Drabble for week 22 of the weekly drabble challenge that malinowaj started💜
| 100 words | Prompt: Photograph | R: Gen |
Wille and Simon have assembled a picture wall in their new place, made out by photographs from both families and from their time together since Hillerska. Cue in clear sighted Sara making a discovery while looking at the photos.
“Eh… Simon? Wille?” Sara called out by the living room wall, filled with private photos from both families.
“You said it was ok that I used the—”
“It’s not that, come here guys!" This wasn’t a housewarming party per se, only a few of their closest people, all starting to gather around her. "Do you see this?” Felice broke down in laughter as Sara pointed at two photographs; one of a lanky young Micke, the other of a cross legged Ludvig with longish hair and a guitar.
Wille squinted, head tilted, while Simon asked; “What about them, what's so funny?”
Alternative ending:
Wille stared wide eyed, while Simon exclaimed; “Absolutely not. Nope. Nothing to see!”
How about 25 for the drabble challenge, for Wilmon?
- oneofthosebells
thanks for the prompt @oneofthosebells! (You can still send me a number from this list and a pairing if you want)
25. “I can’t believe you talked me into this” + Wilmon
Simon’s knees creak as he presses up to stand, almost stumbling after crouching for so long. Dust particles sparkle in the air, illuminated by the sunshine streaming through the uncovered windows after so many days of relentless rain.
He surveys the chaos impassively. Tools scattered about, balled up paper towels and rags. Paint brushes and rollers propped up over buckets, waiting or drying. Wilhelm’s 80s What a Time 2 be Alive (even though we weren’t) playlist blaring from the tinny bluetooth speaker. “I can’t believe you talked me into this.”
Wilhelm grins, his face still boyish, even after all these years, beneath the plaster dust freckling his skin and hair. “I thought you wanted this to be ours.”
“I do.”
“Well?”
“I meant more along the lines of let’s not spend above our means and we are absolutely not involving anyone from your family or the court.”
“And we haven’t.”
“No. But I didn’t mean we had to do everything ourselves.”
“Rosh and Ayub helped.”
Simon snorts. “Did they?”
“Your words, not mine.”
Simon stretches his arms above his head, clasping his wrist with the opposite hand, reaching side to side. When he lets his shoulders drop a moment later, he grumbles, “I didn’t really have, you know, watching Belgian DIY Youtube videos of how to install drywall in mind.”
“In all fairness, I’ve been the one watching those, no?” Wilhelm's smile broadens. He squints up when Simon doesn’t reply. “Why don’t you head home, make yourself something to eat and take a break.”
Simon juts his chin out. “And let you stay here and keep working?”
Wille scrubs his palms on his jeans. “I want to finish this. I’m right in the middle.”
“Then I’ll stay too,” Simon insists.
“You deserve a break,” Wilhelm tries again. “We’ve been here all weekend.”
“Exactly.” Simon sets his jaw. “So. What should I do now?”
Wilhelm studies him. He knows that set. "Hm... Keep me company?”
“Wille.”
“Look pretty?”
“Wille.” Simon rolls his eyes. “Why don’t I work on prying out the rest of the bath tile, yeah? I’m feeling like a little blunt force might preemptively combat my annoyance at the situation I know I’ll be walking into at work tomorrow.”
Wilhelm chuckles and nods, tilts his face up towards Simon.
Simon obliges, pressing an affectionate kiss to his lips. “But I’m taking the speaker with me,” he warns.
Later, when it is darkness instead of light pouring in through the bare windows and the dust in the air looks like mist in the glare of the intense work lamp Wilhelm bought to be able to see to continue painting late into the evenings after work, Simon comes up behind Wilhelm, where he’s scrubbing his forearms and hands at the kitchen sink, and wraps his arms around Wille’s waist.
Wilhelm stops the water and dries his hands with a paper towel before turning in Simon’s arms to return the embrace. “We’re filthy,” Wille observes, but doesn’t pull back.
“Too filthy for a celebratory treat?”
“I thought we agreed no blow jobs in the reno zone,” Wilhelm laughs.
Simon rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I stand by that.” Simon extricates himself from Wille’s hold and walks over to the freezer, where he pulls out a box of ice cream bars. “But I think we’ve earned these.”
He pushes up to sit on the counter, and a moment later Wilhelm joins him, elbows brushing, hips touching. They make quick work of the wrappers.
“I don’t say it enough,” Simon says then, swinging his legs, heels bumping the cabinets below, “but thank you for this… for making this happen. Our way.”
Wille huffs. “Don’t thank me yet. I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“Maybe. But you’re figuring it out. We’re figuring it out.”
“Skål,” Wilhelm says, his expression impossibly fond. He holds out his chocolate-coated bar to tap Simon’s.
“Skål,” Simon grins back.
And if years down the line, when some future owners of the little house decide to take down the half-wall between the kitchen and dining room, and discover behind the plaster two birchwood sticks, each with two hearts outlined on them and the letters S + W, they won’t know the whole story, but they will, undoubtedly, understand something of what it meant.
Not sure how smart it was to take on extra work like this.
Today being day 8 out of 9 in a row, then 1 day off followed by 7 more 10h shifts with 1 rest day there in the mix.
Giving only 4 days off the last 25 days before vacation.
the best fanfiction you've ever read was written by a woman in her 40s before she made dinner for her kids. it was written by a teenager after school when they should've been studying for a history test. and a barista came up with the idea while they cleaned the espresso machine and busser fact-checked it on their break and the post-doc edited between writing grant proposals and the nurse apologized for typos in the notes after a long shift and behind every drabble and one-shot and multi-chapter fic there is a person with a wonderful and interesting and chaotic life and it is such a privilege that we get to be apart of it because they decided to do this thing we all share, for fun.
The royal court letting Wilhelm manage Simon’s media training/behaviour is so fucking funny like. This boy was introduced in s1 by being dragged away from a rave, who said fuck it and pulled rank in the most absurd ways in s2, who threatened the queen via speaker phone, who pulled a gun on his cousin, who impulsively changed his royal initiation speech midway and publicly came out to the entire country. That wilhelm? You want that wilhelm to tell his boyfriend to lay low? Ma’am pls 🤡
“Can’t believe you kept this one,” Simon chuckles, picking up the old faded polaroid picture. They were so young back when it was taken. So unprepared for everything.
“Why wouldn’t I?” The look on Wille’s face is genuinely puzzled.
Simon huffs out another laugh. “There’s so many better ones.”
Wille nods and takes the photo from Simon. “Yeah. But this is one of the first ones of us.” He glances down, traces the outline of their faces. ”That’s what makes it special.”
“You’re a sap.” Simon says but can’t help the fond smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
Drabble for week 22 of the weekly drabble challenge that malinowaj started💜
| 100 words | Prompt: Photograph | R: Gen |
Wille and Simon have assembled a picture wall in their new place, made out by photographs from both families and from their time together since Hillerska. Cue in clear sighted Sara making a discovery while looking at the photos.
“Eh… Simon? Wille?” Sara called out by the living room wall, filled with private photos from both families.
“You said it was ok that I used the—”
“It’s not that, come here guys!" This wasn’t a housewarming party per se, only a few of their closest people, all starting to gather around her. "Do you see this?” Felice broke down in laughter as Sara pointed at two photographs; one of a lanky young Micke, the other of a cross legged Ludvig with longish hair and a guitar.
Wille squinted, head tilted, while Simon asked; “What about them, what's so funny?”
Alternative ending:
Wille stared wide eyed, while Simon exclaimed; “Absolutely not. Nope. Nothing to see!”
hey! for the writing challenge, how about 13? or 41? or 31 hehe <3
Hey anon, thank you for the prompt! I'm going to assume you meant dealer's choice rather than all three at once - though that said, I do have some ideas for the other ones, so you might get all three eventually anyway. 😊
In the meantime, here's 13 - "Kiss me." 992 words, Wilmon AU first kiss, probably T-rated? (Not exactly smutty, but a bit of heavy making out in public.)
~
“Kiss me.”
Simon blinks, unsure he heard right over the loud music. But no, Wille is stepping up close, hands sliding around Simon’s waist in exactly the kind of intimate way that best friends don’t touch each other, and a wild, pleading look in his eye.
“Kiss me,” he repeats, intense and urgent, and Simon wonders if he banged his head at some point or if this is simply a dream. It’s not a bad dream if so. He’s had worse. “Please? Just…trust me.”
Simon nods, unable to deny his best friend anything he needs, even if it’s this. A request that 16-year-old Simon would have chewed off his own arm to receive, deep in the throes of an all-consuming crush – but that was years ago, before Erik’s death, before a string of ill-fated relationships for both of them, before all the ups and downs that had solidified a burgeoning friendship into the deepest and most important in Simon’s life. One he wouldn’t risk for anything. Certainly not for a long-forgotten, short-lived teenage infatuation.
Though maybe not that forgotten, he realises the moment Wille’s lips touch his a split-second later. Because oh. It’s soft, hesitant at first; a gentle brush of lips that still sends Simon’s whole nervous system into overdrive, goosebumps erupting all over his skin.
As Wille starts to pull away, it’s Simon who doesn’t let him go. Brain empty, moving on pure instinct, he slides one hand up the nape of Wille’s neck to rake into the short hair there – too short, he misses the floppy locks, not that he’d ever tell him that – and pull him back in. He opens his mouth, deepening the kiss, and feels rather than hears Wille’s gasp against his lips.
Lightheaded, he barely registers the way Wille grasps him tighter and walks him backwards until Simon’s back hits the slightly grimy wall of the club, pressing him against it. Simon clings to his shoulders with a touch of desperation, and tries to gulp some air into his lungs between kisses that are quickly turning intense and a little bit filthy. He’s very glad he has the wall at his back holding him up or else he thinks he could easily melt into a puddle on the floor as Wille tilts his head to just the right angle and presses closer. And as Simon does his very best not to moan out loud, he realises three things in quick succession:
One, his little teenage crush never went anywhere and he’s just been deluding himself for the last three years.
Two, he’s madly in love with his best friend.
Three, his best friend is an insanely good kisser and Simon kind of wants to go on kissing him for the rest of his life if Wille is also onboard with the idea.
But then Wille is pulling away again, taking a full step backwards as he runs a hand through his dishevelled hair, eyes wide and face rigid as if in shock. Simon is surprised to hear a pathetic whine fall from his own throat at the loss. He prays the music was loud enough to cover it.
“I, uh…” Wille clears his throat, back stiffening in that way he does when he’s trying to keep his cool, and Simon stares at him in confusion. “I think they’re gone now. The, uh…” He jerks a thumb behind him at the crowd, voice hoarse and eyes not meeting Simon’s. “They wouldn’t take a hint, so I thought maybe…if I showed them…and then they’d get the message.”
It’s a bucket of cold water thrown over Simon, leaving him shivering, exposed, and completely humiliated. Right. Wille hadn’t actually wanted to kiss him at all. He’d just wanted to get rid of the string of admirers and Royal-wannabes that plague him every time they step into a club like this, hoping to bag themselves a night or a lifetime with a Prince (delete according to personal preference).
Since Wille’s somewhat tentative and vague coming out in an interview earlier this year, hinting heavily that he might not be exactly straight, the hopefuls that buzzed around had only doubled in number and gender. Simon had watched from the sidelines as always, a strange feeling of pride and possessiveness swirling in his gut, safe in the knowledge that even if Wille does take one of them home for the night – and he rarely ever does – then it will still be Simon he’ll return to with a takeaway coffee and all the details in the morning, their bond untouched by any outsider.
God, Simon’s an idiot.
An idiot who right now would love it if the floor could open up and swallow him right now, please. Alas, no earthquakes in these parts. So instead, he manages, somehow, to sound like his entire world hasn’t shattered into pieces around him as he straightens up and says, “Glad I could help.”
He waits for Wille to laugh it off, to suggest they go back to the bar or the dancefloor or to get out of here altogether. But Wille isn’t moving. If anything, he’s inched closer again and is finally meeting Simon’s eyes with an intense stare.
“You kissed me back.”
Simon shrugs even as a shiver runs down his spine, embarrassment lending a touch of anger to the gesture. “Yeah, well, you weren’t exactly clear, were you?”
There’s an expression dawning on Wille’s face; a slack-jawed, disbelieving hope rising like the sun. And it’s that which gives Simon the courage to add,
“Next time you kiss me, you should ask nicely. And explain why.”
Wille steps forward again. This time he keeps his arms firmly by his sides, but there’s a delighted grin beginning to form.
“Simon?”
Simon keeps his face carefully neutral. “Yeah?”
“Can I kiss you?”
“Because…?”
“Because I really, really want to.”
“Well, that’s okay then,” says Simon, and springs forward to kiss that smug look off his face.
~
Send me a prompt from this list and I'll write you a ficlet!
in all seriousness though a fandom doesn't die when there's no new episodes or games or "content" to play with and it doesn't die because people aren't as loud as the day it first came out either. if you're still creating then the fandom is alive. if your mutual who has since moved on still reblogs a post about it every four months then the fandom is alive. if there is even one person out there still engaging in, creating for, or just enjoying that show or that game or those characters, then the fandom is alive.
"fresh content" isn't the soul of a fandom. you are.
image description: tweet by madoka magicock @/rifflexielian, reading: my preferences for fiction often run dark but i genuinely cannot handle 'no one showed up to their birthday' 'no one showed up to their event they worked really hard on' etc. Just give me the cannibalism I can't do this shit man /end description
🌥️ and 🌪️ (either for the same fic or different - I know you have a few WIPs)
Thank you for the ask Kate! This was a good distraction😀
I picked two different WIPs for this one.
More WIP-tease questions here
🌪️Sum up a WIP with a few fic tropes/Ao3 tags
AU - different first meeting, Modern politics, Roasted without getting it, Mistaken identities (not by wilmon), Abolishing the monarchy, Wille is a BAMF, Love at first sight, Coming out (is it coming out if everyone knows except the president?), Inspired by real life events
🌤️Share your favorite piece of dialogue from your WIP
Gaahhh... Why was this one so difficult?
Flipping through my different WIPs I realised that I apparently am a bit scared of writing dialogue until I get further in. But this is from something very much not in the YR canon verse. There is a totally different family setup for Simon, Wille is not royal and Wilmon aren't Wilmon💜 just yet.
Simon trailed off, and Wille tried, he really tried to give Simon the space to rest in the silence, or what ever bullshit it was that [redacted] used to make him -them do when they disagreed about shit. “What has happened Simon?” It didn’t taste as sweet anymore.
“My fucking father has died.”
The sounds reaching the kitchen from outside the apartment door made it clear that the advertisement guy had managed to fill each and every one of the mail-slots with the allocated flyers, maybe even those firmly stating that No thank you, this household will not have any, unless it is the Ikea catalog. Or Biltema only, please. Wille thought there was one of those stickers out there, his dad had one on their mailbox. His dad that was sleeping safe and sound at this hour, he hoped.
Had he managed to let the silence sit between them over the vast expansion of zeros and ones, water and land now? Is this how long it was supposed to be after one’s person had told them something that they didn’t even knew they would know about?
“What? I am sorry. What? I mean, I am sorry. But what do you mean, have you had contact with your dad?” Wille didn’t wanna be that guy but since when did they keep things from one another? Since when did Simon keep things from him? He tried to adjust the accusing tilt coming into his voice. He was mature enough. Christ, Simon's dad had died, this wasn’t about him now. “I am so sorry Simon.”
The sad snort Wille heard almost broke him in two.
“Special? He— Wille he left us. He did all that shit back then— The piece of... You know— the stuff. And I’ve told you— It’s— I wasn’t supposed to ever hear from, or even know anything about him again. Ever. I'm 28 years old and I haven’t seen him since I was seven. I— I—" He groaned and Wille heard a weird sound. Something like a thud and a metallic rattling. “I can’t do this myself. And I will not drag mom in to this. She...”
“Is she there with you, how is she holding up?”
“Yes. No, no she isn’t here. Mom is fine, she is fierce. Cares more about me, you know. She might come. I don’t know. I think she shouldn’t have to. I have people here.”
Steve. He thought. You have Steve. “Ok. That is good. Right?”
“He left me a house. A fucking bay house. The motherfucker had a house Wille. He had possessions. And other kids. And— And he left it all to me.”
There was someone walking their dog outside now. It kept on sniffing on the ground next to the streetlight. Up and down and the owner let its arm extend as it decided to reevaluate a spot further back.
Simon's depleted voice came through; “I have siblings Wille.”
Funnily enough, one of the reasons to why it took me this long to answer is because I was thinking soooo much about an answer to one of the questions. I finally decided what to say, and then I had read the wrong question🙄😆
guys i’m so sorry to say this but exercising and indulging in hobbies rather than scrolling on your phone for 200 hours actually does improve your mood and overall mental health, this has deeply upset me more than anyone
inspired by this poll by @young-royals-confessions
Simon woke up with a jolt and, as he laid there in the darkness, he catalogued his current, recently awoken, state: rapid heartbeat, erratic breathing, his skin tight with gooseflesh and soaked with sweat.
"Simon?" Wilhelm asked with a sleepy grumble. "What's wrong?"
"I..." Simon cleared his throat. It was sore from, presumably, screaming in his sleep. "I just had the weirdest dream...?"
Wilhelm hummed, listening, though Simon did note that his boyfriend of near a decade did not bother shifting from his comfortable position of rest.
"It was when we had our first kiss," continued Simon. "Only Boris was there, too? With a couple of cats and I swear maybe three dogs? Four? There were so many animals..." Simon huffed out a laugh. "J-O was there."
"He hates it when you call him that."
Simon kicked Wilhelm lightly under the covers. "He fell into a hole and it's not like we're ever going to see him again."
"Just say he retired five years ago..."
"What he won't know won't hurt him," Simon insisted.
Wilhelm grunted and nudged Simon back. "Tell me more about these cats."
"And the five dogs."
"No," said Wilhelm, and this time he turned his entire body to sprawl himself across Simon's back--as a sort of big spoon to Simon's now trapped little spoon. "I want to hear about cats."
Simon laughed. "So the dogs were pomeranians..."
Wilhelm retaliated by lovingly invading Simon's personal space even more. "Cats, Simon. Our first kiss was invaded by cats?"
His not long but not short either hair tickled Simon's sensitive neck; he could almost picture their tangled form from a bird's eye perspective, with Wilhelm's sunkissed blond hair mixing shamelessly next to his dark curls.
"And Boris and J-O," Simon added. "But that's not the weird part!"
"Oh?"
"You got a call and you picked up, which," Simon verbally shrugged, "first of all: rude. But it was August on the phone and he told you he was abdicating."
"A strange way to celebrate his coronation jubilee, but okay."
"He also said that your mamma was making a cake to celebrate."
"As if my mamma knows how to turn an oven on."
Simon laughed. "And then you hung up and went back to kissing me, except this time you had a cat's face!"
"Bet I licked you all over."
"Wille!"
"If I was suddenly a cat," Wilhelm said, nonchalant given the conversation, "I'd totally lick you. Your hands. Your hair. I'd.... hmm, what do you call it when cats make each other pretty?"
Simon sighed, but cuddled closer into Wilhelm's embrace. "Just go back to sleep, Wille."
Wilhelm hummed a soft "I love you," already falling back asleep.
"Love you, too," said Simon. "My ridiculous octopus cat, you."
