eternalchaoschocolaterain

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This animation in the newest quest 🥹🥰

Aren't they adorable?

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I chose the matching outfit this time. It's not Quinn, but it looks good on her

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Quinn saying why she likes Merula. JC nailed that one

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Merula -> Medusa??

Ouhhhh what a cutie

It actually fits though

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Fui a aniversario de una amiga, Mérula se sorprendió de ver al profesor Snape tan sonriente al estar con su bella esposa y me dio risa por que ella también es así, solo mírenla ahora, ni siquiera se da cuenta de cómo me mira jajajaja

Amor y postres la mejor combinación 💚✨

Ya casi es san valentin biene muy bien el ambiente romántico 😊🙏🏻💕💙💚

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bellatrix sketch. why did i DEVOUR that hair structure, maybe i'm glazing myself but it looks so good to me

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5. Sown in Sorrow, Grown in Trust | 9 450 words

NSFW - 🔞 | ⚠️ Various physical, psychological & emotional abuse | Ominis Gaunt x OFC - #Evinis | Currently 40 260 words

Tags: angst & hurt/comfort, strangers to lovers, child abuse, developing relationship, smut, dark themes, trauma, Dark Arts, violence, POV Alternating, sexual tension etc.

Summary: Ominis Gaunt, the pure-blood wizard, struggles to thrive in the stifling shadow of his family manor. A prisoner of a heritage he rejects.

Evelyne Lavandin, on the other hand, is a precocious Muggle-born witch who has been uprooted since people greedy for power and money tore her away from her family.

Two characters and two solitudes separated by everything. And yet, who still believes that encounters are the fruit of chance?

Credit: This magnificent cover is the work of the talented @/tamayula-hl [her post].🙏💚

Snippet from this chapter under the cut and the link to AO3:

Since their conversation in the Undercroft, Evelyne has been vanishing. Not a sudden disappearance, but a gradual, insidious fading. Like a devil's snare slowly moving away from a ray of sunlight. She no longer crosses his path, except in class where ‘chance’ sometimes places them side by side. But even then, she surrounds herself with an invisible wall. Every gesture, every word, is calculated to keep him at a distance. Unbearable.

Ominis can feel it. It's not just a distance. It's a carefully orchestrated escape. And he's powerless to stop it.

The few words she speaks to him are vague courtesies, banalities emptied of substance. The weather. A remark about an assignment. A pointless comment about Peeves's latest pettiness. Empty words that resonate inside him like blows. Not because they are harsh, but because they are empty of her.

After trying so hard to to be his friend, now she's moving further away, and the further she backs away, the more Ominis wants to close the distance. He can't stand her slipping through his fingers like an eel or a grass snake. A venomous thought hisses insistently in his skull.

What if she tries to find the Scriptorium despite his warnings?

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Have this doodle I absolutely despised yesterday while super exhausted but actually quite like today :>

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I drew this 3 weeks ago, looks like I won't draw a third frame, so let it lie here

I also open my question button again, feel free to ask me something about the show if you're interested in my opinion 👀. Or send me pics of your cats ...but don't write me shit about catradora's toxicity or I'll bite you

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The seasonal event shop had this outfit as an option and it's even weirder and creepier than I thought 😂😂😂

Did other MC's get the option to be their partner's double or just MC's dating Merula?

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✨Madame Maxine✨

Continuing the character line-ups with a BIG one (pun intended)🤗 Madam Maxine is a fierce woman, a force to be reckoned with. In the books, she is describes as a very beautiful woman, with black hair and a beak-like nose. She dresses in fine velvet and satin robes and wears big jewels. This, I thought, deserved to be handled with the respect Madame Maxine commands. She is beauty and she’s grace. She WILL punch you in the face, if you don’t look out.

What a character, this was great to draw!✨

As for the song, I know Stromae is not French, but Flemish, yet I thought this song fit the character and I love his music. So, sue me :)🎤✨

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☠️Bellatrix Lestrange☠️

Azkaban has not been good to her 🤨☠️ This woman is a crazy bitch, but man do we love to hate her✨

Last year, I did her younger version :)

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Quinn 'passive aggressive' Lee

Merula is onto her. Because this is what she would've said without Barnaby there

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Esta es la presentación formal de mi niña, puse lo más importante y sus etapas de crecimiento 🥺✨️

Esta chiquita, amo mucho a mi beba, Mérula y yo no queríamos dejarla ir, verla en vacaciones no es suficiente 😭💖

Si quieren más contexto de ella les aconsejo leer una historia que acabo de subir a Wattpad:

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Mérula es mi puffskein jajaja

Por estas cosas no existían los celulares, ya hubiera manchado la reputación de hogwarts 🤣💚✨️

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Bellatrix and Voldemort. Happy New Year!

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I feel like I keep saying the same things to you, but the first thing that came to mind after reading this was beautiful.

It makes so much sense that this would be his fear. Especially when the kid takes an interest in the dark arts.

The silent comfort between him and Evelyne is so touching.

Lovely short 💚

Blood will out 🐍

Rating : T | Ominis Gaunt x Unnamed MC (or F!reader) | angst | Established relationship |

Summary: Ominis Gaunt wrestles with the growing fear that his son might succumb to the family legacy he has spent his life trying to escape.

A/N: I believe that, as a father, one of Ominis’s greatest fears would be his child following a dark path, tied to the toxic legacy of the Gaunts. This idea led me to imagine his stress and doubts as he begins to notice possible signs in his son.

When I wrote this, I had in mind the French saying "Bon sang ne saurait mentir," which means that everyone is the product of their heritage, their lineage. Instinctively, I wanted to translate the expression as "Blood tells no lies," but I later discovered that "Blood will out" could convey a similar meaning.

I hope you will like it🤞

The silence of the night, heavy as a lead blanket, seemed to want to crush him. Ominis Gaunt sat in the darkness of his study, his fingers nervously stroking the ebony wand in front of him. In that touch, a man whose inner struggles kept him awake long after his son had fallen asleep sought comfort in vain.  

His eyes were open to the darkness he could not see, but his mind was haunted by a ghost of memory: his child.

Twelve years old.

Too young to understand everything.

Too young, and yet…

Through the familiar pulsations of his wand, he could perceive the delicate hands of his son, fragile yet disturbingly assured, caressing the yellowed pages of a grimoire on the dark arts. It was no ordinary book. The child had stolen it from Sebastian’s dusty library, a deliberate choice, too precise to be dismissed as mere happenstance. Each turn of the pages felt like a whisper of their family’s cursed legacy — a legacy Ominis had fought so hard to bury.

A cold blade twisted in his chest as the question, implacable and cruel, formed in his mind: was this simply curiosity? The fruit of a keen and insatiable intelligence, too mature for its age?

Or… Was it the first venomous stirrings of an inheritance that refused to die, seeping into his son’s veins like an ancestral and irreversible poison? 

He swallowed hard, his thoughts veering towards darker corners. There had been other fleeting moments, unsettling in their familiarity, where his son’s voice carried an authority that chilled him to the core. Too similar to the sharp commands of his father or the merciless judgements of Marvolo to ignore. In those moments, Ominis did not hear the innocence of a child. He heard the distorted echoes of spectres he had thought long buried. Even the most banal words seemed to bear the weight of a lineage clawing to reclaim its place.

Damn, Ominis was no longer certain of anything. Each glance at his son felt like a cruel wager, a precarious balance between the boy he knew and the shadow he dreaded. Ominis gritted his teeth.

Was it still possible to resist this fatal legacy? Or had he already lost the battle, despite all his struggles, prayers, and sacrifices? 

A hoarse sigh escaped his lips. He closed his eyes, but this only amplified the chaos in his head. The cruel laughter of the spectres of his past flayed his thoughts behind his closed eyelids.

Manigoldo Gaunt, or the brutal authority of a father who crushed his childhood.

Atropa Gaunt, the poisonous charm of the deadly flower that gave her mother her name.

His brothers and sisters, led by Marvolo, cold and implacable, perfect instruments for perpetuating the abominations of their lineage.

Ominis had thought he was different. For years, he had clung to the fragile hope that his wife’s love and blood would be enough to shape a different future for their son. But now... now that hope seemed distant, as fragile as the lingering scent of a wilted flower. 

His breathing became jerky. The spiral of his thoughts accelerated, tearing him apart. His grip on the wand tightened, as if the polished ebony could anchor him against the storm within.

A creak.

The door.

The sound, discreet as it was, was enough to break the oppressive cycle of his mind. His muscles tensed instinctively —a reflex honed by years of fear— but the faint scent of wildflowers and freshly cut grass reached him first.

She was there.

Silent as ever, she slipped into the room, rounded his desk and settled astride his lap. Her arms went round him, a gesture without expectations or demands, betraying an affection that no words could express.

No promises.

No useless words.

Ominis lifted a trembling hand, his fingertips tracing the curve of her shoulder and down to her elbow, grounding himself in her presence. His head rested against her chest, and in the silence broken only by his breath, he could hear her heart beating.

Slow.

Regular.

A rhythm that whispered a truth he too often forgot: he was not alone.

His arms closed around her like a castaway clinging to a piece of wood. Her smell calmed his anxiety, but didn’t make it go away.

She couldn’t do it.

And she knew it.

They shared the same brutal lucidity: certain burdens cannot be lightened. They could only be carried together.

A furtive, gentle kiss touched his hair. The warmth that enveloped him contrasted with the coldness of his thoughts. But even in that fragile moment, the acidic threat of his father crept into his mind, shattering the precarious balance. His arms tightened around her, a dull fear gripping his throat.

“Blood will out.”

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