#anyway here u go

[orpheuslament]

Where I End & You Begin, Dante Émile. Published in From Heart To Stomach vol. 1.

[becomingsoup]

using class assignments to work out my own weird concepts part n,

[enjoythesilentworld]

this is something i started for kinktober but never managed to pick up again. here it is in all its 800 words of exposition glory ❤️👹

Simon sends Wille a gift, right before they're meant to appear at a royal gala. (cw: nsfw, sex toys)

Simon: There’s something at the door for you.

Wille looked down at the text, still scrubbing the towel through his wet hair, confused. A moment later, there was a knock. Some palace person he’d never seen before stood in the hallway with a small, nondescript package and a tight look on their face. He figured they were new and therefore taken aback by seeing the Ex- Crown Prince standing in front of them, wrapped in a robe.

With a nod, he accepted the package and retreated back into his old bedroom. The tape had already been disturbed on the package, and Wilhelm rolled his eyes. Yet another reason to be glad he’d stepped down, the blatant invasion of privacy.

Wille: How did you even do that? I didn’t know I could get actual packages here.

S: Ingenuity.

He opened the box and found another, smaller box inside. The package fell from his hands onto the bed, and he scrambled to grab his phone again.

W: Simon. Simon, this is a butt plug.

S: That it is. Well done baby.

W: Why did you… Fuck

S: There should be a little remote, too. Do you see it?

There was indeed a little remote. At least three settings on the toy, which could be controlled from a short distance. From, say, across a room. Wille’s fingers and toes tingled, and he flushed red across his chest. His cock twitched under the plush robe, which had already fallen slightly open as he fidgeted where he sat on the side of the bed, staring at the purple toy.

W: Yes.

S: I’d like you to wear it for me tonight. Can you do that for me, baby?

W: Yes.

S: Want to watch you squirm all night in your chair. Want you all stretched out and wet for me.

Want you to have to try to keep a straight face all through the gala, knowing I could bend you over and fuck you at any moment.

W: fuvk

S: Want you to be good for me. Can you be good for me tonight, my love?

W: Yes Yes yesyes Simon Ill be si good f or you I’ll be so so goodf

Wille was only half looking at his phone, eyes reading over and over the words sent from Simon, while the other half of him tore through the small suitcase he’d brought, searching for the lube.

At this moment, he didn’t totally hate that he still occasionally had to attend royal galas. Simon knew he hated them — he hated them himself, too — so Simon, the angel he was, always found a way to make them more enjoyable for Wille. There were plenty of rooms in this godforsaken castle that they’d already defiled, but usually it was under no threat of being found.

This, though? The thought of doing this in a room full of people? The thought of no one knowing their former Crown Prince was filled up, biting his lip and clenching around a purple butt plug while some diplomat droned on about one thing or another, while Simon sat beside him and whispered filthy things in his ear…

S: I’ll be there a bit late. You, however, are meant to show face in twenty minutes, no? Better get going, Wille.

W: m going

The first finger slipped inside, and Wille didn’t even bother to muffle the filthy moan that fell from his lips. He was already so hard, practically aching, just from the idea of what Simon was going to do to him tonight. The only thing that made him frown slightly was that Simon wasn’t there to see him. Wasn’t there to see how good he was being, bent over a ridiculously expensive chaise lounge, fingering himself, preparing himself for Simon.

S: Three fingers. Gentle. Don’t you dare come.

W: I wont Want to be good

S: You’re already being so good, love.

Wille moaned loudly at the text, slipping a third finger in a little too soon, just wanting to feel the burn, wanting the toy inside him already. He could practically hear Simon saying those words aloud to him, could feel his breath ghosting across his ear. So good, Wille, he’d say. So good for me.

He’d had enough, he was tired of waiting, and hastily wiped his fingers on the crumpled robe, and grabbed the toy.

It was fucking perfect. The stretch was fucking perfect, and when it settled fully in him, the tip of it brushed against his prostate when he shifted just right. His arms collapsed under him, and he rested there for a moment, breaths coming heavily, face pressed against scratchy fabric. He imagined Simon walking in right now. Imagined him finding Wille, bent over for him, the end of the pretty toy sticking out of his hole.

Simon wasn’t going to walk in, though. Wille was alone here, for now, cock hanging heavy between his legs. He was going to be hard all night, he was sure of it, and he ached to touch it now, just for one second. But, he wanted to be good, didn’t want to disappoint Simon, even if Simon wasn’t here to see it. 

S: And Wille?

W: yes?

S: Bring the remote with you.

[leupagus]

A War of Seasons, Chapter 2: Daenerys

"Did you get lost again?" asked Tyrion a few days later, mild as sour milk. He and Missandei were sitting out on the great bench that ran along the Nursery's balcony; from the looks of things, they'd been there for some time, their pile of "to be read" books quite a bit shorter than either the "read and approve" or the "read and wish to burn" piles.

"Water," Dany croaked, half-falling from Drogon's back and staggering to the bench. Missandei, looking nearly as disapproving as Tyrion, stood and made her way down the stairs, calling for a refreshment tray to be brought.

[airanke]

Twins.

[hawkmoonie]

ok i kept my promise

[cwritesfiction]

The news is out: It's in the Cards is several small to average sized friends and their One Giant Friend

[vypersketches]

close-up

[inkskinned]

this is just my opinion but i think any good media needs obsession behind it. it needs passion, the kind of passion that's no longer "gentle scented candle" and is now "oh shit the house caught on fire". it needs a creator that's biting the floorboards and gnawing the story off their skin. creators are supposed to be wild animals. they are supposed to want to tell a story with the ferocity of eating a good stone fruit while standing over the sink. the same protective, strange instinct as being 7 and making mud potions in pink teacups: you gotta get weird with it.

good media needs unhinged, googling-at-midnight kind of energy. it needs "what kind of seams are invented on this planet" energy and "im just gonna trust the audience to roll with me about this" energy. it needs one person (at least) screaming into the void with so much drive and energy that it forces the story to be real.

sometimes people are baffled when fanfic has some stunning jaw-dropping tattoo-it-on-you lines. and i'm like - well, i don't go here, but that makes sense to me. of fucking course people who have this amount of passion are going to create something good. they moved from a place of genuine love and enjoyment.

so yeah, duh! saturday cartoons have banger lines. random street art is sometimes the most precious heart-wrenching shit you've ever seen. someone singing on tiktok ends up creating your next favorite song. youtubers are giving us 5 hours of carefully researched content. all of this is the impossible equation to latestage capitalism. like, you can't force something to be good. AI cannot make it good. no amount of focus-group testing or market research. what makes a story worth listening to is that someone cares so much about telling it - through dance, art, music, whatever it takes - that they are just a little unhinged about it.

one time my friend told me he stayed up all night researching how many ways there are to peel an orange. he wrote me a poem that made me cry on public transportation. the love came through it like pith, you know? the words all came apart in my hands. it tasted like breakfast.

[child-of-plut0]

back to back

[hinamie]

together, we do the same thing again //

[toastyyjams]

no more mizu5 angst have a meme instead

[damnelves]

MY CHILDHOOD HOME IS EMPTY.

You Can't Go Home Again by Thomas Wolfe / Giovanni’s Room by James Baldwin (1) / Landscape by Louise Glück / Summer's End by Eli McMullen ( Acrylic and gouache on panel) / There is still love here (Ceramic house) by griefmother / How's It Gonna End - Tom Waits / Dear God. Dear Bones. Dear Yellow by Noor Hindi / Origin of the Marble Forest by Gregory Orr / A Shropshire Lad by A.E.Housman / Little Summer by Raymond Bonilla (Oil on panel) / Untitled, digital by Tito Merello Vilar / Ivy - Frank Ocean / Disco Elysium (1) / The Graveyard Book by Neil Gaiman / That’s Okay - The Hush Sound / Checkers by John Marsden / 1986 by Hollis Brown Thornton (pigment transfer on paper) / tumblr post by @ryebreadgf / Outhouse by Rachel McKibbens / 6 ways to draw a circle by tumblr user @filmnoirsbian / From the Scars series by India Lawton / House Fire by Becca Stadtlander / Back to the Old House - The Smiths / How’d Your Parents Die Again by Fatimah Asghar / Giovanni’s Room by James Baldwin (2) / Disco Elysium (2) / The Four Generations of Chang E by Zen Cho

[mroddmod]

you only really need one

[cozylittleartblog]

i thought naming myself this would be really funny. and it Is. every time i get into a match i think about gabriel playing Miku Rhythm Game

[technically-human]

An oh moment of sorts