#Simon is Si pronounced ‘Sigh’ | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sorryxsimon · 2 years ago

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Is that JOSHUA BASSETT? No, that’s SIMON STONE. The 21 year old LIGHTNING MOON - GRIZZLY WEREBEAR OMEGA MALE is a MUSICIAN. If you ask their friends, they’re known to be CREATIVE & HUMANE, but beware, they’re also known to be ANXIOUS & APPREHENSIVE. Their friends also say that they’re into PRAISE & BODY WORSHIP but don’t you dare trying GORE, BATHROOM PLAY, & BLOOD with them.

Basic Information

Name: Simon Gregory Stone

Nickname: Si (pronounced Sigh)

Age: 21

Species: Werebear

Moon: Lightning Moon

Secondary Gender: Omega

Pronouns: He/him

Occupation: Musician

Pack (born): Rose (dame), Adam (sire)

Appearance

Height: 5'10

Weight: 138 pounds

Build: lean

Hair Color: Dark brown

Eye Color: Brown

Tattoos: A small cluster of music notes on his left wrist

Piercings: None

Distinguishing Features: Hair (curly as can be most days)

Personality

Positive Traits: Creative, Humane, Humble

Negative Traits: Anxious, Apprehensive, Circumspect

Sex

Kinks: Romance, Praise, Body Worship, Hair Pulling, Vanilla

Anti-Kinks: Gore, Vore, Ageplay, Anything under the bathroom umbrella, Feminization, Anything that could present a danger to himself or his partner

Safeword: Crescendo

Biography

TW for violence

Music has been part of Simon's life for as long as he can remember. From the lullabies his parents sang when he was young to singing along to the radio countless times. Picking up a guitar or sitting on the piano bench at the local music store, relishing in the feeling of belonging. Like he was meant to be here with the guitar in his hands or with his fingers on the keys.

He looked forward to making the bell above the door ring after finishing his homework. He could not wait to learn new songs on each instrument. Maybe he would give writing songs of his own a try some day?

It was thanks to these frequent visits to the local music store he strengthened friendships with two kids in his class. Grant Sullivan and Jake Richards. They already knew of each other through their town's small supernatural community, but music played a great role in bringing the three of them together.

Forming a band was always a wild idea. Something to joke about. After all, the three of them were just goofing off and performing mostly covers. They had ideas for original songs, but those were carefully hidden away in a notebook.

Until one summer, a classmate reached out in a panic. The DJ for their graduation party had backed out at the last minute. Rumor has it that the trio only needed a few moments to look at each other before they agreed to play. One request to play at an event became three. Three requests to play became seven. It wasn't long before their summer was booked and they needed to come up with a band name.

Then some of their performances ended up on social media. Attendees were loving the covers they did of beloved songs and sharing the recordings with friends who sent them to more people. Fact or Fiction had gone viral!

While they were working on their original songs one afternoon, the trio received a phone call. A record label wanted to arrange a meeting and that could only mean one thing. Their hopes were confirmed when the meeting ended with an offer to sign the band.

Of course, nothing could have prepared the band for what came next. Betrayal.

Three years after the ink dried on their contract, they performed at an award show. One of music's biggest nights! When they checked into their hotel after attending some after parties, a member of their security team crept into Simon's room and attempted to attack him. He did manage to stab Simon, but thankfully Grant and Jake showed up just in time to say goodnight. Jake tackled the attacker while Grant helped Simon up, started healing him with spells.

It turned out the now former security team member was a hunter. One who had somehow learned Grant, Jake, and Simon were members of different supernatural species. While they likely would not have to worry about him for awhile, the three of them could not help but fret over the other possibilities. There was a real risk of the band being dropped from their record label and having this dream come true end abruptly. Not to mention the risk of other hunters they don't even know about possibly having this information.

They needed a safe place to stay. Where they could get their thoughts together and recover from this revelation. Only one place came to mind - New Haven.

As far as the record label and their fans are aware, Fact or Fiction is taking a brief hiatus to take care of their mental health. They will miss this dream job, one they are incredibly lucky to have. However, their present and future safety is the issue weighing on their minds. The trauma of that night still haunts the three of them. Returning to touring and making music can wait. The safety of Grant, Jake, and their fans from all walks of life is infinitely more important to Simon. There is still healing to be done - a process that will hopefully come easier while Fact or Fiction is here in New Haven.

#wtnhintro

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menace-writes · 2 years ago

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I’m so dumb LMAO

I seen so many fics and comics say “Si” when talking about ghost I was like ????

BUT ITS “SI” PRONOUNCED “SIGH” BC GHOSTS NAME IS SIMON LMAO

I will be so embarrassed if that’s not what it actually means but idc I’m trying my best

#menace chats

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hillerskaroyals · 2 years ago

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#is this a shared experience?#i stg no matter how hard i try the swedish pronunciation always sounds wrong when i say it #but i can’t call them ‘will’ or ‘willy’ and ‘simon’ (pronounced sigh-mon)#it just feels wrong #also while making this i realized that i always call them wilmon but since it’s a combo of their names would it be ‘vilmon’#how far do the swedish roots go #all i want to do is talk about my silly little swedish show but i feel like the dumbest most pretentious fool when i say #‘yeah so wille (ville) is the crown prince and simon (si-mon) is a non res at hillerska (hillershka)#like smth about how i say it is wrong and i truly don’t think i can fix it #so i guess i gotta suffer #that being said i’m a swedish pronunciation and swedish dub hoe. it just sounds stupid coming from me #also i was truly on the struggle bus trying to type all the names out phonetically for both languages so i hope you appreciated it #young royals #young royals shitpost #my yr thoughts #late night yr #mine

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simonalkenmayer · 4 years ago

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Wait, is there a difference on how to pronounce Simon and Simone?

Yes.

Sigh-mun and Si-mown

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izzielizzie · 4 years ago

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Chapter Seven

Sorry this took so long!!! I had a hard time getting it started. Anyway, we’re back at Bronwyn’s pov. Enjoy!!

“We’re leaving in twenty minutes!” Mom calls up the stairs. We’re going to Simon’s funeral, and even though I feel a little weird going after the school practically accused us of killing him, my parents said I have to go, so I guess I’m going.

“Okay!” Maeve calls down the stairs as she leaves the bathroom. She’s just taken a shower, and her hair is wrapped in a towel. She catches sight of me and frowns. “What?”

I shake myself a little. I must be giving her a pitying look. I keep trying to figure out if I should tell her about TJ cheating, but I feel like she wouldn’t listen.

“What do you want Bron?”

“Can I chill with you before we leave?” I find myself blurting out. Maeve stares at me for a few moments, and I’m so ready for her to laugh and tell me to go away that I don’t completely hear her when she says, “Sure. Why not?”

She brushes past me to push open her door and pauses. “Well don’t just stand there like a weirdo, come on.”

I step into Maeve’s room for the first time in what is probably five years. I mean, I guess I am allowed in here, but I make it a point not to come here. Maybe because I was scared that Maeve would change her room and our childhood would be gone. Or maybe I wanted to prove to her that she could trust me. I don’t even know anymore, but I didn’t need to worry about her room changing: the walls are still a pale purple, and her window seat is still white with floral throw pillows and a purple knitted blanket folded underneath the book I’ve seen Maeve reading in the living room when I practice piano. The only difference is her corkboard with pictures pinned up is filled with photos of her and her soccer friends, not me and our childhood friends like it was when we were young. I sit gingerly on her bed, covered in her white duvet with the purple and yellow polka dots. Maeve opens her closet door and roots through until she finds what she wants. She turns with a black jumpsuit pressed against her body.

“Good?” I’m temped to turn around and see if she’s talking to someone behind me, but I’m not that stupid.

“Good,” I agree. I turn and let Maeve change, and I turn back again when she tosses her shorts and t-shirt over my head and into the hamper. She’s at her dresser, in front of her mirror, when I turn back around. The back of her jumpsuit is still partly unzipped, and I stand and walk over to her. She flinches when I fix the zipper, and I’m startled for a moment. Since when did the girl who demanded hugs every five minutes flinch when touched?

“Thanks sis,” Maeve says. There’s a serenity to her that isn’t there usually. She’s humming as she brushes her long hair out. “I’m thinking of cutting my hair. What do you think?” I still want to look around to find the actual recipient of my sister’s kindness, but I don’t. Whatever is happening right now, I don’t want it to end.

“I like it long,” I say truthfully. She looks nice with long hair, and I can still remember how devastated she was when her hair first started to fall when she was little. Once when I was laying in her hospital bed next to her, she had sworn that after all this was over, she would grow her hair out as long as Mom would permit. I had told her I’d do the same, and now, when I step forward to look in the mirror with her, I can’t see the resemblance between us anymore. My eyes, a sharp grey, are behind dark glasses, my tan skin looks yellowish against my black dress, and my shoulder length curls are limp and a little fuzzy. Maeve looks, as usual, amazing. Her straight hair is falling around her like a curtain, and it’s a few shades darker than mine. Her skin is as pale as Mom’s and the splash of freckles across her face are more pronounced than usual, and her eyes, god her eyes are so bright they could illuminate the room. My sister has always been the beautiful one, and I’m glad she’s happy today. But, even though I know I’m going to regret asking this, I need to know: “Maeve, why are you so happy today?”

Maeve smiles a little as she gives her brush one final tug and places it on the dresser. “I hung out with an old friend yesterday. It was nice.”

“Luis Santos,” I say promptly. Maeve hits me with her best side-eye.

“Don’t be so judge. I saw you with Nathaniel Macauley.” She did? When?

I hold up my hands in surrender. “I’m not judging. Just stating a fact. I saw you with him at the dinner party yesterday.”

“That’s nice,” Maeve says, picking up her chapstick.

“Are you going to date him?”

“Are you going to date Nate?”

“What? No!” I’m shocked for a moment. “He wasn’t totally in love with me when we were kids. Unlike someone.” I bump my hip against hers, and she spins away from me.

“Yeah, right.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask as Maeve pulls her black sneakers out from under her bed. “And don’t wear those.” Maeve glares at me as she puts her sneakers back and crouches down until she finds her party shoes, the black leather ones that are nearly identical to mine.

“It means, mi hermana, that Nate was like, totally in love with you.” Maeve redoes the laces on her shoes as I stare at her.

“Don’t be dumb. He was my best friend. That’s all.”

“Best friends don’t have their first kiss after a soccer game.” I can feel my face turn red as my sister smirks at me.

“And best friends don’t carry each other to the elevator at fancy hotels,” I fire back. I’m waiting for a reaction, but I don’t get one.

“Luis isn’t my best friend,” Maeve says calmly with a shrug as she unplugs her phone from her charger and sways out of her room.

“Nate isn’t mine either!” I call back. Maeve just laughs as she leads me down the stairs.

Half an hour later, Dad pulls the car into a parking spot outside of the church, and we pass Luis Santos, Cooper Clay, Addy Prentiss, and a bunch of their friends. “Maeve!” Luis calls. Maeve’s glow intensifies until I can hardly look at her. She turns to our parents, a questioning look on her face.

“Go ahead honey, we’ll save you a seat.” Mom is grinning at Maeve, and I can tell why. Maeve hasn’t been this giddy since she was a kid. Maeve floats away to Luis and his friends, and Luis slips an arm around her. “Not friends” my foot.

“It’s nice to see they’re friends again,” Dad muses as we pass Luis and his friends.

“It is,” I agree, smiling at him. I know Dad thought of Luis as a son, and he’s missed him. Dad smiles back and wraps an arm around me as we walk into the church. Mom’s about to pull open the heavy oak doors when a hand reaches around her and pulls it open.

“After you ma’am,” a familiar voice says, pulling the door open.

“Thank you so much d-” Mom stops short when she is face to face with her worst nightmare in the form of a smirking boy in a leather jacket.

“Nathaniel,” my father says, disentangling himself from me.

“Hello Mr. Rojas,” Nate says.

“What are you doing here?”

“Oh you know,” Nate says casually, “I was walking by, saw a large crowd, and thought it would be a good opportunity to make some transactions.”

Both my parents stare at Nate as I try not to laugh. They can be a little gullible sometimes.

“Hey Nate,” Maeve says as she materializes next to us with Luis. His other friends seemed to have disappeared, but they’ve never struck me as people who’d want to go to a funeral.

“Hi, Maeve.” Nate is squinting at Maeve like she’s insane. Understandably. She’s smiling for once. Honestly I forgot she was able to do that. Also, the last time Maeve talked to Nate she yelled at him.

“Hello Mr. and Mrs. Rojas, it’s a pleasure to see you again.” Luis says to my parents, seemingly sensing the tension.

My parents both brighten as they turn to Luis. He shakes my father’s hand firmly and leans down to kiss my mother’s cheek. Nate and I roll our eyes at each other as Maeve glows so brightly she might put the sun out of business. All Luis is missing is a hat to tip.

“How are you doing son?”

“Well, Mr. Rojas, and you?”

“I’m good.”

Luis smiles and motions towards the door. “Are you going in?”

“We are. Are you Nathaniel?” My mother asks.

“What did you do Nate?” Maeve asks, rolling her eyes. She knows my mother’s danger voice as well as I do.

Mom tells Maeve what Nate said, nearly verbatim, and Maeve doesn’t even try to hide her laughter. “You’re so gullible Mom,” she says breezily, pushing past us to walk through the doors. She turns to us. “Well are you coming? Nate’s coming to the funeral too.”

“I am,” Nate confirms. My parents instantly relax.

There’s a glint in Maeve’s amber eyes as she delivers her parting shot: “his probation officer made him.”

To say the funeral was tense is an understatement. Nate ended up sitting with Maeve on his one side and me on his other. Maeve shook with silent laughter through the entire service and Nate glared at the wall. I breathe a sigh of relief when we exit the church, but the next problem appears in the form of a man in a crisp suit blocking our path as we try to make our way to the car.

“Mr. and Mrs. Rojas?” The man asks.

“Yes?” Mom says.

“I am Detective Wheeler with the Bayview Police. Would we be able to take your daughter Bronwyn to the police station to talk about the events of Simon’s death?”

I freeze and Maeve crashes into me. That doesn’t sound good.

“Why?” Mom asks.

“Just a customary check in, we’re doing it with all the students. Just to tie up loose ends.”

That really doesn’t sound good.

“Only if we can come with her,” Dad says.

The detective nods. “Of course. We aren’t holding her. But your younger daughter…” The detective trails off, looking at Maeve suspiciously.

She smiles a little. “I’ll go wait by the car. I need to tell Luis something anyway.”

“Go ahead honey, we’ll see you soon,” Mom says. Maeve gives a jaunty wave, steps around me, and walks away with a spring in her step. If I had to guess, her forthcoming interaction with Luis wouldn’t involve a lot of talking.

I follow the detective and my parents to the police station down the street, where we’re directed to what seems an awful lot like an interrogation room. The detective starts talking about Simon’s death, and I don’t listen because I’ve heard it too many times, but I zone back into the conversation when Detective Wheeler shows us a tablet with About That, Simon’s old gossip Tumblr, pulled up to a post that makes my heart stop. It’s about all of us at detention. About how Cooper used steroids (unsurprising), Nate sold drugs while being on probation (expected honestly) and how Addy cheated on her boyfriend Jake with a boy named… oh no. TF. TJ Forrester. Maeve’s ex. The one she’s been moping about for months. I’m not surprised, I knew this, but my parents didn’t. I glance at them to see their reaction. My mom’s eyes are trained on Addy’s piece of gossip, but my dad’s are on the next piece. The one I’ve been ignoring because it’s about me. More specifically, about how I cheated in my chemistry class last year.

All my blood rushes to my head as Detective Wheeler asks “well, Miss Rojas, what do you have to say about yourself?”

My mother stiffens. “My daughter has no comment. And we aren’t going to talk about this until we have a lawyer present, Detective.”

“Very well,” says Detective Wheeler resignedly. He seems to have expected this. “But let me tell you that your friends are all here, Bronwyn, and one of them will admit to your crime.”

Mom’s pushing me out of the room before I can ask what crime he might be talking about. Surely my “friends” have nothing they can say about my cheating. Mom and Dad don’t say anything as we walk the block back to our car. They look angry though. Mom’s expression softens when she sees Maeve, however.

“Hey!” Maeve says pleasantly. She’s sitting on the car’s hood, her phone in her hand. She holds up her free hand to block the setting sun from her face. It doesn’t work that well though, since the light streams onto her face, turning her hair coppery, her freckles golden, and her eyes into the most fiery they’ve ever looked. She looks like the picture of the warrior queen on the poster in the library, and I almost expect her to come flying at me with a sword. Which is stupid. Maeve is the least confrontational person I’ve ever met. Subtle jabs are more her style.

“Hi Maevey,” Mom says. Maeve stares at her. Mom hasn’t called her Maevey in years.

“What the hell happened at the station?” Maeve whispers to me as we climb into the back seat of the car.

“Let’s just say that this isn’t going to end well,” I whisper back through clenched teeth as Dad glares at me through the rearview mirror.

“Understatement,” my sister mumbles as she puts her earbuds into her ears, leaving me to face my parents’ wrath alone.

#when we didn't need to lie #next chapter #finally #izzielizzie's fics

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thesmalltowngal · 5 years ago

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Snowbaz 24- Chance Encounters

Otp Prompt #25: Baz lost his sibling Mordelia in an IKEA, and an employee named Simon is the only one willing to help him look for her. (Non-magic AU)

~ Enjoy, my loves! ~

*Simon’s POV*

There’s a very handsome stranger looking very lost in the middle of our store. (Store’s a bit of a stretch- more like a bloody mansion, really. Even I get lost sometimes, still.) He’s got slick black hair, stony grey eyes, and cheekbones that would put Edward Cullen to shame.

“Mordelia?” He calls out as he looks in bins and under beds. “Mordelia you insufferable little witch…” He hasn’t noticed my staring at him, but Penny has. I look over and she’s got one eyebrow cocked with an annoying little smirk. (She gave me this same look when I had fawned over Agatha back in secondary school. Then I realized I was a right pouf in eighth year, and she gave me the same look then, too.)

“Well, Si? Are you going to go see what that lovely customer over there wants? Or are you going to keep staring like a begging pup?” I shift on my feet as I feel my blood rush to my face in a flood of heat. Is it really that bloody obvious?

“I, er- well he doesn’t really look like he nee-”

She rolls her eyes at me. (Bloody prat, she is.) “Well then, I suppose I’ll have to go help the handsome stranger,” She starts walking off toward him (he’s still blissfully unaware of my gay panic at the moment) with a bounce in her step. But before she can get too far, I huff and tug on her sleeve.

“Fine, bloody tit, trying to bloody pimp me out…” I mutter to myself as I walk away from her and toward Edward Cullen 2.0. I toss a furtive glance back behind my shoulder and see Penny flipping me off, putting her gaudy purple ring on display. (We were at the market when she got it- I told her it was an ugly hunk of junk. She insisted it was magic. Right crackers, she was.)

I put on my best customer service face (hiding my please-do-bad-things-to-me one) and walk up, tapping him on the shoulder. He spins around, looking as though he’s trying to hide how frantic he is. (He’s even better looking close up.) (Penny calls me a gay disaster. I never thought much of it ‘til now.) “Excuse me,” (He’s looking at me like it’s the only thing he’s focusing on.) “Can I help you? You look a little, um- lost.” At first he looks taken aback, but then he looks around, tugs at his hair (his gorgeous fucking hair that I want to tug right out of his skull), and then looks hopelessly back at me.

“Yeah, that’d be a right help, mate. My bloody sister… she’s run off and I can’t find her in this god forsaken mansion you call a store.” He’s sarcastic, but maybe it’s just because he’s worried about his sister. (Mordelia.)

“Right, well… what’s your name?” I extend my hand, but he doesn’t take it. Instead he looks at me with a sneer (a villainous sneer- I didn’t know that was a real thing) and crosses his arms.

“Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch.” My head hurts just from the syllables alone.

“T-t-tyr-tyrannu-” He rolls his eyes. (It’s bloody hard to pronounce his name- ‘specially when I never was good at English.)

“Basilton is fine-” I shake my head and give him a toothy grin.

“How ‘bout Baz?” He furrows his brow like he’s trying it out in his mind. He sighs and nods his head (I think I see a smile- maybe he likes it!)

“Well. What’s your name, then?” (It’s a bit odd exchanging pleasantries when his sister’s missing, but he doesn’t seem to mind, so I don’t, either.) I cock my head to the side and point to my nametag, but he shakes his head. “No- your full name.” I grin again (I know I don’t know him, but he seems to make me grin a bit, even though he does seem like a bit of an arse.)

“Simon Snow Salisbury.”

“Alright, Snow. Help me find my sister, yeah?” Snow Snow Snow. I love love love it. “Her name is-”

“Mordelia,” I finish. He looks at me - thinking - for a moment, and then shakes his head and turns on his heel to keep looking for Mordelia. When I look back over my shoulder, Penny is giving me an enthusiastic thumbs up; so I hurry away, taking Baz with me. (May be a weird name, but oddly enough, it seems to fit him.)

We look everywhere- which is bloody hard in a store like this. In and under bins, cupboards and large drawers, appliances, etc. Finally, we’ve nearly given up all hope, but we’re still going to the bed section to look for her. Every now and then one of us will call out her name, but we’ve reached the general consensus that it’s not likely to help, anyway. I decide - while we’re looking in this huge section of the huge store - to make a bit of chat.

“So… what brings you to our store?” He casts a glance with a raised eyebrow quickly to me, and then looks back away, pulling covers from a bed.

“Buying a new oven for our mum- we were baking sour cherry scones and salt and vinegar crisps when it caught fire. She’s a baker, so she was devastated. It’s near Christmas, so our father sent us out to buy a new one for her.”

“Sour cherry scones?” I can’t help but stop in my tracks and salivate at the thought. I haven’t had any for a time, but I still remember having them every day before Uni. Flaky and warm and oh so delicious. Beside me, Baz chuckles. (A downright lovely thing.)

“My whole story about my oven catching fire and that’s what you take from it?” I feel myself blush sheepishly and decide to stop talking. (Maybe forever. Haven’t decided yet.) He casts a sidelong glance at me and I see that he’s smiling, so maybe I didn’t make a complete arse of myself just yet.

…

We find Mordelia hiding under a bed just under twenty minutes later, giggling herself into oblivion. Baz gave her a long talk before turning to me and nodding once, firmly and then going about his business again. And just like that, my encounter with the handsome stranger ended as quickly as it had begun.

*Baz’s POV*

Sometimes I could absolutely bite myself for being as bloody desperate as I am. But after a meeting with the bloody drop dead gorgeous guy Simon (I don’t even know if he’s gay), who wouldn’t be desperate? So nearly as soon as I had left him standing in the bed section, I kicked myself for doing so. By god, Mordelia and I are going to leave the store without an oven for now, but will be damned if I leave without saying goodbye to him.

So I promptly drag Mordelia around and settle on a lamp that would look just fine on my bedside table; gargoyle and all. I spend five minutes wandering like a lust pup around the store, looking for him to check me out. (In more way than one.) When I finally find him and saddle into his line, looking cooler than I feel, Mordelia is throwing a tantrum about leaving. (This store has become somewhat of a playground for her, as of yet.) She keeps hitting me and wrinkling my jumper. But she can hit me as much as she’d like- this isn’t my favorite shirt.

And besides, as I approach Simon steadily and meet his gaze, his eyes light up for a fraction of a second. He stares at me (or so it seems) for a few more seconds before returning back to his current customer.

I finally get to the front of the line with ‘Delia in tow and place the lamp on his counter. He smiles up at me, as bright as the goddamn sun itself. “Thought you were just looking for an oven?” He says as he scans the lamp, still looking up at me with his downright sinful eyes.

“Right, well…” I taper out, not knowing what to say. (Which is odd, because I’m usually quite eloquent.) We finish the transaction all too quickly.

“Receipt in the bag or with you?”

“With me is fine,” He hands it to me, smiling brightly all the while. “Thank you… Simon.” He looks like he’s won the lottery. (I wonder for a moment if I can find an excuse to come back tomorrow. And the next day… and the next…)

We’re leaving the store just as quickly as we had entered, and I can feel my heart sink. But when I look down at the receipt in my hand…

I’ll be bloody damned. It’s his phone number.

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etherelssaved-blog · 5 years ago

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introducing . . . simon gideon beck , twenty - five , co - owner of old hat antiques .

𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐍𝐄 , 𝐁𝐀𝐒𝐈𝐂𝐒 .

full name: simon gideon beck . nicknames, aliases:

si . ( pronounced sigh . )

date of birth: january twenty - ninth . place of birth: manhattan , new york city . nationality: american . occupation: antiques dealer . gender identity: cisgender male , he/him pronouns . sexual identity: bisexual . romantic identity: biromantic .

zodiac: aquarius . hogwarts house: ravenclaw . character influences: theodore decker , the goldfinch .

𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐎 , 𝐏𝐇𝐘𝐒𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐒 .

weight: seventy - three kilos , 160 lbs . height: six foot one .

hair: naturally coloured a chestnut brown , sometimes gets lighter depending on sun exposure in summer . grown out long , curls around the nape of his neck and falls into his eyes . unruly and unkempt when he’s working and not focusing on anything but what he’s doing but when he’s selling and actively presenting himself , it’s neatly brushed --- a hint of its boyish lack of cooperation still lingers . eyes: coloured dark brown , with a lighter golden ring near the iris . complexion: pale , naturally so . faintest freckles dashed across the bridge of his nose .

body: ectomorph . lanky , naturally thin and long - limbed .

fashion sense: old man , but make it slightly fashion . lots of sweaters , usually in sizes too big for him . jeans , ripped at the knees and stained with god knows what . impressive contrast to suave attire he dons when he’s selling / all tailored suits and crisp dress shirts and shoes polished so bright you can see your face in them . scars: none of note . tattoos, piercings: none . distinguishing physical features: wide , unforgiving eyes . bright smile . large , fine - featured hands .

𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄 , 𝐁𝐈𝐎𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐏𝐇𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐒 .

born on manhattan’s upper east side to parents whose wealth wavered almost as much as the strength of their relationship ; mother was intensely invested in the relationship , father was invested in his wall street stocks and the bevy of girls he saw on the side . they make a concerted attempt to stay together until simon’s fifteen , and then the acrimonious divorce really takes full effect .

childhood is largely positive , despite the turmoil that his parents experienced . mother , arabella juliet beck ( nee demaurier ) takes him to art galleries and museums and sweet little bistros after he’s caught the train home from school , does her best to fill his life with little wonders . she takes him on a mini break to paris when he’s nine , visits her family and shows him the sights she grew up with .

father doesn’t really give two shits about him . father is vacant , so much so that simon tends to forget that he was even a part of his life at some point . no attempt at fostering any kinds of relationship have ever been made , apart from eye - watering birthday checks and stiff family dinners .

proves himself an immense intellectual during his school years . takes a particular shining to english , history and art . his teachers adore him , take a particular liking to the sweet , polite little boy who reads at lunch and speaks in soft yet strong tones .

the aforementioned divorce occurs when he’s fifteen , and his mother sends him to live with his uncle / uncle figure ( wc on the main ! ) . naturally , he’s horrified and hates the concept of leaving new york but a lump sum slips its way into his bank account and suddenly he isn’t so mad .

ballard is simultaneously the best and worst thing to happen to him . admittedly , he falls off the wagon : he falls in with the wrong crowd , experiments with too many things , stops paying so much attention to otherwise impeccable adademic record . it only goes on for a year before he gets it together again . moving in with his uncle is interesting : at first he’s petulant and angry and distrustful , but the relationship warms almost immediately when antiques are brought into the picture .

simon is good with antiques , both restoring them and selling them . he learns that when he sells his first restored piece at seventeen . suddenly , his world is back together and everything makes sense again --- he finds his calling in old wood and lacquer and hours spent down in the dark warmth of the basement .

at present , he and his uncle co - own old hat antiques , a small antiques store specialising in furniture and art restorations . simon’s settled into his role and has become a real little local , almost more ballard than he is nyc .

𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑 , 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐃 .

found family. so i’m a shameless sucker for the concept of found family , sue me ! simon first made friends with them when he moved to ballard , and they’ve been as close as anything ever since .

like it’s the only thing i’ll ever do. listen . . . give me the boris to simon’s theodore . give him the bad influence that he fell in with when he moved to ballard , the one that he sort of fell in quiet love with . give me the flashbacks to misguided youth and present - day yearning that never died . just !!!!!!!!!!!!!! so much fucking ROMANTIC TENSION

#ballard.intro

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