#wanting to leave a legacy behind. wanting to be free to tell our stories.

[tuney-dreemur]

Empire Season 2 animation ideas

Legend of Everfree (Main Title): A flashback to the previous rulers with the season 2 cast discovering their legacies as well as leaving behind their own.

Come Little Children from Hocus Pocus: The Evermoore talking to and leading people astray in its fog

Heralds, Harpers, and Havoc: Healer’s Dilemma by Mercedes Lackey: Shelby trying to use her magic and potions to help others while struggling with self doubt

Hiyaku no Recipe from Precure All Stars: Just Shelby making potions to sell to her friends

Poor Wayfaring Stranger- Narrow Way cover: Mythical (I’ll be referring to his season 2 character as Smyth) feeling from his old home, and finding the land where he would build Sanctuary 

Church by Fall Out Boy: Smyth founding and protecting the people who live the newly built Sanctuary like a guardian angel

We don’t talk about Bruno: Smyth keeps avoiding talking about his past and rumors start to spread.

Close to the Sun by TheFatRat: Nothing specific, just Gem vibes

Kingdom Dance from Tangled: A nice look into what an average day in the kingdom of Dawn could be like

Constellations by The Oh Hellos: Just Gem ruling over the kingdom of Dawn

Conditions of Being a Princess from Go! Princess Precure: Gem learning how to be a proper princess since she doesn’t seem to have been born one.

Strongly, Gently, Beautifully from Go! Princess Precure: Katherine fighting to protect Glimmer Grove and release it from its curse. Also it just fits with the magical girl princess vibe she has this season

Where have all the flowers gone? by The Kingston Trio: Following the cursing of Glimmer Grove and the fading/ withering of the kingdom

Art of the Dress & Rules of Rarity from Mlp: Katherine making/ tailoring the other rulers clothing in Dreamy Designs

Shiny by Jemaine Clement: Scott said he was a colorful, quirky collector

Colours of the Rainbow by Italobrothers: The kingdom of Chromia makes me feel happy and so does this song

Colors by Stella Jang: Just walking through Chromia and looking at the flower fields 

The Gospel Truth from Hercules: Pixl telling the story of creation

Build Our Machine by DAGames & Feed the Machine by Poor Man’s Poison: Pixl accidentally stumbling upon The Machine during a normal mining trip 

You’ll be in my heart & Son of Man by Phil Collins: Smyth and Joel raising their shulk child

feel free to add to this if you want

#empires smp #scott smajor #mythical sausage #katherine elizabeth #shubble #geminitay #pixlriffs

[perfectarmony]

Any thoughts on when Arman says "Then you can get back to your family and forget about all of this" when he and Thony are talking about getting Kamdar? Kind of reminds me of Mexico when he said that he hoped she didn't want to forget everything about Vegas. He almost seems resigned or perhaps thinking/fearing that she would be moving on (without him?) after this is all over.

As always, the following is the way I see and feel things - you're free to take and interpret what you see on screen the way you want 😏

Okaaaay.

I can definitely see that parallel with 1x08/Mexico, and can agree with you on your interpretation! 👀

However, I didn't exactly see it the same way, and I only realized the ''forget/not everything'' part a little while after the episode.

For some reason, my mind immediately focused on Arman's story and linked that scene to 1x07 and to their talk before Marco came by at La Habana.

I'll (try to) explain why in a second - but I was litteraly hit by the wave of pain (hidden) behind the ''YOU can go back to your family and (YOU) can forget about all of this''

I came by prepared this time! so you can rely on these gifs/parallels if I get too messy along the way (and I'm still not sure I'll make much sense but this is what you signed up for 👀)

Okay this isn't the most flawless parallel, but look at the paaaaaaaain.

Alright, you might already see where I'm going?

So, flashback to S1E07 - and Arman's need to get away from Hayak, start his own life and legacy without constantly being in the shadows - simply, to find some light and try to step away from the criminal life.

Back then, he had hopes with the gun deal and the money it would bring him. He saw an ''opportunity to finally do something good'' and seized it.

No, but just scroll back up and look at the soft smile he had when he told Thony that he had found a way out, to be better, to finally have a future that's his to build. (and then Marco and Nadia ruined his mood 🤧)

Earlier in that episode, Thony told him her husband was back in town - and without the rest of the story, he assumed that she would have her family back once Luca would be safe. So he let her go, because he thought he wouldn't need to protect her from Hayak by keeping her close if he'd leave, but also because he thought he had done the part she needed him for - and therefore wouldn't need him anymore.

Flashforward to S02E08 - The only thing Arman ever wanted was to be free. And right now, I don't think Arman sees a future / a way out for himself. He has lost everything, can't make plans with Kamdar and the FBI on his back - and let's not forget that he doesn't trust Garrett who could once again put him behind bars once this is over. And of course, he just had to kill an innocent woman - and If Garrett finds out that he's the one who pulled the trigger and killed Maya - for all he knows, he's dead at worse and in jail at best.

So this is why I think he doesn't include himself here and only focuses on her.

I already said it in my post yesterday, so I won't go too deep into it - but he is feeling guilty for dragging her down with him. When the season started, it was about him - he needed to get out of prison, he needed to get out from under Kamdar. He still always put her first whenever she was in need - but since Thony made it clear they were in this together in 2x05, and they got arrested by Garrett, I feel like he is now mostly only focused on finding a way out for her.

And then Thony corrects him and tells him ''we have to be done with [Kamdar]'' - meaning we (both) need this, we (both) need to heal, and get our lives back. For a split second I think it gives him hope, makes him feel like there could be an after for him too - but it still feels bitter and painful because he doesn't (entirely) believe it. And at the same time, it reminds him that right now, they have no other choice but to make sacrifices and push through together. Because she chose his well-being over hers, he can't offer her a way out until they reach the end of the tunnel.

I could go on, but I would be going in circles, so I'll stop here 😅

👀👀👀👀

An extra no one asked for...

When you think about it - both episodes had a couple other parallels:

- Arman romancing and then (using) Nadia to convince Noah to agree on the deal / Him ''reconciling'' with her to get the key card - and in both cases, it was to help his and Thony's family

- Nadia confronting Arman about his feelings for Thony (you have feelings for her / do you love her?)

- This one is a bit tricky because Marco and JD don't come from the same place of concern but there are similities so I'm still throwing it out there 🤷🏻‍♀️ Marco / JD worrying about the safety of their family because of her association to the criminal world - and taking over - - - JD not allowing Jaz to see Thony / Marco taking the money to try to find a way to keep Arman away from Luca (yes, I'm stretching it a bit) . A better parallel would be 1x10 when Marco asked Thony why she was protecting Arman instead of her family, but still.

- And of course, Fiona taking Thony's defense in front of Marco / JD - ''do you think everything's been easy for her? Everything she's done, she's done for your son'' / ''she's trying her best, she's a good mother''

I'm sure there are more, but this is already way too long 👀

I hope I answered your question anon! ❤️

#the cleaning lady #Asks #S02E08

[goldyknows]

This is going to be a post of praise for someone but also a little lesson for people not in the photography industry.

So many times people see my advertisements and think that the photo sessions should be free. I don't know what they're smoking or have been into but it must be interesting.

On Days of a shoot, it's usually 3 hours of prep time getting gear settled and ready. Getting cards cleared and backed up, batteries charged, cleaning up the studio from the shoot before, etc. Also on any given day, I could be using up to $100,000 worth of equipment for the shoot. As much as I love to think of a photo fairy waving their wand at me and giving me free gear that also costs photographers a lot.

I always wonder how people can't understand this but it never surprises me. What does surprise me is when I meet clients and friends like that of Miss Kimberly... Several weeks ago.

Kimberly Spaulding signed up for her 15-minute call where we discuss what she's looking for, details, and other options. She started to tell me her vast story of having every important job under the sun. Literally, there is no talent this one doesn't have nor experience to Go with it. Her resume is so extensive that many times future employers didn't believe it could even be real. That's how astonishing this woman is.

Before we were even finished with the phone call I sent her the invoice to pay, which is required because I need to block the day, hire the most fantastic makeup artist in Nashville, and prepare for their shoot. No different than putting money down on a wedding, or a restaurant reservation, if you don't show we lost revenue. Let me tell you about this chick! Not only did she understand the assignment but she paid her invoice before we even were off the phone. Little did I know she would be showing up to HER photo shoot with a bunch of extra clothing she just happened to have brand new with tags on it, to pay forward to the next woman's photo shoot. She wanted to add it to "Goldy's Closet" to make sure that I had every size card for future friends and clients.

This woman has an absolute heart of gold. We had one of the most spectacular photo shoots to date. One of her requests was a leather jacket in a specific size. I posted on Facebook in our community and lo and behold this wonderful neighbor said, I've got two for you to choose from. I was blown away by the kindness she gave to strangers she'd never met.

Kimberly rocked not only those leather jackets but one studded punk rock jacket from a famous band in the UK. I've been saving it for a special occasion and clearly, we found one!

Her theme for the photo shoot was "contrast". And that every shot was. She was combining nightgowns and negligees with leather jackets and top hats adorned with big red flowers. She literally put together so many outfits that look like they were straight from the pages of Vogue. I was so proud to see someone with golden long blonde hair other than myself taking risks and pushing herself out of her comfort zone.

I will let the photos speak for themselves so that you can see how clearly beautiful this woman is on the outside. But I wish you could have spent the day with us and learned about her inner beauty because it shines brighter than any light I've ever seen.

Kimberly thanks for trusting us with your photos and letting us be a fly on the wall What makes you tick in life. Thanks for allowing us to create such fabulous images that will leave such a badass legacy behind someday.

Another 40 over 40 women's portrait experience home run!

. . . . #TheFactoryPhotography #TheFactoryPhotographyByGoldy #GoldyLocks #nashvillephotographer #nashvillephotography MUA Lorrie Bradshaw

#TheFactoryPhotography #TheFactoryPhotographyByGoldy #GoldyLocks #nashvillephotographer #nashvillephotography #MUA Lorrie Bradshaw

[undeadentropy]

I want to publish my books one day. And I hope to whatever God is out there, that I can sell enough books that I don't have to work as a wage slave the rest of my life. I love being a chef, don't get me wrong. But the work is brutal, and I can't do this full time forever. Not since I got covid back in 2020. And I'm getting older. I don't know how long my health will last.

I will die one day, I know. But I want to leave my mark before I go. My books are my legacy. I won't be having kids, even if I was able. I was infertile even before HRT. My books are the engravings of my very soul. And I so dearly hope that people enjoy them, even when I'm gone.

And I WILL finish them. That much I promise. I have a whole trilogy, over a million words between them. They arent ready yet. Lost of fine tuning and lore inconsistencies to take care of. They tell a singular story, and so must be finished together.

And if Fate would have it, I will gladly write more books within the same universe. I would love to create more stories, of the lives of characters from different places and times. That would be a dream come true. No writer's block could stand in my way, if people actually enjoyed my books and asked me for more. Books are meant to be read, and the demand would drive me to create more.

That would be the greatest dream. I fantasize of a time and place when people make fan art and fanfics of my stories. Such a thing is the greatest compliment of them all. I dream of engaging people to such a degree that they bless me with such gifts. As improbable as it may be, this fanciful dream keeps me going, even as life tries to stop me. Even as the world tries and fails to end my life. I'm still here, bitch. And I'm not done yet.

Sorry, I'm a bit drunk right now. I only hope my life finds meaning through my written works. And that my soul find a new home when I'm free of this dysphoric moral shell.

I know there is more to mortal existence than my physical brain can conceive. Time didn't exist before space came to be. Time is a dimension we only perceive through the inevitable growth of entropy. This is why we can't remember the future. Even though time itself is but another dimension, we can't perceive it. Only the effect it has on 3d space.

We don't know reality. And I fear what awaits me on the other side of death. But I know that reality is so much more than what we see. This life is but light filtered through to our meat computers we call our brains. There's so much more that we can't see, trapped behind the veil of our universe's axioms.

We will all see the truth when we die, never to tell the living what we learned. I know that one day, even humanity will go extinct. So why do i want to leave my mark, knowing just how fleeting it is? I don't know. Perhaps that's the true meaning of nihilism. We make our own meaning in this life.

This is why I chose the name of Undeadentropy. When creation goes to die, the soul lives on beyond even death. My name is the essence of the soul. Impossible to prove by the laws of science, bound to this world as they are. But inevitable when considered through a philosophical lense. Undeadentropy is magic. A force that has no place in this universe. It has no axiom to bind it to any reality our moral minds can conceive. But it remains the only explanation for how those axioms, and our very universe, came to exist in the first place.

I love you all. And I hope we all find some meaning in this meaningless universe, where even the Divine can exist as nothing more than a feeling deep within our soul. And though we might fight and struggle within these flesh prisons, one day we'll be free. We will meet again, and laugh about this crazy dream we know as life. Until that day comes, take care of yourself. And know that I will always love you.

#philosophy #existiential #drunk #serious post #life #writeblr #hope #death #books #writing #rambling #dreams #goals

[sadprosed]

𝑺𝑪𝑬𝑵𝑨𝑹𝑰𝑶  𝑷𝑹𝑶𝑴𝑷𝑻𝑺.

↬   OF  FAIRYTALES,  FOLKLORE  AND  FAEKIND.

scenarios  inspired  by  various  settings,  encounters  &  magic  tucked  between  pages,  fashioned  by  the  author.

+   feel  free  to  change  pronouns  /  roles  !

FAIRYTALES.

‘  let  me  guess,  you  thought  a  true  love’s  kiss  would  help  you.  ’

‘  you  will  always  follow  the  trail  in  the  wood,  and  it  will  guide  you  on  the  same  path,  to  the  same  cottage,  the  same  witch.  it  will  always  be  your  undoing.  ’

‘  i  have  never  seen  a  more  tragic  creature.  how  might  i  help  you  ?  ’

‘  you  must  take  this  knife  and  plunge  it  into  his  /  her  /  their  heart.  ’

‘  forget  yourself.  that  is  how  you  break  your  curse.  ’

‘  remove  this  thorn  from  my  hand,  and  you  will  be  rewarded.  ’

‘  i’m  tired  of  being  a  prince.  i  think  i  would  actually  enjoy  being  a  frog.  ’

‘  tell  me  of  the  beast,  and  i  will  hunt  it  for  you.  ’

‘  mice  are  never  just  mice,  and  pumpkins  are  rarely  just  pumpkins.  ’

‘  i  don’t  think  breaking  a  spell  should  be  this  simple.  ’

‘  i  never  thought  i’d  return  here,  to  the  site  where  it  all  began.  ’

‘  are  you  an  orphan  ?  it’s  just  that  they’re  always  finding  themselves  in  magical  predicaments.  ’

‘  the  mirror  speaks  falsely  in  your  ear.  it  is  your  true  curse.  ’

‘  my  heart  feels  uneasy,  although  i  am  free.  is  it  supposed  to  ?  ’

‘  i’m  sorry,  it’s  just  that  i  thought  this  is  the  part  of  the  quest  where  the  animals  ought  to  start  talking  to  me.  ’

‘  of  course  i  plan  on  going  to  the  ball.  why  wouldn’t  i  ?  ’

‘  jealousy  has  made  more  witches  out  of  women  than  adam’s  rib.  ’

‘  where  has  choosing  goodheartedness  and  having  golden  hair  ever  gotten  you  ?  ’

 ‘  are  you  a  helpful  wizard,  or  the  kind  that  sits  in  a  tower  reading  moldy  books  ?  ’

‘  i’m  dreadfully  bored.  who  knew  waiting  for  a  prince  was  so  strenuous  ?  ’

‘  we  all  have  towers  we  must  leave,  and  magic  that  will  try  to  thwart  us.  ’

‘  i’m  afraid  for  the  clock  to  strike.  the  hour  will  ring  in  the  place  of  my  heartbeat  when  we  must  be  parted.  ’

‘  i  had  no  idea  carpets  could  fly.  or  pigs  for  that  matter.  ’  

‘  what  would  happen  if  the  knight  did  not  arrive  to  the  castle,  and  the  dragon  made  a  den  of  it  and  a  hoard  of  its  people  and  prize  of  its  princess  ?  ’

‘  i  sometimes  think  i  was  switched  out  at  birth,  like  a  lizard  in  a  bird’s  nest.  i  belong  somewhere  else.  ’

‘   in  another  kingdom  exists  a  throne  and  a  crown  that  is  mine  by  right.  ’

‘  if  i  did  not  wake  up  one  day,  i  would  still  be  waiting  on  a spinning  wheel,  dutifully  bored.  ’  

‘  something  in  me  knows  you  are  here  for  my  heart.  ’

FOLKLORE.

‘  in  all  the  myths  i’ve  heard,  it’s  never  been  worthwhile  to  approach  strange  sights.  it’s  best  to  turn  around  and  pretend  you  never  saw  them.  ’

‘  nothing  is  folklore  until  it  exists  longer  than  consciousness  remembers,  and  lives  in  spite  of  it.  ’

‘  i’ve  heard  your  name  before,  in  songs  and  lengthy  ballads.  ’

‘  whatever  has  led  you  here  to  me,  there  is  destiny  in  its  making.  ’

‘  the  beast  returns  every  century  or  so,  and  tries  to  devour  us.  it  will  come  again  before  long.  ’

‘  a  pretty  face  is  not  nothing.  it  earns  you  a  hearth  and  a  kind  hand,  after  all.  ’

‘  their  lips  are  red  as  blood,  and  their  teeth  carve  ruin  into  throats.  ’

‘  aren’t  dragons  supposed  to  breathe  fire  and  make  a  fuss  about  having  their  treasure  found  ?  ’

‘  someday  you  will  become  a  pilgrim,  a  saint,  or  a  favored  story,  while  i  will  be  a  voice  on  the  wind.  ’

‘  the  stories  say  brides  don’t  live  to  the  light  before  demons  devour  them.  why  should  i  become  one  ?  ’

‘  there  was  another  girl  like  you  once,  in  a  small  town  like  this  one.  i  can’t  remember  if  she  became  the  monster  or  died  trying  to  escape  it.  ’

‘  remember  to  festoon  the  hearth  with  garlic,  or  rosemary,  or  one  of  those  mundane  herbs  that  keep  evil  out.  ’

‘  that  sounds  like  nothing  but  a  tall  tale,  but  i’m  certain  smaller  minds  would  eat  it  up.  ’

‘  to  cross  this  bridge,  you’ll  have  to  pay  a  heavy  toll.  ’

‘  don’t  stray  too  far  from  the  path  set  before  you,  or  something  interesting  might  happen.  ’

‘  i’ve  passed  that  yard  of  crops  a  million  times,  but  the  crow  never  moved  from  its  post  until  this  morning.  ’

‘   it  is  as  though  ancient  fears  are  still  in  us  like  scars  or  stitches.  ’

‘  graveyards  aren’t  where  you  find  ghosts.  look  for  them  in  places  that  feel  like  memories  you  shouldn’t  have.  ’

‘  stories  reap  princes  from  peasants  as  if  their  skins  were  crops  in  the  ground.  ’

‘  what  form  does  your  fear  take  ?  surely  not  that  of  a  bear  or  a  lion.  such  things  are  too  assuring.  ’

‘  i  found  myself  where  everything  was  too  familiar  to  be  real.  ’

‘  in  safe  beds  on  cold  dark  nights,  we  learn  to  face  the  monsters  in  our  own  minds.  ’

FAEKIND.

‘  you’re  not  to  partake  in  a  fairy  feast.  don’t  you  know  it’s  the  food  that  will  devour  you  ?  ’

‘  i’m  sorry  you  did  not  read  the  eyes  of  the  trees  before  finding  yourself  here.  ’

‘  i  wish  to  go  back.  i  want  to  forget  everything.  ’

‘  you  think  that  believing  in  us  is  enough  to  protect  you  ?  that  it  will  kill  us  if  you  forget,  and  we  prey  upon  your  unknowing  ?  ’

‘  step  around  the  ring  three  times,  like  a  backwards  clock.  that’s  how  you  get  to  fairyland.  ’  

‘  i’ve  never  heard  such  sweet  music  before.  ’

‘  where  the  trees  begin  to  twist  and  groan  in  their  roots,  remember  you  must  not  make  a  right  turn.  ’

‘  i  didn’t  feel  like  i’d  stepped  into  another  world,  but  like  it  stepped  into  me.  i  knew  i  was  there  and  forgot  i’d  left  anything  behind.  ’

‘  how  amusing.  a  human  !  ’

‘  would  you  be  my  bride  if  i  were  to  take  you  into  the  ground  ?  ’

‘  i  know  of  tunnels  you  might  take,  the  burrows  of  trolls  and  rabbits.  ’

‘  don’t  take  anything  from  this  realm,  none  of  it  is  worth  the  price  of  keeping.  ’

‘  there  are  courts  by  many  titles  in  the  lands  beyond  the  veil,  all  of  them  other.  ’

‘  names  are  not  like  currency  here;  they  are  more  precious  than  diamonds  and  legacies.  ’

‘  did  you  think  all  of  us  looked  like  goblins  ?  ’

‘  getting  here  is  easy,  but  getting  home  is  quite  the  trick.  ’

‘  i  shall  give  you  a  riddle,  and  it  will  puzzle  you  until  you  know  the  answer  but  forget  your  own  soul.  ’

‘  a  bloodline  is  nothing  when  you’ve  outlived  civilizations.  ’

‘  refusing  my  hospitality  is  like  human  sin,  and  it  will  bring  worse  upon  you.  ’

‘  everything  here  is  and  isn’t,  and  things  are  and  aren’t.  ’

‘  on  lonely  nights  i  stare  into  the  trees,  and  a  strange  face  leers  back.  ’

‘  the  thrones  here  are  made  of  bones  and  blood,  and  built  upon  decay.  ’

‘  a  third  time  is  not  a  charm,  but  a  bargain.  it  says  that  you  want  something  enough  to  wager  your  sense.  ’

‘  it  is  dangerous  to  think  that  magical  beings  do  not  have  human  intensities.  ’

#rp memes #rp starters #dialogue prompts #dialogue meme #sentence meme #sentence starters #askbox meme #inbox meme #rp prompts #sentence prompts #fairytales #fairycore #folklore #faefolk #ask memes #rp ask meme #roleplay prompts #rp promp

[nyxelenios]

*·.✴ last day.

Last Legacy: Sage Lesath (Fictif Games)

❕: fluff, unedited, gender neutral reader, a bit of a lengthy post, takes place after the whole story so non-canon ending lmfao

nyxelenios:happy new year! we got through another year! here's a little something for you, courtesy of our favorite catboy~ enjoy, i love you all ❤

You sigh as you smile, amused from the wind blowing your hair into your face. You laugh when you hear Sage spitting his hair out of his mouth.

"This is why I usually have my hair in a braid," he chuckles. You giggle while you take your favorite hair tie from your wrist and hand it to him. "Here, you can have this." Sage accepts, and thanks you with a kiss on your temple. He steps behind you and gently combs his fingers through your hair. He ties your hair up and gives you another kiss on the same spot. You look at him questioningly.

Sage smiles a soft smile, and cups your cheek. "There's that gorgeous face that drew me in. Can't believe the gods let me have you to myself."

You stare at him in silence for a moment, then return his smile. You lean into his hand and hold it tight with yours. "Maybe I've always been yours, from the very start."

He goes quiet, just like you did earlier. His tail, which had been swaying to and fro so giddily, almost stops. He wants to let go of you, but you hold his hand against your cheek firmly. You don't want to let go.

Now, neither does he.

His free arm pulls you closer to him, you let him do as he pleases. You never had enough time together before, so you give in—you and Sage give in to fulfilling your desire of borrowing time, borrowing all that you can to finally, finally, bask in each other's presence.

"At first, I wanted to help you get back to Earth to, er, get things over with. Then, we happened. I bared myself to you, all corrupted, ugly, and a godsdamned mess..." You showed your hands to me, hands that were ready to be stained, wounded, and bruised.

Sage gently sways your bodies together as he attempts to come up with words to talk to you, to speak to you.

"Part of me then didn't want you to leave, as if you wouldn't be frightened of who I was... When you didn't leave me, that part of me was happy—the entire me was happy." I wouldn't be able to live another day without you if I knew you'd disappear forever.

You close your eyes and smile. You let Sage take his time with his words. He deserves to take his time, to be greedy, to be selfish now. So you let him. He deserves it, and so much more.

"You're one of the best people to come into my life." I love you so much more than I'm able to put into words.

"Or, maybe I just resurfaced," you joke. He chuckles and pinches your nose. "Or that. I'm starting to believe soulmates are real. If you were somebody else, I wouldn't be as amused with your jokes."

Sage smiles when you grin cheekily at him. "See? Soulmates do exist," you tell him. He says nothing, but his smile grows wider. They do exist, because you exist.

"They do," he whispers into your hair.

Gold, pink, and purple paint the afternoon sky as the sun sets on the horizon. The soft colors are beautiful, calming, gentle to the eye. The wind slowly settles to a gentle breeze. This moment reminds you of the first time Sage brought you up to this balcony. You smile to yourself when you remember him calling him a big old coconut.

"Remember when you called me a big old coconut?" Sage asks. You laugh in surprise. "I was just thinking about that!" Sage laughs along with you. He thought you would have forgotten about that by now. It's been such a long time since then, after all.

The vibrant colors in the sky retire soon, and are replaced by tranquil dark blue. The moon is slowly rising into the sky, the stars are twinkling... The night is beautiful. You wish you could bottle this moment up and keep it with you forever.

But you can't.

As Sage watches the scenery, you slowly step away from him. Goosebumps litter your skin when you do. The absence of his warmth and his presence, even when he's just a foot away from you, already pains your heart.

But Sage chases after you. He steps forward and holds you against him.

Stay a little longer, he wants to say. Stay forever, he wants to beg. Stay, he wants to cry. He's gone through six months without you, thinking you were dead. He fought a war without you by his side, and when you were back by his side, you were almost taken away from him again. You could at least stay like this for another moment, couldn't you?

"Felix has the spell ready, Sage."

"... I know," Sage whispers. He knows, but he doesn't budge one bit. He stays in his place with you wrapped around his arms.

Just like you were always meant to be.

You hold Sage's hand and gently squeeze. His eyes meet yours, and you smile. "Come on, let me go, Sage." He just stares at you in turn, as if he would listen. You sigh and try to pull away, but he pulls you back and your face collides with his chest.

"There's no way you're going back there. This is where you belong. You told me so," Sage says flatly. He's not moving anytime soon, and you know it.

Again, you sigh and try to fight your way out of Sage's iron grip. He snorts, amused. "You're like a kitten that can't get out of a box."

"Sage, let go!"

"Nope. You're not going back to Earth. Not without me, at least."

You freeze. Have you lost your mind? You must be hearing things, right? Sage just didn't say that–

"I'm going to Earth with you."

Sage's smile matches yours when you throw yourself at him, the both of you laughing when the shock fades. He captures your lips with his, you can't help but smile into the kiss. You thought you would be leaving with a heavy heart, without your friends, and without Sage. You thought your last day in Astraea would end in bitter tears, unsaid goodbyes, and hopeful yearning that you'd return again, really soon.

"This isn't real! Do you mean it?!" you ask.

"Of course, he means it," Anisa says behind you. Sage puts you down to meet Anisa in her arms. "Oh, Anisa! Really?" You still can't believe it. Is this true?

Anisa smiles. "Really. There's peace once again in Astraea. We all deserve to have our time with whatever we love. We all deserve a break. And, you deserve to go back to Earth. Worry not, you can always come visit."

"Of course, they can. We can't exactly part you from the Astrolabe, [Name]," Felix says when he appears behind Anisa. She turns and gives him a look. "What!?" Felix exclaims. "I didn't lie, did I?"

You watch with fondness while Anisa and Felix argue in front of you. Sage steps in to mediate, but gets roped in when he hears Felix call him a loyal puppy. You laugh at his offended face.

The scene playing in front of you reminds you of the first time you arrived in Astraea, but now, there is no tension. Only playful banter. You see the three of them cracking smiles the further they argue, and you can see just how much weight is off their shoulders.

Unlike your first night, when the sky was murky with dark clouds and there were barely any stars in sight, tonight is clear and the stars are burning bright in the sky.

© nyxelenios, 2022

#last legacy fictif games #fictif games #last legacy #last legacy sage lesath #sage lesath last legacy #sage lesath #fictif sage lesath #sage lesath fictif #fictif sage #sage lesath x reader #last legacy sage #last legacy x reader #nyxelenios — last legacy

[reginarubie]

The younger, more beautiful Queen - Cersei and Sansa (and Daenerys and Margaery; and Brienne of Tarth)

When Cersei recalls Maggy the Frog's prophecy about her being casted down by a younger, more beautiful queen we were all ready, thinking that younger, more beautiful Queen was supposed to be Sansa; then Margaery entered the picture and how could anyone actually ignore the dragon queen in the east and the threat she posed to Cersei and everything she stood for?

At which point many theorized each and every of three girls, younger and all described as beautiful may be the younger, more beautiful queen and would fulfill a part of Cersei's prophecy, each taking something she cared for from her. Which has many merits, especially thinking about how much Martin dislikes prophecies and likes playing around with them nudging towards the realization that we as people are the one who make our own destiny with Cersei being the real catalyst of everything Maggy the Frog prophetized for her.

Under the cut, my own personal vision of this prophecy and why I think that, no matter who will actually cause Cersei's downfall directly, Sansa (assuming she ending as QitN is also book!endgame, which we have good reason to believe it shall be so) is actually the younger, more beautiful queen.

People way more talented than me have already talked about this matter, but I wanted to give my input about it as well because I like to talk and this has been sitting in my files way too long and now I've decided to share with you all to see what you think about it.

Beneath her golden curls, the girl's face wrinkled up in puzzlement. For years after, she took those words to mean that she would not marry Rhaegar until after his father Aerys had died. "I will be queen, though?" asked the younger her.

"Aye." Malice gleamed in Maggy's yellow eyes. "Queen you shall be ... until there comes another, younger and more beautiful, to cast you down and take all that you hold dear."

Anger flashed across the child's face. "If she tries I will have my brother kill her."

Maggy 's prophecy has haunted Cersei all these years since first the words had been uttered and it's no wonder. Now, we know Cersei married the king - Robert Baratheon, first of his name - after he had won the Realm through conquest and we also know that the other part of Maggy's prophecy, about Cersei having three children and the King many more than her. So it stands to reason that this part may also come to be true in some way or the other.

Though show!canon has derailed and distanced itself from book!canon, it must hold some kind of importance that Cersei asks Jaime to find Sansa and kill her especially if we connect it with what child Cersei told Maggy the Frog "if she tries I will have my brother kill her"; while she easily, in the show, decides she will be the one to cause Margaery demise as well as Daenerys's.

But let's break the prophecy and try to determinate what exactly it may mean to Cersei now.

Maggy tells her that she will be the Queen for a time, which we know to be the truth, and that she will have three children while the king (Robert) will have over seventeen. She also tells Cersei that one day another may come, that she will be younger and more beautiful.

Note, the first person we know Cersei describes as beautiful, by her words, is Sansa both in show and the book.

In the very first episode of the series, when Martin was still very much part of the writing process of the episodes, Cersei comments on Sansa's beauty and on how it would be wasted in the North (foreshadowing in my opinion Sansa growing past her enamourment with beauty and return North to stay, but I digress).

While in Sansa VI, AGOT, she states "such a beautiful child. I do hope you know how much Joffrey and I love you"

Also, note that this is said about Margaery Tyrell in AFFC in Cersei III: “When all the vows were spoken, the king and his new queen stepped outside the sept to accept congratulations. "Westeros has two queens now, and the young one is as beautiful as the old one," boomed Lyle Crakehall, an oaf of a knight who oft reminded Cersei of her late and unlamented husband.”

(Guess maybe it can’t be Margaery after all tho I do remember someone saying someone else, someone younger — Catelyn about Sansa — would grow even more beautiful than she was and though she did not mean to confront Sansa with Cersei, but with herself, the phrasing did stuck me as strange)

So this girl coming to cast Cersei down will be younger (and all candidates for the place are younger than Cersei) and more beautiful (now this could be as simple as a math count of how many times each candidate is described as beautiful and confront that number with Cersei's).

The counts now stands as following:

Sansa: 18 times (without sharing those times with anyone, all on her own; 2 times she is defined as more beautiful than someone older)

Drawing by @innocent-enyo; sorry I took your pics, I fell in love with them! If it bothers you I will take them down!

Cersei: 17 times (thyo sometimes shared with Margaery so the counts, if we count the shared times with Margaery goes up to 20)

Drawing always by innocent-enyo.

[honorable mention] Brienne of Tarth: 8 times (wouldn’t it be just perfect if Brienne did manage of convince Jaime to fuck loyalty and follow her instead of Cersei? Oh wait… that’s already show canon) after all if every girl can be the another younger, more beautiful who will take (something) everything from Cersei why not Brienne the Beauty?, especially since it’s said sarcastically yet she is far more fair and beautiful in character than Cersei is. I would appreciate the irony and the twist, all I am saying 🤷🏼‍♀️

Drawing by Lucas Werneck.

Margaery: 7 times(of which 3 shared with Cersei)

Margaery Tyrell by innocent-enyo as well.

Daenerys: only 5 times (?! I am surprised as well, tho to be fair she is described as the most beautiful woman in the world once and she was asked if she had grown more beautiful in a lapse of time, but never confronted to another older)

Daenerys Targaryen by innocent-enyo again!

So we have a neck-to-neck between Sansa and Cersei.

And tho I do think each girl will fulfill part of the prophecy (to save Margaery from her marriage to Joffrey he is killed, which catalyses the series of events which brings to Tywin’s death and Myrcella’s; Brienne did convince in the show Jaime to leave Cersei behind for a time; Sansa took her legacy in a way becoming the second ruling queen of a kingdom of Westeros; Margaery in a way took away Tommen as well in the show since learning of her death he committed suicide; Daenerys took the throne and the promise of the child in the show) I think Sansa will be in the end the younger more beautiful queen because the stress on the prophecy is put on the fact that this Queen will take everything Cersei’s holds dear…

…what did Cersei want? [note; now we enter in the show only realm and book hypothesis of the story since we have yet to see the last two books]

To save and protect those she loved; she failed by her ultimate fault;

have the younger, more beautiful queen and enemy killed by her brother (lover)

To sit on the throne as queen regnant because she feels she deserves it.

To be with the man she loves publicly.

What did Sansa achieve by the end of the show:

She marched her troops South and managed to get Jon free and her plotting assured that her siblings were safe (they protected her as well)

Her “brother” (lover?, Martin I have faith in you) killed her rival (Daenerys) to protect her and their family.

She gains the North independence and is named Queen in the North and is the queen with the strongest power love and loyalty (“Ned Stark’s daughter will speak for them, she’s the best they could ask for” and “we didn’t choose you to rule us m’lady but perhaps we should have”)

I truly believe in the books she will end up (or it will be hinted at) with a man she loves or will grow to love.

So, imo, while each and every girl may take something from Cersei and perhaps none of them (fAegon I’m looking at you, sweetie) or only one of them will manage to directly cause her death and defeat in the end Sansa will be the younger, more beautiful Queen because all that Cersei held dear and wanted she managed to achieve and she will be remembered the way Cersei wanted to be remembered, which is ultimately imo the true meaning of Maggy the Frog’s prophecy.

#younger more beautiful queen #asoiaf theories #cersei lannister #sansa stark #daenerys targaryen #margaery tyrell #brienne of tarth

[rubye402]

OK, so, I got to something in The Stanley Parable Ultra Deluxe. Don't worry I'll put it in a read more what it is particularly so y'all can go spoiler free.

Just know the spoiler free TL;DR is I wanna thank Crows Crows Crows for that something and for making TSP!

...

Y'all here got the thing in Ultra Deluxe?

Everyone here has the thing on their menu?

Good.

So about that Epilogue "Ending" that you click on in the menu

First off, DIDN'T know our text "pal" was a fucking villain. Thought they were trapped in the game by Narry or /someone/ served to amerce us in the game but... Nope! They're a crazy game milking bitch.

I did NOT go along with changing the title screen anymore than it already was, to say the least.

So we all kinda got the impression of what all of the epilogue served as right? It was Crows Crows Crows saying that they didn't want to make DLC or Sequels to TSP and just leave TSP UD as their final note of Stanley's, and thus Narrator's, story. As to not work themselves to meaningless milking of something that was already not broken, so why fix it? Leave the games legacy alone.

I can already hear people's comments of how it hardly had anything more to it than the OG and how it shouldn't be it's own thing... But that's ironically enough, kinda makes this game all the more hilariously necessary and meta, both in AND out of universe.

This extension of the OG Stanley Parable, not necessarily DLC, or god forbid a sequel. UD is a brilliant game that not only pokes fun at gaming and story telling as a whole like the original, but now it extends to development behind crafting things and making more of it.

Now, I do agree with the "villains" message of "Who cares what people think?" Not necessarily because not listening to your audience isn't important! It is! But I found that as long as YOU are happy with what YOU created, there's no reason to concern yourself with making something EVERYONE will enjoy. That's just not possible. Thus "who cares what people think?"

Now, with this, we gotta acknowledge this means TSP is 100% over and done in a canon game sense... But I'm fine with that. I think Crows Crows Crows talking TO us in this manner of helping us understand WHY they aren't making more is snarky but sweet of them. So I'm giving MAD props to them. And, of course, as I said in the TL;DR:

A biggol thank you to Crows Crows Crows. Y'all are awesome in every sense of the word, and made a brilliant game that truly needs nothing more than what it already has. You all have risen to the top charts of indie teams in my eyes, and I look forward to what the team does next.

#the stanley parable #the stanley parable ultra deluxe #tsp #tspud #tsp spoilers #tspud spoilers #seriously this is talking about the biggest spoilers of the game #tsp narrator #tsp stanley #ultra deluxe

[limunette]

It's spooky time baby! And what better way to celebrate but to treat yourself with some candy readings? And boy, do I have a variety to choose from, just like choosing your favourite snack from your trick or treat bag ❤️

Readings available;

SQUID GAMES- What led you here? Shall we examine it, the positive and negative. What are you lucky at? Let's see what you're unlucky at and see what you can do to change.it. (specify or general)

BLOODY MARY - paranormal, creatures , ghosts and cryptids. Reading on the supernatural being that best represents your energy and why. What’s your haunting style? Who is your target? How do people summon you? Mood board available. +$15

OR option 2: what do people say about you (general or specific)

THE MATRIX - What legacy do you leave behind after this realm/the matrix? The impact you have made and importance. In people's life and as a whole.

THE GIRL FROM NOWHERE - lies, secrets, and hypocrisy. Time to expose these people who have been dishonest.

AU YOU - You uncover a device which lets looks into the nearest alternative universe.  Your personality, relationships, career and so much more will be exposed. You realize you have a lot in common with YOU than you thought. Mood board available +$15

MIRROR- You face a mirror and feel a hand grab you, dragging you inside. Inside the mirror are your worse nightmares. Let's look at your life: What are you scared of? How to survive and get out (of the situation)? general or specific

NIGHT CALLER- You answer the phone. Hello? The voice on the other line answers. They have your voice. They warn you of the future. The good, the bad and the very ugly. What’s coming? Can you change your future?

DOLL - You receive a creepy but pretty looking porcelain doll. You stare at them  and they start to move. What does your inner child what to tell you? They might just send a shiver down your spine

HAUNTED HOUSE- This home doesn’t feel like your own. Your skin itches constantly. The shadow people visit you. Now you need to befriend them so you can feel at home again. How to acknowledge and make peace with your shadow self. Some ways you can heal your mind, body & soul.

YOU- a glass box may be your new home. Careful, he's watching you. Things you need to avoid, people you need to be weary off, habits that need to be stopped.

NIGHTMARE ON ELM STREET- For those who have specific nightmares or dreams that are constant or stuck in your mind.. I'll tell you what they mean.

WITCHCRAFT - You’re attractive and magical you know that? A look into any secret admirers, what makes you so amazing, spiritual gifts, hidden talents to uncover.

URBAN LEGEND - People gather around the campfire to say a spooky tale that chills them to the bone. The story is about you. Are you another cautionary tale or a spirit of the night? Find out.

DEADLY SINS - Comprehensive reading with the 7 deadly sins

Lust - How to bring more pleasure and satisfaction into your life. What is it that you truly desire?

Greed - How to free your financial blocks and bring abundance into your life.

Wrath- What repressed anger are you keeping in and how to release them.

Gluttony - What would it take to nourish your mind, body and soul?

Envy - Looking into past & present jealousy and getting to the root of the deeper reasons why and how to stop the pattern.

Pride - You’re amazing so lets celebrate that! Positive message of who you are and how far you’ve come

Sloth - We all want to grow and expand, being our best and this is a reading on things you need to do to glow up and be even more badass.

PRICES: $15 - half page

$25 - full page

*per reading*

Deadly sins - $50 for all or $25 for 3.

Paypal: paypal.me/limunette

Contact me for questions.

Please consider supporting me by reblogging this and share this so others may see. Thank you.

#divination service #tarot #divination #free divination #witchblr

[mylifeisactuallyamess]

A/N: So. I wrote Anakin. Honestly the man has been living rent free in my mind for so long and we all know what I’m like for an angry angsty Star Wars boy. I am suffering with Imposter Syndrome massively with this because I don’t think I got his character down 100%. And well, I am a perfectionist. Anyway, here have this dumpster fire of a one shot.

Anakin Skywalker x Sith!Reader

Warnings: Canon violence, character death, lots of a Jedi hate talk. Damn fucking Jedi. Oh and a shit ton of angst.

Word Count: 1909

Your black robes fluttered around your legs as you peered over the ledge, a Jedi ship had come into land and you let a sly smile creep across your face. It was the Jedi you wanted, you could feel the ripples of his power through the force, the anger and darkness always with him even if he didn’t use them. You moved away and headed deeper into the compound, he was coming to stop you, take you back to the Jedi Council. You felt the presence of the 501st as they spread out looking for you but their force signatures were dulled by the brightness of him. Already the anticipation of battle thrummed through your body, the hilts of your sabers melded perfectly to the curve of your palms. Pulling down the visor on your mask you paced feeling him coming closer and closer until finally the door opened and there he stood in his black Jedi robes.

“I assumed you’d got lost,” you shot at him.

“I could sense your loathsome presence as soon as I landed,” he replied haughtily. You carried on pacing, seeing his saber still attached to his belt, the sure arrogance he had in his abilities made you proud. He was always such a cocky bastard but he had every right to be.

“What happens now, Skywalker? You think I will go quietly so you can hand me over to the traitors of the Galaxy?”

“The Jedi are not the traitors here!” He roared.

“Yes they are! And you know it!” His eyes followed you, across the floor, his expression darkening. “How can you not see their narrow minded ideas are strangling the Galaxy? They sit in their temple, allowing this war to continue all the while saying they don’t advocate it. They are apparently keepers of the peace and yet shattering it time and time again!”

“No! I will not listen to your lies!” You lifted your chin in defiance.

“Then come and shut me up,” your voice sneered through the vocoder. He moved quickly and your sabers came alive in your hands, the loud clash of the beams sent sparks over your heads. “The Jedi are a lie, their only legacy is failure…” you continued.

“No!” The force push hit you in the chest and a laugh burst from your chest as you slammed into the wall.

“Yes! Use that rage on me, Anakin.”

“You don’t want me to fight you,” he threatened, making you grin behind the mask.

“Oh baby, I’m counting on it.” You ducked as his blue lightsaber pierced the wall, you took the opening, punching him in the stomach making him grunt in surprise and retreat, before coming at you again. The sabers danced in a pattern that was all too familiar. You met each other move for move, nothing survived the brightness of your blades as you both cleaved a path of destruction. You spun out of his reach, putting some debris between you knowing it wasn’t much of a barrier, not when it came to you and Anakin. “They are oppressing you Anakin! They will never set you free to accomplish your true potential! They do not see the power you possess.”

“And you do?” He asked aggressively, pointing his saber at your chest as he roamed across the floor.

“I have always seen you.” He frowned and you sensed his confusion at your words. Retracting your blades you removed your mask letting it fall to the floor with a thud. “They told you I was dead didn't they?” You asked softly. The brightness of his own blade diminished followed by the ripples of surprise and crushing sadness but he stayed where he was. “More lies,” you pointed out.

“I don’t understand, Obi-Wan…”

“Obi-Wan misled you. He didn’t want to tell you the truth in case you came looking for me,” you spread your arms. “But the force guided you back to me anyway.” He whispered your name like it physically pained him, taking a step back as you stepped forward. “Change is coming, the end of an era giving way to the dawn of the Empire.”

“No, stop!” He cried.

“Join me Anakin….we can make the Galaxy a better place.” You backed him against the wall, his blue eyes closing as though he could stop himself from seeing you. “I know the pain you bear,” you whispered leaning into him. “I can help you face it, use it.”

“It is not the Jedi way, I will not fall for this!” You turned away from him growling with frustration.

“Stop being so blind! How do you refuse to see through the veil of deceit they have draped over us?” You screamed.

“How do you refuse to see the good! Has the touch of the light left you that much in the dark?” It hurt you, seeing him like this, sensing his pain and torment but it was necessary. If you could get Anakin onside the war would be won and you would be Darth Sidious’ prize apprentice. Turning the Chosen one was a task only you could accomplish, because out of all the people in the Galaxy, you were the one Anakin would not bring himself to destroy.

“Where do we go from here?” You asked him, watching as his chest heaved in distress.

“You will come with me, maybe the Jedi can help you…” you tutted in annoyance at his words.

“What a ridiculous notion! The Jedi can’t even help themselves let alone anyone else. Look at Ahsoka…” his blade roared to life in his hands as he flew at you, clashing against your red blades.

“You will leave Ahsoka out of this!” He snarled.

“But she is a part of this, we are all a part of this story that the Jedi have written,” you shouted over the crackling of your blades as he forced you back. The blades scissored out and his face grew close enough so you could feel his breath on your face. “You know I speak the truth Anakin, it’s why it upsets you so much.”

“No!” The air was pushed from your body and you fell backwards, your sabers falling from your grasp and skitting across the floor. You looked up into the light of the blue blade, seeing him standing over you with that twisted look on his face. The light of it shone in his tear filled eyes and you waited with bated breath. “I trusted you! Why didn’t you come and find me?” He shouted.

“What good would it have done? Would you have helped me like you helped her?” His saber lowered, but it didn’t go out and you chose a different tactic. “They asked you to spy on the Chancellor didn’t they?” He frowned, not hiding the shock he felt at your words. “I have my sources,” you spoke before he could question where you got the information. “Did that feel right to you? Is that a Just course of action for the Jedi to take?”

“I don’t…” you stood up slowly keeping eye contact.

“Use your brain Anakin!”

“I am!” He yelled turning away, his hand held out to you as though he wanted to stop you advancing.

“Anakin,” you whispered. “Just embrace the darkness.” His body slumped and you felt the streams rushing past you as he accepted the pain and anger inside him. You laughed, opening your arms at the vortex created by the force, it swirled around him, welcoming him. “You will not regret this Anakin! He will reward you beyond your wildest dreams!” You retrieved your sabers off the floor, snapping them to your belt before picking up your mask. When you turned Anakin was right behind you, his piercing eyes staring straight through you.

“What do we do now?” He asked and you hesitated slightly, sensing something still had to be unlocked within him but you didn’t know what. It wasn’t your place, you weren’t his master. You were his equal.

“I will take you to my master. He will know what to do.” You began to walk off but his hand snatched at your arm.

“What did he tell you about the rules of the Sith?”

“Enough,” you responded. “We could overthrow him,” you suggested with a smirk. Anakin released your arm and you relaxed slightly. “We were always such a team, unbeatable even on the side of the light, imagine what we could accomplish with an entire Galaxy at our fingertips?”

“I missed you,” he whispered and you took a step towards him. You leaned your forehead against his temple finally allowing your feelings to come to the forefront. Anakin had been everything to you, it had killed you to leave him behind but Sidious had promised you happiness in the end and now here you are achieving that. Your hand sought his own out, his fingers clammy as he gripped you tightly.

“And I missed you,” you breathed against his skin. His face shifted, his nose pressing against your cheek and your heart pounded at finally being reunited with the one person you wanted in the entire Galaxy. “The Clones are coming,” you murmured.

“I can sense them,” he replied, still not moving away from you. His expression was one of torture and you swept a strand of hair gently off his brow.

“What’s wrong?” You asked softly.

“There is….something I need to do.”

“Can I help?” You whispered, brushing your lips against his cheek.

“Yes.” He shifted, your chests pressing together as he finally kissed you. His lips were soft and lingering making you melt into him so you were unprepared for the burning sensation in your side. Your mouth opened against his in a loud gasp of surprise, his tears glinted in the glowing blue light of his saber as it protruded from your body. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. You couldn’t speak, your body refused to take a breath and you could see the darkside emitting from his irises as he gazed mournfully at you. “My master sent me to find you.” He sobbed when you slumped against him, not able to hold your weight anymore, the smell of your own burning flesh making you feel sick. His blade retracted but still the pain remained, the sting of betrayal coupled with the hurt of your life ending by the hand you trusted the most.

He followed you to the ground, your legs folding like they had no bones left in them as numbness spread through your body. “I will see peace and justice reign in the new Empire.” Your eyes widened, the only response you were able to give as the life slowly ebbed away from you. “I will never forget you.” You wanted to ask why, he had been genuinely surprised to see you under the mask and then you realised you’d both been played. Only the strongest would come out of this room alive, but you had been blinded. Tricked by your own feelings that maybe, just maybe he would have joined you rather than burying you in his quest for power. His hand cradled your head, his tears pattering onto your skin, mingling with the lone tear that ran from the corner of your own eye. We could have done this together, Anakin….

“It never would have worked. I’m saving you.” He replied as your world grew darker. “You were the one war I could never win….until now.”

#please don’t hate me #star wars #anakin skywalker #anakin skywalker x sith!reader #sith!reader #angst #I’m sorry #don’t come at me #this is my first time writing Anakin

[hargrove-mayfields]

the tags on your football Billy story about autistic kids not being allowed to play sports, gave me the idea of Steve with autism not being allowed on the basketball team and how Billy and maybe Tommy if you want since you write kegboys sometimes would react

It doesn’t take Billy long to notice him, the benchwarmer boy who sits on the sidelines, never getting his shot in a single game, just riding the bench with a smile on his face.

At first he sort of pegs it to mean the kid is just really not good, maybe riding the tails of his daddy’s sportsmanship legacy, but then Billy realizes something, that this kid doesn’t even get to play at practice.

He shows up and he sits there like being excluded is the happiest he’s ever been, and the only time he ever has the ball in his hands at all is if it’s to toss it to one of the boys on the court when it rolls to him.

Despite this though, he has his very own jersey. Number zero. Harrington.

Billy asks Tommy after practice once who this mysterious jersey kid is, and he smiles sort of tight, like maybe Billy shouldn’t have asked him that, and tells him, “I’ll introduce you.”

Tommy walks over to the kid and tells him something that makes him light up, jump to his feet and follow Tommy back over, “Billy, this is my best friend, Steve Harrington.”

Steve just sort of waves, so Billy jumps straight into it. This kid intrigues him and he wants to know more, “There a reason you don’t play, Harrington?”

In response he shrugs his shoulders, hands stuffed in the pockets of his way too big basketball shorts, “I’m not allowed.”

“Why not? You fail some test or something?” Billy tries to ask lightly, not noticing the way Tommy’s face scrunches up before Steve drops a bombshell on him instead, “They don’t let special ed kids on the basketball team.”

And if that’s not bad enough, Tommy then adds, though significantly more bitter than even Steve is, “Or on any team for that matter, whether it’s sports or clubs or debate, you name it. School board denies every last application.”

“Oh.” Billy frowns, totally dumbfounded, his school in California never had any issues with that, “Oh that- that’s bullshit.”

“I know.” They say at the same time, prompting Billy to ask, “They don’t even have like, a separate team?”

“Not enough kids would do it.” Tommy says, and he gets a sharp look from Steve, who corrects him quickly, “Not enough kids could get permission to do it.”

“But that’s such bullshit.” Billy repeats, not very helpfully.

“Nothing we can do about it. We’ve tried everything. Not even momma Harrington could convince the school board, and let me tell you, that woman is scary.”

Steve elbows Tommy for that one, and Tommy laughs softly, throws an arm around his shoulder, but Billy is thinking, biting the corner of his nail in concentration, “Why don’t we start our own team?”

“I don’t know.” Steve’s face scrunches up, and he turns to Tommy, like he doesn’t trust what Billy says, so Billy continues, “No, I’m serious. School says you can’t play for them, so fuck ‘em. There’s courts in the park, I have a ball, and I’m out there half the time watching my little sister anyways. Let’s start our own team.”

Tommy answers for him, “Practice takes up too much time. We’re not gonna be much of a team unless we’re going to be playing at night or in the winter.”

“Then we quit the tigers.” Billy shrugs, like it’s obvious.

Instantly Tommy narrows his eyes, “Very funny, man.”

On the other hand though, Steve looks at him with awe written all over his face, eyes wide and spelling, “You’d really quit for me?”

And Billy, he plays it off like that look doesn’t make his heart melt, claiming, “For you and for Max who’s been talking my ear off about how much she wants to play soccer and whose heart is going to break when she finds out she can’t.”

Convinced, Tommy looks over at Steve, “If you’re in Stevie, I’m in too.”

Steve seems like he’s considering his options, drumming his fingers on the outside of his thigh, occasionally humming softly in thought, and it’s making Billy impatient.

“So?” He asks, to which Steve nods a confirmation to his offer, his hair bouncing with his enthusiasm.

Tommy cracks a crooked smile, holds out a hand for Billy to shake, seal the deal, “You’ve got yourself a team, Hargrove.”

They decide not to give their little team a name, the idea of being called something feels too exclusive, which was the reason they’d all quit the school's team in the first place. Billy had gotten in big trouble when his dad found out he quit for wasting their time and money on basketball, but that was all bullshit anyways, games were only usually a half hour long and were free to get into for the players family, and the school paid for the uniforms.

But that was what he said and what he’d been going to punish Billy for until they found out about the reasoning behind quitting, after which Susan was flattered he cared so much about his little sister, and he got his permission to freely go down to the park and play with the “special” kid.

Neil of course didn’t care about him doing it for Max, he was just concerned with Billy’s public image. Playing ball with the richest family in town's dopey son did nothing but good things for the way their neighbors saw him, so he’d allow it.

A few weeks into their games though, which are mostly just playing HORSE or teaching Steve how to do trickier shots since no coach ever would, Billy has to bring Max along because nobody was going to be home and she wasn’t allowed to be by herself. It’s a dreary day so there aren’t many people around at all, so he decides he’s going to loosen her leash, and walks her over to the playground (that they can see clearly from the courts, he’s not that irresponsible.)

He teasingly offers to push Max on the swings or lift her up to the monkey bars, making her roll her eyes and proudly declare that she’s not a baby anymore, so he chuckles and leaves her be, walking back to the basketball hoops.

Tommy and Steve are just sitting on the old wooden bench just off to the side of the court, waiting for Billy to get back because he’s their little impromptu coach and they can’t start without him, but he notices that they’re sitting awful close together, and between them, Tommy’s hand sits slightly on top of Steve’s, pinky fingers linked together.

Now he knows these two are affectionate, he couldn’t even count how many times Tommy picked Steve up after he made a good shot or ruffled his hair and smiled at him when he messed up, but that was all just friendly affection.

This was different though, he could tell it was from the way Tommy’s eyes snap up and he pulls his hand away, the both of them looking away from each other guiltily.

He feels a little something like jealousy in his chest, or maybe it was just anxiety at the fact that they’d been so obviously holding hands in the public park, but either way, he just kind of freezes up, looking between their two terrified faces until Tommy’s turns angry, standing from the bench so fast the old rusty things creaks loudly and Steve has to cover his ears.

He grabs the front of the baggy jersey Billy wears from his old school's team, the bears, and gets right up in his face, sneering, “You gonna say something, Hargrove?”

And Billy’s not afraid of Tommy, he might be mean, but he’s on his toes to threaten him, and he’s pretty sure they both know Billy would win the fight anyways. He’s not going to fight him though, and he makes that clear, putting his hands up as a clear sign of not going to sock Tommy for yelling at him, “Secrets safe with me, dudes. You go down, I’m going down with you.”

Tommy doesn’t get it though, because he growls, “Right. ‘Cause all that matters is what will happen to your reputation after giving up your precious sport just to hang with a couple of fags, right?”

“Tom.” Steve snaps, but he gets ignored, Billy arguing over him, “Actually, no. You know all that talk about queer kids flocking together without even knowing? That doesn’t come from nothing. I out you, it’s putting a target on my back, and from there it won’t be not long before a little birdie tells the wrong person the right rumor and we’re all dead.”

“Oh.” Tommy says softly, his face falling.

Billy nods sarcastically in response, “Yeah, oh. So let go of my damn shirt before I find a reason to punch you in the face.”

“Can we just play basketball?” Comes a timid request from behind them, so Tommy lets go, wipes his hands on his shorts, and answers him, “‘Course we can, Stevie.”

It doesn’t take long for them to get bored though, none of them are really in the mood to play after that. They play a small game that’s pretty much just Tommy blocking Billy the whole time, but after he shoots the ball they all just let it roll, none of them caring enough to keep the play going. So instead, Tommy offers up his place to hang out there.

It sounds at least better than this, so Billy drops Max off back at home, making her promise not to do anything stupid to get them in trouble until he gets back later that night, and heads straight to Tommy’s like they planned.

The whole drive he’s worrying that they’re gonna pissed at him and beating himself up for not just pretending like he didn’t notice, to the point where he almost just drives right past, but Steve waves at his car from the front window, and he can’t do all this petty angry shit to him.

Tommy’s house is empty for the night, so that means two things, that they’re free to drink as much as they want, (smoking’s a no go though, the smell is too strong and makes Steve upset), and that Steve sits right on Tommy’s lap like it’s nothing.

Which, it is nothing. Billy just told them he was gay too, and now they don’t have to hide from their best friend, so it’s common sense that they wouldn’t.

But Billy, well, he wouldn’t say he’s jealous watching the two of them together, it just makes his chest burn every time they touch or laugh at some joke and whisper amongst themselves like he isn’t even there, or when Steve kisses Tommy’s cheek.

Yeah no, there’s no pretending, Billy is totally jealous. He’s had a thing for Tommy since like, day one of practice when he bounced a basketball back in his own face trying to show off, and Steve for just as long, yearning to know more about the pretty faced mystery kid who turned out to be a total sweetheart and won him over. It’s tearing him to shreds watching them just being happy together without being a part of that.

He wonders if these small town boys have ever even heard of having more than one partner other than like, mormons, and if they haven’t, how is he supposed to bring it up without sounding like a total weirdo. Maybe he could claim that he was just trying not to be left out since they were probably the only queer kids in Hawkins. Or maybe not and Tommy would try to kick his ass again for even trying.

He doesn’t have to do much wondering though, because as pointedly as he’s trying to ignore them, Steve keeps getting closer to Billy on the couch until he’s sitting in his lap, and Billy has to ask, blue eyes going a little wide, cheeks flushing red in a way that had nothing to do with the sunburn he’d gotten at the park earlier, “What’re you doing Steve?”

“You included me. Now I’m including you.” Steve hums and leans his head on Billy’s shoulder, holding eye contact with Tommy.

To say that Billy is flustered and doesn’t know what to do with himself is more than an understatement. He'd like to say he’s not the most inexperienced one here, but it’s not looking good, because he’s flushed as red as a tomato, and the only thing he can think to say is just, “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.” Tommy says and smiles that big goofy smile of his, a playful imitation of their little argument from before, “And I’d much rather you kiss me than punch me.”

#kegboys #steve x billy x tommy #billy hargrove #steve harrington #tommy hagan #autistic steve! #ej writer #story by ej! #requests #based heavily on personal experience lol #thank you anon for reading my mind #and for the request <3

[sock-ness-monster]

Excuse is granted. Please. I beg of you. Infodump away

Thank you so much I love telling people about this guy

So, to preface this, I'll be telling this story exactly how it was told to me by our camp counselor at a Caveing camp I went to, so it's very much an oral history that maybe can't be fact checked but the broad strokes are genuinely 100% true

TRIGGER WARNINGS: DEATH, DARKNESS, CLAUSTROPHOBIA, GRAVE DESECRATION, CRICKETS

Now that that's out of the way (and please mention if there's any other TW's I should add) the story of

Floyd Collins, The Man Who Was Buried Six Times

This story begins in Kentucky in 19very early, a young Floyd was plowing his family's field when he suddenly dropped through the ground and discovered an unknown cave system. Super cool! Now, people back then did not have television, keep in mind, so caves were really big deals and they were a brand new and lucrative tourist escapade. Floyd's family seized the idea and quickly made a little tourist attraction out of it and started raking in the dough. But they weren't the only ones who had a cave you could tour, Kentucky's geology is super unique in that it has tons of limestone and sandstone which is perfect for underground rivers to carve cool caves out of. They are everywhere in Kentucky and the surrounding area, there was a lot of competition for who had the best, the biggest, the longest cave. And Floyd and his brothers were seized by cave fever and were exploring all around looking for new tunnels and chambers. A large part of this business, unfortunately, was not just walking people through the caves but was letting them take home souvenirs. People could carve their names in the wall, take a stalagmite or stalactite or whatever cool rock they found. Destroying the sensitive ecosystem of the caves. Floyd, the cool dude that he was, was one of the only people who was against this at the time. Good for him! Salamanders are important!

Anyway, Floyd and his brothers are always on the lookout for new opportunities, and there were tons in that area. But, not all of them would pan out. Floyd had heard rumblings about a new cave system called Sand Cave that wasn't far from his family's original cave, which by now had been dubbed Crystal Cave. It didn't seem that promising to most, but Floyd was hoping it actually connected to Crystal cave, and they could tack on so many feet to how big their cave was. So he set off to see if he could find a connection.

He had been surveying the cave for a few hours, and decided to call it quits. He was crawling through a tight tunnel upwards toward the opening of the cave when a rock slide pinned his ankle down tight. He was laying flat with his hands reaching upwards, and there was no way for him to reach back behind him to free his ankle.

He had gone on this expedition without telling anyone.

This was the first time he got buried.

Three days pass, and his brother Homer finally finds him. He tries everything he can think of to free floyd, to no effect. Realizing that this may be a bigger endeavor than he can pull off, he crawls back out to go and find help. It is January of 1925, what else is there to do but go to the newspaper? They publish the story of the man trapped in a crawl way, and it's a huge hit!? People are fascinated by Floyds predicament. They want to help, they want to see, they want to know more. It even makes it on the radio! The three biggest news stories of the time were

1) the war (oof)

2)Charles Lindbergh (will come up again later)

And 3) Floyd in the hole

Everyone in America is anxious to find out how they rescue Floyd. "They" being everyone from the local cave experts to the military corps of engineers to the freakin freemasons, they're all trying to figure out how to free Floyd. Who, ya know, is just chillin in the cave, because caves stay at a constant temperature of ~54° , not too bad for January. His brothers and a reporter take turns crawling down to deliver him the three essentials; food, whiskey, and news. The reporter, "Skeets" Miller, would later win a Pulitzer Prize for his correspondence with floyd in the shaft. Now, as mentioned before, it is a cold and snowy January, but people (nearly 10,000 according to some reports) are so fascinated by the goings on at Sand Cave that they travel from far and wide to be there at the triumphant moment when Floyd emerges. Weeks have gone by at this point. Radio stations are reporting every day, Charles Lindbergh is hired to take photographs of the terrain from above. It's like a big party up top.

They camp out around the cave mouth.

They build fires for food and warmth.

The snow melts.

The cold water trickles down into the cave.

Floyd....... starts to cough.

The cave's already sketchy structure is further compromised.

There's another rock slide.

Floyd is now cut off from contact with the up side world, and the engineers panic and go with a last ditch effort they had been debating beforehand. They can't go around they can't go behind, the only path left was straight down. They drill a hole that reaches the 150 feet from daylight to Floyd's prison. They are too late. He was estimated to have died three to four days before they reached him. His leg is still stuck, and half his face has been consumed by cave crickets. And they just.....leave him there. Whatreyagonnado they shrug, he's already gone we can stop now. They fill in the shaft again.

This is the second time Floyd is buried.

Homer, his closest brother, can't accept this as his final resting place. A few weeks later, they un block the hole and carry Floyd to their family's funeral plot and have a small service with just his closest friends and family present.

This is the third time Floyd Collins is buried.

A few years go by, and the Collins family sells their farm and cave. Unfortunately, they did not see the part of the deed that entitled the new owners to everything in and under the property. Floyd's body is now legally theirs. He is exhumed and placed on display in a glass coffin in Crystal Cave (which years and years later would eventually be proven to connect to Sand Cave).

This is the fourth time Floyd is buried.

If you haven't pieced it together yet, caves were a pretty big deal. We now enter a time in Kentucky history known as the Cave Wars, and they are brutal. How brutal, you ask? Well, to answer with one scenario that happens to be related to this story, the owners of nearby cave were jealous of the attention Crystal Cave was getting from their cool exhibit of Floyd's body, against his family's wishes. Why, the only logical thing to do is steal the man's body and throw it off a cliff. Crystal Cave's new owners would recover it, though minus the left leg. And the next logical thing of course is to put him back on display but this time with a bunch more chains.

This is the fifth time Floyd Collins is buried.

Then, the 60s roll around and Crystal Cave and Floyd are purchased by the National Parks Service on the grounds of being connected to the Mammoth Cave System (the longest cave system in the entire world now). Floyds family is still fighting for his body, and in the 80s they finally get their wish. Floyd is removed from the cave in a 15 day trip and buried at a real cemetery again.

This, is the sixth time he is buried.

A pillar is constructed in honor and perhaps in reparations to all he's gone through, but it is struck by a semi truck and demolished less than a week after its unveiling.

Floyd.......went through a lot. All he ever wanted to do was see some cool rocks and support his family. And to this day, cavers do their best to do right by him. When entering Mammoth Cave, they often ask the darkness to look after them. They aren't talking to the darkness, of course, that darkness that can never be described properly. They are talking to Floyd. Asking him to watch over them as they wish he had someone to watch over him. In the caves everyone is above you, but that's not what they mean. And when they hear a whistle through the tunnels, they like to imagine it's Floyd. Floyd, who was right. The cave was so much more than people thought, in so many different ways. To this day, there's a saying in the caveing community.

"Floyd Lives"

It's like the geology version of "Eddie Would Go". As long as we carry on his legacy of exploring bravely, daring to go where noone has gone before, and do our best to preserve the natural beauty and habitat of the caves, floyd will live on. Floyd lives in our memories and hearts and the drips of water that will one day be pillars.

I don't really know how to end this. Here's a picture of the man himself;

(the picture above is not the tunnel he was trapped in, to be clear)

#cave camp had just such a peofimf impact on me omg #the best week of my whole life #and to think i almost chickened out the night before leaving #i still keep in contact with those guys #we all have tshirts with you guessed it floyd on them #floyd collins #caves #geology #stories #humanity #infodump #*profound i meant #claustrophobia tw #buried alive tw #darkness tw #longish post

[forabeatofadrum]

The Naked Truth

Summary: “But here he is. Simon Salisbury. My boarding school roommate, nemesis, all-around-prick, and the boy I’ve been in love with since I was fifteen.”

Baz Grimm-Pitch has moved out of England to study art in Omaha, Nebraska. He left his old life behind and he doesn’t regret it. But one day his former nemesis and long-time crush Simon Salisbury walks into his figure drawing class as the model. How will Baz deal with their shared past and the resurface of his feelings?

Notes: Woooh, here we go! I fell in love with figure drawing last February when I participated in Figuary. Since I had access to Figuary thanks to the Carry On Discord, it only felt fitting to write a little fic about figure drawing with Simon and Baz. I didn’t expect it to become 15k words long, though! 

Little disclaimer: I know nothing about art modelling and I also don’t know if there’s an art school/art major in Omaha, but that’s the beauty of fanfiction!

A special thanks to Kris KrisRix and Liz FoolofaBookWyrm for hosting Figuary and a big thanks to all the others who participated and gave each other feedback. It was a lot of fun. And thanks Pati Aristocratic_Otter for suggesting the title. Enjoy!

AO3

--

BAZ

The universe must be playing a cruel joke. That’s all I can think of when Simon fucking Salisbury walks into my art class. I let out a low growl and the person sitting next to me raises an eyebrow, but no one else notices. Simon’s talking to the teacher.

What the fuck is this?

Why the fuck is he here in this dank art studio in Omaha?

This whole art thing is supposed to be healing. I finally allowed my creative sides to flourish after I packed my bag and moved overseas, away from my mother’s legacy and my father’s unfair expectations. (What would my father say if he’d find out that I spent a lot of my free time drawing naked men?) (At moment like this, my father’s lack of interest in my life is a blessing in disguise, because he doesn’t even try to see through my shitty law school cover story.). Art has become my solace after running away from my past. It shouldn’t bring back that past.

But here he is. Simon Salisbury. My boarding school roommate, nemesis, all-around-prick, and the boy I’ve been in love with since I was fifteen.

This entire situation becomes a thousand times worse when Simon disrobes himself. From all art classes he had to walk in to, he chose figure drawing. The teacher introduces Simon as Snow and I bet he has a lot of artistic shit to say, but I am not listening. How can I when Simon fucking Salisbury is positioning himself on this shitty stool, butt naked?

I let out another growl and to my horror, it’s louder than the first. The person next to me notices again, and she’s not the only one. The teacher’s stopped his explanation and more heads turn towards me, including Simon’s.

His face falls when he sees me.

We look at each other and no one seems to pick up that there’s something going on here, because the teacher continues the lesson as if nothing’s happened and other students are nodding along and making notes. I’m still staring ta Simon. He’s still staring at me. He scowls and I frown back. We haven’t seen each other since he dropped out in our second-to-last year at school, but we fall back into our dismay at seeing each other.

I deepen my frown, because I don’t want him to notice that my heart is racing. It’s always been easier to act like the sight of him ruins my day, instead of the opposite.

I focus on his face as I try to stare him down, because I want to avoid looking anywhere else. I cannot believe that after all these years, I am seeing him naked.

That obviously cannot last. The reason he’s here is because he needs to be observed. I actually have permission to watch him. Sort of. A part of me expects Simon to get up, tell the teacher he can’t do this with me in the room, and leave. After all, he was always making sure to dress in the bathroom instead of our bedroom. But Simon doesn’t leave. The teacher asks him something, and the moment he looks away from me, he has an easy smile on his face again. They discuss poses and ideas and I realise that he’s done this before. How the fuck did Simon Salisbury end up as a naked art model?

Well, fuck. I regretfully knew that I never fully moved on from him, but after years of not seeing him, feelings start to diminish. Loving him used to consume me. After he dropped out, it ebbed away, to the background. Now, it’s fully coming back.

I need to be rational about this. (When have I ever been rational about him?). I try to school my expression and I look back to my big sketchpad. I can be professional about this. Most of the time, the models are only there for one session. After today, I can go back to pretending that he doesn’t exist. I just have to survive this hour long class. He’s hunched over with his arms and legs crossed and I know I should start drawing now, but I can’t. I can hear the sounds of pencils, pastels, pens and charcoal sticks on the paper, but my paper is still blank. My pencil is still in my hand. I cannot stop looking at him. Luckily, he’s not looking at me this time, so he doesn’t realise.

Really, I need to be professional. He’s a model and I am an art student. There’s nothing weird about this. I’ve seen so many naked people lately, he’s just another one in line.

But he’s the first person I actually know. I’m the only one in this room who sees Simon, not the model named Snow. He’s a bit different.

When he moves, I realise I’ve been staring at him for five minutes. I haven’t put down a single line on my paper. Not even a stick figure. Nothing.

The teacher hands him a stick for ‘action poses’ and our eyes briefly meet before Simon starts posing. Fuck. This really is a blast from the past. Simon always used to roam the grounds, squared up and ready to fight. One time he even fucking hit me with a branch and he got a week’s worth of detention. Simon’s posing for art, but he has the same determined look on his face.

Now that’s he’s standing, I can see even more of him.

He’s changed a little bit over the past few years. He’s still beefy, but he’s also rounder. His chest is fuller. He has a belly and I hate that my depraved mind immediately wants to touch it. His arms and thighs are thicker too.

I shouldn’t feel guilty observing him. He’s a model, for God’s sake. I need to draw him.

I get reminded that I will probably never see him again after this session and I hate how my heart breaks at the thought of that.

That’s what snaps me back into focus.

I want to memorise this. I need to capture this, now that I have the chance.

I finally start to draw.

--

The next day, Simon’s standing next to the door to my classroom. At least he’s fully clothed this time. He looks like a nightmare with an oversized hoodie, worn jeans, and battered trainers.

I still stop in my tracks when I see him.

What is he doing here?

He’s leaning against the wall, fidgeting with the strands of his hoodie. He hasn’t noticed me yet, so this is my way out. I can turn around, skip class, and pretend that this has never happened. But my curiosity gets the best of me. I still don’t know why he’s here in Omaha.

“Snow, isn’t it?” I say, just to piss him off.

It has the desired effect.

Simon puts on his usual scowl.

“What are you doing here?” he bites out, stunning me. Aren’t the I one who’s supposed to ask that question?

“I go here. What are you doing here?” After all, I’m pretty sure he isn’t a student here. It’s a small art school. I would’ve seen him before. Besides, most of the models aren’t students.

Simon doesn’t answer. Instead he narrows his eyes at me, as if he can’t believe me, and I’m suddenly overwhelmed by this feeling of déjà vu. I’ve seen that look many, many times before.

A laugh escapes my mouth.

“Really, Salisbury, you don’t believe me?” I say indignantly.

He never used to believe me when he practically stalked me at school. That’s also unfortunately why I fell in love with him. A part of me had to admit to liking the attention.

That same part is present now.

I don’t believe that Simon specifically sought me out yesterday. He seemed genuinely shocked to see me. But now… the thought of him waiting for me is weirdly fond, even though I know it’s not him waiting for me in the context I want it to be.

Simon looks conflicted. He probably knows that I am telling the truth, but he doesn’t want to admit it, that prick.

“Now, if you’d excuse me, I have a class to attend,” I say coldly.

I try to walk to my classroom, but his hand is suddenly on my shoulder, stopping me, and my heartbeat accelerates. Please, do not make me blush. It’s already a miracle I survived seeing him naked, but him touching my shoulder is the thing that makes me flail?

“Baz…” he trails off. He still looks confused. At least he’s no longer looking annoyed by my presence, which is a bit rich since he’s the one who came to me. “Baz.”

“That’s my name,” I say.

“You- I- what-”

“Use your words, Salisbury,” I sneer.

And as expected, Simon retreats. He takes his hand off my shoulder and leans away. He looks pissed. I always know how to piss him off. I always know how to make him leave.

“Forget it,” he kicks the ground.

I enter my classroom without looking back.

--

To my utter surprise (and unfortunately, happiness), he turns up again. It’s been a week since his last visit, so I expected our little showdown to be the end of it, but no, here he is. Clothed. I can’t suppress my disappointed sigh.

Simon raises an eyebrow and I am glad that he probably thinks I’m disappointed to see him. He doesn’t need to know that I’ve been staring at my drawings of him on a daily basis. (I look back at all my drawings! It’s not weird or pervy! It’s art!)

“Do I need to call security, Salisbury?” I say snidely, “I don’t think they allow stalkers on the premises.”

“I’m not a stalker,” Simon sputters. It’s pathetic.

I grin. “Sure. Then what is this?”

“The teacher knows me!” Simon says defensively, “It’s normal for models to ask for feedback.”

“Right,” I raise an eyebrow in disbelief, “And you have so much experience with that.”

“Been modelling for a couple of years, mate, so yeah. I know a thing or two,” Simon says coldly and I put a lot of effort in not showing on my face how much I want to hear more about this, “It’s just an added extra that I can keep an eye on you.”

“Keep an eye on me?” I snort, “Salisbury, we’re no longer in school. We’re no longer in England. Unlike you, my adult life doesn’t revolve around my spiteful annoying boarding school roommate.” That’s a lie. “I tried to move on from that.” That isn’t. (Although, I suppose I failed.)

Simon’s trying so hard to look tough, but am not up for this bullshit.

“Why are you really here?” I say.

“I told you.”

The weirdest thing is that I think he’s telling the truth. Maybe he’s really here to talk about his modelling, which is apparently a regular occurrence, and to stalk me.

I suddenly feel very tired of this thing that we’ve got going on between us. I thought it was over once we left school, but no, it was just dormant, waiting to be reawakened. I don’t think I want it to come back.

I realise I don’t want to be a shithead.

I realise I don’t want to belittle him anymore.

I used to do it to get his attention, because bad attention was better than no attention at all, but now we’re years removed from our past and I realise I am tired.

Why would I be mean towards him? What does it bring me?

“Simon,” I say, sounding serious. I look him in the eyes. “Simon, it’s been years. Whatever weird grudge you had towards me should be over. You have no reason to keep a tab on me like this, and quite frankly, it’s weird. I’m in Omaha for a reason. I’ve changed. I barely talk to my father these days. You have nothing to worry and nothing to gain. Is that clear?”

His eyes widen. I think he’s processing what I just said.

“I… yeah, fuck, okay,” he looks away, “Okay, that’s clear.”

“If you want to talk more, fine, but I have class.”

“Cool. I’ll wait here.”

I stop in my tracks. I didn’t expect Simon to actually take that offer. It wasn’t even meant to be serious. But now I realise I once again get to see Simon, so I act like I planned this.

“Great. See you in an hour.”

--

Simon and I have gone to the same boarding school for eight years, but we never actually hung out or anything. The two of us walk in silence to an on-campus canteen and it’s weird, because we don’t really have any experience of walking together. We have time, since it’s lunchtime anyway. My next class starts in one and a half hour. We get to the canteen and Simon immediately orders food.

We decide to go back outside and sit on a stone bench outside.

Simon doesn’t beat around the bush.

“What are you doing here?” he sounds accusingly.

“I go here. I thought it was pretty obvious when I paid my lunch with my student card,” I retort.

His eyes scan my entire body and I try not to blush, which is ridiculous, because I’ve literally seen Simon naked. He’s still trying to see a crack in a non-existent façade. He knows I’m telling the truth and it’s almost sad to see how desperately he’s still trying to hold on to his own view of me.

I decide to put him out of his misery by turning the question back to him.

“How did you become a model?” I ask.

Simon half-shrugs. “I know the right people and I like my body.” He laughs. “I don’t have the brains, but I do have the bod. It’s not like university was going to do something.”

It’s a bad self-deprecating comment. Simon’s never been stupid. Not really. It’s so easy to make a rude comment about this, but I stop myself. Why should I? I meant what I said outside the classroom. The past is in the past. There is no reason for me to be a dick towards him. I don’t want to be one.

“How did you end up here, in Omaha?” I say, not too kindly, because that would probably throw him off, but I also don’t want to sounds to snide.

“Penny lives here,” he says with a half-shrug.

Of course. Some things never change. Where Penelope Bunce goes, Simon Salisbury follows.

“Well, then how did Bunce end up here, in Omaha?”

“Her husband is originally from Omaha,” Simon answers.

“I thought Hernandez lived in Chicago?” I say and Simon looks up in surprise.

“You remember Micah?” he asks, eyes wide.

“Yeah.”

I shrug nonchalantly. How can I forget Micah? Simon seems to forget that before I realised that I was in love with him, the stalking was mutual. I felt like I needed to know everything about Simon, to relate back to my family. In turn this meant that I also knew almost everything about his friends and acquaintances. During fifth year, I gave up on trying to know everything.

Simon still looks a bit stunned, but after a few second he looks back to his food and mutters: “We don’t talk about Micah Hernandez anymore. Penny wouldn’t have it. And Shepard is a much better man for her.”

I hum. I don’t know what else to say. Should I congratulate him on Penelope’s behalf? Does she even know I’m here?

Simon answers that question for me.

“She thinks I’m mental for this, by the way,” he says, “She said, and I quote, ‘what are you thinking, meeting up with Basilton Pitch from school? The ten percent rule still stands!’”

“Ten percent rule?”

“Back at school, Penny had a rule that only ten percent of our conversations were allowed to be about you,” Simon says. I supress a grin. They had a rule about me? I know it’s once again not in the context I want it to be, but it still amuses me a lot that Simon was so obsessed with stalking me that it pissed off his best friend. Simon doesn’t notice my reaction. Instead, he continues: “I told her that we met during one of my modelling gigs at the art school, and that I wanted to know how you’d end up there. So, how did you end up here?”

“I could still ask the same of you,” I say, avoiding the question, “I know why you’re in Omaha, I know why you’re an art model, but why are you an art model in Omaha? Like, how did that happen?”

Simon doesn’t notice my avoidance, or maybe he doesn’t care. (That’s unlikely. He’s still Simon Salisbury, the one who needs to know everything.)

“After I left school, I didn’t know what to do. When Penny took pity on me and asked me to move to America with her, I knew I needed to do it. I needed a fresh start. I was sick and tired of people knowing me and knowing why I left school. I thought I’d finish American high school and maybe enrol at community college here, but I’m not made for that. I’m not booksmart. I’m not studious. As you kept reminding me at school, people like me don’t belong in places like that.”

“Simon, I’m sorr-”

“Spare me,” Simon snaps. It’s the first time during this entire conversation that he’s lost his temper. He looks annoyed and I look away in shame. “You made it very fucking clear that you believed that ‘people like me’ didn’t belong at a prestigious school like Watford. I know what you thought of me back at school.”

He doesn’t.

I thought he was the most wonderful person in the world, but since I was so hellbent on hiding that, I pretended to think he was worthless.

Well, I did also think he was worthless. It was easier to think about that than the ever growing feelings.

“You know, I really fucking hated you for that,” Simon says. I look back and he’s still staring at me. He has his arms crossed. He looks very defensive. This also brings me back to our Watford days. He’s given me this exact same look and attitude many times, and rightfully so. “You and your people didn’t even give me a chance to prove myself. Me being a poor orphan from the north was such an immense threat to the fancy, rich elite. What for?”

I wish I could answer that, but I can’t. I just… believed it. That’s how I was brought up. My father was already in hot waters, since a Grimm was deemed lower than a Pitch. My mother married down for love, and the entire elite thought she was mad for doing so. That’s why my father became the man he is today. He also felt the need to prove himself, so he doubled down the elite’s ideas about how the world should be, and he taught me to do the same.

I was a Grimm-Pitch. People like Simon were the enemy to my wealth and status. Watford was my school, since the list of headmasters and headmistresses is basically a Pitch family tree, so it was up to me to make sure that others knew so. Watford was my right, but stupid David Cadwallader became headmaster after my mother’s murder and when he decided to open the school to less wealthy students, my family basically fucking flipped.

And then one day, Simon arrived.

The first kid with a scholarship.

My family told me to keep an eye on ‘the likes of him’.

I want to laugh. Now I’m in my twenties and I have realised that my family was wrong to raise me like that, but back when I was a kid, that was my life. People like Simon were a threat. I didn’t ask why. I just accepted it.

“You’re silent,” Simon says, “You can’t even give me an excuse for making me feel like shit for years? For making me believe that I was indeed worthless and not good enough?”

“You’re right,” I say quietly, “I cannot give you an excuse for that. There isn’t any.”

Simon narrows his eyes. He’s probably wondering what blow I’ll deliver next, but there’s no secret plan here. There’s no ulterior motive.

“Sal- I mean, Simon, I told you that haven’t spoken to my father in years. During university, I realised that my family is wrong. I obviously cannot easily right the past, but believe me that I am working on improving the future.”

Simon lets out a disbelieved laugh.

“Jesus fuck, Baz, that’s such a corny thing to say.”

“Well it’s true. And to answer your earlier question, after I graduated from Oxford I realised I didn’t want to step into my father’s footsteps. Luckily, a certain escalation between us made my father give up on me as well, so I was able to move overseas and start art. My poor father thinks I’m doing a law degree, but he isn’t interested enough to verify. Trust me, I didn’t expect you to walk in as my model.”

“Right,” Simon doesn’t sound angry anymore. I think he believes me. “Yeah, Shepard’s the reason that I started modelling. He kept telling me that I was, and I quote, ‘a fucking hottie’. He knows a lot of people in the area so he made some calls and here I am.”

“You’re a great model, Salisbury.”

Simon searches my face for a trace of sarcasm, but there isn’t any to find.

“You think so?”

I nod. He has no idea.

The next thing I know, I’m taking out my sketchpad and I flip to the page with his sketches.

“See for yourself, Snow.”

Simon gives me a cheeky grin. I know some models use ‘stage names’, so I wonder why he picked Snow.

He looks at my drawings with an impressed look on his face.

“Not half bad, although you’re missing a pose.”

Yes, the hunched one. I was too busy staring in disbelief. I can’t believe he knows that. His session was over a week ago.

“Can I?” he asks. He’s about to flip the page. I nod.

Simon browses through my work and I drink my tea in silence. I don’t expect him to be an art critic, but it still feels strange to have him inspect my work. I barely show people what I draw. People back in England obviously don’t know and I woefully have to say that I haven’t made friends in Omaha yet. Only some classmates have seen my work during evaluations.

“Cool,” is all that he says when he hands back my sketchpad.

“Cool?”

Simon shrugs. “Yeah.” Then he checks his watch. “Look, I gotta go. I have another little gig, but I’ll speak to you later?”

I want to ask where he’s going. I want to ask why he’s so certain we’ll speak again. Instead of doing that, I just say my goodbyes.

--

Most models don’t return after a session.

Simon does.

I’m still surprised to see him, because I didn’t know he’d return. This time I don’t make a fool out of myself though. Simon gets ready and he winks when our eyes meet.

What the fuck.

Today is all about lightning, so the teacher is positioning lamps in different places. In one pose, the light shines from behind him. It’s almost as if he’s surrounded by a halo. He is beautiful and I cannot believe I get to draw this.

My mind goes on autopilot. I cannot afford to think too much about this, because I don’t need him to know how nervous I am, seeing him like this. He looks like a dream. So I don’t focus too much on him and I let my pencil move on the paper as if it’s nothing. The hour passes in a blur.

I turn my back to him while I pack my things. I don’t need him to see me flustered like this. It has the desired effect, because when I turn around, he’s gone. I let out a sigh of relief.

This way, he doesn’t have to know what I’m about to do. I step towards my teacher.

“Can I ask you something, sir?”

“Sure,” my teacher says back.

“I really liked today’s model. Snow is amazing. Do you know where I can find more of his modelling?”

My teacher scratches his chin. “I know he’s been in some books about figure drawing and anatomy. And I know he has a lot of photos in one database. That’s actually how we know him. We regularly ask for models from that website. Do you want to learn more?”

I nod eagerly. “I really enjoy figure drawing. I’d like to do more outside of class. I’m already dreading the end of our figure drawing classes. Of course, I’m looking forward to the still life module, but the figure drawing one is so well done.”

The teacher smiles when he hears that. I’ve always been good at sweet talking the teachers. (Although, I actually really do enjoy figure drawing.)

My teacher writes something down on a paper slip.

“Here. You do need a paid subscription to access the models,” he says apologetically, “I’d love to give you my log in, but I’d rather not have you see my credit card info. Maybe if more people are interested, I can see if the school can provide.”

“Thank you,” I accept the paper slip. Money isn’t an issue. My father never cut me off financially, so I’m well-off. I want to laugh at the thought of my father financing this. Thank you for giving me the money to look at naked men!

That evening, I’m scrolling through hundreds of photos of Simon and I try to not feel like a creep.

It’s art, I remind myself, If this had been any other model, I wouldn’t feel this guilty! And I have liked other models before. A lot do great work!

And then a treasonous part of my mind adds: Yeah, but you weren’t in love with Kristine, were you?

My somewhat-rational brain argues back: Well, I paid for this. He works, I pay to see it!

But then: Out of context, that sounds even worse!

I groan and I try to make it less weird by taking out my sketchpad. If I actually draw him, then it wouldn’t be so awkward. After all, that’s what these photos are for, and he has a lot of versatility in his poses. I’m not in class. There’s no timer. I can take as long as I want. And now I don’t have to worry about him looking back at me.

--

The figure drawing class end, but I continue drawing anyway. I have over 200 photos of ‘Snow’ to go through. And even when I’m not drawing him, I realised that I really, really loved figure drawing. When I’m out and about in the world, I draw the people I see.

I’m sitting in a café and I’m drawing a man and a woman who are seated close to me. I am so caught up in their unintentional poses, I don’t notice three other people sitting down at the table next to mine.

“Nice work! You’ve gotten better.”

I look up to see Simon staring at my sketchpad from his table. Penelope and a man I don’t recognise also try to get a look, so I close my sketchpad. I put it on the table, closed, and the man nods in understanding. He’s not allowed to see.

Only Simon is allowed to see my stuff.

“Thanks,” I say, because what else can I say? I don’t want to tell him that I’ve improved thanks to his photos.

“Oh, you must be Baz,” the unfamiliar man moves his chair closer to mine and he holds out his hand, “Shepard Bunce.”

“Basilton Pitch,” I say, a bit bewildered. I didn’t expect to run into Simon and his friends and I definitely didn’t expect Simon and his friends to talk to me.

“Heard a lot about you,” Shepard says cheerfully. I look over to Simon and Penelope. Simon shrugs and Penelope looks weirdly pent-up about all of this. I don’t think she’s happy to see me.

“All good things, I hope,” I joke.

“Not really,” Penelope mutters and Simon elbows her.

“That’s fair,” I relent.

“I half-expected you to be a figment of Simon’s imagination,” Penelope continues. She stares at me with a look that could kill. “I hoped that it was just Simon’s childhood obsession with you, making him believe things. Yet, here you are.”

“If it makes you feel any better, Bunce, I didn’t plan to run into Salisbury either.”

“He has a first name, you know!” Penelope exclaims.

“He can speak for himself,” Simon adds.

Shepard is looking between me, Penelope and Simon with a confused smile on his face.

“Huh, I guess I should’ve taken this whole nemesis thing more seriously.”

“No worries, Shep, Baz and I talked it out,” Simon says easily and I raise my eyebrow. Did we? I knew that our conversation at the coffee shop ended on a positive note, but I didn’t expect Simon to move on from it so easily.

“Right,” Penelope mirrors my disbelief.

“Well, in that case, come sit with us!” Shepard says. Penelope lets out a sigh. I don’t care about her. I’m taking this opportunity to be closer to Simon. I don’t have a lot of opportunities to observe him with clothes on.

Simon’s animosity towards me has basically evaporated. I’m not complaining, but I am a little confused. I didn’t expect Simon to brush off years of nastiness and rivalry. He’s talking a lot about his job and Shepard chimes in every now and then.

“I even have a folder on my phone with his best work!” Shepard says excitedly.

“At this rate, Shep pretends to be my unofficial agent.”

“Dude, I could be your agent!”

“No, Shep, we’ve been over this,” Simon says and Penelope also sighs.

The two bicker a lot and thanks to Simon I know that Shepard is married to Penelope, otherwise I would easily mistake them for a playfully bickering couple. I don’t say much, but it’s strangely nice to sit here. Simon’s letting me be part of his life, which is something I’ve only dreamed of. I’m still a bit surprised by Simon’s change of heart, but I’ll take it.

Penelope sees the easy smile on my face and she raises an eyebrow.

I shrug back.

“Look, that muffin’s practically calling my name!” Simon says at one point. Both Penelope and I turn our attention back to him. Simon’s staring longingly at the pastries and sweets on display. “Shep, I cannot hold it in anymore.”

“Fucking go for it, Si,” Shepard says.

“Anyone want anything?” Simon looks at me or Penelope.

“No thanks, Simon, nice of you to ask,” Penelope replies and I hum in agreement.

The moment Simon’s out of earshot, Penelope shoots me another look that could kill and she bluntly says: “Simon doesn’t like you.”

I’m so taken aback by this brash behaviour that I don’t have the mental capacities to come up with a retort.

“Penelope…” Shepard sighs and he puts a hand on his wife’s arm.

“Simon doesn’t like you,” Penelope repeats in the same deadpan tone, “He just acts like he does because he always feels like he has to prove himself. He’s always been like that. He wants to shove it in your face that he’s happy and successful. He said so himself.”

I am at loss for words and I look at Shepard, who doesn’t want to meet my eyes. He looks like he’s going to pass out from second-hand embarrassment.

Oh.

“I told him that it’s not a healthy thing to do and that he should just give up on trying to impress you. It’s been years, and yet, here we are again. So I’m telling you this directly, so that hopefully you’ll be the one to end this before it gets out of hand.”

“Right,” I say, numbed.

“I don’t want a repeat of that fucking fist fight of our fifth year. You never apologised for that!”

I punched Simon in the face when he wouldn’t leave me alone to figure out my feelings. Of course he punched back.

“I will,” I say.

Penelope snorts in disbelief.  

“No, you won’t. You know what you’ll do? You’ll stay the fuck away from him, so that Simon won’t have a reason to act like this.”

Right.

Yes.

I should… do that.

As much as I hate to admit it, it makes sense. Simon’s always been great with holding grudges, especially when it comes to me. He is always suspicious of me, even now. He’s doing the same thing again, trying to get closer to me only to keep an eye on me. This time, he’s just using a different guise. It’s clever, but it hurts.

Of course Simon doesn’t easily forgive and forget out rivalry at school.

“Shep, I got you the peanut butter one,” Simon says cheerfully. He’s holding two muffins, but he frowns when he sees us. “Everything alright?”

“Yes,” I say quickly, “But I have to run. Salisbury, Bunce, it was nice seeing you again-” Penelope laughs bitterly. She doesn’t even hide her distaste, unlike Simon. “-and Shepard, nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too,” Shepard says awkwardly. Simon frowns.

“Yeah. Bye.” I grab my coat and my bag and practically run out of the coffee shop.

When I’m finally home, I realise I left my sketchpad on that table.

--

Penelope, Shepard and Simon are gone when I get back to the coffee shop.

So is my sketchpad.

I have to focus very hard on not cursing loudly in public. And who knows, maybe I am wrong. I walk towards the counter and I ask if someone’s found a lost item, but the barista apologetically tells me no.

“No sketchpad?” I ask, just to be sure.

“No, sorry. Nothing’s here.”

I think I am staring into nothingness out of shock, because the barista is talking to me, but I cannot hear a word. I just nod, hoping that it makes sense to nod, and then I walk away in silence. I should’ve put my address or phone number in that sketchpad, but no, I am an idiot.

I don’t know what’s worse: Simon finding my sketchpad, or a complete stranger else finding my sketchpad.

Wait, no. I definitely know the answer.

Simon finding my sketchpad. That’s worse. I’d rather have all my drawings go missing, than have Simon see my many drawings of him. Especially since I added comments about his body! (Good ones. Nice ones. It’s mortifying.)

I don’t know what to do. I can’t call him or anything. All I can do is hope that he stalks me again.

--

Of course, he stalks me again.

He’s standing in front of my classroom and I my stomach drops when I see that he’s holding my sketchpad. He’s looking around and when he sees me, he smiles.

Penelope’s words ring in my head.

It’s all a lie.

“Finally!” he says when I approach.

“Finally?”

“I’ve been here for two hours or so,” Simon sighs, “I don’t know your schedule and your teacher didn’t want to give it to me, which is actually super fair, so I’ve just been waiting for you here.”

“That’s insane, Salisbury. You could’ve just handed my sketchpad to my teacher.”

Simon’s smile drops.

“Not that I’m not grateful,” I quicky add, “I am very, very grateful that you’re so thoughtful.”

Simon nods.

“No, you’re right. It definitely would’ve saved me two hours of my day,” he says with a laugh. He holds out my sketchpad. “Here.”

“Thanks,” I take it.

“You need it for class.”

“Yeah.” That’s not true. I have more sketchpads, including one for this particular class, since I will have to hand it in at the end of the course. Simon obviously didn’t know. It’s very nice of him to think so, though. He really wanted to give it back to me so that I wouldn’t get in trouble.

Or so I hope. Maybe this is also an act.

“Bye then.”

“Bye,” I say back.

I try to move past him, but he must’ve changed his mind, because he stops me before I can enter the classroom.

“Wait, I need to, uh, confess something,” he says.

I tilt my head in fake confusion. I think I know what he’s about to say. I’ve had a day to think about Penelope’s words and I am going to follow her advice by no longer seeking Simon out, but if Simon admits to it, then we can try to figure something out together.

(It’s pathetic how badly I want that.)

So I wait for him to tell me his version of Penelope’s story.

But he surprises me.

“I saw your drawings,” Simon blurts out, “Of, uh, me.”

Oh.

“Sorry,” I instinctively say.

“Don’t be. They’re really good. I should be sorry that I went through your stuff, but I swear it was an accident! I, uh, dropped your sketchpad and it opened on one of your drawings of me and curiosity got the best of me. I didn’t expect to see all those drawings from my poses of a database.”

Simon gives me a knowing look. He knows I paid to see his work.

I can be embarrassed about it, but again, it’s all fine. It’s all professional. It’s art, and Simon’s great at his work.

“You’re a really good model,” I say, making sure that I sound dead serious. He is. Then I decide to be bold and add: “You don’t have to, like, prove anything to anyone.”

Simon’s eyes widen. I wonder if he caught up on what I’m referring to. It might be easier to just tell him that Penelope told me the truth, but I am taking the opportunity to talk a bit longer before I let him go.

“You think so?” Simon sounds surprised. An easy smile forms on his face.

I hold out my sketchpad.

“You’ve seen it for yourself. You’re amazing, Simon. Your poses are so versatile. There are classic art poses and action poses. Your poses are amazing when you’re standing or sitting or even lying down. Your body is amazing and you can easily visualise the gesture lines. When you use props, you are great at using them in your poses without the props pulling the focus of your body. You’re gorgeous.”

I cut myself off. I didn’t mean to add that last part.

Simon’s not looking at me anymore. He’s looking at my outstretched hand with my sketchpad.

I should leave. Class is about to start. Today’s model is already getting ready.

“This is the moment where I should say something really profound,” Simon says, still looking at my sketchpad, “But all I can think of is, you know, thank you for making my tits look nice in your drawings.”

I bark out a laugh.

“You��re welcome, Snow,” I manage to say through my laughs.

“But, uhm, thanks for saying that. I sometimes get such weird reactions when I tell them I’m a naked art model, so it’s nice to hear that I’m doing a great job.”

“You are,” I say.

He finally looks back to me and he has a smile on his face. I think it’s genuine. It makes me smile as well. The two of us are standing in the doorway, smiling like mad. Simon’s about to say something, but then my teacher cuts in.

“Mr. Pitch, are you going to stand here all day or are you going to attend today’s lesson?” my teacher says, but he has an amused look on his face. Then he turns to Simon. “And Snow, what a surprise.”

“Just checking in, sir,” Simon says politely.

“And checking in with one of my most promising students, I see,” my teacher says proudly. Both my teacher and Simon look at me and I try not to squirm. I am not fond of this unexpected attention. (Although my ego loves the praise.) (I just didn’t need Simon to be here.). “I gave him the link to your work for that database.”

“I’ve noticed that he has access,” Simon says and I hold back an uneasy grin. I never wanted Simon to know. “He’s really good.”

“So are you,” I tell him again.

“A match made in heaven, I see!” the teacher jokes and Simon and I look at each other, only to both quickly look away. The teacher doesn’t notice and we say goodbye to Simon. Then it’s time for class to start.

I try to draw today’s model, but my mind is occupied. I think Simon and I have come to an agreement after all these years. Our past is fully behind us. Simon might’ve tried to mess with me again, but now that he’s seen my drawings, he hopefully knows he doesn’t have to.

And I feel weirdly sad about it.

I know I’ve always antagonised Simon to get his attention and after school I missed him. I missed making him notice me. And then I moved on. And then he shows up again.

And then he leaves again. This time, there seems to be some sort of resolution, which means that this is probably the end of whatever the fuck we’ve had going on since we were eleven. Should I have given him a more proper goodbye?

By the end of the session, I’ve barely drawn more than some stick figures. It’s a shame, because today’s model had some great poses. I close my sketchpad before my proud teacher can see my lacklustre work and I rush out of the room.

--

Turns out that all the dramatics were for naught, because Simon is once again standing in front of the door to the classroom.

“Déjà vu, Salisbury. Are you sure you’re not stalking?” I joke in order to hide my surprise and also excitement.

“Yeah, I don’t have your number, so this will have to do,” Simon says and he rubs his neck, which is a classic Nervous Salisbury action. I raise an eyebrow.

“Alright.”

“Look. I really need to talk to you.”

I look around. Other students are already getting ready.

“Salisbury, can it wait?” I ask.

He seems taken aback.

“Oh, uh, sure.”

And… disappointed?

I nod towards the classroom. “It’s just that I have class. And it sounds kinda serious. Are you okay with waiting for an hour?”

“Right,” Simon looks at the other students as if they just appeared out of thin air, “Class. Obviously. I hadn’t thought of that. Stupid.”

“You’re not stupid,” I automatically say, thinking back to our first big talk.

Simon gives me a small smile. “Thanks, man. But yeah, I’ll wait.”

For a second day in a row, my drawings are shit because my mind is fully occupied by Simon Salisbury. Simon sounded so serious, it bothers me. What business is left? Yesterday, we wrapped it all up and tied it together with a nice bow, and now Simon needs to talk to me? I try to banish every thought of Simon and focus purely on Kristine. (I mean, she came back, and I don’t care enough! That’s shameful!)

When class is finally over, I basically run out of the door. I’m shoving my stuff inside my bag as I walk. Simon’s waiting and he’s holding two takeaway cups. He holds one out to me when he sees me.

“I hope you still like caramelised pear flavoured tea,” he says, “Can’t believe they had that flavour.”

“Another perk of this school,” I joke, “I can’t believe you remember.”

“We roomed together for seven years, Baz. Your side of the room always smelled like caramelised pear and salt and vinegar crisps. Honestly not the best combination.”

I thank him for the tea, especially when he insists that I don’t have to pay him back, and we walk back to the spot we had our first big talk. It’s a bit awkward. Simon’s clearly nervous about something and I am still processing the fact that he’s once again here, beside me. We sit down and Simon’s staring into thin air. He’s not even getting food, so should I be worried?

I touch his arm and he startles. I quickly pull my hand away.

“Sorry. Just thinking.”

“That’s new,” I say and I regret it immediately. I think it’s just the nerves of not knowing what the fuck is happening, which is bringing me back to the snide jabs. I turn to apologise, but to my surprise, he barks out a laugh.

“I know right,” he says, as if we’re sharing an inside joke. This entire situation gets weirder and weirder.

“What do you want to talk about?”

Simon lets out a long sigh. He looks at me with a serious look on his face. “Penny told me that she’s… told you.”

“Told what?”

I feign ignorance. I just need him to say it for himself. It’s not that I don’t believe Penelope, but I need to hear the confirmation from him. I need him to admit that he’s messing with me.

Simon looks uncomfortable. He probably doesn’t want to spell it out.

I give him time.

“You know,” he says awkwardly, “The… thing.”

“The thing?”

“Yeah.”

“Salisbury, I don’t want to have to say it, but use your words, please.”

Simon shoots me a quick, nasty look but then he pouts and says: “The fact that I act like we’re good only so that I can rub it in your face that I am thriving despite what you and your people used to say. There. I said it. I used my words.”

He’s still looking at me, and he looks both annoyed and embarrassed.

“It’s not- we don’t… ah fuck.” Simon groans and rubs his temple. He lets out a shaky laugh. I don’t like this new vibe. “Penny is right, as usual.”

I stop myself from repeating the dreaded ‘use your words’ and instead I take a sip of my tea. I wait for him to find the words. Simon’s never been good with words and it’s one of the many things I used against him at Watford until Penelope Bunce came up to me in our sixth year to tell me that I am a disgusting piece of shit for doing so, since he just never had anyone to speak to for the first eleven years of his life.

Penelope Bunce never spilled the secrets about Simon’s past, except for that moment. I really ticked her off. (Penelope Bunce still hates me. I gave her enough reasons to do so.)

Simon opens his mouth several times to talk, but it takes a while.

“Sorry, I’m not good with admitting that I was wrong,” he says eventually.

“Me neither,” I say.

“Yeah, but you managed to do so,” Simon says bitterly, “You told me you were no longer like your family and I didn’t believe you.”

“You had no reason to. I had quite the reputation of being a dick.”

Simon ignores me and continues his talk. Maybe I shouldn’t have interrupted his flow.

“So I decided to prove to you once and for all that I am having a great fucking life, because after all, my sheer existence seemed to piss you and your people off. I was going to be so fucking decent to you, showing off my success and my achievements. I was going to kill you with kindness.”

He’s threatened to kill me a lot during school, but never with kindness. Fuck, it shouldn’t make me feel this way, but it does. Simon’s never good with talking, but he’s good at words. Once he starts, he is on a roll.

“But then I saw your sketchpad and the things you said to me yesterday… you were never bullshitting me. I should’ve left it after our first talk. My own cynicism wanted to believe you were still plotting my downfall, but your drawings showed me the opposite. You already believed I’m doing a great job. Why else would you go out of your way to find more of my work?”

Because I’m deranged and in love with you and I saw an opportunity to see more of you, I think to myself. I don’t say it out loud because I don’t want to interrupt Simon, but also for obvious reasons.

“And, as Penny said, even if you were seething at my existence from a distance, why should I care? We’re no longer in school. We’re no longer roommates. We don’t owe each other shit. It’s not like we’re friends or anything.”

I nod. I wait for Simon to say more, but after a few seconds I realise he’s done. He sees me staring.

“So, that’s that,” he adds lamely.

“That’s that,” I repeat.

“I mean, I know I just said we don’t owe each other shit, but I just wanted you to know this. I’m sorry. It was actually quite nice to not be hateful towards you for once, even though my intentions were… questionable.”

A warm feelings wells up in me. Simon liked being kind to me, even though he was only trying to kill me with it? I never thought I’d see the day!

I smile, even though I try not to. Simon notices and he raises an eyebrow.

“I liked it too. I liked being nice to you,” I tell him.

Old habits die hard, because Simon looks like he has a hard time believing me and I still don’t blame him.

“You did?” he asks, sounding dumbfounded, “But you hate me. Or hated me.”

“I never hated you,” I say earnestly. If only he knows. The only feeling of hatred that I’ve experienced in relation to him is hating that I am in love with him. I wished I never realised it. Even now, it’s anguish to love him and for me to not act on it. “I was a kid parroting people I trusted. I think I did believe them once, but I never fully understood why I was supposed to hate you. Again, sorry for everything that happened back at school.”

“Thanks.”

We finish our teas in silence and I think that this is really it. Simon and I have said everything we’ve wanted to say to each other. I have a class to attend and Simon is modelling somewhere else. I had no clue Omaha is the place to be for art models, but apparently Shepard really knows everyone.

I throw our cups in the bin and we say our goodbyes, but I don’t feel like yesterday. Yesterday I was convinced that that was the end of Simon Salisbury being part of my life, but now I feel like we’ve started something new.

--

Well.

The universe is playing another fucking joke on me, because the semester’s ended and I haven’t seen Simon in three weeks. It’s painfully ironic, honestly. The moment I lament that I will never see him again, he shows up the day after. The moment I am hopeful that we might be able to start anew, he doesn’t come back.

Maybe I misinterpreted our last talk. Simon did speak about how we now no longer need to be part of each other’s lives. Everything’s been said. I just hoped that we could try to be friends, since we both admitted to liking each other’s company, but maybe that is just wistful thinking. Love makes you hopeful and in turn hope makes you stupid.

It’s our last figure drawing class and today’s model is incredibly talented and fit, but it just makes me accept that Simon probably has no reason to show up at this classroom ever again. If he’s not here for me, he’s here for his job, but that job is over.

I won’t stop figure drawing, though, that’s for sure. This class has definitely awoken something in me. Every time I am out and about and I see other people, I start drawing them in my head. I have ordered books on anatomy. I have obsessively drawn all the photos of Simon that are available, so I have branched out to other models on that website. Maybe I’ll look for another figure drawing club of sorts. (And maybe, just maybe I’ll run into Simon there.)

At the end of the session, all of us hand in our final sketchpads for grading and then I leave. A part of me still wishes that Simon were waiting outside the door, but of course that’s not true. I’m losing my fucking mind. Simon probably thinks I don’t want him to be around.

The moment I walk out of the classroom, I fish my mobile out of my pocket. I am done waiting. I think it’s time for me to be a bit more proactive. And I know I told Penelope I’d back off, but that was before Simon came clean and we talked about it. I want to be around him. (I want to be with him, but that’s another story.)

I waited. I don’t know why I keep expecting Simon to show up like he used to. Maybe I’ve gotten too used to Simon stalking me, seeking me out, waiting for me when I least expect it. But that’s in the past. It’s up to me now. It all starts with a simple thing: Google.

Simon Salisbury’s Instagram account immediately pops up, but it’s private. Snow’s Instagram on the other hand is not. His public profile is (unfortunately) safe for work to adhere to Instagram’s guidelines, but he has a linktree in his bio which leads to some contact information about his modelling work. I’m not here for professional business, but it’s all that I have and I’m relieved.

Do I send a follow request to his personal one, or will I just be upfront and immediately message him? And if I do, what will I say? It’s over for Simon. It’s done. Can I just barge in and go ‘hey, so, let’s be friends now that we admit to not wanting to kill the other’?

Maybe I should take a different approach.

I form a plan on my way home.

--

I send Simon’s professional e-mail account an e-mail, telling Simon that I’ve grown to absolutely love figure drawing, and I ask if he knows any clubs or courses or what not around Omaha. After all, I mention in my e-mail that he and Shepard are very in the know. If anyone in all of Omaha knows where to find other figure drawing enthusiasts, it’s him. (And Shepard, but alas.)

It’s short and cordial and very professional, so I won’t be absolutely crushed if he doesn’t reply. (That’s a lie.)

That evening, my mobile pings. I have a reply. I hope Simon doesn’t send e-mails like this to other professionals, because it’s nothing more than a time, a date, an address and the line ‘I will be here for a modelling gig for a free figure drawinf club’, including the typo.

I check my agenda and I am delighted to see that I have time.

The days leading up to the class, I’m anxious. It’s a free for all, but I did e-mail the club to ask if I was welcome. I am. This means I get to see Simon again. Maybe it’s a bit sad how much I am longing for this. Penelope told Simon that his obsession with me is unhealthy, but I wonder if she knows that this obsession is a two-way street.

I formulate a plan. I’m going to draw him and then I’m going to ask him for coffee. It’s not a date (since my life cannot be perfect), but maybe it’ll lead to us actually being friends. Every time I think about us being friends, a giddy laugh escapes my mouth. It’s dangerous to be so hopeful, but I am committed to being pro-active for once.

--

The day of the session is finally here. We’re with a group of seven and we’re all circled around Simon. He changes the direction of his poses every now and then, so that everyone can see multiple angles. I expected to be a bit more distracted by him, but I’ve seen him naked plenty of times by now, so I manage to get through it in one piece.

It’s honestly fun. I should come back next week.

After an hour, Simon puts on a robe and he checks out some of the drawings. When he’s looking at mine, he smiles.

“Tiddies!”

I snort.

“You have great tits, Snow, we’ve already established that.”

Simon leans closer and he lowers his voice. “At least you are dedicated to drawing my tiddies and other body fat. Some try to draw me like I’m one of those Hemsworth brothers. They’re fit, but they’re not me.”

“No worries, I will make sure your tits are always taken care of.”

Simon laughs and it sounds like music to my ears. It’s a genuine laugh. He’s about to move to the next person, but I put my hand on his arm to stop him.

“What are you doing after this?” I quickly ask.

“Asking me out on a date?” Simon teases, but I can feel my face turn hot. Simon notices and the big oaf immediately starts apologising. “Sorry, I didn’t- I wasn’t- I’m just joking! Sorry, didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“You didn’t,” I say. God, if only he knows. I can be bold and tell him that it could be a date, but Simon was clearly joking around and I don’t want to scare him off. “But there’s this nice coffee shop across the corner. I’m starving. Wanna come along?”

Simon nods eagerly. “Sure.”

Then he continues his lacklustre feedback, but everyone forgives him for it. I get my stuff and wait for him to get dressed. I talk to some others and it’s really cool to exchange some tips about drawing. It looks like some others have been figure drawing for years, so they have a lot to say.

“Ready?” Simon appears, fully clothed. He looks horrendous as usual.

I say goodbye to the others and Simon and I talk about this figure drawing club as we walk to the coffee shop. To no one’s surprise, Shepard knows the person who started it, and that’s how Simon started modelling there. It’s a free club, but you can donate, which helps paying the models.

“It looks great on my resume,” Simon shrugs, “And since my dad died, money isn’t really an issue. He had a huge inheritance. Still, please donate so that other models can get some extra dough.”

“Your dad?” I ask. I know that Simon’s an orphan and that he went back to care during summers. I used to give him shit for that too. I really was a terrible person.

“Yeah, long story short, but fucking David Cadwallader is my dad. I found out, like, a year ago.”

“Daft Davy is your fucking dad?” I exclaim, just when we enter the coffee shop. I turn some heads, but well, I know how to make an entrance. I hold open the door for Simon.

I do vaguely remember my parents mentioning that a long lost son was found, but back then I had already distanced myself from them and from what I got, the identity of the son was confidential. It must’ve driven my family mad. They would’ve loved the opportunity to continue their hatred even after David Cadwallader had died. (And that led to Simon losing the scholarship and him getting kicked out.)

“Yeah, I’ll tell you the full story one day,” Simon says. I suppress a smile. Is Simon planning on seeing me again?

We order and when we sit down, we go back to talking about mundane things. It’s actually quite nice.

But then Simon drops the bomb.

“Baz,” he asks at one point, “Why did you stop talking to your father?”

I suck in a breath. It isn’t that complicated, to be honest, but I don’t like to think about it. Despite all the shit that happened in my family, I loved my family, and sometimes I have to admit to myself that I miss them. I miss Daphne. I miss the girls. I miss Fiona, Dev, Marcus and holy shit even my father sometimes.

I sometimes wonder if they miss me. But if they do, do they really miss me or do they miss the perfect version of me that they tried to create?

“He wanted me to get married,” I say.

Simon frowns.

There’s another part to this story. Simon won’t like this.

“To Agatha Wellbelove.”

Simon’s frown deepens. Agatha Wellbelove is Simon’s ex and we both know it. He broke up with her when he found out that he had to leave school.

“Oh.”

“We started dating in our final year at school, but it wasn’t- we didn’t love each other. It was a power thing. My father and Mrs. Wellbelove apparently planned our futures behind our backs and we were too tired to fight them. We knew that we didn’t love each other, so it was a fake relationship to keep our families happy.”

“Dr. Wellbelove would never,” Simon mutters under his breath. I don’t think I’m supposed to hear it, so I don’t react. Instead, I talk more.

“But when the wedding plans started, I realised that my family was never going to ask me what I actually want in life. I had gone along with their plans my entire life, because why not, they were my family, but I had already started to doubt their ideas and when the marriage thing happened, I realised they would never fully care about the real me. Agatha agreed.”

“Do you… uh… still hear from her?” Simon asks.

I feel a stab of jealousy. Of course he wants to hear about his ex-girlfriend.

“Sometimes. We parted on good terms, and we liked each other enough to do this fake dating thing, but we were never friends. We did promise each other to invite each other on our actual weddings.”

“Is that in the cards for you?”

“If this is your way of asking if I’m single…”

Simon shrugs. “Gotta keep my Baz file up to date.”

I laugh. He also breaks a smile.

“No, no boyfriend, so no future husband.”

I wait for him to react to my simple coming out, but he nods as if I’ve just told him some mundane fact about the weather.

“Yeah, makes sense,” he says.

What makes sense? I want to ask him. Me being gay or the whole marriage thing leading to me distancing myself from the family? Or me being single? Or all of them?

Instead I ask: “And you? Any possible future wedding bells ringing? I need to know for my Simon file.”

Simon shakes his head and I have to school my expression because I don’t want to show him how euphoric this makes me feel, which is ridiculous, I know.

“Some people are really put off by the whole naked model thing,” Simon shrugs. I nod and take a sip from my drink. That’s a mistake, because I almost choke on my drink when Simon says: “My last boyfriend said that he didn’t want to share me, so I in turn told him that I didn’t want him to own me.”

I put my cup down and it becomes very difficult to not show my shock. I thought I was the one dropping the whole sexuality bomb, but of course, Simon needs to upstage me.

Simon either doesn’t notice or he doesn’t care about my shock, because he continues his small rant about how it’s ridiculous that people cannot place nudity in another context than a sexual one and about how modelling for art is such a non-sexual job and how he actually likes that there are clear boundaries between object and subject and I nod along while my mind is reeling.

“But that aside, one woman from the figure drawing club gave me her number and I might give her a call. Or not,” he finishes his story, “Did you like the club?”

We turn back to figure drawing, which is fine by me, because I don’t want to think about Simon calling the other woman. Figure drawing is a safe topic, although if I’d told past me that one day I’d talk with Simon about relationships as if we were friends, I wouldn’t have believed me.  

At one point, Simon’s mobile pings.

“Ah, Penny,” Simon says as he reads his screen, “I promised her I’d come over after work. I completely forgot to let her know that I’m running late. I should go.”

“Right.”

Simon’s getting up to leave and I decide to once again be bold and proactive, but he beats me to it.

“I should get your number,” he says before I can ask to see him again, “It makes it easier for me to answer any questions about gigs and what not.”

“Yes, I might have some questions about figure drawinf.”

“Don’t tease,” he says, but with a knowing smile. Look at us. We’re bantering. “Give me your phone.”

He puts his number in my phone under ‘Snow ❄’.

--

I don’t have any experience with being friends with Simon Salisbury, even though we’ve known each other since we were eleven. This newfound camaraderie that we’ve got going on is very low stakes and nice. Simon started texting me and I obviously don’t complain. At first it was all about drawinf (I can’t believe I have an inside joke with Simon Salisbury!), but we gradually moved on to other topics. It’s weird. I’m not used to this, but I am very happy.

I don’t think there’s an ulterior motive this time. All cards have been put on the table. I’m not plotting and neither is he. This is exactly what I had hoped for.

(Well, no, I had hoped for more than friendship, but I am not delusional and I’ll take what I can get.)

We talk a lot through text and sometimes we meet up. I even get invited to his place for a little party that he’s throwing. He’s invited a bunch of people and his tiny flat is packed. Penelope and Shepard are there too and Penelope gives me a platonic version of the shovel talk, but she’s also happy with the development.

“I still don’t understand why he talks to you, but I’d rather have you be genuine friends than the alternative. This time, Simon’s not being super unhealthy by trying to prove himself.”

“But you still hate me?”

Penelope scoffs. “Of course I do.”

I don’t mind. Besides, I spend most of the evening talking to Shepard, who’s an amateur storm chaser. It distracts me from the fact that Simon’s hanging around Stephanie, the woman from the figure drawing club. He’s invited her and she’s been chatting him up all evening. Out of the corner of my eye I can see Stephanie laugh at something that Simon’s said and she puts her hand on his shoulder.

“So, tell me more about this tornado outside of Omaha,” I say to Shepard. Shepard happily obliges. I can see Simon and Stephanie leave together.

“Has anyone seen Simon?” Penelope cuts in after a while.

“No,” Shepard and I say. (It’s not a lie. I don’t know where he’s gone.)

Penelope frowns. She gets up to look for him and I know I should probably stop her, because I saw him leaving with Stephanie, but I selfishly hope that Penelope will interrupt whatever might be happening, so I keep quiet and I tell Shepard to continue his monologue about the best ways to spot a tornado.

After Shepard’s very long and detailed monologue (I’m not complaining, it was genuinely fascinating), I go to the bathroom. To my surprise, I hear Penelope and Simon talking. They’re out of the flat and in the hallway of Simon’s building, so I cannot see him, but Penelope has her usual agonised tone in her voice.

“- fucking kidding me, Simon?” she says.

Simon mutters something.

“I am really angry at you right now! Don’t play with people like that.”

“I didn’t mean- look, I was genuinely- ah fuck.”

“What is going on with you, Simon,” Penelope says. There’s still an edge to her voice, but now she also sounds a bit concerned. “You have been acting a bit off since… Oh.”

“Don’t. Penny, you don’t unders-”

“I’m going to kill him!” And back to the anger.

“He didn’t do anything!” Simon says back. I really need to stop listening. I think I am intruding on something very personal. “He has nothing to do with this. I’m the one who just rejected Steph after leading her on.”

I really, really need to leave, although I must admit that it brings me joy to hear that Simon’s rejected Stephanie.

“… I suppose. I don’t see how he could have had any say in that,” Penelope relents, “It’s just a bit suspicious to me that your behaviour has been so different ever since you started becoming friends with him.”

I turn on my heel and I go back to the living room. My bathroom break will have to wait. I’ve definitely heard too much and I don’t want them to find out.

And also, I think they’re talking about me. I need to save whatever dignity I have left by walking away. My curiosity cannot be the best of me. Although, if they are talking about me, I do agree with Simon. I have no say in whatever happened between him and Stephanie. I don’t know why Penelope found the need to drag me into this, but it’s probably her general suspicion of me.

I go back to talking to Shepard and after ten minutes or so, Penelope and Simon rejoin the party. They aren’t acting strange, so no one knows that they just had a small row in the hallway. Someone does ask where Stephanie’s gone and Simon answers that she had to leave, and that’s that. Our eyes meet when he tells everyone that Stephanie won’t be back.

Maybe I am part of whatever is going on, albeit unknowingly and involuntarily.

--

Do I ask about Stephanie? Isn’t that what friends do?

I’m walking around campus and all I think about is Simon and Stephanie.

It’s been a week since the party and Simon hasn’t brought it up in our text conversations yet. He knows that I’ve noticed something. Why else would he look at me like that during the party? He knows that I saw the two of them leave.

I’m dancing around the topic, because on one hand I desperately want to know what the fuck happened, but on the other, I have no idea what to expect and that stresses me out. I am finally in a position where Simon and I are becoming friends and I don’t want to break that by breaking some unspoken friendship rule.

Stephanie also didn’t bring it up during the weekly figure drawing club meeting, but Stephanie and I barely speak and Simon wasn’t the model, so we had no reason to talk about it.

I even considered asking Penelope for more information, but I also don’t want to die. Maybe Shepard knows more? He’s cool.

Yeah, maybe Shepard is a nice middle ground. I pull out my mobile when I suddenly hear someone say my name.

“Baz!” I hear again. I must be delusional, because I’m pretty certain that’s Simon. He’s stopped coming to my classes to see me ever since we exchanged numbers. He no longer has to. I look over my shoulder and yes, that is Simon practically running towards me.

“Salisbury?” I turn around and he stops in front of me. He looks red in the face. He’s always been fit (both attractive wise and health wise), but he looks out of breath. How long has he been running?

“Fucking-a!” he heaves out.

“Salisbury, what are you doing here?” I ask, concerned.

“Had to find you!”

“You could’ve just called,” I say and I hold up my mobile. Shepard be damned. Simon is right here.

“Had to see you!” he corrects himself. He hangs his head and rests his hands on his knees. He looks exhausted. Where did he start running? “Fuck, I am already fucking this up, I should’ve brought roses or something.”

Roses? What the fuck.

I touch his shoulder so that he looks at me.

“Why did you have to see me? Is something wrong?”

Simon’s mentioned bringing roses. Of course my mind wanders to the most obvious thing, but I cannot indulge in that wistful thinking. In fact, I should ready myself for the impending disappointment.

Simon shakes his head and he lets out a sigh. He closes his eyes and it looks like he’s bracing himself.

“Simon?”

He still has his eyes closed, but I still move us from the path, since we’re blocking it. He opens his eyes at the sudden movement. His eyes fall on my hand on his shoulder.

“Uh…”

“Sorry,” I say and I move my hand, but he stops me.

“I needed to see you,” Simon says. His hand is still on mine. “I needed to- fuck- I am- I have to- I want-”

He’s a flailing mess. He’s spluttering more than usual. He also doesn’t let go of my hand, even though I try to pull my hand back out of embarrassment.  

“Simon…”

Then he does let go of my hand, but only so that he can grab my face. My heart is beating fast in my chest. I have no idea what is going on, but I am starting to get the gist of it.

This can’t be real.

“Fuck it,” Simon mutters.

And then he kisses me.

--

We kept kissing until we almost couldn’t breathe.

And until some other art students told us to get a room. We had strayed from the path, but we were still kissing on campus and we attracted a lot of attention. Some students whooped and whistled and we’ve heard a “Go get him!” and other words of encouragement.

Simon’s face looked flustered when he finally stopped kissing me and I opened my eyes. I am certain I looked similar to him.

And then he said: “We should… talk. About this.”

That’s why we’re now back at our spot outside of the canteen. I got us some tea and a muffin. For a second I wonder if I should be nervous, but Simon’s smile matches mine and the moment I sit down next to me, his hand is in mine again and he accepts the tea with a small kiss.

Am I dead? Is this heaven?

(I hope not. I like art school, but campus isn’t my idea of heaven.) (Fuck this, anywhere with Simon is my idea of heaven.)

Simon looks down to our linked hands.

“I… think I’ve wanted this for a long time.”

Yup, heaven. This must be it. I had never thought Simon would say those words to me.

“Me too.”

“How long?” he asks.

“Since our fifth year at school,” I answer and Simon looks at me with wide, surprised eyes. I grimace. “Yes, Salisbury, that’s a long time.”

“Well, you never said!”

I laugh at that and luckily Simon joins in when he realises how absurd he sounds. There are multiple reasons why I never told Simon during our fifth year or after, and he knows.

Simon’s laughter dies out and a small frown forms on his face.

“I don’t really know how long I’ve wanted this,” he admits and he looks a bit embarrassed to say that. I rub my thumb over his. I have the feeling Simon’s trying to tell me more, so I give him time to find his words.

I’ve waited for years. I can wait a little bit longer.

He lets go of my hand to have a better hold on his cup, but he does lean his head on my shoulder, as if he wants to keep touching me no matter what.

“It just hit me out of nowhere. The realisation that I like you. That I want you,” he slowly says, “Well, actually, Shepard’s the one who figured it out and he told me because he realised that I hadn’t figured it out.”

We both laugh. Shepard Bunce is truly remarkable.

“I was at Penny and Shepard’s flat, talking about this photoshoot that I’m doing for an art book, and I mentioned that you draw me very well and Shepard just let out an exasperated sigh and he asked me when I was going to ask you out on a date. And it’s just as if everything fell into place.”

“It did? You realised you’ve liked me for a while?”

“Well, Penny is the one who figured that out,” Simon says with a grin and I let out another laugh. There’s a lot of laughter. It’s nice. “God, what would I do without my friends? Am I really that dense, Baz?”

Really, where would he be without Penelope Bunce?

Then again, maybe I am also dense. It sounds like Penelope and Shepard could see that Simon liked me from miles away. I had no idea.

Or maybe I did and I didn’t want to believe that it was anything else than my wishful thinking. Our talks. Our meetings. Our newfound friendship. After all, why would Simon Salisbury of all people do these things to date me?

Except that he apparently did do these things for that reasons.

“You’re not that dense, Simon,” I tell him.

Simon doesn’t reply to that.

“Stephanie… I messed that up,” Simon says and I tense for a second. He notices since he’s lying against me. “Yeah. She asked me out and I thought I could just go our with her, have a fun time, and forget that you were there. Because it didn’t make sense back then. Why were all my thoughts about you? At my party, she tried to kiss me and I said I couldn’t do it. Because of you. Penny, of course, also figured that out before I did. You reminded me that I’ve been obsessed with you since we were teens.”

“All your thoughts were about me?” I ask, almost giddily. Simon, thinking about me?

“I could not not think about you. Not thinking about you was like not breathing or whatnot. You’ve been constantly on my mind,” Simon tells me, “You’re all I can ever think about. I constantly want to know what you’re doing, what you’re thinking, what you’re up to… it’s driving me insane. And I thought it was some leftover from my suspicion, but it’s not. Maybe it’s never been about that.”

“But you never trusted me at school.”

Simon nods.

“That’s true. And I probably did think you were a twat, but somewhere that changed. I needed you to notice me.”

“I did the same.”

I think back of all the times that I made sure Simon saw me smile, even if it was at his expense. I remember how my eyes would always scan the room to make sure Simon was watching. I am reminded of all the extravagant shit I did just to make sure that he would pay attention.

“After all, I don’t see you for fucking years and when I do, the first thing I think of is ‘I have to keep an eye of Baz immediately’. At least you moved on!”

“I didn’t,” I blurt out. I never moved on. Our years apart did put my feelings on the backburner, but they also immediately came back the moment I saw him. I just decided not to act on it, as usual. “I never could.”

I put my cup of tea down. Tea be damned. I take his face in my hands and I kiss him again. I laugh against his mouth when I realise he also tried out the caramelised tea flavour. He also puts his cup down and his hands are on my shoulders. I kiss him. And again. And again. Because I can do that now. Simon wants me.

“I’ve always loved you,” I say and I press our foreheads together.

“You should’ve said earlier,” he says back with a grin, “I wish I’d known earlier.”

He puts one of his hands on mine.

“Better late than never,” I say.

He hums in agreement. His hand moves to my neck and he pushes me closer for another kiss.

--

We’re acting like a bunch of hormonal teenagers, but I don’t care. We’re high on energy and love. The moment we get to my flat and I close the door behind us, I press him against it and he laughs.

Again, there’s so much laughter.

Is this what love is like? Endless exuberant laughter? I revel in the sound of his joy.

He tries to kiss me, but I take his hand and I lead him to my room. I know it’s the first time he’s at my flat, but he can get a tour another time. I’ve been thinking about inviting him over, but I didn’t expect to take him to my room on the first visit. I also didn’t expect him to kiss me, but I can’t complain.

Simon’s always been the strongest out of the two of us, so it doesn’t surprise me when he throws me on the bed and he’s on top of me. I don’t know when he got rid of his hoodie, but I don’t care. He kisses me and I tangle my hand through his hair.

He reaches for my belt and I try to get rid of my blouse, which is very difficult when someone’s kissing you.

Suddenly, he rolls off of me. I blink a couple of times as my mind is trying to catch up with this sudden change. I turn my head to face him and I frown. Did I misinterpret this?

But Simon doesn’t seem upset. It’s quite the opposite.

Simon’s laughing uncontrollably. I lean on my elbow and I give him an incredulous look.

“What’s so funny, Salisbury?”

“I really think you should call me Simon when we’re about to-” and then he starts wheezing again. I still don’t know what’s so funny, but the utter joy on his face makes me laugh too. He drags his hands over his face and he keeps laughing.

“Alright, what’s so funny, Simon?”

“It’s just- I get to see you naked,” he says through his laughs, “I get to see you naked. And I was, like, ‘oh my God, he’s so gorgeous, will he like what he sees me?’ and then I realise you have seen me naked plenty of times! You have an entire database of me posing while naked.”

My smile widens. It is pretty funny. There’s no need for us to be awkward about it.

“Like, aside from my tits, you even made my dick look nice in my drawings. I know you’ve seen me.”

I laugh too. I have spent a lot of time looking at Simon. I have already memorised his body and we’ve only been together for maybe an hour.

“True, but I didn’t get to do this,” I say and touch his chest. You never touch the figure drawing models, that’s a rule. But Simon’s not here as a model now, he’s here as my boyfriend. (Possibly? Hopefully? I mean, we’re being extremely homosexual together right now.). “I told you I’d always take good care of your tits, Salisbury.”

“True,” Simon agrees and he puts his hands over my hand on his chest, “This is new. You can have me. All of me. So get on with it.”

Get on with it. Typical Simon. I’m about to touch every inch of his body and he says something like that.

“Come on, then!” Simon says to rile me up.

I lean down to kiss him to shut him up.

--

Simon’s lying on his stomach. I rub his shoulder blade. He has his eyes closed, but I know he’s awake.

He looks gorgeous. The sunlight from outside my window bounces of his skin. My sheets are draped over his legs.

I can’t help it. I reach for a pencil and a sketchpad that are on my desk. Simon opens one eyes when he notices the movement.

“No, stay still,” I say when it looks like he’s about to flip on his side. Simon obliges. “Perfect.”

I start to draw.

--

I’m standing in my living room, butt naked. Well, I have one sheet of fabric draped over my shoulders, but apart from that, I’m totally naked. There’s a light shining brightly and I squint my eyes when it shines in my eyes.

“Sorry!” Simon says as he readjusts the lightning, “I’m never on this side of the process.”

“I could say the same, Salisbury.”

“Snow, please,” Simon says with a mock professional tone in his voice, “When we’re drawinf, it’s Snow. You know that. Although this isn’t a job, so…”

“I have yet to hear that story, Simon,” I say. No Snow for today. Besides, he’s not the one modelling this time.

I really want to know why he chose that name as his modelling name. I want to know everything about him in the years we spent apart. We’ve already filled in a lot of the gaps, but there’s more and the fact that I can ask him and he will tell me makes me feel giddy all over.

Simon finally put the lamp in a right angle and he takes a seat on my sofa. I told him that drawing on a sofa might do his back in, but he keeps insisting that this is the best view.

He flips open one of my many sketchpads and he puts a pencil on the paper. That’s my cue to pose. I twist my upper body slightly and I raise one hand above my head. The other one touches my upper leg. I have never modelled before, but after watching a lot of naked people do this, I can come up with a somewhat decent pose. Simon’s the expert and he doesn’t correct me.

“Okay, I didn’t think this through,” Simon says as he stares at the sketchpad, “How do you even start?”

“Just draw what you see.”

“Right,” his eyes are on me.

“Uhm, Simon, how long do I have to pose?” I ask. I can already feel some discomfort. My body is not used to twisting like this. Guess I didn’t think this through either.

“5 minutes at least,” Simon says and he stares at me. His eyes go up and down and I try not to blush. I’m already flailing in front of my boyfriend of a week, and he’s seen me naked before in these past few days. How does Simon do this in front of strangers?

Simon’s also barely holding it together. His mouth is slightly agape and he keeps looking at me with wide, amazed eyes.

“Well, then get drawing!” I say.

“Oh, right!” Simon says and he also turns a bit red.

It’s completely silent except for the sound of Simon’s pencil scratching the paper. I try to be as professional as possible, since I know that there’s nothing inherently sexual about figure drawing, but that’s of course in a different context. Now it’s my boyfriend drawing me, looking at me intensely.

“Simon… how much longer?” I ask after a while. I’m certain that those five minutes have passed.

Simon quickly checks his phone. “Two more minutes, babe.”

Two more? It already feels like hours have passed. I really am not used to this.

Simon chuckles when he sees the slightly miffed look on my face. He’s clearly enjoying this.

“I’ll reward you with kisses,” he says as he continues drawing.

When Simon’s alarm on his mobile finally goes off, I let out a sigh of relief and I let my entire body relax. I roll my shoulders and my neck in order to let it loose. And to think that Simon sometimes poses for one hour straight.

I sit down next to Simon to see his work. When my eyes fall on the sketchpad, I do a double take. I know I am also not the most experienced drawing, but Simon’s drawing of me is nothing more than a few gestural lines and a smiley face. At least he got my hair somewhat right. Did he really spent all this time on that?

“This is why I’m the artist, and you’re the model,” I say with a grin.

“Look, I got a bit distracted…” Simon says, but he also doesn’t sound sorry. In fact, he has a matching grin on his face.

I kiss his temple.

“It’s lovely. This will do.”

Simon adds his initials and the date and I then take the sketchpad from Simon. I carefully rip out the sheet of paper with his drawing. The two of us walk to my dining table. Two frames are lying on it. One of them hold the sheet of paper with my first drawings of Simon, the ones I made when he first arrived at my class. The other one is still empty, but it’s reserved for this one.

I put it in the frame. I cannot hang these in my lounge, because I don’t think visitors will appreciate our naked bodies on the wall, but I don’t mind. They’ll look good in my room. They’re only for me and Simon to see.

“Your first drawing of me,” I say.

“You make it sound like this will be a regular occurrence,” Simon says.

I shake my head. “Oh fuck no, I’ll leave the modelling to you.”

“And I’ll leave the artistic shit to you,” he agrees. He wraps his arms around my waist and he presses a kiss on the back of my neck. “But it’s still nice to have them next to each other.”

I hum in agreement. I put the two frames upright on the table so that we can have a better look (I’ll put them on the wall tomorrow) and we look at my drawings of Simon. They’re a bit messy and I missed the very first pose, because I was so up in arms about the fact that Simon fucking Salisbury was in front of me and now, a couple of weeks later, I’m in his arms and I’ve drawn him a countless amount of times.

“I love you,” I say.

“I love you too.”

“Now, get undressed so that I can draw you. The best part of dating an model is that I have access to so many more poses.”

“Oh so that’s what it is all about, huh!” Simon jokes as he takes off his shirt. To this day I still cannot believe that I get to see him like this.

I hum.

“Well, it’s an added bonus,” I say. We move back to the lounge and I take the sketchpad that Simon’s left on the sofa. Simon then lies down on that sofa, naked and ready to be drawn.

“Draw me like one of your French boys, Baz!”

I snort. Who needs French boys when I have Simon? I put my pencil on the paper, I look over to Simon who’s already flexing his upper body, and I start to draw.

#simon snow series #carry on #snowbaz #holy fuck I wrote #2022 #oneshot

[amuelia]

How do you think Roose will meet his demise? Or will he survive? What's your best Roose end game predictions?

Thank you for the question! This will be a long post under the readmore, going into my thoughts on the show ending and exploring what the books may have set up in regards to themes and characterization, as well as a bit of general analysis of Roose' story arc in a Dance with Dragons (and some speculation about Ramsay as well).

If you click on the readmore i will have divided the post into sections with bolded Headers, if you want to only read my specific endgame ideas you can skip ahead to the "His Endgame?" section.

In The Show

The show had him get killed by Ramsay in s6, which informs a lot of the fandom speculation about this storyline.

I am not a fan of the show's scenario as it was both similar to tywin and tyrion as well as a mirror of robb's death; it would also be offscreen in the books since neither of the characters are PoVs and Ramsay would need to do the act in secret. This would ultimately undercut Roose' role and impact, being a death scene that is not very unique and also isn't shown to the reader directly. Since no PoV is even in Winterfell currently, we would just hear of it from afar and not witness the consequences.

The show also has a different dynamic in the Bolton storyline, emphasizing Ramsay as the "main character" of this arc, and elevating him to the main villain for s5-6 to fill Joffrey's shoes as an evil character played by a very charismatic actor. Ramsay's show writing is informed by the needs of a TV setting that wants shocking moments and capitalizes on "fan favourite" actors; his rising importance in the show thus is not necessarily an indicator of his book importance. The show was also missing many central characters like the northern lords and the Frey men in Winterfell.

The show had a tendency to kill off characters early when they wanted to cull storylines or had no plans to adapt more of the character's story (like Stannis, Barristan, possibly the Tyrells...); In Mance Rayder we have the most obvious example, where they killed him off for real in a scene that in the book was a misdirection. We also have characters like Jorah where it appears the showrunners had their own choice of how they want his storyline to end, even if Grrm has his own ending in mind.

"For a long time we wanted Ser Jorah to be there at The Wall in the end," writer Dave Hill says. "The three coming out of the tunnel would be Jon and Jorah and Tormund. But [...] Jorah should have the noble death he craves defending the woman he loves." - Dave Hill for Entertainment Weekly

So a death in the show does not need to be an indicator that the books will feature an equivalent scene, even if it gives a hint as to what may happen. By s5 the show has become its own beast, and the butterfly effects from radical changes they made as well as the different characterizations results in the show having to cater to its own needs in many cases when it gets to resolving a plotline.

"We reconceived the role to make it worthy of the actor's talents." - Benioff and Weiss for the s5 DVD commentary, on Indira Varma's casting as Ellaria

In The Books

(Since this post was getting out of hand in length a lot of these arguments are a little shortened/not as in-depth as i'd like! Feel free to inquire more via ask if something is unclear or you disagree)

In the books i find it hard to make a concrete guess as to how it will end. Occam's razor would be to assume the show sort of got it right and that it will vaguely end the same, which could very well happen and i will not discount the possibility; Ramsay is cruel, desires the Dreadfort rule, and is a suspected kinslayer and has no qualms to commit immoral violence.

"Ramsay killed [his brother]. A sickness of the bowels, Maester Uthor says, but I say poison." - Reek III, aDwD

Reek saw the way Ramsay's mouth twisted, the spittle glistening between his lips. He feared he might leap the table with his dagger in his hand [to attack his father]. - Reek III, aDwD

Arguments against this or for a different endgame come down to interpretations of the themes in the story arc and opinions on dramatic structure/grrm's writing, and are thus very subjective.

The way the story currently is going, Ramsay killing Roose treats Roose almost as a plot device; his death brings no change or development to Ramsay's character as we already know his motivations and cruelty align with such an act, and we can assume that he would feel no remorse about it either. The results of such a scene would be firmly on a story level, as it brings political changes and moves the plot along into a specific direction. Roose himself cannot have any relevant character development about it as he does not have a PoV and we would not be able to witness his reaction from the outside.

“The only thing worth writing about is the human heart in conflict with itself.” - William Faulkner, often quoted by Grrm

Further, killing his father is very difficult to pull off in secret (Roose is frequently described as very cautious, and employs many guardsmen). And even if Ramsay pulls it off (people often interpret Ramsay as Roose' blind spot, assuming he might be caught by surprise, not expecting Ramsay would bite the hand that feeds him), Roose is the one that holds his entire alliance together; The Freys would be alienated by Ramsay who would antagonize Walda and her son as his rivals, The Ryswell bloc appears to dislike Ramsay (especially Barbrey), and the other northmen are implied to not even like Roose himself. Killing Roose would quickly combust the entire northern faction, and hinder Ramsay's further plans (another reason why I am not convinced of a book version of the "Battle of Bastards"). Though this might of course, if we look at it from the other side, be grrm's plan to quickly dissolve this plot and move the northern story forwards.

"Ramsay will kill [Walda's children], of course. [...] [She] will grieve to see them die, though." - Reek III, aDwD

"How many of our grudging friends do you imagine we'd retain if the truth were known? Only Lady Barbrey, whom you would turn into a pair of boots … inferior boots." - Reek III, aDwD

"Fear is what keeps a man alive in this world of treachery and deceit. Even here in Barrowton the crows are circling, waiting to feast upon our flesh. The Cerwyns and the Tallharts are not to be relied on, my fat friend Lord Wyman plots betrayal, and Whoresbane … the Umbers may seem simple, but they are not without a certain low cunning. Ramsay should fear them all, as I do." - Reek III, aDwD

Roose' death at Ramsay's hand also removes him thematically from the Red Wedding, as we can assume such a death might have happened regardless of his participation in the event (seeing as Ramsay is getting provoked by Roose constantly in normal dialogue, and has a general violent disposition). Roose already took Ramsay in before aGoT started, and married Walda very early in the war, which is already most of the buildup that the show's scenario had. It also has little to do with the The North Remembers plot except set dressing, since the northmen are presumably neither collaborating with/egging on Ramsay nor would they appreciate the development.

Themes: Ned Stark and the rule over the North

Roose is treated as a foil to Eddard; They are often contrasted in morals and ruling styles, while also having many superficial similarities that further connect them (they are seen as cold by people, grey eyed, patriarchs of rivalling northern houses, etc...).

Pale as morning mist, his eyes concealed more than they told. Jaime misliked those eyes. They reminded him of the day at King's Landing when Ned Stark had found him seated on the Iron Throne. - Jaime IV, aSoS

They both have a "bastard son" that they handle very differently; Roose treating Ramsay in the way that is seen as common in their society. Ramsay and Jon as a comparison are meant to show that Catelyn had a reason to see a bastard as a threat (since Domeric was antagonized by his bastard brother), but also shows that her suggested plan for Jon would not have stopped any danger either (as Ramsay being raised away from the castle didn't help).

And if his seed quickened, she expected he would see to the child's needs. He did more than that. The Starks were not like other men. Ned brought his bastard home with him, and called him "son" for all the north to see. - Catelyn II, aGoT

"Each year I sent the woman some piglets and chickens and a bag of stars, on the understanding that she was never to tell the boy who had fathered him. A peaceful land, a quiet people, that has always been my rule." - Reek III, aDwD

It appears to me that Roose' story functions in some ways as an inversion to Ned. He makes an attempt to grab a power he was not destined to (becoming warden of the north), where Ned did not want the responsiblity thrust upon him ("It was all meant for Brandon. [...] I never asked for this cup to pass to me." - Cat II, aGoT). Where Ned rules successfully and his northmen honor his legacy ("What do you think passes through their heads when they hear the new bride weeping? Valiant Ned's precious little girl." - The Turncloak, aDwD), the Boltons are largely hated and there are several plots conspiring against them ("Let me bathe in Bolton blood before I die." - The King's Prize, aDwD).

It seems possible to me that in terms of their family and legacy, Roose might also live through an inverted version of Ned's story; where Ned died first, leaving his family behind, Roose already lived to see the death of his wives and trueborn heir, and might thus also live to see Ramsay's death. Ned leaves behind well raised children and a North who still respects his name, and even though he dies it will presumably all be "in good hands" in the end (in broad strokes, obviously this is all much more morally complex). Roose however built up a bad and toxic legacy, and also built his way of life around evading consequences; it makes sense to me that he would be forced by the story to finally endure all the consequences of his actions and witness the fall of his house firsthand. After all we already have Tywin who fulfils the purpose of dying before his children while his legacy falls to ruins, and a Feast for Crows explores this aspect thoroughly.

Roose' arc in A Dance With Dragons

The story repeatedly builds up the situation unravelling around Roose, and him slowly losing a grip on it and becoming more stressed and anxious.

Reek wondered if Roose Bolton ever cried. If so, do the tears feel cold upon his cheeks? - Reek II, aDwD

Roose Bolton said nothing at all. But Theon Greyjoy saw a look in his pale eyes that he had never seen before—an uneasiness, even a hint of fear. [...] That night the new stable collapsed beneath the weight of the snow that had buried it. - a Ghost in Winterfell, aDwD

Lady Walda gave a shriek and clutched at her lord husband's arm. "Stop," Roose Bolton shouted. "Stop this madness." His own men rushed forward as the Manderlys vaulted over the benches to get at the Freys. - Theon I, aDwD

It also directly presents him as a parallel to Theon's rule in aCoK, who similarly experienced a very unpopular rule and his subjects slowly turning against him. Presumably, the point of this comparison will not just be "Ramsay comes in at the end and unexpectedly whacks them on the head". Both Theon and Roose invited Ramsay into their lives, giving him more power than he deserves, and causing Ramsay to make choices that increasingly alienate others from them (the death of the miller's boys for example has repercussions for both Theon and Roose). Grrm is likely steering this towards a difference in how they will deal with this situation.

It all seemed so familiar, like a mummer show that he had seen before. Only the mummers had changed. Roose Bolton was playing the part that Theon had played the last time round, and the dead men were playing the parts of Aggar, Gynir Rednose, and Gelmarr the Grim. Reek was there too, he remembered, but he was a different Reek, a Reek with bloody hands and lies dripping from his lips, sweet as honey. - a Ghost in Winterfell, aDwD

"Stark's little wolflings are dead," said Ramsay, sloshing some more ale into his cup, "and they'll stay dead. Let them show their ugly faces, and my girls will rip those wolves of theirs to pieces. The sooner they turn up, the sooner I kill them again." - The elder Bolton sighed. "Again? Surely you misspeak. You never slew Lord Eddard's sons, those two sweet boys we loved so well. That was Theon Turncloak's work, remember? How many of our grudging friends do you imagine we'd retain if the truth were known?" - Reek III, aDwD

Roose' arc is deeply connected to the relations he shares to the other northern lords, which has been heavily impacted by the Red Wedding. It stands to reason that they are going to be an important part of his downfall, and we see many hints of them plotting to betray him.

The north remembers, Lord Davos. The north remembers, and the mummer's farce is almost done. My son is home." - Davos IV, aDwD

Themes: Stannis and kinslaying

The books set up Roose and Stannis as foils as well; Both lack charisma and have trouble winnning the people's support, Stannis and Roose both parallel and contrast Ned, Stannis appears as a "lesser Robert" where Roose is a "lesser Ned", Stannis represents the fire where Roose represents the ice, both struggle over dominion in a land that doesnt particularly want either of them, etc... What i find interesting is how they are contrasted over kinslaying:

"Only Renly could vex me so with a piece of fruit. He brought his doom on himself with his treason, but I did love him, Davos. I know that now. I swear, I will go to my grave thinking of my brother's peach." - Davos II, aCoK

"I should've had the mother whipped and thrown her child down a well … but the babe did have my eyes." [...] "Now [Domeric's] bones lie beneath the Dreadfort with the bones of his brothers, who died still in the cradle, and I am left with Ramsay. Tell me, my lord … if the kinslayer is accursed, what is a father to do when one son slays another?" - Reek III, aCoK

Stannis is set up as someone who is very thorough and strict in following his own code and his "duty", even if he does not like what it forces him to do.

Stannis ground his teeth again. "I never asked for this crown. Gold is cold and heavy on the head, but so long as I am the king, I have a duty . . . If I must sacrifice one child to the flames to save a million from the dark . . . Sacrifice . . . is never easy, Davos. Or it is no true sacrifice. Tell him, my lady." - Davos IV, aSoS

The armorer considered that a moment. "Robert was the true steel. Stannis is pure iron, black and hard and strong, yes, but brittle, the way iron gets. He'll break before he bends." - Jon I, aCoK

Roose however is frequently characterized as someone who tries to get as much as he can while avoiding negative consequences, and who does not have a consistent moral code and instead bends rules to his benefit to be the most comfortable to him.

It is often theorized that Stannis will end up burning his daughter Shireen; the Ramsay issue might then serve to contrast the two men. If Grrm intends it to be compared by the reader, I can see it going two ways: Either Roose will be forced to finally act in a drastic way after avoiding his responsibility in regards to Ramsay and he will be forced to get rid of his son, making him break the only moral hurdle he has presented adhering to during the story (though analyzing his character, the kinslaying taboo is probably less a sign of moral fortitude and more him using the guise of morals to explain a selfish motivation). Or he might not act against Ramsay and suffer the consequences, presenting an interesting moral situation where some readers might consider his action "better" or more relatable than Stannis', breaking up the otherwise very black and white moral comparison between the two men. It serves as an interesting conflict of the morality of kinslaying compared to what readers might see as a moral obligation of getting rid of a monster such as Ramsay; contrasting Shireen whose death would not be seen as worth it by most. Ramsay as a bastard (who was almost killed at birth if he hadnt been able to prove his paternity) also makes for an interesting verbal parallel with the bastard Edric Storm, and might be used for a look at the utilitarian principle of killing a child (baby ramsay/edric) to save countless people from suffering that underpinned Edric's story.

"As Faulkner says, all of us have the capacity in us for great good and for great evil, for love but also for hate. I wanted to write those kinds of complex character in a fantasy, and not just have all the good people get together to fight the bad guy." - Grrm

"Robert, I ask you, what did we rise against Aerys Targaryen for, if not to put an end to the murder of children?" - Eddard VIII, aGoT

"If Joffrey should die . . . what is the life of one bastard boy against a kingdom?" - "Everything," said Davos, softly. - Davos V, aSoS

However Grrm decides to present these conflicts or which actions the characters will take in the end, it will result in interesting discussion and analysis for the readers.

His Endgame?

Looking at the trends of the past books, it is probably going to be hard to predict any specific outcome; every book introduces new characters and plot elements that were impossible to predict from the last book even if their thematic importance or setup was aptly foreshadowed.

Roose has a lot of plot importance and characterization that has, in my opinion, not yet been properly resolved in a way that would be unique and poignant to the specific purpose his character appears to fulfil. However I also have a bias in that i did not like the show's writing of that scene which makes me averse to see a version of it in the books, and i really like Roose as a character and want to see him have more scenes in the next book(s). This leads me to discount plot speculation that cuts his character arc short offscreen early. Roose is only a side character; however, i have trust in grrm's writing abilities and that he would give him a proper sendoff that feels satisfying to a fan of the character.

"…even the [characters] who are complete bastards, nasty, twisted, deeply flawed human beings with serious psychological problems… When I get inside their skin and look out through their eyes, I have to feel a certain — if not sympathy, certainly empathy for them. I have to try to perceive the world as they do, and that creates a certain amount of affection." — George Martin

Considering my earlier analyis, there is a case to be made for Roose killing Ramsay; however it appears grrm might have a different endgame in mind for Ramsay, foreshadowed in Chett's prologue:

There'd be no lord's life for the leechman's son, no keep to call his own, no wives nor crowns. Only a wildling's sword in his belly, and then an unmarked grave. The snow's taken it all from me . . . the bloody snow . . . - Chett, aSoS

I tend to think something might happen to Roose/the Bolton bloc later in the book that would cause Ramsay to attempt to flee the scene again like he did back in aCoK fleeing Rodrik's justice; perhaps Ramsay is sent out to battle but then flees it like a coward, or he sees his cause as lost. This time, the fleeing and potentially disguised Ramsay would not make it out to safety though, and get killed without being recognized as Ramsay, dying forgotten. This would serve as dramatic irony since Ramsay so strongly desired to be recognized and respected as a Lord of Bolton, without being too on the nose.

As for Roose, i could see him getting captured and somehow brought to justice (either when someone takes Winterfell or in some sort of battle). I see it unlikely that he will be backstabbed like Robb was, because it seems very "eye for an eye" and ultimately doesn't teach much of a lesson except "he had it coming"; But the various people conspiring against him could lead to his capture by betraying him (giving a payoff to the northern conspiracies and the red wedding). I would find a scene of him standing trial interesting since i believe we didn't have one of these for a true non-pov villain yet, and it would be an interesting confrontation that he cannot escape from (he also loves to talk so it would be a good read to see him make a case for himself).

I assume Roose will be out of the picture when the Other plot finally properly kicks into gear (whether dead or "in prison"). With Stannis as a false Azor Ahai and Roose as a false Other (with his pale, cold features), their struggle in the north seems to be a representation of the false "Game of Thrones" that distracts people from the "real threat" of the Others.

As always this is just my opinion, and it could all go very differently in the books! There could always be something that completely uproots my analysis and goes into a direction i did not expect from the material we had; But i have fate that Grrm as a writer will deliver and give me something i can be satisfied with.

#asks #asoiaf #asoiaf meta #roose bolton #valyrianscrolls #a song of ice and fire #not art #anonymous

[dancingintheraindreamingonday]

My loyalty can be bought - Chapter 7

Author’s note: The journey is almost over. Maybe two more chapters. Sometimes I want to write thousands of words but that would probably bore you. Thanks to everyone who reads my stories. It means the world to me. 

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6

„When was this picture taken?“ Bucky, Sam and Zemo, the golden trio, stand in Sharon Carter’s apartment looking at all her illegal paintings. But a certain framed picture got Bucky’s attention. On this picture was Sharon and you.  A cigarette was between your fingers and a bottle of Vodka was in the other hand. Your wedding ring wasn’t on your left ring-finger anymore. Instead you wore it as a necklace. You looked different. Your hair was darker than usual and you wore more make-up. If Bucky hadn’t memorize every feature of your body he wouldn’t have recognize you.

„Three years ago… I think… During that time (y/f/n) and I were pretty close but now not anymore. I think that’s a side effect when you are the vice-director of SHIELD. She doesn’t trust me anymore.“

Bucky didn’t know what shocked him most. You being vice-president of SHIELD or you not trusting Sharon anymore. After all, you and Sharon were really good friends. 

„She said my loyalty can be bought and that’s not a good character trait.“ Sharon continues talking as she pours herself a glas of whiskey.

Bucky jumps to his feet and pushes Sharon against the wall who drops the glas. „Bucky!“, Sam screams and stands right behind Bucky. „What the hell are you doing?“

„And did you sell your loyalty to the one who kidnapped (y/f/n)? Did you?“, Bucky shouts at her.

He knew it. Right from the beginning when they met Sharon after all those years. Something was off. She’s not innocent

Sharon doesn’t look at Bucky but instead at her mobile phone. Sam follows her gaze, unlocks the phone and finds a voice message of you just a day before the abduction: 

„Tell your little friends to stop following me. I don’t like being followed, Sharon. I know the identity of the power broker and I also know that SHIELD is infiltrated by HYDRA again. I’m neither blind nor naive. Why are you working with her, Sharon? I thought you hated Valentina. Why are you cooperating with her? I’m warning you. Leave them alone. Leave my family alone.“

The call ends. Your voice still hard and strong, echoing through Bucky’s mind. 

„Where the hell is she? If you want to live you better tell me.“

„She knew how this would end. (Y/f/n) played with fire and got burnt. You really think she’s still the same quirky and naive teenager who just lived for the love of a man. Wake up, Bucky. How do you think she got the job at SHIELD? You still trust her even thought she kept all the secrets.“ Sharon tries to free herself but Bucky’s grip is too strong. „Did she tell you that the first year of being a mother she wasn’t even with her child because of her depressions? She gave the kid to Tony and Pepper. Did you know that? Did she tell you how close she was with Clint Barton? Did she tell you about the huge argument she had with Steve and that they weren’t on speaking terms for 3 years? Did she tell you that she lived in Madripoor for months? And did she tell you that she was with Barton on their criminal missions? No, I bet not. She’s still acting like this weak woman around you but believe me. She’s not innocent.“ Sharon spats in Bucky’s face. 

„For the last time. Where is she?“ Not responding to Sharon's accusations.

„I’ll show you because she’s probably already dead. It was her or me and after all she was right about one thing: My loyalty can be bought.“ Sharon’s voice is filled with anger as she smiles at Bucky and Sam wickedly.

Sharon leads the way, a gun is pointed in her back. „If that’s a trap I’ll make sure you will regret the day you betrayed (y/f/n).“, Bucky whispers in her ear. 

After a while they walk into a dark building which is guarded with several soldiers with heavy guns. 

„They are with me. They wanna see the project.“

As they walk down the hall they see many doors with little windows. Bucky see other men and women in white hospital clothing laying on bed. 

„(Y/f/n) is our special guest. She’s in the last room.“

The last room has three more soldiers guarding the door. As they step aside and Bucky, Sharon, Sam and Zemo enter the room, Bucky’s heart drops. There you are. Unconscious and weak. Bucky pushes Sharon aside and walks directly to your bed. 

„Love?“, He caress your left cheek with his big hand. „Can you hear me? I need you to wake up. We have to get you out of here.“ He takes the syringe out of your arm and shakes you softly but you don’t respond. 

„I’ve brought them here as you wished.“, mumbles Sharon in her ear piece. 

The door opens again and soldiers run into the room to take their positions. „What a great day. Killing the winter soldier, the falcon and the vice-director of SHIELD. And this guy.“ A woman with black hair and big silver earrings walks into the room, looking from Bucky, to Sam, to you and to Zemo. „Good work, Carter. Well done.“, she pats Sharon on her shoulder. „You are Ms. De Fontaine. You were friends with Steve. How can you betray his legacy?“, Sam asks disgusted by her betrayal. „The world changes, Mr. Wilson. So does people and people’s goals.“ 

As Sharon and Valentina De Fontaine walk out of this room, Bucky and Sam, and even Zemo make themselves ready to fight. 

„Have fun, boys.“, Valentina chimes as the the door closed. 

15 soldiers versus 3 men. Bucky attacks first and then there was utter chaos. Punches, knife stabs and kicks. All you can hear are bones cracking, cries and thuds. Sam is pressed against the wall with no option to escape. „Any last words?“ , asks the soldier who points a gun at Sam. But before Sam could do anything the soldier collapses on the floor with a bullet in his left temple. Sam turns to his right. There is you. You lean against the wall with shaking legs. The gun is still in your hands as you whisper „Asshole“. While Sam and Zemo take the end of this fight as a small break to catch breath, Bucky rushes to you. He hugs you and kisses you dirty hair. „We need to get out of here.“ He grabs your hand as you all escape Madripoor. 

Later on the plane, Bucky looks at you intensively. „Why didn’t you tell me?“

You look at him confusion written on your face. „Tell you about what?“

„About everything. You and SHIELD; You and Steve and you and Barton. I didn’t know you were a couple.“ The last part hurts Bucky the most. He feels this green monster inside him roaring out of jealousy.

„Clint and I were never a couple. Maybe a couple of idiots and friends. But there was never more between us. Clint and I lost so much but we didn’t lose the love we had for those who we lost. At that time we were in so much pain and grieve. No, a romantic relationship was something both of us never wanted- not with each other or with anyone else.“, you reassure Bucky. He doesn’t show it but Bucky is relieved and happy. 

„There is still so much that I don’t know about you.“

„James, we broke up after you came back, remember? And people don’t really talk with their ex-partners.“

„Breaking up with you was the worst mistake I’ve ever made.“, whispers Bucky just for you to hear it. 

„It’s okay, James. I’m okay. We changed. We both did. You changed. I changed. Heck, our whole family and the whole universe changed. And love does the same too.“

„Mine didn’t.“, says Bucky. „My feelings for you never changed. I still love you.“

You smile at Bucky for a while, not reacting to his love confession immediately.

You lean your head against the cold window of the plane and close your eyes. You spoke so softly that Bucky almost missed it you say. „I’ll always love you.“

Chapter 8

Author’s note at the end: Sorry, for making Sharon kinda bad. I love the Sharon in the movies and I love the actress, so it’s definitely nothing personal. Did you notice how much my you-character changed? A few chapters ago in Bucharest she didn't notice that she and Bucky were being followed but now she's more aware of her surrounding. ;)

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#sebastian stan x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barns x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes feels #james barnes #james bucky barnes

[lordofthefarts]

eclipse lake - s2e9 - thoughts

I loved this episode for a lot of reasons, and especially because we got to see our lovely characters when Luz wasn’t with them. It’s so clear how they’ve all changed, and I’m glad we’re getting to know them as separate people. What I loved most was that we learned about Amity and Hunter both through how they interacted with each other. There was a specific moment that hit for me which I’ll get to.

Here, the big conflict for Amity and Hunter both is needing to prove that they are worthy of their existence. They both have a use, as they were raised to, and if they don’t have that use, then what good are they?

Let’s talk about Amity first. This season is all about Amity breaking free from what she was raised to do and be - she is just learning how to be her own person instead of the person her parents want her to be. We see this explicitly when she stands up to Odalia in Escaping Expulsion, and again when she dyes her hair pink/purple. She’s coming into her own, and she’s a little uncomfortable - if she’s not living for her parents, for their legacy and reputation, then who is she living for? And because she’s started going out with Luz, she feels this duty to prove her worth to her as her girlfriend. So she really wants to succeed because she wants to help Luz, but she also really wants this for herself, to feel worthy of a place in Luz’s life. While I loved the yearning and crushing content, I’m glad we’re getting to know her now.

We see the Emperor’s Coven at the Eclipse Lake mineshaft with all their cronies as well as their Abomatons. The Abomatons are quite literally soldiers created by her parents who now have been enlisted into the Emperor’s army. Earlier in season 1, we learn that the Emperor’s Coven is intended to be her future, what with Lilith being her mentor and all. She, too, was a soldier raised by her parents to eventually end up in the Emperor’s Coven, to be one of the Emperor’s pawns. We don’t really know where she stands what that anymore, but we can infer pretty easily she’s not really set on the Emperor’s Coven anymore, since it isn’t actually what she wants, but what she was taught to want. In this episode, she quite literally has to fight not only the Coven witches but the Abomatons as well - she’s fighting against everything she was taught to be. This act of helping Luz and attacking the Emperor’s Coven is a rebellion against her upbringing and her wanting to forge a new path for herself.

This brings us to Hunter, who had little to no choice in his upbringing. He was enlisted into the Emperor’s Coven and doesn’t really have the option to leave. We learned this in Hunting Palismen, and it’s implied that he wishes he had to option to forge his own future as well. This episode explicitly shows just how similar Amity and Hunter are - they didn’t get to figure out who they were, and they both feel this need to prove their worth at any and all times. Hunter faces the same calamity as Amity - he’s worried about losing his spot next to the Emperor, and fears that he’s not proved his worth, and as such, he needs to do something to prove he deserves the place he has.

I love seeing Amity and Hunter together because we see the different sides of childhood abuse. We see now that Amity is healing - she’s got friends in her life that love her for her, and who encourage her to find herself and will support her. We see that Hunter is struggling - he has nobody in the Emperor’s Coven who can genuinely support him, except for his little red cardinal (who I shall refer to as Rascal for now). Rascal is so important because Hunter is a powerless witch - Hunter doesn’t feel like Rascal should have chosen him, and should’ve chosen someone else, someone better. We see just how much Amity has grown from the way she treats Hunter - she is kind to him when they are at the empty Eclipse Lake, telling him about her own journey to find herself and about her support system. She has no reason to trust him, and yet we see that she is trying to be better, to be kind, just the way Luz is.

Hunter has his task set out for him - he needs to prove his worth to Emperor Belos, and therefore he needs to get Titan’s blood in order to do that. The idea of the support system is enticing - he wants it for himself, but right now, he feels this duty to Emperor Belos that he can’t disobey. It’s scary, leaving the comfort of familiarity, and he has nothing outside of the Coven and Belos (and now Rascal). That’s something for him to think on, but that’s a back burner thought. That’s when he sees the portal key.

The portal key. It’s around Amity’s neck the whole time - it’s filled with the Titan’s blood which is what they were after in the first place, and perhaps it’s the only remaining amount of Titan’s blood in the Boiling Isles. It’s clever that our crew only learn about the blood being in the key through Hunter - it’s a way to force them to interact, and a way to show off the dichotomy that is Amity and Hunter. Storytelling genius aside, what happens with the key and the blood is so, so important. Amity grabs the key, and it’s only when Hunter threatens Luz that Amity squeezes the key, breaking it. She’s a smart girl - she knew exactly what she was doing when she broke it. She knows she needs to give the blood to Hunter because she doesn’t want him coming after Luz and hurting her in any way, but there’s another layer to this: she understands Hunter’s situation better than anyone, and sympathizes. She doesn’t want him to get punished, because she understands the consequences and the shame of failing a task that was supposed to prove your worth. So she compromises - Luz needs the Titan’s blood to make the portal to get back home, but Hunter needs it too so he can live to see another day, to feel safe for a little while and make up for his past failure - she takes as much blood as she can in her glove, but she leaves some behind in the key for Hunter. While she was mostly giving him some of the blood so that he wouldn’t attack Luz, she was also doing it out of kindness and sympathy as well, which shows us just how much she’s grown since she’s met Luz.

And then we see the frames where Hunter looks at the broken key with blood dripping out of it. Now we as the audience know that Hunter knows and understands what Amity’s done. It’s true, she wasn’t willing to risk Luz’s safety, but she also could’ve absolutely destroyed Hunter if she wanted to. (This is a kids’ show so obviously that wouldn’t have happened, but she had him at knifepoint, and totally could’ve threatened him with his own demise.) Hunter seeing the broken key lets him know not only that Amity is incredibly smart and also that she won’t give up that easily. Even more importantly, he knows that even though they’re on opposite sides, she recognizes his humanity and personhood, and understands that he’s in a bad place and this can help him be safe. (They’re obviously not thinking long term. No one really knows what Belos is trying to do.) Her recognition of his personhood is likely going to be a step towards what I believe will be a growth arc of some kind, one where he breaks free from the Coven and learns to be his own self.

I’m excited to see how the rest of this will play out. We’re getting so much more depth on these characters, and I’m curious to see what story Dana Terrace wants to tell.

#long post #essay #the owl house #the owl house spoilers #the owl house season 2 #toh #toh spoilers #toh season 2 #the owl house season 2 episode 9 #eclipse lake #hunter #golden guard #amity blight #there's a lot more i loved about this episode