Drop an Evelyn character study and all the YHS fan art (Including Mr. Draco) you could ever want IS YOURS. /silly
your wish is my command
Evelyn Wynd - They Know My Name (i wanted to be the one to tell them)
People knew the name Evelyn Wynd, people knew blonde hair and bright blue eyes, people knew inheritance and empires; people knew Evelyn Wynd before she'd ever gotten the chance to introduce herself.
Evelyn Wynd spent her childhood infront of spotlights of camera flashes, and she's spending her teenage years on the right side of an interrogation table. She'd been on the wrong side only once, but she's never forget it - it was the first time she had introduced herself, and the first time people not just knew her, but knew something about her.
Her mother was found dead under suspicious circumstances. the investigator had sat her down and asked question after question, but none mattered more to her than the first.
"What is your name?"
Her answers hadn't helped, and months went by, but she never forgot that feeling. she wanted to introduce herself again, and not as her fathers daughter. she'd done everything to land herself back at that cold metal table, and eventually it worked. she had presented a notebook she'd filled with her thoughts.
Her uncle had been the one who killed her mother, and she sat quietly through the trial. They said words she didnt understand but longed to say.
After that, something wonderful happened; suddenly people knew her.
The papers went from 'Edmund Wynd's Daughter, Evelyn, Shows Up at Wynd Charity Event!' to 'Evelyn Wynd Solves Mothers Murder at Just Six Years Old!'
People knew the name Evelyn Wynd, and people were starting to learn of who the name belonged to. When she picks up a new case, she pictures the title in her head - her name will always comes first.
They definitely were, the doors had closed twenty minutes ago. Celeste had suggested they break a window around back, but Elijah was confident he could get them in- and she was inclined to believe him. Her brother had remarkable puppy dog eyes.
The woman standing guard looked unsure, but sure enough, with another glance at Elijah’s slightly pathetic pleading gaze, she looked around to make sure none of her coworkers were around, and unlocked the door for them.
“Just this once, okay?”
Elijah thanked her as he walked past, compliments and gratitude devolving into snorts and jeers of mockery the farther they walked into the large venue. Celeste rolled her eyes at her brothers antics; he always did like to see what he could get away with, and if pulling the wool over someone’s eyes required looking up from beneath his lashes and saying ‘please’, then so be it.
OR:
“C’mon, doll, we’re not too late, are we?”
They definitely were, the doors had closed twenty minutes ago. Celeste had suggested they break a window around back, but Elijah was confident he could get them in- and she was inclined to believe him. Her brother had remarkable puppy dog eyes.
The woman standing guard looked down at him in bewilderment, and slowly her lip curled in disgust and she scoffed. “Dude you’re like thirty, whatever you’re going with your face doesn’t work anymore. Scram.” She turned her nose up at them, and if Celeste wasn’t so annoyed, she would have cackled at the look on Elijah’s face.
Maybe he’d lost his touch.
whichever you prefer is canon okay? Okay perf see you next decade
tbh sometimes I forget that I have a tumblr and I can be more unhinged here. I love YH designs bc they clearly all have an idea behind it and I love love it ❤️
HEYYYYYYyyy I designed the main cast!! I also tried introducing them and giving some reasonings behind my artistic decisions to my friends (who don't know what YHS is about)
I love them a lot. I also love character design, and it feels like I put my heart and soul to them lol!! I'm very touched by everyone's feedback on them.
Farrah and Aiden!! I finally remembered I had tumbler, they’re my favorite verison of Falec honestly, it’s them but toxic but their ship name is #Faiden love u pati for making that genius name. The link to their fanfic! https://archiveofourown.org/works/50333590
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
So I just found out I’ve been getting back into drawing for about 2 months and 30 days and I’d say I’d made a lot of improvements since the first time I drew…it’s scary but I’m so proud like in a short time?? That’s crazy I can’t wait to see this in four months! P.s HERES Evelyn’s first debut ignore her arms I was just doodling her position 🥲
What is one episode you wish didn't exist in the series and what is one that you wish we got more of?
Also I like how you write Elijah :)🫶
hello, I'm so sorry this took so long, I'm just seeing this now!!
hmm, while I don't particularly HATE any episodes if I could get rid of one, it would definitely be that one haunted house one with Meghan and Velma(?) It was a two-parter, 'The Insane Asylum' I think it was called.
and I would have LOVED if we got more side stories in general; but full-fledged episodes? Probably the Death-Con arc or the sports festival/Vengence High; I find them so interesting I wish we got more than a few lines from them! How cool would it have been to get a side story just about them??? Also at Kyran's farm!!! I loved those episodes so much its unreal
And thank you sm!!!!! We didn't get much of him in canon so there is a lot I get to play around with :))
Steam billows over the shower curtain, fog creeps up on the mirror, and the humidity makes it hard to breathe. Elijah stands under the steady stream of water, platinum locks plastered to his forehead. The soap lay still untouched, and Elijah grows bored.
He reaches out and grabs the handle, turning it slowly to the left. The water gets hotter and hotter and hotter and Elijah steps into it. The heat crawls up his body but he doesn't so much as flinch as the boiling water hits his skin. He can feel it, not nearly as much as someone normal would; but what sets him apart from them, is that he wants to enjoy it.
His thighs are bleached red, chest glistening with boiling water, hands so irritated they no longer resemble his normal tan.
He should stop.
But he’s not going to.
He never does.
A sociopath, that’s what they called him; but Elijah disagrees. By definition, a sociopath is someone who knows they are different and tries to fit in; Elijah doesn't do that. Elijah knows what he’s capable of, Elijah wants to do what he wants; if he has to wear a few masks to do that, who’s to say he’s wrong?
He raises both hands, holding them deftly under the water. He doesn’t wince, flinch, or cry. He lets a grin crawl up on his cracked lips.
Elijah has masks, closets upon dressers upon boxes full of masks. He can be whatever he wants to be. He doesn't wear them to fit in, he fits in to achieve the thrill of what comes after. Masks are useful, you pretend to be someone you're not, you plaster on a smile or produce weightless tears, or whisper sweet nothings ; Elijah pretends even when not being watched.
Elijah wants to be strong, he wants to be feared, he wants to be resilient. So he turns the water hotter and hotter.
Elijah wears masks, not to fit in, but for what comes after the mask is removed. The terror in their eyes, the tremble of their voice, the shake in their knees? That, is what Elijah lives for.
The thrill, the euphoria, that consumes him in times like those is unlike anything else. He wouldn't trade it for anything, not pleasure, not pain, not money, not power, not the world, not Celeste.
The water turns cold against his knuckles; the polite sting causes his fingers to shake under the onslaught of water and his skin starts to crease, old scars appearing fresh. Tears would have sprung to his eyes, washed away unnoticed; but Elijah’s giggles scare them away. Watching, and inflicting, others in pain is what he dreams about at night.
They don't understand him, they never tried-
-is what he would say if he was a crybaby bitch. No, Elijah doesn’t care about that, not anymore. Even if it’s his own, pain rules his world, guides him through life, speaks for him, thinks for him, and moves for him.
The handle stops against his will, unable to be turned any hotter. Even though his knees shake, his hands tremble, his breath comes short, and his eyes flutter against his wishes, it’s not hot enough.
Celeste doesn’t love him, and he doesn’t love her; they aren’t capable of real love . They are sick and twisted and cruel and it brings him unbridled joy.
Celeste knows a mask, not him; Yandere knows a mask, not him; Elijah knows a mask, not him. There is no ‘him’. Elijah can’t remember if there ever was a ‘him’.
Steam billows from the shower, infecting the mirror and fogging the windows, even though he feels cold water cascading down his body. Bruises are bold against red skin, and scabs peel and fall to the floor. He raises a hand to scratch at his chest, his fingers leave a harsh white trail behind. As he pulls his hand away, he sees dead, melting, mushy skin trapped beneath his bitten-down nails.
A stray soap bubble is sticking stubbornly to the back of his hand. He tries to brush it away, but his skin tears and liquid red blends with his skin.
Elijah sighs.
He’s grown bored again.
He leans onto the stream, the water hitting his scalp and back for the first time. He twists the handle, stopping the water with all but a moment’s notice. The humid air attaches to him, it makes his skin stiff and he stretches it as he steps out. The dirty towel rubs his waist raw but he pays it no mind he raises a shaking hand to wipe the mirror.
Blue, gold, and red stare back.
Elijah Symons is no one without a mask, but he definitely has his favourites. So, before he dresses himself, he covers his unknown face and smiles.
The Hanahaki disease is one many people fear; it is recounted in tales of love and heartbreak. Evan knows all about it; unfortunately, he now knows more than he ever hoped to.
~~~
Hanahaki disease.
Evan had heard of the term several times throughout his life, his mother told him of her own experience with it practically as a bedtime story. She painted the disease as anything but, she recounted it as a blessing, a warning from above that this wasn't the one for you. But, she would also admit it could go both ways.
Sometimes, Evan thought, she sounded bitter.
She had been young, in college studying for her degree, when she met a man only a few years older than her. She fell hard, she had thought they were meant to be, thought she would never find anyone as perfect as him. A few months after meeting him, however, she started coughing. Nasty, violent, bloody coughs. She had done her research, but the results hadn't been pretty.
Young and naive, she says now, she told him of her feelings. Confident that if he didn’t love her already, he could learn too.
He had refused.
Crushed, his mother had run crying to the doctor. She returned home stone-faced and glass hearted.
But, his mother would always say with a smile, she was thankful now. If he hadn't refused, if she hadn't coughed up flowers and thorns, she would have pursued him and missed his father. It was a blessing; a painful blessing, but a blessing nonetheless.
“If you ever find yourself where I once was,” she said one night, “please, leave them and never look back. It's better for the both of you. Only guilt and pity come from those forsaken weeds”
So when he coughed up a small petal speckled with red, his heart sank. He had no moment of wonder, horror, or contemplation; he only felt resigned to his fate. He always thought he would listen to his mother, and run while he still could. But now, he can't force himself to even turn the other way.
More violent every day, Evan refused to rid himself of the growing roots. He couldn't stand the thought of feeling nothing toward her. Ironically, he thought it would make him feel more empty.
She asked what was wrong one day when he wiped red off his lips. He couldn't bear to tell her, he knew what she would do. What she would try, what she would give up. You cannot force a thing like this; that, Evan knew without a doubt. If she didn't love him, that was fine, all he wanted was to keep her in his life.
Maybe it was selfish, maybe it was foolish, maybe it was naive of him to throw it all away for but moments in comparison. He had dreams, aspirations, but they felt hollow without her there, cheering him on from his side.
She still would be, he knew, but it wouldn't be the same.
His mother always warned him of the disease, he, apparently, never listened; never headed her warning of fate and temptations, of better things to come.
He didn't know if there was any better out there.
If there was, he didn't want it.
His pillows filled with petals and his tissues soaked with blood, Evan realizes there was never a choice to make.
Krew never gave us the angst we needed after Funneh and Alec's date.
That's where I come in.
~~~~~
Crickets chirped around the dorms as Funneh approached her front doors, still cradling a froyo cup in her hands. She looked over her shoulder as she reached for the handle. Evan was standing by the entrance, watching to make sure she made it inside. Funneh smiled and lifted a hand to wave, Evan returned the gesture before turning and going back to his own dorm building.
Funneh yawned as she opened the door, stepping in quietly. It was long past dark, the lights were out and the dorm was quiet. She assumed Gold was upstairs; she was never one to stay up this late. Shutting the door behind her, she flicked the lock and walked over to the trash can. Scraping out the last bits of Froyo, she tossed the cardboard cup inside.
“Hmm,” Funneh paused at the small sound, glancing back towards the living room. “..Funneh?” Gold popped up from behind the back of the couch, hair tousled and rubbing sleep from her eye.
“Oh, Gold, what’re you doing up?”
Gold yawned, “waiting for you.” Funneh walked around the couch to stand in front of her. The brunette sat up fully and fixed one of her sleeves that had rolled up in her sleep. “How are you? Thought you would be back earlier.”
“I'm fine!” Funneh chirped, clapping her hands in front of her, “Evan bought me Froyo!”
Gold glances to the left and Funneh follows her gaze. On the coffee table were two tubs of ice cream and spoons to go along with them, rings of condensation spread around the base of the cartons, infecting the grooves of the wooden table. Funneh winced, she hadn't thought Gold would wait up like this.
“Doesn't matter,” Gold shook her head, waving the ice cream away. “Are you okay? What happened?”
“Well, you remember how I told you Evan was playing for Ocean Metal? He totally flunked!” Funneh laughed, reaching her hands up to play with the end of her braid. “You shoulda seen him, he got a slushie spilled on him too! Then we went for Froyo, ate it on the sidewalk, got more, and came back here!”
Gold smiled, “well, that's good, I'm glad you had fun. But, uhm,” she hesitated and bit her lip, “what about Alec..?”
Funneh paused. A feeling of…. Actually, she didn't know what she was feeling. But it washed over her; she tried her best to shake it off. She plastered a smile on her lips. “Mhm, Alec got a phone call. I told you, right?”
“Well, yeah, but…”
“No, it's fine!” Funneh waved a hand in dismissal, but couldn't help the lump that rose in her throat. “He said it was an emergency so it's fine.”
“It's not fine if you’re upset, Funneh.” Gold reached out a hand, grabbing Funneh’s clammy ones in hers.
Funneh sniffed, forced her smile brighter but turned her head away nonetheless. “Well, he said he was sorry?” Gold kept quiet, rubbing soothing circles into the back of Funneh’s hand. The silence overwhelmed her, she had to keep talking.
“It's no big deal, yeah? This kind of thing happens all the time! I'm sure he’ll make it up to-!” Funneh’s voice broke off into a sob. Immediately, she brought her free hand to cover her face. Tears started to stream down her cheeks and fell to soak her newly bought hoodie.
Gold stood up immediately, placing a gentle hand on her friend's cheeks as she hiccuped and sobbed, her shoulders shaking. “Oh, Funneh..”
“Why am I cryin-g-G-g?! This is so stu-u-u-upid!” Funneh choked out. She felt so pathetic. She told herself that it was barely a date, and it wasn't like he never showed up; they had fun until he had a family emergency. An emergency! Was she so entitled to think she was more important?
“No, honey, no,” Gold wrapped her arms around her, Funneh buried her face into her best friend's shoulder. The plush pink pajamas were soft and warm. “He left,” Funneh sobbed harder. “You have a right to feel upset.”
“But-!” Funneh tried to raise her hands to wipe her face, to hide from her friend. Gold didn't let her, grabbing her hands in a firm but comforting hold. Funneh looked up, and through her tears, she saw Gold’s face. Perfect, as it usually was, flawless, but burdened. She looked so sad, so hurt.
But why would Gold be sad? Was it because of her? Was she making Gold sad?
Funneh felt her knees shake and Gold gently lowered them to the rough carpet. Funneh’s exposed knees rubbed against the carpet, they burned as she shifted her posture to lean against the couch, still facing Gold.
“I-I’m sorry!” Funneh lowered her head, too afraid to look her in the eyes. It seemed like she always ruined everything. She didn't want Gold to leave too.
“‘Sorry’? Why are you sorry?”
“I'm making you sad!”
Gold hummed, squinting her eyes and tilting her head in sympathy, though Funneh didn't see it. “Funneh, Funneh, Funneh, no.” When she failed to raise Funneh’s head, Gold sighed. Funneh hiccuped, it was getting hard to breathe through her sobs. She felt Gold rest her forehead against hers. Brown and blue hair tangled together. “I'm not sad because of you, I'm sad for you.”
Funneh’s brows furrowed. What did she mean?
She finally looked up, only to be greeted by Gold’s smile. “What happened sucks, and I’m so so so incredibly sorry this happened to you, Funneh. It was a jerk move and he needs to apologize.” Gold paused, waiting for a response. When Funneh nodded, shakily and unsure.
“You’re tired,” Funneh couldn't help but laugh, a wet chuckle escaping her lips, slipping past the slowly dying sobs. “How about we go get you cleaned up and head to bed? Clear your head and talk more in the morning?”
“Mhm..” Funneh mumbled, wiping her face frantically with her sleeves. She winced, she would need to wash the hoodie already. She felt a feather-light weight she had become accustomed to being lifted from her head, Gold laying her flower crown on the couch cushions beside them. “I’m sorry-”
“Funneh,” Gold interrupted gently, raising herself to her knees. “There's absolutely nothing to apologize for, especially not for crying. Your hurt, it's okay.”
“Okay…” Funneh repeated as Gold pulled her to her feet and lead her to the stairs. She didn't brush her teeth or do her normal skin care, but she did wipe down her face, wiping away the tear tracks burned into her cheeks, the black of her mascara a reminder of their existence. Behind her, Gold stood, undoing the hairstyle she had created but hours ago; gently pulling out bobby pins and rubber bands.
By the time they left the bathroom, Funneh felt sluggish and tired and still sad but more numb and the tension of tears was building again and-
“Can you stay with me?” she asked meekly as a lone tear streamed silently down her raw cheek. She fiddled with her sleeve, she would probably sleep in it.
She wondered if Alec had taken his off yet.
Gold smiled at her, connecting their hands together once more. “Of course. But, can we stay in your room? I doubt we’ll both fit in mine.”
Funneh chuckled, opening her bedroom door. Stepping inside, they neglected to turn on the lights, only slipping under the covers together.
“Goodnight, Funneh.”
“G’night, Gold.”
“....thanks..”
Funneh was asleep practically before she finished talking.
