#also thinking about. reincarnation / second lives.......................

[favorskill]

me knowing that i have mutuals that will read the soc duology but haven't yet vs me wanting to post the most sad shit ever

[donovankinard]

maybe it's time for me to move on.............

[eimearkuopio]

New model of organised religion: combination rehabilitation and education system, no longer a criminal trial.

[grimdarling69]

Another deaged Ellie and Dan, but Danny was reincarnated as Damian Wayne

Danny Damian because he was Damian now, wasn't he? He remembers now the Fentons, the GIW, Sam and Tucker, jazz. He wonders if they could have also followed him here. A part of him longs to see his fraid again, but are they his fraid still? He was a new person. Son of The Bat and Heir to the Demon Head. Something Dami he remembers reminding people of. If only Sam could see him now, he knows she'd love that. "Who's edgy now?" He can picture her saying. He can almost see Tucker laughing so hard he'd fall out of his seat.

Crack

The sharp sound of the thunder brings him to the present. He looked over at his clock, 3:00 A.M. The witching hour he can hear Ellie tell him with a mischievous smile on one of their flights around Amity Park. She loved to drag him and Dan sometimes Vlad if he was feeling friendly. Dan, his future evil self tormented by the deaths of all his family and friends, so hurt he got Vlad to rip his human half out so he didn't have to feel the pain. Ellie, his clone, created by Vlad to be the perfect son, too bad she was a daughter. Looking down at his stomach where their cores are now incubating, he couldn't help but wonder if Vlad had anything to do with this.

He shook his head as if that would rid himself of that thought. Vlad was a real fruitloop,but he would never purposefully endanger Dan or Ellie. Vlad, in his twisted and weird ways, did love them in his own ways like kidnapping and keeping him hostage to save Ellie. He had forgiven vlad for the desperate attempt to save his daughter, but incubating Ellie and Dan's cores would make him their father now, too. Ew, coparenting with Vlad does not sound like a fun time. He glanced down and lifted his shirt hesitantly. If he focused on his stomach, he could see a faint blue and red glow emanating from his stomach. Red, Vlads' color, he thought distantly. Hopefully, it didn't mean much. As if signaling him, the envelope they had carried with them to him fell off the bed carried to the floor by the slight breeze.

Lighting lumineating the bedroom, making the crisp white color shine for just a second. He tentatively reached down to grab it. He was being a baby. He was a trained assassin from birth, and his fear trained beaten out of him a long time ago. Some part of him whispered his father and Richard's teachings of being brave but not without fear.

He paused. Father would want to know everything. His past life, Ellie and Dan, the ghosts, being a halfa. He wouldn't understand, Richard would try to, but not even he could never really understand. He couldn't subject his babies to that. He couldn't live with the threat to being ripped apart molecule by molecule. His father's lack of emotional intelligence certainly would not help young halfas. He was fourteen again the age he was killed in his first life. The age he started facing ghosts from another dimension.

He started younger in this life. Killing younger, he learned to fight his whole life. Jazz would hate that. Jazz... he wondered if she was alright if she survived the attack... no, there's no time to think of that right now. He ripped open the envelope( like a band-aid, Richard would remind him), and he noticed Vlad's familiar fancy fruitloop writing immediately(he had fancy fruitloop writing now, instead of the chicken scratch Jazz chided him over). So he was right about one thing this had vlad all over it.

Dear Daniel,

Though I understand you might not be Daniel when this letter finds you. I have been reincarnated into another life as I believe you have as well. My new name is Alexander Luther. I own a corporation called Lexcorp. I unfortunately can not change the name according to my board. The idiot lot of them.

He snickered at that. His smile dropped immediately. Vlad was Lex Luthor, the archnemesis of Superman. Jon would most certainly not like this. He forced himself to read on before he spiraled further.

I regained my memories after an experiment went wrong. I know how original. My new incarnation was able to open a small portal that grew in size, and eventually, somehow Danielle and Dan fell through. The portal then exploded, and I regained my memories. Unfortunately, it destabilized their clone bodies. I couldn't grow working bodies in time, and eventually, I had to hope they could find you. I hoped somehow that the yeti doctor would have imparted some of his strange knowledge onto you that might save them.

Vlad, no Lex still wrong. Vlad was somewhat right about that. During one of his all things ghostly lessons from Frostbite, he told him of how in the old ages ghosts often incubated their ghostlings. A protective measure back when magic and spirits were more prevalent. He didn't really understand it back then, and he doesn't understand it much now, either. Apart from the fact he was doing it, he supposed. What if he did something wrong and he lost them? He doesn't think he could live out his half-life if he lost them again. He needed to get to Vlad, and quickly too so they could start building a new portal to the infinite realms.

If this letter finds you. Come find me immediately at these coordinates. I've gone deep underground to escape my new archnimesis's suoer senses. I've m started research on a new portal, but I'll need your endeneering skills. This world is severely lacking in ectoplasmic science and engineering. I am once again forced to start from scratch on my own. Once we get the portal open, you'll need to go straight to The Far Frozen.

It's as if he's reading my mind, I think jokingly.

P.s. One of my experiments may or not have regiven then my new DNA in an attempt to restabilize them.

Only Vlad.

Well, it looks like they actually were going to be coparenting after all. This was going to go great.

I sigh and lean my head back down on my pillow. He committed the cords to memory before lighting the letter on fire with the lighter he kept in his bedside drawer. Point to assassin training. Jason would be proud. He supposed he could stay for a month or so before leaving, which would give him enough time to get away or think of some kind of mission to give himself. He shoots up. Todd had died and came back. He was a revenant. He couldn't stick around if he were to visit he'd know something was wrong immediately even if he didn't understand it.

He sprung out of bed quickly, but quietly, his foot steps perfectly silent despite his rushed mood of packing a bag. He packed a few pairs of clothes and lots of hidden weapons, some snacks he kept hidden for that should keep him fed on his journey but leaving any sentimental things behind. He glanced longingly at his sketch pad, but Vlad was most likely under the water judging by the coordinates he was given. Who knows if it would survive.

He checked the pack, making sure he got all he needed. He promptly checked it again. Twice. After deeming it sufficient, he willed himself to open the door. He mentally cataloged everyone in the manor. Pennyworth was most likely still in Father's room, making sure he actually listened to his insructions. Richard and Todd in Bludhaven and Crime Alley, respectfully. Cain and Brown in Hong Kong. Thomas was sleeping after his dayshift.

Everyone accounted for except Drake. He was most likely using Pennyworth's attention on Father to work cases. He just had to take the risk. For his ghostlings, for himself, Vlad. He crept down the hallways. He was opening the grandfather clock in record time. He went slower this time. He would use his powers, but his father had supernatural wards of all kinds in the cave. Who knows what they did. He was also admittedly trying to save his little energy for his voyage on the open sea. Light snoring hit his ears as he peered around the corner.

Thank ancients.

Drake was sleeping at the batcomputer, still in his Red Robin suit sans mask surrounded by his poor choices. Empty coffee cups and files spread around. He would still need to be quiet, Drake was a light sleeper, as was everyone else in his family. He grabbed the keys to his bike quickly, sneaking by. If he wasn't ditching his bike at Gotham Bridge, he would have disabled his trackers. He checked the gas and made sure he could make it. That's when he made his first mistake.

Putting the gas jug back down, he accidently hit another of one of his siblings' tools to the floor. He tried catching it without success, but it fell anyway, the loud clang echoing. Mistake number two.

Shit.

"Huh? What's happening?" Drake arose sleepily rubbing his eyes.

He froze. Mistake number three.

"Damian? What are you doing down here?" His eyes landed on him, and he spoke confusedly with his voice heavy with sleep or lack thereof.

He panics. He's blaming the pregnancy hormones on this.

He runs.

"Damian!" Drake responded to his dead sprint with his own. "Stop!"

He reaches his bike, and he turns the keys and prays. Luckily, it comes to life. He fumbles with his helmet it would hide his tears he needed it. who knows if he'll ever get to see them again. He shoots off down the tunnel. Flicking the cave door open remotely.

Another bike rears to life behind him. "Damian wants going on?" Drakes voice echoes in his ears. He can almost taste the concern in it amplified by the helmet. He ignores it and accelerates. He ignores the returned acceleration behind him.

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

Tim has no clue what made Damian panic enough to run away. He quickly ran to his own bike while swearing. Damian is already gaining distance on him. After another attempt at getting Damian to calm down and talk, he calls the only person Damian would actually listen to.

He hopes Dick will forgive him for waking him at five o'clock in the morning on his day off.

[parfaitblogs]

peace ❀ s. reid x reader

in which you self isolate, and spencer knows better than to let it get too bad. 

pairing: spencer reid x reader genre: hurt/comfort tags: established relationship. suicide ideation? ("i want it to end"). depression. lots of stuff that coincides with that. brief mention of reader not eating/having no food. please be aware of your triggers. i think i mention reader as a girl somewhere? word count: 1.9k a/n: i finished this then relistened to peace (taylor swift) which was the og inspo for this, and added a section in the middle so if it feels weird its because i failed at integrating it! this was supposed to be out two days ago. all my relationship insecurities in a fic. lol how embarrassing here's my heart tumblr dot com!! anyways enjoy ily all

also posted here on my ao3 !

Three consistent raps against your front door was the only sound that got you up that day, pyjamas that you had not shed from your body in a week hanging off a frame that could probably be described as lifeless — with the nearly dead-looking face to match.

In fact, the only thing to prove you were still a living human being aside from your movement, was the pink hue around your eyes, on your nose, and above your lips, indicating how much you had cried recently. 

Usually, it isn't this bad. You just need a day or two of rotting in your apartment and doing nothing but scrolling on your phone until it died, staring at the wall, or — on the better days — watching reruns of a 90s sitcom that you don't really watch. 

But it was exceptionally bad this time around, for some odd reason, and not one part of you actually wanted to get up and out of bed for long enough to be productive about your day. Your phone had died again, after charging it two days ago, which meant you were on day six of no communication with anybody. Which might partly be why it was so bad now. 

You had a blanket wrapped around your body, dragging against the floor as you wiped your eyes and let out a small sigh, unlocking your front door and opening it, completely unsurprised by the person standing on the other side. 

He was the only one who ever paid enough attention to your disappearing act when you were like this. 

His eyes softened at the sight of you — which is kind of amusing, considering you thought you looked like death reincarnate currently. 

Neither of you said anything as you stepped aside to allow him in, the door clicking shut behind him as he placed down the leather bag he had slung over his body, turning back to you as he finally allowed the frown to appear — one you knew he would've had the entire way here.

"Have you eaten today?" was the first thing to break the silence — the question coming out so gentle you were sure you'd break down again at some point in the next few seconds. 

You wordlessly shook your head, and he nodded his own, saying nothing else as he walked into your kitchen, knowing you'd trail behind him no matter what. 

He opened your fridge first, before closing it when he was greeted with the alarming sight of nothing. Doing the same with your pantry, at which he turned around to look at you.

"Angel, you have no food," he said. And while it held no malice in the tone of his voice, you could tell he was slightly annoyed at the fact. Your heart ached. 

"I know. I'm sorry," you mumbled, and his eyebrows creased inwards. 

He didn't mention your apology — arguing with you about your vast use of 'sorry's' is futile. "Do you want a pizza?" he asked instead, and even though you, mentally, did not, you knew he wasn't actually asking. So you only nodded your head, and found a place at your countertop, the blanket falling from your body and pooling to the ground in a heap.

He ordered a pizza, and then he was nudging your knees apart, standing between them while you stayed sat on a stool, his chin atop your head, that was buried into his chest. 

And he said nothing, as he held you like that until the pizza arrived. And then he ensured you had at least eaten two slices, the remainders going in your fridge for the next meal you needed to eat. 

He was so kind to you, with his every movement, as he dragged you into the bathroom to help you shower. 

It was heartbreaking, the love you could see in his eyes. The tenderness in every stroke of his fingers against your scalp as he washed your hair, the softness in his touch as he did the same to your body. He gently dried you, told you to stay there, disappeared, and returned with one of his many t-shirts left in your apartment drawers. 

That was when you cracked. When he pulled the shirt over your head, that smelled so painfully Spencer and you. The mix of his clean scent and your own laundry detergent that you were so accustomed to, triggering something in you.

So, you crumpled to the floor of your bathroom, and he followed soon after, his arms wrapped around your body once more, firm enough to keep you still as you sobbed into his chest. 

You weren't sure how long you stayed like that for. Long enough for your head to hurt, and your eyes to sting, and hideous snot bubbles to stain his cardigan. 

When your sobs subsided, he spoke. 

"You wanna talk about it?" he said, quietly, and you shook your head. 

"Don't know what to talk about," you mumbled, and he knew that all too well.

He nodded his own head. "Did something happen?"

"Lots of little things."

"Yeah? You wanna tell me about them?"

You hesitated, because you didn't know where to begin. But then you nodded your head wordlessly, swallowing the lump — and, by extension, the sob — in your throat. "I fell down on the stairs at the train station in front of everybody. And then I missed my stop, and I was late to work. And I had a huge project due, but I didn't finish it, and I forgot I hadn't finished it, and I was anxious about it all day. And I think my friends are just pretending to be my friends, because I keep trying to make plans with one of them, and she keeps blowing me off for her boyfriend. And I'm just really sick of being sad all the time, Spencer. I want it to end."

With the onslaught of your bad vignettes throughout the past month coming back up, you broke down, again. Another sob escaping your lips as you pushed your fists down into the tops of his thighs.

If it hurt, he didn't say anything; simply continued to hold you against his chest, on the floor of your bathroom, that, if it were any other time, he would be having a field day rambling about the germs you both were currently sitting on. 

He also didn't say anything for a while as you sobbed, instead his fingers entangled gently in your hair, and he peppered kisses along the top of your head. 

"I don't want it to end for you," he finally said. His hands slid down from your scalp to your face, holding your cheeks with such tender, pulling you back so he could look at you. 

You sniffled. "I'm so exhausted."

"I know, my love. I know," he sighed, thumbs caressing over your cheekbones. "Ending it won't fix that. You know, logically, however you die is the state you'll be in, in the afterlife. So if you die while you're exhausted..."

"You don't believe in the afterlife," you answer, but his words still cracked through your tearful expression, and your lips twitched with a small smile. 

He returned the small smile, nodding his head. "That's true. But I also don't know anything about post-death. I could be wrong."

"How terrible," you mutter, and he laughed, quietly. 

"I know," he mused, falling silent for a few moments longer, with only both of your quiet breathing to break the silence. 

His fingers ran through your hair once more, and you sniffled audibly, your brain wandering away from the small content you had felt in that exchange, and back to one of the many reasons why you had isolated in the first place. 

"Why are you still with me?" you said, slicing through the silence all at once. 

You watched the smile fall, and his eyebrows furrowed, and his lips part as he went — and hesitated — to say something. "What do you mean?"

"I'm difficult." Your voice is impossibly small, and it breaks a crack in his heart as his eyes soften. 

"No. You're not," he reassured. 

"Yes I am," you breathed out — and then the tears came back. "I get sad and then I stop responding and stop seeing you, and you don't get any warning even though I know you should, and I feel so awful every time but then that makes me feel worse. And I'm sad all the fucking time, Spencer. I mean, I get upset when you aren't at home and you have to deal with all those messages and calls even though you hate texting, but then you get home and I'm isolating myself because I'm sad, on top of all the other things that make me sad, and you deserve better. You deserve someone who can give you their all and—and—"

"Hey," he cut you off, as did the sob that was ripped from your throat. "No. That's not what we're going to do. Do not sit there and tell me what I do and don't deserve." 

"But you do deserve better."

"No," he sighed, resting his forehead on your own, warm breath fanning across your face that usually made you scrunch your face up and pull away, now comforting you. "Do you love me?"

"What? Yes, of course I do. Why would you even—"

"—That is the only requirement I have for you," he said, oh so simply. When you didn't reply, he pressed, "Okay?"

"Okay," you murmured, and he relaxes a little.

More silence fell between you, your tears subsiding and your shaking body relaxing a little more. 

Then, "Did you hurt yourself when you fell down?"

You nodded your head, reluctantly pulling back from him so you could show him. You pointed to a yellowing bruise just below your knee, and the grazes on the bottom halves of your palms. 

"Oh, wow. Look at these," Spencer said, running a thumb gently over the grazes on your hands. "You're braver than me. These would've taken me out."

You laughed, and you saw his face light up at the progress he was making with you, and your mood. 

He then pulled you back into his chest. More silence, but less anxiety, and you sat comfortably in his arms for a few moments longer. 

"Did I worry you?" you say. "Not responding?"

You were so close to him you could hear his breath hitch, and you prepared yourself for a lie about how he wasn't worried at all. Except; "Honestly? Yes."

"Oh."

He exhaled, shakily, and you were kind of glad he couldn't see your sadder expression, half-buried into his chest. 

"You've never gone that long without checking in," he then explained. "The first two days I got what was going on. By the fourth I figured you still needed space. Today I just had a gut feeling."

"Just a gut feeling?" you echoed, and you felt his head nod against your own. 

"Thought you might need someone."

You sighed. "I hate that you're a genius."

"No you don't."

"No, I don't."

His fingers entangled in your hair again. "I also didn't figure you needed me here because I'm a genius."

"No? Then how?" you asked.

"It's simple," he murmured, tugging your head back oh so gently so he could look at you again — puffy eyed, and tear-stained cheeks and all. "I just know."

"That's the most illogical sentence I've ever heard leave your mouth."

He laughed, and you smiled again.

"Come on," he then said, untangling your limbs and pulling the both of you up to your feet, hands ghosting your waist to hold you steady. "I am willing to sit through whatever awful movie you want me to watch."

your reblogs and replies are always appreciated dearly ♡

[gguk-n]

In Every Life (Ollie Bearman x Reader)

Summary- In a world where soulmates exist. Some people remember the time they spent with their soulmate in every life. Ollie wake up one day and remembers everything, like it was yesterday.

Oliver had always wondered what his soulmate mark was. He thought that it would eventually appear as he grew older. But nothing of that sort happened; what did happen were weird fragmented dreams, of him and his soulmate. At first he thought his soulmate mark was sharing dreams or memories but as he dissected his dreams he realised that they didn't look like they were from the current time.

The dreams started when he was a teenager, very vague and blurry; leaving him very confused when he woke up. As he grew older, they got vivid and lively, as if he could feel his soulmate every time he dreamt.

One of his most earliest memories were of the bubonic plague. He had done his research and it looked eerily similar to his dreams. He remembers meeting his soulmate, spending time with her and being helplessly in love. But he also remembers losing her, watching her wither away as the disease took her, watching her being shunned yet never leaving her side.

In his second life, he met his soulmate when they were kids. The pair remembered each other from their past life and were able to pick up where they left off. They had hoped to finally get their happy ever after this time but fate had other plans. Ollie remembers falling mysteriously sick just like everyone in the village. He remembers his lover doing everything in her power to save him. He remember closing his eyes to a weeping soulmate as he took his last breaths.

In his third life, he couldn't believe how unlucky he had been the past. He still thinks in every reincarnation he was unlike. Because that life was during the first world war. He was forced to enlist and they spent their days writing letters back and forth. They had only met a few months before his enlistment and hadn't even gotten time to spend together. He finally returned back from war but he didn't know what had happened to his soulmate since he had stopped receiving letters as time went on. He had hoped for her well being but it wasn't enough. He came back to destruction; spending the rest of his life in misery.

But this time, Ollie would change the course of their life. He would make sure that they got to live happily ever after. He would find them and grow old and have kids. He would finally live the life he so desired.

It was like everything was working in his favour. He had signed his F1 contract and he had a prospective future. And then he saw her. She was walking around the paddock with some one, who he realised was his future teammate. He was quick to approach her. "Hi, I'm Ollie" he smiled, introducing himself. She looked at him confused, "My future teammate" her brother elaborated. "I'm Y/N, nice to meet you" she shook his hand. Oliver was confused, didn't she remember. He stared at her for a few seconds before she dismissed herself. Oliver watched her walk away.

He did what any 19 year old would do, stalked her social media, followed her and hoped to god he would be able to start a conversation with her. It took a while before she replied but the replies were short and curt. Oliver didn't know what to do to help jog her memory. He made sure to be an omnipresence so that she couldn't forget about him. Y/N couldn't forget about him, his face felt familiar yet strange. She couldn't piece it together. She spent a lot of time wondering where she had met him.

Oliver was losing hope, he wondered if he would ever get to be with his soulmate. His first formula one season was about to start and he didn't have as much free time to woo her, he felt.

Y/N had started having weird dreams and she would always wake up crying in them. She couldn't understand why; and the more she saw Ollie, the more vivid her dreams got. He had started to grow on her.

She soon realised those were her soulmate mark but soon she realised those were her past life, she was distraught having lost her soulmate so soon and so many times. She wondered what happened to her soulmate after each part of her past life she was able to piece together.

It was the first race of the 2025 season. Y/N had gone to support her brother at his new team. She walked into the garage to see Ollie talking to his engineer. That's when everything clicked, the weird encounters with Ollie, his persistence and the dreams. He was her soulmate. Without much thought she walked up to him. "Ollie can we talk?" she asked slowly. Oliver looked at her and dismissed himself from his engineer. They walked to a quieter place, "I'm sorry for not recognising you" she muttered tearfully. Ollie looked at her, slowly wiping her tears, "You do now" he replied hugging her. She started to sob quietly into his shirt. "I'm so sorry for leaving you, alone all those times. I'm sorry for not being there for you. I'm sorry" her body shook with the sobs as she blubbered apologies. "It's okay, we're here now. I'm not leaving. Ever" Ollie stated. "Promise" she asked looking at him. "Promise" he replied kissing her forehead. "I love you so much. In every life. I'm sorry I couldn't be there for you" she mumbled. "I love you too. I'm happy it's you" he said kissing her on the lips this time.

[canihaveacalmtime]

Your first life was a life filled with sorrow and unfortunates with not just being treated badly in the family but also get look down by the servants. Even so, behind the image you put on every day, you were working hard to enhance your family image day by day with a fake identity.

You may fool yourself by saying you're doing all of this for your family because you love them a lot but in reality, you're just doing this because you love the life without your family, the life that you can freely decide your choices.

But you were a person born with bad luck, so even a day you deemed, and thought would be peaceful and turn into the day your fate sealed. That day, while trying to protect your family from the assassins, you were killed.

You also thought that it was the end for you but when you open your eyes again, you saw familiar faces that, in your previous life, never looked at you so adoringly like that before.

It took you sometime, but you realized that you were reincarnated and now living your second life, in the same family, with the same name but start all over as a baby. Remember back then when you were born, your parents immediately look at you with disgust and send you to live in the servants' headquarters.

But look at them now! They're holding you in their arms and playing with you, even your brothers are trying to have their turn to hold you, with the amount of overwhelming differences, you forgot how to even act as a baby.

Time flies as you're now 10, over the years, you learned that your family reputation has never fallen, very unlike the previous life and they're also super adore you and protective too to the point you can even call it possessive. But with the years go on, you also learned how to begin making the giant line between you and your family, trying to avoid them more and more.

In your previous life, due to the neglect, you can freely do anything, leave and return anytime you want but those daily things back then are now very difficult to do because if you want to go out, you will go out with supervisor which is your brothers and you don't want that. So you begin writing daily in your dairy about your life as a reincarnated, your family and others around you and how horrible your previous life was.

Soon, you have to get a new book to write in and turn your old dairy into a reading book. Your grave mistake is that during tea time with your family, you forgot to bring your book with you and accidentally left it at the table when you return to your room. Your two curious brothers can't help themselves and decided to see what you've been reading these days, they soon realized the horrifying truth and hand the book to the parents.

Now that they all know, you wouldn't have to keep up the cold act anymore and can just bluntly show off your hate for them, thinking that your plan of leaving this family is now easier but is it?

On your 14th birthday, they bought a cake of your (F/C), you didn't really think much about anything or suspicious of them because they do this every year so as you were taking the last bite of your cake piece, everything around you goes black.

Every single day after that was nothing different from your previous life, all the tormenting, the horrible treatments and even occasionally beating. All of it hits at your weakest spot, your mental health, making you slowly go insane after just one year, sooner than they have expected.

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

After your death during the assassination, your family begin digging deeper into the info of those that attacked them and accidentally stumbled upon a shocking and horrifying discovery. The reason why they were still having a good life, living in good conditions and stay respected among the nobles was because of you.

Knowing that they have left a child surviving without care and love which should've been their responsibilities, the guilt has never been more immense.

Realizing in this second life they have been given another chance at redeeming themselves to be a better family, they take nothing for granted and give you as much love as possible. They didn't really mind much with your coldness as long as you're with them but after learned about the reason for your behaviours toward them, they knew that something must be change. You can't leave them like this, they can't let you leave them like this.

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

You were clinging onto your mother while she soothe your cries of pain, your brothers bandaging your bruised and wounded arms, and your father making sure that you swear to never leave them or you'll be punish again.

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

A/N: Sorry guys I'm really busy with school and other things right now so I cannot write daily or often anymore 😔 and I don't think I put my mind into writing this one 💀

[emdeerm]

Past saves Present

Og fic ig

In some cultures, it is believed that children are able to remember bits of their past lives till the ages of 3-5.

For Danny, the opposite was true. He got his memories at exactly the second he turned 5.

And he had to promptly dodge the blade of the boy in front of him.

His brother, his mind supplied. His twin.

Danny stopped swinging his own sword, focusing on dodging and avoiding the fate of being a slashed pillow. His new/earned skills especially helped with that greatly as his head was seriously trying to re-kill him.

"I yield," he rasped as he jumped away from his brother and looked at their Mother. "My head hurts, Mother," he added pitifully.

His twin looked slightly concerned for a second, before schooling his face in a way Grandfather has been teaching them.

"Tch." But he did put away the blade before their Mother, said a word.

"Dynial, Damian, you are not to stop until you have received permission in the future."

The boys nodded. Mother took their hands and led them out of the private training ground back to their rooms.

Danny spent the rest of the day lying down, slightly feverish and miserable as his brain was processing and acclimating the new set of memories. Clockwork said it wouldn't be too bad. We'll, the clock bustard has been wrong. It fucking sucked.

His brother was hovering. Their Mother was always around, not letting anyone into their space. Ra's is being kept in the dark.

A peaceful rest was all he needed for his brain to finish sorting out new information. And Danny was stuck in a bit of a dilemma.

You see, Damian and Dynial love their Mother, strive to be the best Demon Twins, and see nothing wrong with their life so far.

Their hands are still clean.

Danny, on the other hand, has many MANY choice words for his current situation and one Clock Ghost.

You want to try reincarnation ONE time! No wonder others don't really do that.

-------

Their days continued like they did before he got his memory back. It wasn't hard to be Dynial when he actually was him.

The nights were filled with planning. And a personally assigned mission: get Damian to be interested in normal things.

Stars weren't much of a hit. Uncultured child.

Animals were a little intriguing.

Simple art and craft projects seemed to hit the spot.

Keeping their little meetings and activities hidden wasn't as hard as one would think. Mother still had her missions. The two of them were often left alone in their wing of the place, the supervisors being allowed only till the doors. Ra's was the Head. He didn't check in on them all the time. The two of them weren't slacking in their training either and were considered prodigies.

Danny wanted out of this Cult.

A many months after feeding different information, facts, crafts and so on to his brother, Damian was curious. He was suspicious about the sudden knowledge but he was also 5. He only had to reference the Lazarus Pit (unfiltered and dirty ectoplasm? Seriously? Clockwork, you can't expect him to work on his vocation) once to convince the child.

They snooped around and found out that they had a father out in the world.

Danny got a plan.

It was super stupid. And dangerous as hell. As well as literally (half)suicidal. But he felt it in his chest and knew he'd succeed.

His Core was here. But it was sleeping. And if he wanted to be safe and away from here, he needed to start it up again.

The big pool of Ecto would do just fine. His Core would filter out the impurities.

He didn't want to stay here until his hands no longer protected. He didn't want such life for his brother either.

---

Damian infiltrated the Lazarus Room just in time to see his brother jump into the Pit.

He ran to the edge.

He was sinking.

The green was too bright. The smell around them was too much. His ears rang.

He reached towards the water, eyes unseeing and hands numb. His heartbeat was too loud.

His brother's wasn't loud enough.

"Don't touch the puddles, Dami, you'll get sick," a gentle, cold hand stopped him from diving.

The child looked up. His brother was floating above the water. He looked all wrong. But he was there.

"I didn't want you to see this part..." his brother laughed awkwardly as he landed next to him. A bright ring of light blinded Damian for a second.

And his brother was back.

-----

Getting used to his powers again felt nice but tedious. Soothing his twin was heartbreaking. He didn't think this through hard enough.

Their Mother was none the wiser to the fact that one of her children died and came back. Nore was she privy to the escape being planned by both.

On one moonless night, when Mother wasn't there, the shift was changing and the world was asleep; two boys phased through the walls and flew. Small bags of stuff were strapped onto them as they traveled to their father.

Mother's notes called him Bruce Wayne, Batman, Beloved and Detective.

It wasn't hard to find him when they arrived.

Though, Danny didn't expect a furless furry and a pantless child to be their new family.

Can he ever get a normal Family???

[criminalamnesia]

thinking about reader and simon who are tied together and have a hawkgirl/hawkman fate.

aka they’re forever cursed to find each other, fall in love, die, then reincarnate and do it all over again for the rest of time.

(timeless by taylor swift is inspiring this lol)

every time the two of you die, when you’re reborn, you don’t remember a single thing. you don’t remember until your eyes meet each other’s again, and then it all comes flooding back.

it scares the hell out of you each time because what the fuck?

you just asked the tall, masked, burly man who was also in the cereal aisle to grab you a box from the top shelf.

and then you meet his eyes and suddenly decades— centuries are flashing through your eyes. you know this man. have know him through many different years, in many different lives.

the flashbacks suddenly stop, and your eyes are wide as you stare up at him.

“did you—” you begin, and he nods.

“what the actual fuck,” you mutter to yourself, glancing down at the cereal box in your hand.

he grunts, and when you look back up, he’s walking away.

“hey— where are you going?” you call after him.

“to a fucking shrink or somethin’. think I’m going fucking mad.”

you shove the cereal box back onto the shelf and hurry after him. he moves fast for such a big man.

“wait, shouldn’t we, like, talk about that or something?”

“what’s there to say?” he replies, not bothering to slow his pace for you as he approaches the exit doors.

“um, I don’t know, maybe ‘hey so we just had a shared flashback montage of us loving each other then dying brutally throughout the last however-many-years?’ maybe something like that?”

he doesn’t respond. you huff as you jog after him. he’s walking to his car— a black truck, and you’d almost roll your eyes at how predictable the vehicle was if it weren’t for the blaring of a car horn.

it’s a split second, and it gives the two of you all the proof you need that whatever the fuck those memories were, they were real.

a car comes skidding into the parking lot, making a beeline straight for you. you turn as the horn cuts through the afternoon air, your eyes widening as you’re about ten seconds away from getting well acquainted with the hood of the car, and then—

the car crashes into the man’s truck and you’re still breathing.

“what the fuck?!” you shriek as adrenaline courses through your veins.

as you attempt to get your bearings, you realize the man is on top of you. he’d saved you, had tackled you out of the way.

“you— you were— you shouldn’t have—” you pant between quick breaths, eyes wide in shock as you stare up at him.

“I…I just had a feeling…” he mutters, and it’s more to himself than it is to you.

he climbs off of you, brushing off his jeans before holding a hand out to help you up. you place your shaking hand in his, and he lifts you with ease.

you look at the crashed car, his ruined truck, and then back to him. bystanders are yelling now, and people are starting to approach the two of you.

“I’m simon.” he tells you, his eyes trained on the wreck.

you tell him your name and he nods.

“guess we’re stuck together now, huh?” he says, and you nod.

“yep. guess we’re stuck together.”

[mehiwilldoitlater]

remember that ask about yuán fèn being able to communicate with sun wukong's spirit, well how bout' u mix it with ur last sad fic and make the reader a reincarnation of that guy's dead wife, not that i also see him giving yuán fèn advice on his relationship and look at them and realize they look at each other the same way he and her past self did

Yuán Fèn never liked to be jealous. He hated it, finding that emotion despicable.

But it was always natural to him, feeling the urge to hide you from every possible suitor's eyes, even now that you were completely and utterly his own. You loved him, and he loved you, that was all.

But he had instincts, and it's complicated to control them or satisfy them when the one that causes this emotion is a spirit that lives in his head.

When did Wukong start to look at you in that way? When did it happen? When he merged with him? When you both vowed each other your loves? Or it was something that had grown with time?

Despite his desire to attack something that was more in his head than outside of it, he had noticed that the looks on the sage's face weren't of desire or longing; they were pityful looks, like those of someone who is regretting something.

A few times I wanted to approach the subject to understand his strange new obsession with observing you, but it was always not the right time or just an avoided matter like many others. His eyes looked at you like some old man that observed the sky that changed towards time, and he wanted to know why.

Like every time he found him there, in the side of his eyes, looking at you. He was sitting on the wooden porch of your new shared house; the sunset colored the sky like the day that he had fought his shell in his mind. You were there, in the distance, playing some games with a few of the small monkeys, laughing and trying to catch them. On the sage face, a small smile.

"I know you're in my head, but I would appreciate it if you could stop staring at her."

He waited for a response from the former king, only to meet silence. He sighed, explaining why he was so difficult. He followed him to his spot on the porch, looking at you falling in the grass while a small monkey had climbed on your chest.

"At least you could tell me the reason?"

"The smile is the same."

Yuán Fèn looked at him confused. He expected everything—some remarks, a stupoid joke—instead he was talking like that now.

"...Same?"

"Yes, the same... I wonder... but if it's true, or the karma it's an amazing thing, or It just love to play dirty games."

"Oh, please!" he burst out, passing a hand on his head. "Spill it out! Tell me and let's get it over it!"

A frown appears on Wukong's face. That was hard to face for many reasons: restment, some shame, some desire to Just don't think about it. But mostly, it was the fact that it was all his doing and it was hard to digest.

"You remember my wife, Kid?"

"The untold story, yes, what about it?"

"And you know how cycles and reincarnation work, right?"

Yuán Fèn looked at him, trying to connect. Once it was done, his surprised expression turned into a sad one.

"But... she came from another world... she can't possibly..."

"That made it worst... She wasn't made to come here, but something still brought her back here, to you...and to me."

"Sadly," he continued, with a grin that showed all of his pointing teeth. "I won't be the one enjoying her! Good for you, guess."

The younger monkey wanted to make a comment about the comment but found himself uncapable to even do that. He felt just a sense of sadness and cruelty in these big schemes.

Once, they were lovers. Now he was just a projection of his mind, and you didn't even know. Was she still asleep? Maybe she just didn't want to see him... Was she still angry or in pain for being put second to the monk? Tò face death for his plan?

He pondered a little... and then he went to talk with you.

///

"Are you sure about it?"

"Yes."

"You're trembling..." His hand caressed your cheek, trying to bring comfort to your unspoken fear.

"I just... I don't want anything to happen to you. And... well, I'm going to talk to him... it's just really a big thing for me."

He knew it was crazy, but something. He talked to Wukong, asking him about it, and he just stayed there, watching buffled about it. He made the Great Sage buffled... That's new...

"I know, it's crazy... But...he would make him happy, I think."

"Well, if it's a way for him to stop his midnight talk with you, then okay! Let's do it! and I watched the Exorcist! So I know what to do in the worst scenario!"

He laughed about it; he really didn't want to know what your plan was in case the thing didn't work.

But he loved you, and he knew that he would let anything happen to you, not even by his own hand...possessed hand.

He took a big breath, closed his eyes, and stratified to concentrate. He needed to clean his mind from every doubt, emotion, and thought—he needed to make space.

A wave reached to him, and he felt like he was going underwater. There was no right, left, up or down, only the void. This is where Wukong belonged, and now... he needed to take his place.

When Yuán Fèn opened his eyes back, you knew that what was in front of you wasn't him. His warm eyes were so fiery that they could set you whole on fire; his kind expression now was stoic, fuelled with an ancient power that could have crushed you any time.

So that was the feeling when you were in front of Sun Wukong.

You tried to look as normal as you could while those two golden and blood-red eyes kept on studying you, but you only felt the urge to run and hide, to call back Yuán Fèn and call you out...but you couldn't, because you too knew that it was important.

"Ehm..." you cleared your voice. "G-great sage? ...Mister SWukong?...whoever lives in my fiancè head? I'm... well, I guess you know me."

His hands grasped you by your shoulder; he held you mid-air, analyzing you with a new look. He was scared; he was shocked. He was speechless. And you were scared—so fucking scared.

"Hold on, hold on, calm down, mister Sage. I don't think it's-"

Before you could really call for Yuán Fèn, you could feel his arms around you, holding you with desperation, like you could disappear. His hands trembled, holding your dress to the point that you thought that he wanted to rip it off. His chest trembled so much... and his hot tears were falling on your shoulder.

"I'm sorry! I'm so sorry, my love! It's all my fault!"

His loud cry, his hiccups, his moan of pain—this pain—this was Wukong pain. After so many years...

"You were right; you were always right! I was mistaken! I just wanted the world to see that we were important and that you were important! But... but I dragged you down. I should have protected you, listened to you, and failed as a husband."

He cried louder, harder, collapsing on his knee and bringing you down with him. So it was true...he wnated justice for himself and his wife, just like the book said...

"My precious one, my only light, my one treasure! I ruined every chance; I ruined you! IO wanted to have our life back, and instead I... lost you again! Please! Plase, I'm sorry!"

You didn't know what to do or what to say—he was desperate. There was no word you could say to a pain that was there, lingering and fermenting for this long. You were afraid to touch him even. You prayed to have at least one idea, one suggestion!

Maybe someone responded... or just gave you the right words to say.

"My beloved..." His eyes widened; your pained expression was so soft in his eyes for his pain and desperation. "There's nothing to apologize...not anymore. We had given the miracle to be found by each other, and I'm grateful for that. I had always loved you, and forever I will."

Your hand gently caressed his pained expression, caressing away those fat tears. His hand stopped you from leaving his face, holding like trying to melt in you.

"Forgive me."

"I forgive you."

"I was so lost..."

"Now we're found."

And when he hugged you, you felt like a weight on your shoulder, like someone pulling him closer.

///

When he woke up, his face just hurt. He couldn't open his eyes without the need to wash them, and he felt like he needed to drink an entire lake. His head on your legs, your hand caressing his hair.

"...What happened?"

"You passed out after crying for hours."

"That explains why I feel my eyes hurt."

You hummed; keep on caressing his features, now more relaxed than ever. He took your hand, placing a kiss on your knuckles. Somehow, this scene seemed nostalgic, like you saw it before...maybe in another life.

Despite the curious thing, you fell into bliss and were at peace with yourself.

@sun-jglim @crimsonflameproxy @everlastingmoonlightsworld

@miraclecherryblossomsblog @certifiedsimpinggalore @sleepingdramaqueen @cromboloni @masksandfeathers

@cinnamonroll-anon @justrandomlypassing @cute-angi @luckyangelballoon @dressycobra7

@naarra @virtualexpertanchor @phoenixeclipse-lmkau @szynkaaa @kirax-the-lazy-girl

@sleepydang @weaverworks @kishimiest @marcu-bug @thepoweroffiction

@riolu4 @angryvampire @s0rr3l @rootin-tootin-morgan @lightlumi

@cleverfeststarlight @anfie01 @tunadunanana @jeminiikrystal @jssy96

[ghostofhyuck]

NCT Dream as K-drama tropes

cw: mentions of death in Jisung's part. 

Mark Lee ; invisible strings theory

Mark would probably be that guy whom you met back when you were just a kid and years later, fate tied you two together and met each other again. Of course there's the conflict where one of you remembers and the other one does not. Or it can also where both of you don't remember at all and then when you two are officially a couple, you two will come to realized that you two have met back then because of an object or a faint memory. 

Huang Renjun ; second male lead syndrome

Renjun!!! my sweet little angel. He's the living definition of the second-male lead. He can be your childhood friend whom you grew up with and has been liking you for years but couldn't muster up the courage to confess, that's why you fall in love with someone else. He'll be that type who'll comfort you when you're hurting but in the end, he couldn't have because you only see him as a friend.

Lee Jeno ; down-bad male lead

Jeno would be that boyfriend who will go against odds for his girlfriend. He's a golden retriever personified, that's why he'll follow you everywhere you go. He makes sure that you're okay and everything's fine. Very very protective of you, especially when there are guys who's near you. He can be dramatic about you but it's okay! That's just how he shows his love for you. 

Lee Donghyuck ; small town boy and city girl

Donghyuck would be that small town guy who is loved by everyone in his neighborhood. He'll be that type who helps everyone and is very welcoming to everyone especially to you who's from the city. He makes sure that you're comfortable living in the town even though he gets annoying sometimes, but that's what makes him charming though.

Na Jaemin ; mortal and immortal

Jaemin would be that mortal turned immortal who is cursed or something. He's doing fine living a thousand years here on earth until he met you, who's a mortal. You two went against the rules of the living just for your love. It's either a happy ending where it doesn't matter if he's an immortal, he'll stay with you no matter what, or a sad one where you'll be left broken when he leaves you. 

Zhong Chenle ; rich ceo and employee

Of course this one's too obvious. Chenle's not only rich but he's also smart. He's that comical male-lead who takes no bullshit with the family drama, he's just here to work and probably gush over you who's a strong-willed employee. He recognizes your skills but then he falls in love with you, earning a secret office love affair. Of course there's the fiance conflict, but Chenle will fight for his love for you. 

Park Jisung ; reincarnations

Takes place in historical dramas, your relationship with Jisung is probably sweet and just a matter of young love, and then you two proceeds to die due to war or betrayal probably. Fast forward to the present time, you two reincarnated and crossed paths once again. You two probably have a faint memory of your tragic past lives and when you two remembered, you two will think that you're not meant for each other. But you two are!!! the present is a second chance for your love story to continue. 

[dinogoofymutated]

Wolverine/Fem!Reader - Masterlist link

You've met Logan Howlett in every life you've lived since the 1900s. And in every lifetime, fate rips you from him just as cruelly as it forces the two of you to meet. How many lives will it take for the two of you to finally have your happily ever after?

General TWs: Reincarnation, death, Major character death (multiple times), Angst with a happy ending. Controlling familiail behavior, descriptions of wounds, descriptions of war, descriptions of violence/death, childhood trauma. Possible historical inaccuracies.

Here's the first chapter!! I waassss gonna wait until I finished part two and post both at once but TBH I was desperate to get this out! I hope yall enjoy this, and I would like to remind everyone that I am not a nurse or any kind of medical personnel, and I kinda struggled to find out about the procedures of ww1 nurses, so take most of the nurse stuff with a grain of salt! like watching a dumbed down version of grey's anatomy lol. I'd also like to say that I decided to make Logan's healing factor slower during ww1 and ww2, as he hadn't gone through the Weapon X program yet. Chapter TWs: Blood, injury, childhood injuries in the prologue scene, war n shit, ww1 canada is a tw on it's own.

     October 22, 1900.

    “Andy!!”  Your brother rolls his eyes at the sound of your high-pitched voice calling his name, turning around with a frown. He always had been faster than you, and today was no different. He had gone running into the woods when your mother had called the two of you in for lunch, and ever the devoted little sister, you had chased after him before she could notice what the two of you were doing. You’re panting when you finally catch up to him, your skirts scrunched up in your fists as you try your best to keep them from catching on bushes and vines.

    “Where are you going? Mama’s calling us for lunch!” Neither of you was supposed to be on this side of the woods, past the fence that marked your family’s property. It made you nervous to be so far past the boundary. Your older brother scoffs at you, turning away once again as he continues to march further. 

    “Father told me that he had set bear traps out to keep the animals away from the house. I’m going to see if he’s caught anything.” Andrew says stubbornly. You rush ahead to try and keep up with him, staying close and looking around anxiously. You never had been a rule breaker, and this was just a little more adventurous than you were comfortable with.

    “Bears? You don’t think we’ll find any, do you? I don't want to see anything be hurt.” You whine, tears forming in your eyes. Your brother laughs at you, the same way did the time you brought some a dying bird, or the time you had begged father to spare the rabbit that had been digging in the garden. He never understood why you were so soft-hearted.

    “You’re going to need to be more brave if you’re going to be an adult one day. Cowards get killed.” Andrews teases, cackling wickedly as he steps on a branch and the sound of it snapping causes you to flinch and cry out, rushing forward to grab hold of his arm.

    “That’s not true!” You cry. 

    “Yeah, it is!” Andrew argues. There’s a bit of a ditch in front of the two of you, and he shakes you off before he hops down. He holds his hand out to help you navigate the drop, and you take it eagerly as you carefully get down, making sure not to dirty your skirts any more than they had been. 

    “No, it’s not! It’s not true! It’s not true because I have you, remember? Big brothers are supposed to protect their little sisters!” You persist once you’re finished. Andrew sighs again, but you don’t doubt his answer for a second. He rolls his eyes at you before he begins to walk on.

    “Of course I am. But you can’t expect me to get to you every time.” Andrew says. You’re about to refute that when the two of you hear a rustling in the bushes up ahead. Andrew holds out a hand to keep you behind him, stopping both of you in your tracks. The birds have stopped singing, and you know that it means something scary is about to happen. Dad calls it a bad oh-men or something along those lines, but you didn’t usually listen to him. Now you’re starting to wish you had.

    “Stay here. I think I hear something up ahead.” Andrew whispers to you. You try to grab for his arms as he leaves you, but he’s too far away, and you find your feet rooted to the spot. You’re too scared to move, holding your hands anxiously as you watch Andrew begin to stumble through the bushes cautiously. You don’t like this. You don’t like it at all. You can only see his head through once he’s through the thick of it, and you hear him huff in disappointment when he doesn’t find anything on the other side.

    “Never mind. There’s not even-” There’s a sound of a mechanical snap before Andrew falls to the ground with a scream. 

    “Andy!” You cry out, immediately bolting through the bush. Branches and briars get caught on your skirt and tear at your skin as you push through to get to him. Your brother is shouting and grunting in pain when you see him, tears dotting his eyes as he stares down at the sight of his ankle caught firmly between the teeth of a bear trap.

    “Stupid trap!” He cries out, his hands shaking from adrenaline. You don’t know what to do, standing frozen at the bloody sight before you, mind going back and forth between whether or not you should go to your brother or run home to get your parents.

     “Help me get it off!” Andrew shouts, and it’s enough to finally bring you back to the situation. You can only nod frantically as you kneel by his side. Hands shaking as you help your brother try and open the trap and get it off of him. The metal digs into your fingers as you try to pry it open, your brother grunting and crying with the effort to do so. You can only think of what your parents will say, what Andrew will do. What if it got infected? What if he lost his foot completely? You realize you’re crying as you and Andrew try with all your might to pull the trap open, grip beginning to slip on the contraption right as Andrew tugs his leg out of the trap. It snaps closed violently after, barely missing both of your fingertips as Andrew rolls away from it.

    “What- What do we do? Andy?” You ask, unable to do much but stare as your brother writes in pain. It’s all happening so fast, but god did everything feel so slow. Andrew manages to make out something about stopping the bleeding, and you’re right on it as you press your small hands to the bloody, mangled, flesh. You squeeze tightly as you pray and pray and pray for him to stop bleeding, shutting your eyes tightly as you sob and cry and wish you could do something, anything more to help your big brother.

    There’s a buzzy feeling in your hands, like pins and needles without the pain. You don’t see it happening as you sit there and bawl for your brother, his warm blood on your hands all you can manage to feel in the moment. The blood begins to slow, and slow, and you don't even realize it has stopped until everything seems to be just as quiet as before. You realize that Andrew isn’t crying anymore, and find yourself brave enough to cautiously open your eyes.

    To your surprise, you don’t see anything. 

    All there is is Andrew’s blood staining his ripped pants and both of your hands- but the strangest part of all was that there was no more wound. Not even a bruise remained of the bone-deep cuts that had been there just a moment before. Your tears begin to dry up as your eyebrows furrow, still hiccuping as you look on at the scene in confusion. When you look up at your brother, he’s wide-eyed. Staring at you in complete shock.

    “Was that you that did that?”  He asks. You don’t know what to say. You don't know. You begin to notice a soreness in your leg as the two of you sit there, simply staring at each other in shock. Eventually, Andrew swallows, before he tries to stand up, doing so effortlessly and without pain. He stretches and flexes his leg, moving it back and forth like his brain is still playing catch up. You try to follow his lead, only to cry out in pain and stumble. There's a deep purple bruise circling your leg when you raise your skirt, one that perfectly mimicked the bloody hole in Andrew’s pants where his own wound once had been.

    He carried you back home that day.

    The Great War began on July 28th, 1914. The archduke of Austria, Franz Ferdinand, had been assassinated, thus causing a series of events that spiraled into the worst war that the world had ever seen until that point. Your brother was quickly whisked away into the battle once the fight had started. He quickly advanced through the ranks, his ever-present charm and intelligence being a boon to him, and an asset to many others. He had always been the fighter. Your bother Andrew, your protector, and keeper of your secrets, now a general in the Canadian army. You could hardly believe it. 

    You, on the other hand, had begun to educate yourself at your brother’s behest. You became a nurse, finding yourself drawn to the field in the absence of the many men who had left mainland hospitals to go to war. You loved it. You loved helping people heal and survive, thrive even, but even so, you had become rather secretive about your natural gifts. Andrew, as supportive as he was, knew that the world would never accept powers like yours. As guilty as you felt every time a patient had slipped through the doctor’s fingers, you knew better. Your healing abilities took from you a fraction of what it gave to others, and using it was just not possible in large doses. You knew that and knew to listen to your brother’s warnings. Still, it did not stop you completely. Healing a wound or broken bone now and then in the shadows, where there was no one there to see. Miracles became your specialty, but your medical knowledge had become your backbone.

    At the end of April, you were surprised to receive a letter from your brother, the contents of it being a plea for you to join him in the war efforts. They needed nurses, trained, knowledgeable, nurses. You would be by his side as much as possible, but you were needed across the sea. And well, if it was your brother asking, who were you to refuse?

Novemver 2nd, 1917

    "You are to keep your medical supplies cleanly and well maintained. I understand that you aren't exactly green in this line of work, but let me tell you, you haven't seen war yet." The senior nurse in front of you has no time for fools, you have only known her for a moment, and yet you know this for a fact. Her pace is fast and purposeful. Her skirt is muddied and stained, and yet her boots do not seem to sink or stick in the mud like yours do as you try your best to keep up with her. Nurse Mary is strict in personality and pace, and you're careful to follow directly behind her throughout the busy encampment. 

Everyone seems to have something urgent to attend to, soldiers and nurses and medics alike all running about through the mud and dirt. There are many hospital tents, many more than you had originally anticipated. You begin to realize exactly why your brother had been so firm in instructing you to refrain from assisting any wounded beyond what help lies within sutures and gauze. 

    “How often do the wounded arrive?” You ask, following her into a rather large hospital tent and passing by various cots with wounded men.

    “You should expect them to arrive every day. The wounded are many, but the dead are more, god rest their souls.”  She tells you, one of her hands clutching the cross around her neck for a moment. There are many things you have learned throughout your schooling, and many gruesome sights you know to expect, but the one thing that still gave you chills was the death toll. You try not to think about it too hard, knowing that it’s just the truth of war that good men go to die. But that doesn’t mean you will ever be forced to be comfortable with it. You pass many rows of wounded soldiers as you follow her through, many being gravely injured with missing and mangled limbs, and shrapnel in places where it should never be. You keep your bedside manner in check, but you know half of those men won’t make it through the night.

    “We should be grateful for the men who return to our care, but please keep in mind that we are the only buffer between them and god. You must understand that losing these men isn’t an if, it’s a when.” You nod solemnly in response to her, quelling the anxiety in your heart. You knew very well that she was right. You casually look around the hospital tent, doing your best to help familiarise yourself with the surroundings when a puff of smoke catches your eye.

    You don’t know where to laugh or scold the man, brown eyes meeting your own as he quickly tries to hide the cigar. Nurse Mary clearly had not seen him, but you certainly did. You can’t help but smile in a baffled sort of way, and the soldier- the quite handsome soldier- smirks, shrugging his shoulders at you. You try not to laugh, choosing to simply shake your head instead of pointing it out to Nurse Mary. It’s something he clearly appreciates, and he tips his head at you, winking as you finally pass him by. You hope you’re not blushing, quickly looking away from him with a smile on your face that you couldn’t fight off.

    “Are you paying attention, Miss? Your brother spoke very highly of your skills, it would be a shame if it were all to be lies.” The nurse ahead of you says, a strict tone in her voice. It almost startles you, bringing you back to earth after the solid minute of distraction the brown-eyed soldier had caused. 

    “I- yes. I apologize. Please, continue.” You reply quickly. You can tell she’s not quite convinced but doesn’t have the time to care, reminding you that there would be little to no time to dally once you had been given decent instruction about the facilities. You’re eager to get to work, and decide that there would be no more distractions today- no matter how charming or handsome they seem to be.

—-

    You were assigned work the moment your walkthrough had been conducted. No downtime, no breaks. You wonder if you truly had any idea how bad things would be where you got here. Seeing the wounded was one thing, but reading their chart was another. You felt detached as you conducted physicals, changed bandages, and redressed wounds and cuts. You checked for infections in those with amputated limbs, knowing that death would soon come for those who were so unfortunate. The difference between any of the men was astounding- wounds from this war unlike any that you had ever seen before. You had heard of the new weapons, the horrors that geniuses had developed so that others would die. It pains you that someone could be so ignorant and cruel- and yet even you hope that you would never have to face those instruments of war.

   Out of all the strange and unusual wounds and war-torn soldiers you met on that day, there was only one who you remembered in truly remarkable detail.

    You see the puff of smoke before you see him, lounging on the backboard of his hospital cot without a care in the world. Besides some old bandages on his chest, you can tell that he’s not in any pain. To be honest, you start to wonder if he belongs in this infirmary at all. He’s distracted, cigar held up to his lips as he takes a deep inhale of the smoke, drowning out his senses with the nicotine. 

    “You must be feeling pretty confident to be breaking the only rule we have in here.” You say, raising an eyebrow at him. He chokes on the smoke rather suddenly, trying to recover as quickly as he can as he puts the cigar out. You give him a sweet smile, trying your best not to laugh. He smiles sort of unabashedly at you, shrugging. 

    “Can’t blame a man for tryin’.” He coughs. You shake your head at him, lifting some papers on your clipboard before you find the one assigned to his cot. Your eyes are immediately drawn to his list of past injuries and causes of infirmary visits. How is this man even alive?

    “Logan Howlett, I presume? You’re pretty perky for a man who has such a long list of injuries.” You state, still reading it through. You’ve never seen this many on one chart before- all dating from the very start of the war to his current visit. Logan gives you a shrug of his shoulders, which isn’t exactly a response you would prefer, but he smiles at you in a charming sort of way that makes your heart flutter. 

    “They call me Lucky Logan for a reason,” Logan hums- causing you to huff a laugh. You shake your head at him, setting the clipboard down on the edge of the bed before you begin conducting a physical and checking on his “wounds.”- not that there really was any besides an odd, yellowed bruise or two that you could almost swear seemed to be lightening by the minute.

    “ ‘You new here?” You glance up at him at the sound of his voice, smiling a bit out of politeness.

   “Why, Is it that easy to tell?” You ask, knowing that he certainly knew so due to him seeing you earlier, but you wonder for a moment if you seemed to be any different from the other nurses. You always strived to be good at what you do, but part of you had a tendency to worry if you could keep up with the others here.

    “Nah,” He says, bluntly. “I just think I’d remember if I had seen a pretty nurse like you before.”  The words make you gape for a moment, that smile still showing as you shake your head at him and try not to laugh. He was a flirt- a rather smooth one too. 

    “Do you use that line on all the ladies?” You tease as you pull out your stethoscope to listen to his heart. You listen, and besides the fact that his heart rate is a little faster than the regular average, you don’t seem to notice anything too strange.

    “Only the ones as pretty as you.” He says. You don’t hold back your laugh at that, and his genuine smile is definitely contagious. You check his eyesight and overall mobility one more time once you’re done, trying not to blush at the way he’s looking at you. You feel his gaze even when you step away to write on his chart, finishing things up.

    “Well, Mr. Howlett, you seem to have a perfect bill of health,” Logan perks up a bit at that, moving to where he can sit on the side of the cot, his feet on the ground. “...but I can’t completely release you just yet. You’re free to wander around some, but you��ll have to wait for the doc to give you one last look-over before you can go back to the frontlines.” He lets out a dramatic sigh, frowning for only a minute before he stands, winking at you as he grabs his shirt from underneath the cot- the bloodied one they wheeled him in here with, no doubt, and puts it on.

    “If that means I’ll be seeing you more often, I’ll take it.” He flirts. You laugh, knowing that you very well might have swooned if you had been any greener to this line of work. Instead, all you can really do is cringe at the sight of his shirt and lean down to the small table to his right, the one where his chart had been, and open the drawer, revealing a freshly clean set of clothes. 

    “Don’t get too ahead of yourself, Smokey.” You joke, finding his surprised face rather endearing. It only takes a moment before he’s smirking again, taking the clothes from you and doing a mock toast to you with the cloth. You shake your head at him, trying to keep your smile contained as you walk away from him and over to your next patient.

    You find yourself thinking about him throughout the day, both delighted and somewhat frustrated at yourself for swooning so easily over a soldier- on your first day, too. You had told yourself when you took this job that you would never do such a thing, knowing that so many romances in a time like this end in tragedy- but you certainly couldn’t seem to help it. You think about him when the other nurses talk about their personal soldiers, out there fighting the war, and think about him again before you go to bed. It was frustrating! You met a man and knew him a whole ten minutes before swooning like a schoolgirl. You suppose it felt nice to be wanted nonetheless and felt nice to be complemented by someone you found so handsome… But you didn’t need to be thinking so hard about this right now anyway. You roll over onto your side in your bed, hoping to fall asleep soon instead of spending time thinking about something that won’t happen.

    Besides, there wasn’t a chance in hell that your brother would ever approve of any relationship you had with a soldier. You were sure that if he had his way, you would die as a spinster- forever reliant on the family. Your dreams that night are more like nightmares, dreaming of faces and growing old and rocking in a chair alone in your brother’s house, a burden to his finances, his wife, and children. But then there are some dreams where you see the face of one particular soldier, and wonder why you felt so compelled by him.

[cabbage20122]

Something that I can't stop thinking about is a reincarnation au/modern au but with the entire world. It's a normal setting, but remembering your past life is like a part of puberty/early adulthood (because I want them to have a happy childhood) and it could work for any fandom, crossovers, or original stories.

You could have a normal accountant realize that they were a hero with magic powers, or someone remembering they were a famous athlete who died young and treating their new life as a retirement where they use the skills they learned before to become a coach, or maybe their life was more like a sitcom and they go on a journey to find all their old friends. And what about the villains? I want to see a preschool teacher worrying about if their boss will fire them if they find out they were in the mafia. Are there anti-discrimiation laws for equal employment regardless of past life occupations? The world building intrigues me.

I like to imagine a support group at the YMCA for people who used to be supervillains. The main character got separated from their family at a young age in their past life and assume they died young, and the mc believes this too until they remember, but they haven't told their family yet. Turns out, their sibling was a superhero and is volunteering at the YMCA to talk to the former villain support group, and the mc has to try to hide from their sibling. You could make these original characters, or even find a way to combine two worlds together, like those crossovers that make bsd Yokohama part of mha Japan so Chuuya could be the former villain and Uraraka could be the superhero sister.

There could also be a support group for former heroes, and maybe someone disagrees with the way one person handled fighting their villains. So they turn to the person next to them and ask how they handled their enemies, except they just say "decapitation" with a straight face and no context because it's Tomioka Giyuu from demon slayer.

What about couples that don't want to get married again in their second life? How do their children get reincarnated if they were never born, do babies just randomly appear at the hospital from magic? Are their parents/parental figures magically alerted? I want them to have a happy childhood, so somehow children with abusive parents need to be put in someone else's custody, but how would they know? (What if a parental figure was magically alerted to come pick up a baby before they remembered their past life? That would be such a mess 😂)

There are so many ways this world is affected by this. Imagine getting through years of college with multiple PhDs and they don't transfer to a new life so now you have to do it again? What if math and physics are slightly different from your previous world? Are there cultural places like Chinatown for countries that don't exist in this world, where people try to remember their music and recreate dishes with ingredients that don't exist here? How does this affect friendships formed before remembering, if some people lived fantastical, dangerous lives and their friends who lived fairly average lives don't know how to relate to them anymore?

I want to write a million stories for this world, but I honestly have no idea where to even begin.

[shegetsburned]

What if you were the reincarnation of Sukuna’s only lover? Like you’re just strong as him and one day he sees you right after Yuji meeting you etc

OMG

listen i had so many ideas around the same thing.

this whole reincarnation thingy makes me crazy and i’m in love with it. the fact that you’re oblivious about everything but end up being his lover’s reincarnation is so good.

so first of all, he realizes something different about you. your cursed energy is familiar to him and it makes him uneasy. the king of curses is uneasy around you. and the first time he stumbles against you (when he takes over yuji’s body or something), he freezes at first. without showing his distress to you, he can’t help but try to study everything that you are. you are different but in what way? why does he feel the way he feels?

i think it’d be nice to see him hesitate. but you don’t. you don’t hesitate one second. you have a chance to take down the king of curses. he’s right in front of you and you take this opportunity to put an end to him once and for all.

but i had this thought that i think would be interesting. in your past life, you two have made a pact. an unbreakable pact that forbids your bodies to use cursed energy against each other in order to avoid a situation where you’d kill him and vice-versa. and this was this situation. so it’s normal that your body freezes as well when you realize you can’t use any cursed energy anymore. not against him. you try to land blows but nothing comes out. nothing is there, only the brute force of your body can help you now.

you’re so confused. you have no idea why this is happening, but he knows. and now that you two are isolated from the rest of the sorcerers he takes a chance and doesn’t give you much choice but to remember.

you’ll try taking him down with your fists, your punches, anything that you can land on him but he doesn’t flinch. nothing works. he might be deprived of cursed energy but his brute force grandly surpasses yours in every way.

you try to distance yourself from him but he gets closer and closer. he wants you to know the truth and as soon as he sees you stumble on the ground, out of breath and ideas he takes a knee in front of you, leaning forward toward your sweaty figure. is he going to kill you? is he so confident because he knows he’s stronger?

you can’t move. you’re so scared. you know it’s going to be your last moments. but you also wonder why he’s taking his sweet time with you, toying with your life perhaps?

“you might wonder why you can’t use your cursed technique.”

the first words he says to you as he locks his gaze with yours make you wonder if he knows what the hell this is all about.

i want to believe that, at first, you protest, you try to talk, try to fight back, telling him that he should stop, to let yuji go and that you’ll kill him but there’s only one thought in his mind; you.

as soon as he sees an opening, he grabs your wrist with his hand. when it happens, hundreds of memories come flowing into your mind. flashes of a life you once lived, thousands of years ago. you are relieving these moments one at a time at a remarkable speed. but your whole body goes numb when you realize who you’re sharing those lost memories with; the king of curses.

he was beside you, holding your hand, helping you walk through lifeless corps dispersed around the streets. you were smiling. why were you smiling? why did this girl you inherited your life from accept his hand? why did you wander around with this cold and heartless sorcerer that ryomen sukuna is?

nothing in your right mind made sense. why would he show you all of this incomprehensible series of images of a life you never knew you had lived? a life you possibly might have lost into the arms of the most dangerous sorcerer known to men. it felt dangerous. it also felt immediately utterly disgusting.

at first, your trembling body wanted to reject every ounce of this feeling you had briefly felt when your past self had reached for sukuna’s hand. you fell, knees on the floor, uncontrollably vomiting your trips out. your saccaded breath was the only sound making its way out.

you were sweating. you wanted to cry.

ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ ) hehehe I really do think that if you were a sorcerer you’d vomit realizing all of this and i kinda liked the idea of reader being so goddamn disgusted by all of this, at first. idk idk just my thoughts. enjoy this little rent.

but don’t worry, you’d slowly warm up to him and maybe fall in love with him just like you did many many times before. mwaaaah.

[forsaken-headcanons]

every survivor in forsaken is crazy.

Noob is constantly terrified, never being able to relax due to there constantly being killers around. Even if they did get time to themself, they’d definitely still be scared and have nightmares about being chased. Insanity scale: 5/10. Halfway there, but they react to things in normal ways.

Elliot is hanging by a thread. He has the sole responsibility to make sure everyone stays alive, which is already a hard job, but he also likely serves as the team therapist. And nobody else can really help him with his problems (007n7 would if he didn’t have a son to run from). Insanity scale: 6/10. Can and will snap.

Two Time has been mentioned to be “messed up in the membrane”. There’s no defending them. They are a cultist who killed someone who was important to them. They believe in reincarnation to a fatal extent. Insanity scale: 9/10. I don’t think they’re ok, but they at least have somewhat of a soul.

Guest 1337 is a mixed bag. He’s likely the most sane of the bunch. He has a family and lived a happy life… until military training. I doubt he’s been able to see his family ever since he started, and that can leave a mark on you. Insanity scale: 3/10. He’s probably aware of the fact the group is trapped in an endless hell where they get chased by ruthless killers for the rest of eternity.

Builderman is both ok and not ok simultaneously. I think he has the most self-discipline next to Guest 1337, so he won’t be gone easily. However, his affiliations with Shedletsky (who is definitely crazy) might cause him to lose a bit of his sanity. And the whole killer thing. Insanity scale: 4/10. Haunted by Shedletsky.

Chance is already gone. He’s a gambler. His gimmick… is gambling. Need I say less? Insanity scale: gamble/10. (Ok, I will actually say something though: he’s probably covering up inner feelings with his natural cheer)

Shedletsky. I’m pretty sure we all saw this coming, but this guy is unwell. First, one of the killers is the embodiment of his own hatred and malice. Neat. Second, the whole Telamon thing. He’s also the weird hooded guy who’s most likely a cultist. I think he’s the second most far gone character in the group. Insanity scale: fried chicken/10. We’re blaming John for this.

007n7 isn’t doing so well. Imagine raising a child who you think is innocent and adorable, then suddenly you’re running for your life from him. Do you think you’d be ok? No. Insanity scale: child loss/10. He also has to face the fact that he wasn’t a very good father, either.

TL;DR: pray for Two Time, Shedletsky, and 007n7.

This is the most beautiful ask I have ever received. Gamble/10, child loss/10 and fried chicken/10 are my favorite ratings. I read this a day ago when it first got in my inbox and dear anon, I have to tell you that "we're blaming john for this" has now become a phrase I use in every appropriate and inappropriate situation.

Thank you for the Chance food. I've been saying that he's not as mentally well as he likes to appear to be.

[snailsgoingdowntown]

Help, I Reincarnated as the Female Lead's Sister in Law!

Re-upload due to complications.

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Chapter 1

Dion Agriche x Fem! Reader

Warnings: possible yandere themes, arranged marriage, toxic relationship, slight incestual themes due to the content of “Roxana,” blood, mention of murder

Nsfw warnings: Lost of virginity (both parties?), fingering, oral (fem receiving), spit, reader does NOT get to finish, vaginal pain, HEAVY DUB/CON.

Disclaimer: I do NOT condone any of the harmful and dangerous actions/behaviors that takes place in this piece of fiction. These actions/behaviors should not be normalized or romanticized as they are extremely toxic and dangerous.

Minors/blank/blogs that don’t reblog fanfiction dni and don’t span like my posts or you will be blocked.

Overall story summary: you reincarnated into one of your favorite novel-turned-webtoons. However, you didn't want to become the female lead's sister-in-law...

Word count: 4542k

===

“The Way to Protect the Female Lead’s Older Brother,” also known as “ROXANA” was a rather dark novel that was adapted into a webtoon. And as luck would have it, the webtoon wasn’t finished, and you don’t remember all the details of the fan translated web novel you found online.

Now, why would that be a problem? Simple:

You reincarnated into it. Not as a main character, or even a servant to one of the families. You weren’t a child of Lant’s or one of his many wives. You weren’t a friend to one of his children, either. Instead, it was worse than most of what was listed.

Whatever God you managed to piss off had a silly little, petty revenge plan that was straight out of a third-rate horror novel with teenage girls fawning over it. And truthfully, if written right, the non-existent novel would have been a banger – but no, instead it was anything but. Or maybe you only really think that because of your position in this world, where your birth was simple, but painful for your mother, and you were lucky enough to be born into a family that loved and cared for and about you.

It was a noble family, to boot. Wealthy enough to live a comfortable life. Two siblings – an older sister who was already married at the age of thirty with a child on the way. The other was a 12-year-old boy who made it his life mission to be the most annoying little piece of shit on earth.

But as you lay on your back, hands holding your nightgown in place, all you could think about was how small Dion Agriche makes you feel. The wedding ceremony just finished up hours ago, and here you are, back pressed against silk sheets as your now-husband hovers over you.

(Name) Agriche.

What a horrible name and cruel faith.

Inky black hair that falls into his carmine red eyes that held indifference. His wedding-tux was still on, even the outer jacket with the silly lone rose in his pocket. Oh, what a shame – to be married to such a handsome man only for him to be obsessed with his sister and emotionally unavailable.

God despises you.

“Close your eyes if you’re uncomfortable.”

He unbuttons his outer jacket, sliding it off his shoulders and tosses it to the side. You should close your eyes, you think, because his face was nothing but stone. Not even a condescending grin. He doesn’t comfort you, either – at least not in the typical sense.

“Keep still,” his gloved hands grab your thighs and you let him open them, creating space for him to get closer. You want to push him away and run. But what good would that do? Why couldn’t the man just slice something and claim that the blood on the sheets was from your first night?

“I’m scared.” You speak without thinking, becoming stiff as his hands traveled from your outer thigh to the inner, creeping underneath your nightgown. His gloves feel cold and uncomfortable, touch borderline rough. “I – I need a moment. Please?”

He tilts his head, giving it thought. After a moment he removes himself, but annoyance radiates off him. Your heart beats faster as the second’s pass. You remain on your back. The ceiling is painted white, no decorations and the room was bare saved for a dresser, closet, mirror and a random chair by the terrace.

You will be sleeping in here, from now on.

“Can’t do it? Then don’t.” he’s annoyed, surely, otherwise he wouldn’t look at you like you were an insect. What a wonderful way to start the newlywed life. But it’s not that easy to walk away, and while it sounds like he’s giving you a say-so, he isn’t; if you don’t consummate your marriage tonight, then…

“… I’m sorry. It’s my first time and I heard there would be pain.” You shouldn’t have to explain yourself. But Dion wasn’t exactly known for his… compassion. Or basic human emotions, either.

If this was someone else, would you be able to do it? Where did everything go wrong? This didn’t happen in the novel; Dion didn’t get married. There wasn’t a grand wedding with the Five Ruling Families in attendance. Nor was there a steamy scene with this man throughout the novel, not even in the side stories.

How did you end up here?

“Then relax.” If you weren’t scared of losing your life you would have run him over. It affects everything! Then again, it wouldn’t matter to him – this is a duty. Not something he wanted, you’re sure, and even if he did it would only have his best interests in mind.

“… I’m ready.” You don’t argue with him, because it would only be one-sided. Even a wall listens better. Despite your wishes, Dion does the same as last – settles in-between your legs, and this time, you close your eyes.

“Good. Try to relax or it won’t fit.” Your cheeks burn at that, mind already picturing how it would look. Many men say things like that, even in your old world. It’s just a thing they said, like with many things. It doesn’t really mean anything, because if it did then…

His gloves are still on, cold and grip tight on your thighs. You were hoping he would be gentler. But as his hands travel up and up until they’re pulling at the edges of your underwear to slide them down, you realize he won’t.

There’s no slickness down there, your underwear dry and vagina even drier. You peek through your eyelashes, watching as he inspects the article of clothing. He tosses it a few seconds later.

“I’m only going to ask once – would you rather keep your clothes on or off?” It seems that with every second reality just hits harder and harder. This was going to happen. Nothing could stop it. And if hypothetically, if he were to stop this, what then?

Even if he sliced an arm to fake the night, what about later? A baby, Lant wants Dion to have a child. No. You couldn’t do that to a child, especially yours.

“On. Please.” You expect him to just shove in a finger or two, watching as your body jerks in pain. Instead, he lifts your hips until your bottom was off the bed and flips the flimsy skirt up. And then there’s a glob of something wet and gooey, legs twitching as it lands on your bare cunt.

“D – did you just… spit?” steading yourself on your arms, you look on in disbelief as your husband just spat on your pussy. A string of saliva hangs from his tongue.

Instead of answering you, much less look at you, his thumb comes into play and spreads his saliva over the surface of your cunt. It’s only when his thumb swipes over your clit do you let out a shaky breath.

Maybe he was feeling generous or maybe he was curious. Dion decides to rub the twitching nub over and over until your legs twitch and cunt clenched around nothing. The glove made it uncomfortable, but even so, you just tried your best to focus on the pleasure. You weren’t sure if he would give you pleasure like this again.

“You’re enjoying this,” he retreats his hand leaving your twitching and needy clit lonely.

A pathetic whimper escapes as you watch your husband take his glove off with his teeth. This man is everything you fear and more, a character that you should have never met. Yet the sight of him lowering his head to lick a long stride against your slit has your legs shaking.

His tongue is warm and slimy, causing your hands to clench the sheets as your head falls back. Another lick and another until it’s flicking your clit back and forth, sending warmth throughout your body. However, despite the pleasure he’s giving you, his grip is still tight, almost painful on your hips.

Your heartbeat doesn’t slow down as he continues. Your fear barely dies down in your chest, even as the tip of his tongue teases your entrance. You shut your eyes tight, a breathless gasp leaving your lips as he thrusts his tongue into your cunt.

“It feels – “a pause as you catch your breath, “weird, it feels really weird and – “

Dion repeats the action until you’re a trembling mess, sensitive from your mental state and the current oral sex you’re receiving. It’s hard to focus on either one, your mind constantly reminding you that you’re in a novel, about to fuck a man who’s jaded and possibly has a thing for his sister –

“Ah… wait, that’s a lot…” he decides to go further, bringing his thumb back and rubs loose circles into your clit. He’s still eating you out, but not like a man starved like you read in erotic novels.

Even so, your husband keeps at it. If it was a good or bad thing was up for debate – on one hand, while it does feel good, everything is moving too fast, your pleas for slowing down falling on deaf ears. It really is a lot, tongue fucking you while those loose circles on your clit become tighter, rougher. Should you just lay back and take what he gives?

Your mother would probably say so. Your sister would just pat your head and smile like it was expected. Normal. Take what he gives, especially if it benefits you in any way.

“…?” your eyes open at his tongue leaving your cunt with a saliva trail, his eyes glued to your twitching sex. His thumb also stops rubbing circles, instead going back to grip your hip as your back starts to become sore. Your ass is still off the bed and if he keeps you hosted up like this, then you really will snap in half.

But then he locks eyes with you.

“I thought you were scared.” Dion doesn’t let you respond, either because he doesn’t care or because it would ruin the ‘mood.’ He latches his mouth to your poor, abused nub instead. And sucks.

“H-hey!” one hand supporting you while the other grabs at his hair, you didn’t expect him to throw your legs over his shoulders. “That’s enough, really, no need to – ugh…” his mouth was warm and soft, but it sends your nerves on fire.

Good. Bad. Good. Bad.

Good, bad, does it matter anymore?

He sucks harder and your fingers tug harshly at his hair. You kick your legs but are unable to tell if it’s from pleasure or the flight or fight response he’s causing you. He doesn’t budge, doesn’t bat an eye, making it his life mission to suck you dry.

“Ah – wait, Dion – “

It’s at your whine of his name does he finally, finally stop, a ‘pop’ when he detaches his mouth from your sensitive and bullied clit. Your husband decides to lick one last long stripe from your entrance to your clit, all the while making eye contact with you. Your chest heaves as your mind settles, arousal overthrowing your thoughts.

“What is it?” Monotone, his voice is monotone and he’s not even out of breath. Your mother lied, there’s not even a hint of pink across those cheeks. It’s fine, though – no, it’s not, it’s baffling how steady he seems when your back is about to break, and you can’t even breathe.

Your eyes travel from his to his hair, where your hand is still grasping the strands. Mind still catching up to your body, you let go and draw your hand back, covering your eyes with it. Your entire body is shaky and legs sore. You’re not used to this position.

“It – it’s enough.” Your husband lets you pull your legs back, feet pressing against his broad shoulders as you bring them back down. The relief is almost immediate, a pleasurable and relief-filled sigh leaving your chest. You allow yourself to rest for a bit, your sensitive cunt and sore legs screaming for it.

“… O – okay, I think, I think that’s fine. Excuse me…” gently, you pull one leg up until your foot is flat against the bed. With a shudder, you trace your entrance timidly with two fingers, getting used to the touch. You’re not sure of how big he was, but you’ll use three fingers just in case.

You gape like a fish when his hand reaches out, grabbing yours roughly. You didn’t even notice the dip in the mattress as Dion got closer on his knees, face inches away from yours. Oh God, now what –

“What are you doing?” clearly annoyed, Dion doesn’t let you look away – not that you were going to – free hand grabbing your face, pointer finger and thumb on each cheek. It’s barely loose enough to leave no bruises. It hurts regardless.

“I – I was… prepping…” part of you wants to pretend that this man doesn’t know how to comfortably prepare you for pentation with his… but you know better. Because an inexperienced man wouldn’t know how to do things with his tongue like that, or where the clit was because –

“Are you still scared?” The hand that was holding yours releases it, opting to sneak its way to your cunt. His fingers were larger than yours, nimbler as they stroke your labia minora. Are the shivers washing over you from nervousness or arousal?

“… I’m scared of the pain.” By instinct, you knew he meant more than scared of sex – if you feared him. Still.

It doesn’t need to be said.

“Scared of the pain?” His eyes glow in the moonlight, bright red with absolutely no emotion. “Why?” he doesn’t break eye contact as his fingers inch closer to your entrance, stroking the opening, making your legs jolt. What a horrible man.

You remind yourself that this man only felt fear as a child – and even then, it probably wasn’t for very long. Nothing lasts for long, in this estate.

“Because I hate it.” You don’t break eye contact either, breathing in when one finger slowly sinks in, your walls now stretching uncomfortably. It’s not as painful as you thought it would be, your wetness mixed with his saliva making it easier. Your nails are about to rip holes in the silk sheets.

Like a curious animal, he tilts his head, curling his finger. It doesn’t feel good, it hurts, but you endure it even when you wince. Dion decides it would be a good idea to spread your legs a bit further, and like a bug, crawls between them even more. You hiccup when he adds a second finger.

They’re bigger than yours, they reach deeper. In your old world, did it feel like this too? You can’t remember.

“It’s going to hurt worse if you don’t let me finish this. Relax your legs before it hurts worse.” Pressure builds in your eyes, but you fight it off. “Save your tears for when it matters.”

You’re tired of him already.

He doesn’t move them, at first. It’s almost like he expects this, because as you adjust to something foreign inside you, he starts to rub at your clit, again. Softly this time, touch firm enough to feel but not hard enough to hurt. Or maybe you’re lying to yourself because you’re wincing, still.

When he starts to thrust them in and out, you force yourself to look at the ceiling, scared to see the expression on his face. You also don’t want to watch the show, scared it’ll already be bloody. Just a bit.

“It’s tight.” He states it like it’s the morning news. “And wet.” Your cheeks burn with both shame and embarrassment, shutting your eyes.

“… ugh…,” groaning, your hand reaches out to grab his wrist. “It hurts, a lot.” You sit up, back against the headboard, avoiding your husband’s gaze. Unfortunately, by doing this, your eyes land on your messy hole, light blood on his fingers as he pulls them out only to thrust them in again.

“It’s normal. The more you resist the worse it gets.” You give up, letting him do as he pleases, shutting your mouth.

The fingering still hurts as the minutes go by, but little by little the pressure eases down and when he arches his hand, he hits something soft and spongy. He’s rewarded the sight of your head banging against the headboard once, shoulder tense as you bite your bottom lip.

If only you could see that look in his eyes.

“Here?” He repeats the action, faster this time. You only nod your head, lips ajar, tongue swiping over them. Your hips have a mind of their own, raising as the heel of his hand rapidly smacks against your clit with his thrust of his hand.

You’re half there mentally and halfway in heaven, momently forgetting just who was here with you, who room this belonged to, and your entire situation to begin with. “Oh - wait, it’s a lot but – “

A third finger is added, and it starts to sting again. Another wince, another groan, but your arousal helps to keep the pain to minimum. All three fingers curl to hit that special spot that makes you see blacked out stars and pussy clench. All the while light blood coats his fingers, a sight he’s already used to due to his lifestyle.

It’s only when he pulls his hand away completely do you return from the skies, a small layer of sweet coating your forehead. Your hands are shaky as you look at him, only to be drowned back into reality when you’re met with those red, indifferent eyes that glow brighter than the moon.

“If you’re ready, lay on your back and spread your legs.” He undoes his pants while saying this, scooting back to give you some room.

With a heavy heart, you do so, laying on your back and spread your legs. You were fine just moments ago, so why is your heart leaping out of your throat rather than staying in your chest? Maybe it was because of the pleasure, or…

You’re scared, again.

You don’t look when something fat and heavy plops onto your pelvis. You don’t look when he brings you closer by your thighs. You don’t look as he rubs the head of his cock against your slick folds, catching on your clit.

“Relax or it won’t fit,” he reminds you before pushing the fat head in. At first, it’s a sting no bigger than an ant bite. But then another inch goes in, and you feel like a sword is cutting you straight up open, your legs tensing and hands grasping his forearms in a futile attempt to stop him.

Your nails dig into his sleeves, and you can feel the skin underneath. The tears build up as your face becomes hot, taking in deep breaths like it would soften the intruding body part.

“Big – it’s too big, it’s not going to fit – “

“… You look cute when you cry.” It’s sinister, teasing and everything that makes your stomach drop. His thumb wipes away your tears that’s already staining your skin. But he stops regardless, if only to shut you up if nothing else.

You think a few minutes pass but it’s hard to tell when he’s still inside, pulsing and you could feel every vein on his cock. It’s thick, it’s big and you don’t think you’re equipped to handle it, handle him. He’s everything that ruins your sense of self, that makes your dreams shatter and fear rot you from the inside out.

But he’s your husband…

But he’s your husband.

“Relax,” he inches in deeper, slower this time, but not letting you get a word in. Your nails dig deeper, and if it weren’t for his shirt, you would have drawn blood. Another inch, another gasp that leaves you breathless, grasping for anything that could keep you grounded. The only thing you could grab was him, however.

“Dion, Dion, you’re going to break me, I can’t – I can’t – “

“You can. You have to.” Was his voice raspy, just now? If so, it worries you, because you just remembered one very important detail – Dion Agriche was, if nothing else, a sadist. Be it from his childhood trauma, or if he would be like this regardless of, he loved seeing Roxana cried.

It never occurred to you that he would love seeing you cry, too.

How deep was he? It feels you’re being speared open, his cock bullying its way into your virgin hole. You weren’t a virgin in your last life, but it didn’t hurt like this. It had hurt, felt like you were being ripped, but not enough to make you cry and breathless.

You think you can feel blood trickling down your ass crack. “Please tell me you’re almost there, please…” sniffling, you look up at your husband, the man taking your virginity in the name of ‘marriage.’ A mirror shatters in the back of your mind.

There was a flush across his cheeks. Pupils blown wide and a small grin on his lips. He was enjoying this. Your pain, your tears and perhaps even your fear – he was enjoying this.

It would have been better if he didn’t feel anything, you think. Just a stone statue that was performing its task. But even monsters had emotions, you guess.

“I’m not. Just endure it for a bit longer – I’ll stop once I’m at the hilt.” Was he a liar in the novel? You think he was, otherwise, the overtaking of the Argece family wouldn’t have happened. Lant wouldn't be dead. But things haven’t followed the novel to a T – this was proof enough.

“You’ll stop? Like, completely? You – you took my virginity, so that should be enough. Right?”

You hate it when he keeps wiping your tears away. Or when he slides in even more, your blood coating his stupid dick. You hate it when he brings one hand to toy with your clit, granting you pleasure that was just overthrown by the smothering pain traveling up to your belly.

He doesn’t answer. And that was enough for you to rake your nails down the back of neck, drawing blood in return. He’s making you bleed, so it was only fair if you could too, right?

Deeper and deeper until his balls rest against your bottom and pelvic meeting yours. Surprisingly, your husband keeps his word, letting you adjust to the new feeling. It feels heavy. It feels like a heartbeat, like a rod that was stuck. It felt awful.

How long did it take you to get used to it, in the past? No longer than fifteen minutes max, right? No, shorter than that. Then again, it didn’t hurt this much, but that partner was more loving, more caring, gentler –

“Who are you thinking about?”

The question breaks you out of your daze. You blink, once, before you question him back. He only glares in response.

Panic fills you when he pulls out, pain still there, blood still trickling down. “Wait, you’re – “

“I’m what?” he pulls out until only the head remained inside. You try your best to ignore the bruising grip he has on your hips. You’re going to be sore tomorrow. If you survive this, anyway.

God, if you’re listening, please let this night end peacefully.

“B-big. It’s going to hurt, please don’t…” dragging your hands down from his neck to his chest, your fingers dig into his shirt.

“Hm. A shame, really; you still must give birth, eventually. It’s better to get used to it now than later.” Your mind doesn’t catch up with your body, legs tensing when he slides oh so carefully back in, like he didn’t just push your worries aside like nothing. “Relax.”

“Dion,” hiccupping, you brace yourself, head nuzzling into his chest as your hold on his shirt tightens. When he pulls back out, you could feel every detail, every vein trail, his grith truly opening you. He graces you a mercy, going at a languid pace, minimizing the pain. His thumb never stopped rubbing your clit, either.

It goes like that, for a good while. Slow and steady, your hushed sobs dying on your lips, your husband careful with his thrusts, but not his grip. It was almost comforting, in a way. But you were still scared of him, and of what will happen after this.

“… I have a proposition.”

His hips stop and your ears perk up.

“You want me to stop, correct?” Dion pulls back until he’s on his heels, his cock dragging along your walls. You wince before breathing out. He doesn’t even try to hide the sadistic look in his eye as he sees the dried tear streaks on your cheeks. He almost grins in glee.

“Y-yes…” You don’t let go of his shirt. “Why…?” there’s hope inside you, but dread starts to rot it away.

“Jerk it.”

“…what?”

He was different from the novel. Extremely so, because you doubt that Dion would suggest a thing, much less give you a choice in the matter. That Dion would have either ignored you and this night or take you as is, no mercy, no humanity granted if this took place at the beginning at the novel.

When he doesn’t repeat himself, you pull yourself up until you’re resting on your knees. The sight of blood both on his cock and the sheets make you gag and thankfully, he doesn’t comment on it. Hesitantly, you take him into your hands, fingers barely able to close around it.

It throbs in your hand.

Your blood is coating your hands now, too.

Only silence is between you, your hands working him. Your thumb swipes over his head, circling it before stroking his dick up and down. Your other hand plays with his balls, massaging them. You’re not sure how long it would take him to finish.

Your core throbs in pain, and you become worried over the thought of peeing. It would probably hurt.

You want to sleep.

Without giving it much thought, just like your husband, you spit on it, a glob of saliva falling onto the staff. It throbs harder. And when you look at him, tired eyes and drool still dripping down from your tongue, still jerking him off –

“…Ngh…”

It’s almost cute, the way sperm spurts out and makes a mess on your hands. The very small and fleeting look of embarrassment on his feature is almost enough to comfort you. But when there’s barely a sheen of sweat adoring his forehead, unlike you was still recovering, you’re reminded that your husband was different from you.

There are no kisses, no sweet nothings shared between lovers. No stroking your hair or comforting your trembling form as your legs shake. Or even an offer to warm a bath for you, the warm water soothing your body. There’s none of that.

Not even a smile.

“Welcome to the Argiche family, wife.”

Instead, all that awaits you is a restless sleep on a bloodied mattress with a husband who left after cleaning himself up.

Which God despises you so much and why?