#so it’s a soulmate AND reincarnation AU

[tiniestbee]

Drabble/Fic idea based on The Apparition by Sleep Token I will probably never write in the tags 😋👍🏼

[melloraconteur]

"I have built, deep in my heart, a chapel filled with you" - Marcel Proust

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader

[Reincarnation au]

Word Count -> 420

IMAGINE...

You are old, you've been alive for decades as the reigning monarch of the vampiric race, being shoved into the position as soon as your parents' had died in order to protect you.

It was lonely, oh so lonely. Servants cared for you like usual and treated you no different from before, but no one was there to hold you as you grieved your parents, no one was there to guide you as you made laws. It was all you, no one else.

So, in an effort to calm a kingdom that had been bothering you, you traveled there to strike a deal, figuring that the King would be smart enough to not attack you.

It was there, in that kingdom where you met your soulmate. You, after some time, learned that his name was Silas, that he belonged to a common family that had passed long ago. The both of you made a life together in a manor that was away from the public eye.

Long story short, Silas died during an ambush when you were heading towards a neutral territory where a meeting was being held. You lost your husband, Silas, and your child later on.

You learned that Silas' old King was the one behind the ambush and you dealt with it accordingly. You razed that kingdom to the ground, hearing the fire crackle and the screams of its citizens and seeing the smoke swirl into the sky.

The upcoming centuries would be harsh on you. You had become a conqueror of distant lands and fell into a void of grief when the anger had left you. The vampire race had become a myth, you had made sure that there was no factual records.

One day, for whatever reason, you went into the military, working and becoming a lieutenant while still managing your people from the shadows.

Then you got recruited for Task Force 141. You thought it was simply another step up in this career path that you would inevitably leave once you became bored.

Then you got to meet them when you officially joined the team.

When you met Lieutenant Riley, who at the time you knew as Ghost. It was heartbreaking when you felt that he was your soulmate, having the same pleasant warmth and tug from your gut that pulled towards Ghost.

You, when you returned to your room, nearly cried as you thanked the universe for giving you back your love, even as a reincarnation. You would love him all the same.

[functionalasfuck]

I need a Chen Yi/Ai Di AU of The Sign. But, like, the original book version of the sign. And the original backstory between Tharn and Chalathon.

Because, in the original The Sign storyline, Naga Tharn was in love with his childhood best friend Chalathon while Chalathon was in love with his cheating fiancée and never gave Tharn the time of day. When he confronted Phaya’s brother for stealing his intended, Tharn accidentally kills Phaya to protect Chalathon from an attack, and then gets killed himself. Chalathon is then sent to immortal being prison or something.

And it is only after seeing Tharn die due to his own failings that he realized he had loved him all along. So the first thing he does when he is released is find Tharn, only to see him living a terrible groundhog life repeating the same tragedy that killed his original self (and falling in love with Phaya over the course of this endless loop, but that’s not the point of this post).

The POINT is that while Tharn and Chalathon are not the original ship in The Sign, that story is so Chen Yi/Ai Di coded I need someone to do an AU on it.

[oh-cramity-its-amity]

there's jst something about reincarnated soulmates that makes me want to lose my mind.

the whole "in every universe we'll find each other, and i hope we'll be in love" but it not always working out the way they planned. maybe in some lifetimes one saw the other die, maybe they were in love with another... the opposing forces of life and fate want to keep them apart but none of that matters because in this lifetime theyre together. theyre together, and all of the lifetimes where they were forced apart dont matter anymore.

[teddy-bear-d]

80s ethubs? stares at you like a sopping wet cat

Where are they? Who knows, somewhere with that weird arcade/theatre carpet.

[luciferherself-ao3]

Chapters: 8/? Fandom: Baldur's Gate (Video Games) Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Astarion/The Dark Urge (Baldur's Gate), Astarion (Baldur's Gate)/Original Female Character(s), Gale (Baldur's Gate)/Original Female Character(s), Astarion/Tav (Baldur's Gate) Characters: Gale (Baldur's Gate), Karlach (Baldur's Gate), Astarion (Baldur's Gate), Wyll (Baldur's Gate), Halsin (Baldur's Gate), Shadowheart (Baldur's Gate), Cazador Szarr, Tav (Baldur's Gate) Additional Tags: Character Death, Original Player Characters, Swords & Sorcery, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Fear of Death, Immortality, Slow Burn Summary:

There are no redos. No "load previous save"s. The inevitability of Death seems so far away for an adventurer. And when a simple oversight, a mistake, leads to the death of a party member, the cold hand of death takes away the heartbeat of the party. Gale, Wyll, Karlach, Shadowheart, Halsin, Lae'zel... Most of all Astarion. All left behind wondering what they could have changed. And what are they willing to do to see them again? So when the opportunity to bring them back is up for grabs, they do what's necessary, despite the consequences. The ability to see their friend again, but having to find them over and over again...

Centuries after the initial death of the parties' Ranger, Opheliana, the group has split ways trying to find ways to track her reincarnation down in the ever-changing modern world. Who will find her first? And what will they find this time when they do?

[froggenbie]

every once in a while i remember flower husbands and i :///

[mildlyinterestedcreature]

Why is nobody writing about them (my OCs) or making moodboards for them (I have not shared them) or making fanart for them (nobody knows they exist) or Putting Them In Situations (I have to do this if I want to see it)

[eskawrites]

elden ring spoilers under the cut but

i was talking to @candle-lion about how if i’d started writing the elden ring au after i realized you had to sacrifice melina it 1000% would’ve been a nancy as the tarnished and robin as melina situation, and it absolutely would’ve been the frenzied flame ending where nancy burns the world to save robin

like just imagine nancy coming so far with robin at her side, being so determined that she will be the one to find the elden ring and take the throne, and robin believes in her, too, but they find that the roots of the erdtree spur them

so robin suggests one last journey, and she talks in circles and is clearly hiding something, and it worries nancy but what choice does she have? besides, she’s more than willing to travel with robin again

except they get to the mountaintop of the giants and a man warns her not to continue, mocks her for being willing to sacrifice a maiden just so she can be lord

nancy confronts robin. robin tells her that it isn’t nancy’s choice.

but nancy learns that she does have a choice, that there is another way, possibly. she seeks out the three fingers, the frenzied flame, she delves into the darkest corners of the earth, intent on sacrificing her own body and mind in order to save robin

robin warns her every step of the way, even begs her not to go through with it, but nancy doesn’t listen. she lets the frenzied flame mark her. robin, unable to meet her eyes anymore, parts ways with her.

but nancy gets what she wanted. she throws herself into the fire so robin doesn’t have to, and she burns the erdtree to the ground, letting herself be consumed by flames along with it

and at the end of it all, robin stands among the fire and vows to find her, to stop her, to destroy nancy for betraying the world--for betraying her

[sunnyrosewritesstuff]

I know Soul Traitor is unlikely to get updated any time soon, but I was curious what if Durin after his death held his temper a bit later, listened to what Madoc, and the Valar said. Acourse once said no matter what even if it meant saving Arda, I can still see Durin telling Madoc and the Valar to Go **** themselves and refusing rebond for any reason with Madoc for any reason even if meant his own oblivion because this point nothing could convience him to trust the Valar.

Unfortunately...not soon, no. 😭 But I am SO SUPER EXCITED you asked about this fic! 😍 This is a really good interpretation. You would be correct in the sense that Durin would absolutely be spewing the curses at the Valar whether he had waited or not. But Madoc is another story...

I really don't want to give too much away here because I truly am committed to seeing this story through if it kills me! But Madoc's actions were not quite his own. There's a lot of factors at play here for why Madoc did what he did and why he couldn't just tell Durin the truth when he was still alive. Remember at the end of chapter 1, Bilbo getting his first Madoc memory awakened a slumbering evil...

So as to your theory, yes Durin would be pissed at the Valar. But there might have been a chance he would have rebonded with Madoc. 👀 When the truth comes out, I'll let you decide how you feel they would have reacted. 😉

In any case, Bilbo and Thorin are going to learn the motives and flaws of all their past lives, but determine they are their own persons capable of forging their own fate.

[iron-sides]

my ocs r NOUGHT normal about each other

[cordeliawhohung]

Strangers

john price x fem!reader | masterlist | ao3

John Price remembers every life he's ever lived. When death takes him in one universe, he's born into the next with all his memories and past experiences still intact. Throughout the lives he's lived, you're the only thing that ever seems to quell the ache in his chest, and he spends every life searching for your comfort. Except, in this life, he's too late

cw: soulmate!au, murder, suicide, feticide, kidnapping, drugging, possessive john price, non-con elements, one shot, dead dove: do not eat!!!

In every life you’ve ever lived, John Price finds you. 

He’s drawn to you like an animal is drawn to its cage. The glint of the metal bars look like stars if he squints hard enough, and the smell of blood and iron is the fairest perfume in the world. There is no life that he wishes to live without you in it. Tucked close to his chest in bed at night. Curled up underneath his thumb. Where you go, he follows you, hidden in the shadows until he’s ready to reveal himself as the soulmate who’s been tracking you across eons worth of lives. 

It’s a simple curse. One that’s haunted him since he first poofed into existence so long ago he can’t recall how much time has passed. Forever bound to remember every life he’s ever lived while everyone else debates the possibility of a god or heaven, forgetting their reincarnated selves in other universes. It’s a particularly lonely ailment. He had been locked in chains in one life for attempting to convince the world that there was life after death, not through a god, but through sheer human will. Had to sever the artery in his tongue with his teeth and drink down his blood to escape a life of imprisonment, and just like he knew he would, he woke up in his next life a free man. 

These days, he spends his lives on something more worthwhile: you. Just as he does, you look the same in every universe with a smile he knows by touch alone and a laugh that is the only melody that can soothe the immortal ache in his chest. He’s fried his brain with drugs and killed his liver with drink, forever carrying the burden of memory, and yet throughout his travels, you remain the only thing capable of soothing that terrible ache that haunts him. If death has already taken you in one life, he kills himself and moves onto the next, a wild man forever on the hunt for you. 

The only other thing that stays consistent throughout his many lives besides the desire to be yours, is the taste of fresh tea. He prefers Yorkshire tea, but the Earl Grey they substitute at the shop is fine enough. Quiet muttering fills the air around him as he sits in the corner of the shop, alone with his thoughts. He takes a sip of the tea, allowing the hint of lavender to wash over his tongue as if cleansing him. It’s the only thing that tastes and smells like home. Besides you, of course; but he hasn’t found you yet, and it’s getting late. 

Usually, he’s lucky enough to find you by the time both of you are in your twenties. It’s easy to win you over at that age. He holds a maturity well beyond his years, and you hold a wide-eyed innocence that has you in his grasp before you even realize it. But he’s in his thirties, and that has him anxious. Too much time has passed — a decade more than usual — which leaves him with a variety of possibilities. Ones he doesn’t like entertaining. 

No matter. He’s learned to be somewhat patient over the countless lifetimes spent searching for you, because it always pays off in the end. All the marriages, the children you have, the love you make. John Price is the luckiest man in the world, being able to replay his favorite memories with you for all eternity. He could never tire of you, would never dream of such a terror. 

So when the bell attached to the shop door rings with the entrance of another customer, it quickly turns to music to his ears when he sees you. Afternoon sunlight illuminates the world behind you, blinding him with the beauty you carry across universes and worlds. Your familiar eyes scan the area briefly, hardly paying him any mind before you approach the counter with a grace and poise that has his heart thudding in his throat. He can never get used to the first time. The first time his eyes land on you, he hears your voice, or skin touches yours; it’s the only thing that can tear him apart as well as you do. 

He tries not to stare at your ass when you order your drink. It’s always been his favorite physical feature of yours. There’s something different about this version of you, yet still familiar. Nothing is ever entirely unknown to him, not when it concerns you, but you’re glowing more than usual. It’s captivating in a way that makes him feel like a dog, looking at a woman in such a perverse way, but he knows you like it when he stares. You always have in every other life.

When the barista hands you a to-go cup, John knows he doesn’t have long before you slip away. Such a sharp girl, quick on her feet. Always buzzing around, never staying in one place for too long, as if the imprint of your soul enjoyed the chase of him following after you. It’s a game he enjoys very much; one he doesn’t mind entertaining at all. 

John rises from his seat, cup still half full, where he slips to the door just as you turn around to leave. His pace is leisurely, certainly in no rush as his hands reach out for the exit, only for him to pause. How silly of him to have left his drink behind, the only reason he even came to that shop in the first place. When he turns around, it’s quick and violent, and catches you so off guard you run right into him. 

Piping hot tea splashes around in your to-go cup, and if it wasn’t for John’s quick reflexes and a firm grip on your wrist, you would’ve gotten yourself hurt. Your gasp is sweet and melodic on his ears, and he nearly melts under your gaze as your wide eyes stare at him. Your surprise is cute. As if you couldn’t remember meeting him in countless different universes like this. 

“Terribly sorry, darling,” he says as if surprised. His grip loosens on your wrist just as his other hand comes up to rest on your waist. It’s quick, he knows; but in some way, you’re already used to it. “You alright?” 

It takes you a moment to catch your breath, and once you do, John feels you slip out of his grasp as you take a step back. Both of your hands come up to hold the cup, afraid of dropping it, and you give him a polite smile and nod. 

“Yes, thank you, I… good save,” is all you can manage as you chuckle and gesture to your drink. 

John’s hands mourn the absence of your warmth, yet he allows them to politely fall back against his side. His lips yearn to be on yours. For him, this isn’t a first time greeting, but a long awaited reunion. Still, he calms his nerves and hardens them to steel as he chuckles with you. 

“Would’ve hated for you to have gotten hurt,” he comments as his eyes glance down at your legs. The brief thought of that searing hot liquid broiling the supple skin of your thighs invades his mind before he can push it away. “You’re sure you’re alright?” 

Whatever your response is, he can’t hear it. The dazzling bling of your betrayal drowns out the sound of your voice and everything around him. It’s beautiful; your ring. Its gemstone glints in the sunlight streaming through the windows as if attempting to blind him. No, not blind him. Something worse. It screams at him the very thing he had feared for the last few years; he was too late. Bound to another man in matrimony, a silly mistake you had made before ever seeing the light. 

The aftertaste of tea suddenly tastes putrid on his tongue. His sweet mate, too impatient to wait for him in that lifetime. You’d fucked other men in other lives, and though it had always made his stomach turn, John could understand. But marriage? 

His teeth threaten to shatter under the pressure of his clenching jaw. 

When the sound comes back to him, his eyes comprehend the expression on your face. Discomfort — near disdain. In this universe, John Price is not your lover. He is a man, and only that. One who just so happens to be barring you from the exit. 

He remembers himself, and smiles at you kindly as he quickly steps to the side, muttering an apology with a jaw that’s much too stiff. And still, he reaches behind him to hold the door open for you, and despite your apprehension you thank him quietly and say goodbye before you vanish into the streets. Your smell lingers in the air next to him for only a moment before it dissipates and drowns in the aroma of herbs and teas. His face goes cold as he glares at the corner where his now cold tea sits. 

This was the first life he ever lived where you married a man that wasn’t him. Something broke. Shattered in his chest where the shards cut him apart from the inside out. When he breathes in, he can smell the blood pooling inside of him and it wakes him up to the terrible realization that — for once in his many, many lifetimes — he’s late. He’s late, and he doesn’t know what to do. 

As the sweet smell of tea fades and is replaced by the putrid aroma of London, John tells himself to let it go. So what he wasted thirty plus years just for your heart to already be stolen away from him? There’s a millennia behind him, and a millennia ahead of him. When one life doesn’t go right for him, there’s always the next. Yet as pavement turns to brick and The Thames sprawls out in front of him beyond metal bars, he finds himself hesitating. The idea of letting go can’t quite sink its tendrils into his mind, and his knuckles grow white as he grips the barrier in front of him. 

Bitter wind bites at his face as he looks at the water below him. Hesitation. He doesn’t know why it paralyzes him. There’s never been any need or use for second guesses, because he’s always known what’s waiting for him on the other side. All he needs to do is lift his leg, hoist himself up, and then let gravity do the rest. He’s done it before, in some other life. He’s felt his body hit the frigid water with needle-like pain blossoming across his skin just before it swallows him whole. It’s not an easy way to die, but it’s the only thing violent enough that has the capability of smothering the bitterness growing in his heart. 

The answer to his confusion comes as a whisper on the back of his neck, where it tingles until it reaches the base of his spine and flutters throughout every cell of his body. Principle. It’s the principle of it all. In every single life, you’ve been his lover, his wife, the mother of his children, and if you are not, then you are dead. Rotten. Decaying in some grave by the time he finally finds you. You’re not just his desire, the love of his life, his reason for being; you are his right. 

How long can someone love a soul before it becomes theirs? Before it’s ripped out of their lover and tucked safely away into a cage? 

John chuckles as his hand slips from the railing, and he slides them into his pockets as if he had been enjoying the view of grey water and even more grey skies this entire time. Kill himself? No; you’ve been his this entire time. You just don’t know it yet. 

He’s only ever done this a few times before; kidnap someone. In a few of his past lives, he’s been a soldier. A stone-hardened man who’s stolen families as bartering tools to make terrorists talk when their mouths were otherwise sealed shut. Killing is a good way for him to let out the anger that builds in a man’s soul after so long, and though he prefers to keep it to people who deserve it, his fingers can’t help but twitch as he watches your husband drop you off at the yoga studio. 

Doesn’t he — your husband — deserve it? Death? Shouldn’t he pay the ultimate price for stealing you away from your true lover? The man who’s looked after you for eons? John wants to do it. Kill him. Smell the sanguine aroma that mixes with the harsh gunpowder that expels after a bullet is shot. He wants to, and he could do it, but murder muddles things up more than he would like, and though he’s good at covering his trail, he’d rather steal you away without incident. He’s been carefully plotting this ever since he saw you in that tea shop all those days ago; he can’t ruin it. 

A smile pulls at his lips as he thinks about the look on your husband's face, when his pretty little pretend wife doesn’t return home. When he realizes how he’s failed you.

John’s hands tap at the steering wheel as he waits, patient as ever, for your session to end. Silly of you to go to a night class, really. Even sillier of your husband to allow such a terrible thing. If anything, it's greater proof that this new man in this new life isn’t good for you. It could have been anyone sitting in that car park, waiting for you to leave. Waiting to take you home.

Good thing it’s only him. 

John exits the car just before eight. Cool air does its best to calm the electricity sizzling in his veins, but ultimately it’s his own mind that stills his nerves. Everything is planned out in his mind with moves expertly rehearsed in a past now forgotten, yet still ingrained in his memory; he knows he’ll get exactly what he wants. You. It’s all he craves. All he ever does. 

You exit the studio with a laugh and a wave goodbye to the other women in your yoga class. That pathetic husband of yours is late, which only proves to be good fortune for John as he slips by your side. His feet are dangerously silent on the pavement and his arm is just as warm as ever as he wraps it around your waist, blade in hand. Even through the fabric of your shirt its point is noticeably sharp, and your feet stumble as he presses it against you in warning. 

“Not a word, darling,” he whispers, too saccharine to be a stranger. 

You listen, just like he knew you would, and he steers you away from the pavement and into the car park. It’s difficult for him not to chuckle as he recalls you in another life. How you once batted your pretty lashes at him, all but begging him to use a knife in bed with you. Not enough to draw blood, but enough to feel the cold sting of it against your skin. He wonders if some part of you feels that way in this life. 

Once you reach the car, he slips the zip ties over your wrists in a single fluid motion before opening the door for you. Any onlookers would just think he’s being a gentleman helping you into the car like that, but there’s a method to his madness. As soon as you’re seated into the passengers side, your eyes meet his and they widen with terrified recognition. Not quite the look he hoped for from you, but your expression quickly melts away the moment a needle pierces through your pants and into your thigh. All that’s left to do is buckle you in and drive off. 

He likes to pretend he’s carrying you to your honeymoon room as he curls you up into his arms. A sweet bride, passed out against his chest as he carries you to bed, safe in the confines of the cage he’s spent that entire lifetime preparing for you. You don’t stir when he places you in bed, but he lays down next to you as if both of you are resting. He lays in front of you so he can see your face while it’s peaceful; not while it’s twisted with confusion and disgust like it was in the tea shop a few days ago. No, he likes you much better like this. Quiet and pliant. 

The tips of his fingers trace the features of your face, and it’s a dance he’s grown to have well memorized. They brush your lips and the tip of your nose before dipping underneath your jaw where they continue to wander. It doesn’t feel wrong, even though he knows you’d beg to differ. He’s done this before, in a life you don’t remember. Touch you like this. Feeling the dip between your breasts and the skin of your stomach. He pats your hands, still bound together with a zip tie — he tells himself he’ll remove them once you start behaving — before caressing your thighs. He wants to slip upwards, to brush his thumb against your clit just like how he knows you like it, but he refrains. He’ll wait until you wake up to do that. Your gasps are always sweeter when you’re aware. 

The sweet bliss of numb eternity melts away as the drugs begin to wear off, and when your eyes flutter open you’re met with the face of a stranger. Truly, he’s not a stranger at all. Or, at least that’s what John would have you believe with the knowing smile he gives you. Your bound hands move up and press against his chest, desperately attempting to earn some space between the two of you. This only makes him laugh, and his hand rests on top of yours. 

“Easy, darling,” he soothes.

An incoherent response stumbles out from your lips just as fearful tears swell in your eyes. His hand pants yours against his chest before he frowns. The gemstone on your wedding ring stands out like a sore thumb against his palm, and it serves as a stark reminder as to why he had to do all this in the first place. You don’t — or can’t — fight against him as he slips the ring off your finger and places it on the nightstand next to him. He’ll dispose of it properly another time, but for now he just can’t stand to see that proof of ownership on you. 

“Please.” It’s the first word you’re able to slur out, and John hangs onto the syllable like it’s dessert. “W-Whatever you want… please… my husband, h-he’ll give it to you just… let me go, please.” 

Husband. He hates that word on your lips when it’s not in reference to him. 

“I’ve already gotten what I want, love,” he whispers. 

Your eyes wrench shut and tears fall free at the realization that there’s nothing you can do to get away from this crazed man. He shushes you as he holds your face in his hands and presses his lips against your forehead. It’s not enjoyable, the way you recoil from him, but giving you the same love he’s given you in every other life feels right. It feels more wrong to withhold it from you. 

Because this is his right, isn’t it? Of course it is, and in some sort of way, you seem to know this too. Your hands no longer press against his chest in disdain, and it’s all too easy to prop himself up on his elbow and press his lips against yours. The pressure is firm, as if he’s holding himself back from taking more from you. He groans at the taste of salt on your lips, and nearly chuckles at the way you tremble. It’s a one-sided embrace that you refuse to return, but he tells himself you’ll learn otherwise soon enough. 

When John pulls away, your eyes refuse to focus on him as the shame eats you from the inside out. Your entire body is limp, bound hands resting against your stomach as he sits up. Deciding you’ve been behaving well enough, he reaches for the knife on the nightstand and he turns back to you, ready to cut the ties from your wrists. 

The very moment the glint of the knife catches your eye is the moment you begin to squirm. Legs thrash and mess up the sheets as you scramble away from him until your head and back is pressed against the headboard. Your chest heaves violently as your terror overtakes you, and John pauses as you retreat. He’s never seen you look at him like that; not in any life he’s ever lived.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he promises. 

“Please don’t,” you beg, his assurance falling on deaf ears. Your pleas turn into mindless stuttering for a moment before something visibly breaks in you, forcing you to share a secret that feels like sealing your death: “Please, you can’t just- I- I’m pregnant! Please!” 

Everything stops. The world. His heart. It all falls quiet except for the sound of your hyperventilating which is almost as deafening as the ringing in his ears. Pregnant. Anything kind in John’s eyes dies quietly as he clenches the knife in his hand. 

Pregnant. Not with his child. It must be a lie — it has to be a lie. You don’t look pregnant. There is no swelling of your stomach. Yet your hands lie on your lower abdomen as if you’re cradling something. Cradling someone. You have never been good at lying in any of your lives, and the candor sheen in your eyes tells him you’re not good at lying in this one, either. 

John tells himself he only wants to embrace you. To mourn the life the two of you could have had if you only behaved. He doesn’t register why you’re screaming until the blood covers his hands, and then you fall quiet. His knife sinks into your stomach like it’s butter, and it pulls free from you even easier. You stare up at him, confused. As if you can’t comprehend why he would do this to you.

Ichor flows free from you like a river, and all you can do is gasp and paw at your wound. Your legs flail as John pulls you against his chest, chin resting on top of your head as if this is something he can soothe away with a hug. It’s not. He can’t soothe away your betrayal. Can’t come to terms with the fact you carry another man’s child when you should be carrying his. 

“I know,” he shushes with a strained voice. “I know. It’ll be over soon.” 

Your death is not kind, and he mourns every minute you bleed in his arms until you eventually still. It’s only when your blood goes cold that he allows himself to cry. Angry, hot tears that sear his skin as they soak into your hair. Damn this ruined life. Damn the years he wasted trying to find you only for you to be soiled by the time you were in his grasp. He hates the gore that stains your being, but he assures himself it was necessary. 

In every life, you belong to him. In the lives that you don’t, you’re already dead. 

John carefully places your body back on the mattress where he takes in the sight of you. There’s no more glow to your skin, not like there was while you were alive. But you’re dead, and he knows the life inside of you is dead, too. He tries to take comfort in that fact before angling the knife towards himself. 

Killing himself is easier than killing you, as driving the knife into his throat is a well practiced motion. It’s something he’s done before, and he’s so used to it he doesn’t even groan at the sting as the blade slices his artery. Darkness is quick to cloud his vision as the blood loss overwhelms him, and he sputters and stares down at your cold body below. There is little comfort he feels when his blood meets yours on the stained sheets of the bed he wished to love you on. The mixing of blood is the only bond the two of you will ever have in that life. 

He coughs as he falls forward. Soon, he has no use for any sort of comfort at all. 

There is no blood in your next life. No iron taste in your mouth, or rotten flesh haunting your nose. No, there is only ink, paper, and well loved books. 

You love your job. Books are your livelihood; the tool you use to escape reality on rainy days, so it only makes sense that in this life you work as a librarian. The building is dated with poorly insulated windows, and a bell that chimes as another patron enters, but that’s what makes it charming. Millions of words have been consumed in that library, and they linger in a way that never leaves you feeling alone. 

Several books sit tucked safely in your arms as you wander aisles, on the hunt to return them home. Every shelf is well memorized. You could find any book in that building blind folded, and you hum to yourself as you go to return Walt Whitman’s Song of Myself to its rightful home on the top shelf of the WXYZ aisle. 

Your feet are nimble as you climb the step stool to reach the shelf. It nearly reaches the ceiling, which is no small feat for a building of that size. Your arm stretches over your head and you breathe in the scent of stale paper and well loved books. Just as your fingers slide the item into place, the stool below you jerks, and your stomach drops as you fall to the side. 

The books in your arms tumble onto the ground, but you’re saved from that same fate as a pair of arms swoop around you. You squeak as your hands grip the shirt of your savior, and you look up with wild eyes at the man. John Price is younger in this life when he finds you. In his twenties this go around. His face is clean shaven, but his eyes still hold the wisdom of forgotten ages and dead worlds. 

“Terribly sorry, darling,” he apologizes. His grip on you loosens, but he doesn’t quite cut you free just yet. “You alright?” 

“Yes, thank you, I… good save,” is all you can manage through a breathless chuckle. 

There’s an innocence in your eyes that has John smiling at you. His hands are kinder in this life. The angry claws that ended your previous life don’t exist anymore. They do not wield a knife in anger; they only hold you with unbridled adoration. It’s the way things are supposed to be, with you in his arms and looking up at him with that innocent gaze, just the way he likes you. For a moment, John worries that you somehow recognize him when you tilt your head, yet as you bashfully return his smile, he takes comfort in knowing that you don’t remember anything. 

You don’t remember anything at all. 

[dottores]

HELIOTROPES

pairing: dottore x fem!reader & segments

summary: the gods were sick and twisted. for five hundred years, he believed he was fated to be alone. he had long accepted it—embraced it, even. that is, until a midwinter night when that elusive red thread finally appeared on his finger. but as much as he wants to ignore it, the pull of a soulmate simply cannot be ignored.

genre: soulmate au, canon compliant for the most part, forbidden love, slow burn.

warnings: fem!reader, age gap, lots of worldbuilding for snezhnaya & the fatui & fontaine, dottore is his own warning, angst and romance, none others that i can think of off the top of my head. each chapter will have its own warnings, it is self-ship coded, and i will take liberty with dottore’s known lore.

status: incomplete. updates sporadic, at least monthly.

taglist: 50/50 (CLOSED. if you would like to be on it, still comment here—i’m going to periodically go through and remove people who don’t interact, and then i’ll add you)

notes: sigh i wanted to give my beluved a little series. this is something i’ll be working on in my free time for fun, so updates will be sporadic, i was gonna post the reincarnation fic butttt that one is a little too dear to my heart ALL SEGMENTS THAT SHOW UP IN THIS SERIES ARE MINE ‼️ i created them, do not take them to use for yourself.

00. THE SEGMENTS

01. MIDWINTER

02. JOY

03. THE COLOR PURPLE

04. THE FAMILY JEWELS

05. AN INEXORABLE DEATH

06. RISE OF A KING, FALL OF A QUEEN

07. A WARM WELCOME

08. THE DOCTOR

09. THE TIES THAT BIND

10. GENESIS

11. DOWN THE RABBIT HOLE

12. SPIT IN MY FACE

13. ALEA IACTA EST

… TBA

SIDE STORIES

THREE TIMES THE SEGMENTS MET YOU WITHOUT REALIZING IT,  AND ONE TIME THEY DID.

rbs appreciated!

[harianaswhore]

⟡ ᵒᵗʰᵉʳ ᵈʳⁱᵛᵉʳˢ ⟡

NONE OF THESE ARE WRITTEN BY ME

ᵐʸ ᵒᵗʰᵉʳ ʳᵉᶜˢ

— ᵗʰᵉ ᵍʳⁱᵈ ⟡

barty the 2nd (smau) - @lorarri

thirsty thoughts (VERY suggestive) (^)

missing piece (angsty) - @katebishopsbow

grid kids (series, sebastian vettel and grid) - @pucksandpower

vettel reincarnate (series) - @disneyprincemuke

positions (by ari) fics (this is everything to me btw) - @turcott3

birthday wishes (smau) - @mclqren

drunk bf texts (text message format) - @csainzoperator

written in the stars (soulmate!au, different drivers) - @oofthwoods

points have been made (lestappen x reader) - @sinofwriting

birthday girl (charles is the bf but focused on everyone) (smau) - @sharlsworld

birthday wishes (charles is the bf but focused on everyone) (smau) - @astonmartinii

met gala (f) - @amirasainz

stolen - @coco-loco-nut

— ˢᶜᵉⁿᵃʳⁱᵒˢ/ʰᵉᵃᵈᶜᵃⁿᵒⁿˢ ⟡

makeup shopping with the boys (f) - @verstappen-cult

getting caught making out with the boys (sexual references) (^)

boys reacting to being called pretty (mostly f) - @ln444

a privilege called love (f) - @inblurtub

dating f1 drivers (mostly f) - @hauntedrain

moment f1 boys realized you were the one (f) - @itsvelyria

"where they would like to kiss you" (^)

in a relationship with the f1 drivers (suggestive) - @its44indahouse

f1 driver's favorite spot to kiss you - @mirohlayo

names the f1 drivers would call their partner - @lightsoutletsgo

ass or tits (s) - @youaresimplylovely

so this is my husband (f) - @uglyducklingofthe2000s

friends to lovers (f) - @vinvantae

how the f1 drivers would propose (f) - @checopereez

"what did you just call me" (f) - @23victoria

he takes care of you on your period (f) - @fastandcarlos

when f1 drivers dirty text you (and you pretend your dad answers) (s) - @maxtermind

— ˡᵉʷⁱˢ ʰᵃᵐⁱˡᵗᵒⁿ ⟡

king of my heart (smau) - @cieloclercs

keys to the benz (smau, sexual innuendo) - @imnameimswrld

fashionable couple (smau) - @formulaa-1

hi barbie ! hi ken ! two (smau) - @redbullgirly

him being a simp for you (headcannon) - @itaipava

thick and thin (f,a)- @agendabymooner

around the world (f)- @lewisvinga

i miss you, i'm sorry (smau) (^)

him mentioning you (f) - @pickingupmymercedes

eternal sunshine (smau) - @leclercstarrs

— ᵐⁱᶜᵏ ˢᶜʰᵘᵐᵃᶜʰᵉʳ ⟡

jealous!mick (f) - @folkloresthings

i see the light (f) - @writingshushf1

santa doesn't know you like i do (f) - @f1version

interrupted (mentions of smut) - @russellsppttemplates

leclerc!reader (smau) - @pucksandpower

maahi ve (smau) - @love-belle

vlog (smau) - @absolutelynotmate-archive

count me in (smau) - @verstarppen

lovers rock not allowed christmas kids (f) - @luckylzclerc

a vettel and a schumacher walk into a bar (f) knock knock (smau) - @monzabee

sweet dream was over my hand was the one you reached for (a) - @v5ttelfilms

— ᵈᵃⁿⁱᵉˡ ʳⁱᶜᶜᵃʳᵈᵒ ⟡

ultimate wing man (smau) - @astonmartinii

keep it private (smau) - @marlenesluv

forever kind of love (smau) - @chrisevansonly

— ᵃʳᵗʰᵘʳ ˡᵉᶜˡᵉʳᶜ ⟡

kissing in the rain (f) - @thebearchives

forgiveness (f) - @starlost97

fan behavior (smau) - @lxclerc

black cat gf (smau) (^)

it's you and me (smau) - @lecsainz

party girl two (smau) - @natailiatulls07

— ˢᵉᵇᵃˢᵗⁱᵃⁿ ᵛᵉᵗᵗᵉˡ ⟡

jealousy jealousy (s) - @uluvjay

just you wait sunshine (a) - @unsolvedjarin

helmet kisses (headcannons) - @forteafy

drink water, not alchol (f) - @sebscore

me and my husband (smau) - @starkwlkr

i wait for you two three (smau) (^)

cherry flavoured (rbr!seb my love) (f) (^)

she's the boss (^)

you've got a 9 to 5 so i'll take the nightshift (a) - @httpsleclerc

always an angel, never a god (!!!! EASTING DISORDER !!!) (a) (^)

come back to me (CRASH) (a)- @lucyrose191

a shared history two three (f) (^)

history series (f,a,s)- @vettelsvee

about you two three four five (f (for now))- @drvscarlett

teenage dirtbag (smau) - @bth3cowboi

— ᵍᵉᵒʳᵍᵉ ʳᵘˢˢᵉˡˡ ⟡

he got the girl (smau)- @claypgeon

[thesuperiorrobin]

Potential love troups? With a twist?

Friends to lovers ~

A classic love between two best friends as they try to hide their feelings for one another afraid it might ruin their friendship. Damian is brutal when he tries to hide his feelings—and sometimes wonder why you’re still friends with him. He falls in love with you because you understand him and aren’t friends with him because of who his father is. You fall in love because he’s a kind person despite being ruthless to everyone else. But to you he won’t return the feelings, will he?

Enemies to lovers~

Another classic expects it’s between the love of two sidekicks. You two fight around the city in the middle of the night while he’s on patrol. He hates how you’re always involved in everything and you hate how he stops you from everything. Won’t be a dull moment between the two when you aren’t throwing punches at each other. Until one day something bad happens and Damian dressed as Robin gets himself into trouble that leaves him bloody and bruised. You saved and cared for him—still keeping his identity a secret. He appreciated it.

Fake relationship~

Rumors going around about Damian dating this woman whom he does not like— so to steer clear from the news headlines he asked you, his long-term friend, to be in a fake relationship to get out of it. It works, but now the headlines are about you two, so you two play along for a few more months. Everything was fake. The dates that you purposely planned to get caught. But we’re the kisses fake too?

Forced marriage~

A marriage planned by your parents and his mother. Damian’s older now and now leads the League of Assassins with the burden on his back. You aren’t important to the league — and your only purpose is to give the Al Ghuls another heir after Damian. So you stand in the shadows, behind your husband everywhere he goes. Damian Al Ghul is a brutal man outside those doors, yelling at the people below him to work harder, a brutal man on missions he’s assigned. But behind closed doors, he’s a gentleman, towards you that is. A part of him pitty’s you. You didn’t ask to be married to a man like him. But you reassured him countless times you don’t mind it. A heavyweight leaves your shoulders when he promises to keep you safe. Maybe this forced marriage won’t be bad after all.

Soulmates/Best friends to lovers

An AU of mine where both you and Damian were married 100 years ago, so in love it made everyone jealous. You two were soulmates in another life, but that life was cut short after your lives were taken away from you. Now your souls are reincarnation to today's world. The world where you too are not a couple but rather best friends. There was some sort of connection when you two met and you instantly clicked. But you both have a small feeling you two should be something more than friends. “You think we were best friends in our past lives?” “I highly doubt that…”

Secret dating!

Can go both ways! You’re dating Robin, the vigilant sidekick that rides alongside the Dark night of Gotham. Ideally, you keep it a secret. For everyone—that includes Batman himself (but he knows) for many reasons the main one being He’s afraid of losing you. Some so many people want him and Batman dead and if they found out about you, you were as good as dead too.

Or

You’re dating Damian. You two agreed on keeping it private. Paparazzi doesn’t know what boundaries are in the world and Damian wanted to protect you from them. That was his main goal—that and keeping you a secret from his family. They’re embarrassing, to say the least, and if they found out about you he would never hear the end of it. Although Alfred already knows who you are.