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lis-likes-fics · 8 months

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Music to My Eyes

Pairings: Finnick Odair x deaf!fem!Reader Word Count: 7.5k words Warnings: Mentions of the Games, so killing and death, mentions of trauma, my attempt at writing sign language, pre-Katniss, no Annie... A/N: Hey, everyone! I watched the Hunger Games a few months ago and had a mini obsession and decided to write for it and only now just got half of my fic done. Since it was running as long as it was, I decided to go ahead and split this into two different parts, but I swear the rest of it is being planned and written. Also A/N: Just FYI, anything written in /slants/ is an indication of something being signed because explaining every little sign just does not work. And, also, Hecton Leary is absolutely done by Peter Capaldi in my mind...just in case you need a visual. I was watching a lot of Doctor Who during this so, get ready to see those intense eyebrows all over the place in this, lmao. Also Also A/N: Special thanks to my beta-reader @killerqueen-ofwillowgreen who I will be crediting more bc I literally forgot to last time and she's too amazing for that! Thanks, Vee! 💖

You don't love wearing dresses—especially not extravagant ones like these, more expensive than likely your entire district as a whole. You also don't love parties like these where you have to wear said dresses, surrounded by tons of people generating body heat and stuffing the room full of perfumes and colognes that make your nose and eyes burn. Your feet hurt from the heels your designer paired with your outfit, and the air is active with words and voices that overwhelm your brain with too much information to take.

Having Hecton beside you is a relief at least—not completely lost in a sea of people as he and you communicate with two rich sponsors from District 1 dressed just a slight less dramatic as you but just as exaggerated.

You watch their lips, painted over with bright colors complementing their attire, as they speak to you. "It must be so hard, isn't it?" the woman asks, spending too much time on "so" as she speaks slowly for you to comprehend. You want to roll your eyes. "Flailing about all the time just to get a few words out?"

The man next to her agrees, nodding his head. You can see his throat shift, and you assume he's hummed a response.

Hecton's hands move with skill as he speaks, partly as aid in translation for you but mostly for the performance people are looking for.

You feel like your lips are going to fall off, you can almost feel them twitching at the ends from how long you've been smiling at all these people who don't know anything about you and assume they know everything.

You widen your smile to show teeth and shake your head, continuing to be as respectful as you can with your social tolerance running low.

Your hands move and, out of the corner of your eye, you can see Hecton speaking as they do. "Not really," he translates. "It's natural for me."

The man puts a hand over his heart and turns to her. "Oh, you poor thing," he says rather dramatically. Hecton doesn't dignify his words by translating that for you—not that you needed it in the first place. His hands remain still, folded in front of him. The man glances toward them, and you can see his brief disappointment at his words not receiving the glory of illustration.

You glance up at Hecton, your smile intact as you slightly squint the corners of your eyes in a silent plea. He answers you gracefully, turning his attention back to the fashionable vultures in front of him.

"This was wonderful," he says, "but I believe our little lady is excited to meet other guests here tonight."

Hecton is an older man with grey hair, pale eyes, and intense brows. Upon looking at him, he isn't the most approachable man. You don't just say no to him—especially as a past victor of the Games who certainly triumphed by a long-shot. He is not weakened by age, but he's definitely wisened by it. Although sobered by surviving the horrors of the Games, it neither slowed nor ruined his life, it simply gave an abrupt end to what little childhood people of Districts like yours can obtain.

One look at the finality on his face and they were fully ready to end their (rather insulting) conversation. They turn to one another, making these awful pity-faces as they hold each other's hands and turn back to heartily agree. "Of course." She puts too much emphasis on the words. "Goodbye, dear."

You nod gently and look toward Hecton for confirmation as he places a hand on your back and turns with you. You both walk away from the conversation gratefully, still smiling for everyone else in the room but moving your hands in silent conversation.

/These people are exhausting,/ you complain, entirely within your right with the way they treat you.

Hecton sighs, looking at you with eyes that understand your struggle. /Just keep them happy./

You nod, remaining light-hearted for both your sakes as you offer a genuine smile before you slip back into a customer service front. /I know, I know./

Lots of eyes are on you tonight, but none so keen as a certain boy across the room. He has basically been watching you all night, intrigued by the way you've been communicating, by the way you draw so much attention without having spoken a single word since you arrived.

He has seen you around a few times—on television, at other parties. He knows your face and that you won the Games like him, but he's never paid enough attention to actually know anything past that. But now, observing you all night, he's interested enough to ask.

His elbow brushes the guy next to him, a victor from another district he doesn't care to specify right now. "Who is that again?" he asks, not taking his eyes off of you as his friend turns to look. "I've seen her a couple times, never remember."

He looks at you and then back at him. "Her?" he gestures vaguely toward you. He nods.

"Victor from District 10, she won the 67th Games." He takes a sip from his drink, leaning back against a table with a hand in his pocket. "Surprised everyone cause she," he shrugged, "can't hear or something."

That definitely caught his attention as he turned full bodied toward him. "Really?"

"Yeah," he swirled his drink around. "She's nice…in a little bunny sort of way." It's not necessarily an insult, more than it is him calling you soft-hearted and skittish.

He walks away without a word, finally making his way toward you to quell his curiosity as he approaches you and takes his sweet time about it.

Your back is turned to him. He briefly wonders the best way to get your attention on the way over, knowing you hate being tapped by the way your shoulders flinch and you strain a smile when you turn.

Then again, no one likes tapping.

When he reaches you, he just folds his hands behind his back and smiles. "Hello," he says simply. Hecton turns at the greeting, prompting you to do the same.

"I'm Finnick. Finnick Odair," he greets with a smile of his own as he regards the both of you. He watches the way the old man's hand moves on his name. Your hand reaches out and interrupts him as you place a gentle palm on top of his. He makes a face—it's not annoyed, just teasing.

You turn back to Finnick, your performance smiling still intact. Hecton speaks while you sign. For a moment, Finnick thinks he'll understand the movements you make—Mags doesn't speak, she has to use her hands to communicate all the time, surely it couldn't be that different—but he is proven wrong when words don't match waves.

"I know who you are. You won the 65th Games, you're from District 4." Finnick thinks, briefly, that your friend's voice doesn't match you at all (which is obvious, of course, but he feels it's worth pointing out).

"Well, then," he responds with a slight chuckle, only glancing for a moment at the way Hecton's hands move as he talks, "I'm flattered you know me. Unfortunately, I couldn't say the same for you…"

You seem surprised by that. He thinks it may have something to do with the way that you haven't had many moments away from conversation since you arrived. Everyone has been too taken by you, too interested in snatching a few minutes.

Your hands don't start moving in that curious way Finnick likes to watch because words are already being spoken. "Mr. Odair, this is Y/N Y/L/N. I am her mentor and translator, Hecton Leary."

Finnick holds out a hand, which each of you shake. Out of courtesy, he doesn't start talking again until after your hands are free. "Wonderful to meet you both. And, please, Finnick is fine. There's no need for formalities when we could be friends, right?"

You still smile as you begin to sign, though your brows furrow. /Why exactly do I want to be your friend?/

Finnick doesn't understand, looking at Hecton for translation. He only says your name, a sort of reprimand as he continues to smile.

/I'm only being honest./

Where you expected frustration from not understanding, you find amusement in Finnick's eyes as his genuine smile widens and he looks between the both of you. "What am I missing?"

Hecton looks at you, raising a large brow and waiting for your reply. You sigh gently and shake your head, remaining civil as you begin to sign.

"Sorry," he speaks for you. "I look forward to establishing friendship with another fellow Victor. Maybe one day we'll…" Hecton gets quiet as he just watches your hands continue to move and your lips continue to smile, full of amusement.

/We'll frolic in the woods together, holding hands and singing songs./

Hecton turns full body to you. He holds his palms apart and brings them together swiftly without clapping them. /Y/N./

You smile wider and hold your hands in surrender, the tiny sound of a giggle slipping out of you. You're otherwise silent as your hands fly. /I'm joking! Tell him it was nice to meet him, and I look forward to being friends./

Hecton eyes you momentarily before relenting, turning back to Finnick with exasperation. "She says it was a pleasure meeting you, and she looks forward to your friendship."

Finnick raises his brows, bowing his head gently. "The pleasure is all mine." He's a charmer, and he makes that clear by reaching out and slowly, softly taking your hand in his (his grasp is so gentle that you could easily take your hand back if you wanted and he wouldn't stop you). He bends forward, pressing his lips to the back of your hand. He straightens his spine and watches you fondly. "Until we meet again."

As he lets go of your hand, he bows his head once more before he walks away. You and Hecton watch him leave. He raises his own brow at you. "Is that blush I see?"

Your hands are quick and exaggerated as you move them. You know he's joking and you're not blushing, but his teasing makes you. /No!/

Hecton's smile is wide and open and you know he's laughing at you, so you call him out for being mean. He drops it just as quickly, once the joke has faded to a funny memory and you both are back to mingling with people who do not care about you.

The halls are empty this late in the night. Everyone has retired to their rooms or taken an early train home. It's peaceful, wandering the halls this late and being undisturbed by curious eyes and ears watching you like some wild animal. You enjoy the silence—the physical silence of steady air and only one set of footsteps to track instead of hundreds.

At the end of the hall you wander now is the elevator that takes you to your level. Hecton will be wondering where you are—and if not, it's probably time for you to retire for the night before the victor's interviews with Lucky tomorrow anyway. As you make your way toward it, the lights bright and beckoning, you stop in front of it and click the door button.

It's as the doors are sliding open that you realize you're no longer alone in the dead of this night. You feel it in the prickle of your skin, the change in the weight of the floor beneath you. You look over quickly where the side of your face heats with a new presence.

You see Finnick approaching you, seemingly pleased to see you as he smiles at you, stopping short of the doors to offer you first entry. You grin hesitantly, your confidence from before waning a little with the absence of your mentor and translator. If he tries to talk to you, you're probably going to have a rough night. You press the tenth floor button. He presses the fourth.

Finnick isn't as pessimistic, glancing at you out of the corner of your eyes as you stand with your fingers tangled and your eyes toward the ground. You don't look nearly as cocky this time around—in fact, you seem nervous, refusing to even give him that small, awkward smile you usually receive when stuck in a space next to someone you don't know.

Finnick licks his lips, and speaks before he can correct himself. "Hello," he says, giving you a charming smile before immediately remembering your certain disability.

His curiosity grows when you raise your head, glancing his way but not quite committing.

"Oh, right," he mumbles. His added words spark your attention once more as you finally look at him, moving your hand in a talking motion.

"Yeah," he responds. "How did you know?" You're deaf, but you could tell that he was speaking without even looking at him?

He watches you think for a moment, staring off to try and figure out a way to tell him without Hecton to aid you. You look at him again, raising a hand palm down and shaking it.

"Shaking?" he guesses, raising a confused brow.

You gestured around the elevator, your face etched in concentration, determined to be understood. You sometimes forget how hard communication can actually be for you.

"The room?" he tries. "The room is shaking?"

You make a face, one that says "not quite".

He thinks for a moment, putting your gestures together before it dawns on him. "The air is moving."

You smile, far too happy to have successfully gotten a point across.

Finnick's brows raise, though not in a mocking or upset way. "Is everything really that sensitive for you?"

'It has to be,' you want to say, but you can't. You can read lips, but moving your own to try and copy them is a completely different story. Instead, you just nod and agree.

"I heard that's how you won the Games," he said, before adding on the end with a genuinely impressed smile. "Very cool, by the way." He had spent an embarrassing amount of time—or it would be embarrassing if he actually cared about that—asking party comers about you. Most of the information he got was about the Games, always about the Games. He got the same answers from just about everyone about how you were just so sweet and how it was so inspiring how your lack of hearing helped you to win.

As much as that sweet grin on your face made you want to smile, he wasn't technically right. So you shook your head, and he watched you raise your hands to cover your eyes.

"You were blind?" he wonders, but that doesn't make any sense and he doesn't feel very smart for asking now.

You shake your head and do it again, this time pulling your hands away and then covering your face again.

"You hid," he answers. That makes more sense.

You nod and he hums.

You didn't win the Hunger Games by killing for being killed, you didn't win by joining alliances or traveling in groups and pairs. You won the Games by running and hiding until everyone had killed each other.

When the Gamemakers used their tricks and schemes to flush you out of your hiding places, you found another one to lay low until the end. Yes, there were times when you had to fight for your life, but you were no strong competitor. It was dumb luck that you won. Right up to the end, facing off with the almost-champion after having been hunted down by Mutts. He killed them, and then he tried to kill you.

And that was when your disability was labeled your greatest weapon.

Maybe one day you'll be able to tell him that.

The doors slid open to reveal Finnick's floor. You both linger there in the elevator for a moment, trying to decide what to do from there.

Truly, you should have just waved at him and let the doors close to take you to your own floor. It was late already, you needed to rest.

But…

"Do you like sweets?"

Yes, you do.

You nod, answering his charming smile with a shy one and being upset with yourself in the back of your mind for falling for his obvious charm. If you got hurt, it was on you and no one else. But who cares?

You, you care. Maybe not enough, though.

You follow him off the elevator and into the common room. The kitchen is just off of it, with a long table cleared of dinner but still adorned with snacks—fruits and a few deserts. Finnick slides over a plate of cookies as you take a seat. They're chocolate and very good.

He sits across from you, a little too keen in the way he leans forward. He picks up a cookie between his thumb and forefinger, playing with it absent-mindedly as he speaks.

"Is that," he waves one hand, "usually how you communicate?" He hopes he doesn't sound offensive and takes a bite from his cookie.

You don't seem offended as you shrug. He watches you move your hand like you're grasping a pen, shifting it around in a circle. He understands and, like a dog, goes to grab the supplies for you, dropping his cookie back on the table with little to no regard. He's not necessarily upset about his obedience, if anything, he's happy to let you boss him around—not that you have been—if it means quenching his genuine curiosity with how you operate.

He slides you a notebook as he reclaims his seat, gently slapping a pen on top with a cheeky grin. He seems proud of himself. You hold in your chuckle as you write with the best handwriting you can with the quickness of your scribbles.

/Signing or writing./

Finnick reads it off. He thinks your handwriting is pretty.

"Does it get tiring?" he asks, cookie forgotten in crumbs on the counter. He absent-mindedly pushes it to the side so he can lean closer. "Moving your hands like that all the time?"

His question is one you get often, a repeated question every person asks to suit their shallow interest in you. But you can't bring yourself to be offended or annoyed. Finnick doesn't seem shallow, his curiosity runs deep and his kindness deeper. You're not sure you could take anything he says with offense.

You simply shake your head. /Easy as it is for you to talk,/ you answer honestly, adding the gesture for "speak" at the end to try to be helpful.

He shouldn't be impressed, but he is. "Oh," he says, brows raised in vivid interest. "Is it easy to learn?"

He's full of questions. He knows he probably sounds like a child, piling them on top of each other like tidal waves. But you don't seem upset, so he carries on.

You shrug again.

/Would not know. Depends on person./ You look up at him, and then you add, /You want to learn?/

The way you write is interesting to him. You don't do it in full sentences in an effort to keep it short and simple. But you also don't use contractions, though you try to write as quickly as possible to keep up the feel and consistency of actually speaking.

He smiles slyly and pretends to be shy about it, bowing his head and looking up at you through pretty lashes. "Maybe," he says. "Could you teach me?"

You mirror his expression, bowing your chin toward your chest and smiling at him. /Maybe./

You finish your cookie and rip off the first page to turn to another. He watches you write out the alphabet, quickly scribbling a very poor illustration of a hand gesture underneath each one. It takes a while, longer than you wished for it to.

Finnick doesn't mind. While you're distracted with the activity at hand, he's watching you. You're very pretty, he thinks. With the way you sit to draw, you keep your body open and give yourself the room you need to still see him as you work.

You've got kind eyes. He doesn't think you get that enough. Everyone calls you a sweet girl, but they usually follow it up with something along the lines of "even with her issue".

But Finnick just thinks you're pretty and kind. That's it. No exceptions.

He wants to learn about you without the tainting of word-of-mouth or television programs. He wants to know you. The stuff you love, the stuff you hate, everything that makes you happy, and the stuff that makes you want to throw chairs. He wants to know what your favorite color is, if you like to dance or paint or swim.

Before he can keep daydreaming about whether you like cats or dogs, you look up at him to show off your work. You think it's sloppy. He thinks you did great.

You start going through it with him, showing him the hand signs as you get to them with a patience that amazes him. Once you've gone through the whole of it once, he lifts his own hand to try it out. He looks weird and silly, and you smile as he tries his best.

When he offers a poor attempt at a 'Q', a giggle manages to slip. You probably don't hear it, but Finnick certainly does. His face lights up at the sound. He had heard you make little more than a sigh. Managing to pull a giggle out of you—especially one as pretty as that? It's like winning the lottery.

He goes through it with you a couple more times before he straightens his spine. "So…"

He points to his chest and holds his hand out, slowly moving it to fit the gestures he's tried.

F. I. N. N. I. C. K.

You nod quickly, beaming from ear to ear at how quickly he's picked it up already. You point to yourself and spell your own name out. You move slowly, giving him time to connect each letter to each sign as you go. And when you finish, he spells it himself. A nearly perfect copy, (although perfect may be generous, he's definitely trying and it shows—that's perfect enough in your book).

You carefully tear the page out and set it to the side so he can still see and write excitedly on the next page, your writing almost terrible with how quickly you scribble. /Natural!/

You sign the word after. He copies you, and then tries to spell it out. He gets it right for the most part—even though you're pretty sure you saw him use an 'X' instead of an 'R'.

He really wants to impress you. He doesn't make that subtle, and you're honestly happy he doesn't. It makes you genuinely giddy, the way he's so eager to learn and show off his new skill (a skill he's literally been practicing for no more than ten minutes). You don't realize how far onto the table you've learned. Your hands would brush if you moved them an inch closer.

"I'll keep at it," he replies genuinely at your proud smile. He had no idea someone so silent could be so pleasantly loud. Your ecstatic movements and wide grins compensate for your lack of vocalization. When you speak through your hands or the notebook in front of you, he almost swears he can hear a voice he hasn't heard in place of it, so kind and pretty. Like a song.

You smile too fondly at him, taking in a soft breath before looking down at your hands and sitting back again. You'd gotten ahead of yourself. You don't correct it as much as you should. You're just as fond as you sit correctly in your seat and watch him with intense interest.

After a moment of comfortable silence, you pick up your pen again. He watches you write something down. You turn the book around for him to see.

/Mentor cannot speak?/

"Mags?" he wonders. You nod, tilting your head. "No."

You write again. /Cannot sign?/

"No."

You tilt your head and furrow your brows, a silent inquiry. He shrugs, "Never learned."

You contemplate for a moment, rubbing your neck gently before taking the notepad once more. You show it to him.

/Can teach./ You point to yourself, offering a small grin.

"Really?" he furrows his brow.

You shrug. Why not?

Finnick stares at you a moment, searching your eyes for a joke he knows he won't find. So why would you be so open to helping her? Maybe you're just weird.

His lips curl in a smile. "I'll ask her."

Your own smile grows.

He drums his fingers on the table, watching you watching him. He thinks for a moment, just staring, before he opens his mouth.

"So obviously, you can read lips." You nod. "Were you born deaf?"

You nod and reach for the notepad once again. It takes you a moment to write this time. /Parents did not find out til 2. Was a quiet kid. Did not realize until I never started speaking./

He's so interested in everything you tell him. He hangs onto your every word like pure gold. "So you've never heard anything before? Ever?"

He feels like it's a dumb question. Of course not. But you hesitate, glancing off before you nod.

/Yes./

His eyes go wide with wonder. "How?" He crosses his arms and leans forward on the table.

You thought for another moment, trying to find the best way to phrase it to keep it simple. You tap the pen against your lips and click click click it.

/Before the 67th Games, my team gifted me hearing aids. Thought it would help./ You pull away for him to read, staring at the page before taking it and adding in a new line, /Didn't think I'd make it deaf./

The look on your face told him how much that bothered you—or, at least, a whisper of how much it used to bother you. He thinks you may be used to it by now…

"Seemed to work, huh?" he asks with a slight chuckle in an attempt to brighten your mood again.

But you shake your head as you pull the notepad back. /When Games started, too much. Ripped them out and ran./ You sigh gently, swallowing thickly. /Couldn't handle it./

He listens in, his full attention heeding your words. "So you never wear them?"

You shake your head. /Do not like to./

He nods gently. "Because it hurt?" he asks, trying to understand.

You think for a moment before raising your hand and shaking it like before, meaning a different thing this time. /Kind of,/ you write.

You sigh and raise your hands, loosely clawed in front of you as you bring them into your chest in fists. Then you pick up your pen to translate. /Trust me?/

He nods. "Yeah."

/Sure?/

His second nod is more firm. "Yes."

He watches you grab a hand towel. You lift it up, gesturing to him with it and he nods his approval once again. You step behind him and tie it around his head to cover his eyes.

After you blindfold him, sure that he no longer has sight, you turn off all the lights and spin him around a couple times before you lead him into the living room.

Without his sight, Finnick is reduced to having to let you lead him where you want him. And he trusts you. He sways on his feet for a moment, standing still when you stop guiding him again.

"Can I look now?" he asks, his hands out by his side blindly if not for anything but balance.

He hears your voice, the slight sound of you clearing your throat before humming gently, like you're feeling for it. Then he hears your broken response, unaccustomed to actually speaking.

"N-o," you mumble. He smiles a little, and you think he's weird—in a good way.

After a moment of silence where the both of you just stand there and do nothing, he feels you begin to remove the towel from his face. You don't give him a chance to adjust to the dark, you just flip the closest light on and let him have it.

He winces, shielding his face as the shock sets in. You smile gently as you apologize, rubbing your fist over your chest in a circle. When his eyes adjust to the light once more to look at you, your smile is still a fond apology as you motion to your ears.

He breathes lightly. “That’s what it felt like for you?” You make a “bigger” motion with your hands as you nod. “That’s awful,” he mumbles.

You shrug as you begin to walk back to the dining table to grab your pen and notepad again. As you take a seat on the sofa, you bring your legs up under you and invite him to sit beside you. He watches you write something as you prop the notepad against your thighs. You show it to him when you finish.

/What do you like to do?/

He is happy to answer as he settles back and thinks for a moment before offering his reply. You sit and talk back and forth for a long time. You don’t really keep track as you learn that Finnick loves to swim and he dabbles in cooking when he can. You learn that he likes the color blue, but his favorite color is probably white. You learn that he is a “live life like it’s your last day” type of person because of his experience with the games (a philosophy you have adopted yourself in a smaller intensity). You learn that he’s more fond of the quiet than the rowdy crowds he’s grown accustomed to.

Finnick learns that you also like the water, but you enjoy sitting under the surface and feeling like the world is just as silent as you in a way that isn’t so interesting to the rest of the world. He learns that you don’t have a favorite color but you always say green, that you’re not a people person but everyone thinks you’re a person who loves people, and that you like to watch Hecton play the guitar while he lets you set your hand on the body of it to feel what he plays.

You don’t know when you fall asleep on the couch, laying against the back of it with your head turned toward the large, cushy pillow that supports your head. You’re curled up against it, and Finnick thinks you look precious. He’s not long after you as he dozes off on the couch. Neither of you touch at all, hands to yourself as you let the night ease on around you. But the presence is comfortable enough, you’re happy for it.

But sometime in the night, you don’t know when, how long the passage of time had gotten to be, the calm that had set over you slowly began to fade and slip into something a little more unnerving. Uneasiness sets in your bones, makes you queasy as your fingers twitch. You hum, a groan that slips from between your lips and rouses Finnick as he opens his eyes and glances your way, eyes still heavy with sleep.

He starts to sit up as he sees you shift, your breath quickened and your muscles twitching. He calls your name gently, a first instinct he immediately realizes isn’t going to work. He hears you hum again and begins to reach a hand out. His fingers hardly brush the skin of your arm when your eyes suddenly open. You’re muttering something intelligible to yourself as you glance around frantically, eyes glazed over and movements full of adrenaline.

“Woah, you’re good,” he tries as you grip the cushions on the couch. It’s too warm and it’s cushy and you don’t want to be up there anymore. He’s still trying to ease you, hands out like you’re a frightened animal ready to attack him. You slide off the couch and onto the floor, where the cold hardwood greets your skin as you catch your breath, your face tucked between your arms as your whole body heaves for air.

He lets you stay there, concern written all over his face as he tries to figure out what the issue is. He guesses they’re just nightmares, bad, ugly nightmares that he, himself, has faced over and over and over again. He waits and waits and waits for your body to steady and for your breath to calm, keeping his hands out but away as he waits for you to recover.

When you’ve calmed down again, you lift your head and sit back against the floor, turning toward him with lethargic muscles, your adrenaline already waning as the exhaustion from before trumps everything else. You catch the movement of Finnick’s lips from out of the corner of your eye and turn to see him speak. “What’s wrong?”

You breathe in slowly, filling your whole chest as you gather yourself enough to answer. You stroke a circle over your chest with your fist, a movement he remembers seeing you do earlier when you were apologizing to him. He shakes his head gently, slowly shifting off of the couch to join you on the floor, giving you space as he props his elbow on the cushion.

“S’okay,” he says, his lips moving gently around the word. “What happened?”

You breathe out slowly, still centering yourself. You lean toward the table, sliding the notepad over with lazy movements. You contemplate before writing. /Vibrations./ You show it to him and he tilts his head. /I sleep with my hand on the floor. It lets me know if someone is coming, I can feel the footsteps in the ground. It wakes me up and keeps me out of trouble./

The way you write is different now, filling the missing blanks of words you’d usually leave out because they were unnecessary. Like you’re too tired to summarize, letting the words do their job as you slump against the table like you haven’t slept in ages and are simply going through the motions.

He moves slowly, letting you see what’s happening before it happens as he sets his hand atop your own on the table. You don’t move, glancing at his hand and letting it happen as his skin brushes yours. He feels honored.

“Well,” he says, “you’re safe here.” With me.

You manage to pull the corners of your lips up into a small smile, turning your hand so his rests in your palm. You raise your free hand to your chin. /Thank you./ You take a moment to sit there, looking at each other and enjoying the feelings of your hand in the other’s. Then you pull your hand away regretfully and pick up your pen.

/I should get back to my floor before my people worry./

He reads it off and nods. “Yeah, you’re probably right,” he sighs, already moving to stand to his feet as he holds his hand out to help you, hoping you would accept. When you do, he smiles. You lift yourself to your feet and give him another of your best in this condition.

You pick up the notepad one more time. /Thank you for the sweets. And for the company. I liked talking with you./

He puts a hand to his heart, too heartfelt to be teasing as he dips his head slightly. “My pleasure.”

Finnick walks with you to the elevator, standing by you in silence after the button is pressed as you both wait for the doors to slide open. When they do, you step in and offer yet another warm smile as you sigh and wave, mouthing the word “bye” as you depart from him, sad to go. He mouths the word back to you, though you’re not positive he spoke them as he offers a small wave of his own.

The doors shut and Finnick misses you already.

The blaring lights, (otherwise) deafening crowds, and extravagant costumes are something you get used to and never get used to all at once. All the attention is on you, and it's your job to make sure they are entertained as you make your way onto the stage with Hecton's at your side.

Lucky is standing, that unnervingly large grin tearing his face in two as he watches you excitedly. His hand is extended toward you, both to show you off and welcome you in.

"Hello, my dear!" he exclaims theatrically as he takes your hand. He places a kiss to your knuckles and then shakes Hecton's hand as well. You all take your seats, your smile the picture of thrilled.

"It's been a while since we have last spoken, hasn't it?" He stops dramatically and then says, "Well, a while since I spoke to you, at least." The air is on the fritz with cheers and laughter and more clapping as you look around at everyone. Lucky's laughter is just as wide. "How have you been, Y/N?"

You look at Hecton, your smile and his set in perfection. He speaks as you sign, beginning his role as your ultimate translator. "I've been great, Lucky. I've missed you!"

His big brows furrow as he slaps a hand over his heart. He turns to the adoring fans. "Oh, isn't that sweet?" He laughs again and looks back at you, his expression calmer but no less dramatic. "I have also missed you, my dear. Now, tell me, this is a tour for some of our previous victors, have you met any of them yet?" He leans in like you're sharing a secret.

"I'm glad you asked, I have. It's been great getting to be reacquainted with old friends and making new ones."

"Ooo," he says, looking around and encouraging the crowd to join in. "New ones like who?" He sits up straight and brings a finger to his lips, glancing away and smiling slyly. "I know I have it from a reliable source that you were mingling with District 4 Champion, Finnick Odair." He leans forward with narrowed eyes. "Do I sense something blossoming?"

He and the crowd tease you, making lovey dovey noises that you don't hear but definitely feel as you glance at Hecton and he raises his thick brows in amusement.

"Oh, Lucky," you smile like you'll laugh as Hecton continues to read your hands. "I wish I could agree, but who am I to say?" You shrug it off with a sigh.

"Oh, really?" he jabs. "Because when I brought it up with Finnick, I believe he described you as 'a special kind of beauty'." This riles the crowd up even more, they cheer louder and the air feels suffocating. You smile through it.

"Did he now?"

"He did."

Lucky laughs dramatically, Hecton laughs less dramatically, and the crowd eats right out of the palm of your hands.

"Well," Hecton says as you catch the attention again, "you know I'm not one to gossip."

"Ohh, not just this once?" He says it like he'll cry.

"I wish I could."

He sighs heavily. "Oh, well." The crowds 'aww's and you give an apologetic smile to them all. Lucky leans over and takes your hand in his, which you then cover with your own. "It has been lovely catching up with you, my dear. And you, too, Hecton, my friend." Hecton nods. "I hope to see you again soon, both of you—I do so love our talks!"

"As do I, Lucky. As do I."

He puts both hands over his chest this time, smiling with sadness to see you go. "Would you give us a kiss before you go?"

You stand to face the crowd and kiss your hand, blowing it out to them as they scream and shout for you. You beam and look at them all, waving happily.

"Oh, fantastic!" Lucky exclaims as he stands to join your side, Hecton at the other. He takes one of your hands again. "It is always a pleasure."

"The pleasure is all mine."

He turns to the adoring audience. "Our Silent Spectacle, everybody!"

They scream and shout and you press your cheeks to Lucky's before you and Hecton leave the stage. Even after you're past the curtain where they can no longer see you, you keep the smile as wide as you can until it trembles out of place.

/Very well done, Y/N,/ Hecton congratulates.

You huff out a tiring breath, massaging your cheeks before regaining your posture and masking your frown with a much softer smile as you respond. /It's exhausting./

He offers a sympathetic look. /Maybe so, but they love it./ He glances at you again, noticing the fatigue in your eyes and your twitching lips, the nerves kicking from overuse. He sighs, taking your hand and turning you to him.

/You've got to keep them happy./

You look at him, how his words reflected a deeper worry, a double meaning that surpasses the gratification of your adoring crowds. Your eyes glue to his own, solemn, sober—a fair contrast from the faces surrounding you, drunk on the sap of their own self-importance.

/I know,/ you nod.

The tense moment is interrupted as a new player enters the arena. Hecton is the one to turn first, redirecting your attention toward the person approaching you. You immediately smile, an instinct by this point as you turn your gaze on your next audience. It only takes a moment for you to recognize the person, and your smile comes a little easier.

Seeing the situation before he approaches, Finnick wonders whether or not it would be appropriate to interrupt. But when your mentor turns and you turn with him, and you smile a more genuine smile upon seeing him, he finds that he doesn't really care if it's appropriate right now.

"You're quite the personality," he says as he steps up, smiling himself as he tilts his head.

"They love quiet, happy girls," Hecton translates as you sign. Finnick really doesn't think his voice suits you, coarse and thick with an accent hard to find.

"That, they do," he nods. He licks his bottom lip, "So you'll be headed back off today?"

You turn toward Hecton, your jaw clenching briefly before you turn back. "Soon. I've got some business tonight and then we'll be off tomorrow."

"Business?" he raises a curious brow, taking a small step forward as his lips quirked. "What kind of business?"

You tilt your chin, a nervous kind of smile on your lips as you move a hooked finger from your nose to your cupped hand. "Nosey," you tease, though Hecton speaks it flatly.

"Oh, it's a secret?" he wonders, even more curious now. He doesn't speak like a creep as he continues, holding that same teasing feeling while also offering his genuine curiosity. "I have a thing for secrets, y'know. I can keep it safe for you…"

You do it again, with a little more delight this time. Again, Hecton's translation holds no ounce of the delight you give off as you talk to Finnick. "Nosey," he repeats, this time with a little more sternness to get him to stop asking. You give him a side glance, but he isn't affected.

Before you can communicate anything else, Hecton's sets his hand on your lower back. It isn't patronizing, he's just used to guiding you, your protector.

"Come now, Y/N," he says. "It's time we were off."

You sigh gently but nod, still smiling as you glanced up at him. You begin to wave to Finnick, but he speaks as you're waving your hand.

"Am I free to visit down in District 10?" he asks, his tone light and playful to avoid sounding as hopeful as he feels. He's just met you, and he wants to know you.

You nod quickly, too eager. You move two fingers over your fist, missing the way Hecton doesn't translate. But Finnick can figure that one out himself.

His chest floods with relief. "I'll keep it in mind."

You wave. /Goodbye, Finnick./ The way you sign his name is different. Where he is expecting to see the familiar letters you showed him last night, he finds a wave of your hands and a fond smile.

He winks at you. "Goodbye, sweetcheeks."

You scrunch your nose, circling your hand over your belly. /Gross./

Hecton is already walking you away as Finnick blows you a cheesy kiss, mirroring the one you'd done for the audience earlier. You wave him off, smiling and shaking your head as you go.

When you're far enough from him, walking away from backstage to wherever you were headed now, Hecton's intense brows are furrowed in what you can only assume is annoyance at his distrust in Finnick.

/You seemed familiar./

/Stop./

Music to My Eyes taglist: ... This is a temporary taglist for those who want to be tagged in the sequel to Music to My Eyes, Finnick Odair x Reader. Please keep in mind that once the second part is posted, the tag will disappear. Feel free to DM, comment, or send me an ask to be added, if you would like. Or simply add yourself here...

#finnick odair #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair x you #finnick odair x fem!reader #finnick odair fanfic #finnick odair fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #the hunger games #the hunger games fanfic #the hunger games fanfiction #finnick odair fluff #reader insert #female reader #deaf reader

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minticecodes · 2 months

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A (late) piece for dmcweek2024 day 4! I was buzzing to put forward something for the week. Prompt was alt universe.

AU where Eva survived the fire and had to figure out a way forward, believing the twins dead. She becomes an RPG shopkeeper selling wares ranging from antique books to magical goods (Devil May Scry). She's also out for Mundus' blood.

Image descriptions are the same as in alt.

[ID: 7 Digital illustrations and sketches. 1: Coloured illustration of a bookshop at sunset. Eva, a pale blonde middle aged woman mans the bright patterned counter. She wears a turtleneck and red shawl, has shoulder length hair, and diagonal facial burn scar and scarring on her left hand. Light rays illuminate her gently smiling face. Besides packed books, on the shelves are potion bottles, statuettes, succulents, and a displayed katana. Roses and plants decorate the shop. On the counter are a thick hardback, bookscanner, and crystal ball. Cards are displayed inside the counter. On the wall hangs a price sign, featuring doodled vital stars (large star drawn with sunglasses), holy water and fortunes. Beneath it is a rose wreathed divinity statue display, with 2 red orb offerings in a dish. 2: Eva from behind, sitting hunched alone at a table where a birthday cake sits untouched. It's a two flavour cake. By her clenched hand are crumpled tissues. Caption: 'Vergil...Dante...happy birthday...' 3: Eva bracing the Devil Sword Sparda across her shoulders, aimed at the ground. She wears a bell sleeved, ruffled funeral/wedding dress with a slit for leg movement. A veil trails behind her like a ribbon. Close ups of her show the headpiece design; a pacifier made of a long bird skill, feather, rose, and four skeletal 'legs'. 4 & 5: Trish taking on teen Dante's image: a tan teen in black, with chin length white hair, a halter neck tank top, leather pants, kneelength boots and black polish. Her leather jacket collar resembles lightning bolts. She leans against an invisible wall, one leg bent to brace her foot against it. She looks askance with arched brows, lifting shades from her face. The 2nd image is a 3/4 profile with shades perched on her forehead and popped collar. 6: Helmetless portraits of Dante and Vergil in armour, expressionless. Dante's hair is shoulder length and falls across his face. 7: Full body of 2 somewhat lanky demonic knights. One (Nelo Angelo) in black and blue with droopy horns rests his palms atop his blue broadsword's pommel, the sword upright against the ground. He stands straight, staring ahead. The other in white and red and curled horns has a palm clapped on Nelo Angelo's shoulder, other hand at his hips. Somehow the eyes on his helmet express playfulness. At his back is the hilt to a flail, the spiked ball resting on the ground by his armoured heels. They're labelled '~16' . End ID.]

Read more for some wordy backstory and sketches. TW for mentions of torture, abuse and solitary confinement surrounding the twins.

I had...so many more ideas that I'm leaving out to keep this short. It's fun to think how she'd mesh with the cast.

Like! her and Lady. Mother that lost her kid and kid that lost her mother. It writes itself how much unwitting projection can go wrong. And pretty much everything about her, the twins, and Trish :)

In terms of backstory:

After the fire she's alone. Her birth family disowned her long ago. She thinks about revamping the mansion but the idea of staying in that empty space with only memories for company is too much. So she eventually opens a small store.

Starts off paranoid and distant. Still is distant but gets entangled with the local community overtime. Greets people by name and they'll chat about how life has been going. This includes demon hunters and demons and supernatural beings living peacefully; her shop becomes a small safe haven to exchange information to stay safe.

Gets very good at forging protective charms. Haunted by the memory of the enchanted closet, smashed in and empty.

A regular is a schoolgirl who originally came to pick up reserved books for her father but stuck around because hey, this place is quiet and interesting, and the owner serves stellar teacakes. Great place to study. To Mary, Eva's kind, though odd, secretive and a little lonely.

I got inspired by Eva's association with the bangle/bracelet of time and the amulets for her fighting style. It's based around item crafting, like an RPG character slapping on every stat boosting item.

She stitches together different outfits for different needs Cardcaptor style. They're all exceedingly dramatic. It's not clear here but I wanted a bird motif to eventually come through. Phoenix motif, really.

[ID: Rough sketches: A magician esque outfit with vest, feathered tophat and cape. A longcoat with long skirt and long scarf at her back like a cape. The cape is tagged with 'spells stitched into fabric'. Close ups on the coat lapel show two pins (strawberry and wing), labelled 'charm lapel pins.' Close up of the shoes show sharp heals and ankle bracelets. Eva leaping in a black bodysuit and leotard, with feathery collar, quill behind her ear, and ballet shoes with a claw at the heel. Eva making a triangular 2 hand sign in a hooded cloak and longskirt. Around her shoulders are claws. At her hips is an hourglass. Above her heeded head is a clocklike halo. Beside her is a sketch of a woman with a lionhead mask. A funeral and wedding dress inspired outfit. Eva crouches, wielding the Devil Sword Sparda in scythe form. Her face is covered by a tattered veil. She wears a knee length ruffled dress, black gloves, and a long, ruffled cape. Close up of her left hand shows a ring and finger claws Rough comic. Chibi lady talks to chibi Eva. Lady holds up a black body suit with billowing sleeves and a cleavage window. Lady: "Eva what is this" Eva (smiling cheerfully): "Oh - that old thing!" Eva: "My old hunting outfit. Gosh I'd almost forgotten about it. Not the most comfortable thing - so skin tight..." However Lady fixates on 'my old hunting outfit'. The words go in one ear and come out as a younger Eva in a catsuit, pointing a gun with a serious expression, wind blowing through her hair. Lady stares into the distance, bewildered, and slightly blushing. End ID]

Meanwhile the twins are having a terrible time but they have each other, even if they don't remember they're brothers. I think it'd be sweet if they have a bond anyway. Everyone else thinks they're rivals at best.

(Nelo is Mundus' favourite to toy with as the proud, eldest son. But when he gets rough, Bianco butts in and acts up for Mundus' attention. This gets him sent to solitary confinement; Mundus figured out Bianco hates small spaces and designed an iron maiden for him. Others think Bianco is a brute who acts out for a fight. But that's ok. It means Bianco can keep buying Nelo time.) (When lucid, Nelo despises his own weakness when this happens.)

[ID: 2 Images. Nelo and Bianco Angelo in fisticuffs in a cartoony dustcloud, glaring at each other as they fight. They're captioned 'Mundus' most competent generals'. Additional text: 'silent, obedient, crushing force when apart. Perfect soldiers. ... until they're put together. Complement each other's battle style OR clash terribly. Nelo Angelo staring off, arms crossed and furrowed eyes somehow expressing being completely fed up. Behind him, Bianco and Griffin talk at each other. Griffin's glaring. Bianco has a hand up to gesture. End ID]

#dmc #dmcweek2024 #devil may cry #dmc eva #eva sparda #dante sparda #dmc dante #vergil #nelo angelo #dmc vergil

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reegis · 8 months

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i dont ever post WIPs so dont reblog this or ill die instantly but

them….

[ID: a photo of a waist-up digital drawing on a screen. The drawing depicts Ashes O'Reilly and Gunpowder Tim of the Mechanisms as Hades and Persephone, respectively. Ashes is standing facing the viewer and Tim is standing in front of the with his back to their chest facing diagonally to the viewer's left. They are both smiling with closed lips.

Ashes has medium brown skin and dark brown, kinky, shoulder length hair, which is faded to be mostly red. The side of their head is shaved, including sideburns, and they have a dark brown laurel behind their ear. Their visible ear is pierced, with two stud-type earrings in the lobe and three long, dark red, labret spikes in the middle portion of the helix lip. They have yellow eyes and red eyeshadow which extends over their temple to their hairline. They are blushing. They have a large rounded nose and a circular barbell in their lower lip. They are wearing a maroon suit, with a red waistcoat, a muted, dark red, button up shirt, and a bright red tie. Tim's head is rested in the crook of their neck, so their chin is on his forehead and they are looking down and away from him.

Tim has fair skin and medium brown, curly, shoulder length hair. The laurel behind his ear is the same color as his hair. He has short, brown, facial hair along his jaw, chin, and upper lip. His eyes are brass colored and the skin surrounding them is brown and cracked. He has purple eye shadow on. He, too, is blushing and his nose is more pointed than Ashes. Tim is wearing a bright red, strapless dress, with a sweetheart neckline and loose, off the shoulder sleeves. The dress shows off his chest, which is flat and hairy. He also has visible armpit hair.

Tim's left arm is extended out to the side, in front of Ashes and Ashes left arm is mostly unseen, but it is lifted at the elbow. His left shoulder is raised up to his chin. Ashes' and Tim's right arms are lifted and they appear to be holding each others fingers, with Tim's hand raised higher than Ashes'. Ashes is wearing a glove on their visible hand, which is close in color to their shirt.

The background is black.

Minimal outside of the drawing can be see, but there are tabs at the top labeled "Illustration 4 [Res-," "Illustration 6 [Res-," "Illustration 8 (2000 x 2734 px 72 dpi 87.5%)," "Mechs ref," and "H-." There is a minor glare on the image below Tim's left arm, on Ashes coat, from light reflecting off of the screen.

End ID]

ID courtesy of @majorshatterandhare 🥰

#everything else? unfinished #tims chest? immaculately rendered #ahdjf its called Priorities #dont rb this is a secret just between us ok

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skarloeyspa · 5 months

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it's finally here! RWS-inspired uniforms for my SR main six! Also wanna thank @/glowynviator for the inspiration! Go check out their designs they're super lovely!!!!!

Design notes below as always!

1864 - 1910s

Taking heavy inspiration from the dude in the blue hat and purple/pink vest in all these illustrations

Their uniforms are fancier based on the initial reason for Skarloey and Rheneas' purchase - developing Skarloey as a tourist attraction, namely a spa (wonder where I've heard that before...)

1910s - 1960s

(goofy dudes in the first pic lmao)

So the tourism thing didn't last very long and the railway became more reliant on its original venture, which was its quarries

This was also the time when the railway's main income came from its quarries

Their uniforms became more quarry-appropriate. But since they still had the occasional passenger train, they still had finer clothing like a blazer and tie and hat

The gloves are cotton! Intended for outdoor work!

The pictures featured are Welsh slate workers and I have no idea where the overalls idea came from

1960s - Present

Revenue began increasing during this era with the newfound slate and Book of Sir Harald, which brought in more passenger traffic

With more passenger traffic the railway reintroduced more formal uniforms for their engines

I had a lot of fun doing Skarloey and Rheneas because this was basically the whole reason I took on these designs hehe

So obviously the colors! Bright red livery and blue lining! It wouldn't look too nice if I just made everything bright blood red so!

Buttons are buffers! Their painted names are golden embroidery! Ties are their TVS liveries (because I said so!)

Speaking of TVS, Sir Handel, Rusty, and Duncan are wearing their TVS boots! Having regained their footing, the SR introduced a more formal uniform but they still had some freedom in their uniform (as demonstrated by Duncan)

Sir Handel's blazer is a bit long...not because he's short or anything!

Peter Sam wears a knitted vest instead of the waistcoat that everyone else has because...it just suits him...Duncan isn't even wearing a vest so there you go!

Everyone's number is a badge on their hat. Since Rusty's hat is more functional than decoration, they wear their number as a little badge on their lapel! Their name is still embroidered tho :)

I promise the railway can afford whatever nice shirt Rusty is wearing BECAUSE I SAID SO I WILL IT TO BE I'M THE RAILWAY MASCOT I AM (miscellaneous rodent scritching)

Engines with longer hair are required to tie them up for tidiness! Big L for Sir Handel as always.

Skarloey is wearing a ring! Because of the brass ring on his funnel!! I will make you aware of this detail!!!

And that's it I think! Thank you as always for reading to the very end :] It means a lot to me that people find my designs interesting enough to want to read my rambles on them lmao

Anyway!! Since you're here...I'll tease a bit about my planned projects! I want to share some refs for other standard gauge characters I've designed! I also have some ideas for an animatic or two similar to the one I made for Ryan last year :]

#ttte #ttte humanized #ttte skarloey #ttte rheneas #ttte sir handel #ttte peter sam #ttte rusty #ttte duncan #so called “personal project”#i certainly have some things planned i do!#pictures in the reception hall #capy posting #sorry for the tag Glow😭

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beansprean · 2 years

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A lil thing about how I think their appearances may change after finding themselves and working on repairing their relationship ❤️ the gay chicken tenders era

(YES Ed is wearing a tino rangatiratanga belt buckle, NO I don't care about historical accuracy any more than anyone else on this show)

Image description under cut!

[ID: 1.Full body drawings of a post-s1 Ed and Stede, titled “Gay Chicken Tenders (Reconciliation) Era.”

Stede is smiling gently with full dimple, standing in a confident stance, one hand in a gentlemanly position gripping the vee of his vest and the other behind his back with the rapier slung around his waist. He is wearing a patterned blue waistcoat, blue breeches, white stockings, and brown buckled boots. His sleeves are rolled up. Multiple arrows point at different parts of his body to illustrate the changes in his appearance: “earrings; open collar because emotional vulnerability; longer, swept back, more gray (hair); lighthouse tattoo (chest); wedding ring on chain around neck (for love of family); bright colors and patterns; sword (mostly for show); boots; he also wears fancy long coats!”

Ed has a small smile and has one hand lifted in a wave, the other resting on his hip. His long hair is half-up and beautifully curly, and he is wearing a pink tee shirt (of course showing a sliver of belly) and brown leather pants with black boots and his knee brace. He has his usual rings, necklaces, tattoos, and stab scar. Multiple arrows point at different parts of his body to illustrate the changes in his appearance: “the red silk as a kerchief (neck); no gloves because emotional vulnerability; beard trimmed short; a lil pudgier from good food; softer pants; one gun (emphasis on one); more color!”

2. Repeat of the first drawing, this time titled “Battle Armor!” and showing the same Ed and Stede this time in their coats. Stede’s coat is knee-length and lavender with lighter purple details, buttons, and embroidery. It has a tall white collar and frilly white cuffs beneath the wide wool sleeves. Ed’s jacket is waist-length, the same soft brown leather as his pants, and clasps together asymmetrically just like his old coat. This coat has two full sleeves and a few sharks teeth tied to the shoulders, has a knife holster on one side, and looks very comfy. Through the belt loops at the bottom of the short coat is a black belt with a buckle displaying the Māori flag about 300 years too early.

Caption: A lil thing about how I think their appearances may change after finding themselves and working on repairing their relationship ❤️ the gay chicken tenders era

Extra drawing: a close up of Stede, this time with a short graying blonde beard and a curly little mustache. Text pointing to him reads: beard?? I can never decide.

/end ID]

#ofmd #our flag means death #blackbonnet #gentlebeard #edstede #mlm #my art #fanart #patreon import #image described

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dg-outlaw · 1 month

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X-Men '97 and the Gambit Ford F-150 Trailer Hitch Clutching

So I haven't watched all the episodes yet, but I wanted to address the stuff I've seen/heard about certain dudes in the "fandom" getting all upset about Gambit's crop top and how it made him seem gay or bi coded, even though in the entire episode he's classic Remy LeBeau from the original 90s series--not too interesting in helping out or doing anything other than what he wants to do, shamelessly flirting with Rogue, and busting everyone else's balls/possibly flirting with them too, but will still jump into the fight when it's time.

Oh, and Gambit was my favorite X-Men character growing up and I'm a cishet male, if that matters. Spoiler alert: It shouldn't.

"Holy Sports Illustrated Swimsuit edition, Batman! It's his belly button."

If that's you, you clearly were too young in the 90s to remember the fashion of the day. The top photo and the ending basketball scene (a references to the comics as well), was soooo 80s/90s. Bishop's got a lime green tank top on and Cyclops' tank top is tucked into his shorts. The animators understood the assignment.

If anything, Remy (above) is rock-n-roll coded more than anything else. Just Google most 80s era rock bands that had songs about partying, sex, hot babes, etc. and you'll see big hair, eyeliner, bright colors, leather pants, jewelry, fishnets, fingerless gloves, and yes... crop tops. Maybe the 80s and 90s were "gay", IDK, but I remember most of my childhood clothes in the 80s and early 90s were some variation of a neon color as was every other kid's regardless of gender.

As mentioned above, he soooo badly wants in Rogue's pants, which possibly eliminates any gay coding, which only leave bi coding if a 90s crop top = being bisexual.

Who. Freakin'. Cares. Say this out loud with me. You can like, love, and enjoy a character without identifying with that character in any way, shape, or form (and that's probably a good thing for some characters). This can mean their sexuality, gender, ethnicity, religion, morality, or anything else about them. Yes, we can bring in the Punisher debate and how military and law enforcement appropriated the Punisher logo as their badge of honor and intimidation, and how they cherry-picked traits from that character to signal their toxic masculinity when Frank Castle is not meant to be a patron saint of law enforcement or the military. But it is also possible to just enjoy a character without making that character your identity. You can enjoy their characterization, storylines, or even something as simple as their costume, superpowers, or where they're from because you were born or grew up there too.

As mentioned above, Gambit was my favorite character growing up when I first got into X-Men, mostly thanks to this series, and he and I are very different. To me, Gambit was the cool, confident guy that I wasn't. He also wasn't Cyclops or Wolverine.

As a kid, most kids wanted to be Wolverine when playing X-Men on the playground because he had the claws and the healing factor. To us, he was OP which fit in with the whole childish argument of big, bigger, biggest, and finally infinity whatever... until someone busted out with the infinity times infinity argument. Also, there was no real internet and comics weren't readily accessible, so most of the knowledge at that time was from the show and limited comics one might've had. Plus, I think the whole Magneto pulls the adamantium from Wolverine's body storyline hadn't happened yet so yeah, that would've been a good game changer on the playground.

Anyway, outside of Batman, I was never a fan of the "popular" thing growing up and often preferred more underdog characters, teams, and things. Also, due to self-esteem issues I always felt less than, so while I liked Wolverine it was hard for him to be my favorite since he was everyone else's and I felt like I wasn't cool enough to like him. Cyclops on the other hand was the clean cut boy scout, which also didn't appeal to me because that was also something I didn't relate to. Outside of Beast and Morph, who got sidelined earlier in the series, that then left Gambit. (Note: Bishop wasn't a part of the main group and came later on.) But Gambit also seemed cool to me. He had a cool looking outfit, was agile and knew how to fight (I was into martial arts at the time as well), and could throw explosive cards. He definitely fit the "Rule of cool" in my child brain.

Lastly, and this goes back to point #4 above, it shouldn't matter what a character is like or how they identify. They're fictional and enjoying them as a medium should be fun. They are not you and you are not them, even if you have things in common. That said, I do think it's great when there's representation as well. I don't recall if this was in the OG series, though I seriously doubt it was, and I don't know about main Marvel canon, but I also think it's cool that Morph now has they/them pronouns as seen in the profile credits and Marvel wiki. I'm sure some people have missed this and I'm sure that'll be the next hot-button issue, but whether Gambit is gay, bi, straight, or whatever, he's still one of my favorites and it's why I grabbed this guy when it first came out.

I have more things to say about this first episode and my experience with the X-Men growing up, but I'll save that for other posts as this has gotten long enough already.

#x men 97 #x men the animated series #gambit #remy lebeau #long post

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salchat · 5 months

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I'm on the train, heading up to London for my chemo, happily writing Destiel fanfic. Which makes me wonder, is there anyone else on the train into Destiel? Into fanfic, even? I hope so! If not, they don't know what they're missing!

I've started another installment of Secret Flowers, this one beginning with Dean talking to the daffodils and thinking about Doris Day.

I'm also in the middle of an AU kidfic, told from Charlie's POV, inspired by a certain pig-tailed con photo. I need to draw my version of it to illustrate my story. You can't really draw on the train, though. I've tried it. It's too wobbly.

Anyway, here's a bit of my Charlie-fic, which is as yet untitled:

“Hey, Charlie?”

She closed her eyes and sent a quick prayer to Ganesha, who she’d recently come across in a solo expedition into the humanities section of the local library and thought was a pretty cool kind of guy. Then she took a firm grip on her trusty pencil-lance and sat up, smiling brightly and, she hoped, unattractively.

“Dean!”

His lips wobbled, like he thought he should smile back, but cool, tough-guys didn’t smile. The potential smile got diverted into a choking splutter and his face turned bright red. Oh no. No. Please don’t, Dean.

He shifted awkwardly against the metal frame, which must be digging into his back.

“Uh, so…” One hand made a bit for freedom from his crossed arms. It rubbed the back of his neck and then scratched through his hair, which was a bit longer and more floppy than Dean’s usual short spikes. “Um…yeah, so, uh…”

This was torture. If he was going to declare undying love, he should just spit it out.

“So, uh…” Dean’s throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. And then there was a blurting mix of maybe ten or so mashed-up syllables, with an uptick at the end to show it was a question.

Charlie stared at him. “What?”

Dean’s eyes darted from the dusty ground to hers and back again. He took a deep breath and then ran through his word-mess again, just marginally slower.

“Whatd’youdoifyouthinkyoulikesomeone?”

Charlie ran the jumble through her mind again - slower, like re-inputting a line of code with the correct syntax.

“You like someone?”

He shrugged. “I dunno. Yeah, I guess.”

“Like like like?”

“What?”

“Sorry. I mean, the more than friends kind of like.”

His mouth twisted, his eyes darted around the playground and he ran a hand over his head, totally messing up his hair.

“Yeah.” His voice was a strangled husk of its usual self. “I think.”

#fanfic #writing #on the train #destiel #supernatural

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blazenfire223 · 6 months

Text

[ID in undercut]

Days 6-8

Day 6.

3 witches of the rev au on a coffee break.

This is supposed to be Zaraphim's kitchen. Backgrounds are hard, and colors are too.

Day 7- Weapon

David/Anza- chibiq122 on insta

(Anza is a fusion of Ana and Bun)

Raphael/Azazel- ish7ar on insta

Zaphikiel- windmogica on insta

Day 8. Mushroom

Eden with some mushrooms they collected!

[ID 1/5: A digital illustration of Zaraphim, Madame Tracy, and Anathema, the 3 witches of the Rev AU. They're sitting in Zaraphim's kitchen drinking coffee and tea together. There are various things on the table like gens, crystals, stones, and cards. Zaraphim is leaning back in their chair, tipping it on two legs. There is a green carpet under the table. Tracy and Zaraphim are wearing Witch hats. Zaraphim is wearing a grey dress with a muted green corset vest and brown boots, blue earings, blue hair peice, pink sunglasses. Tracy is wearing a dark greenish blue dress with a light green stripe at the bottom, a pearl necklace, and bright red heels. Anathema is wearing a light blue shirt, a dark greenish blue skirt, dark brown boots, and grey compression sleeves. In the background is a fridge, oven, cookie jar, some higher up pantries, coffee maker, paper towels, and a potted plants. There are also vines that grow along the wall of the kitchen. /End ID]

[ID 2/5: One traditional page of 3 Reverse AU weapons. The top is Ario's sword which looks most like a scimitar. The blade is curved and has a golden guard and a wooden hilt with a gold bulb at the end, the pummel. Next is David's spear. David, belongs to @chibiq122 and his spear made of gold from heaven's gates. It has a sharp triangular tip with two curving spikes just below the arrow head and a dark redish purple cloth attached to the end. Next if Zaphikiel's Katana. Zaphikiel, an angel Crowley who belongs to @windmogica, had a golden katana with a gold circular guard and red and white hilt with gold studs. End ID]

[ID 3/5: A traditional page of 3 Reverse AU weapons. The top is Anza's whip. Anza is a fusion of Ana and Bun, both characters that belong to @chibiq122. Anza's whip is a combination of a magic want with a bunny on one end of the want and then a flower that blooms into a string of web silk. Towards the end of the whip it branches off into 3 other strings with hearts at the end. The design very inspired by Amethyst's whip from Steven Universe. The next weapon is Azazel's sword. Azazel belongs to @ish7ar. It is a long blue sword with the blue eye of a goat as the guard and a dark blue grip with a light blue pummel. Surrounding that eye are 6 spikes, 3 spikes on each side of the eye. The final sword is Raphael's sword, specifically @ish7ar's Raphael. Their sword is gold and has a dark redish grip, a guard that goes out and points down on both sides, and an orange-yellow gem stone as the pummel. /End ID]

[ID 4/5: A traditional illustration of Eden. They are looking down in a basket full of mushrooms with a grin. They're wearing a green sweater and glasses with beads of bugs, circles, and hearts attached on a string around their neck to keep the glasses from getting lost. /End ID]

[ID 5/5: The prompt list. /End ID]

#good omens #crowley #aziraphale #ineffable husbands #aziracrow #blazenfire223 #blazenfire223's art #good omens art stuffs #ineffablerevautober #good omens reverse au #madame tracy #anathema device #star weaver au #bun and dove au #gone omens #bastard omens

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sleepyowlwrites · 11 months

Note

Sleepy, darling, it's Blorbo Blursday, and I need to hear more about Sebastian and Lunetta. 8) How would you describe their aesthetics? Like, paint me a moodboard with words. 8) 8)

Sebastian is a lazy fashionista, so he wears clothing that fits him very well and that invidually stand out, but puts them together in a haphazard fashion.

he wears a lot of button down tees in every kind of print, but especially stripes, florals and fun ones with mushrooms or cats. he wears skinny and straight jeans in several flavors of brown, green, and grey, and always matches his shoes to his shirt. he favors casual shoes and oxfords, but is not adverse to a boot here and there. he never leaves home without a jacket, even if it's sweltering outside, because he needs to be able to layer and because his favorite articles of clothing are jackets, and he has so many of them, so he has to wear them to justify it. he has leather jackets, bombers, trench coats, sport jackets, cardigans, peacoats, asymmetrical hoodie things, you name it.

he has pierced ears and wears a lot of small golden hoops but also funny studs with alien heads or knives or whatever. his hair is chestnut, and grown to his shoulders during the winter, and he trims it for summertime, but it still falls to his chin. he'll wear it half up or in a small ponytail when he's hot.

Sebastian wears gold, wire-rimmed square-ish glasses, but also has a pair of green and gold plastic frames, and a white-marbled pair as well, both of which he wears less often and when he's in need of a change. he owns contacts but rarely wears them.

in the winter he wears scarves and beanies and fingerless gloves, and he always has a camera on him even when he's not working, because he's a fellow who likes to capture a good shot whenever.

that's Sebastian.

Lunetta wears bright and bold colors, and her hair is usually some bright shade. she changes it about twice a year. in the beginning of the story she's a shade of softer mauve but by the end she's sporting an electric blue.

she wears a lot of cute tops with high-waisted pants or leggings, and also overalls and rompers. she likes a fun pattern graphic tees with pop culture references or cute illustrations. she wears almost exclusively sneakers, usually a sporty brand in a multitude of colors. she favors blues, pinks, and greens the most. she's always wearing multiple accessors, be it bows in her hair, earrings, bracelets, rings, fun bags, belts, etc. she's very eye-catching and likes to smile at herself when she sees her reflection. she dresses to make herself happy and it works. her nails are always in shades of neon, and multicolored to go with any outfit.

she doesn't wear dark colors, really, and uses white to break up all the color she's sporting. she doesn't like to be too hot, so only wears a jacket if it's cold enough to warrant one. her coats are bright colors, too.

Lunetta likes experiementing with colored contact lenses, but mostly sticks to her glasses, either her round silver ones or the bright blue ones with the screw that comes loose. she accessorizes with her makeup too, preferring bold lip and eye colors to neutral or smoky looks. she's a bright personality and dresses like it.

she always has a drink with her, usually a cold one, and consumes so much caffeine it's a wonder that she gets any sleep. she has this in common with Sebastian.

Lunetta's world is bright and saturated, full of blues and pinks, and Sebastian's is also saturated, but in richer tones, greens and purples. Lunetta's world is accented in white, Sebastian's is accented in black. she's living in vibrancy, he's living in emphasis. she's sparkling, he's sophisticated. she's looking up at the sky, he's staring at the horizon.

Lunetta is all warm blues, Sebastian is all cool orange. and they meet on a train, and they're the same.

thanks for asking, Breezy!

#sleepy answers #breezy friend #blorbo blursday #wip: train story: supplemental

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gorgeousgreymatter-x · 1 year

Text

Here is a preview of the next TiaLTNGO that I think also works pretty good as a standalone and I'm proud of it so here you go lol

TW: MENTION OF NON GRAPHIC CHILD ABUSE AND PARENTAL DEATH

The day after her funeral (there hadn’t been much of one — just him and his father, who had still smelled like last night’s whiskey at the time — standing over a mound of dirt in the cemetery on one of the hottest most miserable day of the summer on record), he’d stolen his father’s clippers and sheared every stupid curl off his head. Because at the time, he’d told himself he’d rather look in the mirror and see someone he didn’t recognize, a stranger, then see her.

Not that it had helped much in the end. Because it hadn’t seemed to matter how hard Eddie tried to not be like her, not be the living, breathing, walking reminder that broke his father’s heart over and over just by doing something as simple as entering a room.

Time had passed, but that’s how Eddie knew it was a lie, that whole time heals bullshit. Because Eddie had just gotten sadder and his father had just gotten angrier.

The first and only time his father had ever put his hands on Eddie for real was also the last time. Because the next day, Uncle Wayne had shown up in a big truck and told him to pack a bag, which hadn’t been full of much of anything other than his mother’s books, the ones she and Eddie’d spent so many nights before she’d died pouring over together. Like the one that had always made his mother laugh when she’d read it to him, because Eddie’d traced the outline of one of the illustrations, a dragon’s great, spread wings, so many times on the pages that they’d faded almost completely.

Eddie thinks his mother’s memory sometimes feels a little bit like that.

It had been easy to go with Wayne, and not just because of the still-aching purplish splotch on Eddie’s cheek at the time that had throbbed whenever he’d tried to open his mouth. He hadn’t known his uncle all that well, mostly from the photos in the dusty album he’d caught his mother looking at sometimes. She had always looked sad when she did.

But Wayne’d had her eyes — bright blue where hers had been dark, like Eddie’s, but they were big, wide. Trusting.

And more than that, it was like Eddie could see it, that glimmer of something he’d been too young to realize was love because he’d been too young to notice how dim it had gotten in his own father’s gaze. The shotgun Wayne had pulled when Eddie’s father had tried to stop them from leaving had also made it a pretty simple decision, going with him.

Eddie’d been at Wayne's for three months before his hair grew out enough for him to think of asking to borrow his uncle’s clippers. He still remembers the way the man’s mouth had twisted into a frown, and Eddie’d had flinched instinctively when his uncle had reached for him, ruffling the just-barely-there tufts of brown hair already threatening to curl at the ends.

“If you want to, but I like ‘em, boy. Makes you look just like your mama.”

That had been the first time in five years Eddie’d heard that said like it wasn’t a dirty word, wasn’t a curse he was destined to drag around for the rest of his life like iron chains.

It had been the first time in five years Eddie’d been anywhere that felt safe. Been somewhere with someone who’d felt just like…home.

Until Steve.

#steddie #there is a light that never goes out #eddie munson #wayne munson #steddie fic #wayne munson fic #steddie drabble #cw child abuse #cw parental death #steve harrington

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cheerful-solitude · 1 year

Note

May I ask about your ocs?

Ok thank god tumblr doesn’t seem to have any character limit so I can go on for as long as possible.

Now, I don’t have much OCs as I have more of, “I wrote AUs about ToG and the characters within has strayed so far from canon they might as well be their own characters.”

There are probably more than thirty of them at this point, so I’ll go on a brief intro for 19 of them. Some have more lore than others, and some have their stories published in their interwebs, while most are stil in the WIP zone.

I know this answer is… quite late? Life got in the way, and it took some time for me to come up with a way to explain-but-also-not-explain the timelines… Enjoy ;)

New Message

To: Diana

Cc: muqin.1976

Subject: TTTs All Patch Notes (This should’ve been a meeting oh my god…)

Attached are all the images of the designs the rest of the agents and I put together. Look at them as you read along. If you have any questions, ask Father (Do not ask me which one. You know which one.)

Attachment 1

T21 V1.4 Patch Notes:

- No drastic changes have been made since the previous patch, so we continue in Version 1.

- All colors except red have aged like that grain of rice on the corner of the living room that couldn’t be swept by the broom: brittle and full of dust.

- Fella’s eyes that are too high on his face are still endearing to our design agents, so they stay.

- Fella has been given a jacket to “kill the bright red of his sweater”, and raise his Badass points by 20%

- Gris’s features have been sharpened. An agent has died of severe cuts to their psyche, informed that it was too hot.

- Gris has a coat to pair the 1920s Great Depression aesthetic he’s got going with the shirt and overalls.

T18 V1.1.2 Patch Notes:

- As these are just alternates outfits to mirror T6’s Snowdin Season, we continue on Version 1.1

- Night has slightly shorter hair and an earring. She is considered “cute”.

- Our agents can’t tell whether we have illustrated Agnis or Canon Khun. This is considered a win. We were later informed that the only difference, really, is that Agnis’ hair is longer.

T20 V1.4 Patch Notes:

- Finalized the height difference between Grace and Aguero. Changes in silhouette and basic design are minor aside from that.

- Grace’s hair is messier with split ends. Flowers are not so much delicately placed as they are tangled.

- Grace’s mismatched colored pupils are not a mistake. The tiny tears might be there permanently.

- Aguero’s tsundere points are increased to 9000.

Attachment 2

T19 V0.3 Patch Notes

- This timeline has yet to debut with a story of its own. Until then, development is underway.

- Bee has been given a “Your cousin, the skater” look. They may actually know how. There is a bee sewn on their jean jacket (jeacket?), for anyone that forgets their name.

- Congratulations to Romina for being the first Khun to pull off the Chara cheeks. Clearly, our agents have been watching too many FNAF videos, as she now looks a Puppet prototype runaway.

- Nobody expected that they would rise the rankings in drip.

T22 V.2.1 patch notes:

- Woele’s shirt has been changed to red to add more color variety to his design.

- Maoyu’s clothes has been simplified, as his design is already “pretty colored”

- The use of the “tile” feature and “warp” feature in drawing allows the creation of a knit pattern effect - especially liked in Maoyu’s vest as is looks like fish scales

- As always, references for Woele’s wings were necessary.

T14 V.3.0 Patch notes:

- As always, we strive to improve the visual appeal of our characters by keeping what works and improving what doesn’t.

- GBK’s color scheme is considered “iconic” and “swell matte” by one of our agents, so it has stayed in this third version.

- Although it’s considered “cheesy and on-the-nose”, the Roman numeral XIV will stay on the belt as well.

- The scarf from the short, “Phantom”, has finally been added to GBK’s design. Thanks to it, a new tile pattern is available for our use.

- Ghost no longer exists as of version 3.0. A tragedy for the agents that liked the booty shorts and ‘OwO’ face.

- Due to the previous note, whether the ‘GBK’ nickname will stay or not is up in the air. For consistency’s sake, the pseudonym will stay until further notice.

R17 V.1.3 - Knife - Patch Notes:

- Improved the “Kirio” look on Knife’s face.

- A research agent found that Yan’s hoodie used to be pink. Since Yan and Knife are cut from the same cloth, Knife now has this pink hoodie, with minor adjustments to fit his aesthetic.

Attachment 3

T26 V0.2 Patch Notes:

- No relevant changes have happened since the previous version.

- All members of the department have agreed to leave them alone for a little longer.

- They do not yet know these are the days they’ll miss.

E10 V1.4 Patch Notes:

- Kept the ace color palette in this version.

- Brought back C!Bam’s [NICKNAME PENDING] cape. No nipple-looking polkadots this time.

- New pattern available: Lace 01

- Gave C!Khun [NICKNAME PENDING*] a ‘mafia boss’ look. It’s the equivalent of a red flag, some agents acclaim. Surely, everyone will know not to trust him in any future games.

- Decided that not enough people had undercuts. C!Khun has one now (not visible from this image).

*An agent has suggested the nickname “Druval”, as the hairstyle is reminiscent of an old classmate by the same name. That classmate was also smart and a trickster. Pending revision.

T15 V.2 Patch Notes:

- Shaved some years off of Khun and gave them to Bam. A loss for height difference, a win for ‘Can comfortably write KB’.

- Reduced points in Bam’s “babie” category, put them in “disaster” and “charisma” instead.

- Further use of the warp tool to create patterned garments that could be sold on EBay.

- Gave Khun hearing aids and a backstory to go with it.

Attachment 4

T2-1 V1.4 Patch Notes:

- Rune gets its 726362 design - now with actual terms and key words to use as future reference. (It’s a bastard sword).

- Decided that Knight is a polo shirt guy.

- Fixed Prince’s fluff collar.

T16 V1.2 Patch Notes:

- This patch comes with more updates for Glasses than Dete. The former now has a one-piece made with canvas-like fabric, and some arm warmers.

- Added more fluff to Dete’s hair (and the timeline).

T23 V2.0.3 Patch Notes

- Admitted that trying to make a reference sheet for anything other than their faces is a waste of time, as they change outfits Swifter than Taylor changes partners (and sexuality, apparently).

- All agents can agree, though, that the King’s outfits get comfier over time.

- No one has yet dared to come up with proper nicknames for King-Khun and Not-yet-king-Bam. No pseuds are as practical as K!Khun and K!Bam, so it’s understandable.

Attachment 5

T2-2 V2.1 Patch Notes:

- THEY DON’T NEED TO CHANGE THEY ARE PERFECT

- That said, management decided Skel should be more fragile, like glass. Needs to depend on a firefish to continue living in this form. They also said they just want to see a ribcage fish bowl.

R17 - Ryan - V1.0.2 Patch Notes:

+ It’s been requested that Ryan must be at least five timelines away from Knife at all times. As a company, we always go the extra mile, so we’ve placed him six timelines away in this lineup.

+ Begun the use of prints on shirts.

+ We have saved budget thanks to Ryan not having a face.

E11 V1.1 Patch Notes:

- Although it is dubious whether the entities known as Frost and Daffodil continue to live as shades of themselves after their deaths, the original timeline and characters are still very much real. The designs in this patch, thus, reflect the versions of them that were alive.

- An agent submitted a note that summarizes a new addition to this patch better than I: “Oh my god they are T4T.”

Attachment 6

E12 V2 Patch Notes:

- Mariam’s design has reverted back to its original idea: kind of dead, sharp shapes, tiny waist.

- There is uncertainty in whether the entity known as Palomo is real or just a product of Mariam’s imagination due to guilt.

- Decided to go back to the original idea for Omo: just a really creepy doll.

T5 V4.2 Patch Notes:

- Clearly, the timeline with the most drastic revisions.

- This patch comes with Viole’s ‘emo’ design presented in January. We sent feedback to Mother at this request, summarized as thus: “Really?”.

- As a response, we only got, “It stays.” So it stays.

- No one is sure why Viole has a bedhead.

- Hang in there, Kitten.

Attachment 7

T4 V2 Patch Notes:

- Including Clover here is more a formality than anything. His design was finalized over a year ago, and his story wrapped up way before that.

- That said, V2 brings the problem that the First Meeting Event, Second Meeting Event, and all other storylines stemming from that (basically two-thirds of our stored data), has essentially been… rebooted.

- Once again, someone decided to fork up all our plans.

T17 V2 Patch Notes:

- Both Yan and Ket have had redesigns recently. This is just a late roll-out.

- For Ket, we tried a more “DIY plush” look to his design. Some agents are crying with the knowledge that they have to make at least six other versions of this blanket. Others are already looking for shortcuts.

- As for Yan, he had a long overdue design coming. The agents like the futuresque/streetwear hood. One of the agents nicked his eyebrow.

- Unlike Version 1, Poff comes earlier in the timeline. What this means for future updates is yet to be l solved as we go.

Attachment 7

#cheer soli speaks #tower of god #the 25th bam #khun aguero agnis #tower’s tale #god………this took a while

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branwendaughterofllyr · 2 years

Text

Branwen reads ASOIAF (again) - AGOT Eddard I

And we are back to the Starks. This is Ned’s first pov chapter, and there’s a LOT of plot here. and backstory. Let’s go.

*blinks* Alright then, this chapter’s award for best bit of descriptive writing goes to the first paragraph.

The visitors poured through the castle gates in a river of gold and silver and polished steel, three hundred strong, a pride of bannermen and knights, of sworn swords and freeriders. Over their heads a dozen golden banners whipped back and forth in the northern wind, emblazoned with the crowned stag of Baratheon.

Am I partial to this description because Jonathan Burton illustrated it in the Folio Edition with a full double page spread? ....maybe.

what is a group of bannermen called? a pride. lol.

Ned knew many of the riders. There came Ser Jaime Lannister with hair as bright as beaten gold, and there Sandor Clegane with his terrible burned face. The tall boy beside him could only be the crown prince, and that stunted little man behind them was surely the Imp, Tyrion Lannister.

Ned just have as rundown of everyone we’re going to be dealing with in KL and I think it’s funny that we get pretty boy Jaime with the shiny hair and Joffrey is just… tall. Also, look at Ned judging people’s appearances. He needs to get to know the real person behind the faces. (Spoiler: neither of them are that great.) I am I going to pettily highlight every time someone calls the Hound and Tyrion ugly and gets no hate? Yes. Yes, I am.

Yet the huge man at the head of the column, flanked by two knights in the snow-white cloaks of the Kingsguard, seemed almost a stranger to Ned … until he vaulted off the back of his warhorse with a familiar roar, and crushed him in a bone-crunching hug.

It’s Bobby B! Robert “party hard, die harder” Baratheon! I hate him, but my god is he fun when he’s on the page. He’s serving Henry VIII, and I’m here for it.

I guess Robert never wasted any money on super expensive and pointless foreign wars, or started a religious schism. Congrats Robert, the bar was on the floor and you managed to trip over it.

Also our first, but far from the last, of the Kingsguard being described as “snow-white.”

“Ned! Ah, but it is good to see that frozen face of yours,” The king looked him over top to bottom, and laughed. “You have not changed at all.”

I just find it amusing whenever Ned is described as a having a frozen face or frozen eyes or frozen heart.

Fifteen years past, when they had ridden forth to win a throne, the Lord of Storm’s End had been clean-shaven, clear-eyed, and muscled like a maiden’s fantasy. Six and a half feet tall, he towered over lesser men, and when he donned his armor and the great antlered helmet of his House, he became a veritable giant. He’d had a giant’s strength too, his weapon of choice a spiked iron warhammer that Ned could scarcely lift. In those days, the smell of leather and blood had clung to him like perfume.

I’m sorry, I have to mention “muscled like a maiden’s fantasy.” It cracks me up every time. Want tell us how hot Robert was some more, Ned? Like a young mountain god? Also, the first of the asoiaf height shenanigans. I have zero idea how tall every one is in relation to each other, I don't think George does either.

perfume? is it sweet smelling? Ignore me.

Ned had last seen the king nine years before during Balon Greyjoy’s rebellion, when the stag and the direwolf had joined to end the pretensions of the self-proclaimed King of the Iron Islands. Since the night they had stood side by side in Greyjoy’s fallen stronghold, where Robert had accepted the rebel lord’s surrender and Ned had taken his son Theon as hostage and ward,

Okay, Greyjoy Rebellion. That’s how Ned ended up with Theon. Ward and Hostage. Got it.

the king had gained at least eight stone. A beard as coarse and black as iron wire covered his jaw to hide his double chin and the sag of the royal jowls, but nothing could hide his stomach or the dark circles under his eyes. Yet Robert was Ned’s king now, and not just a friend, so he said only, “Your Grace. Winterfell is yours.”

Robert got very fat, very fast. And no one can put him on a diet without losing their head. Also, Ned, I’m already nervous. I know needs must be respectful to a king, but this is right out of the gate and he’s no longer bestie status.

Robert’s queen, Cersei Lannister, entered on foot with her younger children. The wheelhouse in which they had ridden, a huge double-decked carriage of oiled oak and gilded metal pulled by forty heavy draft horses, was too wide to pass through the castle gate.

I’m sorry, did I read that right? A double-decker carriage pulled by forty horses too big to get through the castle gates? That seems absurdly big. Cersei Lannister is too extra from the beginning, I can't handle it.

I never want George to use realism as an excuse again. Look at what you just wrote!

Ned knelt in the snow to kiss the queen’s ring, while Robert embraced Catelyn like a long-lost sister. Then the children had been brought forward, introduced, and approved of by both sides.

lol, the contrast between Cersei and Catelyn is strong. (I wonder what crimes Catelyn had to commit to get Arya decent for this.)

No sooner had those formalities of greeting been completed than the king had said to his host, “Take me down to your crypt, Eddard. I would pay my respects.” Ned loved him for that, for remembering her still after all these years.

Listen, I’m glad that Robert still remembering Lyanna makes Ned feel better, but this has got to be rough for his very much alive wife.

The queen had begun to protest. They had been riding since dawn, everyone was tired and cold, surely they should refresh themselves first. The dead would wait. She had said no more than that; Robert had looked at her, and her twin brother Jaime had taken her quietly by the arm, and she had said no more.

Look! And we all know Cersei gets very bitter over every perceived slight. This marriage has had “messed up” written all over it from page one. Also, big lol at Jaime making sure Cersei doesn’t say something stupid to Robert in public.

They went down to the crypt together, Ned and this king he scarcely recognized.

Again, Ned. Perhaps a bit of concern here.

“I was starting to think we would never reach Winterfell,” Robert complained as they descended. “In the south, the way they talk about my Seven Kingdoms, a man forgets that your part is as big as the other six combined,”

Friendly reminder that the north is fucking HUGE. Just, absurdly huge. Makes it extra impressive that Robb made it to the Riverlands in record time. Also, the North must be an absolute bitch to try and conquer, especially from the South. It’s just so big.

“Bogs and forests and fields, and scarcely a decent inn north of the Neck. I’ve never seen such a vast emptiness. Where are all your people?”

I imagine the North can’t support that many people, considering they still get snow in summer. How do they survive the multi-year winters????? I am begging for a scrap of explanation, George. Please.

“Kings are a rare sight in the north.” Robert snorted. “More likely they were hiding under the snow. Snow, Ned!”

Subtle. George. Very subtle.

When George asked D&D who Jon’s mom was, he was checking to see if they had basic reading comprehension. Sadly, reddit helped them out, and they passed.

“Late summer snows are common enough,” Ned said. “I hope they did not trouble you. They are usually mild.” “The Others take your mild snows,” Robert swore. “What will this place be like in winter? I shudder to think.”

For once, I’m on the same page with Bobby B. Mild summer snows?????

“The winters are hard,” Ned admitted. “But the Starks will endure. We always have.”

This line makes me cry. For reasons.

“You need a taste of summer before it flees. In Highgarden there are fields of golden roses that stretch away as far as the eye can see. The fruits are so ripe they explode in your mouth—melons, peaches, fireplums, you’ve never tasted such sweetness. You’ll see, I brought you some.

AHHHHHHHH. the fruit symbolism!!!!!! what does it mean!?

We’re going to skip Robert’s frat boy monologue, because I roll my eyes too hard to write.

Robert Baratheon had always been a man of huge appetites, a man who knew how to take his pleasures. That was not a charge anyone could lay at the door of Eddard Stark.

Oooh, character contrasts! Also, some building up to the ultimate gossip question in Westeros: who made Ned Stark forget his honor?????

We get the initial description of the crypts, which we’ll skip, because we’ll see it again in later chapters, and Ned and Robert head down to the tombs of Lyanna, Brandon, and Rickard.

The Lords of Winterfell watched them pass. Their likenesses were carved into the stones that sealed the tombs. In long rows they sat, blind eyes staring out into eternal darkness, while great stone direwolves curled round their feet. The shifting shadows made the stone figures seem to stir as the living passed by.

By ancient custom an iron longsword had been laid across the lap of each who had been Lord of Winterfell, to keep the vengeful spirits in their crypts. The oldest had long ago rusted away to nothing, leaving only a few red stains where the metal had rested on stone. Ned wondered if that meant those ghosts were free to roam the castle now. He hoped not.

C’mon. C’MON. I want my payoff for ghosts or zombies in the Stark crypts!

There is so much mention of the fact that swords are rusted away or missing, and if the only payoff turns out to be Babrey Dustin figuring out that Rickon and Bran were in the crypts, I will be very upset.

I’ll take surprise wights rising up from the crypts during the Long Night, but I’d much prefer an extremely metal scene where the old kings of winter rise up to defend the castle.

C’MON!

The first Lords of Winterfell had been men hard as the land they ruled. In the centuries before the Dragonlords came over the sea, they had sworn allegiance to no man, styling themselves the Kings in the North.

Friendly reminder that the Targaryen's were only in charge of the North for less than three hundred years. And the Starks have been around for thousands.

They bent the knee because Torrhen didn’t want to be toasted, a completely reasonable choice post Field of Fire, but boy do I wonder about Brandon Snow’s weirwood arrows.

Ned stopped at last and lifted the oil lantern. The crypt continued on into darkness ahead of them, but beyond this point the tombs were empty and unsealed; black holes waiting for their dead, waiting for him and his children. Ned did not like to think on that.

Oh Ned. You’re fucked. You just foreshadowed you way into this, and it’s going to be too late to foreshadow your way out.

Backstory time!

Brandon had been twenty when he died, strangled by order of the Mad King Aerys Targaryen only a few short days before he was to wed Catelyn Tully of Riverrun. His father had been forced to watch him die. He was the true heir, the eldest, born to rule.

Oh my god, now all I can think about is who broke the news to Catelyn, Her wedding dress was done, people were showing up, and then she finds out that’s there not ever going to be a wedding with Brandon

(no wonder Hoster had her mary Ned, he’d already payed for the catering and the venue, and there’s no way he was changing to color scheme this late in the planning.)

Also, I see your self-doubt there Ned. I honestly think you did a better job than Brandon probably would have.

Lyanna had only been sixteen, a child-woman of surpassing loveliness. Ned had loved her with all his heart. Robert had loved her even more. She was to have been his bride.

sixteen. child-woman. SIXTEEN. CHILD-WOMAN. CHILD-WOMAN.

Lemme just check something.

Ah yes. Rhaegar was 24 when he bit it. Cool, cool. So he was 22 at the tourney of Harrenhal.

And how old was Lyanna at the tourney of Harrenhal?

14? 14!

Sorry, I’m fine. I’m fine. You just can't throw in descriptions like “child-woman of surpassing loveliness” and expect me not to completely lose it.

Robert was like 19, and they weren’t suppose to be married yet, so he’s getting the smallest of passes here.

“child-woman” UGH. I hope that we are meant to be creeped out by that.

“Ah, damn it, Ned, did you have to bury her in a place like this?” His voice was hoarse with remembered grief. “She deserved more than darkness …” “She was a Stark of Winterfell,” Ned said quietly. “This is her place.”

Robert doesn’t get it.

“I was with her when she died,” Ned reminded the king. “She wanted to come home, to rest beside Brandon and Father.” He could hear her still at times. Promise me, she had cried, in a room that smelled of blood and roses. Promise me, Ned. The fever had taken her strength and her voice had been faint as a whisper, but when he gave her his word, the fear had gone out of his sister’s eyes. Ned remembered the way she had smiled then, how tightly her fingers had clutched his as she gave up her hold on life, the rose petals spilling from her palm, dead and black. After that he remembered nothing. They had found him still holding her body, silent with grief. The little crannogman, Howland Reed, had taken her hand from his. Ned could recall none of it.

Something tells me that that promise was about more than just asking Ned to bring her bones home. And Howland Reed was there for it.

What does the rest of Westeros think happened to Lyanna? That she just got sick and died? I don't think it’s ever actually mentioned.

also, what’s our verdict on the “blood and roses” Is it literal, or is Ned mixing up everything in his memories? If she did have a dead flower, was it a winter rose somehow? Or am I overthinking all this, and it’s just supposed to make us think of the winter roses later?

“I vowed to kill Rhaegar for what he did to her.” “You did,” Ned reminded him. “Only once,” Robert said bitterly.

“In my dreams, I kill him every night,” Robert admitted. “A thousand deaths will still be less than he deserves.”

Look who else is living the battle of the Trident! Just like Viserys. I do find it interesting that so many people are defined by this one moment, and how we so see many different points of view of it. I just finished AFFC, and Septon Meribald pinpoints the Trident as his moment of death and rebirth. I don’t have a big analysis of this at the moment, so I’ll just point it out for now.

“Tell me about Jon.” Robert shook his head. “I have never seen a man sicken so quickly. We gave a tourney on my son’s name day. If you had seen Jon then, you would have sworn he would live forever. A fortnight later he was dead. The sickness was like a fire in his gut. It burned right through him.”

SUSPICIOUS. I wonder if we’ll get any further investigation into this.

How does Lysa bear her grief?” Robert’s mouth gave a bitter twist. “Not well, in truth,” he admitted. “I think losing Jon has driven the woman mad, Ned. She has taken the boy back to the Eyrie. Against my wishes. I had hoped to foster him with Tywin Lannister at Casterly Rock. Jon had no brothers, no other sons. Was I supposed to leave him to be raised by women?”

Introducing the greatest mystery of the entire series. Jon’s parentage? No. Who is the prince that is promised? No!

The Fostering of Sweetrobin!!!!!

The first possible location is Casterly Rock, under Tywin Lannister. I don't know what rock Robert is living under but that was never going to happen lol. Even the politically unsavy Ned knows that.

Ned would sooner entrust a child to a pit viper than to Lord Tywin,

Considering that Oberyn seemed to win at parenting, a hard yes from me.

“Lord Tywin had never taken a ward before. Lysa ought to have been honored. The Lannisters are a great and noble House. She refused to even hear of it. Then she left in the dead of night, without so much as a by-your-leave. Cersei was furious.”

In what world would Lysa Arryn consider her only baby boy being fostered by Tywin Lannister an honor? No wonder she bounced (even without the whole murdering her husband thing.)

“I will take him as ward, if you wish,” Ned said. “Lysa should consent to that. She and Catelyn were close as girls, and she would be welcome here as well.” “A generous offer, my friend,” the king said, “but too late. Lord Tywin has already given his consent. Fostering the boy elsewhere would be a grievous affront to him.” “I have more concern for my nephew’s welfare than I do for Lannister pride,” Ned declared. “That is because you do not sleep with a Lannister.” Robert laughed,

Tywin is going to offended no matter what happens, probably should have taken Ned up that offer.

Sorry, I know that the war hasn’t broken out yet, but I’m just so dune with Robert. I can’t imagine what his rule would be like without Jon Arryn.

Blind stone eyes seemed to follow them as they passed.

Just noting this description. Feels interesting.

Benjen says—” “No doubt I will hear what your brother says soon enough,” Robert said. “The Wall has stood for what, eight thousand years? It can keep a few days more. I have more pressing concerns.

HA HA! Look. It’s dramatic irony. Since we as the audience know something the characters don’t. That they're all fucked.

He served as Lord of the Eyrie, as Warden of the East, as the Hand of the King. He will not be easy to replace.” “His son …” Ned began. “His son will succeed to the Eyrie and all its incomes,” Robert said brusquely. “No more.” That took Ned by surprise. He stopped, startled, and turned to look at his king. The words came unbidden. “The Arryns have always been Wardens of the East. The title goes with the domain.” “Perhaps when he comes of age, the honor can be restored to him,” Robert said. “I have this year to think of, and next. A six-year-old boy is no war leader, Ned.” “In peace, the title is only an honor. Let the boy keep it. For his father’s sake if not his own. Surely you owe Jon that much for his service.” The king was not pleased. He took his arm from around Ned’s shoulders. “Jon’s service was the duty he owed his liege lord. I am not ungrateful, Ned. You of all men ought to know that. But the son is not the father. A mere boy cannot hold the east.” Then his tone softened. “Enough of this. There is a more important office to discuss, and I would not argue with you.”

Okay, so. Warden is actually a military title and commander, rather than an inherited one. It usually goes to the lord of the most prominent house of the region, which makes sense, since they are the ones who can martial an army. Robert Arryn is a sickly six year old who will not be leading armies anytime soon. I’m not going to question not giving it to Robin Arryn, but I am going to question giving it to Jaime fucking Lannister. Singlehandedly giving one family half of the Wardenships seems like a bad plan. He should have picked someone like Bronze Yohn Royce. (though I’m sure that would have it’s own issues, but surely a Valeman would be a better choice. Or maybe make Stannis Warden of the East lol. He’d hate it but he’d do a decent job. People smarter than me have dealt with this problem.)

“Lord Eddard Stark, I would name you the Hand of the King.” Ned dropped to one knee. The offer did not surprise him; what other reason could Robert have had for coming so far? The Hand of the King was the second-most powerful man in the Seven Kingdoms. He spoke with the king’s voice, commanded the king’s armies, drafted the king’s laws. At times he even sat upon the Iron Throne to dispense king’s justice, when the king was absent, or sick, or otherwise indisposed. Robert was offering him a responsibility as large as the realm itself. It was the last thing in the world he wanted.

Okay, Neddie boy. I agree. The Hand sounds like a rough job, especially when the king isn’t doing his. But I imagine a competent King, Hand, Queen, and small council could actually get a whole of a hell lot done.

But Ned does not want the job! He wants to stay home with his wife and kids, and take care of his own people.

“Your Grace,” he said. “I am not worthy of the honor.” Robert groaned with good-humored impatience. “If I wanted to honor you, I’d let you retire. I am planning to make you run the kingdom and fight the wars while I eat and drink and wench myself into an early grave.”

Robert! Don’t make me take back saying that you managed to be better than Henry VIII. He actually did some governing when he was young. He turned most of it over to the people when he was older.

Ned knew the saying. “What the king dreams,” he said, “the Hand builds.” “I bedded a fishmaid once who told me the lowborn have a choicer way to put it. The king eats, they say, and the Hand takes the shit.”

Run, Ned!

He threw back his head and roared his laughter. The echoes rang through the darkness, and all around them the dead of Winterfell seemed to watch with cold and disapproving eyes.

It’s me. The cold and disapproving eyes are me.

“Damn it, Ned,” the king complained. “You might at least humor me with a smile.” “They say it grows so cold up here in winter that a man’s laughter freezes in his throat and chokes him to death,” Ned said evenly. “Perhaps that is why the Starks have so little humor.”

Love how literally everyone complains about how serious the Starks are, lol. It’s their trademark, apparently.

If Lyanna had lived, we should have been brothers, bound by blood as well as affection. Well, it is not too late. I have a son. You have a daughter. My Joff and your Sansa shall join our houses, as Lyanna and I might once have done.” This offer did surprise him. “Sansa is only eleven.” Robert waved an impatient hand. “Old enough for betrothal. The marriage can wait a few years.”

Why are you surprised, Ned? Literally no one else is. This seems like exactly the kind of thing Robert would want. Also, you haven’t even started to think about marriages for Robb and Sansa? Get on it. What are your plans for the future, Ned??????

“These honors are all so unexpected. May I have some time to consider? I need to tell my wife …” “Yes, yes, of course, tell Catelyn, sleep on it if you must.”

At least he’s going to check with Catelyn. And it’s funny that Robert is like “yeah, of course, go tell Catelyn, you simp. I expect nothing less of you.”

For a moment Eddard Stark was filled with a terrible sense of foreboding. This was his place, here in the north. He looked at the stone figures all around them, breathed deep in the chill silence of the crypt. He could feel the eyes of the dead. They were all listening, he knew. And winter was coming.

You did it again, Ned. You foreshadowed your own doom. Stop doing that, Catelyn does not appreciate it.

Robert comes to get Ned to do his work for him, setting in motion everything bad ever.

Should have stayed at Winterfell, Ned, and pulled a Lysa by boarding up the Neck.

#branwen reads asoioaf again #agot #Eddard I #Ned Stark

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snellymain · 2 years

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who are your art inspirations?

Oh gosh, a lot of people. All of my artist friends and mutuals inspire me pretty much every day, but I can't list em all, so ,,, here's some less obvious answers!

I'd say it's mainly comic artists who can consistently do super loose and fun sequential art that feels fresh everytime, with the occasional illustrative piece. Artists with fun interesting shading styles or somehow no shading at all, yet still managing to make absolutely captivating pieces that feel rendered in comic form, while not looking like "too much" or too polished.

^^ First artist that comes to mind when I'm asked about inspirations is the visual mastermind behind Saga, Fiona Staples, her stuff just itches my brain SO right because it feels really… real? Despite the stuff she draws being absolutely crazy shit, the expressions and looseness of it and just the raw feelings is so cool… I appreciate how her illustrations still look like her sequential stuff, it's always very "in the moment" ykno. It's hard for me to read Saga in a single focused sitting because I just end up distracted with art inspo the whole time HAHA-

^^ As far as art styles go, I'm well aware of how much I've taken and learned from IncaseArt, which is kinda.. Funny. Don't look him up if you're a minor lol. If you recognize this No You Don't. Regardless I absolutely love how he draws diverse people and faces, the way he renders skin, hair, backgrounds,,EVERYTHING,,,, There's a lot of nuance to his style that I've subconsciously started using in my own the past few years. I don't know how he does it man x.x He understands colors SO well ahghghghg

^^ Feel obligated, but reluctant, to say SarahDraws, she's had some crazy bad controversies !!!!WHICH I AM BRINGING ATTENTION TO HERE SO DON'T GET MAD AT ME!!!! but I'm still absolutely enamored with her art. Gotta give credit where credit is due, man u.u But, seriously, even though lineart is my favorite part of the process, I envy how amazing she can make any piece look with her insane sketchy lines, I genuinely don't even know if she does a sketch beforehand or just cleans it up--it looks so beautiful either way. Love her dark goth imagery paired with a super bright accent color WAAAGHG

^^ Growing up I know I was inspired by a lot of...erhm ... Traumacore and guro artists DollieGuts and ReinaGoth, but how much their style ended up sticking to mine,,,I dunno! You can kinda see it I guess? I was pretty innocently into artists of this scene but ultimately shied away due to a phobia of mine LMAO. Still love their work though! I know DollieGuts is the reason I line with such a crunchy brush, considering I used their brushes on Sai for a few years straight 🥴 (also love how much they've been playing around with their style lately...mwah. love to see an artist breaking out of their comfort zone)

^^ It goes without saying I get inspiration from a lot of fandom artists, too, Wilddaggers and Nenanugget definitely come to mind,, I feel like they both use super satisfying colors and a lot going on despite not having full shading, which I hope to achieve so badly.

Thank you so much for the ask, and sorry the late reply ❣❣

#oh hell naw snelly did not just point out 3 problematic people and say ''art inspo''#idk if ill delete this or not. i feel like im just reposting ppls art..#dont reblog #ask #junes1 #blood #gore #long post

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rosieroseblossom · 2 years

Text

Chapter One - Dream Date

Eleanora

Finally, it was here Halloween at last it falls on the thirty-first. This One however, comes around and reviving this hollows eve. Every inhabitant resident that’s lived in Mystic Connecticut had, suddenly, changed, once Halloween comes for a midnight bite at their toes. The whole village was captured in a spell, like, the town has been put under. Their maintained lawns are completely transformed into ghoulish graveyards. The ancient tombstones had rouse up on the earthly soil; with rotting human remain draped in crimson covered every olive jade bushes. Just on top are giant cobwebs glittering in the pale ghostly light, in total darkness suspend in the mild air. A gust of wind moves across the white porches, above the decorated ceilings where vampire bats hanging down with their big black eyes glowing in the blackness. However though, on the other side of the street are decaying and rundown mansions, as they loomed but there was one with their solid windows are glowing, crimson shooting past the glass. Others chose to display outdoor lights, sweet pumpkins, as they automatically switch colour. Their where also ghostly ones too, that had hanged over the edge of their roofs shining into the deeply darkly night. At each street porch step facing the white fences a plump, orange jack o' lanterns. Each one carved with a shrill blade. All fixed with permanent grins, and their ample eyes, they stare blanky in the midnight. Shooting out of there obscure eyeballs. A milky yellow flicker of waxed candles burnished. Awaking once again the mighty fiery fury of hollows eve. The radiance of the convex horned moon beams against the deep sapphire water that is surrounding Mystic. It silent and there no, massive surges are splashing like a dozen crystals onto the dark sand. Just a calm night and feeling merely excited, and as tradition to go door to door collecting bags of enjoyable candies, chocolate bars, lollipops and red apples in toffee coating. As cold air blows. Drifting a carmine drape; it was floating in the gust of air. A cloud of grey mist slips through the rose window the long silk of a moon and sun print black curtains.

Creeping into a haunted forest, instead it was of a large bedroom. It was a dark dim room having the wallpaper of a dark misty woods, with naked tress but on the walls are black Victorian photo frames, inside them are finely inked pend Illustrations of gothic dark art, but some others occult alchemy symbols and stunning drawings. Around the massive room all the furniture pieces, is very transparent except, at the open window is a mesh red wine claret winged armchair, prompted near the wide window, but quickly across is a big black dresser on top. Absent from their small cardboard boxes all lined up of small-scale of funko pop vinyl figures, and I mean after all, it is Halloween. I’d heard on the TV; that a mental asylum had accidently let loose some of cinema massacre's little terrors. Jason Voorhees wearing his icon famous hockey mask, holding a bloody drenched machete in hand, Michael Myers in a navy boiler suit with a steak knife, and Carrie a honey blonde wearing her prom dress, her silky light pink silk dress, even with Carrie’s smooth golden hair drips in dark crimson. Then there was Reagan, her bright amber eyes, looking right at you, her blazing ambers glare menacing look and oozing, at the corners the small lips of dripping green vomit seeping off it and onto the white laced collar. Just behind them is a beautiful range of paper bound books with, in between a phoney human skull on top. Pulled up alongside is a lucent red-cherry dressing table. Above is a bevel encircled mirror that limpid on a vanity drawer was raised on squat cabriole legs between the gap in the middle of it, a mesh black cushion chair is placed at the of the dresser.

Sitting their motionless on the soft seat and facing to the vanity mirror. Arms bent outwards and seated on the polished wood, with the elbows are placing at the ends of the lucent cherry table and gazing through at a solid looking glass mirror, a reflection stare backed. A glimpse of a light-toned skin girl, with exquisite long auburn hair as it fells and curls past under her shoulders, Eleanora Thornton, a Mystic high school student, but mostly though, she is a confident reigning queen for the goths. She has an oblong face, thin carrot top eyebrows and gorgeous sapphire eyes and heart-shaped blood-rose lips. Eleanora is a kind and slender, but. Dark, no, no she is defiantly not a blood sucking vampire or a moon hugging werewolf, that was far from the truth, rather that she had loved everything that is spooky. Though having long wavy auburn strands, and her smooth mouths stained in black, painting her rosy lips in a midnight gloss, and selections of lovely mini dresses are, which are not all entirely black, but rather red, white, brown and yellow. Eleanora has been a goth for over five years. It all began when I fell in love with horror movies, with creepy ghouls and undead creatures, the ones in fanfiction stories and films, she guesses that Eleanora was exposed to the dark aesthetic side but feels that she has turned from light to darkness. Also, for her father, is a heavy rock and metal music lover, he would be down in his man cave, booming and blaring Alice Cooper, Metallica, Guns and Roses. What sweet music they made. My childlike self so thoughtfully. Then on that day, Eleanora went out and with all my pocket money, left over from Christmas by her grandparents. Eleanora brought her first spiky choker but, the long silver claws weren’t very long just small. Only just at the age of six and Eleanora felt amazing. She could remember on that day when both of her mum and dad’s jaws immediately dropped, when they captured their little six-year-old Eleanora in the hallway.

She then realized, did she make a terrible mistake and I nearly sobbed, but as she looked up, they’d began to smile and told her on how rocking, and beautiful her choker is and since then. They accepted her, for all her strangeness, individuality she was a beauty queen, but. That all changed when she attended Stonington Middle School. Starting at a brand-new school was terrifying. It was a different atmosphere, new teachers, new students but, for me it felt like I was a small fish swimming in a big pond swarmed with deadly sharks. However, it did not stop her love for the darkness, Eleanora’s style blossomed like a red rose to a morning rose, she returned home back, from a lengthy day of school. Eleanora brought for the first chucky heeled creepers, Eleanora was filled with delight and thrilled. After having them they had lasted her through the entire winter. Though when at, middle school, they did not accept weirdoes in black creepers. However, feeling brave to be totally different, to be unique, she did not pursue any popular trends, like the other school students wearing their expensive designer outfits but, still it was not easy for her to make, a lot of friends, Eleanora was a very terrible shy. It did take her a while but, that was when, in fourth period and in her class, she began to listen intently just behind her desk. Visible whispers and a low giggling of nasty explanations about Eleanora and at that moment she felt her heart sank uncomfortably, then I feel the corners of my eyes to water and that day, was the start of the taunts of school bullies.

Before school could start for the day, Eleanora would walk her usual way and then, unexpectedly, she quickly turned back and saw two female students one had dyed blue hair, but the other had medium brown shade hair with cat green eyes and there were striding just after Eleanora, and they were glaring angrily, right at her. She turns back and continued to walk, but then, a pounding of railing squealing catches up to her, then all the, suddenly. She sensed a touch of two hands grip on her arm, ‘ouch’ Eleanora winced the long fingers wrapped around her. Eleanora glanced back and gasped, she gaped in horror, it was the girl with the dark cat green eyes narrowing madly towards Eleanora and then she began to drag hard down on my arm, and I felt my body bending uncomfortably to the side, pulling me harder and then harder. When Eleanora begun to buckle her knees and tumbled on the charcoal pathway, I could then feel her hands released violently of my arm. Eleanora fell completely faced down, lying totally flat, lashed into the solid path and a huge cramping stabbing gushed on me. Then I sense my pulse starts to become slowly faint, almost breaking down, and as Eleanora try manging to break her eyes wide open, just then a burst of wild childish laughter breeze down rhythmically in the far distance.

The very next morning, Eleanora is striding casually down in the endless hallway, the soft closing of grey lockers echoed the halls, every student is getting ready for their first periods and then I hear, ‘EW! who did your hair, I would so hate to be a ginger’, ‘Yeah me too, I’d be so disgusted if my mum had red haired and passed it to be, I’d be ashamed’ somebody added nastily and fell into laughter. That was just the beginning when, after lunch the day and is nearly at an end and when I was stirring past the row of lockers when abruptly, Elise Collins, a tall girl having short toned fair-haired and with olive skin and forest green eyes, she asked me to borrow my handbag, which at that moment found very odd, on one had ever asked to use my bag before, especially the one I was holding, though. Eleanora did have a spare on in her locker, thinking nothing of it, Eleanora gave it to Elise, and she turned quickly and walked around the corner of the lockers. Eleanora, thought innocently, that they could need my bag for something special! Once when school was finally over at last, Eleanora is sitting on her bed and scrolling on Instagram, she had made the account only a while ago and it was something of a creative outlook to express and be myself more, until unexpectedly to my shock, she saw a video and to her surprise. To see a black and white printed strip body bag, her bag lay on a rusty ash grill. They a big lighter and a match and then, a soft flame pirouetted upward across her beautiful bag. It became in gulfed to a big bronze glow the black leather turning dark brown at the flickering of the burning flames, at that moment Eleanora grabbed for her pillow and dropped her head into it and burst into tears. The unending hollow of freak, weirdo, nobody likes you why can’t you accept that. It all crammed up into my mind for endless days like it is a constant reminder, I just did not understand what was wrong with me, whenever Eleanora is getting to school it was another roller-coaster ride, a bump after another. Hoping that everything will get better soon, but not as everyday was the exact very same, name calling, tugging my hair back in class and the horrible laughter which become so unbearable to my ears. Wishing that Eleanora could stay at home, just for a day, but it was not option. Soon it got even worse, like even if it could not be, for that her gorgeous auburn hair become the main centre of attention.

Basically, I was sitting at the lunch table in the cafeteria, and I sat alone. Eleanora was hearing giggling in the far distance of the school cafeteria trying to ignore it. Until something cold suddenly poured right down my long hair, it did not take me to long to realize that it was milk! Eleanora peered over her left shoulder and saw a short girl, having navy long jet hair, she had black round glasses, in an iced-blue cheerleading uniform. Glancing at me and told me, with a so not sweet, oops, ‘my bad’. A grin appeared on her face, and she chuckled and smiled triumphantly, proud of what she did. Eleanora feels the cold dripping of the wet white milk, drip off the ends of my hair and I frowned unhappily. She walked away and joined the rest of her squad and I immediately rose and ran leaving my warm tray of food, to go cold. After that incident, I was chased home by the angriest mob, she had ever seen, it was like something out of a Frankenstein movie where she had felt Eleanora was a monster. When Eleanora got home, she began to sob uncontrobely, feeling the corners of her eyes go wet and the tears slowly falling off my cheeks, about an hour later, my parents found me lying on the floor crying and exhausted. She began to them everything that had happened, at first Eleanora was much too scared to tell her mum and dad what did occur today, but I could not conceal my long agonizing pain another moment. After a few minutes just to calm down, they both wrapped themselves around me soothing and gently told me something that I thought I’d never got to hear, Eleanora, every time those voices shooting out horrible names or laughter, you just say to yourself. “Be yourself, don’t take anything from anyone, and never let them take you alive” Gerard Way, that was my mum’s favourite singer and now that I hear that, it is like a calm breeze the words felt so comforting, it had made me feel warm and quickly I felt safe again, safe to be me once more.

Until one unexpected day, Eleanora’s life was about to transform. About five weeks later, and she had met an assemble of amazing and unique individuals, they were dressed in head to toe in complete black, blanker than anything else, she could barely imagine in her entire life that she, would have ever meet the traditional goths, their big, jet black frizzy hair, their dark makeup with eyeliner, wearing leather jackets, fishnet tights and other styles of leather jackets but with beautiful gothic patches, that are stitched here and there. When I first set my eyes on them, they were the birth of the 70s punk, Eleanora felt so honored and so humbled, the very first person I had talked to was. A boy with short-cut brunette hair and hazel eyes. He raised his left hand and firmly shook mine; his name was Charlie Hardy. We both to smile at each other. Until Eleanora had discovered a remarkably but, familiar face, she was amazed to see that it was, Maire Underwood. She was once a former cheerleader, only for a few years but, since then she has changed. Her life turned around and she threw her icy pompoms to a side and now turned full goth, she was once a cool ice blond but is now a winter jet black. Maire, Charlie and Eleanora soon developed a close friendship, that would last forever. At the beginning I was alone, a lost soul trapped in a very dark place when at last a shimmer of bright light, appeared and I had realized, maybe I am not the only one after all.

About a week later we got invitations written in fake-blood, of course. My heart is thrilled when I got invited by the romantic goths, the romantic is more on the loving side but to me, they were equally as royalty and they were beautiful, but focus and drawn to the dark things of life such as graveyards, the moonlight, ravens and dead roses. It was so kind of them to invite us to the Elm Grove cemetery which was on the outskirts of town. A splendid resting place for the ones that already have passed over, they were our beloved loved ones once. I always found that place very sleepy quiet, where the sky is a blue and pink casting and blending in perfectly as if dawn is setting in, in Mystic. As we went inside past the giant stoned gate, she listened carefully to the rustling in the large pine trees, but as the warm rays of sunlight dimly streamed through the thick dark green leaves, Eleanora and the other goths started strolling along the sandy stony path when we came to abrupt halt. When we spotted up the path, we then saw three silent figures standing with their backs turned toward us, but as we approached them slowly. All three whirl their heads around and stared a boy, he stood at about average height with curly black hair, light indigo eyes and was dressed in a flawless black velvet buttoned loose-fit long-sleeved shirt, black trousers and right, on the shirt is a red diamond brooch on him.

His name is Sean MacBride. He stood casually arms folded, next to him where two other girls, one tall with very long, dark brunette hair but tinted at the bottom where bleached highlights, Ivy Green, she was always in my maths class. Adored in a stunning floor-length hourglass gown which looked exquisite, it even fitted her like a glove it even was in a bloodlust red at the bottom of, is black, too. Across her long, slender neck, a lacy choker with black stones dangling on her glowing skin. But the other girl was much shorter than the other two. Jade Frost, she had the coolest silver eyes, as they resembled as a wolf’s stare, I could just imagine her at this moment, staying up all night and start howling at the moon and not caring when the sun was going to rise, but they were cold and dark and having her black wavy hair flowing under her shoulders, she wore a white long dress with ruffled sleeves. Across Jade’s face was a stunning Colombina Barocco Silver White Masquerade Mask. In the air the wind was picking up a sweet strawberry perfume of roses. I can then feel the curling of late autumn leaves, cutting under at the palms of my hands as they fall one by one off the branches of the rows of old ancient pine trees and weeping willows still looming over us.

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Elm Grove cemetery. It gives me such delight to meet you all” said Sean in a charming and pleasant tone. He sounded so courtly like something out of a different century.

Eleanora must have forgotten. It sounded so old fashion. Which she had forget too, that the romantic goths loved gothic poetry, I mean, I cannot blame them for their fondness and affection. Eleanora replies.

“I am really glad to meet you, all as well”. After a few minutes, we all got together, and we all made our way through the giant cemetery. Eleanora could not believe on how beautiful the graveyard looked in autumn. No matter what the day, week, or whatever month it was, Eleanora stroked the ground was soft and green, instantly she saw something long, thin and covered in dirt sprouting above onto the earth.

Which was a worm with muck casing its slender body, it moved around the mud very slowly then in a second it sinks back into the earth. “We’re just about to make some pot of tea” Ivy said with a chuckle.

“What! Come on Ivy isn’t this like our sixth tub of tea already today” said Vlad raising his eyebrow to Ivy, still continued to smile not caring what at all.

“Well, I am sure, that our lovely guests here would love to have some of our warm tea” said Vlad once again crossing his arms back, at that moment Ivy turned to him.

“Oh-why-yes of course, please do excuse me,” said Ivy. So, Ivy walks away and vanishes behind the pines. “I’d just wanted to say, thanks for inviting us to your tea party, it’s just so madly magical,” I said. “We’ve been planning this for a while, we don’t have much time here,” said Vlad, but Vlad's tone was glum as his smile fades. “But we only come here once a year. After, “he paused. “A-after,” trying to get the words out but Vlad cuts her off, "After, the entire cheerleading and football team came and ruined it." Vlad murmured. “It had taken us almost a year to fix this cemetery, we had to skip school trips just to fix this area back together, another whole month to grow back every beautiful flower, of every kind, in this graveyard," Vlad then paused. "But we did get help from the rest of our community,” said Jade abruptly. “I mean what about, the massive oak tree,” said Maire. “Well, that’s the last thing to worry about, as it was never touched. They say that our oak tree is haunted! quite foolish is not it, Vlad laughed. This awful and horrific story started when a frat boy fell of the trail from his group, he had become lost inside the largest forests of Mystic, he walked for miles of trees, tress and tress. When he saw that the moon is full, and a white beamed down on a giant magnificent oak tree.

It was at the centre of the shadowy woods. Swarmed with dark tress, his eyes fixed on the oak like a jewel thief had happened upon a lavishing diamond. He froze. He stared at it almost fascinated, as if he had never seen an oak in his whole life, almost easily being taken by it. It was so far away from the others, as they looked like dark shadows completely sombre. Something about that, oak tree made it stand out from the rest of them. Maybe those faded brown leaves, dipped in blood are blowing through the nippy air, floating in the midnight sky. As he stood for what seemed like an hour, continuing to stare, eyes growing wider. The black eyes expand in the bright light of the moon glistening his sapphire eyes brightly. Until he unstiffens and finally, he would step forward but only for a few inches, though they were large steps forwards. Until he unstiffens and advanced his way past the perennial ryegrass.

That was going to be his biggest mistake. As he got closer to the tree, still eyes wide and locked on its gripping crimson beauty. Then the tall dark trees were swiping of its spindly branches and with the red leaves brushing in the wind, whoosh, whoosh, whoosh, then, suddenly moving out his arm forward, and slowly stretching wide his long fingers onto the leaves. When the fingertips touched the leaf, then the brushing, stopped! The gust of the air died down and the night become ghostly quiet, for a moment and the Justin, a honey blonde, hazel eye boy, was not even sure what was going on and he still had his hand on the crimson leaf. Until a very faint. SNAP! The boy spun his head round, but when he did. It was only to a hole of darkness, with the rows of pines wrapping around the thick blackness, soon he had ignored it and turned back to the tree. There it was again. SNAP! It happened again. When he whirled back. Nothing there. Justin took a deep breath and got focusing back on to the oak, once again. SSNNAPPPPP!!!!! The noise made him jumped out of his skin and he whirled around, there was nothing, only the moonless darkness, but then, Justin heart began to hammer as he tried to stare through the thick blackness of the night. When it became quiet again, he had immediately gone back on over to the oak and with his hand which is still imposed on the blood arrowhead. Everything around him is silent, dead silent, at that moment he become motionless.

Nothing was going to happen. When, a quiet rustling was moving slowly underneath him. He did not look down! instead, keeping his head raised and the eyes gaze on the tree. Completely as if been put under a spell, a powerful force is drawing him near and nearer to the tree! Is somebody or something just waiting for him on the other side. Until something hard and wooden came tugging at the bottom of his jeans, Finally, taking his eyes off, off onto the ground and to his horror! he saw a tree branch, it was curling around the dark denim. Straight away of the boy's eyebrows rose, instantly there is a look of fear. His eyes began to bulge out of its sockets almost about to burst, at that moment he could feel his teeth chattering. Until the thick and heavy branch started up its way onto him and began to crawl slowly up, up and up. Carefully wrapped around his stomach, then making its way up to his strong shoulders and then roping around, his thick neck. The boy wanted to scream but he could not as his throat begin to squeeze tightly around him. His voice became raspy and wheezy, trying to get the any words out. Only the sound of frosty air could be heard from the boy's lips. Abruptly the whole brunch started to pull him up and he popped open his eyes. The night sky was even more divine especially on this midnight. Though the moon shone more on this night on the boy could not escape the horrors he is facing. His heart was still pounding and his body shaking uncontrollably like a leaf, Justin tried to loosen the branch as it snaked around him, but then the wooden grips were just too strong for him. He returned his attention back on the tree and now looking up closer. Every leaf rustled, whoosh, whoosh, whoosh. He looked down then, saw, the branchlets extending wide and spreading onward.

He gasped. The tree branches started separating. As it then spread, the entire trunk moved, and he had expected to see a white glow radiation like a glowing portal. After a silent moment, and then the tree suddenly became a statue. Then he felt a slight loosening of the long branch. Justin calmed as he could get some oxygen, however it roped him once again. As my throat feels raspier. Although he can freely move his neck, locked tight in the arm of the branch, and as Justin looked up and there, a hollow pitch darkness, the deepest depths of blackness he could ever stare at. A few minutes nothing happened and feeling scared enough, until. He saw it, something, or somebody in the total darkness, when it emerged. A small figure it lingered forward. Emerging behind the naked branch was a blonde boy Justin squinted his eyes through the darkness, and then, his light brown eyes are shot with fear. Inside the tree, every limb, every leaf but, something else as well. Sitting there, above the boy she looked much older than the young boy, adorned in an electric blue dress. I felt my stomach bubbling up with trembling fear. Then, the boy, began to stand slowly, slowly up, which made my legs go totally ice cold. I feel a cold breeze slip down my spine when he sees his skin. It looked abnormally pale, with dark black rings under them. When he realized at that moment, the boy and the girl, both, had competently, jet black eyes. Justin gulped hard, he could feel the beads of sweat sweep over his forehead and as Justin gazed back. They are glancing right back at him. They caught him gawking at them, at that very second, the girl and boy both then started to smile an unnatural grin on their faces. My heart then dropped. They’re abnormal smiles look cold and dead expression and expressionless, the eyes were looking as if, straight into my soul. Justin made that mistake of taking his eyes off them. Continued to look, until he caught a glimpse at the corner his eye and saw, a glimmer of something sharp and lying there on the branch when instantly, the black eye boy picked it right up, off the leaved branch, no longer invisible. My heart is beating almost out of my chest and that was when, he saw it, that it was of, an axe.

When I took my eyes off the boy and saw that the golden fair-haired girl, sitting there like a queen on the wooden wing treating it as if a throne. With her elegant electric blue day-dress, which looked like a Victorian period, Justin could not see her face entirely since it was in darkness. All the sudden, she leaned forward carefully, and my heart is beating, faster and faster than ever before. Justin’s jaw suddenly dropped when he saw the girl’s lips are stained in. Wet-BLOOD. Blood. The word screamed in my head, as it was dribbling off her. Drip, drip, drip, sprinkling off on the dark grass. Even with my staring at them was not making things better neither, by the hour trying desperately to try and wiggle free but to my failure, I am caught in the spiders’ web. Then the girl stood up too, and my gaze at the fair-haired left arm. Which was behind her back when she did reveal of that of a severed head. At this very moment I wanted to throw up, it was Alexia Bullwinkle, the cheerleaders captain and a good friend was now all limp. Those evil monsters! How could they do this. Justin helplessly stared, but he could not help but stare, looking right at her lifeless head, the strands of chocolate curls falling in the air and her mouth unresponsive, but the tongue was still inside. A flow of red blood running down her dyed pink roots, what scared me at that second was her alluring green eyes. They were a couple of obscure crimson holes, empty, exactly like the boy and the girl were. Did they scoop them out? like it was ice cream, but rather torn as if ripped out entirely, developing the coldest chill up along both of his arms and then, suddenly, coming over towards him. Justin instantly closed his eyes shut and grinded hard on his teeth. In a second the bloody head began to fall slowly out of the solid black eyes of the girl, her pale iced cold hands and the head began to roll, roll down onto the greenery.

Walking confidently down the dim corridor and Eleanora unsurprised of seeing those familiar faces. All grown up, quiet chattering in big groups. Eleanora, the petite flaming red-haired high school student strides down the endless hallway when abruptly, she remembered that it was back at the last twilight. She looks on back that nippy evening when she was at home and it was a full moon night, a good time to heal all the wounds. A perfect time to discover the odd and the peculiar, Eleanora started using for the first time, tarot cards, my mum told me that I should never play with evil but, as she shuffled them around on her table in her bedroom in the dim, she had carefully placed one down and then the next, then the next one after. After a minute of doing this, they started to open a door for her once she began to unfold them. Now that it is the next day and thought back to the ones that she had used the night before, it was laid out in front of her and as predicted, everyone was staring at her.

She was unfazed by their evil stares, gazing at Eleanora like she had done something harmful. I took a deep breath and closed her eyes, for a moment I cracked them back open, then I lifted my head like a powerful Queen when little rays of light are cascading, as though by magic. As if, I am wearing a jewellike crown over my head. However, I only conjured that, in my mind. I mean, Eleanora is indeed the queen and as she kept on strolling through the endless corridors wearing dark velvet, Dolls Kill, high chunky platforms and hanging off them of silver N' cross accents. The echoes of click clanking of heels against the marble flooring and as I am just about to turn the corner, that is when I had, accidently bumped into him. He was around about my age, attends the same high school, too. He was handsomely lanky, his complexion was a ghostly pale, and his hair were jet-black was shoulder-length, which that is unkept, he had those gorgeous lapzil eyes and he was very slim build but not too skinny and instantly I knew at that moment, my heart was skipping a beat, wait! what! My heart fluttering, she did not predict this at all, you will find love when you least not know it, one of the cards stated. I mean, we’ve have been best friends ever since kindergarten, I had just turned seven and he saved me, resecuring her from a group of immature girls, who were hissing and spitting across the sand box and thinking that it was never going to end. Then, someone showed behind the playground swings in high-top red converse came running and jumped into the box deep into the dark yellow sand, and Eleanora saw that it was Jared. I could not think of what ever happened next but, he was my hero.

As the time passed and quickly learned that he too, is a goth exactly like Eleanora! She is indeed a queen after all, since she had found last week that she is to rule a dark reign among the goths. Although needing a king at her side. She finally found her dark angel at last; Eleanora had never given a thought about it, she never had the thought about finding love ever especially with anyone or anybody, she never taken a glance at any smoke hot boys, well, Eleanora did, though they would always turn her down in a minute. It was simply because, she is a red haired or perhaps a ginger and no boys in her school would never go out with a ginger, the other reason was easy, they weren’t interested, and they would probably find Eleanora incredibly boring until now! and as she continued getting ready underneath the big vanity mirror of her red cherry wood dresser. Expecting to see a range of her expensive designer makeup displaying along the red table but surprisingly. A layout of very coloured candles casting long shadows along the walls, in the middle of the table was an old wooden box, of a walnut wood, a rusty golden metal decoration all around it. Inside this crate of abundance of dried herbs, dead flowers in corked glass bottles, crystals such as a bloodstone, lapis lazuli and the essential oils like Lavender. At the bottom of the box was a Raspberry Leaf, then Rosemary directly from my garden. Beside her, a large black makeup bag and as Eleanora began to unzip and withdraw a long onyx eyeshadow brush. As she added an extra layer of smoky eye, smearing across my smooth lips a dark rouge saint Laurent blood-red lipstick, my mouth felt like it is dripping of crimson, so blood licking she thought. As if began burning its beauty consuming from within it against my lips. Over an hour of transformation, she saw back, glancing at my own reflection, Eleanora is astonished, feeling more stunned she could not believe her eyes, on what stared back at her.

Eleanora rose off her soft chair away from full view. Still was in disbelief on how glamorous she was. My light-toned complexion was even lighter, her lips are ruby, the mascara was black and fuller. Eleanora is wearing a sexy long lace, sheer flare sleeves crop top, with a spaghetti black top under it, having a translucent ruffled trim skirt with a skater also placed there. Eleanora’s gloomy glam, of platform punk creepers, with fishnet ankle socks. As she straightens her black leather four-layer collar choker in the mirror. Eleanora admires the long copper hair, in the thick mirror, they pass down her shoulders, curling at the bottom like red rose, when something rather odd happens. A smile came over her face, like the kind you do not ever see from goth girls, some people might say, goths don’t smile well, we do smile. The room completely silent, but all the sudden my cheerful smile is whipped off when a shuddering of a loud, BANG. Made Eleanora jumped out of her skin. When another big, huge, BANG, she started to get a biting chill prickling up along her arms, as she stood there, but then, BANG, she whirled back around to see my wide window, the long curtain blowing slowly.

I feel all my hairs stand up on ends and a cold chill slip up my spine. The crashing was much more aggressive now. Then perceive a cry that was other-worldly, it did not sound human like at all through the thick glass. Finally, Eleanora pulled back the curtain and to her surprise! That it was just a branch hitting against her window and with a cool sigh, and as she went back to the dresser, but she halted. Eleanora heard, another creak but, it was outside her bedroom door, she froze for a second. Then, now, heavy and loud footsteps striding in the darkness. Going boom, boom, boom. A moment of silence fell in the dark room, she tried to remain still and quiet, but her eyes were fixed at her door, rather the doorknob, then she sees the handle turning. Her door then creaked opened. Eleanora's hands began quivering. Eleanora ran fast back to her bed and now, until a big thump, at that moment she could feel her heart exploded, she still froze at beside her bed. Then Eleanora slowly turned back, and the door was open, fully, A small bright light was moving past the open door, and she saw a tall, long black figure. Eleanora squinted her eyes through the darkness, when she was hit with a warmth sense against Eleanora pale skin. When a flame was coming… coming... closer and closer, and then Eleanora’s heart sank.

She looked up quickly and then light formed into a single, white candle a flame and as it lowered below her face, Eleanora feels her cheeks going torrid. Finally! she makes out, who was there and then for an instance, I knew exactly who it is! seeing beyond the draped shadows. That it’s only her older sister, Claire. The candle is luminating her face, glowing up her flawless complexion. She was a princess Arial, long velvet hair, stunning Caribbean blue eyes and a round shape face, Eleanora then noticed that Claire adorned as a Día de Muertos dress, her whole face painted in a sugar skull, she looked spooky-splendid having black fine detail, wearing a perfectly fitted slim KIllstar maxi decelerated dress, Victorian dark lace, the stunning strap detail on the neckline, also matching a modesty lining on the waist, and bust. A pair of shiny pointed toe Stilettos heels and her straight ruby hair was braided and staring at the curls, looking as if like blood-red roses. Eleanora darted to her bedside lamp and switched it on and as the light blared, but not overly bright and the room looked dark, at last Eleanora becomes steady and soon her heart slowly eases.

"What are you doing sitting in the dark?" putting down the candelabra beside the dresser and sat down on the edge of my bed, Eleanora then settled next to her, she crossed her arms and legs. There is a pause between the two sisters and as the silence breaks in.

"I like, sitting in the dark, its more soothing," I said in a low deep tone.

"Oh, okay, that sounds rather pleasant," she said, but Eleanora rolls her eyes.

"Anyways, he should be here soon, I hope he isn't running late," I said with an anxious tone. As I took my eyes off the window, and I stare down to the floor and feeling sombre. Then Eleanora notices her sister puts both of her hands, as they were in a long black glove, she placed them over my shoulder, and I instantly glance up.

"You'll be fine sis, I’m absolutely sure tonight, will be dark and romantic for sure," she said with a reassuring look, and I smiled back at her.

"I think he'll take you over to a creepy cemetery, or maybe, maybe to a forbidden forest and underneath an orange oak tree, you'll have a picnic together. Oh wait. Then make-out in an abandon mansion," she said as we'd both burst out laughing.

"WOW, Okay, this is our very first date, we're not going that fast," I said. But for a long thoughtful moment, I did have a thought about it, it had been playing on my mind all day, what if, he, he does try to kiss me? I then felt a bag of dancing spiders jumping in my stomach. Eleanora picks up her head and starts to feel sombre again.

"Claire," I pause and as Eleanora stared back to her sister. "What if, he tries to kiss me, what should I do, I mean, I’ve never been kissed before I’m just," my throat is feeling croaky.

"Well… If he thinks about moving his move on you, make sure to take a breath afterwards, trust me," she said.

"Although I do not think you should, must worry too much, just enjoy the moment between the two of you, because it will not last, forever. She then added.

Eleanora rose from my bed and walk straight to my dresser. On the table is the gold candle holder, I had noticed that it had with a low flame had not it moved at least, but for over an hour the flame hardly even flinched, it was still against the wind. Then Eleanora goes over the dresser and as she pulled from the bottom draw a small, glass bottle that was labelled and written in very fancy writing on it, inside the bottle is a melted fluent, in a purest gold, Eleanora then removed the cork of the bottle, and then she brings it down towards her lips and took a whole gulp of it, taking every drop of it.

"Is that one of your newest potions, you'd just created?" asked Claire still crossed legged on the bed, but she had unfolded her arms.

"Is that what it called, potions. I mean, isn’t it just, quite strange on how ever since I was just a little girl, I could do all that and even look longing at the moon for hours," I said. Claire did not replay to my unanswered question, instead slips her black laced gloves as they stretched past the elbows.

"I got to admit Eleanora, but I really don't know why, but we would never judge you, Eleanora." she said with a pleasant smile. I took a breath and took a step forward towards the mirror and began staring once again, at the copper gold candle holder, with its tall, wax, candle. Eleanora stare down at it, the huge low flame was even brighter amber, I feel my eyes bore into the small yellow glow, Unexpectedly, the flickering flame began to, move, I nearly jumped out of my skin, and my eyes widen in surprise, when she feels no gust of air in her room.

"What the-," Eleanora stopped mid sentences and placed her hand over her chest. It got even stranger. When my eyes are glued to the red flame like both of my eyes are catching fire, though for some reason, Eleanora lifted her left hand and loomed across from it. Over the wax light I felt a warm heat source off it. Behind it was another white, waxed candle and swiftly as if instructed, they all ignited and sparked on fire! Eleanora jumped back with a loud yelp and quickly pull my hand away.

"What the bloody-hell was that" she exclaimed.

Then abruptly Eleanora and Clair heard somebody running outside the hall and then into her bedroom. She turned to the front door and sees in the doorway is a boy, he was about average height, with carrot top frizzy hair, a round face and light chestnut eyes. He was not wearing a spooky Halloween costume like Claire, which surprised me at first, but instead. In having a plain orange t-shirt, skinny blue jeans and a black beanie. Bill Thornton, he was a skater, going to parks, riding with his skateboard and hanging out with his good friends and always creates a fire blaze along the skating ramp. Eleanora and Claire both looked up at him, then we notice he had a first aid plaster on his nose. "Bill, you’re not wearing your Halloween costume, you’re going to Colby's house tonight for that party,” Claire said. At first, he does not say a word to her, then Eleanora and Claire both exchange glances with Bill, as he slips both of his hands behind the back pockets of his ripped denim jeans and stared down to the floor.

"Don't tell me that they've cancelled on you," she yelled in a trice voice and raised off the bed. She stood up, in front of him.

"Well," he begins with a huge gulp. “David and Scott had grounded for two months, so it seems that I can't go tonight" he admits. Although, me and Claire are after all being sisters, we know that Bill has been up to no good, and are starting to doubt, but I did not know what to expect from my sister and who knows fully-well that they are something odd for this postpone, of the party of Halloween.

"I mean that sounds really odd they're grounded, what is the reasoning for this," Claire's blue eyes creates massive tidal waves. "Is there more to than to this, that I don't know." Her eyes narrow. Bill went flustered. "It's not anything bad, it is just, Max and Colby got into a big fight back at the park today," he said removing his hands from the back pockets.

"What! about?" she asked him. Bill shrugs his shoulders and looks down at the floor once more and as Claire walks up to our troubling brother, with a serious expression and Bill instantly puts down his left hand, Bill's cheeks go quickly icy cold. Eleanora remained herself at her dresser and watching the blazing candle, go dim.

"Alright! Fine! over a packet of cocaine," he said, which caused both of the girls to jaws drop. Was Bill taking drugs? I could not have imagined seeing him take any types of substances, Eleanora has known him all her life and ever since the day she was born into this family and for Bill, doing anything like that. Although, she knows he can get very extremely stressed at school, especially with homework which me and Claire must help him out on sometimes.

"Please, don't tell me, you’ve started taking drugs and those dangerous stuff, if you are, I am telling mum," Claire's eyes get redder. Her face is filled with strong rage. I could see little drops of water pouring down Bill’s worried face.

"No, of course not, but the boys got into a fight as one of David's friends is passing them around to each other, soon Colby felt forced to take one, he turned it down, but they didn't seem to like that," he said sombrely.

"So, everyone got into a big struggle and then Colby punched David's friend, but David was really angary and then hit him across the nose," he continued with, whilst Claire is giving him a look for concern.

"What happened? How where they punished?" Claire then asked.

"I saw that they're grandfather and grandmother walking in the park that afternoon, with the both of them witnessing to it all, eventually confessed about the drugs," Finally. Bill takes a breath and Claire soon relaxed and sighed. Bill was going to binge horror movies all night, eat popcorn, drink gingerroot bear and then go straight to bed. However, mum and dad are going out this evening, but tells them, that dad is staying in. Because he had to catch up on work. Still, mum is heading out with all her friends, all wearing black pointy hats, long witchy black flowering capes, grabbing wooden broom sticks. Flying on over to the witches’ paddle, Eleanora then thought about Claire. Hoping. She was not thinking about going to cancel on her date tonight, there is to be a party too, which I knew and that she had been waiting to go on. Claire had been talking about it, for weeks, Jake Clarkson, her attractive beau. Eleanora certainly hoped that Claire and Jake where still going. Though, in a few minutes hoping and expecting to see, Jared, he was going to pick up Eleanora at any time now, she had been thinking for over than last twenty-four hours thinking nothing but him. It makes my stomach flutter with a million butterflies.

Everything was ghostly-quiet. Claire and Bill departed from her bedroom and Eleanora sitting at the dresser, the chiming of the old grandfather clock, outside in the dim hall. When a voice is calling from the darkness, "EL-ENA-AROA," It was mum, Eleanora then rose quickly. She darted to the door, for a moment. She froze once again; Eleanora felt a swept of fear. Should I be afraid right now, but about what? I mean, this is just a date but, not just any date, it’s her dream date, Jared Donovan, and the night is fast and whatever could happen, but nothing bad was ever going to happen, although. At this moment Eleanora might be thinking this and soon, she will feel the true terror of Halloween. As she is adjusting the silver strap and at last wrapped it around her shoulder.

"Eleanora. He is here," Inna yelled once again.

Eleanora took another deep breath.

"Okay, I’m coming.

I hope you've enjoyed chapter one of my first book. Please comment and like it too, also give me feedback on what was good and excellent about the book or the first chapter and what should I do even better to improve my writing skills which is not totally perfect, not my best as I found it hard to make my spelling and grammar for years now but don't worry I am planning on going back to college to study English spelling and hopefully I'll get ten time better at my creative writing.

#creativity #creative writing #horror #first date

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