Originally here for the Kurt Hummel madness. The other stuff I found was just a nice surprise. And yes, I am talking about TED and the language blogs. Also, radical feminism, duh!
Not sure about anyone else but I re-read all my favourite AO3 comments when I’ve had a rough day so if you’ve ever taken the time to write a deep, funny, or just kind comment, thank-you.
The French words nord and sud look a lot like English north and south.
That’s not a coincidence: it’s because Old French borrowed these words from Old English norþ and sūþ – along with est and ouest, which come from ēast and west. The other Romance languages later adopted these words from French.
My new infographic tells you all about the fascinating theories about the history of north, south and their cognates.
On the topic of World Cup fics, @malinowaj impressively turned our goofy Wilmon football spitballing into an actual, adorable Wilmon ficlet, with a delightful Rosh cameo. I can't post the link but check her tumblr feed from Monday. 🥰
💬 0 🔁 13 ❤️ 17 · like some sort of sleeper agent, my desire to write wilmon have fun in a football setting activates as soon as a major to
My day 9 contribution to the 10daysto1k challenge. (Masterpost).
Fandom: Young Royals | Prompt: Flash | Rating: T | AO3
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Flash. Click. Flash flash. Click click.
“For fuck’s sake,” Rosh grumbled, nudging the ball to Simon. “Why are they here?”
Simon glanced to the pair over by the edge of the field: a pretty girl with loose, dark curls wearing a flowy white dress, and a boy holding a camera and directing her to lean casually against the railing.
“It’s a public field.” Simon stopped the ball before kicking it back. “They have every right to be here.”
“When did you get so chill about the Hillerska kids?” Rosh knocked the ball between her feet a few times then tapped it to Ayub.
“I’m not,” Simon said. “I just don’t see the problem with them being there.”
“Why are you getting so wound up?” Ayub chipped in. “You don’t usually care.”
“I don’t!” Rosh cried, far too emotionally for someone who didn’t care. “They’re just distracting, that’s all.”
“Distracting from a kick about?”
“Yes!”
Ayub bent down and picked up the ball with a knowing grin. Rosh glared at him.
“You think she’s hot,” he said, throwing the ball up and catching it.
“I do not.” Rosh snatched the ball out of Ayub’s hands.
Simon looked back at the girl, now with her back to the camera, turning to look coyly over her shoulder. Simon was just thinking how ridiculous it looked when the girl burst out laughing.
Rosh whipped her head around so quickly she probably got a crick. Ayub snorted. “See.”
Glaring, Rosh threw the ball directly at Ayub’s face. With a startled yelp, he tumbled to the ground.
The commotion drew the attention of the photographer and model. Rosh and Ayub were now tussling. Simon watched as the new pair exchanged a look before heading over.
“Fuck.” Simon aimed a kick at the jostling twosome. “They’re coming over.”
Ayub and Rosh scrambled to their knees, half risen once the Hillerska kids had neared them.
“Hey,” the girl said. She was very pretty.
“We’re allowed to be here,” Rosh blurted.
The girl laughed and Simon thought he could see Rosh blush. “I know,” she replied. “If anything, we’re in your way. But… we wondered if you might be able to help us?”
“Help you?” Ayub chimed in. “With what?”
“I, uhm…” The boy wiggled his camera. “I’ve been trying to get better at photography. But… there aren’t that many opportunities. Felice offered to model for me. But it would be great if I could photograph some more people too.”
“You want us to model for you?”
The boy turned to look at Simon and his face split into a grin that did something strange to Simon’s insides. “Yes,” he said. “That’d be great.”
Simon wasn’t convinced that modelling was great. He’d never been so hyper aware of his body before. Every time Wille (who had introduced himself with a shy hand running through his hair) told him to adjust how he was standing, or hold his arm a different way, or tilt his head in a different direction, Simon’s heart started racing and it made it difficult to remember his right from left.
“No. The other— Here, let me.”
And that was the other thing. Wille kept touching him. The first few times, he’d asked awkwardly, but now he just kept grabbing Simon and moving him. That didn’t help. In fact, it made the humming under his skin even worse.
What was going on?
“Simon. How are you so bad at this?”
Ayub was apparently a natural.
“Fuck you.”
“He’s doing great,” Felice said, soothingly. “And Wille really is good. I promise the pictures will look amazing.”
“Maybe I can come over and see them when they’re done?” Rosh butted in.
Felice looked at her with a curious expression and then said, “Yeah. That’d be nice.”
Rosh missed Wille’s giddy grin as she smiled back at Felice.
“So…” Wille sounded nervous.
The photoshoot had taken them until the sun had begun to set. Ayub was talking to Felice about his sister’s fashion course whilst Rosh tried to steal back the attention.
Simon had been hanging around trying to look casual as Wille packed up. After the fifty-sixth time Simon’s stomach had swooped, he finally figured out what was going on.
“Yeah?” Simon was aiming for nonchalant.
“I need to go through the shots and do some editing. But… would you maybe like to come and see the pictures? Perhaps next week?”
“At Hillerska?”
“Yeah. Or… somewhere else. If you’d rather. Maybe I could bring my laptop? And we could… grab a coffee?”
Simon could feel the corners of his mouth tug up. “Like a date?”
Wille ducked his chin and chuckled. When he looked back up at Simon it stole all of his breath away. “Yeah,” Wille said. “Like a date.”
Simon swallowed and nodded. “Okay then. Yeah. I’d love to.”
And then, before he lost his nerve, he leant forward and pressed a chaste kiss to Wille’s lips. When they parted, Wille blinked at him for a moment, before smiling and tugging Simon back in.
“Oh for fuck’s sake!”
They pulled apart at Ayub’s exclamation, only to find Rosh and Felice, arms wrapped around each other, kissing enthusiastically.
Laughing, Wille nudged at Simon’s shoulder.
“Next week then?”
“Yeah,” Simon chuckled. “Next week.”
Wille leant forward and stole another kiss before striding away with a wave over his shoulder.
Simon would never admit that he’s short – because he’s not and he has the statistics to prove it, thank you very much. He will, however, concede (at least to himself) that he rather enjoys being shorter than his boyfriend. For one thing, he is the perfect height to tuck his face into the crook of Wille’s neck when they’re hugging, and breathe in his scent that’s so wonderfully concentrated there. And, sue him, he does find it hot that Wille can and will pick him up and carry him when the mood strikes. Or pin him against the wall, Simon’s legs wrapped around his waist. What’s not to like about that?
But most of all, he loves how safe he feels when Wille holds him. There’s something primal and instinctive about it, he supposes, the feeling of safety that can only come from being held by someone bigger than you who loves you more than anything, someone who makes you feel like they can protect you from all danger regardless of whether it’s true or not. No matter how bad things are, when Wille wraps him in his arms and holds him close to his chest, it’s impossible not to believe they’ll get better again.
So the only times Simon wishes he was taller is when he wants to give the same visceral feeling of absolute safety back to Wille. Sure, Simon can hold him, he can be the big spoon, he can have him scoot down on the bed and lay his head on Simon’s chest, he can even have him sit curled up in Simon’s lap, but none of that makes Simon big enough to be able to wrap Wille up in that perfect cocoon of comfort and protection. And that’s just so unfair, because Wille deserves that feeling.
“But you do make me feel like that, don’t you know?” Wille says incredulously when Simon brings it up one gloomy evening. Simon had a shit day at uni, followed by a frustrating phone call with his father, and then he got caught in the rain waiting for a bus that wouldn’t come. Nothing too bad, but he still appreciates being able to curl up in Wille’s arms about it. Wille can’t erase the less than appreciative words Simon’s professor had to say about his work, or make him feel like less of an idiot for giving his dad yet another chance, or take away his headache. But he can make all of it matter a little less simply by being a warm, solid body Simon can tuck himself against and be safe.
“You’ve made me feel like that since that day you found me on the football field,” Wille whispers into Simon’s hair, his arms tightening around Simon’s shoulders. Instinctively, Simon burrows closer into Wille’s chest. “It doesn’t matter who’s bigger. I feel your heartbeat, I feel your skin, I breathe you in… and everything else just… fades away.”
Of course Simon knows that. He knows his touch makes Wille relax, knows Wille finds comfort in Simon’s closeness. But that’s not quite it.
“It’s not the same,” Simon says, frustrated at not being able to explain what he means.
Wille shrugs, as much as he can when they’re lying in bed holding each other. “Maybe not. But I don’t think it’s possible to feel safer than I do when we’re like this.” He kisses the top of Simon’s head. “Besides, I know how protective you can get. I’ll never forget that time you made August literally back into a corner just by glaring at him.”
The memory of their altercation at Ludvig’s birthday party makes Simon’s hackles rise. “He had no business talking to you like that.” Simon still wishes he’d punched him.
“See? Short or not, you’re still my protector.”
Simon kicks his shin. “I’m not short.”
Wille just giggles, but Simon can’t even be mad at him. Not when he’s tilting Simon’s head up to brush their noses and lips together.
“No, you’re not,” Wille says then, in that earnest way of his that makes it quite impossible for Simon to feel anything besides stupidly in love with him. “You’re just right. Just right to fit with me.”
Simon tucks his face into the crook of Wille’s neck. He can’t argue with that.
My week has been exhausting and I wanna think about young royals now 🥺 anyone have some headcanons you wanna share or something like that? I will take anything about any character 🥹 like what will Madison do after Hillerska? Will she study something? Will she live in Sweden or the USA? Who is keeping in contact with whom? Will Vincent ever be less of a dick? Do you believe Kristina and Ludwig are actually in love or just have a mutual understanding/respect (because Kristina was talking about her unfortunate love story when she was young)?
One of the best navigational tools ever built. Can't be jammed or intercepted. Something breaks, you can fix it yourself. Hard to learn. Yes, but once you've mastered it, you're free.
An excerpt from my little fic for @books-books-smolderinglooks' YR epilogue challenge to mark two years since season 3.
Last night and throughout the day’s events Kristina had sensed Simon’s unease at being at Drottningholm, present for these rituals of grief yet not fully partaking in them. But she also perceived his stubborn pride.
Wilhelm and Simon didn’t spend much time together here, and the rare times they did, once family dinner was over and dessert had been cleared they tended to retreat to Wihelm’s bedroom.
So Kristina was caught off-guard when she stepped into their shared living space to discover the light of the television flickering through the dim room. For a moment she thought someone had accidentally left it on.
But as her eyes adjusted, she could make out Simon sunk back against the sofa cushions. Immediately after, she noted the slender outline of Wilhelm curled up under a blanket, head resting on Simon’s lap.
It took another moment for Kristina to truly register what she was seeing on the screen: Erik and Wilhelm. They must have been around eleven and seven, steering a canoe together at Solliden.
An excerpt from my little fic for @books-books-smolderinglooks' YR epilogue challenge to mark two years since season 3.
Last night and throughout the day’s events Kristina had sensed Simon’s unease at being at Drottningholm, present for these rituals of grief yet not fully partaking in them. But she also perceived his stubborn pride.
Wilhelm and Simon didn’t spend much time together here, and the rare times they did, once family dinner was over and dessert had been cleared they tended to retreat to Wihelm’s bedroom.
So Kristina was caught off-guard when she stepped into their shared living space to discover the light of the television flickering through the dim room. For a moment she thought someone had accidentally left it on.
But as her eyes adjusted, she could make out Simon sunk back against the sofa cushions. Immediately after, she noted the slender outline of Wilhelm curled up under a blanket, head resting on Simon’s lap.
It took another moment for Kristina to truly register what she was seeing on the screen: Erik and Wilhelm. They must have been around eleven and seven, steering a canoe together at Solliden.
Saw an opportunity to draw some happy Wilmon for @books-books-smolderinglooks epilogue event 🥰 I imagine they’re university students at this point. Wille has glasses, that’s very important.
The drag queen from this photo has spoken up about the photo.
I won’t speak for all liberals, but I’d like to see a future where it isn’t a big deal for a woman in full modesty garb to sit next to a drag queen in NYC. It’s become a bit of a sensation, but her and I were just existing. The freedom to simply be yourself in a sea of people who aren’t like you is a freedom we all deserve.
The central irony is that this isn’t some hypothetical future–it’s just present day reality. This is a picture of two ordinary people going about their normal lives despite how haters want to politicize it lmao. So the underlying message is not “future liberals want” it’s “people conservatives want to eradicate”
2087
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