A History of Violence
Date. 14/09/2025 | Dialogue. #1E361C | Tag. @Archer Duncan
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Reading was possibly the last reason Gabriele found himself in the library that afternoon. He'd been teasing his brother Antonio relentless all day after stalking him and finding him making out with some seventh year Ravenclaw behind some tree. Or was it a statue? Fuck, he'd forgotten after seeing the disgusting amount of tongue action he'd witnessed. His fault for following him in the first place (he shouldn't have expected anything else), but whatever.
At first he'd been disgusted, interrupting them with a shrill: "Euuuuw!" They're tore apart immediately. The Ravenclaw looked deeply embarrassed - which was essentially the goal. Meanwhile his brother just glared at him, used to his antics since forever. But then an evil smirk had spread on Gabriele's face when he realized the amount of new bully-material he'd just stumbled upon. The much shorter of the trio scrutinized the Ravenclaw guy, like he was the one standing at almost 180 cm. "Wow, your standards have really gone to shit Antonio, haven't they? I didn't know you liked ugly now."
Antonio’s glare instantly turned into a growl. “Gabi, you’re dead!” he hissed, and without wasting a second, he took off after him. What followed after was a wild chase across the courtyard, knocking students out of the way left and right- through the entrance hall, some flights of stairs until he reached the library. By the time Gabriele burst into the library, he was gasping for breath but couldn’t stop the triumphant grin spreading across his face.
Panting and trying to stifle laughter - though failing miserably - Gabi rounded a corner to hide between the bookshelves. Obviously, he had no regard for any students that might be trying to study in peace. The boy didn't even try to be quite. How did you even run quietly? Whatever.
Gabriele came to a halt, pressing his back to the books stacked up in neat rows while trying to sneak a peak behind it, to see if Antonio was following. Even if he had been, it was unlikely he'd dare to chase him inside the library while the librarian was working - hence why it was the perfect hiding spot. As long as you didn't give a fuck about who you might piss off in the process. Clearly, Gabriele did not.
Someone was occupying one of the reading desks; a gloomy looking boy in Slytherin robes was lightly bent over his journal. Or, as Gabriele liked to call it: a diary. Journal was just a more pretentious word for it- for boys who thought diaries were for girls. To be fair, they were. The Italian wouldn't be caught dead writing about his feelings anywhere. Especially not in a book that anyone in the whole fucking school could find and spread around!
Speaking of... Gabriele paused as the idea hit him. Why hadn't he thought about that before? That would be a good next prank. Gabi smirked at the masterplan that just presented itself. That was a quest for later, when he didn't have a butthurt older brother who was taller and at least fifty kilos heavier than him, trying to beat him up.
It had absolutely nothing to do with this random bloke sitting here; he just happened to be the catalyst for brainstorming. Pranking muse. If you will. Judging by the severe aura just surrounding him, he would most likely not approve of being Gabi's muse in anything. Well, it wasn't like he was going to ask for his permission anyway. Slytherins were boring and dry as fuck, and still thought they were all that. Frankly, their attitude pissed him off. You can't be boring AND a cunt. You had to pick one. Gabi had obviously chosen the latter.
It seemed like he'd manage to confuse his brother. Gabriele laughed in triumph. Reckless I-don't-give-a-fuck attitude aside, he hadn't actually meant to shove himself against the bookshelf so hard that it almost toppled over. Luckily it was too heavy for that, but it did cause it to shake, and as a result, a stack of books came crashing down in an avalanche. Onto the table where the boy was sitting, and on the floor around them. It was a mere miracle it didn't hit him in the head. To, to be fair, he didn't actually see it happen, just the familiar sound of something crashing. By the time Gabriele glanced over at the scene, it just looked like a mess.
For once, one of his fuckups had actually been an accident.
Last edited by Gabriele Ricci-Armani on 26 Oct 2025, 16:39, edited 1 time in total.
| Sta: 7 | Eva: 7 | Str: 5 Wis: 5 | Arc: 10 | Acc: 7 |
A History of Violence
| A HISTORY OF VIOLENCE. | with @Gabriele Ricci-Armani |
banner by Pericles Dralt| interacting as Archer Duncan
It had long been established that the student population of Hogwarts often lacked something as simple as common sense, or simply did not have enough decency to care for its existence. Common sense referred to, in the humble opinion of a third year Slytherin, not to make a ruckus or noise in the middle of a library inhabited by studying students. La tranquillité was fairly synonymous to la bibliothèque, and that knowledge was certainly not one lost in translation, only stupidity. If intelligence was meant to be a weapon, such locations might as well have been army headquarters.
Fickle as the whims of a raging storm, Archer’s reactions to mischief was ever-shifting. There was no inaccuracy in claiming he had a fairly uptight reputation, and for good reason too. Having been a wallflower for most of his education, one could often make the assumption that the boy was reserved, too sensitive to speak up, or simply preferred to keep his cards close to his chest. Often, it was a combination of all three that only worsened his predicament. Regarded by many as sticking fast to the rules and with a no-nonsense attitude, choosing to display indifference to the chaos of the Slytherin common room, it would no doubt surprise a good three quarters of the population when he had first returned to school.
If you had asked Archer on the second day of school, humouring Silas Norwood’s constant attacks with the mundanity of a ball and attempting to maintain neutrality with the two other first years who opposed his antics, all while enjoying the scene of underclassmen as a bystander and higher power, perhaps he would have even offered to join in with the newcomer on his pranks, toppling bookshelves, carefree and enjoying himself. It wasn’t as if their new era of far too underaged prefects could have physically stopped him, and too willing was he to risk that perfectly clean track record.
Of course, that good mood didn’t last forever, and nor did his accommodation for others he found irritating. In fact, said irritation only grew, as he became more prickly, quicker to lash out and far more controlled by a fire that could only have been described as rage. He had heard the five stages of grief was not necessarily experienced in chronological order, and that was likely true, considering how denial and a premature depression had now left him stumbling blindly towards anger, bargaining for a fate he knew he could never receive. It was an emotion he was so familiar with by now, having been furious at himself, furious at his father, at Matthew and Maxi and anyone else in his life, furious at the entire world. The one thing he knew he would never reach was acceptance.
And so, falling back on old, terrible habits, perhaps because they were all he had ever known and could hold onto, he let rage control himself again. At first, it was a quiet, brooding thing, a seed planted deep in his heart finally seeing the light of day after months of dirt and nothingness. It was satisfied as it crept upwards, following the motion of Archer’s uplifting eyes. Those eyes that had once been focused on his observations and analyses suddenly found a target of a much higher priority for his attention, the thudding of books as they fell neatly around him still reverberating in his head. None of them might have landed on him, but that didn’t prevent the deed, whether accidental or not, to distract him from his work, and however innocent the perpetrator might have been, war had been declared. Because even if Gabriele had no malice intended against him, Archer did not have either, but he was just granted with a perfect excuse to lash out.
As emotions that had been bottled for far too long sprang to the surface, he started small as he locked eyes with the younger boy, not bothering to stand from his seat or further exert himself. Instead the only thing he said with short, and in a crisp tone, “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
I am not even singed. My wings are untouched. You use them for everything, except flight.
Liliya Starkova| Anthonie Engelbrecht
Liliya Starkova| Anthonie Engelbrecht
A History of Violence
Date. 14/09/2025 | Dialogue. #1E361C | Tag. @Archer Duncan
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Not unexpectedly, the boy in green robes glanced up at him, clear irritation in his eyes and voice as he snapped at him. Gabriele just stood there, gawking at him for a second, blinking. I mean, he expected snobby attitude from students from the house of the snake, but he didn't imagine him to be quite that dumb. For people that thought they were so clever, they acted pretty stupid most of the time. It had clearly been an accident. Anyone should have been able to tell. Granted, few that knew Gabriele Ricci-Armani personally would assume anything he did was on accident. Usually it wasn't, but this time he hadn't meant to disrupt the title-arranged books. This guy didn't know that, though.
“…Seriously?” The Italian huffed incredulously. This emo-ass Shakepear was looking at him like he was the problem? Like he hadn’t just been minding his own damn business (kind of) and accidentally caused a minor seismic event with a few crusty books? It had actually been an accident for once! Cut him some fucking slack. Sure, Gabi could have apologized… Until he decided to give him attitude, and now he didn’t fucking want to.
With one mocking eyebrow raised, he pointedly looked the Slytherin boy up and down to size him up. Difficult to gauge exactly how much height and strength he had over him while he was sitting, but he looked kind of scrawny. No doubt taller than Gabi, but strength wise, maybe they weren't that far off. Gabriele was certain he could get some good punches in, fist first into that delicate face, shall things come to that.
He was not one to shy away from a fight. Not even in the library while the librarian watched. The idea made adrenaline pump through him. Fuck, now he kind of wanted it. But he knew better than to throw the first blow. And it would have been stupid. Gabriele was getting a bit ahead of himself; The guy hadn't even done anything yet worth punching him for. Unless looking haughty counted as a crime.
“Oh no,” he said in over-exaggerated, feigned horror. “Did I ruin you little diary session? Cazzo, I'm sorry.” He was not. Gabi couldn’t help but roll his eyes, an amused smirk on his lips. This was the exact reason he thought it was absolutely fair to hate on and tease Slytherins. There were some exceptions, of course, but they were severely outweighed by the stuck-ups. Like this guy. “Relax, dude. None of it hit you, did it?” With a shrug, he bent down to pick up a fallen book — only to accidentally drop it again, spine-first with a loud thunk on top of his little table. Another attempt to poke the bear, now when he had his attention.
“Hey, think positively. At least now you have something to add in your little diary,” gesturing dismissively to his journal. “Honestly, you should be thanking me for adding some spice to your life. You’re welcome, anyway.” For providing the creative inspiration.
| Sta: 7 | Eva: 7 | Str: 5 Wis: 5 | Arc: 10 | Acc: 7 |
A History of Violence
14/09/2025 | library
“Honestly, you should be thanking me for adding some spice to your life.”
That was one step tread too far. Perhaps just words of sarcasm from a boy who was puny in strength, short in height, and purely didn’t know any better. Dark curls, pretty skin, it wouldn’t matter what sort of porcelain doll the boy looked like — all porcelain dolls break anyway, and he was going to break that face like he had sent so many dummies imploding. His captain would agree with him that it was audacious to challenge someone who’s spell could ruin a person’s day or even week, but even more so when the outlets for his anger proved insufficient, and he turned his eyes on others.
At first, Archer’s movement was still controlled. Shutting his journal with a hard thud, he rose slowly, hands pushing himself up from the tabletop while keeping his eyes levelled on the ones of the boy who had aggravated him. There was nothing wrong in his chiding for Archer to relax, and usually to unbothered to deal with imbeciles and fleas of people such as Gabriele, Archer would have kept his composure and given the both of them space. Yet today he was not striking just from a few fallen books and a giddy boy that was none of his business. Today, cold fury at all the injustices in the world seized his veins.
How unfair it had been for his mother to have perished like that when extinguo was just there, how unfair it had been for her to die and him to live with all of the guilt, how unfair it had been for the world to so crudely take her from him. The weight it had left on his father, and more importantly on him, on all the years he still had ahead of him. And for the past almost year now he had kept it all shut down deep in his heart, only allowing the stray undestructive sob while he sat alone, terrified with his thoughts and emotions. Now he wasn’t alone, and now that he was stronger, someone was bound to pay for all the pain he had endured, innocent of not.
In fact for how long cool rage that cool rage had ticked it finally exploded. Suddenly tackling the boy and pushing him against a bookshelf, which no doubt would even cause the demise of more literature, he pulled himself closer to him and said, certainly in a shout far louder than either of them had been throughout the conversation, “You don’t think I’ve got enough spice in my life after my mother died?” Who the hell was he to talk about keeping quiet in libraries now, Archer thought bitterly. His eyes flashed, and the growl-like edge of his voice couldn't help but repeat itself in his mind.
He didn’t know why the fuck he bothered. Whipping out his wand he incanted, then watched as the spell hit and Gabriele fall back, slack, “Petrificus Totalus!”
@Gabriele Ricci-Armani
I am not even singed. My wings are untouched. You use them for everything, except flight.
Liliya Starkova| Anthonie Engelbrecht
Liliya Starkova| Anthonie Engelbrecht
A History of Violence
Date. 14/09/2025 | Dialogue. #1E361C | Tag. @Archer Duncan
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Insulting the boy was begging for it—he knew that. He’d let the taunts slip out with the full knowledge—hope—that it would escalate into a physical fight, even if some of his words were true. Like, what was the reason for getting upset if he hadn’t even been knocked in the head by a book? Someone normal would have just moved on.
What he hadn’t considered was that this older Slytherin probably knew several offensive spells Gabi had never even heard of, and might have no reservations about using them. That kind of came with being a snake, in the Hufflepuffs’ mind. He’d expected pushback: insults about his intelligence, maybe his appearance, a slap—hell, for the boy to just jump him, tackle him to the floor, and rip at his hair. Maybe even spit on him if he was feeling particularly feisty.
The taller boy stood up to face him, shutting his journal like he meant business. Straightening his posture to gain an inch or two, Gabriele watched him closely, barely containing a smirk with his anticipation rising. Out of all the reactions he’d imagined, being hit with the dead mom card hadn’t even made the list. Why would it? Neither of Gabriele’s parents were dead, and he didn’t know anyone his age who’d lost a parent young. There were plenty of reasons why it hadn’t crossed his mind as a possibility, and—most importantly—how the fuck was he supposed to know that in the first place?! He didn’t even know the guy’s name yet.
For a fraction of second, Gabis’ cocky composure slipped. That was not fair on a completely different level! If they were competing in “whose home life sucked more,” Gabi had ammo. Sure, Archer’s mom was dead, but try having your living parent openly admit they didn’t even like you—just loved you out of obligation. He didn’t have the chance to say any of that before a spell came hurtling toward him, striking him square in the chest. He toppled like a worthless log, mouth slightly parted, an expression ready for debate— maybe even regret, if you looked closely enough — permanently etched on his face for however long the curse would last.
Considering how many times Gabriele had pissed people off, it was a miracle this was the first time anyone had actually hexed him. It could’ve been a milestone—if he weren’t lying flat and useless on the library floor at Archer’s mercy. All he could do was mentally seethe at both his humiliating position - and fucking Archer for hexing him - while simultaneously wondering what would happen if he didn’t get the hell out of these invisible chains. And that was pronto!
Summoning whatever physical power, and strength of willpower he could, Gabi fought against the restraints of the spell. Then, like he’d just clawed his way out of the grave, he catapulted into a sitting position. That was so fucking weird…
Gabi pushed himself up fully, his breath sharp in his chest, eyes locking on Archer with a glare that could have scorched parchment. He tilted his head with narrowed eyes, like he was about to deliver the nastiest jab yet- but stopped. He didn’t have to say it outright to get the point across. “I was about to say something,” he said, tone dripping with mock sympathy, “but I suppose you’re sad and pathetic enough as it is. Your life sucks? Congratulations. Join the fucking club.” Or don't. Because he didn't want anything to do with a buzzkill like this dude.
At least he had to give it to him that he knew way more useful spells than Gabi knew. “Nice shot, by the way. Shame you wasted it—’cause now it’s my turn.” Gabriele raised his wand, firing off the only offensive-ish spell he could think of. One that he’d never used before. Honestly, he barely even knew the effects of it. It was completely new to him and unpracticed, but with nothing to lose, why the hell not? Reckless, maybe. Perfect. “Ingens Explosiones!”
| Sta: 7 | Eva: 7 | Str: 5 Wis: 5 | Arc: 10 | Acc: 7 |
A History of Violence
14/09/2025 | library
Usually the restraints of the Full-Body Bind lasted longer than the brief moments it confined the boy Archer had taken to be his punching bag, but he supposed there was truth in great emotion to extremes either enhances a spell… or completely robs it of its power. No wonder he had been so desperate to keep his emotions on a tight leash last year, however well that had worked out for him (it probably worked terribly, just for the record). So brows furrowing with frustration as Gabriele broke free and glared at him — a look that he returned, unintimidated, he laid his wand down on the table and squared his shoulders, advancing towards the younger boy as if he had a target on his back.
However, before Archer could grab him by that finely tailored collar and shove a fist up his nose with those hands untrained in skin-on-skin martial arts, the little bastard returned with both insult and a spell back. He certainly had no thought of letting the words slip by ignored, “Well, congratulations, you,” Archer returned, voice bordering on a shout as he disregarded their location in an act of classic hypocrisy. Taking another step towards Gabriele, as if he could force him out of his life and the past surreal first days back, having thought, as foolishly as he did, that all the good things would last, that all the good things were real. Archer had never had faith in the things he could not explain, and he certainly could not have explained the sudden emotions he had felt and taken for granted. “I was having the best two weeks of my life and guess what, you ruined it!”
Perhaps, with all the teenage hormones confusing him into a daze it was not truly Gabriele to blame, yet Archer could have certainly argued that his presence was not easing all that sudden anger that had fought their way to the long-awaited surface. It certainly did not ease him when Gabriele aimed his wand back, but he would have never known he was fighting against a duellist. Even if he may not cast well in his state of mind, instincts could not have been erased, and with the skill trained into his muscles after repetition time after time, he dodged easily enough. Yet Ignes Explosiones was a spell that ricocheted, and it just happened to have been in Archer's star-cursed luck that the ricocheted onto his journal.
Managing to rip his eyes off the book, the very same book that contained his mother’s scrawl of shorthand and smudged pictures in ink, soon later he found himself pushing Gabriele against a nearby shelf, no doubt only causing many more works of literature to crash down in their wake. Uncaring for anything at that moment, least of all a few arbitrary books, his sole focus was on the boy in front of him as his vision seemed to tunnel on that one, obnoxious face that had ruined everything. His day, what little he had left of his mother on him, and a good mood he had been treasuring like a diamond found amongst glass shards — gone, all because some imbecile sent books crashing down onto him.
So, spells may have been ineffective, but fists spoke for themselves. If Archer could not have trusted a skill or a hex, he certainly could trust his own hands. Or, he supposed the question was, could he? Could Archer Duncan even trust himself? So he was pondering philosophy now? Predictable. Instead, before he could regulate himself, his vision flashed and soon enough, that obnoxiously childish face blended into the far too hard lines of his father’s jaw, the interior of the library melting away into the carriage ride two months ago, and he was filled with the same rage as two months ago. Just another cocky son of a bitch who think they could destroy his mother’s legacy and get away with it.
In an action no different from last time, he aimed a fist at Gabriele and struck.
@Gabriele Ricci-Armani
whether the punch hits or not is your decision (unless you wish to roll instead)
whether the punch hits or not is your decision (unless you wish to roll instead)
I am not even singed. My wings are untouched. You use them for everything, except flight.
Liliya Starkova| Anthonie Engelbrecht
Liliya Starkova| Anthonie Engelbrecht
A History of Violence
Date. 14/09/2025 | Dialogue. #1E361C | Tag. @Archer Duncan Note. Same to you, if his knee hits right lmao
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The spell fired, but instead of giving Archer a piece of his own medicine, it found its target in his dusty old journal. Better than nothing, he supposed. Whatever happened to the book was a question that remained unanswered when, within seconds, Archer had seized Gabi and forced him up against the nearby bookshelves. Gabi slammed into the shelves with a harsh thud, the wood rattling beneath him. Dust from books that must have not been touched in a century puffed up into his nose, making him sneeze, and a few books fell to the floor. It barely made a difference among the rest of the chaos.
Archer’s taller frame loomed over him, but Gabi wasn’t about to let that intimidate him. Quite the opposite. Staring up at the boy’s face, twisted in rage and making him look almost a decade older, Gabi’s eyes were filled with nothing but defiance—and a hint of water—as he gripped the fabric of Archer’s robes to keep him at arm’s length. Then, an odd realization struck him. King Slytherin douchebag was practically on top of him. He was prepared for the fist aiming for his face, but nothing could have prepared him for that. Gabriele had barely hugged another person that was not his family. In that moment, he was just an awkward kid having a very weird first. He blinked in shock, holding on to Archer like some bizarre hallucination – to fight him off, obviously. Ma che cazzo?
Bouncing back to the present, he spat a taunt at him, “Does it look like I give a fuck?”—a reply to Archer’s earlier claim that Gabriele had ruined his first weeks, or maybe his life; he couldn’t quite remember. Was he supposed to feel sorry for this bitch? He wasn’t. At least not anymore, any sympathy earned from Gabi was gone the moment he decided to curse him. All this was, at this point, just leverage to bully him more. One thing was certain: this bitch deserved every bit of misfortune coming his way. And if it happened to be because of Gabriele personally, well, that counted as a win, no matter how the fight ended.
Almost relieving, the fight forced him out of his thoughts and the unexpected feelings it stirred. He ducked down just in time for Archer’s fist to sail past his face, landing fuck-knows-where. He straightened back up to face him, grinning like he was having the time of his life, despite his racing heart. "Careful, asshole. I might start to think you’re fun." If he thought Gabriele was a menace right now, just wait until he's actually on his annoy-to-death list. At this rate, he was having more fun with this bitch than he'd had all fucking year. Archer probably thought he was putting Gabi in his place, but really, he’d just signed up for hell.
Without missing a beat, the Hufflepuff gathered his strength and knocked his knee upward between the folds of his robes, aiming for whatever sensitive spots he could. All delivered with a vicious smile. A move his dad apparently used all the time on crazy fanboys. Call it carrying the legacy forward, or something.
| Sta: 7 | Eva: 7 | Str: 5 Wis: 5 | Arc: 10 | Acc: 7 |
A History of Violence
14/09/2025 | library
Too blinded by rage, it was only natural that his fist would miss. Instead of connecting squarely with Gabriele’s jaw, or his nose, or his cheek, or any other part Archer could aim at, it just barely managed to not go straight into a sturdy shelf and instead sailed right past into the air. The momentum that had seized him caused his body to tip forward, and as his shoulder throbbed, the distance between the two of them was closed even further as Archer caught roughly onto the collar of Gabriele’s robe. In spite of no blood yet to be spilled by his lack of accuracy, the world was tinted with red. In fact, at this point, with all the colours in the library seemingly blending into each other, it was a miracle he could even focus on his opponent.
No, Archer’s mind was focused on a million, unrelated, and utterly tragic aspects of his life. His mother, transforming mid-flight into her burned human form. His father, destroying his mother’s belongings in some twisted way of “moving on”. Himself, pushing away everyone in his life as everything about him deteriorated. It was not the people in his life that had wronged him, it was his life itself. And then there was Gabriele, standing before him, was where all that anger fell, squarely onto that one single point of impact. Perhaps, in truth, they were not just related but the absolute root causes of today’s rage — it was not some petty annoyance, it was the sort of fury that made him want to see a house on fire all over again.
“Careful, asshole. I might start to think you’re fun.” Archer said no words in response, yet his scoff was enough in the face of silence. Fun. As if any of this was fun. As if Gabriele could use him like a toy while he was feeling utterly miserable. Of course, if Archer was ever to get into another fight, he too wanted to enjoy the adrenaline rush and thrill of his hits but… he was way too fucking tired of life to deal with this shit. And to deal with that smile of his, vicious like a devil’s — all of it made Archer want to gut him.
Then—
The world did not so much explode as implode. Archer barely sensed the younger boy’s knee in his robes, and, considering in his thirteen years he had never gotten into an actual fight, much less have been kicked there before, a wave of shocked pain washed over him. Rather than a sharp gasp that could have accompanied a punched stomach he let out a low groan. Ears ringing, he felt a bolt of white-hot nausea shoot from his groin to his stomach, the air in his lungs sucked out by the single, excruciating point of impact. His knees buckled, and he slid down into a kneeling position with his head down and teeth clenched. The nuisance of a boy, the fucking demon was no longer there, and the only reality was the throbbing agony between his legs.
@Gabriele Ricci-Armani
So, some research tells me it would be very difficult for him to fight back for some minutes after being kicked like that. I was thinking Gabi could taunt him/try to walk away/etc. whatever works for him, and Archer can deliver the blows back the next post. Anyways, I hope the description wasn't half bad and if you have anything you think we should change please just owl me.
So, some research tells me it would be very difficult for him to fight back for some minutes after being kicked like that. I was thinking Gabi could taunt him/try to walk away/etc. whatever works for him, and Archer can deliver the blows back the next post. Anyways, I hope the description wasn't half bad and if you have anything you think we should change please just owl me.
I am not even singed. My wings are untouched. You use them for everything, except flight.
Liliya Starkova| Anthonie Engelbrecht
Liliya Starkova| Anthonie Engelbrecht
A History of Violence
Date. 14/09/2025 | Dialogue. #1E361C | Tag. @Archer Duncan
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Gabriele felt the impact against something, but he couldn’t be sure it was a success until he saw the aftermath. Not more than a second later, Archer fell like a sack of potatoes from the impact of his strike. Gabriele’s gaze followed his fall in surprise and delight. The look of hatred in the boy’s face, then the clear shock from his unexpected move. Absolute gold. Clearly, Archer had not seen that coming.
Had it really been unexpected though? From his point of view, the Slytherin had been asking for it; pressed up against the bookshelves — no magical arsenal to speak of compared to whatever fancy spells a third year knew – what other options were there? Admitting defeat was never an option. Perhaps not enough people had put this motherfucker in his place before, and Gabriele was thrilled to be the first to humble him. Not in one of the most sophisticated ways... clearly, but it was very much the essence of Gabriele Ricci-Armani.
For some reason, he hadn’t expected it to be that easy. Like the older boy would have had some other ace up his sleeve that would have granted him tolerance towards the pain. A spell, or something. Alas, he was just a boy, almost disappointingly human. But it felt good to see him squirm and knowing it was thanks to himself, nonetheless.
After a moments pause and staring, Gabriele burst into laughter. Unfiltered, inherently malicious and unhinged, but still somehow just honestly hilarious. He didn’t regret what he’d done, Archer deserved it for cursing him in the first place. Yeah, so what if he’d been a bit loud? Dropping a few books and disturbing the library peace was not bad enough to warrant him cursing him. But even if he had been entitled to his feelings — Gabi knew that on some level, but he was too proud and defensive to admit it — as extremely sensitive and fucking crazy they were, Gabi was having too much fun pressing his buttons. And kicking them.
This cat and mouse game was the most fun he’d had in weeks. It was almost boring that this was the end of it. Archer didn’t seem like he’d been in a position to fight back anytime soon, crouched on the floor like an idiot. “Tch. That’s it? Some fight." Gabriele scoffed, then took a step away from his uncomfortable position against the shelves. "Well, that was fun while it lasted. Enjoy the view from down there.” With a dismissive wave and yawn, Gabriele turned his back on the scene and made his way to leave.
| Sta: 7 | Eva: 7 | Str: 5 Wis: 5 | Arc: 10 | Acc: 7 |
A History of Violence
14/09/2025 | library
Some fight? The words reverberated in his brain, that some patronisation his father had given him when he had grown indifferent to his outbursts. Some fight? As if he was just a kid, and Gabriele was looking down to him like a schoolyard bully. Some fight? That scoff that followed was a dismissal as much as it was anything else. He lifted his eyes painfully, a dull hazel shadowed by tousled hair. It was fun while it lasted. As if Archer had ever laughed throughout their entire violent exchange. No, he was all melancholy, and eventually, melancholy could not help but boil over into rage. He waved. He yawned. And just like that, Gabriele Ricci-Armani left.
But that was Gabriele’s mistake—he might have been done with Archer, but Archer was certainly not done with him. With a groan, Archer rose to his feet on pure, unending adrenaline. He followed Gabriele and as he bursted into a sprint with heavy breaths, soon caught up to him. Grabbing him behind the shoulders, hands wrapping around his arms and forcing his nails into skin, Archer pulled Gabriele close to him and turned his body around to look into his eyes. There was nothing more he wanted than to dig up those brown eyes with his bare hands that very second.
Instead, however, he allowed himself some semblance of restraint. Merely, all Archer did was allow the both of them to crash, this time creating a much bigger ruckus that what had originally sparked the flame that burned into an uncontrollable fury. Eyes fiery, he pinned the younger boy’s body beneath his own and glared at him, wordless. He drew one knee up to Gabriele’s stomach and pressed hard against the soft flesh. Slender fingers searched for his wrists and still taking the advantage of his surprise attack, pushed them against the marble floor hard. The world was making him a human punching bag. All he saw today was his own.
The first punch was for Gabriele. That little brat. First, all the shit that he had been put through and now, this. It left him speechless. It was ridiculous, he was ridiculous, and perhaps Archer was ridiculous for engaging, but where else was he supposed to let out all that pure rage? It was as if he was Achilles, with Patroclus taken away from him. Yet there was no Hector for him to kill and drag around on his chariot, for surely he could confront the concept of fire itself. So instead, he turned to other, dangerous mediums. He turned to those he once loved, he turned to strangers, he turned to the boy he tried so desperately to become friends with, and eventually, he was turning to himself.
The second punch was for Atticus. The original incinerator of his mother’s works. Once, Atticus had been his papa, a man he could call by that word with love and nothing less. Now, he was a hell of a deadbeat of a dad and to be fair, barely a father. Last year, all he did was sob, rot in bed, and not even check in on his son. This year, he seemed completely devoid of the emotion he was once so talented at wielding, and instead became an undead man who treated Marguerite, Archer’s dearest late mother, as if she was something to be forgotten, moving on by erasing her memory completely.
The third punch was for the world. It had made him something terrible, and he, as much as Gabriele was his victim, he was its, in a vicious cycle of punishment, pain, and violence that never ended. He could never curse his mother, but he could curse cruel fate for taking her away from him. He could curse fate for the aftermath, for never truly getting help and now being swamped in his own sadness. He could curse fate for that euphoric elation he felt just yesterday, only for it now to slip away. He didn’t quite have time to think of what it was, that sudden joy that he felt almost possessed by, but he might as well be addicted to it.
The fourth punch was for himself. And the fifth, and the sixth, and the seventh, and ever other one that followed. It seemed to have always returned to himself, that anger, that deep abhorring. All roads led to Rome, and every thought, every action, every behaviour, eventually led to the conclusion of how much he hated himself. How much he wished he would plunge his hands into his heart and tear it straight out. Smear it on the walls and make a mess of a boy whose mind was in the same state of disarray. At the tender age of thirteen Archer Duncan was already a failure of a person, and the most heartbreaking part was how self aware he was of the fact.
Then, a sickening crunch. Archer was no expert in the martial arts, but he was good enough to know the sound of a nose breaking. Then, as tears pricked at his eyes, he stopped, not out of pity, not out of some last strand of his conscience, but because he could not bear the pain in his heart anymore, all the memories and self-hatred that had arisen. Archer knew why he was so easy to snap, so often detesting another’s company — it was just the same self-hatred without any place to go inwards, so of course, it was forced to turn outwards. Gabriele, again, was, by all means, a victim, and he was the perpetrator.
Archer knelt there, slightly bewildered, unsure what to do as he glanced around himself. Students stared, but no professor was yet to intervene. Pushing himself against Gabriele’s body for the strength he lacked, Archer stood, and brushed off his robes, cleaning his knuckles on the edges of the fabric. He offered Gabriele a final glare, but unlike Gabriele there was no dismissiveness in his voice. It wasn’t even a second challenge, just an inevitable fate they knew would have to face. He didn’t quite know why his voice was raw, and he couldn’t quite help the fact he wanted to cry, but he managed the words, “See you in the medical wing, you son of a bitch.”
@Gabriele Ricci-Armani
godmods have been agreed upon
godmods have been agreed upon
I am not even singed. My wings are untouched. You use them for everything, except flight.
Liliya Starkova| Anthonie Engelbrecht
Liliya Starkova| Anthonie Engelbrecht