#chapter 10 maybe

[poolboyatthevampiremansionx]

Ancaux save me

[etrevil]

asagiri really said a young girl's trauma should start young

[newttxt]

another comic for “utilities included” skfkskdjsjs

this time for chapter two 😅

masterpost

[maaxverstappen]

help me hold onto you | T | 9/13

f1driver!max and streamer!charles

The man—Charles, Max assumes—sounds French. He loves that. He should be used to a French accent, he was forced to converse with Pierre often enough, but it sounds different coming from Charles. More melodic. Almost similar to someone he used to know once. “And that made me think,” Charles says, voice bellowing from Max’s speakers. “That it was stupid that we didn't have carrots before. Like, come on, it's a farming game.” Max has no fucking idea what the hell he is on about.

or: Max is lonely and finds Charles streaming on Twitch.

based on this prompt sent to @f1prompts

[forgotmysword]

[whumblr]

Shattering

Crossed out - Continued from ch.9 - Prologue

-

“Nothing to clean this time, sir?” Lucas bit when he was dismissed from Nero’s office after a relatively quiet evening. Yeah. He was still sour about having to clean up his own blood that Nero punched out of him last time.

Nero, unfortunately, was always sour.

He didn’t even deign to give him an answer. A hint of exasperation crossed his expression and he replied in his own way. He reached for the glass of water on his desk and threw it with all his force at Lucas.

It flew just past his face and Lucas flinched back hard. “Whoa!”

He turned just in time, throwing his arms in front of his face to avoid a second assail of splintered glass as it shattered against the door.

Dumbfounded, he looked at Nero, to the thousand pieces on the floor and back, mouth slightly agape, shock pumping through his veins.

“There is, actually,” Nero merely said, calm as if that outburst never happened.

Lucas reared up for an ‘are you out of your fucking mind?!’ but before he could even open his mouth, Nero glared up at him, instantly shutting down any back talk.

“Clean that up,” he said, maintaining eye contact. “Before I’ll make you kneel on the shards for the rest of the evening.”

His fight left him in a laboured exhale, his shoulders relaxing. “I’ll… be right back. Sir,” he said haltingly. He carefully stepped around the glass, splinters crackling under his feet. Moments later – now knowing where to collect cleaning materials – he returned and sank to the ground, scraping glass into a dustpan.

Nero watched him over his folded hands. “If I hear so much as a crunch under my boot later…”

Yeah, yeah, Lucas forced back, you’d smash my face in the remains, yeah I know. “Yes, sir,” he replied instead, dutifully, only the barest hint of resentment in his voice. He crept over the floor, reaching with the brush to the far corners catching every splinter of glass that skittered away, careful not to place a knee or rest a hand on the floor.

As he stood the glass jingled against the plastic dustpan and he shot Nero a glance that spelled, ‘satisfied?!’.

Nero merely replied with a curt nod up. Dismissed.

The next evening he didn’t bother with niceties as he entered the office. “What’s on the agenda for this ev—"

Nero barely pointed a finger to his lips and Lucas instantly fell silent.

He watched as Nero languidly pushed himself from his chair. Heard the leather creak, the tires squeak against the floor, the groan of wood when Nero leaned on the desk as he walked around it. Slow footsteps, heavy thumps, a squeal of rubber against the floor, and as he approached, he took a final step almost as in slow motion. And Lucas heard a very feint crushing sound under his boot.

He froze up. Swallowed.

Nero noticed. “That means I don’t have to explain. Good.” He stepped back, pressed a finger to the floor and straightened up again, brushing his finger almost right under Lucas nose. A tiny glass crystal perched on his fingertip.

The tension in the room was palpable. In fact, Lucas was sure it radiated from his rigid frame. Not a word was spoken and he was sure the thundering of his heart could be heard loud and clear. He knew what this meant. But hope still had a tight grasp on him and he didn’t dare shatter the tension, because speaking out didn’t have the most amazing results lately.

Nero moved slowly, eyes on Lucas’, and reached out and picked up the empty vase on the filing cabinet next to them. Probably prepared this afternoon because Lucas had no memory of any decorations brightening this gloomy room.

He let the glass fall. Lucas closed his eyes in resignation at the following crash.

The shards pooled under him, larger than the ones from yesterday where the force behind Nero’s throw had pretty much obliterated everything larger than a pebble. Now, sharp pieces poked up, ready to dig into the skin of anyone careless enough to slice a finger along the edges.

“Get on your knees.” Nero rested his hand on his belt, near the baton.

“You can’t—” Lucas started in a feeble voice but fell silent when the hand casually slid over to rest on the handle of the baton. This was going to happen. And if Nero were to strike him, he’d crash down right into the glass. Maybe, if he was cautious and lowered slowly, his trousers would take the brunt.

“You seem very sure about what I can and can’t do.”

“Yeah, I have this little reference guide. It’s called the law.”

The bit of fire flared up but instantly quashed out again as he looked at the pointy spikes under him.

He took a step back, attempting to do as he was told and sink to his knees, just not, you know, right there. But Nero grabbed him by the collar, held him firmly where he was and simply said, “No.”

Lucas swallowed again. Then bent his knees and slowly, right under Nero’s expectant gaze, lowered himself down. Very carefully he rested his knees on the pieces and gradually let more weight shift forward. He winced, but luckily the glass didn’t fully pierce skin. All he felt was an uncomfortable pressure – that would probably turn worse and worse if Nero kept him here until ten again – and light pricks against his skin as the glass dug through the heavy cotton of his trousers.

Larger shards snapped under the weight, smaller pieces merely crunched uncomfortably under bone, and luckily the splinters couldn’t get through the rough cotton to nestle into sensitive skin. His shoulders firmly lodged high up into his neck, as if he would somehow weigh more and put more pressure on the glass if he were to lower them. But he slowly started to relax. There was no blood, merely a few tiny pinpricks in his trousers and while it hurt, it wasn’t as bad as he’d thought.

He could do this. As long as he stayed still and was careful.

The challenge in his eyes must’ve been visible as he glared up.

All of a sudden, Nero took a firm step towards Lucas and in one swift movement pulled his baton from his belt, aimed a backhanded strike straight at his face and—

Lucas recoiled hard. “No!” He threw his hands up, scooted back on his knees. Cried out as the glass dug harder into his knees as he braced himself. A brush of air that signaled the force of Nero’s blow swiped at his cheekbone. But the blow didn’t land.

His eyes squeezed shut in anticipation, in pain, and he slowly peeked out when he wasn’t blasted away. The baton hovered right in front of his face. A shivery exhale of relief hesitantly brushed over his lips. But the relief was a short one as a sharp pain stabbed into his knees.

Nero merely put the baton back on his belt, walked back to his seat, and slid the piece of paper to the front of his desk. “You know the drill.”

Lucas bared his teeth in a grimace. His eyes watered and he slowly pulled himself back upright on his knees. This time he did feel a wetness seep into his trouser leg and a sharp pressure that didn’t let up. With each micro movement he felt the shards stab deeper into his skin. Every wince only made things worse. And if that wasn’t enough, he could already feel the familiar numbness creep up.

His previous strategy of shifting his legs as much as possible was no option this time. He was sitting in a pool of glass and he could already see long shards precariously close waiting to snap under his weight and bury into his legs. Leaning forward on hands and knees was definitely out of the question. Keep his hands off the floor at all times.

The static in his legs mingled with dull throbbing pressure of dozens of unyielding crystals poking against unyielding bone.

“Pick up the pieces around you—no. Stay like that. When you’re done, then you can get up,” Nero said after half an hour in an unexpected display of mercy.

Or, well, was it?

In his eagerness Lucas bent forward and not only stabbed his knees even further, but also sliced his finger open when he picked up a shard and winced at the same time. It jingled back against the hard floor and he took a deep breath. His legs were already so numb, if he wasn’t careful he’d fall right into the broken pieces. Easy does it, slowly does it.

He carefully picked up the larger pieces first, gathered them into the unbroken base, and looked at Nero when all that remained were the pieces smaller than the tip of his finger. Nero shook his head.

A frustrated growl seeped into his exhale. He wiped the blood away, before he’d have to clean that off the floor too, and pressed his fingers into the tiny shards, picking them up one by one.

It still took him half an hour. Only his muffled grunts and small clinking noises of the crystals falling on glass broke the silence. He skidded across the floor, the pieces under his knees following right along or finding fresh undented patches of skin to bruise as he inched back and forth to reach the pieces further away from him.

Only when mere splinters remained, Nero nodded and allowed him to get up. To get the dustpan again.

Straightening his knees felt like all muscles snapped like those crackle sticks and he couldn’t help a hiss. His trousers weren’t soaked but there were distinctive red stains welling up from the inside out.

He resisted the urge to rest his hands on his thighs and bent forward, stretching his muscles. There were probably still sharp pieces stuck in the fabric. At least he didn’t have to do this on bare feet in his boxers. So to make sure Nero didn’t have a reason to make him walk on fresh glass tomorrow, he swiped the entire floor extra well.

He didn’t look to Nero for approvement, just kept working in silence, prolonging his own torture with squats and strains. And when he was finally done, the word of mercy was delivered in an unimpressed baritone:

“Dismissed.”

-

Continued here

Tag list: @gala1981 @chaotic-orphan @lolrpop @andithewhumper @tippytappytyping

@suspicious-whumping-egg @cherrychupachup @alexmundaythrufriday @defire @withdrawingramen

@light-me-on-pyre @treasureguardingdragon @notactuallyluska @fortunately-cool-penguin

[myokk]

Eloise fucking Babbit.

Her name - her full name - kept replaying in his mind over and over as he practically ran through the castle in a furious haze. The other students parted around him with ease, clearly not wanting to get in his way. It was so obvious. How had he missed it?

Why did she have to be a Babbit? Why couldn't she just have had Hubert Abbot or...or Valerius Prince as a brother instead? He thought that he could deal with her having an absolutely boring Hufflepuff or even a Gryffindor as a sibling instead of Leo Babbit.

Yes, yes. Slytherins stick together, and all that. They were supposed to show a unified front against the rest of the houses. But some people were just so insufferable that he had a difficult time remembering that one specific unspoken rule.

(But he wouldn't think about last year, now, would he?)

Seeing her next to them, the family resemblance was clear. She looked just like her brother. The same unruly hair, hazel eyes. They could be twins. But...instead of seeing those hazel eyes filled with barely controlled hatred, today they had been looking at him warmly and mischievously and with trust. Maybe that's how she had tricked him into letting his guard down around her. How she had somehow hoodwinked him into not realizing who she was.

Sebastian had always prided himself on his astute observation skills, his intuition, his quick thinking. It wasn't pride - at least that's what he told himself. (If it was pride, it was well-earned.) He didn't think it was necessarily a bad thing to be aware of his own strengths and acknowledge them. Not like those stupid Gryffindors, for example, who were extremely prideful (the bad kind) and yet falsely humble at the same time. Who preached morality and good without even thinking of nuance, who thought of themselves as above the rest just because they weren't willing to push the limits of what magic was capable of.

It didn't matter that Eloise had frozen in her tracks as soon as she'd heard her mother's voice. Or that flash of fear he'd seen in her widening eyes when she looked up at him. Or the look that she'd given him as her mother had dragged her away from him. Or the twinging feeling he'd felt in his chest at that look.

Or or or.

It didn't matter. She was a fucking Babbit and he knew what that meant. He couldn't trust her. He had even told her about Anne. Anne. Maybe it was a good thing Eloise was a Babbit, after all. He had let himself forget about his sister's curse for a small while, back when he was talking to Eloise on their walk to Hogsmeade. Never mind that it actually felt kind of nice to just talk without those thoughts lingering in the background of his mind. He needed to stay focused.

Sebastian blinked and realized he'd ended up in the Undercroft. He hadn't entered it since last term and the emotions he had felt all of last year threatened to overwhelm him. That obsession. The fear and uncertainty and urgency that shadowed every moment. He let the feelings wash over him again, using them to his advantage to push all thoughts of Eloise to the back of his mind. Yes, it was much better that she turned out to be Babbit's sister. He had almost let himself get distracted today.

He took some calming breaths and then sat down and began to scour through the books he had piled up in the Undercroft, looking for any and all mentions of shrivelfigs and taking meticulous notes.

Shrivelfigs:

Native to Abyssinia - unclear when they were first discovered due to the traditions of passing down knowledge orally

Hardy plants that can thrive in virtually any condition, including subzero temperatures (note: research growing conditions in relation to healing)

Used in the Shrinking Solution, Elixir to Induce Euphoria, Thunderbrew…

(escorting Eloise to Hogsmeade had been the most fun he'd had in ages)

Egyptians have the first recorded use of the shrivelfig in their experiments (note: not the first uses…)

They recorded its medicinal properties, which include:

Removing pain - properties in the leaves (note: unclear if truly gets rid of pain, or just the perception of pain);

When its purple juice is combined with any part of the billywig, has the property to induce euphoria;

Cannot be mixed with powdered horn of a bicorn in any way (note: examine the arithmancy charts for these two ingredients to see just why they cannot be mixed)

Egyptians first introduced the shrivelfig to the Greeks

(he hadn't even minded being bested by her in the duel)

Alizon Pendragon (note: relation to Merlin?) cursed his children and used shrivelfig properties to cure them. Unclear what else he used in these cures…(this part underlined and starred and what else…what else…)

Sebastian stopped writing and stared at his notes. His handwriting was small and precise and neat: another thing he was proud of. His parents had impressed upon him and Anne the importance of education and his mother was very strict with how they wrote. But thinking about them made his insides twist up and his heart burn so he quickly put his quill back to the paper and worked on his notes.

He really did try to be engrossed in the research. He had taken out the shrivelfig and placed it on the desk before him as he worked, as a physical reminder of what he was doing. However, as he moved on to the arithmancy charts for the shrivelfig (quite interesting, really), he found he couldn't concentrate like he normally did.

His traitorous mind kept wandering back to her.

Last night, contrary to what he had said, he hadn't really paid attention when the new student rushed in and caused a stir among the students. As was becoming a more often occurrence, he was in a terribly awful mood.

Saying goodbye to Anne for another year was almost more than he could handle. It was just another mark against him, more proof that he was a failure. Even his twin was telling him to stop stop stop trying to find a cure. That she'd accepted her fate. He should, too.

Utter bullshit.

(But really, did she think those empty words were good enough? Hadn't she known him her whole life? Was it a lack of respect that made her think he would believe her? That she actually thought he didn't know she was trying to fool him? She had been poisoned by him. Giving up because of that man's words.)

Anne tried telling him that she'd accepted her fate. That she could see how his newest obsession was slowly ruining his life. And wasn't it horribly unfair that as she was slowly wasting away, that he, the perfectly healthy twin, was doing it to himself, too? Of his own volition?

Obsession. What a funny word. When Sebastian was younger, it was a word used fondly amongst his family. For his whole life, there had always been something. Something that would keep him occupied and have his interest. As a child, he remembered when it was the magical creatures living around their hamlet. One summer, when he and Anne were eight, they had spend days on end staking out a bowtruckle nest in the little copse next to their house.

Their parents had been charmed by their nightly updates, and had bought them books on magical creatures and empty notebooks to jot down their observations and draw. Every night, they would gather around the notebooks and he would watch in wonder as his father pulled out his wand to enchant the drawings to move and -

(No. He had already told himself that thoughts of them were off limits.)

He had truly noticed the new student when she was already sitting on the stool with the sorting hat on her head. Ominis would later tell him that she had caused quite the entrance. (He wouldn't know, stewing in his own fury and disgusting self-pity as he had been). The Great Hall was completely silent, everyone watching the spectacle that was a new fifth-year be sorted.

She sat there for five minutes.

Nobody sat there for five minutes.

When they hat finally shouted out "SLYTHERIN!" nobody clapped. Whispers everywhere. They all stared at her - had her name even been mentioned?

And Imelda, of course it was Imelda, had called her over because of course she couldn't sit with the first-years. Maybe in a different year at a different time, Sebastian would have been the one to notice and call her over. He had always been good at that sort of thing. Before. The girl was one of them now, after all. Slytherins stick together and whatnot.

The girl - Eloise - was quiet at the dinner table, seemingly more content to listen than to speak. Sebastian could just tell that she was hiding something.

Ominis had given him a look (how did he even do it?) and Sebastian had tried to make an effort. Although he couldn't have remembered what he said that night even if he were being threatened at the end of someone's wand. He did remember reminding her to eat, as lost as she was in her thoughts. What was making her so melancholy?

Ominis and Anne, working together to try and restore Sebastian back to the boy he had been before.

Everything was supposed to be normal.

Except, it wasn't.

Still, Sebastian was content to play the role assigned to him, content to try and make this a good year. He knew it was futile and when that bitch Victoria just had to go and mention Anne...well. Sebastian wasn't stupid. He could feel the limits of his patience beginning to crack and wasn't it better to just get up and leave rather than stay and curse her?

All in all, he thought he had done just fine for the first night of the second year without Anne.

Sebastian blinked blearily at his notes. He had been working on the shrivelfig arithmancy charts - maybe there would be useful information for him to be found in them. He was doing the advanced charts - that included more precise measurements and more complicated methodology. NEWT level. Sebastian had always had a head for numbers, though. He supposed that they were another of his obsessions.

Calm nights, crickets chirping, a floating candle behind them as Sebastian and his mother worked through arithmatic equations. The smell of bread baking, the click of knitting needles making sweaters. He was always very curious as a child, and his mother very patient with him and his endless questions. She would give him equations to work on while she was at school teaching, and every night they would work through the problems together.

(No. Focus on the arithmancy).

Numbers were comforting. As was dueling. With both, he had complete control and knew what the outcome would be. He wasn't the best duelist in their year without reason. Maybe he was strange (definitely), but he loved the comfort and rhythm of a good duel. It always followed a certain pattern, a code of conduct.

That was the second time he saw her and the first time he truly noticed her. Eloise.

For some unfathomable reason, Professor Hecat had put Sebastian against the new girl. He, the best duelist in their year, possibly the school, against a girl whose was gripping her second-hand wand so tightly her knuckles were white. She seemed nervous, but of course he said that he wanted to give her a proper Hogwarts welcome and god why had he even said that, but he had to stick to his word and so he sent out a hex towards her as soon as he heard Professor Hecat say they could start. Maybe it would be better the quicker she was defeated.

But she blocked his attack and gave as good as she got.

He hadn't felt so thrilled in a long time. Maybe not in over a year. Maybe not ever. As they fought, the rest of the students faded into the background and it was just the two of them. A brilliant game of cat and mouse...but who was which was the question that needed answering. Staring into her unfathomable hazel eyes (how had he not recognized them?) and answering and responding to every jinx and hex they hurled at each other. It was exhilarating.

In the end, Eloise beat him using an underhanded trick. Maybe if Sebastian had been a Gryffindor he would have called foul and demanded a rematch but he was a Slytherin and couldn't help but admire her for it. Truth be told, he almost wished that he was the one who had thought of it, but he had been enjoying their duel so much that even if he had thought of it he wouldn't have done it.

When she smirked up at him and said, "Slytherin," his stomach did a weird little flip and he felt his face flush. He needed to get to know this girl better. How had she learned to duel like that?

(Of course, now he knew the answer. With a family like that...it was a wonder she even knew how to smile. Or pretend warmth).

Like a stupid little puppy, he followed her after the class, desperate to keep talking to her. Even inviting her to be his guest at Crossed Wands. But every smile Eloise directed at him made him feel warm and she was like the sun and he thought that maybe if they fought together or even against each other again, maybe he could figure out what it was that was so mesmerizing to him.

In the library after that class, he had kept replaying their interactions with each other, not being able to help the stupid smile that grew on his face. Even letting his guard down, and not noticing when Madam Scribner started walking over. He supposed that he was being suspiciously quiet, and she did have good cause to be suspicious of him as he had forgotten to charm the cover of the book he had opened to something more innocuous.

But, miraculously, he had been saved by Eloise and yes, maybe he had been a little theatrical with his escape. Sebastian couldn't explain why, but just seeing her again and waiting for him and knowing that she had chosen him had made him smile despite himself, and it seemed the most natural thing in the world to grab her hand as they escaped together.

She was more intriguing the longer they talked, not least because she could also see thestrals. When she opened up to him about the dragon attack (in hindsight just a tactic to get to him no doubt) he felt a surge of protection previously only felt towards Anne.

When she had fallen into the crates after being hit by the troll he couldn't help the emotions that were twisting up his insides and making his heart start beating at an insane pace. Had she been killed? Oh god please - He was worthless. He had failed her.

But then - faster than his mind could even comprehend - she had somehow gotten up and before he could reach her the troll had been completely and utterly destroyed. He couldn't help but be in awe of her power - this girl who didn't look intimidating and who seemed so unsure of herself until she was fighting - but then she was shaking and hunched over in pain and what could he do? Another reminder of his failure to protect Anne - no, Eloise - and those fucking aurors were nowhere in sight.

(Had she ended up going to the Hospital Wing? He hoped so.)

Ominis found him that night still in the Undercroft. The candle floating behind Sebastian had almost completely extinguished, and the long shadows flickering through the huge open space gave it an ominous feeling. He had started analyzing the meticulous notes he had taken to look for something, anything that could help his sister. His friend slowly made his way forward, guided by his wand, and put his hand on Sebastian's shoulder.

"Sebastian? I heard about the troll attack. Are you fine?"

Sebastian looked up to Ominis, relieved that his friend couldn't see the desperation in his face. He hated himself for not being able to keep it out of his voice, though. "Did you know?"

Ominis sighed. "I think there is more to her than meets the eye. I know -"

"Stop." Sebastian hated how strangled his voice sounded. He rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands and cast a tempus charm to check the time. It was much later than he had thought, and Ominis had probably come to accompany him back to the Slytherin dungeons before he could get detention for breaking curfew.

He didn't bother tidying up the desk before getting up and following Ominis out of the Undercroft. Sebastian couldn't be mad at the other boy - he knew him too well, and knew that Ominis had kept the information to himself for some strange reason known only to him.

That night, Sebastian dreamt of chasing after something just out of his reach and the sound of crickets and the smell of baked bread and remembered nothing when he woke up.

He had always been an early riser. Even after many late-night forays into the restricted section of the library the year before, he had never had the ability to sleep in. Maybe he could head to the Great Hall early - eating breakfast alone was his favorite start to the day.

Walking up the stairs leading out of the boys' dormitories, he saw that the main fire in the common room had already been lit. And - she was sitting by the fire, curled up with a huge stack of books by her side. Sebastian froze - why did she have to be awake right now? Eloise was leaning against the arm of the sofa, her cheek resting in her hand as she read the huge tome in her lap. Her brow was furrowed in concentration. It was her pink lips that his eyes went to, though, her teeth biting the lower one as her eyes moved across the page.

He hated that he was drawn to her like a moth to a flame.

He told himself that it was just because he was curious about what she was reading, especially after their conversation the day before.

As Sebastian approached, she sighed dramatically and shoved the book in her lap to the side. She rubbed her eyes and grabbed the next book from the stack next to her.

"I'm assuming that isn't one of the interesting books we talked about yesterday."

"Sebastian! What are you doing up already?"

"I could say the same to you," he replied, sitting down next to her and nonchalantly grabbing the book she had just discarded. He made a sound of disgust as he flipped through the pages, stopping at one in the middle. "'A good hostess is always aware of what is being said at her party; no topic of absorbing interest must be admitted to polite conversation.' What is this dribble?"

Eloise snatched the book away from him, a deep flush sweeping over her cheeks. (The flush was not bringing out the green in her eyes and he did not notice it). "For your information, that book was lying there because I found it completely and utterly boring and it's hard enough staying awake right now as it is. This one isn't much better, though." She sighed and threw the book she had just opened, A Wizarding Society's Guide to the Pureblood Customs, to the side. "My mother's making me read all of these so that I can have a smooth introduction to society."

"Ah yes, you're a Babbit," he said, sitting back and putting his hands behind his head. Even if he wanted to, he couldn't stop the words coming out of his mouth just as he couldn't stop the bitterness seeping into every word. (She deserved it, after all, for tricking him). "Ominis told me last night that he'd known all along." He shook his head. "Why he didn't think to tell me before we had our little adventure yesterday, I'll never know."

"What's that supposed to mean?" asked Eloise angrily. Her hair was starting to escape her braid and puff up around her head. He vaguely thought about how she had obliterated the troll yesterday and maybe it wasn't a good idea to provoke her but instead of being silent he just had to keep speaking. Because he was angry. Because he felt betrayed. Which was completely ridiculous because he barely knew this girl.

"It means," he retorted, "that had I known, I wouldn't have let you get under my skin. I would never risk my life for a Babbit."

Eloise looked so shocked by his confession that she didn't say a single word in defense of herself. He saw her start blinking furiously and her breathing became shallow. (Was he wrong about the situation?)

(He couldn't stop talking.)

"And now," he continued, "I understand why you beat me yesterday in our duel. You've probably spent your whole life practicing."

Eloise stood up quickly and furiously and looked down at him. Her words came out in an angry hiss.

"For your information, I never wanted anything to do with my family. They thought I was a squib and until a few days ago, I was at a muggle finishing school, being prepared to be married off to the most advantageous buyer. I was burned off my family tree when I was eleven. The shameful secret that nobody outside of my family had ever heard of until now. And now, they come back, expecting me to fulfill their image of the perfect daughter." She spat out those last words. (Maybe he had been wrong). "So no, I never practiced dueling because I've spent the last five years living with muggles. I spent my whole life in shame because I never had magic. And now that I finally have everything I wished for my whole life, Ranrok is trying to murder me and has already almost been successful twice. I don't know what sort of problem you have with my family but I assure you that I have no part in it whatsoever. Haven't you learned yet that I'm not to be judged by your faulty assumptions, based on small pieces of the whole picture?"

With that, she turned on her heel and stormed up the spiral staircase, leaving the Slytherin common room and an awestruck Sebastian in her wake.

Sebastian really hates Eloise!!!!!!!

Chapter 7 of my fic, where you get to see his first impressions of her😇😇😇😇😇😇😇

[void-my-warranty]

Name your price; how many boxes of snickers for axe grinder Gaz and reader to fuck.

Drop the p.o. Box

I have some really bad news for you.

Smut fiend Void is writing a slow burn.

[bloodyopvs]

The Sanguinarch isn't a bad villain or a cliched one.

The only thing that his writing suffers from is the fact that a lot of the finer points in his characterisation were easily missed or flew over our heads due to Arknights's ambiguous writing — I also had to do some deep lore diving to the Arknights Terra Wiki to be able to piece a more coherent picture of him, something more profound than merely 'he's just a mindless psychopath and a remorseless war criminal'.

And it strikes me what he was actually meant to be, in Chapter 13, where he was the main villain.

He is, for lack of a better word, an inverted Jesus figure.

There's a lot of things supporting this.

First, we have the crown of thorns (actually the thing that got into this rabbit hole) that his chibi, boss sprite wore in his second phase. His artist, Chuzenji, also drew him with the same thing. The crown of thorns's symbolism is obvious. Jesus wears one, including his depiction in the famous movie, The Passion of the Christ. Though, it's probably not that special on its own; but it's only the tip of the iceberg.

Then we got the meaning of his name, a portmanteau of a Hebrew word and an angel's name —— 'Dook', meaning pierced, and Ariel, an angel whose name literally means 'Lion/Hero of God', at least according to the Terra Wiki —— and things are starting to get intriguing. Put together, 'Duq'arael' means 'Pierced Lion/Hero of God'. The angel's name aside, the lion is an animal that symbolised 'God's strength and command', one that was closely related to God, to the point where C.S Lewis, author of the famous Chronicles of Narnia, use Aslan, a lion, as a stand-in metaphor for God.

And yes, the deeper you go into Sarkaz lore, the more you discover that it was heavily inspired by the lore of Abrahamic religions in real life, although I won't delve too deeply into this or start drawing parallels to real life events, since it's an extremely sensitive issue. But my point is that Arknights has always been deeply influenced by religious mythology and symbolism, and Duq'arael's name goes deep. It hinted at us on his true character——how he views himself.

(Him killing his own elder brother, who was an 'ideal' King of Sarkaz, was also a clear allusion to the story of Cain and Abel, and ties in with the occult theory that Cain was the first vampire in history, but that's an aside. Though this also serves to strengthen the point that Arknights has always been deeply influenced by religious mythology and symbolisms.)

Back to the topic, I would also argue that his design cleverly reflected this hidden allusion. His uncanny colour palette—white, red and black—could be interpreted as a reversal, so to speak, of Jesus's darker robes and dark hair (as he was so often and popularly depicted to be). His entire design screams vampire nobility, but there's something uncanny about it, which was highlighted when we were first introduced to him in Chapter 10 (or was it 11?). He was described as an ordinary-seeming nobleman, one who wouldn't look out of place speaking about current politics in Victorian telly.

More than that, though...although he wears black and red, 'traditional' vampire colours, his main colour is obviously white. White hair, white clothes.

Both the absence of colour, and the colour of purity, innocence, and rebirth.

Duq'arael is also the 'Prince of Blood'. Amiya, during their confrontation in Chapter 13, asks him what does blood means to him. As a concept, as a symbol——a meaning. Now his answer here isn't that important (although it's curious that he equates it with suffering, especially that of the Sarkaz's), but there's a hidden symbolism bomb here: Blood symbolised passion. When someone angers us, for example, we say that it makes our 'blood boil'. When our lover arouses us, or when we were afraid during a horror movie, we say that it gets 'our blood racing'.

In line with this, Dukare's goal——what he hopes to achieve by sacrificing so many people, including his own people——is to give the Sarkaz, who had been robbed of not only their homes and lands but also their entire identity, who had been brutally dehumanised and discriminated against for centuries, salvation.

At least in his perspective. He spilled a single drop of blood for them, a drop of pure Teekaz blood, in order to give them this salvation as well as to once again summon their original sin in the form of the first Originium. He even goes so far that this is their curse——the curse of being a Sarkaz, the curse of Originium. The implication here is that he wanted to SAVE them. But because he's twisted, because he's 'inverted' Jesus, he accomplishes that by sacrificing others on the cross instead of himself. A selfish 'saviour'.

He also blesses the Sarkaz with his blood, granting them strength. Once more: misplaced salvation.

But wait, there's another layer to this.

Duq'arael's the ONLY one who saw himself as such. He has a saviour complex despite his pretenses to be indolent, and obviously, due to the crimes and sins he committed, others saw him merely as a murderer, a monster, and a blood purist. Someone who can't let go of the past, and is still heavily fettered by it——someone who blatantly refuses to let go.

He, after all, killed his elder brother out of disappointment. He also testifies that he saw several other Kings of Sarkaz come and go during his long life, and with each passing one, he grew more and more disappointed, more and more disillusioned. More and more jaded. That is why he wanted to kill Amiya too; obsessed with slaying her, even. Not because he's blindly obsessed with murder in itself (perhaps not only because), but because he's past the point of saving. Which was his tragedy, and one that Amiya and Logos mourned after they pushed him off the Feranmut.

This motivation of offering salvation is also likely why he agreed to help Theresis take Londinium. He had alluded to it himself; his ultimate goal or even his motivation wasn't to rebuild Kazdel, especially not as the shitty mobile city that most recent Sarkaz remembered it as.

No, he wanted to 'save' them. To offer them salvation; to return their birthright, which is the entire world of Terra, to them. Back from the hands of the Ancients and the Elders, outworlder races who once wrested it out of their grasp and then proceeded to give them misery for centuries. Millennias, even.

Again, that is his role——The False Saviour.

I don't get why Chapter 13's title was 'The Whirlpool That Is Passion' at first, but then I realised that HG was being sneaky. They couldn't possibly call it 'The Passion of the Vampire', which would be TOO on the nose, so that's why they call it that:

The Whirlpool (symbolising Dukare being twisted by his past and his disillusionment) That Is Passion (the Jesus symbolism). It's very clever.

In addition to all of the above, on their 4th Anniversary art, his artist drew him with a white lily. The flower of (you guessed it) purity, innocence, and most importantly, rebirth. It does work with his image as a vampire, plainly speaking, and the Master of the Crimson Court who's obsessed with the purity of the blood, but I'd say it's more than that, since the white lily is also Mary's flower. Mary, as in the Mother of Christ.

So, no, The Sanguinarch isn't a bad villain. While he is undoubtedly a war criminal (wouldn't say that he's misunderstood, since he's an absolute dipshit nonetheless), he's not 'just' a psychopath.

[king-candybug-backup]

when it 6:30am and your slow ass STILL isn't finished the completely arbitrary obligation you set for yourself

(I know people don't mind if it's late lol BUT I AM STILL ANGERY OVER HOW LONG IT'S TAKING WHEEEEE)

TURNS OUT I ACTUALLY COULDN'T WRITE THIS ENTIRE TIME, BOY GEE GOLLY /j

[reddamselette]

Nathaniel glanced at his watch. The second hand ticked with each passing car and the blinking of the stars as the minute hand moved in sync with the streetlights turning from red to green, green to yellow, yellow to red. It was half past nine and he’s pushing it—they could only do so much with distracting Riko before he realized Nathaniel has gone out and ran far enough to be out of sight.

But no matter how late it would get, no matter the awaiting pain he would have to succumb to in the near future, he waited. Nathaniel waited as he dropped his hand and stared at Andrew for the last time. “I’m sorry,” he said.

Andrew smiled bright and wide and vacant, manic as can be but even Nathaniel could recognize the look in hazel eyes. It was subtle, yet it was there. It hurt Andrew more than it hurt Nathaniel and he wondered which one of them was he convincing with the constant mantra of this is nothing. “No,” he said, “you aren’t. Your reputation precedes you, Nathaniel. The tabloids will drive themselves insane knowing your precious Perfect Court likes to lie.”

“I didn’t lie to you. I wouldn’t lie to you.” Nathaniel was, though, in this moment. He lied as he forced his voice to remain steady and sincere, to put everything away and shove it down the way his mother taught him to. The way he had been forced to while living in Evermore. He lied because it is the only thing that can protect Andrew from Riko’s wrath. “Andrew.”

Andrew said nothing. He stared and stared until he was the first to walk away.

Nathaniel may have shattered this thing they had, this nothing, this something, and Andrew may have been the first to walk away but deep down, Nathaniel knew he was the first to run away.

It would have been easier if you’d taken the blade of your skate to his throat, he thought to himself.

-

a little background snippet thing of andriel in the party and the after party (ice skater/hockey player au). andriel is our victim to the ex lovers except they weren’t actually lovers (it’s worse) to strangers to lovers.

[widebrimmedhatsblog]

In The Heat Of It All chapter 10 hint is here!!

Specifically:

[mirixmoya]

have the people who dogpile those asking for a haymitch or finnick book as having “missed the point” and “being just like the capitol” and “just wanting to see violence” forgotten that The Games themselves often take up significantly less than half of the books???? like when people ask for a haymitch or finnick book they’re very clearly not asking for 40 chapters of kids killing kids ??? they’re asking for books that explore the lives of deeply beloved characters, how those lives were irreparably changed by circumstances beyond their control, and a more detailed illustration of points that only get alluded to in the original books.

[souenkun]

Is anyone ever curious about why the house that takashi's parents owned was never taken over by any youkai, even when it has been abandoned for years, when this series has given us plenty examples of youkai inhabiting a human's dwelling, whether there were still humans living there or not (and either because they like the house, or they just want to mess with humans)? I do wonder if this is relevant to the main plot in some way (like the natsume family name being a ward on its own, hence youkai naturally avoided takashi's parents' house as a result, or if someone had set up wards when the house was built that are still up and functioning to this date, in which case, the question is who would go to that length to protect the natsume family)?

[wannabemasterofwindintraining]

Yea

[leaf-miner]

Somehow Uzumaki is wilder than I expected, even knowing Junji Ito's work.

FEATURING:

A galaxy that sends telepathic murder signals

A hurricane that falls in love with the protagonist

A boy that turns into a zombie jack-in-the-box

Making pottery out of the souls of the departed

Romeo and Juliet but they turn into a giant sea snake

Babies that make addictive placenta mushrooms and turn their mothers into mosquito vampires

Enemies to lovers, victim x bully snail yaoi

Psychotic orphans blowing down the town like they're the big bad wolf

The Human Hydra from Fear & Hunger

...And a touching love story?

And yet, even with all that, the craziest part of it all is Kirie Goshima.

GIRL WHY ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT THIS LIKE IT'S NORMAL?? Why didn't you leave with your boyfriend while you still could? At least after the hair thing?

She almost gets her blood sucked out by her cousin who has just had her newborn sewn back into her. After escaping does she get the fuck out of town? No!

YEAH YOU WOULD HAVE, WHAT ARE YOU STILL DOING HERE?? LEAVE ALREADY!

YA THINK? Only 5 chapters too late!

This is peak romance though.