#hints of abuse

[ravenignited]

Chrysalis 10: Ruban

I remember father telling the tales about murdered innocents and how they exacted their revenge over bonfires in the fall. The hair on our arms and backs would raise during these nights of chilling tales. Knowing now that these were from books of the long past doesn’t make it easer. Especially after having read a few myself.  Old stories talked about how executions and trials were a morbid…

[mewobrute]

[bigskydreaming]

Imagine if you were a gay or bi man who tried a certain firefighter show because of all the attention it was getting for one of its mains having a later in life bi awakening.....and between seasons you ventured into its fandom in search of material to tide you over til the next one. And you're greeted by a deluge of posts and fics that are just cheerfully homophobic towards one half of the newly out bi character's canon relationship on the basis of 'well he's not the RIGHT gay guy' and pushing the idea that actually its fine to cheat on him because Reasons and he's sexually predacious based on......behind the scenes implications people have divined like they're reading fucking tea leaves.

But don't get it twisted....this fandom, like all fandoms, really cares about representation!

Sorry not sorry, but we really need to kill this idea that fandoms are welcoming and inviting and inherently progressive when they're frequently insular and reductive as fuck. Every single fandom I've been in has had major trends of people doubling down on their own headcanons and fanon interpretations of the characters and willfully enacting trends aimed at running off people who like the 'wrong' characters (usually characters marginalized along one or multiple axes), like the characters in the 'wrong ways' or other bullshit.

Scott is a Bad Friend fics overtaking Teen Wolf fandom was not incidental, it was a FEATURE of the fandom, because the vast majority of that fandom did not want to share its space with anyone who had the nerve to like its main character. Survivors complaining about or criticizing the prevalance of rape fics in a certain fandom has in my experience always led to a reactionary UPTICK in those fics, with gems like 'this character can, will, must be raped' in the tags making it crystal clear that some of these fics exist because how fucking DARE anyone try and push forth a narrative not agreed upon by Fandom Main.

I could cite examples for so many other fandoms, with the commonalities always being that vast majorities in these fandoms are explicitly reacting defensively to being asked to be more mindful of fandom trends revolving around or exacerbating racism, homophobia, transphobia, rape or abuse apologia, ableism, etc....

With the most prolific fucking rallying cry across countless fandoms being "No the fuck we will NOT be doing that," because lolololol.....

Fandom is an inherently progressive space, didn't you hear?

[acearohippo]

I love fandoms, especially witnessing what fans take away from source material and how fans interpret it based on their experiences. Not to mention the stark difference of interaction between new fans, casual fans, experienced fans, and long-term fans.

I say this because the SVSSS fandom has continuously fascinated me in insisting in discussions that there are parallels between Shen Jiu and Luo Binghe (tell don't show), but in their fanworks, I just see parallels between Luo Binghe and Yue Qingyuan (show don't tell).

And it's not even (fully) a case where they're blending character personalities because they want what the other dynamic has, it's just how the characters are based on canon in two different timelines.

All of this to say, perhaps original draft PIDW (NOT original!PIDW nor pre!SY PIDW which are completely different) was supposed to revolve around the dynamic between SJ and YQY vs SJ and LBH. Perhaps YQY was to be the last hour mastermind, the true foil to LBH.

And fandom is just circling this idea without realising it because, once again, the unreliable narrator that is SY has already convinced this fandom that any version of SJ has to be a/the villain, regardless if it's through his own actions or baseless rumours.

Warning, run-on sentence ahead.

I don't know, mans, but it's gotta mean something that LBH and YQY have such similar life beats of being orphaned and having a tough life but remaining kind/compassionate because they had someone to live for until they didn't which left them empty until they found (or refound in YQY's case) one (1) man to obsess over in an uncomfortably intrusive way with no regards for his feelings and rejections, eventually reaching a position as the most powerful being in existence with a huge caveat that their sword is 83% of that power and is slowly killing them which did nothing to soften said man of their obsession's into showing them kindness leading to the ultimate confrontation between the two in which only one could survive and keep their obsession, not that it mattered because neither of them got to experience his feelings reciprocated, except in another timeline where the same things are happening until their obsession suddenly stops rejecting their (still intrusive) advances even if he is acting a bit silly, but hey take advantage while you can and take advantage they did because now they have that reciprocated feeling (except one still "won" as he gets to keep him for himself) and be thankful that all it took was, in their perspective, a near death fever that drastically changed his personality and most likely left him crippled in some other way, preventing their obsession from not NOT needing them anymore, all-in-all fulfilling their desire to be relied upon again, hooray! 😋😁✌🏽

In all seriousness, at the end of the day people are going to draw connections between characters that fit whatever narrative they understood from the story. SVSSS fandom just seems to be trying to convince others of one narrative while believing on a deeper level of another narrative. It's amusing and makes following the fandom fun.

[looniecartooni]

Honestly- this panel is really scary for me:

Not just because Clutch is a creepy grabby guy or Mimic's the kind of guy where when he's threatened, he'll literally stab you in the back. The fact that Clutch grabs his arm when he's actively frightened and trying to get away. And Clutch is doing it because he knows Mimic is scared and trying to get away. That's scary.

Clutch has a habit of... clutching onto people as a way to build their trust. We see this multiple times. Even strangely with Mimic who actively hates people, let alone them grabbing at him.

And up to this point- Mimic has never seen him mad. Every time he's suggested a threat, this possum's been cool and collected. Almost allowing Mimic- the constantly paranoid backstabber- to lower his guard.

But what we know about Clutch is that you don't want to see him angry. This man will take away the basic care rights of a chao and lock it away with multiple locks in a covered cage. Mimic probably doesn't know that, but chances are that he's been alert this whole time.

And no- I get it. Mimic is no better with chao or wisps than Clutch. We've seen him literally punt one just to make Sonic look bad. Mimic is a bad guy.

Both he and Clutch are manipulative evil men. But like at the same time- this man does not like to get threatened. He goes to extremes to get away from or expose threats. He does not like having an out. And we see how he will react when he's not actively able to find an out.

He panics. He stammers and panics. Which opens up a lot of analysis for his cowardice character and evil motivations, but let's circle back to the point that this man panics under pressure or when threatened.

Clutch is someone who could definitely hurt him if he wanted to. Clutch's hand literally shakes on the gun-cane he's holding. This is the first time Clutch has actively not been calm and collected and Mimic knows its bad news. So he actively tries to leave before he snaps.

But Clutch doesn't snap. He doesn't let him leave. He puts on a fake smile and tries to tell him he's fine- it's not his fault. He can fix this.

I know its two terrible people, capable of defending themselves, probably not that bad. But to be someone that actively does not like being put in danger and having someone you thought you could trust actively becoming dangerous just hold you in place while they continue to rant, telling you "no no- it's okay. Its all just me- not you." And this is seconds before we get Clutch's really creepy angry face (which I forgot to screenshot). He's got a loose grip on Mimic's arm, so it's not as bad, but still... ladies and gentlemen, if someone grabs your arm like this in the middle of them being upset and tries to tell you, "hey it's okay. I'm just upset for personal reasons." That's someone you want to keep your distance from for a while. Clutch knew Mimic was upset and that's why he grabbed his arm. (he did the same to Jewel too btw).

[lets-try-some-writing]

Successors

Bumblebee knew he was different from the cycle he first began to comprehend the world around him. Where others of his age would play, he observed in silence. Where they screamed, Bumblebee merely allowed a hint of discomfort to emanate in his posture and his Sire would soon come to him. Too quiet, too composed, too quick to learn. But Bumblebee never doubted, nor did he question his Sire.

The others looked at him in concern, but Bumblebee saw no reason to worry about his situation. Why should he? They simply did not understand.

━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙ ━━━━━━━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙

Bumblebee's earliest memory was one of a place of darkness and gloom, with many blue optics gazing down on him. He recalled arms and raptorial legs running over him, tending to him from where he resided in a cradle of primordial developmental fluid. It was comforting, peaceful even. The form that loomed above him was safety, it was love, and it was protection. Often he heard songs that resonated with his very core, usually accompanied by those many optics shining through the casing that contained him. That time of his life was hazy and distant, but he never forgot the blue of the optics that observed him.

He recalled his chamber of warmth being cut open and the chill of the cavernous space assaulting him. His first cries echoed in the damp air before he was soothed by servos that were familiar and yet so different from the appendages he was used to touching his place of gestation. He could not see, he could not hear, however he could feel the steady thrum of the powerful being that held him as he was taken from the gloom and to where the wind blew harshly and the air grew dry.

Distant memories, echoes of something that felt right.

The one who held him became a constant in Bumblebee's existence. He was small, weak, and underdeveloped. Instinctually he knew this as his tender cradled him and marched through what he could only assume was dead land. There was no smell of life, no scent of anything moving or mechanical. The sting of what he would come to know as plasma miasma was everywhere, but aside from that, it was simply him and his strangely familiar caretaker. This lasted for a time, but his memories were not very clear regarding all that occurred during that time. All he could say for certain was that when his optics finally achieved full functionality, he knew immediately that his situation was precarious at best.

He was brought to the Autobots in the arms of the one and only Optimus Prime, and for that reason, Bumblebee was quick to learn his place. Instincts told him to act, to do... something violent. But Optimus always knew, and when Bumblebee reached to activate coding hidden within his subsystems on instinct, the Prime would stare down at him with frigid optics, calculating and demanding. Very rarely did he need to say a word, but when Bumblebee was handed off to other mecha to be tended to for a time, Optimus always spoke to him first. Over and over the mantra was repeated whenever he was given to Ratchet for examination or to Jazz to be watched over during Optimus's absence.

"Restrain yourself and blend in. Remain in control and maintain this form. Do not succumb to the hunger and do not question. We must not be discovered so soon."

Bumblebee knew the optics that gazed down upon him, he knew the voice that spoke with the same deep hum that comforted him. Optimus was his Sire, and he would obey. He did not know why nor did he feel the need to seek answers. Even as a sparkling, he could follow the orders of his maker. The hunger that burned within him was pushed down and the urge to escape what was quickly feeling like a too-small shell was overcome. He had his orders, and he refused to disobey. Deep in his spark, he knew death would await him if he failed, and another part of him was quick to come to the conclusion that his Sire could easily to replace him. There was no need for communication for that truth to be revealed. Whatever he and his Sire were, they both were well aware of the unspoken rules.

"Obey or perish."

That was their shared command. Bumblebee obeyed his Sire, and Optimus in turn followed orders that he did not see fit to reveal. Whatever the case, it was none of Bumblebee's concern. When he was with Ratchet, he kept still and quiet, watching and adjusting his behavior to match what he saw around him. His coding and mental state changed, no longer controlled by instinct and instead by the growing persona that was taking root in his processors. From Jazz he learned to be energetic and hopeful, from Ratchet he learned seriousness and duty, from Ironhide he gained strength, from Preceptor knowledge, from Ultra Magnus strategic training... the list went on. Vorns passed by and he played his part. Bumblebee did not question, nor did the Autobots around him comment on his eerie levels of maturity at such a young age. There was a war to be won and no room to consider.

With time, Bumblebee learned to think as those around him did, he acted liked them, spoke like them, and carried himself as any other youngling. And yet despite parading himself as if he were a completely normal Cybertronian, there was forever the nagging sense deep within him that he was something other. The death around him did not bother him. While he did grow angry over the lost lives, the carnage itself had no influence over his mind. Combat came to him naturally, and often he found himself inclined to his denta and claw over blade and blaster. He did not fully understand it when the request to activate dormant coding periodically appeared on his HUD, but whenever he so much as looked at is a klik too long, his Sire almost always appeared by his side in short succession.

"Ignore it. The time has not yet come. Continue to live as you have, you will understand when you are required to."

He obeyed.

There were only a few times where he failed to follow the orders given, and he was always put back in his place. The instincts he was carefully told to ignore occasionally made itself known. Sometimes his jaw ached to unhinge, to widen and expand when he gazed upon the dying calling out for aid. Optimus never failed to cuff him in those instances or even harshly pull on his door wings to return him to reality. Occasionally his plating itched and he had the overwhelming urge to shift, to unfold and escape the confines of that which held him. It was worst on the battlefield when the rush of conflict flooded his processors with sheer euphoria. In such situations, Optimus was always there and ready to beat him into the ground should he fail to follow the order to restrain himself. While rare, there were even times when Bumblebee found himself starting to hoard energon, consuming more than he needed to and scouting out potential safe havens. He did not understand why he did so, but Optimus hauling him deep into the underground portion of the base and locking him up for a few cycles got him out of his strange moods quite quickly.

"There cannot be any more of us right now. Too many will draw attention. There can only be two. A hierarch and an heir."

After such treatment, Ratchet tended to tend to him and gently ask if Bumblebee was safe, if he required removal from Optimus's care. Bumblebee always said no. Ratchet did not understand, he never would. He was a good mech, a kind individual with a gentle spark, and thus he could not even come close to comprehending the unspoken connection Bumblebee had to his Sire. Jazz asked sometimes too, usually when he brought Bumblebee additional energon after his lockups. Ironhide slipped him a map with marked routes to a transport leaving Cybertron for a neutral world a handful of times. Even Ultra Magnus pulled him aside and took extra care to send Bumblebee off on missions that kept him from his Sire for extended periods of time.

They thought they were helping. Bumblebee could see why. Compared to the records of regular sparklings that he read and watched, the treatment Optimus subjected him to was straight up abuse. But of course, that was simply because there was a lack of understanding. It was the way of whatever it was Bumblebee and his Sire were. Their kind, whatever they happened to be, were a race that needed no words, needed no excess emotion. They knew their duty, and thus when Optimus struck him down and dragged him back into place, Bumblebee understood and held no ill will toward his maker. He could see Optimus faced similar treatment from whoever his maker was as well.

"Why are you hurting?"

"I am not externally injured young one."

"No, but inside you ache. I can see it, how you contort yourself to match this image of Cybertronian perfection."

"It is required."

"Why?"

"It is for the same reason you too must keep that shell little one. Our time has not yet come... and it may never arrive."

"What do you mean?"

"It is not your place to understand, such is my duty. I am the first, you are the second. I molded you to perform better than me, to overcome the trials that leave me in agony with minimal discomfort instead."

"You suffer in your frame."

"Yes, but I was the first. I was the test. You are better than I am, perfected and altered as much as I could manage to walk among this people without fear... that is so long as you keep yourself in control."

"Then... when will our time come?"

"When all save for us are dead... or when the time is right to spread unimpeded. These fragile creations are so advanced they have forgotten the core truth, the unity of one shared goal. When this war ends in their extinction or their restoration, we shall rise from their ashes or follow in their shadows."

Bumblebee did not understand, but as his Sire said, it was not his place to. Optimus was a comfort, one that Bumblebee relied on greatly. The Prime was his maker, that much he knew. Thus he dared not question when Optimus spoke to him in the humming song that he knew from his development. Ratchet, Jazz, and the others did not see what Bumblebee saw, nor did they ever witness the affection Optimus gave him in a positive light. They did not see the scratches Optimus left on his armor as a mark of affirmation of a job well done, but instead viewed it as abuse. They did not see how Optimus's constant reminders and glares were a kind reminder of their shared orders to remain hidden. Instead they saw only malice where Bumblebee knew there to be stern but true love. They could not witness the subsonic song that Optimus sang and Bumblebee returned at all times. How could they with their unaugmented audials?

Optimus cared for him, although he never said so aloud. Not in the traditional Cybertronian manner at any rate. The one time Bumblebee asked if his Sire did love him earned him a response that those who might have been listening were sure to see as dark.

"Sire... do you love me?"

"Into you I put vorns of my effort, attention, and care. Millennia of accumulated protomatter that I molded with my own limbs with utmost devotion. I spend every waking moment considering and contemplating, thinking of your future. I give my spark to your development and my mind to your rearing. No longer could I dare to create another. You are my one and only heir."

That was all he needed to know for certain. His mind recognized the emotional undertone and his instincts accepted the offered truths. Nothing else mattered. Optimus loved him, and despite the efforts of the ignorant Autobots and their plans to keep him away from his Sire, they always reconnected soon enough. Usually Bumblebee tried not to worry over the reactions of the Autobots to his and his Sire's interactions, but there were times when it was hard. More than once he heard Ratchet cursing Optimus out, yelling about him being a horrible Sire. Several times he noted Jazz working Optimus into a corner and calling him a monster. And while only once, there was a time where even Preceptor pulled his sniper rifle on the Prime, threatening to make him "keel over from and unfortunate accident in the labs" should he fail to improve.

They did not understand. But Optimus was always there to reassure Bumblebee and comfort him after such things. They would not be separated. Optimus was always in control, always so composed and possessed a far greater sense of duty. He never fought with his instincts, at least not that Bumblebee could see. The Prime blended in all but perfectly socially, befriending all and performing as a perfect leader. The only ones who were on his case were those who fought in Bumblebee's "defense". However even they remained amicable to toward him.

The singular time Bumblebee ever saw Optimus lose control was the cycle Megatron tore out his vocalizer. There was no time for his instincts to react or for him to break from his shell, but as he fell to the ground and bathed in his own energon, he saw his Sire enraged for the first time in his life.

He leapt through the air, limbs too long to be proper and his face all but split in half to reveal a maw of fangs and mandibles. Bladed limbs extended from his shoulders and his legs were crooked and out of place as he charged with a scream to make even the dead quake. Wrath and fury never before seen had Optimus charging with wild abandon, his shell transforming away more with ever moment and terrifying all those in the vicinity. All Bumblebee could do as Megatron fled and Optimus came to his side was silently convey the order they were both bound to.

"Blend in, do not be seen. Our time has not yet come."

Bumblebee was taken to the medical ward where he was stabilized. He felt true grief at his lost vocalizer, but it was partially drowned out by the relief that came from seeing his Sire back within his shell, even if he was expressing emotions far more openly than usual. As the Prime tended to him in a more Cybertronian manner during his recovery, Bumblebee heard the stories. A monster of red and blue charging at Megatron, a spark eater or a ghoul, a creature of legend to be eliminated on sight.

As soon as he was able, Bumblebee was quick to silence any witnesses who actually believed that what they saw was Optimus Prime. There could be no one to reveal them. They had their orders. It was not their time. Accidents happened, and while it brought him no joy, cleaning up a few loose ends was better in the long run. The Autobots needed their Prime, and Bumblebee refused to see his Sire exposed for trying to protect him.

"Obey or perish."

Such was their reality, even as they headed for Earth.

[warmmilk-n-honey]

I'm splitting all the kuro fans I'm acquainted with into four categories-

The dadbastian enjoyers-These fans' main focus is on Ciel and Seb's dynamic, they also love the phantomfam antics as well as Ciel's friend group-Lizzie, Soma, and Sieglende. These fans are drawn to Ciel's familial bonds with different characters, so they tend to love characters like the Midfords, Diedrich, and the ones mentioned above. These fans tend to love Tango on the Campania and/or Noah's Arc Circus out of all the musicals. Obsessed with the concept of dadbastian, wishes Yana would lean into that aspect of their relationship more and writes/reads fic to rectify this problem. Ciel is their son and they have adopted him from Yana in order to give him a better life, filled with found family and talking about your feelings. Or on the flip side they revel in the pain and toxicity of Ciel's situation and relationship with Seb.

The reaper fans aka, the Grelle nation-These fans are obsessed with Grelle, interested in the reapers, and wish Yana gave the reapers more depth. They write/read fic to rectify this problem. Most likely ships Redcliff and is probably also a Madam Red stan. May or may not be a SebaGrelle and/or a Mey-rin x Grelle shipper. Angry at the transphobia Grelle faces, as we all are. Are obsessed with The Most Beautiful Death in the World. These fans are unreasonably horny for Miss Sutcliff, which y'know, more power to them.

Season 2 captives- These fans are being held captive by season 2 for reasons that mystify the rest of the fandom. They love Alois Trancy and wish he was given the justice he deserves; they wish his character, and his trauma were written in a more respectful way, they write/read fic to rectify this problem. They see the potential in season 2's characters, but understandably hate the execution. These fans also usually have some kind of fascination with the Weston boys and like to explore the concept of Alois attending Weston.

Phantomhive twins stans- These fans love the twins, usually are obsessed with R!Ciel, and generally love to explore/theorize about the Phantomhive lineage. They probably believe in the Undertaker grandpa theory and may or may not believe in the RCMMT. They may or may not be obsessed with Claudia Phantomhive, but they've at least drawn/reblogged art of her. They may or may not have an Undertaker pfp, and if they don't it's a pfp of one of the twins. They love to make memes about twins, I've noticed this group is extremely memey, like even compared to the rest of these groups. They love the blue memory arc despite how brutal it is, and they wish the twins dynamic was explored more beyond that arc, they write/read fic to rectify this problem. These fans are very much Ciel Phantomhive apologists, like even more than most other fans.

So which one/combination of categories are you?

[goemon-fan]

This was easily one of the best Lupin episodes

[privateolives]

Maybe I missed it, but there's a bit of foreshadowing in Laios' nightmare that I don't see mentioned often. Namely, on these two pages:

I was reading this again, and I noticed that this monster has got to be Laios' "perfect monster" that he would later transform into, sans the wolf head that he adds later.

What struck me about this moment is a) he uses this made-up monster to literally squash the haunting memories of his dissappointed parents and all the negative human interactions that came before them in this moment. It's an early hint at the infamous moment later in the story, where the winged lion reads him like a book:

That insight completely reframed what he's doing in the dream. He's using his interests and fantasies to quite literally crush his negative feelings about humans and the terrible ways they've made him feel.

Not only that, but the moment he's dispelled it, Laios immediately rips his own human appearance to shreds, becoming a different form. Reading it for the first time, I assumed that he used his knowledge in order to think up a convenient way to change scenes and track down who he was looking for; using his insight in a utalitarian way inside the dream world.

However, what about now, that we know that Laios really wants to become a monster himself?

With the later context, it reads far more like he takes this route because within the dreamscape, he can shed the form he hates to become something more comfortable in order to do what he needs to.

It also made me think though, the fact he became the canine, instead of the monster... what does it mean? It could be utility sure, but it makes me think of something else, first.

Laios famously does an amazing impression of a dog, and demonstrates this at one point in order to scare a shapeshiter. It is convincing enough to scare the monster and have both Chilchuck and Senshi clock what he's impersonating immediately. Notably, he mentions that they "taught him how to hunt" which is kind of unusual for a dog to do. However, knowing Laios' intersts, it makes sense for him to have extensively studied their behaviors.

Perhaps the canine form is chosen in the dream because behaving like a dog is something he is simply so comfortable with doing it comes natural to him to take the shape. And perhaps it is so, because long before he chased down the monsters in the dungeon, he found a safe haven away from the humanity he hated with the dogs, and longed to be like them, much like he wants to be a monster now. But that's just my speculation.

Either way, I think that's a cool little moment foreshadowing some of Laios' true feelings about humanity at large and how he's coped by being mistreated by other people from a young age.

Possible disproval of this theory of course, with Laios reaction to Marcille's retelling of the dream at the end of the chapter:

Though, the objection he gives on the page is that he was a white WOLF, not a dog, rather than objecting to not being seen as a person during the chase in the dream.

[you-know-i-get-itt]

aaron minyard appreciation post

[ravenignited]

Chrysalis Part 9: Ruben

I spend the next week in a daze of grief. Liraz was encased in a weird block of what only could be described as ice. Her traumatic end haunting me while my heart told me she was very much alive. In the right light I could see her still form through the block and I felt that she was sitting there, waiting to avenge the assault on her own person. I didn’t believe for once instant that Luke’s…

[eddywoww]

Me: a Father’s Day fic would be fun

Also me: make steve suffer

[fluffydice]

I think one day I’d like to write something about Kusuke and Kusuo trying to have an actual sibling relationship, but I also think it would be painful. There’s a degree of bittersweetness in any universe that Kusuke mistreated Kusuo surrounding them making up, whether from Kusuo trying to learn to recover from it all (or at least not be in survival mode around him) or Kusuke being forced to learn things about himself while trying to connect with his brother/become a better person.

[acoraxia]

You guys don’t UNDERSTAND how cool Su Daji x Erlang Shen is

They’re what could have been.

But she had to die because otherwise Erlang would have kept following Heaven’s orders blindly. It took seeing her death for him to realize that, fuck, maybe he is a pawn for Heaven to manipulate and order around. He watched her get executed for something she was sent to do and it changed the trajectory of his fucking LIFE

ERLANG WATCHED SU DAJI DIE AND DECIDED THERE AND THEN THAT HE WOULDN’T LET HEAVEN USE HIM AS A PAWN ANYMORE LIKE BRO

And the fact that if Erlang’s sister or mother ordered him to kill Daji then he would. Because he loves no one more than he loves his mother and sister. So it wouldn’t have been endless romantic heaps of love— it would’ve been just as tragic

How more poetic can you get

[the-acid-pear]

Y'know something I really like about Dave is that despite being the obsessive archetype he kind of... Respects boundaries in some oddly specific ways. Like when actually interacting with Jack he doesn't tend to push him that hard? A simple "fuck off" is enough to make him go "ok :)" most of the time. Like when he's like "fuck took you so long old sport?" And Jack just like "none of your business" and he's just like "fair".

Even the whole stalking thing is like. He only shows himself before Jack (in 2, since DaveTrap is very obviously on the window but can you blame him he's a huge bunny it's hard to sneak) when they're closer than ever, otherwise he just kind of stays on the sidelines. Which by no mean is GOOD but like, could be worse, you know?

[sweetiebean00]

Of Dark Arts

Listen, this one imo is gonna get a wee bit maybe more dark? Then again this is the bit with the Scriptorium. Warnings for implied abuse, implied child abuse, implied a lot of shit - please be safe reading this guys I personally have been writing Ominis perspective in a mix of "I can't see how is things being done" and Toph Beifong xD

Ominis groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose as he continued down the corridor with his wand guiding him. Talking to Sebastian had been a mistake. That much Ominis is certain of. With a deep breath, he ignored his friend. Ignored the pleading, the bargaining, the ceaseless badgering as he was followed from Potions back to the common room. Pain formed in the back of his neck, trailing up his skull as his mind raced with memories he didn't want to remember. With words, voices, and moments he could never stop reliving. Not even in his dreams. 

"For the last time Sebastian, I said no." Ominis whirled on his heel, wand jabbing his friend in the chest. He forced a breath in through his nose, slowly releasing it out his mouth at the cold sensation winding itself along his shoulders. "I'm sorry, but there's nothing good lying along this path."

Sebastian huffed, smacking the wand away. He could hear his friend as he paced, his steps more like stomps. Ominis refused to budge, refused to be moved by pleas. By begs, barters, and guiltless tactics of manipulation and wordplay. Yes, he cared for Anne. Yes, he wanted her back at Hogwarts with them as much as Sebastian did. However, Salazar's Scriptorium wouldn't have anything in it that was good, that would help anyone but Salazar Slytherin himself. Ominis refused to even think about it, to even share what his ancestor had been obsessed with. The Dark Arts were dark for a reason, they were not to be trifled with. They most certainly wouldn't bring anyone any healing, any help. 

"What are you two going on about?"

Ominis straightened, cheeks warming as he turned in the direction of the soft voice. Celia. He frowned, hearing her soft barely there steps echoing throughout the empty corridor. He could hear them talking, hear Sebastian swaying her to his side using information that was not his to share. If it was anyone else, Ominis would've yelled. Interrupted in some way, shape, or form. But it wasn't just anyone. It was her. 

Celia Clyde.

The one witch he couldn't get off his brain for the life of him. The warm feel of curves pressed into him, her soft skin beneath his. The smell of her even was enough to keep him up at night. His dreams didn't help, hearing her voice calling to him like she did in the Room of Requirements, the press of her against his chest like in the Undercroft. 

Only this time there weren't clothes separating them, only this time when she called his name it was a cry. A mixture of pleasure and lust that left a chill down his spine and goosebumps breaking out across his skin. Left him waking with her name on his lips, with her scent in his nose. That heady smell of fruit dancing from the trees, of old books mingling with that thick spicy smell of a candle burning. Left him waking hot and aching, his blood burning and pants tight and constricting as he heaved a breath. Left him casting a silencing charm before his mind was pretending the hand wrapping around him was smaller and unable to hold him properly. Pretending the hand had longer fingers with barely there-calluses as hot air puffed around him as pouty lips parted and-

Ominis took a breath, breaking from his thoughts only for her to be filling his nostrils another time in the last few hours. Only for it to be real and not the vivid imaginations of a sixteen-year old boy. He willed his body to obey, shoving every thought he's ever had of one of his closer friends away as she stood only a few steps away from him.

"Hello Ominis." 

Ominis had to stop himself from frowning. Something wasn't right, that old parchment and ink smell was stronger, almost overwhelming the rest of her scent. He could hear a sort of rattle in her chest, like a toy in a wooden box being rolled about. She cleared her throat, and he had to stop himself from pressing his fingers to her throat. From finding her pulse point to feel the heart that beat beneath because... because it shouldn't be beating as fast as it sounds. There was something... off. Her voice was tired, verging on strained. 

The joy is real, the cheer and utter delight in her tone is entirely genuine. She's happy to see him, and she had the same light airy notes with Sebastian, only a tad calmer with the other Slytherin. He wanted to smile at the way she read his mood, at the way she came across softer when needed. Instead, it only added to that feeling in that something wasn't quite right, only added to the checklist inside his head of mannerisms he was noticing, of behaviors that didn't sit well when a spotlight was shined on them just right.

"Good afternoon, Celia." He licked his lips, breathing a sigh at the way her breath seemed to hitch. "Don't try and argue for him, it won't work. Nothing good can come from Salazar's Scriptorium, he was a mad man obsessed with blood purity and the dark arts."

The silence lingered this time, but Ominis didn't mind. It gave him time to focus on that rattle in her chest, on the way her breaths were coming out shorter, quicker. A chill ghosted his spine and he shuddered, rolling his shoulders back. He didn't have time to focus on it, to ponder the reasoning of the goosebumps breaking across his skin. 

He frowned, lifting a hand to graze his knuckles along her jawline to her forehead. Resting his hand there for a moment, only to let it gently drag back down. She wasn't fevered, and she didn't feel flush. That didn't explain the gnawing in his stomach that said something was about to happen. He didn't like it. Didn't like not knowing, not being prepared for whatever was to come. 

"Blood purity?"

Ominis heart stopped at the innocence in that tone, at the curiosity. She didn't know. His brain short circuited, forgetting whatever he was thinking about as her question reverberated through his skull. Oh sweet bloody Merlin, she didn't know. She wasn't lying, was not pretending innocence. There was no hidden smile in her voice, no silent glee that had her bouncing on the balls of her feet. Celia was still, standing in place with her hands dangling at her sides and tangling in her skirt as she cleared her throat. Oh, Godric's heart. Why did it have to be him?

"Some in the wizarding world believe that magic should stay within all magic families." Ominis swallowed thickly, his hand gently trailing down from her face to her neck to feel her pulse beat against his palm.

Celia didn't respond. She didn't move, he wasn't sure she was even breathing. His chest tightened; beneath his hold she was stock stiff. Muscles tense, coiled far too tight. She was a band about to snap, and he frowned at the rattling that grew louder and shakier in her chest with every passing second in silence.

"Celia?" This time it was Sebastian to break the silence, his steps hurried as he crossed the corridor. "Celia? Ominis, what-"

"That's what a mudblood is, someone born to muggles. Someone who isn't born to a wizarding family." She inhaled, only to cough for a moment. Clearing her throat another time, her next words were spoken just above a whisper. "Someone like me."

"Celia, no. That's not-"

Celia didn’t let Ominis finish. Warm, clammy hands grazing featherlight along his wrist. Slowly, she pulled his hand off of her as she stepped back. His frown deepened. If it wasn’t for his keen hearing, he doubts he’d have known she moved at all. In a quick, fluid motion - Ominis had her wrist in his grasp. Tugging her forward once more until her hand was catching on his chest, her fingers splaying out along his school shirt. His heart fluttered beneath her palm, that ancient smell becoming powerful to the point of overwhelming and Celia cleared her throat again.

"Guess no matter the world I stand in, I'm still dirty blood." She huffed a short, bitter laugh that sent a pang through his chest at the low, hollow notes of her voice. "Good to know now what that Ravenclaw boy was spewing."

Ominis froze, his own muscles tensing beyond belief as her words rang like a church bell in his ears. Ravenclaw boy... Duncan Hobhouse. Puffskien Duncien. Ice burned through his veins as anger burned a fire in his chest. Spewing his pureblooded bullshit, was he? Ominis took a deep breath, maybe he should go have a talk with him. Maybe this time he'll let Sebastian stand as look out while he beats it into his thick fucking skull that there's no such thing as pure or dirty blood. Blood is blood, it's all red. All pumping through someone's veins. Though if he hears Duncan called Celia what he thinks he might have... there might be one less person with more blood on the inside then the outside in this world.

"Who." Sebastian growled, and Ominis snapped his head in his direction. He'd been so silent, he forgot he was there. "What Ravenclaw, Celia? What year? Better yet, did he call you anything?"

"Sebastian, no." Celia said, gone were the sweet warming lilts of her voice. Replaced with the lukewarm sentiments of someone who has accepted something. Like hell would Ominis allow that line of thinking. "Relaxed, we were here for a reason, remember? Aside from a lesson in wizarding terms, which if one of you gentlemen would be so kind as to share with me later?"

Silence, nothing but the sound of Sebastian's tapping foot. Ominis let his lips tug into a smirk at the sound of fabric shifting, tugging. He didn't need sight when he knew the familiar sound of a tie being loosen. When he loosened a tie, it typically meant there was a fight coming. One of magical or muggle means, and it usually ended with Ominis springing him from detention with a few words to Black.

"Fuck it, show me him. Now."

She squeaked, her hand fisting in Ominis' search as she jerked back. Ominis didn’t have time to think, instinct flaring as he shifted his grip on wrist to her forearm. He tugged her back, his other arm flying out to swing around her waist. Pulling her closer than she had been before as she braced herself with her hands on his chest. Merlin, if that wasn't a mistake. 

He swallowed, his name squealed into his shirt had his cheeks burning. His arms had locked around her back, not allowing any -if at all, struggle. She wiggled against him, shifting about in his hold as her face buried against his chest. Her warm breath dancing along his collarbone, sending shivers down his spine. Like this, he could feel everything. 

There wasn’t a part of them that was not pressed together. He could feel the curve of her hip beneath his hand, the warmth of her thin shoulders through her button-up. Feel the soft curves of her breasts firmly against him. This was a very big mistake, he breathed deep and fuck. That was not smart. Not smart at all. He could feel the blood rushing south, and it took every inch of his control to will his body to obey.

It didn't take much effort, when she cleared her throat for the billionth time. Then again. And again. And again, until she couldn't stop, and it turned into coughing. Raspy coughs that sounded like they were scratching and clawing on the way up her chest. Her grip tightened in his shirt, her thin shoulders shaking -correction. Her entire body was shaking with the force of her hacking. Ominis gingerly ran his fingers along her spine, patting her back between her shoulder blades as she heaved for breath.

"Can you please stop dying?" 

At Sebastian's whine, Ominis felt one of her hands shifting. Felt one of her long fingers lifted and felt the others curl as she shot Sebastian, a rather crude muggle gesture against his chest. He snorted at the indignant sound that came from his fellow Slytherin's throat, at least now he knew she was at least somewhat okay. 

"I'm not so sure you could keep up with me, Celia, I think Ominis might be more your pace."

Ominis scowled, fire dancing along his cheeks to the tips of his ears. He scowled, shooting him the same crude gesture against Celia's back. Sebastian's boisterous laugh filled the hall as Celia jerked away. His hands flexed, and it took everything Ominis had to loosen his grip. To let her slip through his fingers when he wanted nothing more than to pull her closer. To have her back in his arms and protected from the world that seemed to be needlessly cruel against her. 

She cleared her throat, the sound bringing clarity to his muddled mind. He wouldn't be sleeping well that night, not with the memory of her warm breath dancing along his skin. Of her heart beating strong, albeit too quickly for his liking in time with that little odd rattle inside her chest. 

"Back to the matter at hand," Celia cleared her throat. "Ominis, I understand your worries, your fears. But wouldn't it be better to be able to put that question to rest? To learn the truth on what happened to your Aunt Noctua? I apologize that Sebastian shared with me rather personal things about you without you knowing, but if I were you? I'd like to be able to say for certain what happened to my aunt. To know what happened to the woman I loved so much."

That is not what Ominis wanted her to say, and he hated the way his forever burning curiosity seemed to ignite and rise to the surface like smoke from a fire. He had long since accepted he would never know what happened, long accepted that something awful must have happened to his beloved aunt. Fought with himself on the wandering thoughts that conjured what if's to mind that he didn't want to think about. But was it truly better not knowing? Not knowing whether she died in pain, or in peace? If there was even a chance for her to have survived but been trapped inside his school? How many times had he laid awake at night wondering that... 

No. He wouldn't bend. He won't give in. Taking a deep breath to tell her how much he appreciated the effort, the thoughts, that he wouldn't be budging on this. Nothing good would come from Salazar Slytherin's Scriptorium, he was more than sure of it. Only to pause at the gentle wafting of lilac. Of lilac and gooseberries dancing with pine just beneath the curtain of the old books smell that grew stronger with every rattle of her chest, with every clearing of her throat.

Ominis swallowed, his stomach twisting itself further and tighter into knots as that feeling returned. If it ever left. Something wasn't right, something was off and he couldn't put his finger on it. Yet again, he was reminded of her stillness. Of the way she didn't dance about in place, there was an absence of fabric shifting, of tapping shoes as she bounced on the balls of her feet. No bapping of her braid lightly tapping against her back, no twisting of her skirts in her fingers. His chest tightened, the ominous weight settling on his shoulders. Soft, cold fingers grazed the inside of his wrist. Featherlight as they dragged along the back of his knuckles and down his dangling fingertips. 

"Please Ominis."

Fuck.

He sighed, he could hear her smile growing. He needed to find a way to ban her from saying those words in that order. Forever. Or until he gets her into his bed, whichever came first really. No, he scolded himself. Bad Ominis. Merlin, he really wouldn't be sleeping tonight if she kept saying things like that. If she kept using that... low, softened plea. How could he ever resist it?

"I... okay." He sighed, lips twitching at the corner of the sound of Sebastian stumbling from where he no doubt fell off the wall he'd been leaning on in surprise. "For Auntie Noctua; I'll do it."

"What? Just like that? You didn’t want to even think about it when I was asking.” Sebastian’s tone was accusatory, Ominis huffs. Arms crossing, he doesn’t want to dignify that remark with a response. “You hadn’t said what I wanted to hear.”

“Or, perhaps if I was over a foot shorter, smelling of flowers, and batting a set of big blue eyes at you.”

Ominis scowled, "Do you want me to change my mind, Sebastian?"

He  glared in the direction of Sebastian's snickers, wanting nothing more to take back his word. To not give his friend the satisfaction of any sort of dark magic secrets that would be hiding inside Salazar's hidden study. It would be easy, a very snarky comment to Sebastian and Ominis could be turning on his heel. Wand in hand as he left his friend to sulk outside the Slytherin Common Room. So why didn't he do it already? If he was going to be mocked-

"Shut up, Sebastian." Celia's voice was like honey, faux sweet and luring the innocent fly to the trap. He could almost picture the incredulous look upon his face as the sweetest girl in school told him to be quiet. "Is there anything you can tell us about the entrance, Ominis?"

If she would forever speak to him like that, like warm butter melting on toast. He would do anything she'd ask. He shoved those thoughts aside, knowing exactly what fantasies would be playing tonight inside his head as he adjusted his tie around his neck. She cleared her throat, the rattle getting louder, clearer inside his ears. Maybe he should try and buy them some time, try and convince Sebastian to take her to the Hospital Wing, or maybe get Sebastian back onto a war path. He did loosen his tie already; every student and teacher knows what it means when a Sallow walks about with their tie loose. Anne was just as notorious as Sebastian was for it. 

Even as Ominis wondered, he knew the answer for it. He had given his word, and she had sparked the wonder, the morbid curiosity about what happened to his Aunt. He knew she was dead, there's no way around it. Yet, he wonders how. Why. All sorts of questions that buzz through his mind that he doesn't even notice when Celia goes about solving the puzzle. Doesn't hear her ordering Sebastian about, until he hears the sound of stones shifting. Until he hears voices so hushed and hissing. The same words, the same phrases over and over in his ears.

Speak to me.

The hair on the back of his neck stood on end, goosebumps racing along his skin. His grip on his wand turns white-knuckled, his blood roaring to life just loud enough to drown out those haunting whispers. Snakes. Why did it always have to be snakes? Oh right, because his ancestor was a crazed, tacky fuck with a boner for reptiles. Why wouldn't chasing after the long-lost study of his wacky ancient grandfather involve talking to snakes?

Soft fingertips gently danced along the skin of his wrist, chasing away the goosebumps with a warm touch so gentle he shuddered. Celia hummed a quiet tune. A question in the simplest form, no words, just sound. Just thought and intent swirled together into a singular note that raised and lowered as needed. It was grounding. When her fingers got to his knuckles, he turned his hand around. Capturing hers in a vice-like grip he'd apologize for later. She didn't make a peep, didn't whimper, nor whine when he squeezed. Only squeezed back with those same soft notes that gave him the strength he needed to mutter something in parseltongue, she shuddered where she stood next to him. The flickering spice of a candle washed away as quickly as it raised when the door opened and a cloud of dust rolled out.

They have found the Scriptorium.

The pit in his stomach deepened, stifling air near suffocating. The feeling in his gut deepened once more as he stepped into the passage, his heart hammering in his chest. The door sealed shut behind him, the sound impossibly loud in his ears as Sebastian cursed. Deep breaths, he reminded himself, nose wrinkling as he inhaled dust. His grip tightened on his wand, Celia's hum cutting through Sebastian's rhetorical questions. The smooth slide of shifting metal had his ears perked, almost reminding him of a snake when they coiled to-

Fear gripped his heart in a tight grip, his arm shot forward. Coiling around her waist and tugging her away from what he's sure is a trap. A trick. Sharp, metal fangs dragged down his forearm and Ominis had never been more thankful to be wearing layers. She squeaked, but that only made him hold her tighter. He breathed, she was fine. She's safe. The thing didn't get her. 

"What in Merlin's name was that?!" Sebastian exclaimed, at the same time Ominis demanded: "What in Merlin's beard were you thinking!?"

"It's a puzzle! I'm sure of it!" She bounced in his hold, trying to get back to the enchanted lock that had tried to attack her moments ago.

"Are you insane?! It just tried to attack you not moments ago!" Ominis snapped, pinching the bridge of his nose with his other hand and taking a deep breath. "This was a mistake, we never should've come here."

Celia twisted in his hold, her tiny fists lightly tapping against the limb snug around her waist, against his chest. She cleared her throat, turning to try and pry his fingers off her side one by one. He wouldn't be budging, not on this. Not when she seemed fixated and focused on solving some magical puzzle that would apparently bite should she fail. She huffed, this close he heard the rattle grow, heard her cough turn into a swallow as she cleared her throat. The rattle got stronger and with it, the scent of old books sharpened and grew overwhelming once more.

"Celia-"

"Ominis!" She whined, dragging the letters in his name out as she flopped over his arm. Attempting to crawl out of his hold. He snorted, good luck with that. "Please! Let me just-"

"Celia." He cut off, flexing his arm till she was standing upright once more. 

A flicker of spice danced in his nose, and he grazed his other hand up her back. She shivered, the spicy smell starting to weigh in against the parchment and ink scent. His hand followed the length of her spine, to the nape of her neck where he dragged his touch along her throat to angle her chin upwards. To face him.

"Are you hurt?"

“N-no?”

Ominis didn't need his wand to find his way around. He's never actually needed it to find his way around. It is his preferred method to get around places. His senses have been dialed up higher than that of anyone's, his ability to hear, to smell, taste, feel, making up for the sense he had been born without. While having his wand was tremendously helpful, it wasn't how he first learned how to move about the world. He could feel the vibrations in the ground, the walls. Could hear them when someone spoke, the little vibrations that danced in someone's throat, their chest, their belly. He could see ripples in the world, allowing them to give him a silhouette of someone's figure with every vibration that partook their forms. 

It's how he had been able to tell when Anne or Sebastian were sneaking up on him, whether his mother was in a good mood. Whether Marvolo was ansty to hurt someone, something. When his father wasn't happy. He could hear it in the quiet hum of their chest with every breath they took, and hear it in the way they stepped. 

"Ominis," She whined again, and Merlin, he needed her to stop doing that. "Please?"

He didn't need eyes, didn't need a wand to see the world when seeing it in the way it breathed about him, was beautiful enough. However, his senses were never... this clear before. He swallowed the dryness in his throat, hearing Celia clear her throat as he finally let her slip free of his arms with Sebastian standing to the side to snatch her back if the snake tried to bite again. Because of course the entire passage would be snake related, this was the way to Salazar Slytherin's study after all. 

He couldn't not hear the way that rattle in her chest danced throughout her body. The way something vibrated inside her from shoulder to shoulder, from foot to foot, from the tip of her head and to the bottom of her toes. A continuous pulse of something inside her that made her figure clearer than the others. All through the vibrations she was projecting into the floor as her barely-there steps tapped against stone, through the wave of light that pushed and pulled like the Black Lake and her body the shore.

He didn't need his wand to travel the world, though it gave him more of an accurate view of the world. More precise, more accurate for walls. For stairs, and paths that were difficult. It helped him find walls before his skin did, helped him find a path clear of trees before the wind did. Everything was made easier with the use of magic, but Ominis preferred the way he could feel when someone was approaching, the body heat tied to emotions, the way they walked, their very breaths. All very telling ways to give him clues someone or something was approaching, the intent made ever clearer the closer they got.

He heard the clicking, the spinning of stone and metal as the door in front of them opened. He shoved thoughts of this peculiar addition away, focusing instead on how the hair of his arms hadn't stopped standing on end once. How the goosebumps on his skin started to hurt. How cold his hand felt since Celia pulled hers from his when she had caught sight of the snake, the hum of her interest a broken record inside his head as his mind played a dangerous game of what if. What if the snake had gotten her? What would it have done? With this area being tied to Salazar, he honestly wouldn't be surprised if it had made her suffer from some archaic form of dark magic. What if that rattle in her chest is a disease, an illness? What if she is sick and he should've held firm a few more moments? What if he didn't agree to this, what if he had confronted it? What if-

The door slammed shut behind them. The familiar squeak turned into a very short cough. The rattle was growing incessant and he could hear the whispers of the snakes once more, his blood turning to ice as Sebastian and Celia stiffened. He heard Sebastian swallow, and he heard the whispers. 

The key to the way forward is the one spell Ominis promised himself to never cast again. Crucio. That's why and how his aunt died, she had gone in alone, and had no one to cast it on, or to cast it on her. He knew this was a mistake! They never should have come here! Never! This will be another notch on his belt of regrets.

"Ominis-?"

"I won't cast it." He said firmly, head shaking as he paced by the door that sealed them in. 

She jumped at his tone, and he made a note to apologize for startling her later. His blood was roaring too loudly in his ears, a migraine was forming behind his eyes and his temples pounded. His grip clenched and unclenched on his wand, his other hand fisting at his side. 

"You don't understand, Celia, the pain -it's unimaginable, you would do anything for it to stop. My family used it on me, when I refused to cast it on muggles. Used it until I cast it on a muggle... don't ask me this."

Her touch was like ice on his heated skin, her fingers sliding along his wrist. Only to stop halfway down, to go up instead. His elbow was lifted, her touch like a balm on his wounds as she hummed. It wasn't like the higher note of intrigue, the soothing low of assurance. This was a middle, as high as low, and as calm as her natural speaking voice. 

"Ominis, you're bleeding." She spoke of it as an observation, as if discussing the weather. Her hands shook on his arm, her fingers clumsy as she wiped at his arm with something soft until pain like fire danced up his arm and he hissed. "The snake got you instead of me... oh Ominis, I'm so sorry."

He didn't have time to speak, to say a word as the pain came to the forefront of his mind. Maybe that was why he wasn't feeling so... confident. She dabbed at the wound, apologizing for every hiss of air he released through his teeth. She fiddled about, pressing something cold and smooth into his free hand with a quick command to drink. He didn't argue, obeying without a second thought and tipping it back to let the liquid slosh down his throat. He grimaced, wiggenweld never tasted the greatest. She hummed, pleased as the skin healed itself and stepped back.

"I- I won't ask you to ever curse someone Ominis. I am sorry, for your pain and for your Aunt."

She turned, gone from his side and back across the room in an instant. The feather-light steps turning firm. With the pings of sound dancing across her figure and across the floor of the hall they were trapped in as she squared herself opposite Sebastian. His hopeful tone trailing off at the look upon her face, if Ominis were to guess. Celia's next words were too fast and hushed for him to catch, a tone their friend didn't hesitate to match. They debated for a moment, words Ominis didn't care to try and hear. Not when he could feel the furious heat coming off her in waves, not when he heard the same scathingly biting tone she used on him that night outside the Undercroft now directed at Sebastian as she tore him a new one for even suggesting Ominis cast the spell.

Celia cleared her throat, huffing haughtily. "You know how to cast it, don't you Sebastian."

It had not been a question, even if worded like one. The growing tension threatened to snap at the tiniest of moves, the silence a sharp piercing ring that Ominis wished would deafen him to the next words he feared would come from her lips, or from Sebastian's. He swallowed, the pit in his stomach threatening to swallow him whole. He really didn't like where this was going…

"Then cast it on me and be done with it." She hissed.

"I don't think you understand what you're asking me to do." Sebastian snarked, running a hand through his curls. "I'll teach you the spell, then you can cast it on me. I can take the pa-"

"Listen," She said sharply, coughing. "I don't have the spell casting experience nor the want to learn spells like this, just cast it on me and be done with it. I can take pain, Sebastian."

Sebastian huffed, whatever comment he was going to say died on his tongue when Celia placed a gentle hand on his forearm. She squeezed it, not to hurt. Waiting until dark eyes met hers, and she smiled. Throwing her arms around his middle, she hugged him tightly. Waiting until his own begrudgingly fell around her to hug her close. Her eyes stung, the wonder of if this was what it was like to have a brother making water form in her eyes. She cleared her throat, shoving the thoughts away and blinking back the tears that formed. She's not cried in years, she won't start now.

"For Anne," She said.

Sebastian sighed, voice defeated. "For Anne."

Ominis knew the moment she said those two little words, Sebastian was snapped back into the reason for why they were here. His logic, his reasoning, everything that hadn't been committed to helping his sister fell out one of his ears as her words rammed through the other. Ominis braced himself for what he was about to hear, wishing he could cover his ears and pretend this was all a dream. Sebastian swallowed thickly, a low spoken apology on his tongue that Celia brushed off like dust on her shoulder. If the room had been tense before, it was suffocating now. Quiet except for the deep breaths Sebastian heaved, quiet except for the now borderline incessant rattle shaking in her chest. She swallowed, and he heard it grow worse. 

"Crucio!"

For a moment, everything was still, entirely too quiet as the magic danced over her skin like red lightning. Celia blinked, meeting Sebastian's eyes for a moment before she felt it. The tingle, the itch, the final inkling that something was coming. Only for everything to blend together in a mesh of light and darkness, colors becoming a gray tinted red as pain like never before broke through the dam. 

She wouldn't scream, not with Ominis standing but feet away. He made it clear those screams were unforgettable and she refused to add her own to that list. The world fell away beneath her feet, the solid stone flooring coming far too close to her face as she squeezed her eyes shut. Teeth digging into her lip as copper coated her tongue. 

She couldn't scream now, not even if she wanted to. Her mind racing as her heart pounded in her chest to get out, her fingers clawed at her shirt, at her tie. She needed to get it out, out, out, out- No! Hands gripped hers in a vice grip, pinning tem flat to her chest as arms curled about her waist and she was moving and Good God, Merlin, please stop it-!

It's not real! The pain is fake, an illusion conceived by her own mind! Her logic failed, falling on her own deaf ears as the pain continued to get stronger on her skin. Feeling entirely too much like when she used the ancient magic she was blessed with. Her skin too tight, her body too small for her insides. Her veins and blood vessels were the wrong size, the wrong shape and she needed to get it out of her! Get it out of her chest before it makes her burst!

But Celia couldn't move her arms, couldn't do more than clench her fists until her nails were digging into her palms until one of her hands was snatched and- No! Please! Don't make her move, don't make her move. Moving was bad, bad, bad. She couldn't move, couldn't scream, and she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing that it hurt. Not when she could see his hand raising, see specs of blood stain the wine colored shirt worn for lessons. At least she knew now why white was a forbidden color in her wardrobe. 

Every breath burned, every blink stinging and Maker, how she wished to scream. To beg for it to stop, to end. But begging did nothing but show weakness. And no Croft is allowed to show a weakness... 

The world had long since grown dim, the figures around her turning blurry and hazy into one as she braced herself for the pain that would always be followed if she showed even a minute reaction. She already knows she failed the first test by flinching, by curling into herself. Her limbs were weighted, getting heavier and heavier by the second and Celia thanked her lucky stars that the sweet abyss of nothing was coming for her like a weighted blanket. Even if the dark whispers in her ears were barely heard over the piercing ring of silence, even if she couldn't keep her eyes open to see the cruel, dark smile shining in the night...

"Celia!?"

She doesn’t know who called her name, doesn’t have the strength to find out. Not when she knew she'd wake up, back in that shack. Alone, shivering and covered in her own blood with the expectation to care for her own wounds and return home before breakfast. She just... needed... needed to... rest... rest her eyes... for a... for a second....

@helendeath