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domwazlib · 3 years

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Lessons.

There were always lessons, always things to impart upon Micah David Buchanan. Metaphors, restrictions, always lessons far too tedious for a young mind to care to absorb -- lessons he would learn the hard way when adolescence gave way beneath his feet.

Brought up in the rolling hills of Kentucky, Buchanan Bourbon and the Buchanan men were brought up just so in gentle society. It was a craft -- a legacy -- that they had perfected. It starts off clear. Fiery, bitter. For every year bourbon matures in the barrel, it goes through a winter and summer where the wood expands and contracts, pushing and pulling the spirit in and out. Left too long, bitterness would impart instead of giving way to a smooth warmth and charm that they have been known for. There was a romantic quality to it all, or so he had been told. There were winters and summers in life -- highs and lows, but they were necessary evils. He was warned, but Micah underestimated how deeply he would feel it all.

A charming spitfire from the beginning, he had a relatively happy childhood. A day was only counted as a success when band aids were earned as honor badges from scraped knees and big adventures. He was the kind to climb high into trees, even if he didn’t have the foresight on how to get down. A belief and an attempt to fly had not ended in his favor, but it was a lesson he had learned on his own.

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domwazlib · 3 years

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— PART ONE.

✨ ana de armas, cisfemale, she/her — whenever i see beatrix “bex” navarro meandering down agnes street california by chappell roan starts to play inside my head. maybe it is the vibe they give off. plane tickets and pressed flowers in antique books, amber eyes melting into honeyed gold, any house can be a haunted one in the peripherals ; you know ? out of the attic is what keeps them interested in agnes. i heard they are a thirty two year old author. they look like the kind of person who gets swept into a whirlwind and brings others along for the ride. ( r, 27, est, she/her )

— PART TWO.

revamping a bio but

let me know if you see this as like a lowkey potential thing ??

shades of grey have shrouded the house at the top of the hill for as long as anyone can remember, yet there is a distinct memory of curious eyes seeking a small menagerie of blooms interwoven with the choking vines. ivy wrapped around the large columns and there was beauty and color in the decay, should one look long and hard enough. little thought was given to the crumbling victorian outside the realm of october, yet something called to her with far more weight than a neighborhood’s taunt. suburban tradition brought about the carving of pumpkins. the competition didn’t boast of artistic talent, but was one of bravery and she excelled in both -- even in youth. each eve of halloween wrangled a small gathering with the smallest tasked to slip between the gaps of a wrought iron gate until it creaked back on its hinges.

small flames undulated and flickered with shallow, bated breaths as they took turns creeping as close as they dared. illuminated gourds lined the walk, with the bravest venturing no further than the bottom splintered porch step. wispy legends seemed to be the only actual haunt and she intended to prove it. carved gourd in hand, she ventured to the porch step and past it. a defiant glimmer was tossed over her shoulder as she pried open the door. the other children were only able to track her progress with a dim glow as she passed the windows, hushed whispers growing in volume as she traipsed up the staircase and to the attic. a chill crept up her spine, but from the street her face wasn’t the only one illuminated in the gabled window. the candle was snuffed out and skeptic turned believer as she fled from the house, but she made a vow never to flee again.

----

bex is a published mystery-horror author, with one of her novels having been turned into a movie. it was overall a success, but she absolutely hated the adaptation. frustrated with the criticism (much of it her own) and with another novel due, the words have yet to come.

she really fucks with sleep on the floor by the lumineers, and at one point fled far from islebury or nearby and has flitted back and away once more throughout the years.

bex is highly, highly sentimental but has always been a flighty soul. she is incredibly charming when she chooses to be, but can seem very surface level until she lets her guard down.

loyal to a fault, brave to a fault, stubborn to a fault.

born of an affair -- the golden child or the black sheep, depending on the inheritance.

honestly probably bought that old spooky house and is fixing it up. the garden is so cheery you almost forget, if only for a second.

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jeanlaurens1

On a more positive note, Bill demonstrates artistic ability in the film with a drawing of Beverly and has horror movie posters up on his walls, a subtle nod to Bill's future career as a horror writer. Indeed, when Bill grows up, he is a very successful mystery-horror writer, but is shown to be frustrated and irritated by frequent criticisms of his endings due to their being unsatisfactory. Bill justifies his endings by stating that they are a reflection of reality, as the concepts of closure and happy-endings are impractical; this attitude most likely being subconscious residual guilt he feels at having lost his brother during his youth.

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