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Hot Takes on Young Royals Season 3 Finale
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S P O I L E R S B E L O W
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This might be a hot take but I found the ending of the series to be so lovely AND realistic! I didn’t think it was “idealized” or “romanticized” at all.
An unrealistic ending would have been the Queen renouncing the throne in honor of her son- and the crumbling of the entire monarchy. Or the entire student body of Hilleshka recognizing the issues with the hierarchy and bullying. Those endings would be completely unrealistic but “story book”….
Instead the ending showed two people in love who were able to make their relationship work- and two friends who saw the flaws in their environment and chose to break the mold. That feels perfectly realistic to me!
Additionally- the ending leaves Wilhelm and Simon’s future so open ended- which is the whole point of the story (imo)! Their love was complicated by issues that were so much bigger than either of them individually. The show explores how all of these external pressures and issues impact all relationships but specifically theirs. People suggest that Wilhelm and Simon’s relationship is toxic but I disagree entirely. I think both characters are nuanced with weaknesses but that doesn’t make them toxic together. I think two things can be true- you can be a “work in progress” and have a healthy relationship. They are not mutually exclusive. In fact, I think the beauty in any relationship is being able to grow as an individual as well as a couple- and it is super special when that can happen! Both characters demonstrate that growth independently and together.
Anyway call me a hopeless optimist but I think my hot takes are totally reasonable 😂
Many years ago, I was wandering around downtown Ottawa with my best friend. We ran into a friend of his who offered us some hash (it sucked), then said there was a really good house party nearby if we wanted to go. We were like, yeah, sure. So that's how we ended up at some completely fucking random person's house.
I look around to ask if my friend knows anyone here and he's simply gone, as is his friend. And this isn't some red solo cup hangout; this is a party. There's people counting out pills on the kitchen counter. I am clearly neither as cool nor as drug-savvy as the kitchen people, so I back away and instead wander aimlessly into the living room, which seems to give off more of a chill vibe.
A bunch of people are seated in a circle on the floor. One of them is fiddling with a big wad of newspaper or something. A really cute grunge girl with piercings and tattoos scoots aside to make room for me, so I sit down.
"What's that," I ask her, gesturing at the newspaper wad.
She gets a really big smile on her face. You know the smile. It's the I'm About To Watch This Innocent Soul Get High As Fuck smile. "You've never smoked a tulip?"
"What's a tulip?" I ask.
"It's like if a joint was also a bong," she replies. "You gotta try it."
"Alright," I reply, a little uncertainly. This will not be my first encounter with weed. I am more comfortable with the janky newspaper bong than I am with whatever the fuck is going on in the kitchen. Besides, this girl is really cute and I would like to have a friend here now that my existing friend has turned into vapor or been transported to the Upside-Down or whatever the hell happened to him.
I watch as one person holds the newspaper joint-bong upright and holds a lighter over the top while another gets beneath it, tilting their head back to take a puff. Apparently smoking this Cheech & Chong monstrosity is a two-person job.
"Oh," I say, looking at the fist-sized knob at the top of the wonky newspaper joint. "Yeah, it does kinda look like a tulip." Grunge girl smiles at me.
I watch as the tulip is passed around the circle, along with the lighter, and hits are cooperatively taken. It reaches grunge girl, who takes a huge puff and holds it for an extended moment before exhaling an impressive blast of smoke. She smiles expectantly and holds the tulip up for me, preparing to spark the gigantic meteor of dank that makes up its tip. By this point I have completely forgotten about my missing friend. I only care about making a good impression on grunge girl. I tilt my head back and hit the tulip like a smokestack.
It is the following morning. I am sleeping between a couch and a wall. I'm not positive that this is the same house I was just in. My memories are gone. Someone is yelling at me: "dude! Dude! Wake up, dude!"
I sit up. My mouth tastes like cigarettes. I do not smoke cigarettes. "Wha," I ask the yelling man, who I am quite confident I have never met before in my life.
"We're going on a quest," he tells me, gravely. "You have to come with us."
I look around. Neither my friend nor his friend are anywhere in sight. I also do not see grunge girl anywhere. I shrug helplessly. "Okay."
We embark from this house. I learn that the destination of this quest is Tim Horton's. This is a relief to me, as coffee and a donut sounds really fucking good right now. Somehow, the route to Tim Horton's takes us past the Governor-General's residence, which everyone else in the group loudly heckles on the way past. I do not know what the Governor-General has done to raise their ire, nor do I particularly care. I trudge along with my hands in my pockets, pleased to note that I still have my wallet, phone, and keys. I fervently wish that I could remember anything about last night. Maybe I talked to grunge girl. Maybe she's why my mouth tastes like cigarettes. The tulip tasted nothing like cigarettes.
I am asked about my politics. I voice my frustrations with corporate corruption, the pay-to-win electoral system, the lack of transparency and accountability. This is met with great approval. The guy who was yelling at me claps me on the back. I get the impression that we became friends last night. I don't recognize his face. I do not know his name and he definitely does not know mine. I behave as though we're friends anyway. We are comrades on a quest.
By the time we make it to Tim Hortons, the gaggle of stoners I'm walking with have all run out of energy and/or attention span. People order snacks and break away in pairs or solo, to call for rides or plan the day's events or just vegetate and wait for the drugs to leave their systems. I look around and find that my nameless friend has also gone to the Upside-Down. As I wash the cigarette taste out of my mouth with coffee, I unsuccessfully try to remember whether I saw grunge girl smoking tobacco at any point. I remember nothing. That tulip was so fucking powerful that it instantly sent me a whole day forward in time.
Alone in the city, I try to call my best friend and get no answer. I walk to the nearest bus stop, catch a bus most of the way home, and call up my parents to ask for a ride back. They ask where my friend is. I tell them that I have no idea; we went to a house party and I don't remember anything else.
When they pick me up from the bus station, they ask me some very safe, nonspecific questions, and seem to relax when I describe what little I can remember. It isn't until years later that I realize they were probably terrified I'd gotten rufied or something, and were so relieved to learn otherwise that they didn't even bother chiding me for smoking myself unconscious in an effort to impress a strange woman. In any case, they were probably happy to find out that I did, in fact, like girls; I suspect they had been privately wondering whether I was gay.
After getting home, I finally manage to get my best friend to answer his phone. I discover that he tried the kitchen pills, spent most of the night crossing the entire city on foot, and crashed at his cousin's house. He sounds like shit. I tell him that he should have tried the tulip, instead. He fervently agrees with me.
I never see grunge girl again.
That's okay, though. She got to see a clueless stranger get fucked the entire way up on some ungodly strain of giga-weed, and I got smiled at by a cute girl, and then I got to go on a quest. Wherever grunge girl is, I hope she's happy. I hope she's smoking the fattest fucking blunt and smiling as some kid passes out behind a couch.
simon 🧸🧺🪻✨
pov you just finished season three of heartstopper:
For anyone who wants to read the Pumpkin AU in its full 3.1 k glory. That's almost a drabble, right?
https://x.com/flyingpinkomar/status/1828374267295318379
Amazing talented people in the fandom.
A warm feeling built inside Simon’s chest. Carefully, he peeled off the protective layer and pressed the band-aid over the bloody wound. Wille hissed but did not pull away. He was very brave.
I cannot believe @books-books-smolderinglooks (idea) and @loren91 (art) teamed up to make tiny Wilmon from "We're not who we used to be" come alive 🥹💜😭🥹💜
They are perfect in every way. Thank you so, so much.
I can't believe those are my baby Wilmon 😭
reblog if you like girls and/or pasta
💜 wilmon;
"I mean.. you make me feel like I'm worth something."
CW: underage drinking (depending on how you define that I guesss... they're sixteen and drinking wine)
"I mean.. you make me feel like I'm worth something," Wille says, almost just a sigh in the silence of the night.
Simon isn't quite sure how that would be physically possible, but he feels something inside of his chest shatter at the confession. Who the fuck hurt this sweet, sweet teenage boy enough to make him say something like that, he thinks, then, kicking his slowed down brain into gear, goes, right, because. Right. Something about him never quite being good enough. Which is ridiculous. Absolutely fucking ridiculous to think about, because in all his sixteen years on this earth Simon's never met anyone who's quite as good as his best friend.
"Fuck...," Wille sighs next to him, then huffs a laugh, using his legs to, a little clumsily, put his swing back into motion. "Too much, wasn't it?" he asks, then lets out a giggle that's more bitter than amused.
It sends another pang through Simon and he feels the urge to take another sip out of their by now almost empty wine bottle. Maybe he needs to reach Wille's level of tipsy to have this kind of an uncomfortable conversation.
"It's okay," Simon says, and, instead of taking a swig, lowers the bottle to the ground, moving to set his own swing into motion. Which is maybe the second best thing to show Wille... what, exactly? Solidarity? To tell him, hey, I'm here, you're fine, I'm not leaving, you're so good that I can't believe anyone let you think otherwise?
When Simon kicks his feet harder to gain momentum he hears Wille let out a more genuine laugh from the swing next to him, a sound so soothing and bubbly and warm that Simon has to join in.
After a few moments of struggling Wille manages to also pick up speed and synchronize his motions with those of Simon and fuck, that victorious laugh of his feels like it could cure all the needle-pricks of pain and anger Simon feels about his Wille not being treated the way he deserves to be treated. Maybe they'll be okay, maybe Wille will be okay. Maybe Simon can help him after all.
When they swing forward, slowing at the highest point, Wille reaches out, an uncoordinated arm shooting into the space between their swings, and without having to think about it, Simon grabs it, squeezing Wille's warm palm as hard as he can. The seat of his swing sways dangerously, but he grabs onto the chain harder and doesn't let go of Wille either, because Wille is giggling again and Simon needs to keep him giggling, because otherwise he himself might cry, and also because there's a very egotistical thought in his mind that tells him if he lets go now, Wille might not allow this again. And Simon can't let that happen.
sjjsnsnsksmsksosmndndjd we gave up on the 5 sentence-ness of it all a long time ago....... but hey, have some... kinda sad-but-hopeful-ish wilmon childhood best friends to lovers!! Thank you so so so much for the prompt, dearesr anon!!! 💜💜💜
Send me "Wilmon" + a sentence and I'll write you the next 5 (or more, lmao)
Flowers in the Dustbin
“What tattoo were you thinking of anyway?”
“Okay, right, so…” Wilhelm straightens up, pulling himself back into the conversation. He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment as though trying to concentrate. “Right. So this was my first thought, in big letters all down this arm: ‘Fuck The Monarchy’.”
Simon bursts out laughing.
~
A fic where tattoo artist Simon encounters a very drunk Prince Wilhelm looking to make some bad decisions.
Chapter 1 of 2 up on AO3; Chapter 2 coming tomorrow.
https://x.com/julinspiration/status/1818678765481853026
young royals duolingo, 21/?
(1)(2)(3)(4)(5)(6)(7)(8)(9)(10)
(11)(12)(13)(14)(15)(16)(17)(18)(19)(20)
Simon's month day 31: Photos
@youngroyals-events
Rated G - 349 words
💜💜💜
Simon remembers Wille with the help of some pictures
I had a dream that a bunch of people were making jokes about how the economy was so bad that gay people couldn't afford closets and were just "in the corner"
Another Wilmon doodle for your soul
Also I need you all to ignore how I misspelt judgmental🤌💅✨🫶
Simon's Month - Revolution
day 11 @youngroyals-events
The Space AU no one asked for.
read below or on ao3 (900, G).
“Begin countdown, Captain Wille!”
“Yes, Sergeant!” Wille salutes. “Beginning countdown. 10… 9… 8…”
Simon flips a few switches on the board, brow furrowed in concentration. Under his breath, he mumbles, “Hatch doors secured, Sergeant.”
“6… 5… 4…”
“Well done. Thank you, Major Simon,” Sergeant nods approvingly, securing her seatbelt. “Prepare for takeoff, crew!”
“All engines are online,” Simon calls, just as Wille finishes his countdown. “Could you count any slower?”
“3… 2… Thrusters go!” Wille shouts, ignoring Simon’s comment and typing away at the keypad by his left hand. Over on his side, Simon pushes the forward thruster handle. Into her ear piece, Sergeant communicates with home base.
“Liftoff confirmed,” she announces after a moment. All three continue to brace against the rattle of the ship.
Wille has to raise his voice over the noise. “Exiting the atmosphere, Sergeant.”
“Good, Captain Wille. Major, mission report.”
While Wille manages the rotation control joystick and keeps an eye on their speed, Major Simon rattles off their mission.
“Headed for the Moon, ma’am. We’ll complete one revolution in the natural satellite’s orbit, before breaking off and using the Earth’s gravity to slingshot us around the other side of the planet, lining us up for an easy reentry.”
“Two revolutions.”
Simon turns to Captain. “What?”
“We’re doing two revolutions,” Wille says, eyes locked on the screen before him.
“Uh, no. I’m pretty sure I remember correctly,” Simon sasses. “Who did Sergeant ask for a mission report?”
“Captain! Major! Enough. I won’t have you two messing up my mission,” Sergeant cuts in, glaring at the both of them. “We’re doing one revolution, then we’re going in to land.”
“But, Sergeant,” Wille gasps, “that wasn’t in the mission plan. Does base know about this?”
Simon sucks his teeth. “If Sergeant says we’re landing, we’re landing, Captain.”
“Base answers to me,” Sergeant affirms, eyes scanning out the window. “Captain. Define revolution for me.”
“Uh,” Wille stutters, “The circling of one object around another.”
“That’s your definition?” Simon chuckles.
Wille glares at him. “For example – if you’d let me finish – the Earth makes one revolution around the Sun each year, give or take a few days.”
Sergeant hums appreciatively. “And how many days in one year?”
“365.” Simon and Wille nearly shout in unison.
“Really?” Wille quirks an eyebrow. “She asked me for the definition. Not you.”
“We’re both astronauts, Captain. Plus, last time I checked, Majors outrank Captains.” Simon smirks.
“Stop!” Sergeant yells, pointing. “We need to focus! Asteroid belt ahead!”
Wille and Simon both jump into action, flipping on the sensitivity sensors and each taking different jobs to navigate them through the dangerous field. They stop bickering enough to safely navigate their ship through the precarious situation, much to the happiness of their Sergeant.
“Good job, Captain, Major. Now, let’s land this bad boy.”
Under strict direction by Sergeant, they manage to easily enter the Moon’s thin atmosphere and identify a safe spot for landing.
“Suit up!” Sergeant calls, already heading for her helmet.
Sergeant steps out first, head on a swivel, followed by Simon. Wille exits last, but his foot gets caught, and he goes tumbling over, with a shout and the sound of cardboard ripping.
“Pappa!” comes a tiny, angry voice, rushing over and then right past him. “My ship!”
Wille coughs lightly, removing the stuffed animal he’d taken to the stomach on his fall. “Sorry, love.”
Simon stands over him, smiling down at his clumsy husband.
“I’m a lot taller than both of you,” Wille grumbles, then accepts Simon’s hand to stand up. He brushes himself off, then kneels down by their Sergeant. “I’m sorry for ripping the door. Shall we go look for some tape in the craft closet?”
The young girl in her silver shirt and cardboard-crafted astronaut helmet nods her head rapidly, shaking the helmet a bit so that she has to readjust it to be able to see out the small hole in the front. “I’ll go get it, I know where it is! Then we can explore the moon!”
Wille smiles and groans slightly as he stands to his full height again. Simon wraps himself around Wille’s back, pressing a gentle kiss into his shoulder, both of them watching their young daughter disappear around the corner into the hallway.
“Are you okay?” Simon teases. “That was quite the fall, Captain.”
Wille turns in Simon’s arms so they face each other. “Yes, Major, I’m okay. You don’t sound very concerned.” He sticks out his tongue teasingly, so Simon does the same. Then, Simon stands on his tiptoes to press a gentle kiss to Wille’s lips.
“We’ve had a lot of revolutions together.”
Wille chuckles. “Revolutions around the sun, or actual revolutions?”
“Both,” Simon grins, pinching at Wille’s hips, making him yelp slightly.
“That we have. Here’s to many more.”
“Many, many more. To finally executing my plan to tear down the monarchy, and to a million more years with you.”
Wille barks out a laugh, spinning Simon around, each of them dancing easily around the toys scattered across the floor.
Their oldest comes careening back around the corner, holding not only a roll of tape but a few other new decorations for the cardboard spaceship they’d built out of the big box the new bed frame for their second child had come in.
Just as she settles down with the tape, Wille joining her to patch up their ship, the baby monitor signals their toddler has woken from her nap. So, Simon gives each of them a kiss on the head, then heads down the hall, calling, “Don’t explore the moon without me! I’ll be right back!”
posting this now bcause I don't know if I'm ever going to finish it (reference under the cut)
Simon's Month Day 11: Revolution ( @youngroyals-events)
Okay, bear with me... Against all expectations a left-wing coalition sweeps to power, making Simon Eriksson Sweden's youngest ever Prime Minister.
Simon's anti-monarchy views are no secret. But it's not his party's official policy and he's got away with it on the campaign trail by acknowledging that no constitutional change would ever happen unless the people of Sweden wanted it, he knows they love and support their new King, and Simon looks forward to working constructively with King Wilhelm should his party win the election.
(And despite his disdain for the whole system of monarchy, maybe he's just a little intrigued by the young, attractive, surprisingly still single King Wilhelm, who's always looked kind of wistful and sad at the couple of events Simon's briefly met him at. It's not a crush, okay, he's a grown man - he's the Prime Minister ffs! - he's just...interested to get to know him properly, that's all. See if he's imagining those hidden depths or not.)
But at their first real one-to-one meeting, Simon's left a little disappointed if not a bit weirded out. It's stilted and awkward with lots of silences and for some reason the King keeps staring intensely at him. So he tries to lighten the atmosphere by joking that, "Whatever you've heard about me, Your Majesty, you don't need to worry. I'm not about to try and abolish the monarchy or anything, hahaha."
"Right. Of course not. Haha. But..." Wilhelm draws his chair closer to Simon's, still with that intense stare. "Like, hypothetically speaking. If you wanted to. How could we make that happen?"
Mother,the fact that I haven't felt emotion in two weeks is simply a Tori spring reference!!!!You wouldn't get it!!!
7+8 (2+8=10 -> 10+5=15) -> 2+4=6 add 0 =60 -> 60+15=75
It can be really hard to learn to engage in positive self talk, but sometimes it's easier to start by pretending it's coming from a friend, first 💜
Here's the finished piece, hope your Friday was brills.