[amailboxlemur]

Simon’s Song has absolutely captivated me these last few months… honestly it’s absolutely gorgeous and Omar’s voice is just *chefs kiss*

Putting this together gave me a whole other appreciation for his voice and just how phenomenally talented he is… seriously that range 😩 💕🥰

[justfriendsbestthings]

Day 252/? of posting a picture of Omar Rudberg from my camera roll

[ur-favorite-fishgirl]

sex is a distraction from your true purpose in life which is to go to the aquarium and look at the fish and go "wooooooaaah.... fishies". cmon guys we all need to lock in.

[loreleywrites]

no longer looking for hookups. now looking for women to go to the aquarium and go "wooooooaaah.... fishies" with me

[throwbackblr]

When cereal boxes came with computer games

[sobadbad]

[justfriendsbestthings]

Day 251/? of posting a picture of Omar Rudberg from my camera roll

[omardaily]

[crw13]

hi! for the drabble thing, 42. “I swear it was an accident.” and wilmon, please 💜

Thanks @malinowaj! This one was harder to write than I would have anticipated, and ended up more angsty than I intended... sorry? Maybe partly because I originally started it as a fluffy romp through one of them giving the other a DIY hair trim at home, and accidentally taking out a chunk or otherwise messing it up – horrors! Short hair on the ex-Crown Prince! Or true horrors, RIP Simon’s curls! – but then that same day my youngest decided their hair was flopping in their eyes and took matters into their own hands, so the original conceit of the story felt too, shall we say, close to home. All is well on the homefront… just channeling Edvin in Hunger Games. I’m still taking prompts from this list if anyone would like a little hit of Wilmon.

42. “I swear it was an accident” + Wilmon

“Hej!” Wilhelm is so startled by Simon’s breezy greeting, tossed off right behind him, that he fumbles his phone. Thankfully it only drops and slides across the soft sofa cushion, coming to rest against his thigh.

Simon continues to chatter as he hustles into the apartment, backpack sagging heavily off one shoulder and a tote bag bursting with groceries drooping from his other hand. He plops them on the floor behind the sofa so he can toe off his sneakers.

Their apartment is stuffy with the first truly sweltering day of the season, despite all the windows being open. Even after four years, Wille still hasn’t totally adjusted to the way summer heat here doesn’t have the cool underpinnings of the Swedish archipelago. So with the oscillating fan strategically directed at his face, Wille clearly had missed the sound of keys in the door.

Well, that and he had been a little distracted.

Simon seems to catch on to the embarrassed flush that Wille knows is surely creeping up his neck.

“You okay?” Simon asks him in English.

Wille swiftly locks his phone. “Yeah, yes.” He clears his throat. “Want me to unpack everything?”

“Sure.” Simon shrugs easily. “Just figured I’d grab what we needed on my way. I was thinking we could make that cold noodle dish tonight?”

“Sounds good.”

Simon comes around the sofa to face Wille, his expression scrutinizing. “Why are you acting weird?”

“I’m not,” Wille says, but it sounds like a question.

“Wille. What’s up?”

Wille wants to groan that Simon knows him so well. Or cry. Because being known so well can be a pain in the ass, but also makes him want to cry with how good it feels.

“Just in a mood.”

Simon makes a noise of acknowledgement in his throat. Blinks. Waits.

When it’s clear Wilhelm isn’t going to offer more, but also isn’t fleeing the conversation to busy himself with putting away groceries, Simon steps closer.

On instinct, Wille opens his legs so Simon can come to stand between them. One of the delights of living somewhere slightly less temperate is getting Simon in shorts, and he can feel the slightly sweaty hair on Simon’s calves brushing against his own shins.

Taking a deep breath in, Wilhelm wraps his arms around Simon’s waist, tugging him a step closer.

“I’m all sweaty from hauling that shit home,” Simon warns as Wille rests his face against Simon’s stomach.

 “Mhm,” Wille mumbles happily as he rolls his forehead side to side, letting his nose press just shy of too hard into Simon.

Simon runs a comforting hand down Wille’s back, coming up to rest in his hair. He pulls at the long, fine hairs there, encouraging Wille to tilt his head back and look up at him. “What’s got you all up in your head?”

“It’s stupid.”

“Not if it has you on edge like this.”

“It’s stupid.”

“Tell me.” Simon’s voice is so gentle Wille feels even more stupid, and also silly for getting in his head about this. How many years has he been working on quieting the part of him that needles over and over a thought, worrying it in his mind, even if most of him knows it’s not rational?

Wille isn’t sure he can shape this into a coherent explanation, so he pulls back enough to grab his phone and navigates back to what he’d been looking at. He tilts the screen up towards Simon.

“Wille,” Simon’s voice is incredulous. “What?”

“I swear it was an accident,” Wille cringes at his petulant tone and forces himself to take a deep breath.

“An accident?” Simon sputters. “Wille, you had to have been looking for this. I just….” Simon stops himself.

Wilhelm looks down at the phone screen. “I told you it was stupid.”

“It’s not. But just… why?” Simon reaches out again to rest a hand soothingly on the back of Wille’s neck, pressing with the pad of his thumb into the flushed skin there.

Wille still isn’t really sure himself. He grimaces at the photo.

Simon looks beautiful in it, shirtless and glowing with the heady comfort of Swedish midsummer, curls spiraling damp after a swim, sprawled in the grass with the water blurring the horizon, curtained by lushly green trees. Empty glasses and the remnants of picnic fixings were strewn on a blanket beside him. And behind him, Jakub. Chin hooked over Simon’s shoulder, a hand splayed possessively across his stomach. Jakub was grinning at whomever was behind the camera, probably Felicia or one of their other friends from university, but Simon was turning to look down at Jakub, his face slightly blurred from the captured motion, but the expression of warmth unmistakable.

“I was looking for that picture Sara took of us, after Pride?” Wille starts. “When she came to visit last summer.” As he speaks, he’s trying to unravel the fraying edge of why this bothers him so much anyway.

“At Wannsee?” Simon’s face softens with the memory. “Yeah, I remember.”

“But you know how the phone offers similar photos from previous years…”

Simon frowns. “But why do you have this one? I mean, I don’t even have it.”

Wille traces the arc of Simon’s hip bone with his thumb. “I guess I must have saved it, back then.”

“Wille,” Simon sighs, scritching his fingers along Wille’s hairline.

“I honestly don’t remember.”

“That was, what, three years ago? A long time ago.”

“I know.”

“It doesn’t mean anything.”

“I know it doesn’t now. But… it did then.”

Simon huffs. “You know it wasn’t the same.”

“I know, and it’s not like I think… or, I thought… you were doing anything wrong. You weren’t. Obviously.”

Simon nods. He knows Wille doesn’t need him to say anything. Just need to hear himself say it out loud.

“But I think…” Wille stops himself, choosing his words. “Having the photo come up just took me back in that feeling, then, when I was here. I’d go out and walk for hours, listening to music, and my mind would just be free-floating, lost in the flow of the city. Being in a place where no one knew me. No one knew or cared who I was.

Wille swallows. “And then I’d go out dancing with people and I couldn’t think beyond the pulse of the music, and the lights, that feeling of being in my body. But then I’d get home at 4am and shower and crawl into bed and feel so content and full and spent, in the best ways, but also so… lonely.”

“And it was the right thing then, for me to come here. I needed it. And it was the right thing for you to stay,” he looks up at Simon to see his confirmation reflected back. “But I think I was so desperate for you… when we weren’t talking, at first… that I’d search for glimpses of you anywhere I could find them.”

“You mean stalking my friends’ instas,” Simon deadpans, the corner of his mouth twitching.

“Your friends, your boyfriend… I’ve never had the best impulse control, you know that,” Wille levels back.

“Jakub – it wasn’t serious, Wille, you know that.”

“But it’s okay if it was,” Wille cuts him off. “You're allowed... Just because I realized pretty quickly.…” he lets that thought trail off, not wanting to invoke his own unsatisfying attempts at ‘experiencing other people’ or ‘moving on.’

“Okay.” Simon’s expression is thoughtful, all teasing gone. “But. It was different.”

Wille leans his face back into Simon and feels Simon’s arms wrap around his shoulders without hesitation, holding him close.

“This is different,” Simon says again.

Wille nuzzles against his belly. “It is.”

“And we’re here, now.” Simon leans over Wille’s back so he can ruck up his shirt, running his hands up along his spine.

Wille inhales deeply the smell of Simon, taking over all his senses, welcome despite the damp heat cloying their skin.

 “Should we get started on dinner?” he finally asks, voice rumbling against Simon’s body.

“Yeah,” Simon says, straightening. “But first, we’re deleting that fucking photo.”

“Even though you look really hot in it?” Wille finds it in himself to wheelde, realizing that the gloomy weight has seeped out of him, shed by Simon’s comforting steadiness.

Simon snorts. “Well, guess we’ll just have to take a new one for you to remember me by.” He fiddles with Wille’s phone and then tosses it back on the sofa.

“Mhm… is that a promise?” Wille tilts his face up.

Simon leans down readily to grant him the kiss, tender and searching. “Promise.”

[infizero]

bringing back my too woke opinion that you should be allowed to change labels without the previous one being incorrect

[infizero]

i think you should be allowed to identify as trans without retroactively saying you were also trans in the past. i think the "born this way" rhetoric is limiting and you should be able say stuff like "i was fully a girl when i was a kid and now im a boy" without it invalidating your current identity but maybe that's just me

[kruemel8]

Felix Jaehn on TikTok.

[c0ttonsocks]

the King 👑

[kruemel8]

[youngroyalscasttweets]

[kruemel8]

Omar on stories.

[omardaily]

[oneofthosebells]

For the Wilmon ficlet... What about number 35: “You heard me. Take. It. Off.” Thank you💜

Thank you for the prompt! 💜 And sorry for the delay. I was trying to force a bit of smut for this one, but I just couldn't make it work - my brain was determined to take it in an angsty direction instead. So have a very angsty one instead, and if you were really hoping for something more fluffy/smutty/fun, @almostlake, let me know and I'll write another one!

35. "You heard me. Take. It. Off." 891 words, content warning for Erik grief and Wilmon arguing.

~

Simon’s trying to be okay with staying in the palace more often.  He’s put it off as much as he can, but sometimes it’s unavoidable if he wants to ever actually see his boyfriend.  Especially since the move to Göteborg.  He can’t always expect Wille to come across country to him.

So Simon puts up with the weirdness, and the awkwardness, and the vague, nagging sense that the very building itself objects to his presence.  If it does, well, screw it.  That only makes him more determined to stamp his presence here every way he can.

What’s harder to put up with is the cold.  Ancient plumbing and high ceilings are apparently no match for a particularly chilly Swedish winter.  Wille and his parents seem oblivious, wandering around in regular clothing when Simon’s so cold he’s half-convinced he can see his own breath when he speaks.

He only brought one proper jumper with him, and it appears to have vanished somewhere, possibly collected by an over-zealous maid collecting the prince’s laundry.  So while Simon was waiting for Wille to finish his shower, he’d raided his wardrobe for a replacement, finding a thick, warm hoodie that’s several sizes too big for him.  He can’t remember ever seeing Wille wear it before, but it’s absolutely perfect to wrap himself up in while he tucks his cold legs under the duvet and waits for his boyfriend to return.

“Take it off.”

Simon looks up from his phone in surprise.  He hadn’t heard Wille come in.  Then his automatic flirty response dies on his lips at the sight of Wille’s face.

“You heard me. Take. It. Off.”

“What?” says Simon, half-laughing in shock.  He hasn’t seen Wille’s anger like that in months.  Not directed at him, anyway.

“Now,” snaps Wille through gritted teeth.  He looks like a different person to the one who’d left Simon alone in bed not twenty minutes ago, loving and attentive and carefree.

Silent, disbelieving, Simon pulls off the hoodie and throws it over with bad grace.  Wille picks it up slowly, almost reverently, stroking the worn fabric with trembling fingers.  He sits down on the edge of the bed, back to Simon, and begins to fold the sweater into a neat square.

“Seriously, Wille.  What the fuck?” He’s laughing again, a nervous reaction, because it’s either that or pack up his stuff and leave.  All the old anxieties he thought they’d left in the past had flooded back at Wille’s words, reaching down somewhere deep inside and flipping painful switches.

There’s a pause before Wille replies, still not turning round.  “It was Erik’s.  I took it from his room after…” He trails off, takes in a shuddering breath.  “Before the funeral.”

Well, it’s an explanation at least, if not an excuse.  Simon exhales, heart rate beginning to settle back down and no longer two seconds away from fleeing the room.  He’s still hurt and confused, but he can hear the hurt in Wille’s voice too now.  It’s that which makes him slide across the bed to sit next to him, their feet dangling over the edge.

Simon doesn’t get too close though, keeping a careful distance between them as he waits.

“I’m sorry,” says Wille after a pause, and that’s something.  He never used to apologise for his outbursts.  “I shouldn’t have shouted. You didn’t know.”

Simon looks at his own hands, clasped together in front of him to stop himself from reaching out too soon.  “No, I didn’t,” he says eventually, before raising his gaze to Wille’s pale face, seeing the tears in his eyes.  “You really scared me there.”

“I’m sorry…”

“Don’t be sorry, just…” Simon sighs.  “Explain it to me.  Please.”

He’s fearful for a moment that Wille won’t answer, his jaw set and face unmoving.  Every instinct Simon has longs to close that gap between them anyway, to take Wille’s hands in his and to forgive and forget.  But he waits instead while Wille finds the words.

“I’m scared.”

“Scared?”

“Of forgetting.” He turns to face Simon with a watery, twisted smile.  “Because I keep forgetting all the time now.  Like this morning, I woke up with you and everything was perfect and I didn’t think about him once.  And that’s most mornings now.  And then when I do remember, I feel so fucking guilty.”

“He’d have wanted you to be happy,” says Simon, firm but cautious.  He can feel himself edging out over a thin sheet of ice, knowing the wrong movement could break the fragile surface at any moment.

They almost never talk about Erik.  Considering what happened the last time they tried to have a serious conversation about him, Simon has never been brave enough to raise the subject again.  Perhaps that was a mistake, on both their parts.

“He loved you.  He wouldn’t have wanted you to be stuck in grief forever.”

“Yeah. Maybe,” says Wille, staring at the hoodie on his lap.  Gently, he smooths out the fabric with long fingers.

Simon inches closer, cutting the gap between them in half.  “You never talk about him,” he says, greatly daring, and Wille looks up in surprise.  “You can, you know.  If you want to.  You could tell me about him, what he was like.  If it helps you to remember.”

“I’d like that,” Wille whispers.  As his tears start to fall in earnest, Simon finally pulls him close, pouring as much love and comfort into the hug as he can.

[kruemel8]