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herbologyprofessor · 7 months ago

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my collected thoughts on the magic system of harry potter and what I would change to make it better.

i think that the harry potter magic system sucks!!

i mean, im sure this isnt a hot take but like...how is it that students at hogwarts school of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY graduate knowing how to use maybe a handfull of spells in combat? and they're the same spells that all the aurors and all the older members of the order and all the death eaters and even voldemort use?

and im especially talking about how weak it makes people who are supposed to be really powerful and dangerous seem. including the titular character Harry Potter himself. Harry uses spells in a unique way, dont get me wrong, but to me its all just so boring.

and im not saying it doesnt have to work like other fantasy stories, but if the main mechanism behind magic in harry potter is that you are either born with it or not, you dont need a wand but its exponentially more challenging without one (unless you have a unique skillset or education), intention matters, and there are spells that can grant magical abilities to objects. there is so much more possibility than just expelliarmus and expecto patronum. There has to be, or else why tf would hogwarts take 7 years of schooling to graduate from?

so here are some of my headcanons:

families have bloodline abilities

so, in the case of wizarding britan, there are families that want to stay pure such as the sacred 28 (or is it 27 i cant remember), and pure as in their blood and bloodline must stay pure (going so far as to marry your cousins, e.g. Orion and Walburga Black). If this is the case, and they wan't to preserve their magical bloodline so bad, they'd have to have something more than just "magic" to preserve.

I feel like its almost there in canon but falls short of being fully realized. I think of it kinda like how it works in naruto. Theres those who have a bloodline ability and then those that dont. You dont have to have one to be powerful, if you have one it dosent mean you will be powerful automatically.

The black family seems to carry the gene for metamorphmagus, but i wouldnt consder this a bloodline ability and think of it more like a random mutation passed on to teddy, which could occur in any magical person, (theres also the possibility that this was a more common ability in the black family but because of the lack of genetic diversity and inbreeding it was lost until Andromeda had Remadora with Ted, who was not pureblood. I think abilities have to do with the energy of magic that is either created or inherited, not so much genetics. Therefore, families dont pass on the same exact ability but something that is novel or slightly different from person to person.

The Lupins, for example, could be Beast Speakers. Maybe, a long time ago in the Lupin familiy, they kept wolves or something (explaining the surname which would have had something to do with occupation) and they learned from them how to speak with animals?Lyall, who canonically worked in the Department for the Control and Regulation of Dark Creatures, can speak to dark creatures, even werewolves who are transformed. Remus can speak to domesticated animals like cats and dogs, fancy mice, toads, etc. Remus is like Hogwarts' unofficial vet tech, and if you like atyd Remus, this fits in nicely as he specialized in Care of Magical Creatures.

The Potters, canonically, are linked to the Peverell family. The invisibility cloak has been passed down through generations and is still being passed down to Harry's children. I think a common headcanon, and one that i truly love, is that they use Death Magic. But, thats assuming the potters are the exact same family as the Peverells, which they are not. I think, in going along with the Peverell brothers creating the deathly hallows (using advanced death magic), the potters have a Sorcerer's Craft ability. What was the Potter family's source of new money? Fleamont's invention, Sleekeazey's. I know its a "potion", but what if its just like...coconut oil imbued with magical enchantments that make your hair perfect. James could have played a major hand in the creation of the Marauder's Map, an Extremely powerful magical object made to do the impossible task of mapping Hogwarts. And he did this in school. at like 14-15. Harry doesn't do anything that has to do with magic item creation, that I can remember (i haven't read the books in years), however he also had no connection to his family and likely wouldn't be able to learn without another Potter teaching him. BUT! Harry Potter is the master of death, meaning he can use all 3 of the deathly hallows without being corrupted, maybe this could be a side effect of how his Sorcerer's Craft manifests itself.

side tangent, but the reason I think this is an ability even though others have been known to make magical objects, is because the potters are able to do it very creatively, and early on in their lives. They are involved in every aspect of item creation, and they can enchant things in a way no other wizard could replicate, meaning their objects could not be mass produced without their explicit involvement. Maybe Sleekeasy's stops working so well once Fleamont dies, hence why Hermione says its too much hassle to use every day.

The Blacks, you might think, would be something to do with offensive, powerful, and deadly magic. While, yes, this is something that some members of the black family are gifted in, it is not their bloodline ability. I think that the Blacks are Seers. It's no coincidence their families long standing tradition of astrological names are prophetical for their lives. Walburga Black, for example, has the power of Augery. She asks the universe questions and receives omens as answers. She saw a black dog when asking the universe to tell her about her newborn son, hence the name Sirius. For Regulus, well, she saw water. Not knowing what to make of it, she refused to let Regulus near it for his entire childhood. Regulus, as an empath, has the ability of psychometry. The ability to gain information from an object by touching it, including humans ( he cant read minds, but can tell what someone has experienced in their life). This comes in great handiness when he goes to destroy the locket. Sirius, I believe, would have a mastery over tarot cards or oracle cards. He can glean deadly accurate readings, and has a keen ability to interpret meanings unknown to even the most practiced tarot readers. He has a special deck, one that his uncle Alphard gave to him when he found out Sirius could read tarot from Walburga (who, at the time, was very pleased with her Heir's ability). This comes with an emotional expense to Sirius, though, and at times, gives him answers he doesnt want to hear. The girls loved it though, and asked him to teach them. He tried but couldn't explain how he did it, since it's innate to his bloodline. Of course, you could obviously imagine this adding to the piles of angst surrounding the war, as Sirius had to have seen signs that his loved ones would die, making him think he could outsmart fate by changing the secret keeper...

I think this is getting too long, but I'm already thinking about part 2 because I have alot of thoughts about this...especially things that anyone could learn not just inheritied abilities.

#marauders #remus lupin #wolfstar #sirius black #james potter #marauders era #the marauders era #my writing #harry potter #harry potter magic system #magic system #worldbuilding #better worldbuilding than jkr (hopefully)#head canons #bamf #hogwarts #james fleamont potter #fleamont potter

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yallthemwitches · 20 days ago

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more jealous snape fics? the one where he used legilimency is GOLDD. for some reason i’m a big fan of pov snape fics only if the fic is pro jilly and anti snilly bc JILLY FOREVER ‼️‼️

Hi Anon! I'm glad you liked Legitimens! I took a break from writing Snape/ jily angst (torture?) because I did a lot of them early on and felt like I needed to give it a rest for a bit. If you are interested in a longer fic, Catch the Wind has a good bit of Snape interacting with jily though it is not in his POV ( Chapter 16 notably has some jealous Snape though NSFW so discretion advised)

But! Here's a little ficlet of Snape finding out about jily in 7th for you (Rated T )--felt good to go back to my roots. I hope this satiates the jealous snape desire!

Of all people, he heard it from Bellatrix.

“You seem to be rather cheery despite the new developments about your mudblood plaything…”

Severus looked up to find the source of the voice draped over the couch, smiling like a predator who had caught a meal in its teeth.

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” he replied, keeping his eyes down as to not give her the satisfaction of his attention.

“Oh, don’t be like that Severus,” she purred, twisting a bit of her frazzled hair around her wand, “You know who I’m talking about…the Evans bitch—the one you’ve had a hard on for since–”

“I know who you are referring to,” Snape spat out, not able to contain his disdain for being taunted, “But of the developments you so clearly want me to be privy to, I don’t care.”

Bellatrix’s eyes lowered to slits, taking her time to let his curiosity set in before letting out a dramatic sigh.

“Fine. Just thought you’d be a little more charged up seeing that lil’ Miss Evans is taking her Head's duties with Potter to very literal levels.”

His head shot up, his ability to remain cool abandoned. Something resembling bile gurgled at the bottom of his stomach.

“Stop taking the piss. Having to write patrols and be Dumbledore’s lapdogs is hardly interesting gossip.”

She grinned wider, teeth gleaming in a way that reminded him of some distant muggle cartoon of a creature disappearing behind a malevolent smile.

“If that’s so, then why did I just see dear ‘ickle Evans with Potter's tongue down her throat on the way over here?”

It was instinctual. His body rose off the floor, letting the book drop with a loud thud as he bounded towards the door. It’s not possible. She’s lying. Behind him, he could hear Bellatrix and Mucliber’s cackles intermingle into one taunting buzzing sound.

“Aw, poor Severus. Don’t worry, I’m sure when the Dark Lord gets hold of her, you can have your fill too,” Mulciber called out.

Bellatrix shrieked in laughter. “I just hope Potter has enough sense to protect his bloodline and only fuck her in the—-”

The door shut, muffling the loud of their howling laughs.

Bellatrix had not been lying.

She lounged against the giant beech tree with her legs outstretched in front of her, shoes kicked off. It was a place that he had seen her so often throughout the years—a place that she loved to go and study or discuss potions ideas in the years past, but any good memory was quickly shattered by the image of her now. She was not alone.

Potter lay draped over her, body sandwiched between parted legs and arms encircling her waist with his head resting on her stomach.His glasses had been abandoned at their side and Lily’s finger passed idly over the curves of his face, tracing the outline of his cheek and jaw while he closed his eyes to the sensation. Finger drifting over his lips, Potter caught the hand to hold it against him, giving it a small nip which made Lily cry out a playful shriek.

Severus moved closer, wondering if he was seeing some kind of mirage—a horrible vision that he would wake up from shortly. Potter looked up from her lap and said something in a hushed tone and Lily’s head fell back in a laugh, red hair cascading down her back and shoulder. Clearly feeling triumphant in his quest to amuse her, he pulled up enough to catch her giggles with his lips; once, twice, three times before the kisses lost their autonomy to fervent mouths twisting together.

The sensation to wretch bubbled inside of him and he keeled over. Potter and Lily. POTTER and Lily. He knew one day he would eventually have to give her up—Merlin knew she had told him as much the day she ended their friendship back in fifth. But nothing could have prepared him—no divination master could have ever predicted that Lily would fall into such a blatant and heinous trap.

He shuffled backwards, trying to move quietly despite the couple being too preoccupied in what their mouths and hands were doing to even notice someone on the outskirts of their vision. Turning the corner back into the corridor, he leaned against the cold stone of the archway, a pain of slashed skin and organs tugging at his chest. For the first time, possibly in his entire adolescent life, he wept.

#tay speaks #james potter #lily evans #jily #severus snape #jily fanfiction

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theegemini92 · 2 months ago

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So I’ve been thinking. Wind is suppose to be a Day Court power according to Rhysand. Why does Tamlin have wind magic? Why does Tamlin glow when he’s not glamoured? Does he have Day Court blood?

Also annoyance on my part, why does SJM not give Spring Court plant powers?? It’s the most obvious power!

Great observation…

I will always say that many do underestimate Tamlin as a powerful HL because Rhys does paint himself well in the eyes of feyre and it’s her words that make us think he is. Yes he is but he isn’t the only one.

i personally think he does have nature plant magic which came when he became HL. But essentially Rhys said the nature lords are tied to the land while the celestials are not that’s why the seasons don’t change there so they could have different abilities but their hl status keeps the season so it does t have to be necessarily or entirely associated with their realm. Rhys has daemati which isn’t for just NC like the hybern twins.

Also they intermarry. Mor was given to autumn 🍂 so I’m sure the powers do linger in some bloodlines. Tamlins mother could’ve been from the Day court too… per my observation, the HL don’t rely on political gain as much otherwise they won’t be choosing just anyone because they are their mates etc. those like Beron who maybe want other things or possibly stronger heirs because they are weaker hl might consider it.

The only logical reason is to wait for Tamlins book to see what other abilities he has. He didn’t show much of his power because he bottles it up and looses control.

But generally I think she wanted to show that HLs could have different abilities due to intermarriages. I personally think he is of Fionns bloodline (he may have had a bastard child lol) or even fionns best friend, the one who died and wielded truth teller. so maybe we could expect more and probably see a relic or more passed down…

“According to Silene, the land appeared to have died alongside its king.”

Perhaps Tams earth plant powers might come in handy?? 🤷🏽‍♀️ I just hope sjm writes him more than just an HL…

#acotar #tamlin #anti rhysand #anti feysand #feyre acotar #pro tamlin #sjm critical #feyre archeron #acotar tv show #a court of thorns and roses

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raayllum · 4 months ago

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So back in this meta I argued that TDP may be working towards three sets of paralleled trios: Leola—Aaravos—human mage (Elara); Orphan Queen—Aaravos—Jailer; Ezran—Rayla—Callum. This was operating under the theory that Leola was a sibling to Aaravos (for those sweet Ezran-Callum parallels) who gave humans primal magic. I'm pleased cause I did end up getting some Rayla parallels not to Leola rather than Elara like I thought (and once again I like what canon did more) and I'm still intrigued by whatever we're likely going to learn about Elarion and potentially a human mage next season, but I digress.

One of the reasons I speculated so was because the Jailer had clear parallels to Kpp'Ar, making me think it was likely that she and the Orphan Queen, an ancestor of Ezran, became and/or established the tradition in Katolis of a High Mage and Monarch paired set. As noted, I liked it because, "While Ezran has the job and the bloodline of the Orphan Queen, Callum would’ve more directly inherited the position of (high) mage from the Jailer’s thematic and occupational line." The Staff of Ziard having been passed down at least from Kpp'Ar's family or occupational line made sense given that TDP would presumably want to explain how Viren got it without the answer being overly complicated, and it'd be an easy but compelling answer. (So yes I was screaming in S6.)

I'd speculated before that the Cube and Staff perhaps had similarities: both ancient relics passed down through the ages, both initially belonged to Aaravos, were seen as gifts. I'd speculated that both held quasar diamonds because Aaravos would need one to get out, though I'd hedged my bets on the key > the staff thanks to its bright white light.

It seems that the Jailer to Kpp'Ar (to Viren) to Callum pipeline remains intact, even if Callum's inherited a different object through the line of the Orphan Queen instead. Because mages are gonna be mages, I guess.

It does make me wonder if Claudia will take on Viren's staff now, or if Aaravos will wield it himself. Either would be immensely satisfying or intriguing, I think.

#the key of aaravos #tdp #the dragon prince #the staff of ziard #s7 speculation #predictions achieved #analysis series #high mage club #it was just red #analysis

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jadeshifting · 18 days ago

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— 25 DAYS OF SHIFTMAS (DAY 12)

Ornaments — What are some objects you have in your DR that you don’t in your CR? Why do you have them in your DR?

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔

★⋆. ࿐࿔ my HEIRLOOM NECKLACE isn’t just jewelry—it’s the blueprint for disgustingly opulent heirlooms. its massive emerald pieces glitter like they were ripped straight from a dragon’s hoard, framed by diamonds that catch the light with every movement. passed down through the Grimm bloodline, this piece has seen centuries of intrigue, scandal, and luxury; i wear it like armor, knowing it turns heads and drops jaws wherever it goes

★⋆. ࿐࿔ talking perfection in powder form—this PALETTE is peak Slytherin glam, with shades so richly pigmented they practically melt onto my lids. the silvers gleam like liquid starlight, the greens range from muted forest hues to jewel-toned decadence, and every single shade has just the right amount of sparkle. whether i’m casting curses or attending a ball, this palette has my back—glitter and all

★⋆. ࿐࿔ sitting pretty on my windowsill, this TERRARIUM is a self-sustaining little masterpiece. inside thrives a lush moss forest, complete with enchanted dew that sparkles under moonlight and tiny firefly-like lights that flicker after dark. i swear it’s the most peaceful thing in my room, a little world that thrives no matter how chaotic mine gets

★⋆. ࿐࿔ this CRYSTAL BALL, an heirloom practically dripping in legacy, is encased in a coiled golden serpent with all-seeing eyes. it’s as much a family symbol as it is a tool, used sparingly for divination because its insights are almost too accurate (read: unnervingly cryptic). when not in use, it sits on my desk—mysterious, exquisite, and entirely foreboding

★⋆. ࿐࿔ a bowl of simple utility? please. this green CRYSTAL BOWL holds more than just odds and ends—it’s a curated microcosm of my sentiments. my favorite perfume tube gleams beside silver charms for luck, an old knotted ribbon i won’t explain, and a stray emerald cufflink (probably Mattheo’s). it’s a little chaotic, a little sentimental, and 100% mine

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔

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dingodad · 1 month ago

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I don’t understand what’s being talked about when its said that Lord English’s attempt to kill Cronus split him into multiple vessels. Does that mean that the idea of the essence of Lord English was splintered to form the other characters? It’s not literal right? At what point in time could that even have happened? Is that why he glitched the session of the alpha trolls, because he couldn’t enter it himself to kill Cronus, since the universe hadn’t ended yet? Also why is Lord English related to the hope aspect anyways? I think Eridan even mentions him being the lord of the angels prophesized at one point, idk what that’s about?

the way Aranea frames the story, English's spell on Cronus backfiring supposedly WAS the glitch that prevented him from entering Beforus, "until he could find some other cunning way to enter our universe."

of course this story comes to us through two separate layers of questionable narration; Aranea is relating to us a story that Cronus may or may not have made up about his own backstory. so we're operating well outside of the boundaries of what we could possibly look at through a "literal" lens. all we've got to really work with are vague ideas.

the relationship between Lord English and the hope aspect is exactly that the bloodline of heroes of hope are supposedly the ones destined to beat him, just as related in Aranea's story ("the legacy of defeating the evil magician would have to 8e passed on to his descendant, or if his descendant proved to be as much of a failure as he did, then perhaps on some other Hero of Hope"). it's the aspect of angels, and as a cherub Lord English is of course a kind of angel (though Eridan was actually under the mistaken impression that Jack Noir was the prophesied "lord of all angels").

it's possibly relevant that in the version of the story as WE hear it, the "defeat" Jake ultimately hands out to Caliborn is only a technical victory; he doesn't put an end to Lord English in any meaningful way, and Caliborn even goes as far as to say "THERE IS NO BODILY HARM". he just knocks the guy down in preparation for Dirk to seal him away. but hope is not an aspect that deals with the "bodily", its domain is spirits and ideas; so in the past, my assessment has been that the reason heroes of hope are such a threat to Lord English is precisely BECAUSE they have this ability to pull apart or disrupt the collection of souls that make him up. i don't know if i would still confidently hold this up as the strongest interpretation today, but i think it's worth mentioning.

did any of this "literally" happen... well, I have to emphasise again that at this level of granularity, the "literal" is no longer something we can take for granted. like, "literally", Dirk and Equius were created from slime in an ectobiology lab. but I assert that according to the rules of Paradox Space, the metaphorical "ideas" of Dirk and Equius have to have come FROM somewhere, and if those ideas eventually become constituent parts of Lord English then at some point the loop has to close and he has to be broken back down into those parts. it is worth noting that Aranea's wording - "sealing the magician's spirit away in a series of unassuming vessels" - could also pretty easily be taken as referring to the various puppets English is forced to inhabit as he emerges in universe after universe, and that if English were ever to be split back apart it could theoretically have happened in any number of those infinite lifetimes. it's the vague ideas represented by Cronus' story - the spirit of the story, that English is perpetually being foiled by being reverted to the start of his own timeline without any memory of how he failed - that matters more than whether Cronus was literally attacked by Lord English with a wand at some point in his childhood.

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shishuri · 2 months ago

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Ive been rewatching Vision of Escaflowne (because youtube algorithm compelled me to).. ohh boy.. watching the anime with adult brain you realize a lot of things you probably missed when you watched it when you were a child

Ex.

Allen was 21 in the anime, and Millerna and Hitomi were 15.. it gave me big ick whenever one of those two flirts with him. And every time he kiss one of them i keep saying "15, Allen, get away).

When i was a kid i did wonder about the Dilandau/Celena situation, specially what goes on down under.. i mean Dilandau is suppose to be male so does Celena grows the matching parts too.. I realize now that Dilandau is probably a split personality for Celena to cope with whatever experiments were done to her, the experiments probably just enhanced Dilandau's presence. Because at the end Jajuka told Celena that its ok to turn back to the gentle Celena. And that is way sadder than what i thought when i was a kid and also what the hell was i thinking 😂

Dilandau was a major jerk, i never thought of it before but he was so abusive with his subordinates and now i wonder why those guys are so loyal to him.

Duke Freid is based af, he is the father who stepped up. He knew, he fucking knew that Chid wasnt his but he acknowledged him, loved him, took care of him and even trusted the future of the Duchy to him. He didn't care about Marlene's former lover, and the fact that she still chose him in the end, I am 100% sure this man is a green flag.

Chid was swole at 5 yrs old. This little man was able to carry a huge ass sword twice his size to present to the zaibach empire for their treaty. Either that shit was not as heavy as it looks, there is magic shenanigans involved or Chid was swole af. Also, for a 5 yr old he speaks like he's 10. Either he is a genius or children in Gaea age faster or the author never met a 5 yr old.

To this day i am still upset that Van and Hitomi never really got together in any media made (manga, anime, movie), Hitomi will always end up going home, now i am more upset that Allen got to kiss Hitomi and Van only got a goddamn hug at the end.. I want my farewell kiss at the very least.

Since Van is a king he may still need to be married to have heirs to continue the Fanel bloodline. However, if he was responsible enough and realized that he shouldn't have kids to avoid the Draconian bloodline to be passed on and possibly repeat the same problem he had with Escaflowne. I know he wanted Escaflowne to never be used again, but shit can still happen and may inevitably be needed to be used again. If who inherits the throne is not very strict in Fanelia, this should be fine.

What the actual hell was Asturia's power hierarchy. The king had 3 daughters, supposedly, the first born should be the heir, but he sent her off to marry into the Duchy of Freid, but the duchy doesn't seem to be part of Asturia, so it's probably a duchy of another country. The next in line should be Eries, but when the king couldn't do his job after Zaibach attacked Asturia, Dryden was in-charge and he married the Mallerna the 3rd princess, and even before that Dryden assumes or maybe told that he will be king when he marries Mallerna. Even in a 90s anime there was a middle child syndrome. I didn't care about this when I was a kid, but somehow it bothered me now. Justice for Eries (the forgotten middle child).

Dryden was actually a green flag.. i think when i was a child I didn't like him for whatever reason. But now I realize that he isn't so bad. Aside from marrying a 15 yr old (he was 21, according to wiki), but that's Royal marriage for you, unfortunately. Besides the ick when he flirts with Mallerna. He bought a mermaid to set it free, paid the repairs for Escaflowne (the price of his main ship), helped Asturia during the war, and he wanted to wait for Mallerna to choose him.

Escaflowne has a "click here to call the Repair guy" mechanism in it. Literally, they can call the Ispano and they'll come right away whenever, wherever if they need it repaired 😂. Top notch Customer Support service. Nowadays, if you call the repair guy it might take 5-7 business days.. that's being generous.

I still dont understand Folken's motive to destroy Fanelia.. he is literally the first born of the king of Fanelia, he can open Escaflowne, he could have just returned with a dragenergist and claim his right to the throne to get Escaflowne before Van's coronation. But instead he let Van claim Escaflowne and had Fanelia destroyed. It could be argued that Van needed to take Escaflowne. But at the start the target was just "the dragon" Escaflowne, not Van.

I also still dont understand why Zaibach needed to wage war and it was necessary for the Zone of Absolute Fortune. Of course everyone's wishes will be tainted with their thoughts of war, that was the last thing they were doing, their adrenaline is still working overtime. They haven't sat to think what is going on so of course they would unintentionally wish for the fight to continue, they were still on survival mode.. i think they would have a different result if the Zone was activated when everything was peaceful. Did they need the situation to be dire?

Dornkirk is Isaac Newton. Lol

By the way, the way Dornkirk described what happened when he arrived in the Zaibach Empire.. bro was having a major god complex, "sent there to save these people" like sir.. you end up there cause you wished hard enough.

I kinda missed animes having a bit meta in it with their opening and ending songs.. ex. The opening song for Vision of Escaflowne is the tune in Marlene's music box.

#growing up sucks #i really never cared or noticed it when i was a kid but all i saw was cute guy and cute girl fated lovers #vision of escaflowne #escaflowne #visione of escaflowne anime #escaflowne anime

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septimusmoonlight · 10 months ago

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Anonymous: I miss a lot of your birth stuff, so how about your a 5’4 cuminflated baby factory for the biggest magical creatures known for hard births like Orcs, Orges, Minotaurs, etc. For while you’re boypussy has no problem pushing out this absolutely massive babies but then a half Orc/ half giant breeds you one day with three massive babies and your so big and stretch everywhere it hurts. You go so overdue the father has to fuck you into labor and your cunt is gaping and almost ripped apart by the three babies and just when you think it’s over there’s a fourth that just tears you in two. Your relieved that it’s over that is until your permanently sold to the half Orc/half giant and become his baby factory forever.

Oh, I really like this <3

It doesn't matter who I used to be or how I ended up here, really. All that matters is that I'm constantly round and swollen with the latest young, babies from whatever monster needed to use a hole, needed to continue a bloodline, needed to watch a pathetic human give birth to their too-big babies. Not allowed clothes except for a collar, chained wherever is convenient for my latest client, used constantly for breeding until it's finally time for me to push out whatever is taking up space in my womb. I'm just lucky my boycunt is used to it all at this point, because otherwise it would all be a lot more painful. It's painful nonetheless - that's part of the appeal, after all - but my body has, at least, acclimated.

Sometimes, a client will enjoy my "company" so much that they don't let me give birth, keeping me in agonizing labor for days on end so that the contractions squeeze their cock and so that they can keep using me for as long as possible. Orcs will gladly let the rest of their band use me, despite the terms of rental clearly being set at one client, so they're especially bad about this - it's unfair to let a toy go so soon if someone has gone without a turn in some sloppy boycunt, after all. Minotaurs are stubborn by nature, so they're also reluctant to give me up, but they know the terms of a rental as well as the rest of my clients. They can't keep me without repercussions.

My stomach sinks one day when an absolutely enormous client approaches my handlers and asks for a rental. Based on his looks and size, he must be half orc and half giant, if not mostly giant. His tusks and yellow eyes, plus the powerful shoulders, speak to orc ancestry, definitely, but his size is something else entirely. My handlers gladly recommend my services, handing me over upon the exchange of sufficient gold.

His cock alone is big enough to compete with even the largest of births I've ever had, so the prospect of bearing his children scares me - but it gets worse when he determines that I'm carrying triplets after breeding me thoroughly. He praises my proprietors in keeping a cuntboy so fertile, so ready to carry children for whoever is in need, and continues using me even as I swell to obscene sizes with his young at an uncomfortable speed. I'm sore, I'm tired, everything hurts, but I get no rest during the day, constantly impaled on my client's impossible cock. He's been pent up for a long time because nobody wants to handle him, he explains, so it's just better at this point to find somebody who can't say no.

He gets concerned when the supposed due date passes and I just keep swelling. He doesn't want health problems to befall me or the children, and he wants to continue his bloodline - but he has to admit that there's appeal in having a hole around that can take him. Still, he decides to take matters into his own hands one day, and just picks me up bodily, sliding me up and down on his cock like the toy I am, pummeling my cervix to prompt a response from my body - and a response is exactly what he gets. Labor rips through me, and I scream, arching my back as my body finally makes its needs known, but he doesn't let me off, too busy chasing his own high. The squeezing of my boyhole around his cock is just too perfect for him to ignore, even if I'm finally giving birth like he wants.

When he cums, at least that means my hole is loose and sloppy for him when he finally lays me on my back and tells me to push. I obey, screaming, crying, tears falling endlessly from my cheeks as I struggle through the first of three enormous children. The head alone is easily the width of a large watermelon, stuck crowning for a ridiculous amount of time - and that just seems to get my client hard again, stroking his cock as he watches me struggle, watches me ruin my body trying to give birth for him. Drenched in sweat, I finally manage to dislodge the head, and the rest of the body follows with comparative ease.

The second is much the same, except he makes it harder on me. With a gentle palm, he pushes the child back into my body, forcing me to bring it to a crown all over again. And again. He doesn't do it a third time, though, apparently unwilling to delay the birth of his children further, and allows me the privilege of bearing his young, bringing them into the world while I'm in agony, shaking with the effort. If anything, the struggle just turns him on even more - his cock bobs, precum slicking the head even when he's not masturbating to my tears.

Finally, the third. Finally, there will be some rest. Once I'm finished with this, the most difficult task I've ever had to face, I will finally get to relax, just for a little bit, before he fucks another set of babies into me and makes me bear those ones just the same. As I push, though, something feels...off. Something doesn't feel right, like my belly is still too heavy. It can't be the afterbirth - I know what that feels like from dozens and dozens of births over the years - so what else could it possibly be?

I get my answer after the third slides out, my boycunt protesting as it's stretched to its limits for the third time in a row. There's a fourth. My heart sinks as the weight of a fourth child becomes clear to me, now that I'm not distracted by the rest of them, and it feels like it may be bigger than the others by a significant factor. I don't even know if I'll be able to properly birth this thing - but I'm not left any choice when my client presses on my swollen belly, forcing the last of the batch towards my already overworked cunt. I try to plead with him, to tell him that I can't take it, that it hurts too badly, but the way his cock twitches in response tells me that he's looking forward to that. All I can do is brace myself.

It's not enough. A wave of pain rocks me to my absolute core, worse than anything I've ever felt, and I can't even hear myself screaming as the baby fights its way out of me. It stretches me to my limits, meets my limits, and then shoots right past them, my cunt ripping open to make two holes into one, my body permanently changed to reflect my true purpose as a breeding slave, a baby factory, nothing more than a walking womb that makes funny noises sometimes. The air smells like metal. Blood pools beneath me, but my client doesn't seem concerned - in fact, he's jacking off as his final child comes into the world covered in my blood.

My vision is dim, but I can still tell when my client looms over me. The brand-new pain of him sliding his throbbing cock into my fresh wound-cunt isn't even that bad, not compared to when his child made it, so I don't even cry that much anymore, not from the intrusion alone. What makes me cry is when he jackhammers his way to another orgasm, shooting his seed directly into my womb to knock me up all over again, and and his cock stays hard. He pulls out and jacks off, using my blood as lube, painting my sweat-covered body and my open, torn injury in another load of seed.

When he brings me back to my handlers, he apologizes for breaking me and offers to pay for my repair. My handlers, however, see how happy my client is now that he has a body to use and children to continue his bloodline, and they just offer me to him outright - for a price, of course. They've gotten plenty of use out of me over the years, and the majority of toys they keep around break eventually. I'm just lucky I broke in a way that turns my new owner on even more instead of a way that kills me outright.

My owner, now free to use me as much as he likes and free to make me give birth as many times as possible, breeds me again the instant we return to his dwelling, regardless of the fact that I'm still in pain. He's not sewing up those wounds or repairing them, oh, not at all - he's going to let them stay open so that I can give birth over, and over, and over again.

It doesn't matter if they need more time to heal - what matters is how soon he can knock me up.

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dranosh-haran-of-paleoworld · 2 months ago

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About your post, I always imagine that if Sasuke really liked someone outside any distinguished clan, his clan would only accept them (the very base line anyway) IF they're already resembling an Uchiha (which is typically dark haired and dark eyed, though I'm sure they're willing to make an exception depending on how much potential Sasuke's chosen has to add on to the Uchiha bloodlin) and does have genetic skills/techniques they could've passed down to any kid they might've.

Even better if they could add any improvement to the issues the Uchiha bloodline already has, namely something that could repair the blindness and lessen the stress the Sharingan was known to add to the user's eyes.

Sa///kura ain't that at all. All she got going for her was her chakra control, which was something anyone can master iirc, and that Tsunade accepted her because Sa//kura demanded her to (I think? Been a hot minute, sorry). In fact, she was also the only one that Tsunade didn't say would surpass her at all (that even stood out in my poor memory anyway, so feel free to correct me on anything I said here) when Jiraiya and Orochimaru both already stated their respective students already had early on. (If anything, Tsunade did seem a little...too impersonal with Sa//kura far more often while Jiraiya and Orochimaru were way more invested with Naruto and Sasuke.)

In fact, Sa///kura never even revived herself from being torn apart when Tsunade already had, from the top of my head?? And hell, if we're speaking medical skills, Kabuto would've surpassed Sa//kura EASILY. There are a bunch more reasons than what I've listed but it'd be too long (poor fighter against major enemies [relying on Chiyo against her one major 'solo' fight against Satori], poor battle logics, inability to let go of unhealthy attachments [Sasuke] for loyalty, etc.)

As you've said, Sa//kura was never raised in a clan and had NO manner or understanding on how to lead, much less care for, a major clan like the Uchiha. The clan politics are far more complicated than most people believed (it's literally nothing like directing a hospital, it's both more hand-on and personal than that). Sa//kura doesn't have any emotional capacity to head a family, especially with how bad her temper can get and Sarada's neglected upbringing in the favor of her career and Sasuke. Honestly, Mikoto and Fugaku might actually hate her guts over time with how rude Sa//kura can be, though they'd do a good job of masking their feelings.

Anyway, sorry for rambling, just wanna add on to your wonderful post with my thoughts. :)

There is no need to apologize for the rambling, anon. I do it all the time myself so no need to worry. I agree with what you're saying, but I will clarify and / or correct some things here.

Firstly, I don't think appearance would matter much to the Uchiha, and by that, I mean that Sasuke's future wife, if she came from outside of the clan, wouldn't have to resemble the Uchiha in appearance. She'd just have to come from a distinguished family or clan. Again, Karin and Ino, especially the former, are prime examples of this.

I do agree that Sasuke's future wife if she came from outside the clan would also have to contribute to the gene pool, although I don't see or understand what you mean by issues genetically speaking within the Uchiha, the base 3-Tomoe sharingan doesn't put any strain on the user if it's utilized by the Uchiha as it's meant to. As I said in my post, the Uchiha are the ONLY clan to have inherited the potent chakra and dojutsu of the Shinju through their progenitor Indra, and as such their bodies are the only ones fit and suitable to bring out its full potential. The Mangekyo Sharingan does put a strain on the user, hence why the Uchiha do eye

Sakura actually begged Tsunade to take her as an apprentice, literally being the only one to do so. Naruto was the first to be trained, and Jiraiya only trained him out of respect for Minato. Sasuke was actually sought out by Orochimaru, the best of the sanin, and as I was discussing with someone else for all his faults Orochimaru was only adult outside of the Uchiha in canon that gave a damn about Sasuke. Sakura is literally the only one who had to beg Tsunade to train her, and she only did that after Naruto and the others failed to bring Sasuke back.

It's worth noting that Tsunade outside of her healing doesn't have much going on for her. She's not genetically distinct, and as Madara and the databooks state, she inherited nothing from Hashirama and, like Sakura, has pitiful reserves of chakra. Tsunade herself is jaded following the deaths of her lover and brother.

In the medical nin department, Kabuto has surpassed Tsunade and Sakura. The guys' skills are unmatched. He invented his own version of mitochondrial regeneration on his own and nearly killed Naruto by severing his chakra network or something like that. His medical expertise is what kept the dying Kimimaro alive and Orochimaru's body from literally falling apart when his immortality jutsu ran its course. He invented all sorts of medicines and poisons for Orochimaru, took edo tensei to a whole new level greater than Orochimaru or Tobirama had accomplished. He also strengthened his body and life-force through genetic engineering to learn Dragon Sage Mode, and incorporated the bloodlines of several people and made their abilities his own.

I definitely agree with you there on Fugaku and Mikoto hating her but masking their feelings, lol. Honestly, I don't know how'd either of them react if Team 7 was created in the AU I presented, although I'm sure they'd be upset with all the stress and bullshit Sasuke would have to deal with in this scenario. Maybe Fugaku would step in and intervene since again in this AU I presented the Uchiha's power, representation, and influence in Konoha is as it should've been from the start. Neither he nor Mikoto is letting Sakura or Naruto near him. Hell, Fugaku would probably have Sasuke assigned to a different team, who knows, to be honest.

#pro fugaku uchiha #pro uchiha #pro uchiha clan #pro sasuke #pro sasuke uchiha #anti sasusaku #anti sakura haruno #anti tsunade #kabuto #orochimaru

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whoishotteranimepolls · 4 months ago

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In Defense for Sabo (Why hes appealing to me)

To be perfectly honest, I am absolutely down bad for Sabo. I am a Simp in every sense of the word. So understand, I am biased by this point- That out of the way, he's perfect your honor. He's so tragic, so cool, and so silly- i think people overlook him because out of the ASL trio he has the least amount of screen time of the three- but everytime he's there it's a wild ride

I coukd write a really shitty 100k word thesis on this bastard(affectionate) so I'll try my best to keep it short

How do I even begin this? What hooked me initially on his character as a whole was how he was born into nobility and instantly hated it. He could see how messed up the people around him were even as a child, Hes a born anarchist. So he runs away and meets angry child Ace and then they're both menaces to society with a plan on ditching this place. You know the backstory I don't gotta explain more but like, the whole ASL brother dynamic is amazing and hes so middle child coded. Then the tragedies begin- in literally every single way the upper class could be horrific and terrifying, it happens over and over within like no time just to really hammer into him his distaste for the whole system. To skip all the angsty details, He felt so cornered that he ran away. Just sets sail despite his age, then of all people to aim a weapon at him, a Celestial Dragon proceeds to give him amnesia for the next like 9 years of his life with some insane blunt force trauma. That gun was basically an explosive canon, the fact Canon!Sabo just has the eye scar is why so many artists headcanon him with a much bigger scar. How he survived that is just a testament to how he's just

Built Different™

Then he basically jumps into the deep end so to speak with no fucking memory. By the time Ace is setting sail- he's already insanely strong. He ends up second in command for a reason- he's smart, he's powerful, he's got that never ending well of stamina just like his bros, he's a beast

And what finally brings back his past? He sees the news about marineford. What rejogs his memories- is his brother fucking dieing. (Oda basically confirmed that if Sabo had his memories, Ace would have lived. I mean- pretime skip Luffy almost succeeded- putting Sabo in the mix would have absolutely turned the tides. But that's beside the point- as i said hes just strong) Sabo only remembered when it was already too late- like...holy shit- the Angst. Tragedy after Tragedy and he couldn't even try to help this time-

Listen, what I'm trying to say is He's cool and angsty (like every other character tbf lol). He's just like his bros, a crazy bastard with a heart of gold who breeds chaos by being himself and standing for his ideals. Luffy and Ace have some crazy bloodlines and ya know, D. But Sabo is just Sabo and is right there with them in levels of chaos from day one.

He's just Built Different™

His whole presence in Dressrosa was amazing and hilarious- he shows up for the first time in- ever, one whole body luffy hug later and he's in the coliseum in Luffys disguise being an absolute badass. He successfully gets Aces fruit and then destroyed the coliseum with one move- he has some insane Haki and wields a damn pipe at the same time (the fact its something he kept from his time with his bros is so 🥹 but the juxtaposition is hilarious) Evertime he fights in this arc it's them sitting up the altercation and next time you see him- hes won and moved on to the next thing he's doing. One of my favorite little things is after Dressrosa -when he talks to the few who weren't passed the fuck out- and he gives Luffys vivre card to the strawhats. Not his personal Card to luffy- Luffys to his crew. He hasn't seen his brother in at this point like 10 years and somehow had his DNA to make it- everyone overlooks his crazy but it's hilarious

One of the best hugs in the anime just saying ^

I was head over heels after Dressrosa ngl.

If Luffy is silly and Ace is hot cool guy, Sabo is right in the middle. I do think it's funny he's boiled down to the smart one of the three, he is, but he's also so much more. Also, as the person who originally asked what the appeal was said, yeah he also doesn't smell like a trashcan. He's the only one of his bros that takes a regular shower lmao. And while I do blame my insant love for the tophat look on my prior love of Jacob Frye from assassins creed, I think he's got style too. He looks good and he's wearing a damn cravat(the white neck scarf thing) most the time, he pulls it off. The movie look with the teal/cyan trenchcoat, the Reverie scenes, the newest episodes he just got animated in again-

He is beauty, He is Grace, I want him to sit on my fa- sorry

For context, they are responding to this post about Sabo

Wow, I'm impressed the one piece fandom never ceases to amaze me with your dedication to your characters

#defend your blurbo response #revolutionary sabo #flame emperor sabo #sabo #one piece #not a poll #spicy #nsft

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chiriwritesstuff · 1 year ago

Text

The Impossible Man ✨ 1. The Deathwatch Beetle ✨

Modern Day Detective! Din Djarin x Witch! Reader (Soulmates AU)

Series Masterlist

Summary: For someone being born into a magical family, a curse placed on the women of your bloodline means you have mostly avoided witchcraft and its calling for the majority of your life. After a life-altering tragedy, you turn your back on your family and your gift and seek out a more normal, boring existence, devoid of magic, and mostly, of love. What happens when the ghosts of your past threaten your peaceful existence and you are forced to reconcile all that you have lost? Will you let the people you have abandoned in your past life back into your heart? Will the appearance of an impossible man you have unknowingly cursed yourself break the chains of love? Will you let him?

Chapter Rating: M? (for now)

Chapter Warnings: Magical realism, implied mention of suicide, reader and her family are cursed, implied (minor) character death, (some) men are the worst, mentions of violence

A/N: Oh, Hello there.

For Halloween this year, I decided that I wanted to write a little 3-part story featuring my favorite Pedro boy, ✨Din Djarin✨. Inspired by my favorite Halloween-ish movie, Practical Magic, the story follows a Modern Day Detective Din, and our (reluctant) Witchy Reader. This story is not a complete retelling of PM, but a mishmash of other films that I love and cherish. If you're able to spot some of these films, I'll gift you a virtual Halloween candy treat! Happy Halloween, everyone!

Peep the (main canon storyline) Star Wars cameo!

Banner by @chiriwritesstuff ✨ Dividers by @saradika

Word Count: 3.2K

The first time you heard of the deathwatch beetle, you were eight years old.

The Victorian-style house that sat along the edge of Puget Sound was a whimsical sort, with its white picket fence adorned with creeping ivy, its single turret, a spire with the shape of a star on top of it, like a star on a Christmas tree. It had belonged to your family for decades - and was always kept in the same manner as when it was built. It was the home that your mother was raised in, and her mother before her, the house being passed down through each generation. You remember the summers you spent with your Aunt Fennic and Omera, taking the ferry from the port at Capitol Hill to Bainbridge Island, your sister Violet - Vi, for short - with her hands intertwined with yours. Three hundred and sixty-seven days younger than you, and every bit your opposite - if you were the match, then she was the flame; she was light, embodied to your infinite darkness. You would wear braids in your hair and fairy wings as you ran down the corridors of the house, playing hide-and-seek and hoping that you wouldn't get lost in the vastness of it. It was your beacon of light and solace, always welcoming. Now, as you hold your sister's hand while walking up to the porch, dressed in black, eyes still puffy and swollen and lined with tears, your aunts standing side by side, already expecting you both - it had finally become home.

"In this house," your aunt Fennic starts, grabbing the suitcase out of your hands as your aunt Omera bends to pick up Vi, "We will eat chocolate cake for breakfast and not worry about silly little things like bedtimes and brushing our teeth." You chuckle as she winks and leads the two of you inside.

Later that night, as Omera tucked you into bed, Vi having fallen asleep only moments before, she smiled as she kissed your forehead. "We're so happy you're with us, Starshine."

You silently nod, your fingers fidgeting nervously as you try to hide the discomfort of being in a new place, despite having been here so many times before. You look down at your hands, blinking away the tears that were begging to come out. "Aunt Omera, did Daddy die because of the curse?"

She gives you a sad smile. "Yes, Baby, he did." She strokes your cheek with her thumb, wiping away your tears.

"Your mother knew the moment she heard the click, click, click of the deathwatch beetle beckoning for your father's life... she knew that day that he was doomed to die. Every person who falls in love with any of the women of our bloodline is resigned to the same fate."

"Is that why Mommy died? Because of a broken heart?"

Omera's face softens as she brushes your hair away from your eyes. "Yes, my darling girl, she did. She couldn't imagine life without your father..." She pulls the covers over you. "…but that's how you came to live with us, and we will raise you the best way we know how."

You smile sadly, settling yourself deeper into the covers. "Why is our family cursed, Auntie?"

"It was because of your ancestor, Maria."

"Was she a witch?"

"Yes, the first in our family. And you are the most recent in a long and distinguished line."

"What happened to her?"

"Well, my Starshine, she fell in love. She fell in love with a man, her soulmate... but not everyone was happy about it. There was another man, an evil man, who had loved Maria from afar. He demanded that she be with him, and when she refused, he killed her lover in cold blood."

You bite your lip, nodding to yourself as you try to understand. "… but how does that make us cursed?"

"Well," Omera says, "Maria didn't take her lover's death kindly. With her powers, she managed to encase the evil man in a tomb full of beetles, eating him alive. However, before he died, he cursed the entirety of our female bloodline. This curse dooms any being who dares to love us, but it also ensures that we will always find our soulmate. Throughout the years, the appearance of the deathwatch beetle - the same one that consumed the man - is seen as a warning bell. The moment you hear the click, click, click of the beetle, there is nothing you can do to stop the curse. We have carried the weight of this burden for hundreds of years."

"I wish that I never find my soulmate," you whisper, determination etched on your 8-year-old face. "I don't want anyone to die because of me, and I don't want to die of a broken heart!"

Omera looks at you sadly as she kisses your forehead. "Oh, my sweet Starshine." She reaches over to turn off your bedside lamp, then kisses Vi before walking to your door, locking eyes with you, nodding as she turns away, leaving you in complete darkness.

"You will."

“He will hear my call a mile away. He will whistle my favorite song. He can ride a horse backwards.” You gather the petals of the flower and place it in the bowl, reading the words you have written in your diary aloud, your fingers grazing the page.

“What are you doing, Starshine?” Vi asks from behind you, walking into the greenhouse as she pets Boba the house cat.

“I’m summoning a true love spell. Amas Veritas. Also known as a Soulmates calling.” You pull a rose petal, inspecting it as you turn to your sister. “He can flip pancakes in the air. He will be marvelously kind… and his favorite shape will be a star… and he’ll have a birthmark on him, the shape of a… bullseye.”

“… I thought you didn’t want to find your soulmate? I heard you, last night. When you were talking to Aunt Omera.” She picks up your diary and flips through the pages, her hip resting on the table as you finish gathering the rest of the ingredients, stirring it gently with your hands.

“That’s the point, Vi. The guy I dreamed of? My soulmate? He doesn’t exist… and if he doesn’t exist, I won’t die of a broken heart.”

You walk out and your sister follows, making your way to the balcony as you hold the bowl out into the night sky. Vi gasps as the petals start to float out of the bowl, flowing out like a waft of smoke, fluttering in the air, flying out into the distance, a small smile forming as you look out into the sky.

"Goodnight, Impossible Man."

The first time you heard the ominous click, click, click of the deathwatch beetle, you were 28 years old.

It was in the dead of night, the clicking noise faint and almost unnoticeable, its distinctive chirps being drowned out by the idle sounds of the crickets and the gently blowing wind.

Click, click, click.

Your eyes open at that, suddenly alert. You shoot up from where you lay, Ben's still form beside you still in deep sleep. You breathe deeply, pushing your hair out of your face as you scan the room, looking for the source of the subtle clicking sound that roused you from your sleep. "Baby," Ben murmurs into his pillow, his eyes half open. "What are you doing up? It's late. Go back to sleep." He whispers, his arm pulling yours gently as you ease yourself back onto his chest, the deep thump, thump, thump of his heartbeat reverberating throughout your body, a reminder that he’s still very much alive. You sigh, pressing a chase kiss on his sternum. "I thought I heard something," you reply, his body shifting as he cages you in, his chin resting on the top of your head. "It's just the wind, Starshine. Go back to sleep," he continues, his fingers gently drawing small circles on your back. "I love you," he finally whispers before his breathing evens, his soft snores lulling you back to sleep.

A few hours later, you’re roused from your sleep once more as Ben's phone starts to chime. You feel his arm reaching out blindly for his phone on the nightstand, a slight groan rumbling from his chest as he squints at the screen.

"Good Morning, baby," Ben whispers in your ear, his voice heavy with sleep. "I have to get up, but you go back to sleep." You feel his breath on your cheeks as he presses a kiss to them, a faint smile forming as he embraces you, the feeling of his body stretching against yours as he wakes. He kisses your sleepy head as he rises out of bed, sitting on the edge of it as he caresses your half-sleeping form. He cracks his neck and silently pads himself into the bathroom, the sound of the shower starting as you burrow yourself deeper into the covers, your body slowly shifting to where his body was only a moment ago, relishing in the residual warmth of your lover it still contains. You wedge your nose into the indent of his pillow, smiling as you inhale his scent. You lay there until you hear the tell-tale sound of the shower shutting off. Your eyes adjust to the warm orange light of the bathroom as he walks out, a towel half slung onto his form as he walks into the closet, pulling on his suit as he dresses for the day, his faint silhouette shuffling in the light of early dawn.

"Ben," you say softly as he’s beginning to pull on his socks. "It’s early. Come back to bed." You plead with him, your arms outstretched, making grabby hands, beckoning out for him.

"Djarin messaged me saying he has a lead. I’m heading over to meet with him now," He walks over to you, sitting on the edge of the bed as he puts his wingtip loafers on. "We’ve been at a stalemate for months now, baby. I’ll make it up to you, maybe we could go back to Montauk after I close this case. Gideon is so close, I’m finally closing in on him, I can feel it."

You nod as you reach out to rub his back. "Okay. You owe me, though."

He chuckles at that, the corners of his cheeks lifting as he gives you a rare smile. "No, Djarin owes me because I must be insane to leave my beautiful wife all alone. It’s criminal." He smirks as he bends over to kiss you, his lips tracing the side of your jaw.

"I have to go," he whispers into your ear as he kisses your head. "I’ll see you after work, ok? Might be a late night, this case has been killing me," he continues, grabbing his briefcase perched against his nightstand. He hovers by the doorframe, smiling as he turns to leave.

"I love you, Starshine."

He’s gone by the time you whisper those three little words back out into the ether.

Click, click, click. Click, click, CLICK.

Your eyes shoot open once again, the room now bathed in the mid-morning light. You scramble out of bed.

No, you think. No, no, no, NO.

You pace around your room nervously, the clicking sound from the night echoing into the recesses of your brain. You scan the room for the source of your dread, your body shivering in fear. You run to the opposite side of the room, scanning every nook and cranny, every crevice and surface. "Where are you, fucker?" you think to yourself.

Click, click, click.

You realize the sound is coming from beneath you, your eyes quickly shifting to where your feet are planted on the old floorboards of your shared apartment. It’s an old apartment in the heart of Queen Anne, one of those charming wartime-era duplexes painted in pink with its charming crown molding and black and white checkered tiles in the kitchen. Your dream home, you once thought to yourself, Vi’s unit on the other side, her bedroom wall sharing your own - an inheritance you both shared after your mother died all those years ago.

Your mother.

Your heart shudders at her memory, the tears forming as you take another deep breath. You forcibly repress and push those memories aside, centering yourself as you remind yourself of the current problem on your hands. You look below you once again, the gaps of the aged wood showing the earth below. You focus on the gaps, your eyes scanning frantically until you see it - the silhouette of the deathwatch beetle, its obsidian shiny armor scampering away from you, as if it finally acknowledges your presence. You dive onto the floor in its direction, your eyes inspecting the gaps of the floorboards, your line of sight aligning with the death beetle once more.

You scamper back onto your feet hurriedly, running out of your bedroom into the hallway, your feet pounding heavily on the floor as you make your way to the hallway closet, wrenching the door open with hurried force as you scan for the ancient toolbox on the shelf. You yank the rusted toolbox out, spilling its contents onto the floor, not caring one bit about the mess that you’re making. Grabbing a flathead screwdriver, you hurry back into the bedroom, following the now-insistent clicking of the beetle. It managed to make its way above ground, scampering away as you furiously head towards it. It hurriedly makes its way across the way of the floorboards, you diving once again towards it, your hand stretched out as you try to slam onto it. The beetle is quicker and more agile than you, shimmying away from your hand as it falls through the crack of the floorboard. You lay your cheek on the cold floor as you pound on it furiously, willing the beetle to click as you listen intently for it. "This can’t be!" You whisper to yourself, your breath choking out in a panic.

"FUCK!" You scream in agony, grabbing the screwdriver that lay beside you. You wedge it against the edge of the floorboards, prying it open as you scan for the beetle. You start to pry off the boards around you until you make a sizeable gap for you to jump into, throwing the screwdriver aside and forcibly pry more floorboards until they lay haphazardly amongst each other in piles, completely surrounding you as you breathe heavily, the tears flowing freely on your face.

"Don’t do this to me!" You cry out, gasping for air as you crawl into the earth below, your nightgown now soiled as you frantically search around you. The clicking sound is becoming more frequent and louder, its eerie cadence becoming the only thing you can hear in your mind. "Come on!" You scream. "Please, don’t do this to me, not now, not him…. PLEASE! Haven’t you taken enough from me?! Haven’t we shed enough blood? Oh god…" You plead, your voice croaking out in desperation. You suddenly sit in a daze, your hair disheveled, the tears refusing to cease as your heart feels like it’s about to explode in your chest from pure exhaustion, from sheer adrenaline. It's then you realize that you’re suddenly surrounded by silence. You blink, scanning the room once more, the clicks having stopped and the deathwatch beetle nowhere to be found. You breathe a sigh of relief until suddenly the clicks ring out fast and furiously, a crescendo of fear and pain building within you until it ceases once more. You suddenly shudder, your body jolting violently, a single tear falling down the slopes of your face.

You’re still sitting there hours later, as the day has turned into night when your phone suddenly rings in the distance. You slowly climb out of the floor as you make your way to your dresser, silently picking up the phone and answering it, not bothering to check who it is, your hands trembling in fear.

"Ben?" You whisper shakily.

"Hey Starshine, it’s me, Din. Din Djarin?" You hear a deep sigh on the line. "...Are you there?"

"Listen. I’m going to need you to come down to the station… I’m sorry… it’s… it’s Ben." You hear him take a harsh breath as he speaks again. "I’m so sorry, Starshine…." His voice fades as your phone slips out of your grasp, the Seattle Police contact illuminating the screen as it hits the ground, his voice cutting through the silence as the sob you’ve been holding in erupts deep within your chest, you begin to wail and scream, falling to your knees.

"It was the curse, wasn’t it?" You scream as you storm into your aunt's house later that night, pacing frantically in the kitchen. “Because I loved him so much!”

Your aunts slowly walk into the room hesitantly, looking at your shaking frame nervously.

It’s your aunt Fennic who speaks first.

“We had no idea… when we cast that spell…”

“What spell?” You ask as your eyes shift between your two aunts, Omera’s eyes downcast in shame. “What are you talking about?!" She finally looks at you, her eyes filled with tears as she glances at her sister.

“Oh…” you shudder. “You didn’t. Please tell me you didn’t… my own flesh and blood...”

“You were so lonely, Starshine… we just… wanted to give you a little push… we didn’t expect you to fall in love.”

“WELL, I DID!” You gasp, grasping your chest as you walk out, grabbing the spell book from the other room, slamming it onto the kitchen counter as you frantically flip through the pages. “And I want him back!”

“You brought him into my life, and I want you to bring him back!” You say as you continue to flip through the pages. “I’ve never asked you for anything, I’ve never asked you for spells but do this! I know you can, I know you can bring him back!”

“We won’t do this” Omera speaks up as she approaches you. “We can’t do this” Fennic adds, crossing her arms.

“I know you can! I remember I found it here…” your fingers reading through the spell “I found the spell when… when mommy and daddy died.”

“Even if we did bring him back” Fennic starts, looking at Omera “… it wouldn’t be Ben.”

“… it would be something else, something dark and unnatural” Omera adds, reaching out to you.

“I DONT CARE WHAT HE COMES BACK AS, AS LONG AS HE COMES BACK… as long as he comes back” your voice breaks as you suddenly start to sob. “Please! Please do this for me!” You sob as you collapse onto the spell book, looking at your aunts pleadingly. “Please? PLEASE?!” You cover your mouth as you fall to your knees, Omera catching you as you cry onto her chest.

“I’m so sorry, Starshine.” She whispers as she strokes your back, looking at her sister as she turns to walk away.

The first time you hear the ominous click, click, click of the deathwatch beetle is the day you swear to yourself that you will never, ever fall in love again.

Authors Bits:

If you guessed that Ben was Ben Solo, you were right. I admit that I was once a Reylo - not so much now, but back in the day, so including him in this story was a treat... also, because Adam Driver <3.

Speaking about Ben, it's safe to say he's alluded to his death several times to Starshine, and there's several hints that I try to convey throughout. I'll miss our Benji, but we all know what we want, and he's definitely coming...

Taglist: @strawberri-blonde

#din djarin #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #modern din djarin #din djarin/reader #pedro pascal #the mandalorian #the mandalorian fanfiction #din djarin x female reader #din djarin x oc #din djarin x y/n #din djarin x original female character #A smol Ben Solo Cameo #ben solo x reader #Squint and you might miss Ben Solo #pedro pascal fandom #pedro pascal fanfiction

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acourtofthought · 1 year ago

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The Magic of Restoring a Land

While Elain and Lucien both have homes, SJM seems to be hinting that those current homes are a temporary thing:

(not to mention Elain was notably absent in the crossover)

Combine those hints with the following:

and it seems clear to me where Elucien's journey will be taking them.

I am enamoured at the thought of Elucien as High Lord and Lady as Day but I struggle to see it anytime soon because of Helion being such an important character to Rhys, to the LOA, and hopefully Lucien.

I wonder if SJM was being sly with the wording above:

"permanently station him at the Spring Court"

"The Spring Court had been made for someone like her"

What if she literally just told us that Lucien will permanently remain in Spring? In ACOFAS we know he wanted to return to living there but was unable to because of the lies Feyre spread. What if his good name was restored and it could once again be his home? What if he and Elain could turn it into the court he once hoped life in Tamlin’s court would be? I'm sure centuries down the line he'll play his part in Day (he could even travel there as emissary while living in Spring) but until then, Lucien isn't the type to sit and wait around to do something. And even Feyre said, "you enjoyed its pleasures and diversions. But don’t pretend you weren’t made for something more than that.” He's never going to be someone who waits for something to do, he wants purpose.

Also, when something is made for someone, there's a sense of belonging associated with the phrasing.

It wasn’t a guarantee that a High Lord’s firstborn would be his heir. The magic sometimes took a while to decide, and often jumped around the birth order completely. Sometimes it found a cousin instead. Sometimes it abandoned the bloodline entirely. Or chose the heir in that moment of birth, in the echoes of a newborn’s first cries.

“There are no High Ladies.” His brows furrowed, but he shook his head. “We’ll talk about that later, too. But yes, Feyre—there can be High Ladies. And perhaps you aren’t one of them, but … what if you were something similar?

I know some feel Elain can't be chosen as High Lady but why? Rhys tells us there can be High Ladies and just because there hasn't been one prior to the series doesn't mean it can't happen now that the Archeron sisters are having their stories told. Rhys made Feyre his High Lady so she wasn't exactly chosen by the magic but Feyre is still unlike anything that ever existed before. Elain as High Lady does not negate that Rhys and Feyre will most likely remain the most powerful fae in their lands.

Tamlin never wanted to be High Lord, it was never a fitting role for him, what if the magic always knew he was simply a place holder until the "moment of Elain's birth"?

What if Elain is made High Lady of Spring and Lucien stays by her side as interim High King (until the war is over)?

A major problem that Feyre and Nesta have when it comes to Elain is holding her back from doing more, from being unable to imagine her in certain situations. But I wonder if all the things they once doubted will come to pass-

I’d do it mostly to keep Elain from ever going to the Spring Court (a hint that Elain WILL end up in the Spring Court?)

I shook my head, trying not to imagine Elain subject to that … fire. (a hint that Elain WILL end up with Lucien and possibly perform in Fire Night with him?)

"Elain would faint to hear such thoughts." (Fire Night is very voyeuristic event, imagine if she were the main act?)

Being this is the current state of the Spring Court and it's manor -

Distant—because on the estate, nothing bloomed at all. The pink roses that had once climbed the pale stone walls of the sweeping manor house were nothing but tangled webs of thorns. The fountains had gone dry, the hedges untrimmed and shapeless. The house itself had looked better the day after Amarantha’s cronies had trashed it. Not for any visible signs of destruction, but for the general quiet. The lack of life.

A tomb. This place was a tomb.

No whisper of sound behind him. On any acre of this estate. Not even a note of birdsong.

Hunting for dinner—because there were no servants here to make food. Or buy it.

And though he roams these lands, he does not see or care for the neglect he passes, the lawlessness, the vulnerability.

- it seems so fitting that Elain and Lucien, two characters who are full of light and sunshine, who are extremely social, who make friends wherever they go and are able to convince anyone to do anything with their words, would be able to restore Spring with not only their personalities but the magic of their union.

"the magic that we create helps regenerate the land for the year ahead.”

With Elucien, the Spring Court could again be a place of light and happiness, filled with laughter and sound and as a result, a place of strength and an ally for the rest of Prythian.

#elucien #pro elucien #Prompt: magic #elain archeron #lucien vanserra #elain x lucien #lucien and elain #pro lucien vanserra #elain and lucien #pro elain archeron #elucien supremacy #lucien spell cleaver #elucienweek2023 #acotar theory

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boyfhee · 2 years ago

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· BELLADONNA · lee heeseung

SYNOPSIS · sometimes, love is not about the sacrifices you make, but about the selfishness you hide.

GENRE · thriller, historical

WORD COUNT · 5k

WARNINGS · slight mentions of drugs and alcohol, slight implications of sexual activity ( not between the main characters ) graphic descriptions of injuries and associated weapons, blood, descriptions of graphic acts of violence, descriptions of a person in a very bad state. over all, this could be disturbing to some extent so please watch out before reading.

NOTE · thought i was slaying with this but i got sleepy and idk what happened in the middle, you're on your own. for @koishua's there were two collab i am literally so embarrassed fr bff idk what's ab to come, the style part of my writing yeeted itself somewhere in between i have no recollection of what happens in the middle . vie i apologise in advance. OK A FEW THINGS BYR :

don't trust me on the history here. i don't know when atropa belladonna was introduced in korea, google doesn't help. just know, it isn't native to east asia

the clans mentioned here are real though none of them reigned in the timeline this fic is set in ( since monarchy ended in korea after the end of Japanese occupation, please correct me if i'm wrong ) so, every character here is rather a descendant than a ruling figure. moreover, i don't know if lee heeseung is from jeonju lee clan or not so please do not rely on my information

atropa belladonna is toxic and contains neurotoxic alkaloids. no it was never given to pregnant women ( it's dangerous ) the severeness of this drug is heavily ignored and watered down in this fic. do no associate with the plant / drug irl

the wedding 'dress' here refers to a hanbok

THIS IS FICTION ! DONT RELY ON THE INFO HERE im saying half of it is wrong

“The best thing about being identical twins,”— Ah-young hands over her school bag to you, carefully stepping across the short trail of bush that ran along the length of the roads inside the public tutoring house— “we can switch places and no one would ever know.”

PRESENT DAY, 1951

“Are you sure? Shouldn’t Ah-young be the one trying this?”

“She’s trying on another dress,” Your caretaker hissed. “It’ll suit her if it suits you. You both look the same, anyway,” The first time you met her was when you and your sister were five, in the yard, picking tangerines for your mother— Madame Bella, as people called her.

Belladonna, ‘beautiful woman’ in Italian, refers to a common cosmetic practice during the Renaissance, in which women used the plant to dilate their pupils, making their eyes look bigger. However, the name popularised in Myeongryebang in the late eighteenth century, originally assigned to women with bewitching beauty, who were known to be blessed by the Gods on the day of their birth. Atropa Belladonna, a plant introduced in Korea in the early sixteenth century, deemed illegal and marketed at a high price for those who desired it’s captivating effect, was taken and prepared into a syrup to be given in drops to women with milk in the first three months of her pregnancy, in hopes that she would give birth to beautiful children, and the bloodline will be graced by beauty for generations to come.

Its plant was grown by the previous Lady of your house— the Belladonna Residency— who was known for her blinding attractiveness. As time passed, legend dissolved along with other historical practices, leaving behind a few of those who continued to believe, your great grandmother being one of them. And on a full moon night, with nightshade in its full bloom, your mother was born.

“Oh, Miss Ko, I’ll take these two,” Ah-young stepped outside from her room, handing the dresses to your caretaker.“I can’t believe I’m getting married already,”

“Right, it feels like just yesterday you asked me to attend History lessons in your place because you disliked the teacher,” She sits next to you on your bed in her chemise, not caring enough to put on a shawl even during the peak of winters.

One of the earliest memories you have with your twin sister is about the two of you attending lessons in place of each other. Ah-young filled in for your piano lessons while you did the same for History. A sense of pride followed the two of you around every time you successfully fooled your tutors under your father’s nose. Perhaps, it’s the gift of being identical— to be present and yet, be completely invisible. To win games and lodge fear in your younger cousins was the best use you both make of your striking familiarities. Amusement drizzled through your eyes every time you and Ah-young came up with another childish trick, although it didn’t last longer than when you both turned ten and met Heeseung.

She takes your hand. “I wanted you to get married first, Yn,”

Ah-young, meaning, grace and kindness.

“Why?”

“It’s scary. I’ve seen how it was for mother. So, I wanted to get married after you, for you have always been the braver one,” Your mother’s name was Sang-hee, who was married to the one of the most influential jewel merchants— your father. Sang-hee, benevolence and pleasure, that’s what her name means. They say, the meaning that a person’s name holds reflects upon their life. Names are not just words to distinguish an individual from the other, but rather, they define the person for who they are, and what they will become in life. From your maternal grandmother, Min Hei-ran from the Yoheung Min Clan, to your father, Kim Yong-san, who is a descendant of Gwangsan Kim Clan, everyone has a few things common in them— versatility, grace, wealth, desire.

Names are for people just the way colours are for paintings.

“But now, I have Heeseung,” The frown of her face morphs into a gleeful smile. “I’m not scared anymore,” The earliest memory you have of envy and regrets was when you were ten, and when Ah-young brought Heeseung home to introduce him to you and consequently, the whole family.

Coming from Jeonju Lee Clan, or more appropriately, one of the descendants of the same, you knew Heeseung would hold an important place in your household. Your father focuses on establishing secure connections with prominent families while your mother, well, Miss Ko— who your father married when you and Ah-young were eight, after your birth mother hung herself from the cherry tree that faced your shared bedroom with your sister— pursued an unwavering goal of acquiring wealth and exploiting luxuries after becoming the Lady of the Belladonna Residence. Heeseung, though for you, was a ray of hope.

Not a day was spent without you intoxicating your blood with regrets of skipping piano lessons and making Ah-young take those for you. The reason could be anywhere between not wanting to trim your perfectly manicured nails, and the fear of facing failure after knowing that your hands were nowhere as swift as hers when they danced on the keys, to the very melodies they produced. In a letter shared with your grandmother after your mother’s death, she quoted, ‘A noble blood shall bleed like one,’ Eight year old you didn’t understand the weight of those words, but thirteen year old did then you saw Miss Ko, the woman who had claimed to love your father dearly, bring drunken men into her bedroom on nights your father didn’t come home for the sake of business. The fruits of Belladonna are poisonous, presumably deadly. The tree withstands the changing of seasons, from harsh monsoon winds to calloused winter streams laced with snow. Every leaf plucked and every scar that wounds the trunk, a heart so determined to protect what belongs to it, a poison that takes life from the ones who dare ingest it raw.

The tree is old but it never weakened. Your mother died wearing the royal hanbok that was passed down through generations by newlywed women, hiding the scars on her skin that tell tales of every moment that she spend being mistreated by your father, for a noble blood shall bleed like one, your mother never hung her head low even after a war she lost.

“Why do you love Ah-young?” It’s a question that ought to be asked long ago, when you had first heard about their relationship. Heeseung has been the man of every woman’s dream, the ideal son-in-law for every mother with a daughter. Yet, fate guided him towards the Belladonna tree in your backyard in the middle of the night, and you knew he’s the one you’d need. Despite meeting Ah-young first, you and him were closer than any other companions you have had. He would walk you around his estate, tell you about the distant seas you’ve only heard of in stories, of the girls that chimed around him and how it makes your skin itch with disgust, because no one deserved him more than you. If so, then why her.

“She’s beautiful,” He responded almost immediately.

“Does that mean you love me too?” And words fell off your mouth involuntarily. Maybe because you’ve been keeping them in for so long, this was bound to happen someday. “We look the same,”

A pause. He took a sharp breath in, averting his eyes away from you. It felt like ignorance at first, as if he’s avoiding your words, suppressing an urge to tell you how gauche they sound. The unsophisticated behaviour didn’t suit you, but every memory you share with him resurfaces every time the picture of him and Ah-young at the temple crosses your mind. Envying your sister is new, for you have always received the same things— clothes, toys, jewelries, footwears, anything materialistically possible. Neither of you have lived a life much different from each other. Seeing Ah-young has always been like seeing yourself, living with yourself, watching yourself do things in a different fashion. It has been as if you’ve been living your life with two different perspectives, but watching her with Heeseung felt foreign, like some parasite has taken your place and is living as if it belongs to her. But you can’t show it, so you continued with a chuckle, “I’m kidding,”

“I think it’s the colours,” You realised later that what you’ve been thinking of as sheer ignorance was actually hesitation. “Red suits her more,” He added, fingers fiddling over his engagement ring. “as for you, white has always been your colour,”

You’ve been thinking about white and red since that day.

Day and night, awake and while sleeping, eating, bathing; his words have been plaguing your mind ever since you had that conversation with him. ‘Red suits her more,’ it rings in your ear like the sinister cawing of a crow. ‘White has always been your colour,’ it comes off as the sweetest melody you’ve ever heard. You remember him ordering cherry topped desserts every time you both ate out, the reason being, cherries are his favourite fruit and red happens to be his favourite colour. Heeseung tells you about his preferences and you hear his talk as if they’re your own, and with every ounce of information that you learn about him, a new you is born. You never liked red but started wearing it more around him, red lipstick for the evening you were supposed to tell him your feelings before he sent a messenger notifying you that he wouldn’t be able to come. You wouldn’t have minded being disrespected if he hadn’t gone to the academy to visit your sister and congratulate her with red roses for winning the debate.

You rush to her room and shut the door the moment she steps out to finalise a few things regarding the wedding. You take her wedding dress out from the cupboard, there’s jealousy oozing through the cracks on your skin, fingertips leaving prints of greed all over the silk fabric as you stand in front of the mirror, one hand holding it in front of you while the other brushes over it’s soft creases, admiring it’s heavenly look. You’re picturing yourself in the attire, next to your Heeseung, celebrating your day, just like it was supposed to be from the beginning. Sisters for life, what everyone taught you both as children. ‘Because your sister is your biggest fear and your greatest weapon, treat her with tenderness,’ quoted your grandmother. But you’ve attended all the history lessons for her; and the lesson of History is that no one ever learns.

Your eyes traverse between the dress and the image of you in the mirror, heart sighing with admiration that screamed of wanting more. A smile makes it way up your lips, fingers wrapping tighter around the hem of your dress— a promise you make with the silk, to never let go. You twirl around, the image of you in that dress next to Heeseung getting clearer and clearer in your mind. You’ve spent your childhood playing into each other’s roles. You know it in your blood, the foot she steps forward first while walking, the turn she sleeps, the style she dances, the pattern she breathes. Your eyes land upon a photo frame of her and Heeseung from the day of their engagement. A sharp breath in, you straighten your back, mimicking her pose from the picture, a soft sigh out; sometimes, you think you are more like Ah-young than she, herself, could ever be.

“What are you doing?” The door flies open, your blood runs cold. The sight of your sister has never been so frightening.

Ah-young has been all about sharing, from elite delicacies to credits for things you didn’t even help her enough with, to reach the finished product. To think, she gets more of her traits from your aunt. You don’t remember your mother being much of a saint, except when it came to her daughters. You remember her cradling you in her lap on nights neither of you could sleep. While most of the mothers would recite tales of fairies and land of sweets, your mother told you about the horrendous acts of people, the traps set by family members, about how trust is nothing but giving someone the power over yourself. She’d warn you about the horrors of the nights, the limits that men would cross to strip a woman off her dignity, the acts your best companion would exhibit behind your back to step over you. She would teach you of ways you could secure your position in the hierarchy—

“Oh, well, I was seeing how I’d look in a wedding dress,” —and of ways you could acquire what if yours, and if, for some reason, you’re unable to find one, she’d teach you to make one.

“You would not look much different from me,” She mumbles up close, standing right behind you and holding you steady by your shoulder with one hand while the other lifts up your chin to face the mirror. “Just as pretty,”

“I love how dreamy it looks,” She takes the dress from your hand, putting it around herself and twirls like a toddler. There’s a faint blush on her cheeks, eyes glistening with all the happiness the world could offer to the mortals. Her words talk about her content with the dress and how perfect it looks, while your mind paints a picture of Ah-young standing next to Heeseung on your wedding day, and you know she’s trying to steal him from you just as she has always done. “The design, patterns, and such fine work of embroidery. Don’t you think so?”

You walk to the drawer behind her. “Yes, it’s spellbindingly beautiful,”

“I’ve always thought white of as an empty colour, it doesn’t quite fit me. But wearing this, I look pretty,” Every passing second erodes the patience you’ve been keeping in for years. Her voice stings in your ears, making you feel like they’d bleed out of pain. She looks at herself in the mirror, the smile never leaving her face, saccharine words of love leaving her mouth relentlessly; you want to shut her up. A knife from the kitchen would do the work, you can slice off her tongue, or take the embroidery box from her bedside table and sew the mouth with nylon. Your breath gets faster, shallower than it was, ears begging you to stop her from talking further, but she doesn’t shut up. You pick up the flower vase. “White must really suit me!”

And the next second, she’s on the floor, succumbing to unconsciousness while looking at you with eyes that call for help, despite knowing what you did. Her eyes shut close, silence takes over the room, you stand still with the flower vase in your hand. A part of you feels content, she’s gone, while the other fears the reality of being caught. You consider running away, but her words ring inside your head like a tinnitus, making it unable for you to think straight. And so, you drag her unconscious body under your bed, wiping the droplets of blood from the wooden floor with acetone, hoping it would go away. But the voices compel you to go further.

You snatch the dress out of her grip before kicking her under the bed. “White has always been my colour.”

A part of you hopes she never wakes up, for this is your chance. Another part of you wants her to be alright, because you wouldn’t be able to answer if someone asked for the two of you together. Though, the voice tells you to keep going— kill her, throw her, burn her, all sorts of things that have never crossed your mind in any situation. You could go, grab water and help her wake up, but the picture of you and Heeseng appears before your eyes, and suddenly you want her gone.

“Your sister is not coming down for dinner?” Miss Ko asks when only you show up for dinner instead of the two of you. She has been working for the Residence for years but still hasn't learnt how to distinguish between the two of you. She has been looking after the two of you ever since you both were four but, there hasn’t been one day where she actually cared about you and your sister. Ko’s goal was to earn as much as she could, to live a lavish life, and she would go beyond extents if it means she could get what she dreams for. Maybe, it’s another reason why you’ve always found her similar to yourself.

“She’s not hungry as of now,” You reply with a smile, a smile that otherwise dances on Ah-young’s face. “I’ll take her food upstairs,” A part of you wants to poison her dinner, easiest of all methods. Or maybe, you should melt her face with concentrated acids to create disfigurements and throw her by the city outskirts so that no one suspects who she actually is. You can stab her and hire guards who would feed her to hungry wolves and vultures. There are a number of other ways, burying her in your backyard and making it seem like she ran away— you ran away, because from today onwards, you were going to live as her, for her identity is all you need to make Heeseung yours.

“Ah-young, I have brought you dinner!” Your voice sounds cynically sweet, words laced with deadly adoration, hoping to see your sister, but the place where you left her remains empty. You pause, fingers gripping the diner plate firmly. “My lovely sister, you never learn, do yo—” And a strike from behind you sends you to the floor, pain radiating from the site of injury to your entire head. You turn your head around, your sister stands with her jewellery box in her hands, shaking with fear. Your hands are covered with the dinner you brought her, and now you wish they were coloured in her blood.

“Yn,” She crouches in front of you, putting the jewellery box aside, taking your face in her hands. “This is not you,” And listening to her talk like she actually knew you made your blood boil, so you grab her neck, holding her down to the floor, watching her tap your hands to let go while struggling to breathe, with a smile on your face. Her face turns pale, eyes shutting close before you let go, loosening the grip around her throat.

“No, this is you,” You brush strands of hairs off her face, hovering over the frightened figure that struggled and coughed to breath. “I am you, Ah-young, the one who’s getting married tomorrow,” A sinister touch graces your words, a smile that keeps growing wider with every sob that chokes out of her mouth. There’s an odd sense of satisfaction in the way she begs for her life, as if the Heavens are making her pay for stealing what belonged to someone else, and you wish you could relive this moment for as long as you wanted.

Her hand reaches out for yours. “Why are you doing this?” She cries out.

“Right, why do I have to do this?” And you sit back, pretending to think of reasons to justify your actions, although there is only one explanation: Heeseung, and you continue, “I am pretty. I have no reason to be jealous of you,”

“We’re literally the same,” Somehow, she manages to draw a chuckle out of her, attempting to pull herself up and sit straight. You’ve come to despise those words, ‘twins,’ ; ‘same,’ they make you feel suffocated. Ah-young always had the habit of using those against you, and every time those words rolled off her tongue, it felt like you'd ripped off your identity, not that you had one that belonged solely to you in the first place. You try to imagine Heeseung’s reaction in this situation, would he take your side or hers, or if he would even care who survives because you both look the same, it barely makes any difference.

But, somewhere inside, you know he would choose her over you. “That’s right,” There’s firmness in your voice, a sense of hatred, as your hand ghosts up her cheeks and grabs onto her hair. “Then why do you get to have all the good things?”

Perhaps, it’s the fragrance of the nightshade flowers that fill your room and intoxicate your senses, but the blood on your palms feels like jewels of a newlywed, and her pleas to be spared— music to your ears. You always had it in you, the will to fight back, the numbness to fear, the sparks of insanity that blew up and suddenly, your heart is in flames. Normality has always been a paved road, comfortable to walk but no flowers could grow. You were the flower that yearned to bloom, your sister was the tree taking up your sunlight. When a flower doesn’t grow, one shall change the environment it has been planted in, and not the flower itself. The soil must be tilled, weeds should be removed, pests are to be killed, anything unnecessary shall be discarded. You could care less about her silent wails trying to reach across the piece of cloth in her mouth as you dragged her to the basement from under the staircase. Her cries got louder with every step that her head hit down the stairs, across the cold concrete stinging her satiny skin, albeit not enough to cross the walls and reach for help, every second filled you with content; a step closer to the love of your life.

“Heeseung would never love you,” And silence. The words leave her mouth as soon as you remove the handkerchief. You wanted to hear her beg for her life, to plead forgiveness, to quietly hand over what you wanted if she feared death, but her words come off as a curse, as if she’s trying to anathematise your to-be married life with him, to take away the happiness you’ve been devoid of for years. You could fear her words and the wrath of Gods that may follow along as a consequence of your actions, but you have the desire, and nothing to lose.

For you have always been a child of war, and Ah-young is simply born with tragedy in her blood.

The basement served as a cell for solitary confinement for the previous family who lived in the house, for children who displayed unacceptable behaviour and disobeyed their parents, for servants who said more than what was needed, for wives who dared standing on the same level as their husbands. The walls of the house have been renovated over the years, decorated with exquisite wallpapers everytime they have been changed. People fawn upon its beauty, unaware of the secrets it hides deep down below. The walls of the basement have seen a lot over the decades, centuries, even, and the decoloured blood stains on the floor and corners describe each of those stories. One would quiver under the worn out ceiling that feels that it holds eyes and spirits of the dead beyond its arches. Though, Ah-young stares at you with resentment in her stare, one that was filled with hope up until a few minutes ago.

You could gauge her eyes out, the ones that she’s so proud of, the ones that hold all the memories of Heeseung that should’ve been yours. Or, you could carve her plum skin with incisions and lacerations, painful enough that her soul withers inside, deep enough to leave scars that would make it difficult for anyone to believe she's the daughter of the most beautiful woman in the state. You could do things no one would do to their siblings— the ten year old didn’t know a day like this would come— but some things are inevitable. The scissors are in your hand, she is in front of you, slouched down, hands tied behind her back with wrists that have been bruised by the rope, oh so poor eyes gleaming with pain and hatred wishing they could do something. The scissors are in your hand, and your hand is on her cheek, the cold metal sending shivers down her spine as you run it down her face— the game was yours to play.

“Hell, you look so much like me, I can’t even kill you,” You whisper close. The scissor is on her neck, it’s as if you could fear her blood rushing through the arteries, right under the skin. You slide it across her throat, pressing it on her collarbones— Ah-young draws in a quick breath— you pierce through her skin, a minute cut, single tear rolling down her cheek that lands on the back of your hand; it feels like you’re killing yourself. “Well, I guess we’ll get to see each other around, yes?”

You discard the scissor somewhere behind you, taking a few steps back, watching her fall down to the floor, eyes squeezed shut in excruciating pain. It’s nowhere near what you’ve experienced all these years, alone and in regrets, guilt and depreciation, watching the person you love fall in love with someone else. But, love doesn’t ask for sacrifices, for kindness. Love isn’t about letting go, but instead, it’s about holding onto, love is about crossing the limits to prove that you’re deserving of it; because love has always been about the selfishness your heart conceals. You pick up the handkerchief, your sister chanting trails of nos while shaking her head, throwing her leg around frantically to keep you away, but your hand grabs her face, nails digging mercilessly into her skin, enough to draw blood. A moment of silence, ‘stop’ she begs you with her eyes, ‘die’ you tell her with yours, and put the cloth around her mouth, tying it behind her head.

Tears fall further. Your lips curl up.

“He’s right, red suits you the best,” You wipe your thumb on her temple, over the loose clot that had formed on her wound. Your smile grows wider, you pluck out the mass of dead cells, letting the pus and blood ooze out as her muffled wails fill the room. Your hands cup her cheeks, a touch of pity, and you lean in towards her forehead, a kiss of death. “Goodnight, dear sister,”

Perhaps, it’s the game of fates, how destiny plays into the hands of those who continue to fight without fearing the aftermath. The irony of happiness and despair— they go hand in hand. Sunlight graces upon the lands and your handmaidens are ready with everything they need for the bride, not you— Ah-young; unaware of the truth that lies beneath the grounds they walk onto, the truth under the enchanting smile that makes everyone believe in the tricks you’ve played.

The eyes leave you unattended for minutes and you're on your way to the basement. The air inside smells of urine; your nose scrunches in disgust. A lot could happen in one night, you expected to greet her corpse by dawn, for she has always been as fragile as a dandelion, but you’re met with her exhausted body that dragged itself to the cover, above the dusty rags to save itself from the deadly cold of winter nights.

“Look at you,” You say it in a way she would’ve said it if she could. It wasn’t intentional, you’ve just always been more like her sister, more than anyone ever knew. A chuckle rolls off your tongue as you walk to her, pulling her rolled up chemise down her thighs, admiring the scratches on her legs that she had gotten while dragging herself over the concrete and the numerous little red spots left by the mosquitos on her arms and feet. Even with chapped lips that beg for water and hands that are tied to even wipe off the nasal discharge off her face, her eyes spell of indignation at the sight of you, brimming with fear and yet so full of anger and detest. The blood had dried off her face, the wound inflicted on her collarbone inflamed to stages it could possibly be home to infections her soul would have never heard of. You could barely say she was your sister, that she was even a part of you, let alone being the splitting image, because you were standing in your best dress while she was lying in the dust that had soaked the blood off the injury on the back of her head. She looks defeated, head hung low, like a pest that had been hunted by the predator and is now ready to be eaten. Her eyes ask a question— why, and nothing more. Perhaps, an answer would help her survive without food and water longer than her body could sustain itself. You take a step towards her, accidently hitting your elbow against the corner of a rusted iron cupboard and wincing in the process. She laughs through the cloth, you restrain yourself from coercing into picking up the scissors thrown around and slitting her face from one end to the other, making sure she smiled forever.

You grit your teeth, fist closed tight, eyes glaring into her putrid sight. Her condition makes you feel good about yourself, that you don’t need to feel threatened by such lowly lives, until your eyes land onto something shiny on her fingers, and it belongs to you. She needed an answer why, you have nothing to say for she’s smart, except what she used to tell you all the time:

“The best thing about being identical twins,”— You take her hand, slipping out the engagement ring from her finger before sliding it on your own— “we can switch places and no one would ever know.”

note : if u made it this far ,, thank u i luv u pls lmk what u think im itching to know 😔

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