#tw reincarnation

[inkblot22]

Can You Keep A Little Secret?

JFC this took me longer than usual I'm so sorry anon. I sort of explained it before, but I didn't exactly use your prompt, based on ineptitude on my part. After I finish reading Oshi no Ko, I might try again! Line divider by @/cafekitsune.

This fic is aimed towards sort of everyone, but the reader possesses afab features (they don't come into play until later, this chapter has no mention of them.) You'll understand what I mean by it being for everyone if you read the first paragraph or so. It has to do with suspending your belief/ employing your imagination.

TW for: lots of confusion, semi-shy reader, creep behavior, mention of death, mention of lobotomy/grippy sock jail, reincarnation. These warnings will get worse, and this takes place when all characters are 18+.

Waking up was never your favorite part of the day, but that feeling increases tenfold when you wake up in someone else’s body. You know for sure you didn’t look like this last week, and the name on your ID is similar to your own, but you don’t recognize the face in the mirror. Whoever you’re inhabiting has a few similar features to your own, but your skin was never this dewy, your eyes never so… hollow and strange. 

When you looked up your name, you found out that you, or your body, at least, had died in your sleep. When you looked up the name on that ID, you found out that you’re the child of some big business man and a prolific model, and you apparently dabble in acting. Your dad isn’t your dad, but he calls you every night to make sure you’re settling into your “new” apartment. Your mom isn’t your mom, but she has popped by once or twice to ask you how you’ve been and make you really good food. She mentioned last night that your acting instructor was worried, since you hadn’t attended your Thursday classes, and also that your agent has been trying to contact you. You didn’t know you had an agent.

When you called your agent, who was literally just titled “Agent” in your new phone, she sounded relieved then irritated, chiding you for living the high life too fast. She said you weren’t popular or loved enough to go on week-long benders, and then she mentioned that she had a job for you and she’d see you on Thursday. According to this phone that isn’t yours, Thursday was tomorrow. 

You made a night of getting prepared- slathering on the fancy face masks, trying on various outfits, scrolling through the pictures on the phone of your new body in the past, painting your really gorgeous nails- and then you went to sleep and woke up to a phone call from your new dad. 

“Hi, sweetheart!”

“Uh… hi, Dad…” You mumbled. You didn’t know him from Adam, but there was no point in being rude to him.

He pauses, and then he speaks slowly, “Did you hear from your agent, honey?”

“Yeah- yeah I did, uh, I have acting class in a little, and she said she has a job for me.”

“Oh, I’m glad to hear it! You know you can always visit me if something is wrong, okay? Just call me or Devin and he’ll come get you as soon as possible.”

You don’t know who Devin is, but you don’t point it out, “Of course. Thank you, dad.”

There was another pause. This one stretches out for a while and then he mumbles, “Okay… love you, sweetpea.”

“Uh… love you too. I’ll call you when I get back home?”

“Sure thing. Bye bye.”

The call ends with a click and you hop in the shower, trying to scrub away the confusion. You pair the lotion with a body spray that makes you smell like a summer afternoon in an apple orchard, and then you dress yourself in a soft off the shoulder sweater dress with a pair of tights with little sequins and gems sewn onto the sheer black material. You pull your hair back, tied at the nape of your neck, and roll on some lip gloss. You grab your bag, which isn’t your bag, and stroll out, walking down the street to get to the talent agency.

The receptionist looks at you in some measure of shock and greets you kindly. You smile and wave. He looks even more confused as you clomp into the stairwell. Once you get to the third floor, mildly out of breath, you hurry to room 3-5 and silently slide into the back.

You’re not sure why you’re acting so covert, as the class hasn’t even started. A woman with dark hair strolls in and flinches when she sees you sitting there, your new name tumbling from her lips with confusion.

“Hello.” You hope that she’s the instructor, “How are you?”

She looks at you like you grew two heads and forces a smile, “Oh, I’m well, dear. Give me a moment to look outside.”

She clicks to the window in her heels and opens the blinds looking around wildly before she turns back to you.

“Well, nothing’s on fire and there’s a distinct lack of flying pigs, so I guess you’re finally serious about getting better at acting?” 

“Uh… I…?” You don’t know how to respond, “I didn’t realize I’d been late so often.”

“Late? Half the time you didn’t even show up. The only person worse than you is-”

The door behind you opens. You clench your hands to stop the shaking you just realized you were struggling with, and turn slightly in your seat to see a willowy young man, tousled lavender hair being haphazardly smoothed by his slender hands.

The instructor snorts, “Speak of the devil. Hello, Mr. Felmier.”

He smiles, but it’s a bit too calculated. When he speaks, his voice is soft, almost artificial, “Ah ha… Good morning, Angie.”

Angie, evidently, rolls her eyes and takes a seat at the front of the room, crossing her long legs, and tilts her head skeptically, “Sure. If a satellite doesn’t crash in this room and kill us all in the middle of class, I’ll be shocked.”

“Mr. Felmier” walks over and smiles at you. It seems even more strained than before, and keeps eye contact with you as he points to the chair next to you, his voice high and sweet, “Mind if I sit here?”

“Oh, of course not. I don’t own that chair, haha!” You joke. 

His face twitches, some micro expression that you’re just observant enough to notice, but not to see, and he takes a seat. Angie gets up and leaves and you look out the window. You can feel eyes on you, and when you turn to look at him, his face is impassive save for a slight narrowing of his eyes. You look down at yourself and pat your cheeks, suddenly nervous.

“Oh, no, is there something on me?” You ask.

He doesn’t immediately respond, his eyes blinking so fast that if he hadn’t done it twice you would have never seen the movement, and then he gives you that sweet, plastic smile, “Oh, no. Your makeup is different than usual. It looks nice. Pretty.”

“I- I’m only wearing lipgloss, so I guess that’s why. Thank you.”

He nods slowly, and tilts his head, still smiling as though he’s trained to do so, “After we’re done here, did you want to go get brunch together?”

You’re about to say no. You don’t remember him, because this is not your life you’re living, but if you did know him, you’d decline anyway. Something feels funny about him. You don’t really have to decline, though, since you have to go down to floor 2 and see your agent afterwards anyway, “Oh, uh, I’m so sorry. I have to do something after.”

“I can wait.”

“I don’t want to put you out. Maybe another time?”

His eyebrows pinch together ever so slightly and his smile doesn’t strain, but it feels wrong as he leans his elbow on the back of his chair to better face you, “Did you hear the news from Mirelle?”

“What news?” You don’t know who Mirelle is.

“Oh, you’re meeting with her afterwards, aren’t you?” He smooths the hair along your temple so it is slicked behind your ear, “Are you wearing that perfume I got you? You said you hated it.”

Okay, so whoevers body this was definitely knew this man, and now you don’t even know his full name. Judging from the way he’s speaking to you, you were friends at least. Your lashes flutter and you look away from him.

“I- I’m sorry. It smells very nice.” You don’t know how you’re supposed to be acting. The irony of waiting for an acting class while not knowing what your role here happens to be is not lost on you.

Felmier sits up like you insulted him and his voice is quiet, so quiet and tense that you don’t think you’re supposed to hear him, “Interesting.” 

You glance at him again, “What?”

“I didn’t say anything. You like that bagel place down the street, don’t you? After you see Mirelle, meet me in the lobby. I think we should have a chat.” Although he is smiling, his voice doesn’t leave any room for argument as he turns back to the front. 

You stand up, leaving your purse in your seat, and walk to the window, looking out of it for a moment until Angie strolls back in. She clicks her tongue and you walk back to your seat.

“It’s just you two? Now I’m really expecting a freak accident. Well, let’s get started.”

Acting class was… interesting. Since it was just the three of you, Angie had you read lines from a script and act out some kind of argument. She seemed pleased with your performance, but Felmier kept stumbling over his lines and making the wrong expression. He seemed tense by the time the two hour long session was over. You didn’t want to follow that thread, and besides, you had somewhere to be. You went down the stairs again and bumped into a woman with silver hair, who looked at you just as confused as everyone else had been, and smiled sweetly, genuinely.

“Hey, you. You’re a bit early.” She says.

“Uh, yeah. I guess so? I don’t know.” You guessed this was supposed to be Mirelle, your agent, maybe. 

“It’s a good change, babe. Why don’t you come into my office?” She doesn’t really ask, since she’s already leading you over.

She takes a seat behind her desk and you take a seat in front of her, and she taps away at her computer for a moment before she says something.

“You remember Epel? Epel Felmier?”

“Uh, yeah, I guess so.”

“Oh? You ‘guess so’? Not that the two of you are constantly arguing, or anything.” She smirks, glancing away from her monitor to look at you, “Regardless, I’ve got something that will help with your little PR nightmare last month. What were you thinking?”

“Uh, I’m sorry.”

Her eyes narrow a fraction, but whatever she was thinking is ignored, “You and Epel are gonna be collaborating on an upcoming short film. Hopefully the two of you don’t get into another screaming match.”

“Um. Yeah. Hopefully.” All this new information and these new people are making your head spin. You don’t want to start panicking- you did enough of that last week- but you’re already exhausted. You wonder if there’s a back entrance to this building so you can just sneak out and don’t have to talk to Epel again. You don’t think you can mentally handle him talking to you over a cup of coffee.

Your agent, Mirelle, is looking at you expectantly, like she just said something. Your heart jumps into your throat, then sinks to your gut and you clear your throat quietly, shifting in your chair.

She laughs airily, “Oh, you didn’t hear a word I just said, did you?”

You shake your head, and she laughs again.

“I just said that production starts Monday. Try not to do anything crazy. This project is monumentally important for your public image.”

“Okay. Sorry for causing so much trouble in the past.” You mutter, standing up.

She shrugs with a happy little grin, “Oh, you’re young. Maybe you’ll grow out of it.”

You just nod. How are you supposed to even respond to that? If you get mad, you’ll probably get hysterical, and if you get hysterical, that is a one way ticket to a stay in grippy sock jail or a lobotomy. Rich people are different, and even though you’re living in some rich person’s body, you did not live this life for longer than a week. 

You purposely walk to the other staircase. Most buildings have two for fire safety. Your eyes water as you pause on the stairs and you sigh before you start descending them. 

Just as you get to the exit, your hand on the door, you hear a voice behind you, “Hey.”

It scares you out of your skin. You jump and spin and squawk, only to meet the wicked smile of Epel. It doesn’t reach his round blue eyes. He tilts his head from side to side, slowly, as if appraising you, and then he starts walking towards you and you push back against the door, opening it ever so slightly. He stops his motion and looks a tad surprised.

Then his eyes narrow, “Come back in.”

His voice sounds different, rougher. You don’t really want to, but it’s hot outside and you figure from all the odd looks and reactions you’ve gotten, running would be too erratic for this poor person’s life you’ve taken over. 

When you close the door and remain leaned against it, Epel’s face relaxes. You didn’t even realize he was making any sort of tense expression. He glances at the spandrel, the area beneath the stairs, and sighs.

“You hit your head last week? That why you were missin’?” Yeah, he’s speaking entirely differently. He has a sort of charming country twang to his voice, an underlying roughness that makes him seem even more boyish than before.

“Huh?”

“‘Huh?’” He mocks, looking back at you. He looks like he might cry, but his eyes are angry, “That all you got to say? For years you’ve told me that I don’t mean shit, and now you’re actin’ like you don’t even know me.”

He is right. You don’t know him at all. Even though you’re still in the cool building, you begin to sweat. You don’t know what to say to this without going through the experiences you’ve had in the past week, so you decide you don’t have to, especially since it seems like he may get aggressive if you say the wrong thing.

You lean hard against the aptly named panic bar, turn on your heel once outside, and take off running. It dawns on you a little late that he might be following, or, seven forbid, that he knows where you live, so you take a different route as dictated by your GPS and call your new father as soon as you get in the building.

It’s the middle of the work day, so he obviously doesn’t pick up. You unlock the apartment door and pant breathlessly, leaving a hasty voicemail, “O-oh, great seven- ugh- okay, hi, Dad. I told you I’d call you when I get home, so that’s what I’m doing. Hope I didn’t disrupt a meeting or whatever. Call me back, bye.”

You flop face down on the bed and groan, rolling onto your back as the ringtone that you would never choose goes off. In bold white letters on the screen, it says “Bumpkin Boy” with no other indication of who it might be. You pick up.

The voice on the other end sounds heated, a quiet mocking lilt to it, “Bet you went home, huh?”

Your blood runs cold and your very ability to speak is ripped from your lips.

“S’okay. You don’t have to talk. I could pay you a little visit, see what it’s like to live like a nepo baby for a day, but I think…” He pauses, and when he next speaks you hear the smile in his voice, “I think I’ll just wait for Monday, since you owe me a coffee date, don’t you?”

He hangs up after that. You stand up and double-check that you’ve locked the door before you hide in your closet and try not to start hyperventilating. You can’t even beat yourself up for this one. These circumstances are entirely out of your control.

[axolotl-agere]

My theriotypes!

Hey Little guys! This post does imply reincarnation and the part that causes it :< so tw! Nothing graphic but figured I'd let you know!!

Meet the Canadian Snow Lynx! I was really old when I laid in the snow one last time! ^^

The "Minty Froggo" AKA the Mint Terribilis Dart Frog! I have memories of being in the rain as one!

A lavender axolotl! I'm actually not sure what type of axolotl this is, but it's me! I was really sad as one :< because my owner kept me in a yucky empty tank!

And now... I'm me! For me, being a therian is identifying as these animals on a spiritual level!

(These three pictures were found on Google! These aren't *literally* me but what animals I was!)

[serickswrites]

The Wheel Turns

This is written at the request of @celestialsoyeon. Prompt and names requested by @celestialsoyeon

Warnings: referenced death, referenced torture, referenced being burned alive, reincarnation, torture, restraints, drowning, revenge, hospital, unclear character status

Minghao sat in the uncomfortable chair at Junhui's bedside. He had been sitting there for a long time and nothing had changed. The ventilator whirred and swished as it pumped air in and out of Junhui's body. The heart monitored beeped notifying the world that Junhui's heart still beat. For now.

"You have to wake up, Junhui. You have to. I need you to. I....I can't go through this again," Minghao whispered quietly as the tears that had been ever present since he realized Jihoon had taken Junhui to exact his revenge for Seungkwan's death. Junhui hadn't done anything to Seungkwan--Minghao knew that. The inquiry into his passing had revealed as such only a couple of days ago. But Jihoon had taken Junhui the moment he learned that both Junhui and Seungkwan had fought in the hours leading up to Seungkwan's death. Jihoon had been merciless in his torture of Junhui. Minghao couldn't breathe when he walked in and saw Junhui face down in the tub, arms bound behind his back and Jihoon screaming his wrath at Junhui's still body.

Things had gotten fuzzy for Minghao after that. His brain couldn't sort through the images. Junhui still and unmoving. Junhui's body moving only as the medics moved him. Junhui spewing a fount of water from his lips, but not opening his eyes.

His brain couldn't sort through the images because another friend was in his mind. His friend from his life before. Minghao hadn't told anyone he could remember his previous lives. He could remember them. He could remember everything. How he lived. How he died. And the people he lived with.

And now, his brain couldn't differentiate between the images of Junhui and Mingyu from before. Mingyu being so in love. Mingyu being so dedicated. Mingyu grieving the death of his fiance. Mingyu being tortured for her death. Mingyu burning alive as punishment for letting her die. Mingyu's screams for mercy and cries of pain.

Junhui and Mingyu's lives and deaths cycled through Minghao's mind. He couldn't go through watching another friend die. Not again. Especially not Junhui.

"I love you, so please, please, come back to me, Junhui." Minghao squeezed Junhui's limp fingers. "Come back to me because the others didn't. Come back to me because my heart can't take it. Come back to me, Junhui, because I love you and I can't live without you."

Tags: @mousepaw @jumpywhumpywriter @knightinbatteredarmor @hufflepuffwritingstuff2 @anightmarishwhump

@steh-lar-uh-nuhs @celestialsoyeon @st0rmm @ay5ksal @pedro-pedro-pedro-pedro-pe

[schizopositivity]

I have a suspicion that the "is it relating to idolizing h*tl*r" question is related to Felix cipher, don't quote me on that though

I was thinking that too but wasn't sure. The thing with that guy is he isn't idolizing Hitler, he seems to truly believe that he is the reincarnation of Hitler which is sort of two different things. Now if that really is a delusion of his, then that's a separate issue. I've commented something like this on a video I saw about this situation: if he is delusional, then it doesn't matter how irrational it is, or how many people tell him it's not true, he won't change his mind. I think people in his life should be encouraging him to get professional help and to be truthful to his mental health team. And I think strangers on the internet should stop interacting with his content, commenting boosts his videos in the algorithm. And telling him it's not real or offensive probably won't change his mind.

And I wish that was the end of the story on that guy, but sadly he has fully embraced this identity to the point of harassing holocaust survivors, and that is inexcusable in my opinion. Even if he fully believes he is the reincarnation of Hitler, that doesn't mean he has to currently act like a Nazi and harass people. So to break it down on Felix in particular: if he is schizophrenic that would relate to his delusion that he is the reincarnation of Hitler. But he is the one choosing to seemingly love and embrace that identity and be rude to people. I think he shouldn't be harassed or ridiculed for his delusion or mental state. But I do think he deserves criticism of his actions. Most people with delusions that they are bad people will be ashamed of it and not act on it. I don't want people to connect being delusional to being rude and offensive. Plus with Felix, he is clearly getting a lot of attention for this and that probably encourages him to continue acting in offensive ways, and probably keeps him from wanting to get help since how he is now is the reason he is going viral. So please just ignore him. I've seen people use this situation to say that delusional people are "crazy" bigots, and I really don't like this new wave of stigma being put onto people with an already stigmatized disorder just because of one guy.

To sum up: having harmful delusions that you can't control is fine, but choosing to act on them and hurt and offend people is not fine. Harassing someone online for having delusions that they can't control is not fine, but ignoring harmful actions by not interacting with them online and encouraging people to get help if you know them and they trust your opinion is fine.

[venting-town]

Fuck the “ necessary “

Fuck doing things/not doing things you want to do

Fuck doing things/not doing things you not want to do

Fuck not doing things/not doing things you want to do

Fuck not doing things/not doing things you not want to do

Fuck the dominance

Fuck the submission

Fuck the versatility

Fuck the switching/swapping/ ///etc

Fuck the authority

Fuck the followers

Fuck the breakers

Fuck the leaders

Fuck you

[abyssal-zone-stares-back]

Once More Into Eternity with You

Night x Fem!Reader

Chapter 1: Part 3 [Part One] [Part Two]

Warnings - Major Character Death, Nice Guy tm, Blowjob, Blood, Dagger, a stabbing, talk of reincarnation,

Please tell me if i missed a tag, i'm not an asshole i'm just stupid

The two of you confessed your feelings a few months ago. Night started to get lax with hiding the pda halfway into month two. It’s a miracle he got that far. 

Now that everyone knows you're in a relationship with a god, people have treated you differently. Thankfully none of it is negative, that you know of.

Just, people give offerings to you. Which you decline and put on Night’s alters instead. You don’t need these things. You never want for anything with Night around.

There's a festival tonight. People started setting up for it a little after midday. Erecting canopies, setting up tables, preparing food.

You’re trying to get ready but Night somehow convinced you to meet him in the temple. It’ll be quick, he said.

You dart behind the curtain and jerk back startled when you get an eyeful of Night, naked. Not that you haven't seen him naked before, it’s just, you weren’t expecting it.

He’s leaning on his altar, arms crossed over his chest. “Come on Starling. I want you to give me the first offering.”

And that's how you found yourself on your knees. Night’s head tipped back, a hand buried in your hair. 

You whine around his cock in your mouth when his hips jerk forwards. You hollow your cheeks and he moans. Looking down at you he removes his hand from your hair, cupping your cheek.

“You’re going to have to swallow for me, make sure you don't miss a drop.” You glance up at him and he just grins. “I can't get dirty Darling, I have an image to uphold of course.”

“But,” He starts, slowly fucking into your mouth. “I suppose I could just cum on you instead.” He groans. “Have you go to the festival covered in me, marked as mine.” 

Night’s hips are stuttering now, a hand coming up to rest on your head. He moans and cums down your throat. You do your best to swallow it all but some drips from the corners of your mouth.

Night pulls you up, wiping the corner of your mouth with his thumb, pressing it against your lips. You lick it clean and he grins.

As he presses a quick kiss to your lips, you feel Night’s magic around you and you're in a side courtyard. 

“Go on, enjoy yourself.”” He leaned down and to an onlooker it would look like he’s kissing your cheek. “I’ll be sure to give you some more enjoyment later too.” He murmured.

He pulls back, gives you a quick smile and then he’s gone.

You spend most of the time wandering around. Seeing other Gods and Goddesses. When the festival is winding down you start to make your way back to the temple.

Cutting through an alley you’re halfway through before the way out of the alley shimmers. Fading out of existence and becoming a solid wall. It was a mirage. 

Turning around you see Avion stalking towards you. You start to back up, trying to put distance in between the two of you.

Your back hits the wall and he still advances. You’re trapped.

He stops directly in front of you, boxing you in. He looks you over as you try to scoot around him to leave.

He slams a hand against the wall, blocking your escape. “So, was I just a plaything?” He snarls. You flinch, desperately looking for a way out, someone to notice, something.

“Someone to mess with until you go back to your lover?” He barks a laugh. “I could have been that! I’m way better than him.”

He pauses, “You don’t believe me, do you. Well,” He starts. “Avion,” a familiar voice says behind him, cutting him off. Night.

Avion whirls around, a golden dagger in his hand. Was he holding that the whole time? “You,” He snarls, pointing at him with the dagger. 

“We were just having a conversation about you.” Avion’s voice turned sweet as he twirls the dagger in his hand. The runes on the handle started to gently glow, you could see the light through the gaps in his fingers.

“Leave,” Night commanded. “And you’ll escape alive.” Avion laughed. “Oh I’ll escape alive alright, but, will they?” He jerked around, shoving the dagger into your stomach.

He yanks the dagger out of your wound and then he’s gone in a flash. 

Someone’s screaming. Who’s screaming? 

Oh, it's you. 

Why is everything moving so slow? 

It hurts. 

It hurts and Night’s there and the world speeds up again. You gasp from the pain, a slow spread of burning, emanating from where you got hurt.

Night is panicking, unsure of what to do. He bundles you in his arms and you feel the familiar whoosh of his magic before you’re being laid down on his altar.

One of his hands presses on your wound, blood seeping through the gaps in his fingers. The other is holding the back of your head. He’s crying, your Night is crying. You reach up, cupping his face, wiping away his tears with your thumb. 

“He’s cursed you. And I, I can’t save you. Only, only the god that caused the wound can heal it.” 

“What, what do you mean cursed?” you ask. “The dagger, it's, it’s a dagger of reincarnation. You’re going to be a different person next time we meet.” 

You laugh and then wince. “I’ll still love you, I know that. I will love you in every life.” Night smiles as a tear falls down his cheek. 

“And, and as I, My Star.” Night’s voice broke on a sob.  “I’ll find you again, I promise.” He leaned down, pressing a kiss to your right temple.

You felt the spot grow warm and your brain started to feel foggy. Your eyes drooped, fluttering as Night held you close. He started humming, his voice catching every few seconds.

You drifted off into a dreamless sleep, listening to the sound of your godly lover gently humming.

[showmethehotpods]

Send "Echoes of the past" for your muse to experience one of my muses memories in a vision/dream. @serialxsuccubus

There was a sharp gasp of breath as once again for as many times that it had been, the reaper's soul was yanked from the cycle and thrusted upon the steps of Rebirth.

As he kept gulping and wheezing to get his lungs working, the heavenly voice that had always royally pissed him the shit off spoke.

"And what will you be known as?"

"Gig, for fucks sake--!! You already know who I am, do we really have to do this bullshit every fucking ti--"

Before he's allowed to finish his angry ranting at the whole useless system, lights glare in his eyes as his soul is violently propelled back into the body, walking amongst the mortal plane, connected once more.

Always connected. Always repeating. Never ending.

Nobody would have ever called death a pleasant experience - and what came after was hardly any better. It wasn't exactly something you ever got used to, no matter how much practice Gig might have had at it over the countless centuries.

The emptiness, the hollowness at the sharp cut of a string of life. People had a lot of different stories about how it happened - like the one about all your life's memories flashing before your eyes and nonsense like that. For immortal creatures like reapers and Gods - it was a little different.

Every moment, every memory; anything that he'd ever experienced felt like it was being scorched into the very skin. Feeling the full brunt of existence over centuries upon centuries, the movie of one's life story screaming at you through ears, blood, nerves - until you're granted some small relief of being chucked out of the cycle once more.

"And what would you like to--"

"Oh, I don't know! Fucking Rumplefuckskin the Third - don't you ever shut up?!"

Time had no real meaning. Days, months, years, decades. People would come, people would go. Such was the way, everyone he'd come to meet would eventually live, breath and die around him. But something always decided that he still had a purpose. Some purpose it was - guiding souls into the realms of the dead whilst he remained stuck in the universe's shittiest toilet.

"Gah--!!" Gig gasped, life once again thrusted into his lungs, coughing and snarling. Before the stupid woman could start her spiel, he slammed his fists against the black void of a ground. "Just give me a fucking minute! Just.. just give me.."

Words didn't come. Instead, a ferocious screech as he twisted his fingers up in his hair, like the intensity of his rage might have made a goddamn difference. Fucking pathetic, really. Presenting in such a state before the likes of an Overseer.

After a full minute of screaming for nobody but the two of them to hear, Gig swore under his breath and pushed himself up, holding out his hand. "Quit the name crap and get on with it, Haephnes."

Smiling softly at that, the woman placed her hand over his. In a burst of flame, the scythe he would routinely use as a weapon and a collector of souls was summoned, affirming his role once again.

"Nobody else can be what you are. This is what you were made to do." Haephnes reminded him, not looking the least bit surprised when he yanked the scythe away from her, turning around to give her his back.

"..Yeah, I know that. You've said it before. Guess that doesn't fucking change either, does it? Maybe one of these days, you'll learn not to be such a broken record."

Jaw tightening, Gig's wings sprung up from his shoulders, flaring wide as he disappeared from the waiting room in another bright burst of flames.

Master of Death, until the next death. Then it could begin again. All over again. Again. Again.

[tsuutarr]

Yandere! Love God x Reader

Soulmates do not always meet in every lifetime. Sometimes, a person may become a bird that soars the skies while their soulmate becomes a fish that swims the depths of the sea. Other times, a person may become a little flower in a field while their soulmate becomes a large cactus in a desert. More often than not, the stars must align for soulmates to meet in a single lifetime.

You, however, are the exception. You will meet your soulmate in every lifetime for as long as your soul exists.

After all, your soulmate is the God of Love, an immortal being that ensures that you will meet in every single lifetime. 

It doesn’t matter if you’re a little plant, an animal, or a human – he’ll always find you and love you. When you’re not there by his side, he patiently waits for the glow of your soul to return to the mortal realm.

It’s become a pattern of his, a habit. When you leave his side due to your life’s candle burning out, his world will be drowned in grayscale and monotony. He goes about his days without much care for anything, his duty taking the forefront of his mind.

But when you reincarnate, your soul colors his world with his love for you, brightening up his days. To him, it doesn’t matter what you are, just that you are – that you exist. Your existence takes the forefront of his mind, his body, his soul. He devotes everything to you for as long as he can, eager to dye you in his colors in every one of your lifetimes.

It doesn’t matter that you don’t remember him – he’ll remember for the both of you, filling pages and pages with his memories of you. It doesn’t matter that he has to start all over again in every single lifetime – he’ll gladly fill you with his love for you over and over again. Because, to him, you go beyond just being his world – you’re his universe.

So, for most people, the stars must align for soulmates to meet in a single lifetime. But for you, your soulmate forces the stars to collide so that he can draw your constellation next to his again and again for the rest of eternity. 

[luxaofhesperides]

the beginning - danny

0.

The Lazarus Pit brings Danny back.

The child who went into them, however, is gone forever.

Danyal al Ghul is the soul who should reside in this body. Danyal has a life still to live and Danny died ages ago, old and surrounded by loved ones, ready to spend the rest of his forever in the Infinite Realms.

Something's gone terrible wrong, he thinks rather wryly, squinting through the cold green water that surrounds him. An ache echoes through his body and he brings a hand—small, a child's hand that shouldn't belong to him— to his stomach, where he can feel a large wound slowly pull itself together.

Did I get stabbed?

He means to continue the thought, but a sharp pain hits his head, making him curl up. He gasps and air bursts from his lungs, water rushing to fill in the empty space. Danny chokes, panicking, as memories slide into place, the lives of Danyal al Ghul and Danny Fenton fighting for dominance in his head. His lungs burn, throat working futilely to push water out, but there's nothing to be done.

Danny is a child again, and just like last time, he dies young.

1. So.

Assassins.

Danny honestly can't tell if this is a step up or a step down from mad scientist parents. On the one hand: he knows they loved him, as clumsy as it was, even though they loved their work more. On the other hand: assassin cult sounds like something out of a fairy tale, and while cool, is definitely not safe for kids.

And Danny, somehow, is a child again.

This really wasn't what he expected when he woke up on the sandy bottom of the pit. He's in ghost form, which is an unpleasant shock, but at least its familiar.

He is also, if his memory as Danyal serves him correctly, nine years old.

Kinda sucks that he died so young this time round. Didn't even make it to the double digits before he was taken out of the running.

He can't remember what it was like being so small in his last life. He can't imagine how anyone would look at a child and run them through with a sword. It's a cruel world he's woken up in. It's made worse by the fact that he's alone.

At least being down here without needing to breathe is giving him valuable time to think.

Danny has lived a full life already. He didn't really need or want another one, content to be a full ghost in the Infinite Realms. But going back isn't really an option, now that he's in a new body. The kid he could have been deserves to live fully, and the least Danny can do is live that life for them.

It'll be hard, but Danny's sure he can manage a decent life for himself.

Being presumed dead will make his escape from the assassins easier, though he'll miss getting the chance to meet his new mother; assassin as she is, Danyal knows her not by her blades but by her soft lullabies and jasmine-scented hair. The loss of her child must be hurting her deeply, but it's necessary. If Danny wants any semblance of a normal life, he has to leave her behind.

Besides, he's seen enough death. He doesn't want to ever be the cause of it.

So, he needs a plan for this new life.

Step one: get out of dodge.

The rest he'll figure out on the way.

2.

Turns out assassins weren't the most shocking thing in this new life.

No, that honor goes to superheroes.

Genuine, honest to God superheroes! With powers and everything!

To think that Danny once called himself a superhero. Ha! As if! He's nothing compared to the likes of Superman or the Flash or even Green Lantern. They're in another league. Literally. They're part of the Justice League, which has a whole slew of other heroes, and Danny is possibly their biggest fan.

Not like that's weird; most people in this world are huge fans of superheroes. Makes sense, since they're the ones who rely on their protection the most.

It does suck to know that his background belongs to that of a villain. Assassins aren't known for saving people, after all.

Part of him contemplates becoming a hero again, taking up the role of Phantom and joining the ranks of Superman. But he's had many years to come to terms with the loss of his teenage years and the bitterness that came with it. That experience, that life once lived, helps him decide each time that being a civilian is the gift this life owes him.

At thirteen, Danny lives in a foster home with six other kids. He's the oldest and has his hands full taking care of everyone else while their foster parents work three jobs between them to keep them all afloat.

When his younger siblings play superheroes, he gladly takes the role of the villain, swooping in with a blanket to kidnap away an innocent bystander that has to be rescued. He falls over dramatically at the end of each fight and praises his siblings' strength and teamwork, making them puff up with pride.

It's all fun and games so long as it only stays fun and games.

Superpowers are cool and all, but his came at the cost of his life, his health, his future. He knows, better than anyone, the price of being a hero. He knows that even Superman carries heavy losses on his shoulders, struggles under burdens no one can see.

He's lucky that the small town he ended up in—Luray, Virginia—has no heroes or villains. Too small a place to be on anyone's radar, apparently.

His classmates often complain about how they wish they could live in a big city where there's more to do, more to see, superheroes flying through the streets to protect them.

Danny is happy where he is. It's quiet, and small, and nothing like what he's used to, but it's safe.

That's all he really wants.

3.

Here's something that stays the same no matter what world he's in: Danny is a magnet for trouble.

If the trouble stopped at bullies, everything would have been fine. Danny could handle Dash, and he could handle Justin just as easily.

But the universe loves to escalate with Danny, specifically, which is why Danny had to reveal his powers when some villain-wannabe school shooter attacked his high school.

And to think he felt bad for Jackson when he didn't make it onto the track team.

Luray does not have a meta population. They're too small to have much of a population at all, and much of it is white which made him, half-Iranian, stand out even before he threw out a barrier of ice to protect his classmates a second before the gunfire began.

"Danny?!" his seatmate, Clarrissa, cries out in alarm.

"Everyone get out the window and run for it!" he orders, "I hold him back as much as I can!"

"You can't stay here!"

"Don't worry," Danny says, offering her a tight smile. "He couldn't kill me even if he tried. Now go!"

His classmates hadn't wasted any more time, sending him shocked looks as they escaped the classroom. A glimpse of his reflection in the window revealed glowing green eyes and blue mist wafting out of his mouth.

Looks like his time in Luray is up. He hopes his foster siblings won't be too mad at him for running away.

The gunfire stops, and Danny takes his chance to leap through his ice, intangible, and tackle Jackson, easily knocking the gun away from him.

"Monster!" Jackson spits at him, and Danny laughs.

"Bold of you to say that. I'm not to one trying to kill people."

He doesn't want to hear anything else that comes out of Jackson's mouth, so he knocks the guy out with a solid hit to a pressure point on his neck. Hopefully that'll keep him down long enough for the cops to get him.

Danny stands and means to leave, but something hits the back of his head hard and he's out before he realizes what's happened.

When he wakes up, he's strapped down to a table in what is undeniably a lab, and sighs.

At least he made it to sixteen before he went into another lab. Maybe in his next life he might even get all the way up to twenty before he's pulled back down here.

4. Though he has all his powers and a ghost form, that doesn't mean he is a ghost in this life.

No, he's fully a meta, which means meta-suppressing cuffs work on him.

It's not exactly a discovery he was hoping to have while locked up in a lab, but it's what he's got, so he has to roll with it. The cuffs are heavy on his wrists and around his throat, keeping him from escaping as a group of people in masks and lab coats bustle around, ignoring him.

His head is still foggy, though likely more from the drugs than the hit he took to his head.

He doesn't bothering talking to any of them; they don't see him as human, and Danny's dealt with enough of that in his past life.

Mad scientists love to talk though, so he still hears the gist of their plans: recreating the meta gene for normal people, making a profit from selling powers, getting rich and famous from their accomplishments. They had been using Jackson to get corpses for human testing, but they got Danny instead — someone they can harvest bio material for, a much better find than a couple dead kids.

If he had the energy to rage, Danny would have killed everyone in the room already. They planned to kill his classmates just for test subjects.

He doesn't want to be an assassin, but he'd gladly lean into those old lessons to make sure they never hurt anyone again.

But the cuffs and drugs do a good job of keeping him docile, barely able to think, as they transport him around to different locations and cut him open.

He's not sure how long it's been when they ease up on the drugs a bit. It still takes time for his body to work through everything, and he comes too with a throat that's dry and a stomach that hasn't had anything in it for quite some time.

The first thing Danny does when they start asking him questions is throw up on them.

If they wanted cooperation, they should have treated him better. This is fully on them.

It makes for a convincing argument for food and water and a bathroom break, at least, so he gets what he demands and takes care of his human body under the cold gazes of three scientists.

"You guys suck," he says conversationally. "Keeping test subjects alive is like basic knowledge. No wonder y'all suck at your jobs."

"Your comments aren't needed," one of the scientists says primly. "Get up. We need to study how using your powers affects your body."

They hook a bunch of different things onto him, then lock him in a glass cage and use the cuff around his throat to send jolts of electricity through him when he doesn't do anything. He throws a chunk of ice at them, watching as it breaks apart into small pieces when it hits the glass. The scientists scribble in their notepads, and when they look at him again, he flips them off.

He gets shocked again, but it's worth it.

The process repeats for another few hours, then he's pulled out of the cage, gets an IV stuck in his arm, and drops off into drugged oblivion before he has time to start throwing hands.

5.

It must have been months. Danny's not sure; it's hard to keep track of time when locked in isolation.

He knows he's fed at least once a day. He's been getting a tray of bland food at random times, but he's counted over 50 trays sliding through the little slot on the bottom of his cell door.

Turns out insulting scientists and their procedures is a bad idea, especially when he has the language to really bruise their egos.

So.

Isolation sucks.

But at least they don't drug him anymore!

The cuffs do their job of keeping him in place, and if he didn't have memories of another life to keep him company, he definitely would have lost his mind long ago.

There's other people in here, other metas. He's heard them screaming and begging for mercy. He's heard them go chillingly quiet. He wonders why there are so many superheroes in this world when not a single one has come to save them.

Surely at least one would notice metas disappearing and would investigate?

But no.

No one ever comes to save them.

So Danny needs to figure out a way past the cuffs, and then he can be Phantom again long enough to free the other metas and make every scientist involve pay for their crimes.

He just needs to wait.

He just needs—

6.

When Danny wakes up, the alarms are ringing. It makes his head pound, throbbing with each piercing sound.

He stumbles up, using the wall to keep his balance, and freezes when he sees that the door to his cell is open.

…Huh.

The hallway is bathed in red light when he steps out. No one's around. He wanders around the facility, searching for answers and only finds more questions.

There are other cells, also empty. Certain rooms have blood splattered across the walls and the floor, but no bodies. Labs are destroyed, broken glass on the floor. But every room is empty.

He wanders until he finds what must be a security room. There's a strange device dangling off a keychain on a rack, and Danny eyes it curiously. He runs his fingers around the cuff on his throat, feels the little depression where the collar comes together, and takes the rounded device. If it doesn't work, then it doesn't work.

But if it does work…

The cuff pops open easily, as if it hasn't been his greatest foe these past few months.

All at once, his strength returns to him. He has forgotten what it was like to breathe easily, to feel his powers come to his call so easily, to be reassured that he can take care of himself.

It's almost like coming back to life.

He transforms, settling back into his ghost form with relief, and flies through the facility in search of any other metas that may need help. He finds no one, but he does catch a glimpse of the outside.

The sky is so blue it almost hurts to look at. Part of the facility has been blown apart; rubble surrounds the place and the surrounding forest has been flattened. It looks as though a fight has moved through the area.

Maybe a superhero did come to save them? Rude of them to leave only Danny, though.

He continues his search, poking his head into different rooms and hallways. He finds a staircase going down and follows it into the basement. More labs greet him, and the glow of computers and strange vials of liquid leave him unsettled.

There's a green glow coming around the corner than reminds him of the Lazarus Pit he flew out of, once upon a time many years ago, and that's what draws him forward.

Tucked away in that familiar glow is a small body, floating in a tube of liquid. There's an oxygen mask attached to her face, but that doesn't stop Danny from recognizing her.

"Ellie?"

7.

Just like in one life, Danny is cloned. The difference is that this time, there's no reason for it, no insane godfather trying to recreate a version of him that will choose him.

No, this time it's from a group of scientists who should have known better, who decided to mess around with his genes, and brought his once little sister now daughter into such a cruel, dangerous world.

Danny barely remembers breaking the glass to get her out of there. He doesn't know where he found the coat to bundle her up in, flying out of the facility as fast as he could. He feels sick, knowing it's his fault that she's here now, forced into a painful, terrifying existence because he wasn't strong enough to save himself.

He's a runaway meta victim of mad science. He can't take care of her.

"I'm sorry, Ellie," he whispers to her, pressing a kiss against her head. "I'm so sorry."

She small in his arms. She barely weighs anything.

Danny blinks back tears and tries to find some place he can stop and rest, somewhere safe he can gather his thoughts and figure out his next steps.

This isn't like when he first woke up in this world, with both sets of memories.

This is Ellie.

She deserves more than just a wish and a half-baked plan for a better life.

She deserves a family that wants her, that can care for her, that can protect her. She deserves to grow up normally and not worry about destabalizing or being a replacement for him or being hunted down.

She deserves one life to be a kid and grow up safe and be whoever she wants to be.

Danny will never be able to give her that.

But maybe he can give her to someone who can.

8.

Danyal grew up with an assassin mother and a cruel grandfather who expected far too much from a child. He was taught to kill and be more weapon than child. He was taught the world was something for him to take, to protect, to water with blood.

Danyal was meant to be the next Demon Head, and the next Bat.

Danny knows he can't go to his mother. If they're both lucky, he will never have to see her again. Knowing his luck, he's already planning explanations for why he never went back to her.

Danny's father, on the other hand…

It didn't take much to put the pieces together. The notorious Bat is Batman, Gotham's vigilante and one of the founders of the Justice League. While a child would have been left confused by the many comments his mother made about his father, it was simple enough for Danny to line them up with what he learned about the heroes of this world and realize, oh, that's my dad.

It takes a few weeks of research, using public libraries with Ellie tucked securely in a wrap to his chest, but he's able to learn more about Batman.

The most important thing being that he has kids.

Of course, none of this is officially acknowledged, but everyone knows that the Robins are his kids. Current Robin, especially, likes to remind people that he's 'the son of Batman'.

Okay. Cool.

Danny has siblings.

Awesome.

He's… not looking forward to those conversations.

At least it means more people to look after Ellie. Assuming they take her in, which Danny's really hoping for.

But it's the best he can do, so Danny sets course for Gotham and hopes that just this once, everything will work out.

9.

Meeting the Bats of Gotham is a lot harder than he expected.

A week in the city and he's barely caught more than a glimpse of them. He can't dedicate a lot of time to tracking them down either, needing to break into grocery stores to get food for him and Ellie.

She's so quiet as a baby, and it terrifies him. She's only cried twice the entire time he's had her, and Danny spends every day begging her to hold on.

Time during the day is spent catching naps and researching common vigilante spotting areas in Gotham. He's got a map of Gotham taken from a library and has been steadily marking it up, putting stars in the best places to find a Bat. There are places all over the city, and Danny has no idea how to know which ones are the best.

The only thing he can do is wait at a different rooftop each night, clinging to Ellie, wondering if this is the last night he has with her.

On the ninth night, someone finally arrives.

"Step away from the edge," a voice demands.

Danny turns to see Robin approaching, hands held out as if to catch him. He's bigger than Danny was expecting. Which makes sense; most of the stories Danny got online are from when Robin was a kid, and it's been a few years since then. He must be a teenager now. Older, but still young.

"Robin," he manages to say, his throat tightening. It feels almost like there's a noose around it. It feels like that meta-suppressing cuff has clicked back into place, leaving him helpless.

"Step away from the edge," Robin repeats. "There is no need for this to be your last resort."

"But it is," Danny whispers.

Robin darts forward and wraps a hand around Danny's wrist, yanking him towards the center of the roof. "Why on Earth would you come up here? Surely you must have known that someone would stop you."

"Batman," he gets out. "I need to speak to Batman."

"What for?"

"I'm… I was told, once, that I'm his son."

10. Robin stares at him for a long moment.

Then he takes off his mask.

Danny knows those eyes: he sees them every time he looks in a mirror.

"Danyal," Robin breathes. "You died before I was born."

"I did. Are you…?"

"Mother told me about you."

So he has a little brother. If only he hadn't left first chance he got, he could have known his little brother, gotten away from that place before it hurt him too. Danny has made many mistakes since he arrived in this world. Missing a little brother is perhaps the worst of them.

"Mother…" Danny repeats. "She put me in the Lazarus Pit. I remember that. She didn't want me to die."

"I was born to replace you."

Just like Ellie.

So many mistakes repeating. He's never felt like more of a failure.

"Batman. Our father. He treats you well? You are safe with him?"

Robins brows furrow, but he nods, which is enough for Danny. "Yes. Of course. Isn't that why you're here now?"

"I'm not asking for me." Danny carefully, gently, unwraps Ellie. "I'm asking for her. Please, take care of her. She deserves more than I can give her. Ellie… she'd be your niece."

Robin's eyes are wide. He's frozen until Danny pushes Ellie against his chest, forcing him to lift his arms to hold her.

"Wait, what about—?"

When Robin looks up, Danny's already gone.

It's for the best.

(masterpost for all parts)

[deadsetobsessions]

Once more the hallucinations hit, and once more I am here writing it out.

My brain is fucking terrifying and I want out, so bad. This came to me in the form of a nightmare.

Also, please don’t take the timeline into consideration, because I have no idea what’s going on. Again, nightmares and dreams tend to not have the best coherency when it comes to plot and timelines. The reincarnation doesn’t have a name, I was too busy feeling terrified. Shit in parentheses was how I experienced the nightmare. Everything else is just me adding sprinkle sprinkle.

——

Ra’s al Ghul.

Talia al Ghul.

Two names that she had been aware of, in the peripherals of her hyper fixation. Two characters meant to enhance the story of the Dark Knight. Side characters, on a good day. Perhaps, a main antagonist on a better day.

On a bad day?

Main characters. Real, living people. Real, living, breathing assassins.

Unfortunately, they’re her new family. One she remembered coming into, bathed in a pool of blood and screams.

She was not a baby.

She is now, a baby. The first of Talia al Ghul’s children. The eldest, once Damian al Ghul was born.

Swaddled in emerald green and gold silks, she was presented to a man with silver streaked hair and a receding hairline. He too, was robed in green and golds.

“A daughter, Talia?” He rumbled, the smooth Arabic flowing out of his mouth failing to hide the acrid disappointment. The child, past the haze of confusion of suddenly being deported from her own adult body into one of a helpless child, felt a stirring of irritation. It’s good she learned the language, because now she knew exactly how Ra’s felt about her. The child grumbled a displeased sound. Not that she would have ignored the fact that her grandfather was Ra’s al Ghul. (He smelled like moth eaten fabric and blood- but I think that was because my cat accidentally scratched me.)

“My apologies, father.”

“Do not tell the young detective of this. Had it been a son, perhaps things would have been different. No, a daughter would only hinder him.”

Talia bowed, hands tightening on her daughter. “May I raise her, father?”

“A resource is still a resource. Go ahead, Talia.”

“Yes, father.” Talia took the dismissal and bowed before leaving.

On her way back to the room with the reincarnation’s crib, Talia al Ghul stroked her daughter’s head.

“I wish you were born a boy, my daughter. I am sorry my beloved will never know of you.”

The reincarnation looked at her new mother. She’s young, the woman-child realized. A teenager.

“You’ll have to be useful, my daughter. Your grandfather is not so kind as to keep the useless. I… do not wish for your death,” her mother muttered.

Great. She got new life and it’s already in danger.

——

She learned to swing a knife. Swords. She learned and devoured the teachings. She learned to be useful.

But then they asked her to take the life of a man who did her no wrong.

Her baby blues clashed with her grandfather’s Lazarus green.

She was still young. A child.

“No.”

“No?”

“He did no wrong.”

“He failed, granddaughter.” Ra’s smiled down at her, patronizing. Cruel. “Perhaps you possess your father’s heart, and you are foolishly sentimental, as women and children tend to be. But in the end, you are an al Ghul and you will obey. Plunge in your blade and I will reward you.”

The reincarnation looked at the man kneeling in front of her, resignation and a hint of pity in what little she could see of his face.

She’s already died before. What did she have to be afraid of?

“No.”

They tried to beat the weakness out of her. It didn’t work.

——

The reincarnation stared at the mirror, left alone in an opulent cage of gold and emeralds and precious stones that meant little to her now.

Her hands traced her back, small fingers finding purchase in soft skin. Her mouth opened fruitlessly, noise refusing to escape. She still felt the burning magic, the brand her own blood had carved into her skin and soul because she refused to kill. The chains her grandfather had shackled around her with magic and cruel amusement.

She had killed him, in the end. Obey, or be punished. Her body had moved without her permission, the reincarnation a prisoner in a body that refused to do as she commanded. The knife swung, a life taken, her hands dipped in red.

She learned a valuable lesson that day.

There were things worse than death.

“This is an order, granddaughter.”

The Magic had flared a searing heat at her neck, forcing her to kneel on broken legs. Ra’s loomed above, authority in his voice. She was bound to obey, regardless.

“You will never speak another word of affection, you will never speak another word to anyone unless I allow it. Perhaps this will teach you of your folly, and your place in this world.”

The loss of her freedom and the fear that came with it was a bitter and devastating lesson.

——

Ra’s al Ghul was so much worse than what little she knew of him.

She was right to be afraid for herself.

Her mother had worried, when she’d withdrawn and refused to speak to her. Even if she could, the reincarnation would not have wanted to. The reincarnation had felt furious, back then, when she thought of Talia. Her mother who refused to protect her. Her mother, who claimed she loved her but refused to see the chains Ra’s wrapped around her neck. She who plied the reincarnation with a supportive hand but forced her into the fighting pits.

But, as the reincarnation stumbled out on bruised and used legs from Ra’s al Ghul’s meeting chambers where he had allowed his business partners to partake in her, she realized that Ra’s was a monster in a human’s body and her mother was a victim of his making.

The lesson Ra’s taught her that day was that if she was not useful, if she did not kill, he would take what was left of her and make use of her.

Hate flared in her heart, and the beginning of Ra’s downfall began the day he let her go from the chambers alive. Injured, but alive. Injured and violated, but alive and furious.

——

She carved her hate and rage and helplessness and fear in the bodies of the people he bid her to kill. Her silenced screams were expressed in the way she splattered blood, the way she covered herself in it. A killing machine first, a stress reliever second, and a child… wasn’t on the list of things she was allowed to be.

His enemies were felled, one after another. He gave her his approval, something she detested.

But still, she continued, bodies racking upwards, tens turning to hundreds, hundreds edging into thousands.

The red in her ledger became ichor and guilt. Her language became violence and obedience.

“You have become a sharp tool, granddaughter.”

She was a genius, after all. And now, she could not disobey. A blade that Ra’s believed will never point towards him. She kneeled. She obeyed.

“Thank you, grandfather.” Her words were only allowed to come out- without searing, terrible pain- when she was thanking him. She tried not to do it as often as he wanted. He thought he broke her when he read the obedience she carved into her body language.

But she never bowed. Never. Not to him. Never.

——

“My weapon could learn much from your granddaughter,” David Cain sat across from Ra’s, wine in their stupid goblets. How she detested the green and blacks he’s seen fit to dress her with. She’s dressed provocatively, not of her own choice. She doesn’t have much of those- doesn’t have much in ways of choices- these days.

She was twelve, and Ra’s al Ghul deserved to die.

“Her combat is a higher form of what my daughter has achieved. How did you do it?”

When Ra’s began to reply, she slipped away.

She found the girl. She found… the cage- the black box- the child was placed in. The child flinched from her when she opened the metal box, fear only easing as the reincarnation kept her body language neutral and kind. (It was pitch black, and about the size of like, a closet. No light. Only from whatever door the box had.) (Cass’ hands hurt from banging on the walls to be let out)

David Cain’s daughter, her mind whispered, the memories of another life once more making itself known.

“Cassandra.” She whispered, regretting it immediately when pain wracked her body. She fell to her knees as the punishment for disobeying an order slammed into her.

The girl looked at her in concern, but did not move closer. The reincarnation stared at this girl and saw a reflection of herself.

David Cain would be here for a month. She will free Cassandra in those days.

——

The weapon stared at the girl in front of her, kneeling in pain.

She did not understand.

-

The girl came back. Water. Food. Kind.

The weapon felt warm. The girl was quiet. No sounds. Good. The weapon knew the girl understood. The weapon thinks that the girl is a weapon too.

-

The girl comes back, again. This time, she makes a sound. It hurt her, but she did it again. The weapon understands when the girl points at herself and repeats the sound. The sound means the girl. The girl expects something from the weapon.

The weapon makes the sound, flinching to see if the owner will come to punish it. The girl purposefully sits, relaxed but vigilant… and protective. Of the weapon?

The weapon relaxed. It repeated the sound, pointing at the girl.

The girl smiles, in pain. But approval. The weapon feels- the weapon is warm, like under the blanket. Approval.

The girl teaches her to make sounds but the weapon communicates without it. It does not like the sounds, does not need them, but the girl seems to think it’s important.

The weapon likes the girl, so the weapon learns. They still understand through no sounds, through reading each other.

-

The girl comes back, silently. Secretly. The weapon does not notify the owner. The weapon feels- does not want to.

The girl- the girl with the sound- she says a different sound. Her body tells the weapon that it’s important, this sound.

And when the girl points at herself and says her own sound, then points at the weapon and says that new sound again, the weapon begins to understand.

The girl had given the weapon her own sound.

“Cass—n- ra.”

“Cass,” the girl said, and Cassandra understood.

“Cass.” Cassandra pointed to herself.

-

The owner wanted- wanted Cassandra to end a life. Cassandra watched the owner kill and gesture to the dead thing.

Cassandra did not want to.

When Cassandra is placed back into the pitch black box, she waited for the girl.

The girl came.

“Don’t want.” Cassandra clung to her, reading the welcome and the sadness in the girl’s body. Cassandra tucked her face into the girl’s shoulder. She is cold. The girl is warm.

The girl hugged her back. The girl understood. Sadness hardened into lines of determination. Cassandra felt… light. Felt hope.

-

Cassandra slipped away from the place, water in her pack for the dessert and money to run from the country. The girl stayed behind, seeing her off. The girl tells her to never come back.

Cassandra did not want to leave the girl behind, but the girl could not go.

“Be free, Cass.” The girl had whispered through the pain. “For the both of us.”

——

Her grandfather knew. He allowed David Cain to break her, not kill because she was of use to him still, as a lesson. She found that she hated his lessons. But, she hated his attention more.

And still, she could not regret. How could she, when Cass trusted her with what fragile hope she had?

So, she lets him beat her, and provokes him with smirks and fearless eyes because the longer he’s focused on her, the more time Cass has to run.

Then, he gets too angry, and insults Ra’s, whose eyes grew cold. Her grandfather gestured and while she usually hated the command that followed that gesture, she could not feel that hatred now.

She got back up, legs broken and arms twisted once more, and attacked David Cain.

Ra’s would not follow Cass. Not when she was not his business to deal with, and not when David Carin’s fury amused him so.

David Cain would not follow Cass. Not while she still drew breath. The reincarnation stood, and threw herself at one of the best assassins of the century.

She tore his throat out with nothing but her teeth. She felt, for once, not like a monster. Not even when Ra’s nodded in approval and ordered for David Cain’s broken body to be cleaned up.

——

She’s been granted a mission in New Jersey, once her months of discipline- of torture- ended. She does not get ordered to find Cassandra. She’s fourteen now, and as silent as ever. Her mother had adjusted to her silence by then- long ago, actually, taking it as a quirk her daughter had developed. She hadn’t been a terribly vocal child, after all. Talia praised her for being useful even as a woman- the self degradation something the reincarnation had no doubt Ra’s had insidiously trained into Talia- and for being loyal to Ra’s.

Sometimes, she hates Talia for being- for-

Never mind. She couldn’t afford to hate anyone else.

She killed her targets early, determination and wistfulness urging her movements into sharp . Then, she made her way to Gotham and slipped into the city of darkness- where her father was.

She watched as he hid in the shadows almost as easily as she did. She watched as he flew and glided with the younger Robin. (He was younger than her by a year. She checked.) He was free. They were free.

She wished…

As she turned away, she saw a child tumbling from the edge of a roof. It was an instinct she’d thought Ra’s had managed to bury after the months he’d spent making sure she killed only children.

She hated him.

She caught him, swooping in and tucking him against her side as she plucked him from the air and plopped him back onto the crumbling roof of Gotham’s slums.

“Oh, thank you! So much- are you a vigilante?” The boy asked, looking at her masked face. It’s a good thing she wasn’t exactly dressed like a regular League operative.

She shook her head. Her eyes fell onto his camera, faint memories rising once more. She had an inkling-

“I’m- uh- Tim!” The boy introduced himself nervously, edging away from her silence. “Thank you for saving me…?”

She nodded. She pointed to the camera, tilting her head.

“Oh- you… want to see it?” He clutched his camera closer. Oh, he did have some sense of self preservation. She wondered why a seven year old was allowed to roam these streets… but she did worse at seven.

She held her hand up and back up. The boy hesitated, and then showed her the camera. “Uh- I took pictures of Robin and Batman!”

They sat on that roof for hours, and she let Tim Drake tell her stories about her father and his son. Ward. Son.

She could tell that Tim didn’t have anyone to listen to him.

She didn’t have long until she had to go back or risk severe punishment, but… she could make time for Tim, to listen to him.

She wondered if Cass managed to escape completely. She wondered if her sister all but in name and blood learned how to smile.

——

Tim had never had a friend before!

She listened to him! And gave him hugs the one time he was brave enough to ask! And she seemed to like Batman and Robin as much as he did! No one who didn’t like them would listen to his endless rambling otherwise, right? (Tim was super skinny, like ribs poking out skinny. He looked like a sickly Victorian child and he was kind of cold)

“And then, Robin went like this,” he pantomimed the awesome punch Dick Grayson did on a Joker goon. “And the guys got knocked out just like that!”

His new friend nodded, looking interested.

“Sorry, am I talking too much?” Tim asked anxiously. He didn’t want to make his friend hate him!

She shook her head, and gestured for him to continue.

“Are you sure?”

She nodded.

His new friend was so cool! She even taught him how to throw a punch and to fight!

——

When she had to leave, she prepared Tim for it.

“Do you have to go?”

She nodded and placed a hand on his head, ruffling his hair. Her other hand held a duffle bag with an assortment of weapons she carefully kept from him. (One of the blades still had guts on it, which, ew.)

“Try not to fall off anymore roofs, little photographer.” She said, smiling at his shocked look before leaping away.

“Wait, you can talk?!” He shouted at her back. She smiled a little wider.

——

“A son, this time.” Ra’s al Ghul’s voice echoed in his disgustingly flashy throne room. It rings of approval.

The reincarnation stood behind her mother, eyes cast downwards.

“Well done, Talia. I finally have a worthy heir.”

Damian al Ghul cooed.

The reincarnation was scared. But… she could not allow her younger brother to be trapped like she was. She’s fifteen now, a decade of slavery having worn her down and nearly broken her. But with her brother… no, she could not allow it.

She met her mother’s eyes and knew then that they agreed. Protect Damian, at all costs.

She ignored the sting of envy. So what her mother could not find it in herself to protect her daughter? So long as she protected Damian, it didn’t matter.

Maybe she didn’t matter. Maybe she wasn’t worth anything. Maybe- maybe- maybe.

She also ignored the seed of disgust she had for mother’s actions in conceiving Damian. She couldn’t do anything about it. Talia was also a victim.

A louder voice in her asked if she could really excuse that, when Talia had a choice and she chose to hurt and violate Bruce Wayne like that. She wondered if she could truly ever forgive Talia. She wondered if Bruce Wayne got therapy.

——

She stared at the tome in front of her, eyes blank. (Actually, she had no eyes. Like? Empty sockets, but then later she had eyes???)

The brand- the shackles- the chains could only be broken if Ra’s died. She wasn’t opposed to that. But if he died, so did she. She couldn’t even kill herself to get out, because the chains would be there even if she died. If she was revived- a high chance, thanks to the fucking pits- then the chains would still be there.

Perhaps… she could use the pits?

Her mind turned and turned.

——

“This is your ukht.” Her mother pointed at her. Damian stared up at her, and she melted. Her brother was too damn cute.

“Ukhti?”

She nodded as her mother smiled in joy. “Yes, habibi.”

She was better at hiding the pain, now. She was better at enduring it, too, that fucking burning feeling. She spoke more, but only to Damian.

It would not do for her brother to grow up not knowing how to receive verbal expressions of affection. Not like she did, in this life.

Still, it hurt to speak. But then, she had an idea, based on Cassandra.

She could not speak, but speaking wasn’t the only way of communication. She’ll teach Damian sign language- standard, as commanded- but also her own version. Yes, she could do it. It wouldn’t be hard.

She was a genius, after all, and creating languages wasn’t as hard as people seem to think.

——

Damian copied her, small fingers patting his hand four times.

She did it back to him. “I love you.” She tells him, with sounds and with motions.

He does it back, excitedly, because he had a secret with ukhti!

——

Sometimes, she dared not to touch Damian. She wants to ruffle his hair and give him hugs but the ichor on her hands reminds her to not get to greedy. She did not deserve it.

Not when her hands were stained with the lives of so many people.

——

Another mission.

She was twenty now, and not much closer to escaping her bonds. Though, once she hit her majority, Ra’s lost interest in her in that way. A blessing, even if she had to seduce his “business partners” into giving him better deals more often now.

She stops by Bludhaven. The Robin she watched so many years ago- six, by her count- had grown new wings and moved. She wanted to see if he could fly still.

He could. He flew as free- no, freer than his days as Robin.

She dipped away to complete her mission (nuclear weapon trading, really?) and swings back to see a spider trying to break the former Robin’s wings.

“No.” Nightwing whispered, staring upwards at the cloudy sky blankly. “Please, stop.”

She didn’t need to hear any more. She saw red, and dove feet first straight onto the spider’s head, knocking her out.

She picked up a near-catatonic Nightwing, and helped him to his apartment. She left Tarantula in the rain and felt zero guilt about it.

He changed mechanically, some kind of instinct keeping him from removing his domino, but it was a bit pointless considering she escorted him to his personal apartment.

She watched as Nightwing slipped into an exhausted sleep before leaving. She had a spider to squish, and traces to hide.

——

Dick wakes up, drained and exhausted. He… someone saved him.

He sees a scrawled note, handwriting impeccable enough to be a font, written with his pen. He picked it up from his table, and his eyes tiredly read the message.

“Don’t worry about Tarantula. Or your identity.”- A friend.

He remembered- the mask- the mask of the stranger that saved him vividly. He’d remember. And he’d thank them if they ever came back.

——

She was in charge of training assassins, these days. A year and a half later after Bludhaven, she was back in Nanda Parbat, and she’s devoured every magical tome she could get her hands on. They all say the same things.

Her assassins were trained well, and Ra’s praises her with more responsibilities as he followed the pit in his obsessions. Her mother began to splinter the group, not knowing that as Ra’s began his descent into madness, people looked towards her instead of Talia for leadership. They did not know that her unwavering presence by Ra’s side wasn’t voluntary but it is their true that she became his right hand out of pure skill. And flawless obedience, of course.

Then, someone new joins.

Someone with pit rage and empty eyes that goes rigid when she approaches.

Then again, most of the operatives freeze up when she walks towards them.

Her memories roar. A child.

He bowed, and her eyes followed the streak of white hair at the forefront of his skull.

She gestured at him to follow, and ignored the pitiful eyes the rest of the assassins gave to the kid- they act like her training was hard when she went easy on them (it was)- and led the kid towards the training rooms.

She knew who he was, even if her grandfather and mother didn’t think she knew.

Her… Bruce Wayne would probably appreciate his son being returned relatively sane.

But first, she had to beat the Pit out of him. Then, she could assign body guarding duties to him, in an attempt to protect him.

——

“Grandfather, I will take Damian’s punishment.”

“A whipping girl, granddaughter?” But he nodded anyways. He made Damian watch.

She kneeled and allowed the punishment. She couldn’t always protect him from Ra’s, but this she could do anytime. It’s not like she was unfamiliar with the torture. (The whip had barbs. Rusty. And they sprinkled salt.)

——

“I liked poetry….” Jason Todd tells her after a training session. “I think.”

“Sure. I’ll call you Grave, then.” Pain. But she was used to it.

He tilted his head, eyes going blank once more. She sighed. There went his memories again. (His eyes were blank and glazed. Like looking at someone you love and knowing they’re looking through you.)

——

“I would not trust her,” she says to the air, next to a Red Hood emerging from Talia al Ghul’s chambers. She could see it, the beginnings of Gotham’s new crime lord. But still, “Talia al Ghul is known for her lies.”

She pushed away from the wall. It was up to Grave if he listened. It was out of her hands now.

——

She’s twenty-five, and she’s helping Damian pack for his first meeting with Bruce Wayne.

“You must not tell him about me.” Because he’d come rushing here, and she had worked too hard to save Damian for her fool of a father to come and ruin all of that effort.

“I promise.” Her little brother said solemnly. Ukhti said it out loud, which meant it was important and she expected him to keep that promise.

The only other time he’d heard her speak was to tell him she loved him.

The reincarnation smiled and told him through their special sign language, to treat the current Robin with respect and to try his best to get the current Robin to pass down his title.

‘Robin is earned. They have different rules, over there. Try your best to learn those rules.’

Her brother was sheltered. She loved him, but he was spoilt and sheltered. Of course she was worried. Talia barely mothered him.

“I know. You do not have to remind me so often, ukhti.”

She smiled, and patted his head.

“Be safe,” she whispered. “I will miss you.”

Damian darted in for a hug. “Of course. Goodbye, sister. See you soon.”

She hoped not. It was hard enough to convince Ra’s that Damian would learn more under Bruce Wayne.

(She was locked in a small closet- like Cass- for about a week, because she brought up the idea first.)

——

She found it.

The answer to pit rage laid in an old, all but crumbling tome from Atlantis- answers “from a ghost.”

——

Bruce Wayne died. Months after Damian came to live with him. That- irritating- she sighed and worked with her mother to turn Ra’s al Ghul’s attention away from Gotham, lest he called Damian back in Bruce Wayne’s absence.

The little photographer caught grandfather’s attention. She stood vigil as he played chess with Ra’s. His interest in Damian wavered. Anticipation blurred in her veins.

She saved his friends. Her assassins. She let them go, telling them to wait for the little photographer’s plan. (Y’all miss girl had fucking bloody handprints on her pants like someone tried to grab it.)

The first few people who had an inking she might not be loyal to Ra’s… and it was them.

When her other assassins attacked Red Robin, she cut them down before they could touch him, helping him with a furious League of Spiders or whatever operative. She hated spiders.

“What…?”

“You’re a lot of trouble, little photographer.” She sighed. His jaw dropped.

“It’s you!”

“Go,” she cut him off. “Blow this place up. I left a surprise for you outside.”

——

“Owens?! Z?!” Tim trembled, exhaustion and shock and wonder hitting him at once.

“Heya, boss!” Z chirped. Owens helped Tim up while Z helped Tam. Pry walked around them, looking out for further threats. “The nightmare trainer let us go. She knew you, I think.”

Tim smiles, all shark teeth and zero hero. (In the background, the song zero to hero from Hercules 2, played in reverse.) “Tell me more.”

——

Damian grunted, bracing himself for the magical creature’s attack.

“Robin!” His father barked out, panicked. Damian hoped he’d survive-

Shhhlk!

He looked up and there stood his ukht. She bounded forwards, using the odd fauna of the magical plane to bolster her movements as she sliced the creatures apart with her swords, magic humming brightly as she cut through them… and the magicians attacking them.

“What- what are you doing here?” He asked. She greeted him, three fingers curled over her shoulder.

‘My question is,’ she signed. ‘Why were you here without a magical weapon.’

Damian sighed as father stepped in between them.

“Who are you.”

“Batman. Cease your excessive worry. I trust her with my life,” Damian snapped. He stepped around a shocked Batman, looked him in the eyes, and unsheathed his katana. He handed it over to his ukht, who took it with amusement.

‘See?’ His eyes seemed to say. Father tensed when his sister unsheathed her own blade and handed it to him.

‘Are you here for a specific reason?’ His sister signed to him.

“Uh, you gonna introduce us, little man?”

Damian sent the Flash a derisive look and ignored him.

“We’re looking for a magician. He set a squadron of demons loose into D.C. last night. He has a tower.” Damian added.

“Robin,” Father growled. “Who is this.” Damian shot him a look and turned back to his sister.

The reincarnation tilted her head. ‘Tower… it’ll have to be that way.’

“Could you take us there?” Damian asked. Truthfully, he could find the way himself. But he wanted more time around his ukht. She nodded and Damian straightened.

“I feel like we should be concerned that Robin’s friend just murdered a bunch of people.”

His sister glanced back and ignored them.

“Silence, incompetents. Speak another word against her, and Batman’s no killing rule will be applied creatively.” He hissed. (The fucking surroundings hissed with him y’all what the fuck)

He turned when his sister ruffled his hair (Superman muttered a super shocked “what the fuck.”) and Damian allowed it. He had missed his sister.

——

[inkblot22]

Can You Keep A Little Secret 3

Someone call somebody, because Epel beat my ass while I was writing this chapter. I thought I had it drafted perfectly and then I reread what I had and was like what is this?? So this is maybe the most edited thing on this blog, hooray! Real talk, though, his rabbit suit is the cutest thing ever and I want to put flowers in his hair. Dividers by @/cafekitsune.

This fic is aimed towards sort of everyone, but the reader possesses afab features. This is important in this chapter, but as it is a reincarnation fic, the fic is aimed at anyone who can handle it. Reader is referred to with they/them pronouns!

TW for threatening behavior, mention of death, violence (reader gets tossed around a bit), strangulation, semi-shy reader, AFAB reader, NONCON, DEAD DOVE, DO NOT EAT, pregnancy mention, degrading language used towards reader

Link to previous chapter here!

Epel doesn’t even mention it. You keep your interactions professional, go over your lines at home, and this proceeds for the first week. 

He’s called you a few times, sent a few messages. You changed his name in your phone to “Epel Fucko.” It makes you giggle, at least. That’s about the only funny thing.

Over the week, you ignore every single call and message from Epel. On Thursday, it feels like he’s finally gotten the message, since he stops trying. When he’s at work with you, the two of you are hardly alone, if ever. He’s as sweet as pie as long as there’s at least one pair of outward eyes on your interactions. You sleep alright on Thursday and Friday.

As usual, on the weekend, your new mother comes by, but this time she isn’t alone. She’s got groceries with her, and attached to the groceries is Epel, who she seems absolutely taken with. She’s beaming as she walks in, and when you go to help her with dinner, she shoos you away.

“Go entertain your guest! I can handle myself in here.”

He’s not your guest, but you don’t want to find out what she’s like when she’s annoyed, so you go to the living room, making sure you’re seated within sight of the kitchen. The apartment isn’t big, but you’re not taking any chances.

Epel smiles sweetly at you and shows you his palm, “Lemme see your phone?”

“Why?”

“You ain’t been picking up. Just wanna make sure I don’t gotta get you a new one.”

“It’s not broken.”

Epel’s face twitches, that little microexpression that you notice but can’t observe. He smiles and leans back, resting his ankle on his knee.

“I get it.” You’re certain he doesn’t, but you don’t get the chance to retort when he continues speaking in that overly-innocent tone of voice, “Your mom’s real sweet.”

You have half a mind to think that might be a threat, but surely it couldn’t be. Threats are for fantasy stories, best left in books of espionage and diplomacy and magic. You nod, sighing.

“I think I’d be dead without her, haha.”

“Mmm.” Epel hums, as though he’s disinterested, and changes the subject, “It’s odd to see you not all dolled up.”

“Uh…”

“It’s nothing bad. I think it’s a good change, really. All of this is.”

“Thank… you?” You don’t know how to respond to any of this.

“You’re welcome.” He glances at the wall and squirms in his seat, “You, uh, haven’t replaced your television yet.”

You didn’t know you had a television. It dawns on you, as you shake your head, that Epel could literally have made up anything and is testing you, but you shake that thought off. It’s more ridiculous than the idea of him threatening your mother. 

Speaking of, she exits the kitchen with some amazing looking stir-fry. She hands you your plate and frowns at your proximity to where Epel is sitting.

“You can sit closer. I don’t judge. My, it almost makes me miss your father… and then I remember what he’s like, ahaha!” She jokes, walking back into the kitchen.

Epel smiles, but he’s looking at your plate. He looks confused.

Your mother fills the air with chatter. Since you don’t know much about her, it’s very welcome. At least her talking gives you a distraction from the unwanted guest in your home.

You don’t know why Epel decided to visit you today. Well, slight correction- you do know, you just don’t understand his audacity. What gave him the right to barge in like this, especially after you were very deliberately ignoring him?

Your mother heaves a sigh and gathers the dishes, “Well, let me clean up and then I’ll get out of your hair.”

You stand up and try to help with the dishes, half-hoping to convince the woman to take Epel with her when she leaves, but she shoos you out of the kitchen again. It figures that you’ll have to face your problem head on.

Epel looks about as comfortable as can be, sitting on your couch. He has a tendency to look somewhat stiff in public, but right now he’s leaned back, his legs spread and his toes wiggling in his socks. His eyebrows tick upwards as you stop right in front of him.

You swallow warily, “Uh, it’s getting sort of late.”

“It is.”

You know he understood what you meant. You can’t really trust your mother to be on your side here, however, so you refrain from telling him to stop acting smart, “Yeah, uh… early morning tomorrow?”

As Epel smirks at you as though you’ve just told a very adorable joke, your mother breezes out of the kitchen, “Ta ta, kids! Don’t have too much fun without me!”

About as soon as the door closes, you feel like you need to leave if Epel won’t. Although common sense would tell you not to poke the bear, you don’t have much of a choice, “Epel, it’s time for you to leave.”

Epel doesn’t respond, not immediately. He flexes his hands, cracks his knuckles, and rests his ankle on his knee before his lips quirk into a smile, “You remember the last time we were alone like this?”

The words freak you out more than they have a right to. You can feel your face cycling through various expressions- you’re confused, you’re scared, you’re angry, you’re distressed- and Epel laughs.

“I know you don’t.” He says, standing up. He’s not much taller than you, but he’s somehow looking down the bridge of his nose at you. “If you did, you’d have left with your ma.”

You don’t like that smug, smirky look on his face. You don’t like the way he acts, you don’t like the way he treats you. You don’t like him, point blank period. Your eyes narrow and your lip curls, and you can’t help the scowl, “You know, you’re right. Have fun in my apartment, Epel.”

You take two steps back from him and fight back a shiver when he begins giggling. You walk backwards towards the door and he just watches you, laughter peppering the air. As soon as you have your back against the door and your hand on the knob, his laughter dies down and he sighs.

“‘Course.” He drawls, taking a step forward. “I mean… any pretty thing like you would probably not want to be in a room with me after what I did to you.”

“Wh-what?”

Epel’s eyes narrow in some slight disbelief, “You really don’t remember?”

“I-”

His expression twists a little further, then smooths into neutrality. He hums, thoughtful, “What college did I go to?”

You furrow your eyebrows, twisting the knob a little bit. Epel’s expression grows more and more confused.

“Hmm. Somethin’s off about you. Has been for a little while now.” He mumbles, shapely lavender eyebrows furrowed.

“N-no, I’m me, I just-”

“How long have we known each other?”

You don’t have an answer. You have no answer. You balk and Epel grabs you by your collar and drags you away from the door. You kick and struggle, clawing at his hands, but he’s unfortunately stronger than he looks as he dumps you on the floor of your bathroom then crouches to get in your face.

And then he’s standing and scrubbing a hand down his face, his back to you as he mumbles to himself. He stalks to the mirror and wrenches it open. You didn’t even know it did that.

“You only took one.” His voice is cold, and he turns to pin you with a glare, “But you’re acting a lot better than you was.”

“O-one what? Epel, you’re scaring me. I’m gonna call the cops.”

Epel laughs in your face and stalks towards you. His posture is all wrong, he looks like some kind of feral animal, and then he grips the front of your shirt and yanks, “What would you tell them? I’d love to know.”

“Y-you’re threatening my wellbeing by acting erratic!”

He looks unimpressed, jostling you once, “I’m acting erratic? I used to be the polite one! And now you… you don’t got none of your memories and you’re sweeter’n pie. People don’t change like that, honey, not without a little help. You’re smart enough to know that.”

“What are you talking about? What did you pull out of the medicine cabinet?” Your voice is warbling, like you’re trying to speak to the tune of a theremin.

Epel shoves you back, your back hitting the bathtub, before picking a weekly pill case out of the medicine cabinet. His slender fingers pull out a pearlescent pill from the case and hold it up to the vanity so the light frames it. He’s very picturesque, but this isn’t something sweet or wonderful. You’re absolutely certain he’s going to fuck you up tonight, and you don’t know how you’re going to get out of this yet. You shuffle so you’re standing, and Epel turns to you, an eerie smile on his pretty face. He’s in-between you and the door.

“Do you know what these are?” He shows you the pill.

You shake your head. You don’t know what that is. Epel clucks his tongue and mockingly pouts.

“This,” He takes a step forward and places the pill in his palm, looking down at it, “is what your daily multivitamin looks like. I remember, because you made a big deal about it when you were first put on them. Do you remember?”

You don’t answer. It’s not like you needed to, really, since Epel is once again carrying the conversation.

“Of course you don’t. The self-centered brat I know would never miss an opportunity to make themselves prettier at the cost of actual beauty. And you are not the self-centered brat I knew. You’re someone else.”

“I-”

“Don’t worry. Let me finish, and then I’ll tell you what we’re gonna do.” He shows you the pill again. “This is not your daily multivitamin. If you were the person who lived here, the one I’ve known for five some-odd years, you would also know that I went to NRC.”

“The mage school?” You ask blankly.

“Mmm-hmm. Very good. I was placed in Pomefiore. It’s a dorm there, bunch’a frills and shit, all obsessed with beauty… and poison.”

“Y-you-”

“Ah-ah! I ain’t done, sugar. Now, I knew something fishy was going on when you weren’t wearing a pound of makeup last week, but I figured it was what I intended to be a… soothing powder, of sorts, at work. Now that I know you ain’t been taking them, well…”

“Y-you poisoned them?”

Epel’s eyes narrowed sharply at you. Normally his features are very soft and welcoming, but his piercing blue gaze is nothing but dangerous now. “So you admit it.”

It’s not a question. It’s a blunt statement, the only fluctuation in his voice having been placed there by his accent. You inch along the wall and he turns to watch you. As you reach the door, you think he’s maybe going to lunge at you, but instead he delicately covers his mouth and snickers. His shoulders shake and he begins to giggle, which evolves into full blown hysterical laughter.

You twist the handle and over-estimate, falling a bit backwards as the door swings open. If you survive tonight, your neighbors are going to be pissed. You quickly scramble to your feet and rush for your phone. There is no house phone here, and you wonder why you didn’t bring your cellphone with you when you went to the door.

You don’t make it to the living room, since Epel tackles you to the floor. His laughter echoes in your apartment like some kind of haunting song, the tolling of the bells before a funeral. You shriek, your eyes filling with tears as his arm curls around your neck.

“E-Epel, I’m sorry, I’m sorry that whoever I was acted mean to you, I’m sorry, please don’t hurt me-”

His laughter rises, “Shut the hell up and stay still.”

You do as he says, despite you wanting to keep pleading, because his arm has constricted around your throat and you’re choking. The guttural noises escaping you are a combination of your terrified sobs and broken gasps for air. Epel wrestles you so you’re standing and then drags you into your bedroom, shoving you so you’re splayed out on the rug next to your bed.

“I always dreamed of seeing you… the real you with that cute look on your face, the one that screams, ‘Oh, help me! Anyone, save me!’ Distress. Like your little heart is breaking.” He straddles you and puts his hand over your face, grinning. “I always wanted to see you like this. Too bad you’re just the unfortunate bystander to years of rivalry, huh? Guess it makes sense that you seemed spacey.”

“E-Epel- Epel, p-please don’t do this. I’ll leave you alone, I promise, I-”

“What is ‘this’?” His voice is teasing, a cruel little smirk on his face as he leans so his hands are cuffing your wrists to the floor. “What do you think I’m gonna do?”

“Y-you’re gonna kill me again…?” You sound so small. Like a mouse, or something of the like.

Epel covers his mouth again as he laughs, eyes shutting in mirth and then he leans close to your ear. You can hear him moving, hear the saliva in his throat as he swallows, and the moisture on his breath hits your ear, making your skin prickle, “Do you want me to kill you again?”

You shake your head, desperate for this second chance at life. You already died, and there was nothing until you woke up. You didn’t even realize it, thinking you were just asleep before. You’re stressed out, but you want the chance for things to get better.

“Mmm. Good.” Epel draws back a bit and places his hands on your waist, his thumbs pushing a bit too hard against your skin, “Here’s what we’re gonna do, honey. I am going to fuck you-”

“No! No, no, no, please-”

Epel smacks the rest of your plea out of your mouth. Your cheek stings and he lowers his hand, smiling sweetly, “As I was saying, I am going to fuck you until we both know you’re pregnant. We’re going to announce that we’re together, we’re going to be together. Because you’re not who I knew, I like you more than the person I knew, and you need me anyway.”

You sob, your voice loud as Epel braces a hand around your neck and makes quick work of your shorts. You squirm and wriggle and he uses the other hand to drag up your shirt, pinching your nipple before he pants and starts pulling his slacks open.

“You need me, you know that? I’m the only one who knew the real you, the you before your little accident.” Something burning hot presses against your thigh, and you shudder, “Do you understand? Tell me you love me if you understand.”

“N-no, no, please, Epel, I don’t-”

“You don’t what?” He seethes, angling his hips and pressing against your entrance, “You don’t understand or you think you’re gonna be okay on your own out here? Those other motherfuckers, they don’t give a damn about you. I’m giving you a chance to heal your public image, bitch. You’d best take it.”

You don’t get the chance to hysterically decline, as Epel slams into you with a lusty grunt. He stays still for a moment and you hear your voice before you realize you’re speaking.

“-this to me? Why are you doing this? Why are you doing this to me?” You babble, your tears making your voice thready. Epel flexes the hand around your neck and you stop talking.

“I always thought you was pretty. You know that?” He almost sounds vulnerable, but the wild look in your eyes and the sudden jerk of his hips makes you remember that Epel is not someone to think of in a positive light, in any capacity. Pity counts. 

He moans and lets his arms loose, his entire body still casing you in as he rests his forehead on the plush rug you’re sprawled on, his hips undulating as he snickers meanly, “Always thought your personality was shit, though. Mmm, I like you so much better like this.”

He’s hot, on top of you. His body temperature is making you uncomfortable, and you’re not sure if that’s your sweat or his sweat that’s dampening your skin. His fingers are a shocking cold, however, as they come up to harshly tweak your nipple.

You yelp, coming back to yourself and squirming again. He sits up so he can clamp a hand around your throat again. The lights are all still on, the room is bright and although there’s a shadow clinging to his front, you can see Epel’s features plain as day. His hair is a mess, it must have fallen out of the tie he had it in. The lavender waves spiral over his pretty face like an ornate picture frame. His cheeks are a pink that would maybe be cute if he wasn’t trying to forcefully fuck a baby into you.

Like always, Epel looks like he’s maybe about to cry. His eyebrows are furrowed, his lips clamped unnaturally tight, his eyes glistening. But behind the shine in his eyes, behind the rosy cheeks and the upset expression, there’s an eerie air of disturbia.

He releases your throat for a moment, then clamps it down again, watching your skin ripple with the force of his thrusts, “I don’t want to kill you. I didn’t want to kill you the first time. So you are going to have to do something for me, so I don’t decide to kill you.”

You gasp, choking for air. Epel tilts his head and smiles, looking more worried than conniving.

“You need to stay still. You don’t have to enjoy it. It’s more about my pleasure anyhow.”

You hate him. You thought you disliked him, but as you nod so he’ll stop strangling you, you decide that you hate this man, you loathe every fiber of his being and the very thought of having his child makes you long for death again. This second chance is not worth this.

Epel coos and kisses your tear-streaked cheek, then lets your throat go, bracing his hands around your head. He’s framing your face as he smirks down at you, his hips rutting into yours. His eyes narrow a bit and he reaches down to tilt your hips further up, one of his hands hooking in the crook of your knee, which he presses as far up as he can go. 

And then he bows his head and lets out a whisper of a groan, his hips stuttering to a stop. You shiver and cry, feeling somehow numb despite being overly aware of every single touch on your body. You feel the carpet beneath you, but you don’t. You feel Epel’s weight on you, but you can’t. You can hear yourself crying, you feel Epel’s lips peppering your face, kissing the tears away, but you refuse to live in this moment.

Epel gets off of you and stretches, then starts unbuttoning his shirt and rolls his slacks the rest of the way off, but leaves his socks on. He hums to himself as he walks out into the main area of the apartment, leaving you in a heap and alone in the bedroom.

He returns with a pair of mugs, one of his cold hands rubbing your belly as he smiles down at you and puts the mugs down.

“Don’t tell me you’re all spent, sugar. It hardly ever takes on the first try. We’ve got another few rounds before we can go to bed.”

You can’t respond.

[toydreamer]

Dream Sequence

A Charmes Reincarnation AU. Had some strong feelings about them meeting again in a modern lifetime <3

[mintflavouredwhump]

"I promise I'll find you in another life" except it's the whumpee and whumper

[suiana]

collab with my lovely pookie @yxami 😘😘😘

✎ yandere! reincarnator headcanons . . .

✎ warnings . . .

― obsessiveness , possessiveness, crazy Yan or smth idk etc.

(gn! reader x gn yandere! oc)

✎ yandere! reincarnator who's been pining after you ever since they first laid their eyes on you. they could just tell that you were meant to be together!

✎ yandere! reincarnator who's been toxic ever since their first life. their first life as a handsome guy... you thought it would have been fine to be with them but it turns out he's a little off in the head. oh well, it's fine, once his life ends you'll be back to walking this earth alone as usual once more, right?

✎ yandere! reincarnator who died in their first life while trying to get you to stay with them. no-! don't leave them! wait no, you're about to get hit! and he pushes you out of the way, blind to the fact that you wouldn't have died even if the truck hit you.

✎ yandere! reincarnator who didn't want to die, desperately wanting to stay with you as they makes a wish that gets granted by someone above, turning them into a reincarnator.

✎ yandere! reincarnator who had initially cursed the gods. no! they didn't want to be a reincarnator! they just wanted to extend their life a little longer so they could be with you till you both died! but then he saw you, the same as ever even after twenty years had passed. wait, did you not age..? were you... immortal?

✎ yandere! reincarnator who's astounded when you reveal that you're actually an immortal. oh..? so you'd be there for them in every life! ah! they just knew it! you two were just meant to be!

✎ yandere! reincarnator who pursues you in all of their lives. it doesn't matter because they'll find you. they'll find you and make you theirs. again and again and again. and you go along with it each and every time because you were bored.

✎ yandere! reincarnator who reincarnated into a female body in their latest life. oh... this body is so pretty... they'll have fun chasing after you in this new body ♡

✎ "y/n... I'm back~"

"my love... you'll never escape me."

they coo, dress fluttering in the wind as they stand in the middle of a field of flowers. they looked ethereal, almost angelic if it weren't for the blood staining their dress.

you sighed, shaking your head as you stared at the reincarnator. seriously, even after so many lives, after so many years, they were the same as ever. crazily obsessed and not right in the head.

you had tried to change them and their obsessive ways on multiple occasions, help them out a bit. after all, you had nothing better to do than spend time with them. your family was long dead and you were practically alone. though the help you offered obviously didn't work.

coming back in many different forms, they pursued your love in a more crazed way each time. they gradually got worse, mental health at a rapid decay with each reincarnation.

just a few lives back they wouldn't have considered murder yet they're doing it now so lifelessly? you were disappointed. but you supposed that it would make sense. they have lived multiple lives after all. and living multiple lives without any break... it really does take a toll on one's mental health. not to mention they were already crazy in their first life.

yet you couldn't help but stay with them in every life. they always found you after all. you had tried hiding away from them, yet as if some god was laughing at you, they'd manage to find you. it was like you two were actually meant to be.

so you gave in, allowing them to love you in their weird obsessive way. even at the cost of other people and their lives. you had tried to stop them, not wanting others to die just because of their obsessiveness but they never listened. it was a little sad but what could you do?

they just simply did not want to listen. and it seems like they were favoured by the gods for they were always born in a wealthy and privileged family. a family that would always cover up all their crimes...

you sighed, looking at the reincarnator wearing a floral sundress that was stained in red.

"just... come here already. let's go back."

they smiled, kicking away the body of a tall male they murdered after they caught him staring at you. you muttered a small prayer and stared at the dead body for another second before having the reincarnator hang off your arm.

"let's go~"

[venting-town]

Literally EVERYBODY is a burden on somebody/anybody/everybody/ /etc

Sometimes you’re not. And you still are.

Two truths, REGARDLESS of how supposedly “ contradictory” or “ complimentary “ they are or can be or not or etc, can be true at once or more or none or etc

Regardless of how healthy or unhealthy you are

No matter what we glorify or demonize

No matter

Matter

Etc

You’re a burden on somebody. And that can be neutral.

That can be bad

That can be good

That can be mixed

Etc

But everybody/somebody/nobody/anybody/ /body///etc is a burden

Vice versa

Human or spirit or soul or AI or demon or angel or god or holy or corrupt or unholy or lower or higher or equal or one or or or or etc

[sweeneydino]

Old man can't catch a break.