The waves lap gently against the shore. The slight breeze makes the unrelenting sun right above them a little more bearable.
Wille’s hair is still wet, the scent of the lake water clinging to it. His skin is cool, but not for long, because he knows Simon’s arm around him will warm it up in no time.
The rustle of the leaves, the birds chirping and Simon’s steady breaths are the only sounds disturbing the perfect quiet.
He knows they eventually have to get up and leave their little hiding place, but for now Wille lets himself enjoy the day.
Sorry I started sobbing uncontrollably when you expressed the slightest concern for my lack of human connection, and casually mentioned you think I deserve better than a life of isolation and loneliness. Super weird. Not sure what was up with that lol. You still think I’m cool and mysterious and sexy, right?
Drabble for week 29 of the weekly drabble challenge initiated by malinowaj💜
| 100 words | Prompt: lake | R: Gen | Tags: Post canon, Future fic, Reminiscing |
Summary: This is simply Wilmon, standing on the shoreline of a particular body of water.
Talking, taking in what has been, and what has recently happened.
“It’s not one though.”
“But it’s almost one, see how the land is hugging the water, there,” Wille pointed to the narrow strip of land. “It wants to hold it, to feel how its body moves over the surface, just like I -with you.”
Simon smiled and leaned back, it was impossible not to, Wille’s forearm under his fingertips, his breath over his ear. “It’s… heavy, to think about how we almost lost this -us- back then.”
“Almost…” Wille’s lips tickled. “We didn’t though - and we won’t.”
“I know -husband, we’ve signed papers, you’re stuck with me - and our almost-lake.”
Yall are on some bullshit because I lowkey keep seeing people talk bad about August and it’s pissing me off because you can literally like a characters complexity and story without defending his actions… like there’s genuinely NOTHING wrong with somebody calling august their favorite because it doesn’t necessarily mean they straight up dickride the whole character like ok Yall just get on My nerves ???? If sb fucks w august , you let them BE ? Like
no one asked for it, but i have another art inspired ficlet to share. because sometimes you have an actual visceral reaction to something you see and your brain turns it into this. (again, ignore typos and the total lack of editing)
819 words; post-canon, established relationship
…
Simon finds Wille standing in front of a frame hanging on the wall in the hallway. The bed was empty when he woke up and it took him longer than he’d like to admit to wander the corridors of the palace in search of his boyfriend. Now that Simon’s finally found him, Wille doesn’t seem to notice Simon approaching him, engrossed as he is in the picture he’s looking at.
When he reaches Wille, Simon wraps his arms around his middle and hooks his chin over his shoulder. For a second Wille tenses, but then his hands come to rest over Simon’s and he melts into the touch. Simon presses a kiss into the hinge of his jaw and then looks up, curious to find out what painting he’s so eagerly studying.
Only, when Simon fixes his eyes what is inside the frame, he’s met with a black glass-covered canvas reflecting back their image. There is no painting; there is nothing.
Simon can’t help but frown. “What are we looking at?” he asks, keeping his voice soft and low.
For a moment Wille doesn’t answer. Then he sighs and leans into Simon’s touch. “That’s where my portrait was supposed to go.”
Simon takes in the elaborate decorations and the sheer size of the gilded frame around nothing. He has several questions, but before he can decide which one to ask first, Wille speaks.
“There was supposed to be a portrait of the new crown prince, unveiled on my 18th birthday. It would’ve been displayed next to Erik’s,” he says quietly. Simon tightens his hold.
“Sometimes I come here to look at… this,” Wille continues, his eyes never leaving the blank dark canvas.
“What do you see? When you look at,” Simon nods towards the frame.
“I see different things on different days,” Wille says after a moment, “Some days I see the son who isn’t enough. The son who tried to do the right thing, but can never live up to Erik. Sometimes I see a boy who’s too much, who no one wants to deal with.”
Simon hears the vulnerability in his tone, how this must be something he hasn’t said out loud to anyone else, at least not in a long time.
“There are times when I see the person who did what he needed to do and who’s happy and trying and failing and who doesn’t know who he really is. Who tries to do what’s right and figure it all out but isn’t sure he’s succeeding,” Wille mumbles quietly, like he’s only now admitting this to himself. Simon brushes his nose along his jawline and pauses to leave a lingering kiss under his ear. He hears Wille sigh.
Simon moves to rest his chin on Wille’s shoulder again so he can see their reflection in the glass. He takes in the slightly distorted image of his boyfriend.
“Do you want to know what I see?” he asks.
Hesitating for a second, Wille nods, the movement small but clearly there.
“I see someone who’s brave. Someone who made a huge decision, knowing the impact it would have and stuck to it.”
Wille’s fingers intertwine with his and Simon squeezes them gently before continuing, “I see someone who’s impulsive and stubborn.” Wille huffs and Simon’s mouth curves into a smile. “Someone who would benefit thinking twice sometimes, but who only acts fast because he cares.”
In the glass, Simon can see the corners of Wille’s mouth start to tug upwards. “I see a boy who cares so much it sometimes hurts. I see a boy who loves so deeply and who’ll do everything for the people he loves. And I see someone who is so lucky to receive that love. I see someone who matters more than anything else in this world, someone I want to spend the rest of my life with.”
“The rest of your life?” Wille asks, a little breathlessly, pressing even closer to Simon.
Simon holds his gaze in the glass. “Yes. Because I see someone who is willing to make the effort and learn and share and understand and who has more courage than anyone else I know. And I want to see what becomes of you, I want see you see yourself here as someone who is loved and cherished and never too much and always enough as you are.”
Simon’s words are followed by a silence. Wille turns around in his hold, facing away from the empty frame. Simon can see the emotions swimming in his eyes, how Wille seems to be processing everything he just said.
“I want that too,” he finally says, resting his forehead against Simon’s.
“Good,” Simon replies and leans in to kiss him. “It’s what you deserve to see when you look at yourself.”
Next time Simon visits the palace the empty frame is gone from the wall, nothing indicating it ever was there.
sophie calle (french, b. 1953): what do you see? (2013)
when you think about it fanfiction is actually amazing
there are thousands of brilliantly written novel-length stories kids wrote from their own brains about characters and shows/books/movies they love all twined into the internet and other kids read these 50k+ stories in their own time and invest themselves in it
nobody’s being paid to write it and nobody’s being told to read it, people do it because they legitimately enjoy it
went to a museum and a painting (at the end of the post, sadly no details because i didn’t think i’d be posting it and need them) made me ask questions such as ”is there a fic where wilmon are art students and one of them poses in the nude?”. well, now there is this ficlet because writing this beat hate watching football. excuse typos and everything that doesn’t make sense, this isn’t edited or proofread and i hate writing on my phone.
so yeah, here’s 1.9K of simon doing some life drawing.
…
The class isn’t Simon’s favourite. Not because it’s late in the evening and there’s a stupid gap between the previous class and this. Not even because the teacher is strict and receiving any praise from her feels like winning the lottery. No, it’s because Simon finds life drawing boring. He’s seen more than enough portraits of white men society once upon a time deemed important on the museum walls and he can’t think of a single good reason to add more.
He’s doing the class only because he needed one more elective and the other option was something he had even less interest in. So, here he is, on yet another Wednesday evening, sitting at the front of the class waiting to draw whoever is standing, or sitting, or lying in front of them.
Simon sharpens his pencils, lining them up on the desk one after another. His drawing block is ready, a blank page waiting to be filled with sketches Simon knows he’ll never look at again once the class is over and he’s received his passing grade.
“Good evening, everyone,” the teacher says and the students mutter a half-hearted ‘good evening’ back to her.
“There’s a slight change for today’s class,” she then says, “the composition exercise will be moved later in the schedule and we’re starting with the nude drawing exercises now. Our model will be with us in just a moment.”
Simon hears a few people snicker and there’s a burst of excited chatter behind him. He rolls his eyes. It’s like some of the students around him have never seen a naked body before, Simon thinks as he listens to them, all excited about some boobs and a butt. Or maybe it’s just Simon being gay that the prospect of looking at a naked woman for hour and a half doesn’t stir any emotions in him. He picks up a pencil and twirls it between his fingers, wishing the class was already over.
The door by the side of the room opens and a person wearing what looks like a bathrobe walks in. Simon hears one person sigh and another gasp and lifts his head.
He finds himself looking at a man around his age. Simon doesn’t hear what the teacher says, but the man nods and drapes his robe over the chair by the small stage he’s supposed to stand on.
Next the man steps up on the stage, sits down and takes his first pose. It all looks so natural Simon wonders if the man does this often.
“For this first exercise I want you to focus on his lines. Do not get stuck on details, but draw a sketch where we can see the shape of his body,” the teacher instructs the class.
Simon sets his pencil down the on paper and takes in the man before him.
He’s good looking, Simon has to admit that. His skin is pale but the glow of the room’s lights makes it look a little golden, perfectly highlighting his muscles. And there are muscles, Simon notes as he starts to sketch the curve of his back, the shape of his legs. The pose can’t be comfortable, but the model looks like he’s simply sitting there, contemplating his life. Or maybe what he’s about to have for dinner, Simon has no idea what one thinks about while posing for a bunch of art students while wearing nothing.
The man changes his pose and the teacher gives new instructions. Simon focuses on his arms and upper back this time, making sure to draw them as realistically as possible. Simon wonders how often the man goes to the gym, because there is no way someone develops biceps that perfect without lifting some dumbells.
The more Simon looks at the man up on the stage, the more he appreciates what he sees. He knows they’re supposed to focus on his body for now, and Simon is very much doing that, focusing on the broad shoulders, the small moles dotting it, the dip of his lower back before moving his eyes down on the perfect curve of his ass. Under different circumstances Simon would definitely try to find a way to get an even closer look at that ass. As it is, he’s admiring it from afar - well, less than two meters away and for once Simon is happy about his front row seat.
Halfway through the class the teacher calls for a break and the man stands up and turns to face the wall behind himself, shaking his arms and legs. Simon lets his gaze travel up and down his unposing body and he thinks he likes it this way even better. It’s softer, more real somehow. When their model turns back towards the students, Simon roves his eyes down his torso and quickly snaps his gaze back up when it begins to stray under his navel. He knows the man is willingly showing off his body for them, but it’s all for educational purposes and Simon shouldn’t be ogling him when he’s taking what is probably a much needed break.
Instead Simon focuses on his face. Hair is falling into his eyes and the man brushes a hand through it to push it back to reveal a pair of striking amber eyes that seem to be looking right at him. Simon feels his cheeks grow warmer, suddenly feeling like he was caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to. He lowers his gaze back to his sketches but from the corner of his eye Simon notices a beautifully crooked smile on the man’s lips.
“For the rest of this class I want you to combine everything you’ve worked on so far and draw his full portrait.”
There is some murmur around the room and the it is filled with the sound of pencil against paper.
Simon picks up his pencil but suddenly finds it very difficult to figure out where to start. The man’s pose is fairly similar to what they’ve worked with before. Simon draws a few lines, the rough shape of his body but then frowns. The sketch on his paper looks nowhere near as enticing as the man in the flesh. He flips out a new page.
For a few moments Simon allows himself to look. He lets his gaze linger and take in the small details that make the man’s body his. There is a scar on his cheek and another near his hip. His build makes Simon think that he might have been a lanky, possibly slightly awkward teen before he grew into his now well-looked after, gorgeous body. Simon wonders what it would feel like under his touch, how he’d respond if Simon were to run his hands over the planes and move his limbs into positions that were more interesting to draw.
“You have ten minutes to finish your drawings,” the teacher’s voice pierces into Simon’s consciousness and shit. He glances down on the completely blank page in front of him.
Simon sets his pencil back down on the page and all of a sudden it feels like his hand has a mind of its own. His eyes flicking between the man and the drawing forming on his paper, Simon works like possessed.
When the teacher announces their time is up, Simon lets out a quiet sigh. He’s not entirely happy with his drawing, but at the same time he feels that it’s one of his better ones.
On the stage, the man stretches and then moves to pick up his robe, pulling it on and covering the delicious body Simon could spend another hour and a half looking at. He disappears through the side door as the teacher begins to circulate and offer feedback on their works.
Simon nods as he listens to her point out the weak parts of his drawing. The compliment about how he seems to have captured something more than just the physique of their model does make Simon’s stomach do a pleasant flip.
Normally he’d be among the first out the room as soon as class was over, but now Simon stays on his seat and flips through the sketches he’s done.
“Can I see?” a warm voice asks and Simon is met with an inquiring gaze when he looks up. Their model is standing by his desk, now wearing a white t-shirt and a pair of blue jeans, his hair falling over his forehead much like earlier. It’s a boringly normal look that it shouldn’t be making Simon’s heart skip a beat and yet.
“Uhh… they’re not— They’re quite rough. There’s some details missing, I, uhh, ran a little out of time,” Simon says.
“I know,” the man only says with a smile and his eyes intently trained on Simon.
Something about the way he looks at him makes Simon give in. He picks up his drawing block and hands it to the man. With bated breath he watches as the man goes through the pages, a small frown appearing between his eyebrows and then making way for a bright smile as he gets to the final drawing.
“These are really good,” he says.
Simon nods. He knows he’s one of the best students in this class even if he doesn’t normally like it. “I know.”
The man laughs and smiles even wider. His teeth are a little crooked and Simon is fascinated by such an unexpected imperfection.
“Your final piece could do with a little more shading here,” he taps one spot, “and I’m not sure this here is quite correct, you’re flattering me,” he continues, glancing to the side to look at his arm and then back to the page.
“No, I think it’s correct. I spent a long time studying it,” Simon says without thinking. As soon as he realises what he’s said he blushes.
“I noticed,” the man replies.
Simon feels his cheeks growing even warmer, but before he manages to apologise, the man says, “I liked it. I liked the way you looked at me.”
The man’s eyes are still trained on him, something sparking in the as he speaks.
“I wouldn’t mind looking at you more,” Simon says then, hoping he’s reading the flirty tone of his voice correct.
“To get the missing details correct?” the man asks with a smirk.
“Among other things, yes.”
“Wille,” the man says.
“Simon.”
“Well, Simon, I know how demanding these classes can be, I remember how much I had to work for my life drawing course. So if there’s any way I can help you improve…” Wille says, smiling at Simon as he hands the sketchbook back.
“I’m sure there is. It might require me to look at your body more though. In the nude.” Simon lets his eyes rake up and down Wille’s body in a way that should make his intention clear.
“I’m completely fine with that,” Wille answers, “I might be done with my course, but I think I could still do with some more practise too.”
“Is that so?” Simon lifts an eyebrow as he starts to gather his things, safely tucking the drawing block inside his bag.
“Mmh. An hour and a half is a long time to think about how I’d draw the gorgeous guy sitting right in front of me.”
“Right,” is all Simon manages to say, feeling the blush return to his face. “How would you do it?”
The corner of Wille’s mouth quirks up. “I can show you.”
Anyone else thinking about how Important names are to Eridian culture, considering how Rocky addressed himself and Adrian, and what that would mean once Grace got to Erid.
(ignore statements of time i refuse to do the conversions)
Imagine, after decades of your world becoming colder and colder, you are saved. A single Eridian, the only one of twenty three to survive, arrives in an alien ship, accompanied by a creature you can barely conceive.
Everything about the alien is so loud, hinges formed from tissue thumping and stretching in constant movement, even while unconscious. Completely organic, reliant of oxygen and hydrogen. Instead of a protective carapace, it regrows its damaged tissues. It has senses you do not, and technology so unlike your own, both able to utilise a force you have never heard of. The same force that killed almost your entire mission team. Highly adaptable, able to teach itself how to fly its ship in under a week, able to become fluent in the engineer's dialect in less than four years.
And if Erid's best engineer is correct (and there's no reason it wouldn't be), this creature not only managed to breed a predator of the warmth-taker to survive in various atmospheres, including Threeworld's, but also turned around to provide aid when it discovered that the predator could escape xenonite.
And you think: Surely, this creature which protects itself without a carapace, which sleeps so lightly and knows so much and learns so quickly, which saved two planets at the cost of ever returning to its thrum, surely, a creature so extraordinary must have a name to match
And you think: Perhaps it is strength, Mountain-Base or Lonsdaleite-Carapace. Perhaps it is intellect, Diamond-Claw or Lockpick-Mind. Perhaps it is courage, Song-Through-Silence or Path-Carver
And you think: None of these names hold the true weight of what this creature is to them. How do you describe something like that, which aids without expectation of anything in return, which risks its own life for the sake of a species it cannot touch, which performs miracles simply because it was asked.
And then you learn: Your saviour's name is Kindness
"There's no thought crimes and no thought heroisms" is honestly such a good piece of life advice.
You could be having the most fucked up problematic thoughts 24/7 but if you treat people with kindness, the good you do is the only thing that matters. But if you have only the purest thoughts and all the correct beliefs, it doesn't matter one bit if you spend most of your time being an asshole to people.
