MTL - The Lord of the Rings: Lords of Middle-earth - Chapter 4 Bilber Baggins

In order to take away her father’s shares, her husband colluded with her bestfriend to set her up. A divorce was thrown at her face and she was forced out of the house.

I had to take him home and raise him. There was no bathtub or a large basin at home, so I had to put him in the washing machine for the time being.

It was an hour later before I remembered it again, by which he had been washed extremely clean.

- Description from Novelupdates

I was reincarnated as the supporting character of a novel. As a wingwoman in a depressing romance novel titled at that. Romance is out of the question, and the future of my family is ominous because of debt. I was going to become a civil servant to gain some of the splendor I never got in my last life…but the male love interests are acting kind of strange?! “Just think about it, does Shushu look like someone who would blush and act shy?” “Wow…….that would be great.” Cory said as he stared at Hylli in a daze, and Yves frowned and whispered to himself. “Should I just kidnap her…….” Swan wrapped his face with both of his hands and stayed quiet. His face turned bright red. The blush turned his ears red. Why are you guys fooling around, you’re supposed to be obsessing over the heroine. The story of Shuraina West, Shushu’s reverse harem academy survival. Note: Ojakgyo means wingman/woman!

war, blood, and betrayal carved him into something else. A legend. A killer. A mercenary whose name struck fear into both criminals and so-called heroes alike.But now, the world had changed. Lines blurred between right and wrong, between justice and vengeance. Should he step into the light, wear the mask of a hero, and fight for a cause greater than himself? Or should he embrace the darkness that had always been his home, a place where morality was just another illusion?“Don’t box me in with your shallow ideas of good and evil,” he muttered, his voice calm but edged with danger. “I do what I want, when I want.”The air was thick with tension as he moved like a shadow through the dimly lit room. The writer had no time to react—one moment, he was scribbling nonsense about legends and myths; the next, a cold barrel pressed against the back of his head.The figure smirked beneath his mask, eyes gleaming with something between amusement and menace.“You wanna write fiction?” he whispered. “Then let me show you how real legends are made.”A single gunshot shattered the silence.As the writer’s body slumped over the desk, the man holstered his weapon, stepping into the faint glow of a flickering neon light.“It’s that simple,” he said, his voice unwavering. “I’m Deathstroke.”