You are as triumphant in your words as you are in thrusting your sword into a guard’s gut. But your husband does not relent.

“There would be nothing to indulge,” he growls, “if you hadn’t allowed the Rings to be taken!”

With a furious wave of his hand, a guard flies out the window, screaming on his long way down.

“Maybe the Rings would not have been taken, had you not grown negligent with your illusion in the first place!” you growl right back, snapping a neck. “Maybe if you had spared a thought to the way candles function, we would not be here!”

Your husband crushes a skull. “You have not the slightest idea of the skill required to maintain such an intricate illusion. You had one simple task of—”

“One simple task? One?” A well-placed kick relieves a guard of the future children he might have had, if you didn’t cut his throat next. “Was it one simple task to spend centuries insinuating myself by Celebrimbor’s side—”

“Not this again—”

“Yes, this again! This, forever!” you scream over the guard whose leg you break. “I put myself through years of suffering based on nothing but blind faith that you would return!”

“And yet,” your husband presses on cruelly, plunging his blade into a heart, “you could not perform the simple task of ensuring Celebrimbor remained in his shackles.”

You slash a throat, screaming. Speaking of Celebrimbor—in the quick glimpse you catch of him, he looks like he might be questioning his reality all over again in the face of your ‘marital spat’.

And he thought you licking your husband’s blood was deranged.

A guard nearly stabs you in the side, and you resume fighting fueled by a brand new bout of anger.

“You do this... every time!” you yell at your husband. “The moment something doesn’t go to plan, you blame everything and everyone but yourself.” Having stripped the guard of his weapon and helmet, you are now in the process of forcing him to his knees. “And since I’m the closest at hand, you blame me!” For good measure, you emphasize each word with a smash of the guard’s head into a nearby table. “Every,” smash, “single,” smash, “time!”

Smash and thud, when the guard’s limp body hits the ground.

Your husband watches, his lips twitching into a snarl as he flings a guard into a wall.

“Very well,” he grunts. “We are both to blame. But if you could restrain your sadistic tendencies—”

“Oh, please! Nothing gets you harder than your wife wreaking havoc, even when it’s in defiance of you. Especially then.” You put a guard in a chokehold, throwing your husband a most flirtatious smile. “If it was in my nature to ‘restrain my sadistic tendencies’, you would not have wed me.”

Snap goes the guard’s neck. Another struggles on the ground, much like a roach beneath your husband’s boot on his chest.

“If I wished only to sate my carnal desires,” he rasps out, “I would have wed no one at all.”

He crushes said chest as he steps over it to lunge at another guard. You cackle like a mad woman as you break a nose. “You are a Maia! You had no carnal desire until I invented it!” You feel the retort on his tongue, no doubt a claim that you are exaggerating—which maybe you are, but not in what you say next, between the occasional pants and grunts of the fight.

“There was always me, or no one—and from the moment you first had me, you could never go back to not having me.” Your current opponent drops to the ground, his heart pierced by your blade. “So blame me all you want, love. I could inconvenience you a thousand times, and you’d adore me still.”

There is no retort. No screams, or clangs of metal, or broken bones, or any noise at all—for all your foes are dead, and your fight consummated. All that is left is you and your husband, standing before each other in the aftermath of your destruction. Panting, covered in blood. Sated.

Gazes locked, you move towards each other, sparing not the slightest of glances to the rubble and bodies over which you step until you are close enough to breathe each other’s air. Weapons lowered to your sides, you do not touch, or speak. One last confrontation, to see which one of you will break first.

“I spoke in anger,” your husband yields.

As he very well should. Still, you eye him with a not-quite-convinced look. “Is that your idea of an apology?”

“What is yours?” he challenges, but his words have no true bite. Not anymore.

It would be less of an apology and more of something you would have done anyway, but the timing is poetically symbolic when the guard whose chest your husband had crushed under his boot suddenly takes a whizzing breath. Captain Malendol himsef, as a quick glance tells you, is still alive—barely—and picking himself off the ground a few feet to your side with staggering resolve.

He raises his sword, charging towards you with one last, valiant cry, and manages the great feat of having his throat swiftly cut by with your blade. A most tragically heroic sight, surely, but you wouldn’t know, since you never once took your eyes off your husband’s while you did it.

The captain’s armored body clatters to the ground, the same time as your weapons. Your husband’s eyes dart to him, visibly satisfied, but not fully so. His gaze meets yours, then lowers to your lips, and he leans in—only half the way, in invitation.

With an indulgent little hum, you close the distance and give him a kiss. No more than a little peck, really. A token of reconciliation. Something clicks back into place within you as the tension in your bond subsides, and you feel a matching sense of relief on your husband’s end of it. Fighting each other always feels like tearing out your own flesh, yet you do it anyway, with lethal consequences—to others, of course.

Towards others, in fact, is the only direction in which you and your beloved should ever direct your fury, as you feel him agree now that you have finally murdered your way to making up.

“Look at us,” you lament, “blaming each other, when the fault is all his.”

The last word is as venomous as the look with which you then fix Celebrimbor, glued to the same spot where he had been standing since he entered. Defiance and terror battle in his eyes as he stares back, mouth slightly open in disbelief at your display, surely aware that any attempt to escape would only end in more suffering than is already in store for him—should he refuse to obey your husband’s command, that is.

“How right you are, my love,” your husband says as you face Celebrimbor, standing as one once more. “You will give us the Nine,” he orders darkly.

Celebrimbor shuts his mouth, clenches his jaw, as if that would be enough to keep the secret of the Nine’s whereabouts locked behind his lips. His eyes dart to the fallen soldiers decorating the floor of his once beautiful forge, and you can practically hear him resolve to ensure that those sacrifices will not have been in vain.

“Oh, my love...” A most wicked smile blooms on your lips. “I think he wants us to play with him, too.”

Your husband’s voice is lethal.

“He shall have his wish.”

Previous fic with same reader -> Old wounds

Next fic with same reader -> Defied

[sweetvoidstuff]

Soulbound II Cha Hyun Su x Reader

Written for @neohumanmonster Valentine's Event

Tropes: Soulmate Marks

Cha Hyun Su x Reader

Summary: You are on a quest to find your soulmate, Cha Hyun Su, amidst the chaos of monstrous transformations it leads to an unexpected alliance and a bond that defies the darkness consuming the world.

Potential trigger warnings: Themes of apocalypse, monstrous transformations, loss of loved ones, grief, existential despair, and emotional turmoil.

Masterlist

~~~~~

In a world that is at its last leg, where humanity teetered on the brink of extinction due to a mysterious affliction that turned individuals into monstrous beings fueled by their strongest desires, you embarked on a journey to find your soulmate, someone called Cha Hyun Su. It was a quest born from the innocent discovery of his name etched on your wrist on your 14th birthday, that happens to everybody. A revelation that ignited a desire to learn the foreign language on your skin and seek him out once you were of age.

Years later, as you finally set foot in the distant land where you hoped your soulmate resided, the world around you plunged into madness. Humans began transforming into grotesque creatures, their desires mutating them beyond recognition and manifested in grotesque transformations, twisting individuals into monstrous beings. It hadn't been two weeks since your arrival when the first cases of monstrous transformation began to surface. Yet, your determination to find Hyun Su remained unwavering, even as the whispers of transformation echoed in your own soul.

Despite experiencing symptoms of transformation yourself, your determination to find your soulmate eclipsed the monstrous urges clawing at your soul. You became a half-monster, straddling the line between humanity and monstrosity as you navigated the perilous landscape in search of your Soulmate. Your own voice mocking your wish to find your soulmate at every stepp on your journey, but you were determined. You wouldn’t let yourself turn, wouldn’t die in a foreign country, not till you saw him. You hadn’t put yourself throw all this hardship for your other half to simply take the easy way out. But her laughter, that he might have, that all your sacrifice are in vain got to you.

Amidst the desolation, you encountered a lone survivor, a man who had lost his own soulmate to the darkness consuming the world. His tale weighed heavy on your heart, threatening to extinguish the flicker of hope that burned within you. But you pressed on, driven by the promise of love and companionship.

Days turned into nights, and the lines between friend and foe blurred in the merciless wilderness. You formed an unlikely alliance with the lone survivor, finding solace in each other's company as you shared stories of loss and longing. Together, you braved the dangers lurking around every corner, clinging to the hope that your soulmate awaited you somewhere in the chaos.

Returning to your makeshift camp one evening, you witnessed a heartbreaking scene unfold before your eyes. A girl, her face contorted with fear, pushed away your companion. All you could do was to watch helplessly as he succumbed to the monstrous transformation within seconds.

The night air was thick with tension as you stood, tears streaking down your cheeks, confronted by the reality of your friend's transformation. His once-human form twisted and contorted, consumed by the darkness that now ruled the world. Anguish and rage warred within you as you struggled to comprehend the cruelty of fate.

The girl responsible for his transformation stood before you, her expression a mix of fear and defiance. But your grief drowned out any semblance of reason, leaving only a burning desire for retribution. You moved towards her, fueled by a primal need to lash out at the injustice that had stolen your friend from you.

But before you could act, a figure emerged from the shadows, his presence commanding attention. His voice cut through the chaos like a knife, halting your advance with a single word: "Enough."

You turned towards him, your anger still smoldering beneath the surface. "Enough?" you spat, your voice thick with emotion. "Look at him! She turned him! He was a person! He was my friend."

Tears continued to flow unabated as you struggled to articulate the depth of your sorrow. The weight of loss threatened to crush you, but you refused to yield to despair. You had come too far, fought too hard to let tragedy define you.

The boy before you watched, his expression a mirror of your own heartache. His eyes burned with a fierce intensity, as if trying to convey a message that words alone could not express. And then, almost hesitantly, he spoke.

"I am sorry," he said, his voice barely more than a whisper.

Your anger flared anew at his apology, the injustice of it all too much to bear.

„Sorry doesn’t really cut it. He…“ fighting the tears, you continued. „He was fighting. It was hard, but he was holding on, trying. Even after his soulmate turned. Now he is just, flesh trapped by his desire. Just keep her away from me!“ you said. But as you wiped away your tears, you felt a spark of recognition deep within your soul but brushing it away, angryly starting to pack your stuff. The boys eyes burned at your movement, his expression mirroring the anguish in your heart. Watching every muscle you moved. With a trembling voice, he quietly called out your name, and you looked up, shock written across your face. The name etched on your skin suddenly felt heavier, more significant than ever before.

You looked up at him, your gaze locking with his own. His eyes held a mixture of hope and fear, as if uncertain of what your reaction would be. And then, with a voice filled with equal parts disbelief and longing, you spoke his name.

"Cha Hyun Su?"

He nodded slowly, his expression one of quiet acceptance. It was him. Your soulmate. The realization washed over you like a wave, sweeping away the doubts and fears that had plagued you for so long.

Hyun Su’s heart clenched at the sight of your tears, the weight of your journey etched in every drop that fell from your eyes. He stepped closer, his hand reaching out hesitantly, as if afraid you might vanish before his eyes. But you remained rooted to the spot, unable to tear your gaze away from him.

People had made fun of the foreign name on his arm. A lazy foreigner he would never even have the chance to meet they said. But now you were here bevor him, at practically the end of the world, alive and well and speaking his language. “I didn’t know you were still alive. Or even this close to me,” he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper, filled with equal parts disbelief and relief.

You sniffled, trying to compose yourself as a wave of emotions threatened to overwhelm you. “You have no idea what hell I walked through to find you,” you admitted, your voice trembling with raw emotion.

But despite the tears staining your cheeks, there was a glimmer of hope in your eyes, a sense of peace that came with finally finding your soulmate amidst the chaos.

Hyun Su reached out tentatively, his hand trembling as it hovered in the air between you. His gaze flickered with uncertainty, his mind filled with doubts and fears about what you might think of him now that his true nature was revealed.

"I... I don't know if I'm safe to be around," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'm... I'm not fully human anymore."

Your heart ached at the pain and insecurity reflected in his eyes. Gently, you took his hand in yours, offering him a reassuring smile.

"It doesn't matter," you said softly, your voice filled with conviction. "Nowhere is safe anymore, and you are my soulmate. I just want to finally get to know you. I want to find out myself who you are."

His breath caught in his throat at your words, the weight of your acceptance washing over him like a soothing balm. Slowly, hesitantly, he closed the distance between you, his hand enveloping yours in a gentle embrace.

"You... you're not afraid of me?" he asked, his voice tinged with disbelief.

You shook your head, your gaze unwavering as you met his eyes.

"No," you replied firmly. "I'm not afraid. In fact, I've been trying to hold onto my humanity, to stay true to myself, all because I wanted to meet you, my soulmate."

A flicker of emotion passed across his features, a mixture of awe and gratitude.

"You... you are like me?" he whispered, his voice choked with emotion.

You nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

"Yes," you said, squeezing his hand gently. "And now that we've found each other, nothing else matters."

His doubts began to melt away in the warmth of your acceptance, replaced by a newfound sense of hope and belonging. With a sense of determination burning in his heart, he leaned in closer, his forehead resting against yours.

"I'm here now," he murmured, his voice barely more than a breath against your skin. "And I'm not letting you go."

Your heart swelled with love and gratitude as you wrapped your arms around him, holding him close. Together, you knew you could face whatever challenges lay ahead, united by a bond that transcended the darkness consuming the world. In each other's embrace, you found solace and strength, ready to take on whatever the future held.

[goodlucktai]

gently in the cold dark earth

scum villain's self saving system word count: 2k canon divergent / no system au; sy transmigrates into an empty npc role; gray lotus binghe loves his shixiong more than life and he's ready to make it everyone's problem

title borrowed from work song by hozier

read on ao3

x

The first thing Luo Binghe does when he escapes the Abyss is return to Cang Qiong Mountain. 

With Xin Mo secured to his back, the way could be instant if he so chose—the journey of a thousand miles reduced to a single step—but he unsheathes the elegant jian at his hip instead.

Yong Liang sings sweetly for him, the snow white blade still shining and untainted even after years of helping Luo Binghe carve his way through hell. It has never once failed him, soulbound to the one person still on this earth who has never failed him. 

“Take it,” his shixiong insisted, low and urgent. The Abyss was behind them, an even deadlier threat was ahead, and Without A Cure clogging his meridians made Luo Binghe the best choice to wield the only unshattered spirit sword they had between them. “Binghe, take it.”

He pressed until Luo Binghe’s grip curled tight around the hilt, not hesitating to put his soul in Luo Binghe’s hands even with the rosy glow of an unsealed demon mark shining on his face. 

Luo Binghe flies at a pace best described as dangerously reckless, hardly smelling the fragrant spring air or feeling the sun on his face. His robes are a disgrace, his hair a tangled, matted mess, and it occurs to him that he could stop somewhere and clean himself up, make himself presentable, but it’s a brief, fleeting thought. 

Shen Yuan would be furious to find out that Luo Binghe wasted even a single second returning to his side. 

——

He passes through the ancient wards effortlessly, feeling them fall away from him like water. It’s a simple thing to tamp down on his demonic qi, to disguise the parts of him that those so-called righteous cultivators would scorn. He ghosts through the familiar grounds as eagerly as a starving animal bolting down a fresh game trail, but one by one, all of their familiar haunts come up empty, without even a lingering trace of Shen Yuan’s spiritual energy left behind.   

The head disciple’s room is dusted and undisturbed, as if its occupant might walk through the door at any moment, but the lack of clutter and the empty book shelf makes it very clear to Luo Binghe what the truth must be.

If Shen Yuan returned to the peak after the Conference, he didn’t stay. 

All at once, images crowd the front of his mind—his shixiong grieving, pulling away, turning his back on those responsible for his heartache. 

Yue Qingyuan, always only a step behind wherever his precious Xiu Ya sword went, promised that no one wanted to hurt them. They only wanted to help.

He looked so solemn and righteous that Shen Yuan reluctantly allowed himself to be convinced. Luo Binghe, who had gone to the man for help after a bloody whipping when he was a child, only to be given a walnut cake and turned away at the door, knew better. 

He wasn’t surprised when Shen Yuan was wrenched away from him, and shizun sent him staggering off the cliff with a spiritual dagger buried to the hilt in his chest, all of it happening within a matter of seconds—but it still hurt. 

Shen Yuan’s scream followed him all the way down. 

I’m alive, Luo Binghe thinks, with no one there to tell it to. I came back to you. Let me come back to you. 

——

Including time spent in the abyss, it’s three years before they meet again. 

Luo Binghe’s revenge is his second priority at best, but he is nothing if not efficient and knows how to kill two birds with the same stone. Huan Hua affords him ample resources and opportunities to scour the world for his missing shixiong while playing the role of earnest and diligent new disciple. He snatches up each mission that comes along as though  eager to prove his worth to the sect that so graciously took him in, but he takes every excuse to wander, to search, to make conversation with vendors and innkeepers and passing strangers. 

Have you seen my heart? It lives outside of me in the form of a beautiful young man and tends to wander. Very contrary, likes to fuss over people, could argue the stripes off a lushu just for fun. You’d know it if you met it. You’d never forget. 

The days blur together, meaningless and gray, but he doesn’t stop looking. Shen Yuan still exists somewhere in this world, because otherwise Luo Binghe wouldn’t. It’s the only thing that makes sense. The alternative doesn’t bear thinking about. 

And then, finally—an afternoon in Jinlan City, when Luo Binghe arrives in a throng of incompetent gold-clad Huan Hua disciples, to investigate a plague of all things—

He’s there. 

In dark, neutral colors and plain clothes, a traveling cloak with its hood resting down around his shoulders, as if his beauty could possibly be lessened by cheap, shapeless fabrics rather than effortlessly enhanced. His hair falls from its half-tail in glorious waves—he never did have the patience for anything elaborate, only wearing braids when one of his sticky shidimei cajoled and convinced him. Traveling alone, who could he possibly have to roll his eyes at and complain about and sit patiently still for?

A pale green ribbon is all that decorates his hair. Luo Binghe recognizes it instantly. 

“You should spend your allowance on yourself, Binghe,” Shen Yuan scolded him, not for the first time and certainly not for the last. 

“But I did,” Luo Binghe protested, widening his eyes and clasping his hands earnestly, the way he knew worked best. “I wanted it! And now that I have it, I want to give it to you.”

Shen Yuan was too clever by half to be truly fooled by the innocent act, but he always folded like paper anyway. He spoiled all of his shidimei but Luo Binghe most of all. Anyone on Qing Jing Peak would be hard-pressed to think of a single example of Shen Yuan telling Luo Binghe ‘no.’ 

Sure enough, after a second spent visibly wrestling with himself, he blurted, “Oh, fine! Hand it over.” 

He wore it every day since. He’s wearing it now. The wind catches the ends of it, sending it streaming behind him like the tails of a paradise flycatcher. Lovely. 

For a brief moment, Luo Binghe is frozen where he stands, finally faced with the very thing that he’s been missing for years, that he’s been living a miserable half-life without. 

And then he remembers himself and lurches forward. His voice is a tangle in his throat but he manages to choke out, “Shixiong!”

A strike of lightning couldn’t have jolted Shen Yuan into more perfect stillness. He stops mid-step, every inch of him as good as carved from precious jade. He doesn’t turn his head, and the sliver of his face visible from where Luo Binghe stands is very pale. 

Luo Binghe wonders suddenly if this has happened to him before—if Shen Yuan has heard a voice on the road or in the market that was almost familiar, that was almost the one he was hoping for, only to be disappointed when he turned to follow it and found a stranger. 

Luo Binghe shortens the distance between them with a few anxious steps and tries again. 

“Shixiong.”

The older boy whirls around abruptly, as if to get it over with. He’s bracing himself, but Luo Binghe barely has a second to absorb Shen Yuan’s painful-looking anticipation before it bleeds out of his face in favor of something else entirely. 

He looks like the earth has fallen out from beneath his feet, like he hardly dares to believe his eyes. Zheng Yang gleams golden at Shen Yuan’s hip, reforged and whole again.

“Binghe?”  

“It’s me,” Luo Binghe says softly. 

There’s a tableau he’s afraid to break, as if they’re in a delicate dreamscape and a move too sudden or loud might dissolve it. He wants to say I’ve missed you the way lungs miss air, immediately and needfully, I haven’t breathed at all since we’ve been apart. He wants to say you’re my light in the dark, I can only stand in front of you now because I love you too much to ever truly leave you. 

Instead, he tells his dearest friend, “This one made you wait. But your Binghe is here.”

Shen Yuan sprints the rest of the way to meet him, almost before he’s even finished talking, and they collide in a solid embrace that knocks the air from them both. 

His arms wind around Luo Binghe’s waist like steel bands, fingers digging into the back of his robes, precious face pressed into the crook of his neck and shoulder. Luo Binghe doesn’t hesitate to gather him up close, holding him as tightly and securely as he knows how, burying his nose in his shixiong’s hair and breathing in the familiar, beloved smell of him.  

Shen Yuan is a few inches shorter than he remembers. All the better to tuck him beneath Luo Binghe’s chin, to cover and surround him so completely that not even the heavens above can get a decent eyeful. 

He wants to grab and bite and pin Shen Yuan beneath him and never let go. His jaw aches with wanting it. 

“I’ve been looking for you,” Luo Binghe says, eyes wet. “I went home first.” Unsaid goes the obvious but you weren’t there. 

“How could I stay?” Shen Yuan bites out, managing to sound all at once strangled and bewildered and—charmingly—offended. He shakes his head without lifting it, an aggressive nuzzle against Binghe’s shoulder. “After what they did to you, I’d rather die than represent their stupid sect another minute.”

“Step away from it, Shen Yuan,” shizun said coldly. “I’ll put that beast back where it belongs.”

“No,” shixiong said in a voice that was smaller than usual, one that shook. He was frightened, clearly overwhelmed, but he didn’t budge from where he was plastered in front of Luo Binghe like a breathing shield. 

“Now.” 

“No, shizun.”

“Shizhi,” Yue Qingyuan said gently, offering his hand. “Come here. It will be alright.”

Shen Yuan said, “No. You can’t hurt Binghe. He’s not bad just because of who his parents are. He’s as good as he was yesterday, and the day before that, and the day before that. He’s hardworking and loyal and a sweetheart to anybody who gives him half a chance. He’s so good.”

Liu Qingge was behind the sect leader, sword drawn. Shen Qingqiu was quickly losing what little patience he had, face twisted into a sneer, dark eyes stabbing hatefully at Luo Binghe from over his head disciple’s shoulder. There were more figures rapidly drawing closer, the other peak lords following the flare of Yue Qingyuan’s qi. The standoff was becoming more and more untenable, and Shen Yuan was too smart not to see that, shrinking back against Luo Binghe as much as he could without crowding him closer to the edge. 

“You can’t hurt him,” he said again, the closest Luo Binghe had ever heard him come to tears, “he’s my shidi.”

Luo Binghe is unsurprised by his shixiong’s loyalty, because it’s already been proven to him over and over. It’s unremarkable at this point, which is an absolutely remarkable thing in itself. It makes him feel warm with gratitude and affection and ownership. 

Shen Yuan is clever and quick on his feet and always three steps ahead, more knowledgeable about flora and fauna than anyone else Binghe has ever known combined, and probably a force to be reckoned with as a rogue cultivator, where the only rules of conduct he has to adhere to are his own. 

But Luo Binghe hates to think of him on the road alone, without the little martial siblings who follow him like ducklings, without his Binghe there to make sure he remembers to eat all his meals and comb out his hair before bed. He’s a creature of comfort, made for airy rooms with too many cushions and an abundance of sweets and books to read. 

Luo Binghe has fantasized more than once about building a home for Shen Yuan to lounge prettily in. It was, in fact, his favorite flavor of daydream since he was about thirteen. 

If Shen Yuan wants to rogue cultivate, then that’s what they’ll do. But Luo Binghe thinks, if he constructs a palace that’s as comfortable as it is grand, and fills it with trashy romance novels and obscure beasts and his own hand-made meals, he can convince his friend to live in it with him.

Shen Yuan needs to be taken care of. Luo Binghe needs to be the one taking care of him. They’re together now and they’ll never be apart again and those needs can both be met. 

That possessive, proprietary feeling coils dark and deep inside him, undulating lazily like a serpent who’s fed enough for days, reminding him over and over what he already knows:

Mine. 

[daisy-mooon]

Meant To Be (We Might Be All Right Now)

Martyn is a cashier that hates his job and avoids his powers. He's not looking for his soulmate and he's certainly not looking to return to the sidekick lifestyle. Things get complicated when he slaps the biggest, baddest supervillain in town and discovers that they're his soulmate.

Martyn hates them immediately. And Cleo hates him immediately too. But hey, he can survive this...

...right?

-

Or: Martyn is a guy. Cleo is a supervillain with anger issues. This is a meet ugly.

Chapter 2

When Martyn was a young, foolish vigilante, he'd agreed to a blood bond with Ren. Neither had met their ‘real’ soulmate and neither had cared. A cut of a knife, a complicated ritual, and the blood bond made them as good as soulmates. They felt each other's pain and had whispered the promise over and over to each other; till death do us part. 

But the blood bond couldn't make a real soulmate link, it could only replicate one. Ren lived as a hero and died as a hero, the Winter King cut down by the Shadow Queen, and Martyn ran. He had no need for a soulmate after that. If it couldn't be Ren, he didn't want it at all. 

He'd just… never thought that he'd meet his real soulmate. 

Blight stared down at him in borderline horror. In any other circumstance he’d feel offended. He could feel the pain in their fingers, from scraping so hard against the pavement, and when he unfurled his hand from its fist he could see tiny trickles of blood race down his fingers.

He found that he couldn’t say anything. Martyn didn't even bother to get up. He sat there, staring. What was he supposed to do? 

Blight took a singular step backwards. They looked less threatening- well, they were still threatening. But it was less the threat of someone that would kill you without hesitation, and closer to the threat of a caged wolf about to snap. “I'm not doing this,” Blight announced. If he focused, he would have been able to distinguish the crack in their voice.

They turned. They ran.

It wasn't sudden. There weren't any terrifying patches of death. They just picked a direction and strode off. All that Martyn could do was look uncomprehendingly in their direction. This hadn’t just happened, surely? Something else had to have taken place. Or he’d hit his head.

No… his soulmate couldn’t be- that ?

Martyn grimaced and pressed his hands against the pavement, pushing himself upwards. The blood from his hands smeared against the blackened concrete. No pain in his head. No rot on his skin. Only blood on his hands- thin and greasy- bleeding straight through the early clots of a scab and falling to the ground below him.

He tried to smear them on his coat, then stopped himself—he had no way to wash bloodstains out of his coat at home. His hands shook as he tried to think- what did he do now?

The whistle of distant sirens decided for him.

He staggered vaguely in the same direction as Blight—he didn't have a choice. At least Blight probably wouldn’t want to hurt him, considering the soulbound. He'd tried his very damn hardest to stay off the grid, he was not getting back on it for something he didn’t even do . But he- he was an accomplice, technically? No, it was- it was “complacency in villain activity”. That was the new name for it, he was pretty sure—it was only last month when the former hero Prismarina had been done in for not reporting a villain's identity. He struggled to remember what the scandal had been about. 

Did he need to know what the hero and villain scandals were about? He’d mostly tried to avoid it unless it was breaking news. Martyn’s heart thudded as he realised that he knew almost nothing about the current hero scene. Someone could be out there with invisibility, spying on him. Well- his Sight would catch them first, but that didn’t stop him from being paranoid. The hero organisations were all corrupt and evil for plot purposes. Martyn's mouth dried at the possibility of being caught, and then, before he knew it, his stagger turned into a run.

He stumbled over the rubble for several minutes. The sirens didn't get any closer, but the real question was how long did it take for a hero to get on the scene? Anywhere from three minutes to twenty, depending on patrol routes and other villain activity, although he couldn't claim to be exactly up to date on those. They had certainly been changed.

His escape was, in many senses, anti-climatic. He slowed down almost instantly upon hitting the undamaged buildings opposite—low-level apartments that fed into each other, alleyways perfectly suited for slipping by. He saw a light, perhaps two, turn on through the windows. Another light turned off. It was- quiet. Normal. Too normal. 

He didn’t like it. His heart felt like a bag of rocks. Nausea threatened to seize him and he gagged, once, before forcing himself upright. Inside his head: the question “ what happened now?” had stuck itself down in an endless loop.

The air was whiplash cold against his skin. He needed to get home. Where was the nearest bus? Would the buses even be running with a report of a villain attack? And now that his workplace had blown up, should he even think about spending money on the bus? He needed-

Pain erupted in his wrist. Martyn froze and stared at it—then realised it was Blight. What the hell were they doing ? And did he want to know?

Well, he’d gone in more or less the same direction as them, so if someone was attacking them… he shuddered and pushed that thought aside. If they died, it wouldn’t matter if he was in the same area because he would die with them. 

He could feel the crawl of his Sight against his skin again. Martyn ignored it. Whatever trouble Blight was in- they could suck it. He had himself to worry about.

The pain in his wrist didn’t go away, but it didn’t sharpen either. He supposed that was a good thing. At least he didn’t need his wrist for his main purpose, which was walking the hell away from here. He craned his neck at the end of the alley, looked up and down the street, and decided to risk crossing it. Nothing here other than private, rundown residences. Exactly the type of neighbourhood that would rarely see anything other than petty villainy and crime.

That’s when he saw it—a flash of gold flitted down the far end of the street and into the next street over. No, not gold, yellow . His Sight opened more out of instinct than anything else. Yellow feathers, yellow wings-

Someone let out a furious yell. Martyn’s blood froze. He didn’t know how, but he knew, with no Sight in that direction, that that had been Blight. 

“Get lost !” They shouted.

The winged figure tilted their head. They were wearing a mask- oh. Oh no. Was that the Canary?

Martyn tensed involuntarily. He’d had his own, not-so-nice clashes with Canary back in the day when he was still running around with Ren. Canary, allegedly had his own form of Sight, but to what extent had never been elaborated on.

Canary seemingly said something that he couldn’t hear—why couldn’t have Sight and Hearing? It would make his life so much easier—to which Blight yelled harder. “Well tell your Queen to go and shove it! ”

Spying on this was not a good idea. He was more likely to get killed than anything else. But still, he couldn’t bear to look away, not as Canary seemingly laughed, and then-

Blight’s hands clenched together and surged, sending a wave of… well, he supposed it was blight, towards Canary. Wait. Wasn’t Canary also a villain? Or antihero or whatever? Why were they fighting?

It was then that the rot hit him that he also remembered Canary’s powers. Complete immunity to all superpowers. And even normal death had him- weird. Ren had stabbed him in the side once and the very next day he’d been back to his normal goonery. Wait, that was it. Canary was a henchman for one of the larger supervillains, wasn’t he? Was there villain infighting going on?

Canary swerved downwards on both wings. Martyn snapped out of his Sight as he felt Blight hit the ground. He was forced to crouch, clenching his head in between his hands. Holy hell, that hurt. But it didn’t increase. Small mercies.

He tried to inhale another breath. He couldn’t stop his supervillain soulmate from getting into supervillain fights, but he could try and breathe through it. Like meditation. Ren had liked meditation. The priests at the Watcher Temples recommended meditation too. Martyn closed his eyes-

Right as he felt Blight get punched in the chest.

Martyn gasped, now winded. Okay. Fuck. That was even worse. He tempted his Sight open once again, for lack of anything else that he could do in this fight, and-

Blight at least seemed angry. Not even angry, furious. They held blight in their hands, weaved it through their fingers, and waited for Canary to lunge. They released it then, sent an explosion of festering, corrupting rot flinging into his face. And whilst Canary didn’t seem hurt by it on a power scale level, he could tell by the way he clutched at his head physically that it had hurt him.

Go on Blight, he mentally cheered. Then watched as Canary smacked them backwards. No, this wasn’t going to end well for anybody. Where were Khione and Biteback when you needed them? You couldn’t just predict when Canary showed up, but why on Earth had Blight chosen to go at this alone?

He flickered between different angles of the Sight and hastily withdrew. Nope. His Sight had almost become obvious. He didn’t like that. But he felt another bang of pain in his leg, and…

Martyn was stupid.

Martyn was very, very stupid. 

Martyn had never possessed a power other than Sight. He could run and he could climb and he could certainly help Ren take down villains, but he’d always been on the medium range of fighting skill and it had been long since he’d trained to remember how to fight. Marty n had been a sidekick. 

Martyn was currently running towards the fight between someone who could manipulate death and someone who was, for all intents and purposes, immortal in a weird way. He was so going to die. But he might die anyway if he didn’t intervene, or at the very least be seriously injured and then die because he didn’t have anyone to haul him to safety. God, what was he doing ?

Sight spotted him a decent enough weapon, which was a brick, and then to a shadowed area where he wouldn’t be seen. He had to trust that Canary was turned away from him now, as he crossed the corner, and saw the following scene;

Blight, limbs tense and rot woven between their fingers. Canary, stood opposite with his back towards Martyn, wings fully flared. Blight didn’t look tired, but he could feel it- feel the aching pound of pain in his body. Yeah, they were a super powerful villain, but he’d also like the route which cost him- and them- the least amount of pain possible.

Martyn’s powers couldn’t make him stronger in a fight, but they could give him an edge. His eyes narrowed in concentration as he threw his Sight around in a way he hadn’t done in… a year. It felt exhilarating, and he saw exactly the right moment to lunge.

He did so without hesitation. That was the number one rule that the priest at the local Watchers Temple had told him when he’d asked for help with his power- the Senses couldn’t be questioned. And Martyn didn’t.

Canary must have Saw something too, because he began turning just as Martyn brought the brick down over his skull.

A sickening sound, both crack and crunch, broke out into the night. Blight dropped their rot and yelled something at the top of their lungs. Martyn stared. That had been… the first person he’d killed since what the media had dubbed Red Winter. Canary lay underneath him, completely still, not a brush of breath in his throat. 

“ You !” Blight shouted. They abandoned their power-thingy completely and ran up to him- oh jeez, they were terrifying when angry. “What the hell -”

“Shh!” He motioned frantically. “Do you want to wake the whole street up?”

Blight’s voice lowered into a growl. They snatched him, two-handed, by the front of his coat. At this proximity he could see that their eyes… looked as equally terrified as Martyn felt. “What the hell do you think you’re doing ?”

The full weight of what he had done had just caught up to him. He, with only powers of Sight, had confronted and killed a seriously dangerous supervillain with a brick . No wonder Blight had been terrified. He’d just put their entire life at risk for a fight they probably would have been able to pull off on their own. 

His mouth opened and stayed open for several seconds as he tried to figure out what to say. “I…” he swallowed. “You needed help.”

“I had it handled.” They insisted.

“I know, but-” but what? He grimaced. “It hurt , okay? Sorry for wanting your stupid villain fight to be over quickly.”

Something unrecognisable swallowed the glint in their eyes. Blight released him, then paced backwards, hands clasped. Then paused-

“Canary’s bodies disappeared already,” Martyn mused. He was never getting over his whole… eldritch immortality thing, but he didn’t question it. “That was quick for him.”

Blight shook their head and grabbed him by the arm. “I don’t care. We need to get out of here.”

We ? He let out an undignified shriek at the movement, then hastily muffled himself because they were right. A random guy wandering around in a coat might no warrant as much suspicion as a supervillain, but Martyn suddenly realised that he was… covered in blood. Some of it most definitely Canary’s- well, okay, he didn’t like to elaborate on gorey details but Canary’s head had let out a pretty big spurt . There was no way he could just walk around in public with that on his coat.

They pulled him into the darkest alleyway they could find. On any other day, Martyn would be afraid of getting mugged and gutted. But his mind lingered on that crack of Canary’s skull. Oh, he had no problem with killing Canary - had done so multiple times. It was just the dreadful knowledge that after running so far away from this world, he was straight back into it. What had he done?

“So?” Blight prompted him.

He blinked. “So what ?”

“Where are you going?”

“Uh…” where was he going? Back to his flat, he hoped. But… his heart sank. He couldn’t get on the bus with this much blood on him. “I… missed my bus,” he sighed, scrubbing his forehead. It felt ridiculous to say that out loud, after what had just happened, and God, he still had blood- Canary’s blood- no their blood from earlier, or his blood since it had been the stuff in his veins- all over his fingers. “Fuck. Did you have to blow everything up on that block? I would have liked to use the bus stop there without being questioned by police, you know.”

“Why?” They challenged. Their eyes scoured him with suspicion. “You’re not working with the Shadow Queen, are you?”

The Shadow Queen? Martyn froze, remembering some of the notably not legal business going on in those garages. But- the Shadow Queen , of all people, had something to do with the garages right next to his shop? Paranoia crawled into his veins. She’d killed Ren. And she was just- in the neighbourhood?

He barked out a laugh. “What? Am I supposed to believe that the Shadow Queen did business next to a Tesco in the middle of nowhere?”

Blight rolled their eyes—an action he only caught because of his Sight. “Please. You’re telling me you didn’t notice the illegal half-potion storage in those garages?”

“Well.” Martyn only now realised how stupid he sounded. “There’s more than one criminal underworld…”

Blight stared at him hard.

Alright, he’d had enough of this. “Can you help me or not ?” He snapped.

“Fine,” they grunted. “I have a getaway car stowed near here. Where do you need to go?”

“I- what?”

Blight’s tone edged from annoyed to seriously irritated . They mimicked his tone. “Do you need a ride or not ?”

“...I’m not telling you where I live,” he said reflexively.

“I didn’t ask for your address,” they scoffed, “I’d prefer not to know, actually. Just give me a place to throw you out at.”

His mind scrambled—did he buy into this or not? For all he knew Blight had a gunman waiting in the back of their car ready to hold him hostage. He’d heard the occasional horror story of powerful people locking their soulmates away to ensure that they couldn’t get hurt. Or-

“Uh- the Watcher Temple…”

“ Which Watcher Temple?” 

“Viola Street.” He bit out less carefully. 

They gritted out a sigh. They were covered in rubble dust, blood and looked just about ready to kill something. He wouldn’t want to be driving someone like him around in that condition either. “Come on, then.”

He wasn’t really sure what he expected- a Lamborghini? A Bat Cave? But they took him by the wrist (which had still been hurting from earlier) and dragged him through the weave of alleyways towards an… average-looking car. Plain silver. Martyn had to blink because of how normal it looked. This was Blight’s getaway car?

“Biteback’s cousin's friend used to do car renovation,” they muttered, jamming their keys into it’s side. “And her cars were always so shit, but now whenever Khione suggests getting a car that would be fun to drive, she vetoes it on the premise of ‘saving the planet’. Who gets inspired to save the planet from their cousin's friend?” 

“Uh-huh.” Martyn watched them with growing concern. How hard was it to open a door? “Should you be telling me any of this?”

“Biteback can fuck off.” The door opened with a satisfyingly dull clicking noise. They yanked it open with a vengeance “It’s open. Take shotgun, or don’t. I don’t care.”

He had a feeling that they cared slightly more than they let on, judging by the dry, questioning noise they made in the back of their throat as he clambered into shotgun, but if they said they didn’t care then he was just going to take their word for it. Could it even be called shotgun, considering that it was a left-sided car driving on the left side of the road? He didn’t know, and neither did the author. Americans were scary.

…Although maybe not as scary as Blight. He, uncomfortably, made eye contact with them, and then looked away. Why on Earth did he agree to this? Surely he could have survived an hour's walk in the freezing night air- and oh, would you look at that? It was starting to rain. He’d take his chances with the car.

The fabric of the car seat was nice. There were a few stray specks of dirt on the floor, but other than that it seemed more worn down than dirty. Small miracles.

“So,” Blight said. Their hands were sturdy against the steering wheel. They squinted at him from behind the mask. “...Viola Street?”

“That’s the one,” he said, weakly.

They pressed their foot against the pedal and started driving. No gunmen leapt out. No one held him hostage. Nothing blew up. Martyn tried to breathe out, tried to relax himself, but he was caught up on the adrenaline of moments prior.

The rain began to pat against the windows in soft droplets. Martyn exhaled. This was going to be a long drive.

“So…” 

He snapped his around over to them. Blight looked almost- uncomfortable at the situation. Then again, he wasn’t comfortable either. Soulmate or not, they were strangers whose first interaction had been blowing up his shop. That wasn’t a great first impression.

“Come here often?” They attempted to ask. 

“Not to this road.” In all honesty, he’d never been on this specific street before. When he wasn’t working, he mostly stuck to the same areas. “Er- you?”

They looked marvellously unhappy. “Not until last night.”

“Last ni-” ah. The… weird interaction he had with Biteback and Khione at the Tesco? Yeah, he didn’t want to know. Maybe they were a chauffeur in their spare time. The thought amused him.

Silence overtook the car once more.

“So- you work at Tesco?”

“I worked at a Tesco.” It came out far more aggressively than he would have liked, but they deserved it. Blight let out another sigh. They didn’t apologise, which in all honesty, made it kind of worse. Just imagine how many citizens of Generica City were going to be traumatised by the loss of one of the fifteen Tesco’s in the city. Meal Deal sales would plummet. Sales of salt and dog food would collapse. He eyed them with some suspicion. Screw it, he did want to know. “I don’t suppose you know why the hell Khione brought seventeen bottles of salt last night?”

Blight shrugged. “I don’t know. Fun?”

That did not satisfy his curiosity. Martyn shrugged back and looked out the window. It suddenly occurred to him how weird it might be looking in- one of the most powerful supervillains in the United States of Generica (Which, wow, whoever named this country had really run out of ideas, hadn’t they) just… sat next to a guy. 

“Got any pets?”

“Can you stop?” He snapped. Why was he snapping at them? Oh, right, he was pissed off because they’d blown up his Tesco. “Hello, yes, you're my soulmate, but I know literally nothing about you, Blight-”

“My name is Cleo,” They clicked.

“...what?”

Had Martyn heard that correctly? There was no way they were just telling him their name , right?

“My name is Cleo.”

“Cleo,” Martyn repeated. Their name rolled off his tongue. He wasn't quite sure if he had expected it. It did fit the sort of… scary and serious vibe they had. “And… you're undead right?”

“Yes.”

“And you…” Martyn stared at the mask. It was only now in the closeup that he saw the details. It had to have been a real human skull at some point. The black paint job only covered most of it, and if he looked hard enough he could make out splinters of bone underneath. 

“Take your mask off,” he said.

“No.”

“Listen up, Cleo ,” He snarked, balling his fists. You know where I live ,” Martyn huffed. “I feel like it's at least fair that I know what you look like.”

Silence. 

He wilted. “Or… don't, I guess. I can't make you.”

They sighed, more tired than anything. “Maybe when I’m not driving , you idiot .”

The ride felt too long. He couldn’t stop himself from hyperfocusing on every small detail- Blight’s body language, their hands, the twitch of their breath. He felt- paranoid. Nearly a madman. Surely, they would bite in a minute.

But no bite came. Despite the length of the car ride it had somehow taken them no time at all to get to the Temple. Blight pulled up neatly (who would have thought that one of the greatest supervillains in town was a neat driver), and turned the car off with a sigh.

He couldn't deny a sense of curious anticipation—Blight was a supervillain . He was about to see a supervillain without their mask.

They inhaled slowly, and with two rotten hands, gently prised their mask off. 

Heavy eyes—he already knew that they were bloodshot and green, but the vividness startled him. Sharp nose. Thin lips and ragged eyebrows. All sunk into a sickly grey face and crowned with a mop of startlingly vivid orange curls. Their skin was a mixture of mottled green and white—not white person white, but white white, like paper, or marble, all lined with stitches and scars. He felt his skin tingle at the tension of the stitches as they blinked, once, lazy, and scowled at him. God, their skin was dry -

“You could use a good bit of moisturising cream,” He wondered aloud. 

Cleo glared .

“...that was a joke.”

“You ‘re not funny.” Ouch . “Do you want to discuss things, or do you want to carry on making jokes?”

“Yeah, I do. Sorry .”  If they detected his sarcasm, they ignored it. “So… what's your pronouns?”

“Why should I tell you that?”

Martyn paused. “Because… it would be really nice of you?”

He was glowered at. For a heartbeat, he thought that he was going to be murdered. “She,” Cleo said finally. “And they. And don't ever call me nice again.”

Who had a problem with being called nice? This asshole, apparently. Martyn glowered back at her. 

Boy , was he learning a lot of things about his soulmate today. She was called Cleo. They used she and they pronouns. They looked very intimidating. She didn't appreciate his brilliant and unique comedy. What an asshole . “Do you kill people for fun, or is it a paid gig?

“Would you like to find out?”

“Jeez, okay.” he gulped. “I'm gonna take that as a yes for both.”

They gritted their teeth, then shoved up their sleeve. A watch. A rather classical watch, actually. Good craftsmanship. Oh, what the hell was he talking about? He didn’t know anything about watches.

She shook her head at it. “I need to get going.”

“Wait,” he stammered, “Where are you going ?”

“To my house.” 

His mind conjured up an image of Blight in a scribbly cartoon house with a smiley face sun in the sky. Martyn almost strangled himself in an attempt to not laugh. He failed. 

Cleo raised their eyebrows at him, inviting him to share the secrets to his amusement. “It’s nothing,” Martyn managed. “But, like, where is your house-?”

A look of serious irritation crossed their face. Uh oh. He has pissed off the almighty-Cleo. 

“I mean, as in, where should I contact you?”

“ You ,” they jabbed a finger into his chest. “Stay out of my business. We don't need to talk, we don't need to meet and we don’t need to ‘hang out’. I have no intentions of disturbing your life, and I have no intentions of letting you disturb mine.”

“Excuse me?”

They gave him a long, and hard, look. “Get out of my car, Martyn.”

So she did know his name. That was- not a good thing. He did as she said, although he shut the door with a little more force than strictly necessary. 

They waited a few moments, and then drove off.

…Well, that had gone- amazingly , hadn’t it? Martyn pinched his nosebridge. As instructed, he had been delivered to Viola Street Temple, not even to his flat. He sighed, and began to plod off in search of his building. It was too wet, it was too cold and he was too tired to even think about Ren’s grave. He’d visit it when he next time. He had so many things he needed to do. He needed to gather up all the money he had left, he needed to take inventory of what food he had, he needed to see about getting a new job/flat immediately.

All of that could wait, was the first thing he thought upon getting inside his flat. Good old, rusty, rundown flat. He didn’t even bother checking for bloodstains or injuries that were definitely there, he just flung his coat onto the nearest thing and collapsed onto the bed. He needed to sleep. He could figure out what to do next in the morning.

[teapot-of-tyrahn]

Zombiewood ficlet please :3

You hold on until you can’t hold on anymore. And Martyn had held on tight. He’d held on with all his might. That’s what trees did, wasn’t it? A seedling’s first instincts when it began germination was to root it’s radicles into the soil, to shed it’s seed shell and send root hairs into the marl, anchoring itself in the ground like a ship anchoring itself to the pier. Before it even thought about sending it's hypocotyl aboveground, it made sure not only it’s taproots had embedded into the dirt, but it’s secondary roots, it’s tertiary roots… even it’s fibrous roots had to have seeped so deep beneath the subsoil that the surface was surely a distant memory. Plants were intelligent in that sense. They had the right idea. They were in their infancy, they were vulnerable. They needed to forge as many rootways as possible, they had to have countless ways to transport transpiration to the xylem, they had to be rich in rootroutes and resources, they had to be ready before they showed their faces to world. To show their faces to the world. By the time he met his soulmate, he wanted to have put down roots. He wanted to have resources. He wanted to be prolific, frutiful and profuse, he wanted to be indispensable. Soulmates were symbiotic relationships, and he wanted theirs to be mutualistic, better yet, commensalistic; he wanted them to need him. If they relied on him, whether it be for resources or his resourcefulness, they couldn't abandon him. Maybe it was an irrational fear to have, given, after all, they were soulbound. Their healthbar, lives, and souls were intrinsically linked, abandonment was fundamentally impossible given the sheer nature of their connection, they were glued at the hip and tied by the arm, but still. Perhaps it was because of what had happened in Last Life. What he had become in Last Life.

The isolation had been unbearable. It had been excruciating. He couldn't go through that again. He couldn't handle being so alone he'd become delusional, he'd begun to talk to mannequins meant to mimic his former friends in a desperate reach for any companionship, abandoned and forsaken by everyone and everything he'd ever had. He couldn't go through that again. He didn't think he'd be able to survive if he did. But it was fine! Because he wouldn't. He couldn't go through that again… because he had a soulmate! He had a soulmate, this time, and his soulmate couldn't die on him, because if they died, he'd die, too. And they couldn't abandon him, because they shared a healthbar, the were soulbound, they were a pair, and besides, why would they want to? He was going to get so many resources for them, they'd be so impressed, they'd fawn over him and say: 'Ooh, Martyn, look at all the resources you brought for us! You're the best soulmate ever! I'm so lucky! I don't know what I'd do without you!'. He'd make such a good first impression they wouldn't even be able to fathom the idea of leaving him. They were going to be so proud of him.

"I'll do us proud, don't you worry." "Do yourself proud, don't worry about me." Obviously his plan hadn't gone as planned. In a game of soulmates, in which you were promised a pair, a partnership, a companion... Martyn was alone. Forsaken his own soulbound, abandoned by his fatepair, discarded by the person he'd been trying to make himself undiscardable to. At least Pearl had Tilly, but Martyn? He was completely alone. But it was fine! It was fine. He didn't need Tilly, or Pearl, because he would have Cleo, it would be fine. He had to have Cleo. He was hers. She'd see that eventually. She couldn't abandon him. That was against the rules. That wasn't supposed to happen this time. And yet it was exactly how it had happened last time; alone, deserted, desperate, desperate enough to say yes to what They'd offered him… No, he wouldn't let it happen this time. It's fine! He would win her back, this was just a little tiff, a petty miff, he would win them back and everything would be fine. He would not be alone. It would not happen again. Every tree had a woodwound or two, some burls and bruises, but he and Cleo were destined to inosculate. They were designed to. They would inosculate, even if he had to meld his scion into their stock to graft them together himself. Nothing could come between them, he wouldn't let it, he'd edaphoecotropate through anything that tried. Everyone knew that trying to stop a tree's tropism was futile. He'd just resort to thigmotropism if he had to. And yet, it seemed no matter what he did, no matter what he'd done, he still couldn't quite hold on tight enough. Or maybe the problem had been he'd held on too tight. His roots would dig into the soil, trying desperately to embed themselves into the ground, to intertwine with his soulmate's roots, but everytime he tried to sow the seeds of their relationship she would pull out the sprigs like they were nothing but weeds before they even had a chance to sprout. Maybe that's what she thought they were. Whilst he thought they were intertwining oak and linden trees, she thought he was nothing but a stranglers' fig, a hemiepiphyte who did nothing but suck up their shared nutrients from the soil for himself and leave her deprived. And maybe that was what he was. Maybe he'd been so desperate not to be left alone that, in the end, he'd become his own self-fulfilling prophecy, a damnation of his own creation. He'd held on too tight, clung to her with too much might, strangled his soulmate with the very string they shared. He'd held on until he couldn't hold on anymore. He'd held on until there was nothing to hold.

"Oh—  Martyn— !" Martyn had spent the entire season trying to get Cleo to say those words. To say his name. Not with distain, disappointment, derision or disgust, but with actual want for him, for their relationship, for their soulbound. But in that moment, she hadn't wanted him, no. She had needed him. And he hadn't been there. No, instead, he'd dug himself into his own grave. Almost literally. He'd hidden away, like a coward, locked himself in his own sarcophagus, sealed his own fate and tomb. Ironic, wasn't it? He was soulbound to a zombie, and he died six blocks below. Meanwhile, she'd been soulbound to him, Martyn LittleWood, and had died by being skewered by a tree branch. Surely, there was some dramatic irony there, some quip or joke, but for once, he couldn’t make a jest out of the situation. All he could think about was the darkness. It had been so, so dark. He couldn’t see. All he could do was listen. Listen to Cleo's screams. He could hear dogs howling, he could hear Pearl giggling -- "Get her!" -- he could feel the adrenaline pumping in his chest as his soulbound ran for her life, for their life. He clawed, scraped, dug and dredged into the soil with raw fingertips and the desperation of somebody who knew they'd nailed their own coffin shut trying to unhinge the lid with all their might, trying to get out, because Cleo needed him, and he wasn't there, he needed to help her, he needed to get out. Not to live, but because this couldn't be how he died. He couldn't die like this. He couldn't die as he lived, alone, he couldn't die alone in this hole, no, he wanted to see her, he wanted to be with her, if they were going to die he at least wanted to die with her, he wanted them to die together-- But they didn't. Even in death, they were apart. Even in death, he was alone. Even in death, just as in life, he'd abandoned them. He'd abandoned her on last day of their lives, just like he had the first. History always repeated itself. Or maybe Martyn just always repeated his mistakes. ["All you have to do is say 'I'm sorry for abandoning you on the first day'. That's it! That's all you have to do! …. All it takes is an apology, Martyn."] ["Pf, You're not getting one, we both know you're not getting one."] I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorryI'm sorryI'm sorryI'm sorryI'm sorryI'm sorryI'm sorryI'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Cleo.

[lxrd-ren]

Tbh I find it quite interesting how Red Lives are both treated and seen as throughout the seasons; particularly how past experiences, or lack of, influence that.

3rd Life:

Now this was the first season, so many were unsure of how to treat red players. And so, they likely looked at how Grian treated Scar, the first red name. And because of how Grian promised Scar his own first life, he stayed loyal to Scar despite his red name. I think this made everyone else go: "Oh alright we can still be allied with our red named allies then". Both that and how many of the teams that season were duos, aka, teams of two. If say Scott tried to banish Jimmy, then Scott would be left on his own on account of his team consisting of literally only him and Jimmy. Not to mention, the duo dynamic made everyone more attached to their other half, especially given how a whole war was going on at the same time; keeping your allyship with a red when being threatened by another red seemed wise. Plus it made for some funny 'My red could beat up your red' moments via basicly all the duos (Scott+Jimmy, Cleo+Bdubs, Grian+Scar, Martyn+Ren)

Last Life:

Now, this season took a bit of a turn with most Reds being instantly banished from their alliances, but to be fair, that's likely Joel's fault lol. With Joel as the first red, he didn't exactly set a good impression of red names with countless murder attempts against everyone. Plus, The Wizards Alliance was just that; an alliance. Sadly with Joel being red most of the time, he and Scar hardly got chance to be proper teammates. And so, this likely paved the way for Reds not being apart of teams. We can also see this with Grian and Cleo. Cleo is a no-brainer; she literally set her past teams base alight. With Grian, since he had the wither skull, Scott and some of the Southerners wanted to confiscate it as soon as he turned red. And so, they didn't want Grian around so they could find said wither skull and take it off him. Also bare in mind this is the only season Mumbo has been in apart from Secret Life, keep this in mind.

Double Life:

There was never really a chance for red names to be turned away from their team as the teams only included the soulbounds; aka, when one turned red, the whole team became red. The only exception to this was Scott and Cleo; and when Scott turned red, Cleo turned red soon after so there was no time to even consider kicking Cleo out. And so, this season, turning reds away from their team never crossed most minds.

Limited Life:

What with the time system, this season reds within teams were treated differently. If you go down to red, all you need is another kill within 30 minutes to get back on yellow. Considering how all they needed to get back up a colour was a kill, people were a lot more lenient to their red teammates since yes they were a danger, but it was a danger they could prevent. An example of this is how I've heard the phrase 'We need to get you a kill' throughout multiple povs. And so, reds were never kicked out of teams because being red meant that you were yes a danger, but a danger that could be stopped. This likely set up the viewpoint in the next season.

Secret Life:

This season you never can go up a colour again, but people kept the viewpoint from Limited Life. A main example of this, and actually why I started thinking about this whole thing in the first place, is Mumbo and how his teammates were when he turned red. Now, Mumbo, like Lizzie, only has prior knowledge of Last Life; not the whole red teams of Double Life or the preventable reds in Limited Life, but the mindset of if you turn red, your kicked out of the alliance. This alongside the others mindset was really brought to light when Mumbo began trying to get his former teammates with anvils from Pearl's base. During this, his teammates were saying 'We know your red, we can still be teammates' but Mumbo kept trying regardless.

[greentyn]

Martyn’s pissed.

He thinks he has good reason to be, frankly. Nothing has particularly gone his way. He tries to get some credit for killing a dragon, dead. He tries to kill the wither, whiffs. At least he still has his good buddy Timmy to keep him company, right?

Oh. Yeah.

Is it normal to be this upset over a death? I mean, Jimmy had tried to shove him into lava earlier. He probably should be glad Tim’s gone out early, as per usual. A wry, imperceptible smile crosses Martyn’s face. He wasn’t first to go this time. For all the good that did him.

Martyn falls flat on the bed he had been hunched over on, staring up at the ceiling. There had been life here. It felt so empty. Out of his peripherals, he could see the chests filled with bones- trophies of success, tributes to the work of men who no longer walked and fought. At least the last time he had worked alongside Mumbo and Jimmy the base had been too blown to hell to reminisce about. Now, he was painfully aware of just how alone in the world he was.

And it pissed him off.

He wanted to hunt. He wanted to kill. He wanted to lash out and hurt every single person left in this stupid world. Just get to the next game, already. He was sick of this one.

When did it get like that?

Martyn’s brows creased. When did he get so immune to it all? He can remember a time where he stood over corpses and wept for what he had done, holding on to another as they wailed about the blood that blinded them both. And here he is now- spitting and gnashing his teeth and bearing his fangs and cursing the world and promising to make everyone’s life a living hell.

How long did it take for him to change? It couldn’t have been until recently- he had wanted to live as a Southlander, and he was the last to fall into being a red life. He still had some semblance of innocence, then.

Later? Maybe it was the soulbound fiasco? Being rejected by Cleo was awful. She could never see that he was trying to be a supplier. Can’t get rewards without a few risks, after all. He felt betrayed by her. Was that the moment he broke? Or was it being the betrayer?

The Coral Isles were beautiful. It was paradise in a timebomb. Martyn brought trouble to it, affixing a crown of red to his head and tying a matching crimson banner to his waist. A literal walking red flag, Martyn thought, and then snorted at his own joke. Scott would have known how it was going to end. He must have known. They both knew. Yet his partner never mentioned the new fashion choices, never gave him an apprehensive look. All the way until the very end. He won, if that meant anything. He killed, and he gained, and it felt good.

There.

That’s when it happened. He killed and burned and ranted and soaked in the blood he had spilled and he felt the best he ever had. The games had broken him then. He stopped thinking about the blood he shed and simply took the chances he could. Scott has been nothing but kind to him throughout this go of things, but as soon as the excuse came to hurt, he took it.

Martyn turns over on his side. He can see the chests in full view now. He isn’t going to avenge them, he thinks. There’s nobody to avenge. They all spurned him in the end. He’s simply going to kill for the thrill of it all.

Maybe he’ll try to make a friend again. Just to break their heart.

[rainyinautumn]

right. let's talk about team BEST, team TIES, and where bdubs fits into all of this mess.

now, we all know that team TIES is remarkably similar to team BEST. 75% of the members are the same—the only difference is bdubs has been swapped out for impulse. team BEST was, in the later stages of last life, a complete disaster... almost entirely because of bdubs boogey killing tango, which was a betrayal so bad it made the group dysfunctional. it's important to remember that bdubs didn't have anything against tango—he killed him out of pure necessity. tango, understandably, didn't see things the same way. etho was firmly on bdubs' side, and skizz played peacemaker between them all (only to get left behind in a fight and be the first of them to go red/die for good but that's a story for another time).

team TIES is, so far, a fairly stable alliance. not only is bdubs (the guy who can be blamed for first putting a rift in team BEST) missing from it this time, but the group has an active grudge against him due to the fact that he killed skizz early on. this is most prevalent leading up to the showdown between them in episode two, where team TIES agrees to an alliance with the clockers with the specific caveat that they can't make any real promise of bdubs' safety.

if you've seen etho's limlife episode two (go watch it if you haven't), then you've seen the "dead weight" conversation between him and bdubs where bdubs reveals that he knows team TIES has been talking trash about him and takes offense, threatening etho. if you think about it, team TIES is pretty much bdubs' worst nightmare. everyone from team BEST is together again, but without him, and they've filled his place with the guy who was literally his soulmate during the last game. they seem to be functioning and they seem to be happy and they don't like him. despite his actions as a boogey in last life, bdubs did value his alliance with every member of team BEST. bdubs being disliked by team TIES is pretty much his own personal hell.

it's important that bdubs has that conversation with etho specifically, because he's the only one from last life that was definitively on his side after he turned on tango. he's also the only member of team TIES that bdubs has never killed. interestingly, etho holds his team at more at arm's length than anyone else does, being the first to move out of the bunker in order to work (solo) on his mob farm. in short, etho is the one with the least reason to talk bad about bdubs... which is why it hurts so much that he's the one bdubs confronts about it.

not all hope is lost, though! bdubs makes up with skizz after their fight and they walk away as allies. bdubs wronged skizz, and now those scales have been balanced. however, there are still two more members of team TIES with uneven scales against bdubs. tango came very close to killing bdubs in last life but never did, which indicates he would likely not pass up an opportunity to do it in limited life. bdubs killed impulse way back in 3rd life, and he's still carrying that grudge. I'm convinced that him giving bdubs a clock was just to lull him into a false sense of security, and that he actively plans to kill him once he's yellow or red.

once again, etho is the odd man out here. the rest of team TIES is a custom-built machine to make bdubs atone for his mistakes, each representing a grudge from a different season... with the exception of double life.

that's where etho comes in.

from the very beginning, etho wanted to ally with bdubs. he dropped hints and asked about his soulbound all throughout the season, but bdubs never reciprocated the offers. unlike impulse, tango, and skizz, etho doesn't want bdubs dead. he very much wants him alive.

etho's scale is the one it will hurt bdubs the most to balance. he doesn't need to die in order to balance it. he's done that—he went out in last life calling desperately for etho to fulfill his promise to give him a life, which he still hasn't done. it's etho who owes bdubs a life, not the other way around.

if bdubs really wants to sort out all the debts between him and team TIES, he doesn't just need to die to skizz, tango, and impulse. he also needs to kill etho.

[listener-symphony]

I’m bored and I have the power to randomly generate pairs and such, soo, making up random interactions with randomized pairs (plus one trio cuz there’s an odd number). Below the cut because it’s gonna be long (there’s a lot of characters!

(Also it’s okay if nobody has anything they want to send in as an ask but if you’re just being shy or worried I want you to know that 99% of the time askblogs would love to receive an ask and you’re not being a bother by doing it. Don’t know if anybody needed to hear that it’s just I personally always get worried that askblogs receive too many asks so I try not to send them but I’ve done ask series in the past so I know that usually they would love to get a single ask and if they DO have too many they would close the ask box or say something about it, so if they haven’t, you should always send something. That’s all, hope this doesn’t sound like I’m begging for asks I’m just trying to give genuine advice for interacting with askblogs lol)

Okay now to the randomized interactions!

-

LimL!Pearl: Oh! Hi Lizzie! How are you doing…?

SL!Lizzie: …

3L!Scar: She’s probably come to see her husband again.

LimL!Pearl: Oh right! I thought he usually goes to the cliff to visit her though…?

3L!Scar: Well, some nights she comes to make sure we aren’t all staying up late here in the desert…

*SL!Lizzie glares at 3L!Scar*

3L!Scar: …I’m always asleep at night Lizzie… you don’t need to look at me like that… I only know about you coming here some nights because- uh- UH-

LimL!Pearl: uh oh…

-

DL!Scott: hey Ren…

DL!Ren: oh, hello! What’s up?

DL!Scott: you’re a dog hybrid, right?

DL!Ren: yup! What about it?

DL!Scott: well, my Soulbound is one as well, so I was wondering if maybe you could explain why she’s been acting so… weird?

DL!Ren: …what kind of weird?

DL!Scott: you know… the way she’s been acting since we arrived here.

DL!Ren: …I don’t think that has anything to do with her being a wolf, honestly.

DL!Scott: okay, thanks anyway…

-

LimL!Jimmy: HALT! I’m stealing that sheep!

3L!Etho: no please! I managed to get it all the way here from the Ranch! I can’t let you double steal it!

LimL!Jimmy: …wait, you stole it?

3L!Etho: well, yeah, they’re the only ones with sheep. Singular. This is the only sheep. How did you not know that?

LimL!Jimmy: …and you stole it from the Ranchers?

3L!Etho: …yes…?

LimL!Jimmy: …you know what? I’ll help.

3L!Etho: :D

-

3L!Jimmy: So… you’ve had those crystals since the beginning, you said…

LL!Scott: … I don’t see why you care so much…

3L!Jimmy: Future Big Man Scott… I know what those crystals mean-

LL!Scott: I’m sorry I can’t have a serious and dramatic emotional conversation if you’re gonna call me that.

3L!Jimmy: Sorry!!! I don’t know what to call you!!! Scott’s my husband and you’re… not!

LL!Scott: ….. I don’t feel like talking about this right now. But, for future reference, I suppose you could call me… Stars?

3L!Jimmy: …Okay, Stars.

-

LL!Mumbo: So you mean to tell me, your version of me killed Scar?

SL!BigB: yup. And that’s why he’s not here. He swallowed him whole and he can never recover from that.

LL!Mumbo: he WHAT?! Okay, I gotta ask the other me if this is true…

SL!BigB: you can’t.

LL!Mumbo: why…?

SL!BigB: because when he ate Scar, Scar took over his brain, so he doesn’t remember anything.

LL!Mumbo: …I’m terrified.

-

LL!Scar: This wouldn’t be the first time you’ve asked me for a love crystal, you know.

DL!Martyn: wait, really? What did the other me want with one?

LL!Scar: no idea! Maybe to help his awful marriage or something. Actually, was Mumbo still alive at that point? Ah, the memories all blur together. Anyways! You’re gonna have to promise me something good in return.

DL!Martyn: But… I don’t have anything!

LL!Scar: Me neither! Thats why you have to promise me something.

DL!Martyn: wait, do you even have any crystals?

LL!Scar: hahaha… nope! Still waiting for Santa to give me that Crystal Making Kit for Christmas.

DL!Martyn: …you mean Symphony? Ugh, whatever, I’ll come back when you actually have crystals, I guess…

LL!Scar: don’t scoff at me when you don’t even have anything to pay with!!

-

LL!Tango: Are the rumors true? Are you actually… washed up?

LimL!Etho: man 😭

-

LL!Martyn: so… you won…

LimL!Martyn: yes. What about it?

LL!Martyn: …did they… are they… are you… happy?

LimL!Martyn: ….it was satisfying. What about you? How’s losing feel, loser?

LL!Martyn: …… rude. You’re quite rude for a giant scary… pirate.

LimL!Martyn: isn’t your name Fart or something?

LL!Martyn: listen dude I’m being incredibly vulnerable right now and you are not very nice about it. I’m leaving.

LimL!Martyn: don’t know what you expected. Especially when your name is Fart-

LL!Martyn: BYE!

-

Gem: Hey Skizz!

LL!Skizz: oh hey… Gem! Wow, you’re the only one of your kind…

Gem: my kind??

LL!Skizz: Gems! There’s like four Skizzles and only one Gem!

Gem: oh, yeah… honestly, it’s kind of scary, especially since it’s like nobody knows me except Secret Lifers…

LL!Skizz: aw, that’s sad! I’m sure you can fit in with the rest of us soon enough!

Gem: Aw, thanks Skizz!

-

3L!Skizz: Hey Impulse… The Impulse I know is up in Lonely Cliff, and I know he betrayed my guys, but I’m still kind of worried about him, you know? So I was wondering if you knew anything that could convince him to talk to us again…?

LL!Impulse: hm… maybe he wants to play some fun British games

3L!Skizz: …never mind…???

-

LL!Lizzie: so… you’re saying that your Joel is… a bad boy?

LimL!Grian: ……you can’t have him

LL!Lizzie: DARN!

-

SL!Scott: ohhhhh no please don’t do it please don’t-

SL!Jimmy: THE FLORIST SENDS HIS REGARDS!

SL!Scott: NO HE DOESN’T!!! HE HASN’T SPOKEN TO YOU!!! I SAW HIM!!!

-

SL!Martyn: *sniffsniff*

LL!Bdubs: WHY DOES EVERYONE ALWAYS SNIFF??

SL!Martyn: I can smell it… you have… relationship issues

LL!Bdubs: NO I DO NOT!!! ETHO AND I ARE VERY HAPPY!!! GET OUTTA HERE YOU MUTT!!!

-

3L!BigB: Dang it’s crazy that Dog Martyn can sniff out relationship issues

LL!Etho: huh? Where’d you hear that from?

3L!BigB: oh well he just did it to- uhh… UHHH…

-

SL!Skizz: ……. So you’re… with Top?

DL!Jimmy: …excuse me?

SL!Skizz: you know, Tango Top?

DL!Jimmy: …I think that’s between me and Tango-

-

LimL!Joel: WHY ARE YOU HUMAN?!

SL!Cleo: Why aren’t you?

LimL!Joel: …

-

LL!Pearl: So, if you had to choose between Gaslight, Gatekeep, and Girlboss which one would you be?

LimL!Scott: I’m thinking Girlboss. But I’d be… Gillboss.

LL!Pearl: … you’re nothing like the Scott I know…

LimL!Scott: ???? Well yeah, he’s not a fish…

-

3L!Ren: That ship you live in seems dangerous… wouldn’t you rather live in a castle in the Kingdom?

DL!Etho: You don’t even know the half of it, Ren… But also, I don’t think you want all the Shipwreckers in your Kingdom.

3L!Ren: …Yeah, okay, I admit I’m a little afraid of you Double Lifers.

-

SL!Mumbo: so we’re best friends for real now, since Secret Life is over right?

SL!Etho: ?? no

SL!Mumbo: 🥺😭

-

LL!BigB: you know, if your scary wife is too scary for you, you could always change your identity a little…

SL!Joel: nothing is too scary for me, especially not my scary wife.

LL!BigB: okay, but I’m just saying, she would never be looking for anyone named Jerry.

SL!Joel: …?

-

LimL!BigB: So… anything interesting going on in your life?

SL!Impulse: if I hit things with sticks it kind of works like drums

LimL!BigB: …so a no, then

-

LimL!Scar: Mom, how many divorces do you have to go through?!

DL!Cleo: wtf

-

LL!Cleo: So who in Lonely Cliff is Gaslight, who is Gatekeep, who is Girlboss?

DL!Grian: …I’d be Gatekeep, Impulse would be Gaslight, and Lizzie would be Girlboss. Now go away.

LL!Cleo: Okay… but I really think all you Loners should hang out more. Could be good for you.

DL!Grian: I said go away.

-

LL!Ren: Second place…?

LimL!Impulse: Second place.

LL!Ren: …congrats.

LimL!Impulse: …you too.

-

3L!Tango: …

LimL!Tango: …

3L!Tango: …what is up with the Jimmys

LimL!Tango: I know right?! They’re so obsessed with that other Tango!

3L!Tango: I just think it’s weird, are you jealous?

LimL!Tango: NO

-

3L!Bdubs: CAN YOU STOP FLYING UP TO MY WINDOW?!

DL!Scar: what’s the point in all these tall towers if nobody’s meant to fly up them?

3L!Bdubs: you’re the ONLY ONE WHO FLIES

DL!Scar: ahh, I see, jealous that I’m the only one who has figured it out.

3L!Bdubs: NO!!! Ugh, maybe it’s a Double Lifer thing…

-

LimL!Skizz: yup! He died first!

3L!Scott: wow… that’s four times in a row… I don’t know if I should tell him or not, honestly… I’m also not sure if it makes me feel better…?

-

LL!Jimmy: okay, I’ve caved. I’m here.

DL!Tango: oh hi! …what do you mean

LL!Jimmy: I’m here to see what all the fuss is about! Why do Jimmys keep coming here?!

DL!Tango: well, I guess they’re just curious about their soulmate…?

LL!Jimmy: okay but nobody is crowding that one Scott.

DL!Tango: because… Ranchers for Life.

-

SL!Pearl: maybe you can fill the Cleo shaped hole in my heart…

3L!Cleo: …I’m married

SL!Pearl: …that’s… not what I meant…

3L!Cleo: then PLEASE work on your wording. Also, TERRIBLE way to start a conversation.

-

DL!Bdubs: have you SEEN my version of you??

3L!Grian: well… yeah… he talked to me.

DL!Bdubs: REALLY? He’s been avoiding everyone though!

3L!Grian: he wanted to know what happened with me and Scar… it’s pretty sad to hear how things went for them in your world.

DL!Bdubs: oh yeah they died badly.

3L!Grian: …. in my world we killed you

DL!Bdubs: OUCH!

-

SL!Bdubs: you should change your wizard tower into a slide

LL!Joel: …what

-

DL!BigB: heyyy…

LL!Grian: hmm?

DL!BigB: you’re a Grian… I was wondering if you could explain anything about my Grian…

LL!Grian: probably not.

DL!BigB: dang, not even gonna try?

LL!Grian: nah, I have nothing to do with THAT drama.

-

SL!Tango: the Bdubs in my world calls Etho daddy too

LimL!Bdubs: ☹️

-

DL!Pearl: HEY!

3L!Impulse: AH.. oh.. you scared me!!

DL!Pearl: Hehee… anyways… I’m just worried about you Loners! If I hadn’t made up with my Soulmate, I’d be here too! I know how much it sucks. So, is there any way I can help?

3L!Impulse: …no. I don’t really fit in anywhere…

DL!Pearl: oh come on! I’m sure everyone else at The Nose would love to have you!

3L!Impulse: hh… I feel like I’d be shot double dead if I was spotted at the Nose.

DL!Pearl: hm.. there’s surely someone who would like to welcome you! What about your soulmate?

3L!Impulse: who…?

DL!Pearl: Bdubs! You two loved each other so much…!

*3L!Impulse has clock flashbacks*

-

LimL!Cleo: Are you treating my son well?

DL!Impulse: uhh… well yeah, but… he’s not your son?

LimL!Cleo: well my actual son doesn’t have any partners so I’m just checking on the other versions of my son. Especially yours. Since in my world you killed him.

DL!Impulse: Oh, well, none of that here! Bdubs and I would never kill each other! …Well, he accidentally killed me technically, but that doesn’t matter! Also… I don’t know how I feel about pretending you’re my mother in law….

-

SL!Grian: hey emo boy did you know we’re soulmates in Secret Life

3L!Joel: don’t call me- wasn’t the soulmate season Double Life?

SL!Grian: Yeah but we were soulmates anyways isn’t that crazy 🥰

3L!Joel: … go away

SL!Grian: all you Joels are the same 😭

-

3L!Martyn: Ren is the best

DL!Joel: no, ETHO is the best!!!

3L!Martyn: BLASPHEMY! Lord Ren the Red King is the greatest!!!

DL!Joel: well, I don’t see his face on your shirt! But look at MINE!

*they argue*

[bread-elf]

Farewell For Now

Pre Amidrassil Patch In the early morning Jiroki takes a deep breath, trying to steady herself. She sits at her desk in her humble abode, tucked away and hidden from prying eyes. Nowadays she resides in the mountains of Grizzly Hills; the forests were nothing like those in Kalimdor, yet it’s the only area she’s felt a sense of home since losing her beloved Stonetalon.

Yet even so, she prepares for her departure, double checking her prepared letters in case the inevitable comes while she’s gone.

A knock on the door frame snatches her attention, prompting her to look. An old friend looks at her, moss clinging to most of his green skin that’s exposed, a forest troll with fiery hair and amethyst colored eyes. Dressed down from his usual armaments he wears, the Revantusk glances her over.

“It be gettin’ ta be dat time, ayah?” He asks, gently prodding about something as he juts a thumb behind him. “Iffin ya’ still plan on sailin’ ta de isles, gotta make ya’ way ta de human city.”

“Oh- seriously?” Jiroki utters when she briefly glances at the wall clock. She had less time than she thought; it’s time to go.

Her heart race spikes briefly, but she keeps herself composed, quickly stashing away the letters.

“Alright um- well like I said, the letters for the kids are here, in case anything happens.” A desk drawer is shut and she pats it, promptly moving to standing. “As well as my will and instructions for my things. But it- shouldn’t be a problem.” She adds on the last bit of her words as she glances away from Zim’bowa, the troll staring her down rather intently as she moves to a glass display case with a glaive encased within.

“This thing will probably vanish every sometimes! Just- PLEASE be sure you don’t mess with it, or put anything in it. Definitely do NOT let any of the children near it if you bring them over, they could get hurt if it suddenly phases-”

“I know it be soulbound, I’ve seen ya’ summon it.” The troll rolls his gemlike eyes, uncharacteristically impatient as Jiroki goes over her mental list of instructions for him. “We be careful, ain’t nobody gonna be touchin’ it.”

“Right, um…” Jiroki thinks, wiping her hands over her abdomen as she looks around. Now that it was happening she was starting to fumble with her words, but remembers something else as she then slips by him and into her living room. “I already went over the plants- just be mindful of them. I swear if anything happens to my cactus I got with Helsong, it will be your head.” “I think Helsong would have me head too. Don’t worry, de cactus will be fine.” He lets out a sigh, arms crossed as he watches the elf move this way and that, collecting her things. Zim’bowa’s gaze is piercing, and Jiroki can practically feel it spearing through her. But that doesn’t stop her from collecting her packs; small ones with just necessities and travel supplies, confident she’ll be able to make do once she’s with her people in the Dream. And although she could ignore those piercing gemlike eyes, she still felt the prick of anxiety lurking beneath. Does he know? “I’m taking Takesh with me, but make sure the children’s other pets don’t mess with his roost, or the children for that matter, he’ll get hissy if he comes back to it being used.” “If?” Jiroki’s lips purse at the way Zim’bowa points out the word, his tone of voice confrontational even. Yet still he just stands there, arms crossed still as he stares her down. Waiting for something. “Well- When, I don’t know, I’m not going to make promises either way, Goddess forbid if anything happens.” Having her knapsack, bow, and quiver, she’s ready for the journey as she begins to step to the front door. “Too much is at stake, but I’m going to do my best before I return home.” As she steps out the door Zim’bowa stalls a bit, reaching up to rub at his face in distress. With a sigh he rolls out his shoulders and straightens his back, and follows out of the house. Already she’s making her way towards the path that leads to the main roads in these mountains, without so much as a goodbye. “Ya’ failsafe is gone, Jiroki!” Zim’bowa calls out to her, and his words make her halt in her step. “Tch…” The elf closes her eyes and takes a breath, feeling her shoulders tense. She had hoped he wouldn’t say anything, wouldn’t notice. Scarred ears twitch as she can hear him approaching from behind with slow, heavy steps, but she keeps to her place, knowing she’s been found out. “I be thinkin’ ya’ forget who ya’ be dealin’ wit’.” His tone is accusing, insulted even, looming above her as he looks down at her. “Ya’ didn’ think I’d notice de stench of de undead not on ya’ anymore? Dat rune from de Death Knight meant ta bring ya’ back ta life?” He grabs hold of her arm roughly and pulls her around, abysmal pits for eyes meeting his own. “I don’t need it!” Immediately Jiroki becomes combative, trying to shrug his hand away, but his grip is too strong. “It’s just a rune, nothing is going to happen.” “Maybe iffin I was someone else I’d believe ya’, but I was de one dat found ya’ left for dead in de snow all those years ago, de place ya’ took ya’self to ta die.” Jiroki winces at the way his grip tightens on her, and she scowls up at him. The look in his eyes makes her falter though. Amidst the anger and disappointment in them, she knew him well enough to see glimpses of other emotions swimming in his eyes. The worry, the confusion, the fear. Something makes him see clarity for a moment, and he exhales a heavy breath as he looks down at his hand on her arm, his grip loosening just lightly to not hurt her anymore, but he doesn’t let go yet. “Jiroki…” His voice more solemn he looks into her eyes again. “... Where are you going?” Her lips part, but she surprises herself as she can’t find the right words to say, having no answer to that question. A lump forms in her throat, and deep rooted emotions coil around her heart from years upon years of anger and grief, making her eyes swell as she finds herself confessing to him. “I… I don’t know where I’m going.” Unrest lingers in Zim’bowa’s gaze still as he peers at her, searching her gaze. Yet he finds the genuinity in her words, and his hand lowers to her own.

“I wish I knew what was goin’ on in dat head of ya’s ta help…” He lightly squeezes her hand in comfort, and leans forward to rest his lips to the top of her head, tusks framing around her. “I know it doesn’t feel like it, but ya’ are well loved, ok? When ya’ figure ya’self out, we’ll all be here for ya’; ya’ friends, ya’ family. And even if they’re not, I will be. I’m not goin’ anywhere wit’out ya’.” Jiroki could only nod under his touch, tears having slipped out, at risk of hiccuping on her own words. She squeezes his large hand in return, and when he draws back she starts to wipe the tears from her face. “I lost myself so long ago. If I find myself again, you’ll know.” “Ok...” With a heavy heart, Zim’bowa lets her go, remaining where he is as she begins to walk away. With each step she takes she goes further and further, leaving her home behind. Though her hippogryph companion lingers in the trees and watches the ordeal, he follows in the air as the elf decides to start her journey on foot, alone. Long neglected turmoil lingers in her heart, the loss of family and loved ones finally catching up to her, too heavy to set aside anymore. As she walks the sun rises higher and higher, the light painting the landscape in beautiful colors. Deciding to start from the beginning, she goes back to her people, back to her roots. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ OOC I'm not sure who ends up reading this, but if you did and made it here I'm very grateful for it. With this story being done, I'm not retired from RP, and from Jiroki as well. This isn't my best works I've written, but I wanted to give her a proper farewell and a reasoning for her absence should I ever return to the RP scene in the future. I tend to project in my writing a lot, and my divorce I went through is still taking it's toll on me, and I am pulling away from WoW and the online world in its entirety. This blog will remain though, and despite circumstances things are going well for me. I've met some wonderful people local to me and I am catching up on my health checks, and I also will be undergoing through a fitness program to get me back into shape that will most likely make me go radio silent for several weeks for those that tend to talk to me often. I have ambitions on working on my own original works, and I may post about those in the future on this blog if I get them published somewhere. But in the meantime, it's been a fun ride and I've learned a lot of the years. I'm still available for messaging if anyone so happens to want to reach out to me. For my own archive, here is Jiroki's original Character Sheet of her description. God bless you all, I'll see you around. ✌

[overx]

This post is already getting super long so I’ll do another one some other time about the different types of “sight” and what it takes to be aware of magical creatures and entities besides the Gods themselves.

So tell us about the different types of sight <3

[[OH YEAH. I promised to do that after the LAST soulbound lore dump, whoops.

If you're familiar with the concept of "seeing the unseen" in fantasy and supernatural media, you'll have a basic idea of where this is coming from. There are some things that need certain levels of magic to perceive. Some species inherently have higher levels of sight (demons for example), and others like humans do not.

It IS possible for someone to occasionally be born with a level of sight that's an unusual trait. That's where you get stories about humans who can see ghosts, for example. In the same vein, you could have someone from a species who has a WORSE level of sight than average too. Someone could theoretically spell craft while having next to no level of magical sight. You get the idea.

Likewise, it is possible to enhance one's sight through spells, potions, and other rituals or training-- depending on what kind of sight you're aiming for.

Not all magical / non mortal creatures require sight to be seen even by regular people. A werewolf is still a physical creature, and would require further magic to go unnoticed in some way.

In the SB universe we separate types of sight and levels of sight.

First, what type of sight does someone have? Ghosts and spirits would be a separate category from say, an invisible creature using magic to hide itself. Maybe you can see fae regularly, but can't see through a glamour spell that hides or changes features.

Someone can have multiple types of sight -- which is common for very old or powerful beings, and those with a lot of magic potential.

You can think of simple categories like this (they are in no particular order):

ghosts/non physical undead

physical magical creatures that hide themselves (like a unicorn)

extraplanar entities (creatures that are in two worlds at once)

intangible creatures/spirits who aren't the dead kind (think some fae or yokai)

higher level beings like the Gods or their attendants

the ability to perceive magic itself.

Your level of sight is kind of self explanatory from here. Continuing to use the ghost example. Someone could see most ghosts around them, but their sight might not be developed enough to see ghosts that don't WANT to be seen or particularly powerful ones.

That's!!!! The basic rundown without babbling about each of our individual characters.]]

[over-the-time-flow]

Our triple kill nets us 8k monies, a Repair Kit, and a Solar Panel, an item which grants a machine 10% En regen every turn, which is pretty handy.

...wait, why's the stage not over?

...GOOD LORD, I'VE FORGOTTEN THE DINOSAURS

GETTER TEAM? RAUL?

oh awesome

Go is feeling himself, but Colonel Jin's mind is elsewhere.

"Heh... I finally got all three pilots. Were you watching, Musashi...?"

:(

At the Frieden's bridge, Hayato and Jamil exchange thanks for the mutual aid, and Go grumbles about it. He could have handled it all himself, he thinks.

Already feeling in the dadscold mood, Ryoma immediately calls him a dumbass and tells him that the Getter Robo is all about teamwork. Go blows him off, introducing the frankly indecipherable nickname he has for Ryoma, "Rotor". I get that it's supposed to be Go misremembering Ryoma's name, but Rotor sounds so unalike it that surely it's like. a reference or something i'm missing, right? does anyone know?

In any case, Hayato apologizes for the nascent fight can't take getter 1 pilots ANYWHERE and further apologizes for asking to accompany the ship all the way to Japan. Continuing this interaction's trend torwards mutual respected punctuated by extreme politeness, Jamil of course says it's no bother and gets started on introducing the Getter Team to everyone.

Raj immediately perks up when the word Getter starts getting thrown around, leading to Kid making fun of him for his special interest in energy sources. Hayato is sorry to burst his bubble, explaining that the Neo Getter uses Plasma, not Getter Rays. It's not as potent as Getter Rays, but it's easier to control, and it still gives Photonic and Super Electromagnetic energy a run for their money, so they figure they may as well play around with it. Seemingly not very picky, Raj still wants to hear more, but Sho shuts him down; this is all confidential, so she can't say much more without Colonel Jin's permission.

Later, in the hangar, Ryoma says his farewells; seems like he's going off on his own now, saying that now that the Getter Team has all three members, his job here is done. He's not gonna be piloting anything anytime soon, WHAT A REFRESHING SENTIMENT TO HEAR FROM RYOMA IN A SRW GAME AFTER THREE BILLION YEARS OF MODERN SRW, LET ME TELL YOU so he might as well do his own thing and gather info on the Dinosaur Empire. Noin apparently has been offering him a position in the Preventers, but Ryoma just doesn't see himself fitting into an organization like that.

Ryoma: "Alright, see ya!" Hayato: "Ryo...!" Ryoma: "I know, i know, i'll stop by Musashi's grave before leaving!"

Go barges in, saying "old man Rotor" can't leave until they've settled their fight, but Sho drags him away because he's got a MOUNTAIN of piloting drills to catch up on as the New Guy. As he's restrained, he promises Ryoma that their duel is a soulbound endeavor, but Ryoma really just wishes he'd direct that sort of gusto torwards fighting the dinos...

Back at their room, our intrepid time divers are once again stumped. They really haven't particularly thought things through. What will they do once they reach Japan? Should they have really joined up with the Preventers?

Mizuho in particular is worried that with all the mechanical talent concentrated here, they probably won't be getting that much budget allocated to working on the Excellence...

Having grown used to her and noticing she's doing her patented self-deprecation again, Raul springs to action, telling her that as far as he's concerned, the Excellence is the best machine around. It's the best fit for the Timeflow Engine, after all, and that too is the best engine around, so it only makes sense. She says he's exaggerating, but he says that she's the one always going overboard with the self deprecation, and as usual, the Raul Pep Talk™️ is her weakness and she immediately feels better.

am i insane. theyre so fucking cute

[paradox-gaming-network]

Camelot Unchained, the MMORPG fantasy game we first heard about in December of 2012, a game that went into a very successful Kickstarter in 2013 and raising $2.2 million, with another $2 million from developer Mark Jacobs and a custom in-house engine said to support 500 person battles with a minimum of 30 FPS, was the obvious next game for gamers who wanted epic “Lord of the Rings” style battles. It was supposed to be the game that would bring player vs player battles to new heights if we just waited for it, and wait we did. We waited, and waited, and we kept waiting, and eventually it got to the point where most gamers, including the backers, just accepted that the fate of CU was that it was never going to release and it just faded away.

City State Entertainment, now rebranded as Unchained Entertainment, went through its highs, went through its lows, and while Unchained Engine grew in capability, supposedly being able to deliver large-scale, real-time battles between players (1000 of them at a time) money dried up and then CSE was in a difficult position. Taking on new investors and heading in a new direction. The new infusion of money from investors wasn’t to bring Camelot Unchained to a finished state, but instead to work on a different product called Final Stand Ragnarok. This isn’t the first time we’ve seen a developer take a turn into a different product before getting to the release of their previously presented project. Intrepid Studios while developing the MMORPG Ashes of Creation spun off a Battle Royale titled Ashes of Creation: Apocalypse which was both a game in its own right but also a testing environment for the action part of the MMORPG’s hybrid combat. Soulbound Studios developer Jeromy “Capsian” Walsh is now working on Kingdoms of Elyria which should, in some way yet not fully understood, help with the development of Chronicles of Elyria.

Unchained Entertainment officially launched its prequel Final Stand Ragnarok on 14 March 2023, with a resounding 3 players in a 24-hour peak as of the time of this writing, with the high peak of 37 players in the last month seemingly on 13 March while the game was still in testing. It is entirely possible that the steam tracking is incomplete as Steamchart is returning an error on this game, while SteamDB is reflecting player date up to the minute.

Both MMORPG and MassivelyOP are reporting that Camelot Unchained is expected to release in 2025. The big question now is do you Believe Unchained Entertainment? After over a decade in development, after 9 years of delays, do you believe in the next two years Unchained Entertainment can bring to launch a game that was anticipated nearly a decade ago? Can CU and its promises of 1k+ player battles overcome other, newer, fresher looking games using new ideas and not relying on a faction vs faction warfare system? Or are players looking for a more open sandbox style of persistent worlds, with conflict being player generated with guild vs guild fights as opposed to more formal organized faction teams?

Given that Archeage 2 is expected in 2026 (and maybe earlier if XL Games can finish the design changes talked about here: https://youtu.be/v2BkhbmQf8Y, Ashes of Creation will be in Alpha 2 at that point (scheduled for Q3 of 2024) possibly Beta, and any countless number of games that are in various stages of development, can Camelot Unchained find a cadre of players that can make it relevant? Or is the window for its relevance already closed?

What do you think? Leave a comment below!