#but i'm going through withdrawal!

[inkivaari]

Hear me out, a conquest fic but like he escape before being captured and is slowly nursed to health by the reader who has healing powers.

𝚒𝚖𝚊𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝'𝚜 𝚗𝚞𝚛𝚜𝚎

a/n: i see the vision anon, i present to you the following :3 disclaimers: sexual content, healer! reader, manipulation, reader really does mean well but conquest is just mean :3, not sure how medicinal eating pussy is but ah well, f! reader

it was a miracle conquest had found such a profound little thing on this inferior planet. it was so easy to convinve you to take him in, those lovely little eyes of yours so big with concern for this giant, beaten and bloody and broken. if you'd have known he would be responsible for the enslavement of your world soon, he imagined your hands wouldn't be soothing him like this, warmth seeping into his battered body as you meekly requested that he lay down on your floor to assess the damages, your little lip worried between your teeth while you concentrated those magic little hands all over his torso. your little squeak of surprise when he groaned in relief was highly amusing.

you looked almost penintent when you told him the extent of the damages. broken bones, shredded muscle, internal bleeding... god, that sweet, scared frown on that little mouth. of course you were scared, look who you were talking to. you'd never seen a man this big, who could crush you like a bug without a second thought. you felt awful telling him the bad news, that you'd done what you could for him, but it would take weeks for him to be well enough to... go back to whatever it was he was doing. the moment you suggested a hospital, he grabbed your wrist and squeezed it hard enough to leave a nasty purple bruise.

'no.' he said simply. 'no hospital.'

you tried to tell him, you really did. you had healing powers, sure. you could mend bodily tissues, ease fevers, numb pain, but the extent of these injuries needed professional medical attention, and a doctor you were not. if anything, you were a glorified nurse.

'then nurse me, little darling.' he crooned. his tone was sweet and soft, but your wrist was in his vice now. he didn't let go until you sighed, and told him he'd have to help you move him into your bed, the only one in your small home. after all, healers didn't get the crazy money those flashy 'superheroes' got.

and so, conquest had infiltrated your life.

he could get used to this kind of treatment. he was usually only responsible for clearing the way for the empire, not sticking around long enough to relish in the spoils. but here you were, little darling, treating him like a king. viltrumite bodies didn't really need all this fuss, yet here you were with all your supplements and braces and the muscle baths... ohhhhhhhh the muscle baths were his favourite.

the old-fashioned bathtub that you'd always found was too big for you just barely allowed him to fit. he had the strength to lower himself down into the warm water with a loud gruff groan, before he sat back and allowed you to work on him. those hands really were magic: their energy seeped into his skin and warmed up his joints, easing the strain placed on his own body to heal. it was during this time, as you massaged his thick corded muscles with your deft little fingers, that you'd ask him questions about himself. nobody had been this attentive before. nobody had cared like this about him. it didn't matter that your occupation made youy obligated to help him, that was immaterial. in conquest's delusion, you really cared about him, from the bottom of that tiny heart that he could hear from this close, thumping like a little rabbit.

he'd get hard, of course he did. and he'd chuckle as you tried to ignore that thick, throbbing cock bobbing in the water as you worked at his thigh muscles.

soon, he begins to take advantage. dropping things deliberately from off the bed so he can watch you bend over, demanding that you feed him by hand, late night massages when his pelvic muscles are just soooooo sore...

the last straw comes one night, as you're plumping up your his pillows, and he grabs that bruised wrist of yours before you retreat to the sofa you'd been sleeping on the last few nights.

'stay, little darling. keep me company.'

there's no space on the edge of that bed so he pulls you on top of him. you've done such a good job at nursing him back to health, he's back to being able to lift people like feathers. and aren't you a hundred times more delicate, his lovely little darling? so kind. so gracious. so deliciously naive to let a viltrumite into your home. of course he owned you now, that was his thanks. you'd follow him obediently wherever he went from now on: he could use your lovely little hands all over him after a long day of crushing civilisations, you made him feel centuries younger with your healing touch...

conquest's big rough hands, the flesh toughened and textured with new scars, ran across your body, making you mewl as he felt beneath your nightshirt for your tender little pussy, kneading your mound while his middle finger prodded at your hole and stretched it open.

'there, there, little one. won't you let me make you feel good? i have to return the favour... let me see if i've picked up any of those tricks of yours.'

he begins to massage your cunt with his whole hand, the base of his palm pressing against your clit while he feels inside you, curling those thick fingers to caress those velvety walls. it's not healing (if anything, this will ruin you), but his hands are certainly magic, crude lustful sorcery that makes you bury your head against his chest and mewl for him, fucking yourself back onto his fingers with slow rolls of your hips.

you're still so conscious about straining his body, the sweet little thing that you are... he won't protest to you taking care of him tonight, like always. when he's back to true strength, he'll repay the favour, and plough his sweet, gracious angel for days. his touch is uncharacteristically cautious as he guides your mouth on his cock, but he's still a cheeky bastard, pushing you down a few more inches than you can reasonably take, and condescendingly apologising before doing it again.

you ride his cock like a champion. that little body has enough of that healing capability coursing through it so you can take the stretch, both in your legs as you straddle his broad hips to the best of your ability, and in that tight pussy that bounces up and down, up and down, such an eager bunny, how selfless. he coos and croons, what an angel, what a blessing, he would be cursing fate if he let this little lucky charm slip away now, wouldn't he?

his stamina isn't what it usually is, but that's okay, you'll take what you're given, little darling, and you'll take it with a smile. when he cums, deep and hard, he's squeezing at your hips, and you yelp when he pulls you off his cock without warning and right down onto his face. you wiggle, trying to get off, or at least put your knees down on either side of the bed so that your pussy wasn't smothering him and your full weight wasn't on his face... but damn that iron grip. he was not letting you go anywhere, not until he'd drained you. this was his favourite medicine, the taste of your juices mixing with his cum and saliva inside his mouth... the dosage could never be big enough for him </3

hababababababababaaaaaa.... need to get that moustache wettttttttt :(

[coolpartytimefan]

Rick and Michonne

[hulloitsdani]

Sketchy wip backlog stuff. Was doing some expression work and ended up with the sassiest Alfonse alongside some flustered summoners.

[hestzhyen]

Chapter 53 Fear Posting

Hello, kind internet void. What a chapter, huh? Not much to say other than I need someone to heal Chihiro's pain pronto.

That's a lie, of course- there's always a yapfest from me. Thanks for tolerating my nonsense as usual.

Hiruhiko Gets Fucked

Ch. 49

Ch. 53

How it started vs. how it's going for our playful psychopath foil

I loved this moment. Instead of shaking the protagonist and making him question himself, Hiruhiko's trolling just shows us that Chihiro is already well aware of how people see him.

Hiruhiko tried to call a bluff with the ol' reliable "I'm just like you" to make the MC question everything he's done, but it backfired in a huge way. He should have been paying attention since the start:

Chs. 1 & 6

Chihiro wasn't just being edgy in these moments early on, Mr. Discount Mahito.

I enjoy when the author has the protagonist confront that they really aren't so different from their sworn enemies. When done well, it helps the character clarify their moral stance and adds depth as they incorporate some of their enemy's ideals into their own worldview. But Sojo already forced Chihiro to do this. So what value would Hiruhiko doing the same have? Is it different just because they're close in age and Hiruhiko said he already understood Chihiro?

Nope. The meaning comes from Hiruhiko posing a different question.

Sojo asked: who gets to have the final say over Kunishige's intent? The answer Chihiro came to is: the one who's willing to go the farthest to fight for their vision.

Hiruhiko asked: are you aware of how evil you appear to be by going so far? Chihiro answers that he is, and always has been.

I'm really pleased with this turn of events! The flippant piece of shit doesn't get to waltz in and completely upend the protagonist's worldview by pointing out that he's killing people for once. Instead, we get an amazing inversion of the scenario that makes me want to cry for Chihiro. I trusted Hokazono-sensei to do a crisis of conscience arc well but this is a much better outcome IMO. It's never too late to try and exploit a character's cognitive dissonance between their beliefs and actions, so good try Hiruhiko. You just tried to fuck with the wrong traumatized MC. Enjoy being two arms lighter for the next few chapters.

Seriously though, fuck Hiruhiko. I appreciate his role in the narrative and I'm looking forward to what he does next, but he's kind of on the same level as Soya for me. I will cheer his death and not mourn one bit when we move on from him for good.

But we shouldn't be glad when people are killed, should we?

On Death and Killing Intent

This chapter had many jaw-dropping action moments but they're all so sad.

In my Chapter 51 post, I went on a bit of a tangent about how the adult cast all seem to have a heavy burden that they're using to try and steer the younger generation. Samura, Shiba, Kunishige, and Uruha all reject the idea of being "heroes" and the first three are shown to be reluctant to take lives if they can help it. Because killing is a wrongful act that leads one to hell. Doesn't matter what one's intentions are- taking a life is an act of evil. The adults didn't want the younger generation to revere them or try to follow in their footsteps.

But Chihiro chose to do so anyway, and he's taken their mindset to heart to help himself commit to the bit.

Doesn't matter that Chihiro tanked all of Hiruhiko's attacks to let the audience escape. Doesn't matter that he held back to avoid accidental casualties. Doesn't matter that he's ridding the world of the Hishaku's evil. He's a killer - a monster- that's going to hell. And he's resigned to it. He doesn't even have the excuse of saving lives or fighting a war to hide behind- he's steeping himself in sin for selfish reasons.

I was wrong about Samura having to teach Chihiro how to buckle down despite knowing he's walking the path to hell- Chihiro can already do it. So Hiruhiko was right. They're both drenched in blood with no chance for redemption. But that wasn't what Chihiro was pissed about last chapter. It was Hiruhiko assuming their reasoning for killing as being the same that got to him.

Chihiro doesn't find pleasure in killing someone, obviously. Not even Sojo, who was an objectively evil child torturer that wanted to use Kunishige's works to massacre innocents. But when Chihiro's alone against true evil, like his fights against Sojo and Hiruhiko, he goes full-on villain mode to meet them where they are. He's walking straight to hell and doesn't care about how it makes him look when the people he cares about aren't there to see him at his worst.

I posted a little bit about how loved Chihiro is even if he won't let himself realize or accept it, and it's true more than ever now. Chihiro's not a good guy. We shouldn't be thinking he's a purely wholesome person. But he's a damn sympathetic protagonist who is in a truly unbearable amount of pain, and I want him to just... let himself cry or something.

We don't mind that he's a murderer since we see him focus on doing what good he can, like taking detours for abused orphans and risking his life to save helpless captives. He's not the same as the vile scum he kills. Chihiro, though... "All scum go to hell!" is one of the earliest taglines of the series. Pretty sure he would apply this to himself, too. He's in a self-destructive spiral and we're just now seeing how far gone his mental state is.

What's that saying... the road to hell is paved with good intentions?

Chihiro and Samura

Seems like Kunishige was (or could have been) quite the warrior himself based on Shiba's comment... putting a pin in that.

Samura's got a ton of death flags, sorry to say. He's just scooping them up and dumping them all over himself. Not gonna stake my life on this or anything but Tobimune is probably going to be usable by the Hishaku somewhat soon... I hope Chihiro gets to reunite with him one last time before that happens though. Surely next chapter is where the gang gets back together...? Hakuri will probably teleport Chihiro to the temple once he's recovered, so it'll just be a matter of Chihiro getting Hiruhiko to talk enough before that happens.

Not that the type of food has deep symbolic meaning, but Chihiro and Samura are sharing traditional tea snacks; probably higashi (干菓子) of the rakugan variety. They're extremely dry and sweet, so I doubt Chihiro enjoyed them- is that why they're untouched? Maybe Chihiro wasn't actually willing to stop looking at Samura as a hero despite what he said? I don't want to make guesses about the meaning of the food being uneaten. I've been too fried by IRL stress to have much time to think about fun stuff lately. Just know that this is another food=connection/understanding moment that's a bit strained instead of comfortable. (Hakuri's still the only person we've seen Chihiro willingly accept an offer of food from and actually eat... hm.)

No wonder Chihiro considers himself a monster if a "hero" like Samura talks about himself like one. Noble beliefs (hi, Hiyuki!) don't shield you from the horror that lurks in your conscience. It's really respectable of Samura to be so blunt about the reality of what he did and try to steer away Chihiro from admiring him, but the consequences we see now are...

None of them could have known that Chihiro would end up like this a little over three years later (hopefully). He took the lesson of "killing=monstrous" to heart a little too well, sadly... so who can help him break that mindset? Assuming the author wants to say that Chihiro's not the villain he thinks he is, at least. Which is reasonable. He might not be a hero, but he's not truly a monster either.

It depends on who else knows about how he's faring and if Chihiro will let anyone in to help. Keep close tabs on how he interacts with Hakuri and Hiyuki, IMO. One or both of them will probably be the key to him at least stabilizing his metaphorical descent into darkness. Even if they can't pull him out, they can walk through hell at his side.

Hakuri's more than willing to do this already- I wouldn't be at all surprised if he considers staying with Chihiro to be the best part of his life so far, despite all the hardships that he will face. He was already in hell when they met and Chihiro helped pull him out of it. Hiyuki's the bigger question since we hardly know anything about her right now. Her faith in Chihiro as someone who only kills bad guys is important, though. As of this chapter, I can see her helping him out if she believes it's the morally right thing to do.

Spaghetti Queen Thoughts

I'm a little surprised we've left Hiyuki behind for most of the arc to this point, so I do wonder where she'll factor in and how much.

She's set up to be just as important as Hakuri was during the Rakuzaichi arc thanks to her strong ties to the Kamunabi. And there are issues with her that are completely unexplored; namely, her convictions clashing with how the Kamunabi operates. Maybe we'll see her again with the other two bearers? Or when things shift back to Kamunabi HQ for the blood test reveal and such?

I wonder how she'll be motivating Chihiro. They squabble like siblings already; she's the only one who genuinely gets under his skin (which is very cute if you ask me). Both of them are headstrong and idealistic, but Hiyuki doesn't seem to be down on herself and what she does nearly as much as Chihiro is. So maybe that'll be the angle... hard to say when there are so many unknowns, so obviously she needs to come back ASAP to give us more insight!

Thanks for letting me ramble, kind void... see you next week if I make it there.

[meraki-yao]

Okay why is nobody talking about this, these entire part of the emails montage is just gems

"I can't have smut filling my inbox corrupting my mind and bulging my pants up"

lmao Alex I don't know why I find the wording really amusing

"I'll behave"

WHAT THE FUCK HENRY

I'LL BEHAVE??? THE GIGGLE IN HIS VOICE??? HOW IS THIS CUTE AND KINKY AT THE SAME TIME OH MY GOD

I need the underlying email narrations and I need the boys to record the book emails, I'm not even kidding I need it I'm so fucking desperate 🫠🫠🫠🫠

[gravityglitch-blog]

So, in the latest edition of "Ember misses the obvious..."

I was listening to music, and the randomizer setting reached way back into the archives to play "Hurry Up and Save Me" by Tiffany Giardina.

I should mention that I've never heard this song before or seen "Another Cinderella Story", the movie it apparently came from.

I swear I thought the lyrics were, "Show me your guns/ 'Cause without you I'm through"

And I immediately thought of them.

(Nuzi, I will love you forever 💜💛)

When I looked up the song, I found the real lyrics are "Show me your colors/ 'Cause without you I'm blue"

And while I realize that makes much more sense, now I can't get my first listen out of my head.

It might be cringe, but I'm going to go ahead and add this to my Nuzi playlist.

Edited: I came back to fix some incorrect info. Originally I wrote the song was by Stalking Gia and the movie was "A Cinderella Story."

Google, YouTube and brain fog are conspiring against me today. Nothing like embarrassing yourself on the internet🥲

At least, I find these mistakes a little funny.

And I can imagine "show me your guns" as N and Uzi showing off their arm strength, trying to impress each other.

[sistertethys]

i love you grooming. i love you sexual abuse. i love you manipulation. i love you codependency. i love you physical abuse. i love you non negotiated kink that is basically just assault. i love you dubious consent. i love you trauma bonding. i love you incest!!!

[sirenflame48]

This was getting me so fucking bad I had to draw it asap

[meraki-yao]

I miss rwrb and taynick so fucking badly it's not funny anymore I'm scratching the walls screaming

[hurglewurm]

local idiot experiences an emotion (hundreds dead, thousands injured)

[patovpran]

Sram bestie pls do something

[darkmoonravewolf]

Every so often my brain goes to Yandere!Siffrin and it takes over my entire being for an hour and then I forget it for like weeks

There's something just..nice? neat? about seeing your favorite character go past love into obsession, wanting their loved ones to stay theirs forever...

Sorry I'll shut up now

[that-foul-legacy-lover]

I hope our precious moth is keeping your warm and cozy this holiday :3

he will keep ALL of us so toasty and comfy, although the holidays are over it's still chilly!!

Liyue isn't quite as icy as Snezhnaya- at least, it USUALLY isn't. but this winter season has been particularly cold, the roads coated in frost and freezing rain falling day after day. businesses had to close, temporarily, as people slipped and fell in the streets, the lucky ones who made it to work unscathed almost always receiving bruises on the way home. you had to prune your garden early, hastily snipping off any errant buds and fruit you can find. small as they may be, it's better than allowing them to wither in the bone chilling weather. it's almost jarring, seeing the icy landscape and harbor outside and then stepping into your little house, filled with flowers and fresh produce and embers warming in the fireplace, Foul Legacy curled up comfortably on the carpet. he perks up when he sees you, wiggling his wings and letting out a cheerful chirp, an invitation for you to join him

you smile, kneeling on the floor, and Legacy immediately moves to snuggle around you, plopping his head squarely in your lap. he glances up at you and trills, nuzzling against your hand until you relent and run your fingers through his thick, coppery hair. he rumbles and purrs and coos, wiggling and shifting so you can scritch behind his twin horns, his favorite spot of all. Foul Legacy is warm, almost more than the flickering flames before you, perfectly positioned around your body as if he was protecting you from all harm. slowly you slide down so your head is next to his, legs stretched over the carpet. he's beautiful like this, crystalline eye closed blissfully, sprawled out like an oversized cat. Legacy cracks his eye open, purring at the mere sight of you, and leans in to playfully lick your cheek, just to make you laugh

outside is cold, but your house has never been warmer

[notalotgoingonatthisinstant]

May I offer you all some Wilmon in these AO3-is-down trying times? We'll get through this withdrawal 😭

Growing up, Simon didn’t stop to think much if he wanted kids or not. He loved his family, loved his sister, loved his mum, (loved his dad,) loved getting to see his little cousins grow over videocalls from South America – but he never stopped to think about himself.

He remembers a fleeting thought he had once, when he was very young, around twelve or thirteen, and figured out he was definitely gay, that it would take some extra steps to have children. He would never have them on accident. He couldn’t decide overnight, talk to his partner, and start trying the next day with a real possibility of making a baby on that very same day.

Then he put that thought inside a mental folder and left it there for the longest time.

He believes that it’s a natural progression to start thinking about it again once you’re in a committed relationship, even if it’s to decide it’s not for you. But he is aware that his thought process wasn’t the same as everyone else’s.

It started with random mental images, when he and Wille got out of school and into the world – well, the world and the military. Back when Simon was studying and working to afford his own flat in Stockholm and, some nights, he would have Wille there on his couch, in his small living room, laughing over a stupid series they’d put on, or pouring coffee for him the next morning.

He would watch Wille shrug on a suit jacket, looking very dapper for the morning meeting, and accept his goodbye kiss. Then Simon would finish gulping down breakfast, put on his flannel shirt, and leave his flat fifteen minutes later. He would lock the door behind him and wonder how earlier he would have to wake up if he had to drop kids with someone, or would they have a nanny? Or maybe Wille would take them?

The thoughts assaulted him without warning and were gone just as quickly. During Wille’s trips, how would Simon manage alone? What if they were both travelling? Could Wille’s children even travel with him? He remembered something about how two heirs straight in line for the throne couldn’t take the same mean of transportation, for safety reasons, which is why Wille didn’t travel with his mother, but did that apply to a toddler?

Simon didn’t ask for the longest time as well, because he didn’t want to open that discussion. He wanted to know if Erik had travelled with his mother when he was a baby; his fingers itched to google it, find pictures or articles, just so he could know.

But he didn’t ask, because back then he wasn’t even sure if he could take the pressure of marrying Wille, even though he was doing nothing to stop that natural progression.

The thoughts would come and go. Sometimes, they disappeared for months on end and Simon would just live his life and worry about more pressing matters, like his uni finals or Sara’s recent breakup. Other times, they would come in the form of his children having panic attacks over being in line for the throne.

Moving into the palace with Wille drew a line in his life, which is why he didn’t do it lightly. It definitely took longer than it would if Wille weren’t the fucking Crown Prince, because Simon felt ready to move in with him straight out of school. But he had spent his years weighting the pros and cons and decided Wille was worth everything and that they could figure it out together.

Living with him in one of the royal palaces, and therefore having more money to spare, brought a wave of baby thoughts to Simon’s mind. They had all this space, all this money, all this support. Surely it wouldn’t be too hard? He knew, rationally, that money would never be a problem, but Simon would have a hand in supporting his own children, and now he was feeling like he could reach that point.

He began to understand, then, how rich people’s minds work. Simon was working, but with a better job and a better salary, and he didn’t have to pay rent. He didn’t have to pay for cleaning supplies or spend one day a week scrubbing his flat. He spent a lot less on groceries, because food simply appeared in the kitchen cabinets and in the fridge. He didn’t have to pay water or electricity bills.

He had all this money monthly deposited into his account and he didn’t have to spend even half of it, which meant it only grew, even with taxes. It got to a point when Wille told him he should have a talk with the royal accountant, to learn how to put it in better funds and investments. To learn how much he had to spare for his own enjoyment.

It turned out to be a ridiculous amount. Nothing compared to the numbers he had pried from Wille about the royal accounts, but a ridiculous amount for a twenty-three-year-old working-class man from Bjärstad just beginning his career. Probably enough, if he braved into that line of thinking, to raise a kid.

One day, almost a year later, Queen Kristina nonchalantly talked about the Act of Succession over brunch, when they were discussing the christening of the daughter of one of Wille’s second cousins. Simon had never bothered to read the Act of Succession, because that had felt too big, so he learnt it for the first time in her voice while buttering a piece of toast.

She started by saying that the heirs have to belong to the Church of Sweden and profess “pure evangelical faith”, whatever that means. Wille doesn’t exactly do that apart from his cross necklace, but Simon didn’t point that out.

The heirs must be born in wedlock from a marriage approved by the monarch, and they must be brought up in Sweden. It’s an absolute primogeniture.

By then, Simon knew he was going to marry Wille. He had known from the moment he had moved into the palace, because why would he make that decision if he didn’t plan to marry him? And he knew Wille wanted to marry him, too. And he figured that Kristina approved, otherwise she wouldn’t even let Simon into her palace.

Simon also figured that she didn’t give that talk because she was afraid of illegitimate heirs – because, honestly, Wille wasn’t going to run around cheating on him and getting people pregnant. No, Simon was pretty sure that she was saying that to remind them that they needed to get engaged. Simon knew she was getting restless after seven years; Sweden was getting restless, if the tabloids and tweets were anything to go by.

So, when he was twenty-four and Wille had just turned twenty-five, Wille made a show of proposing and giving him his grandfather’s ring. Simon cried, even though he had been expecting it. From then on, his mind was pretty preoccupied with the wedding and everything it entailed.

A wedding and a marriage, in their situation, very much entailed future children, but neither of them focused on that.

They had one conversation the summer after they got engaged. Kristina had been particularly generous with the talk about grandchildren that day, like she couldn’t wait to have them, which was the same thing she spewed every time since her 60th birthday earlier that year.

“I don’t know why she’s so insistent now,” Wille said when they climbed into bed. “She had Erik at thirty-one. That’s enough time away for us.”

Simon didn’t answer immediately because, for one of the first and only times, he could see her point of view clearly and didn’t disagree with it.

She had to ensure heirs, sure, and turning sixty probably put life into perspective for her. But also, the monarchy had never done this, the whole gay Crown Prince couple. Were there any laws that needed changing? Would the kids need to be biologically Wille’s or would adoption be just as valid? And who knew how long that process would take. Maybe they did need to start thinking about it then so they could have a legitimate kid by thirty-one.

Simon was quiet for too long, lost in thought, and Wille pushed up against the pillows so he was more vertical. He spoke softly, “Hey, I know you’ve… mentioned it before, but… do you really want kids? I mean, I– I don’t really have much of a choice, but you do.”

Simon raised his eyebrows and smiled. “Who else would you have them with?”

“I don’t want them with anyone but you,” he shrugged. “But it’s too big of a thing to push on you on top of everything else.”

Sensing Wille’s anxiety spiking, Simon also rearranged his pillows to face him better in a more sat up position. “Wille. I knew I would have to have kids if I married you.”

“Still…”

“I was fully aware of it.”

“I don’t want to force you.”

“You’re not forcing me to do anything,” he scooted closer and took his hand. “Do you feel forced?”

Wille shrugged again, taking some time to choose his words. “In a way. Mamma always drilled it into our heads that we needed to produce heirs. After Erik died… the last remaining chance I had to refuse went with him. She doesn’t want to pass on the lineage to her sister’s side, so I guess I just grew up always knowing I was going to have children. I never stopped to think in any other way.”

“You should, though.”

“No,” Wille shook his head. “I promise it’s okay. I do want children, so it’s okay. Still don’t know how to go about it, but… I want them. Do you?” he finished, a hint of nerves in his voice.

“I do,” Simon answered honestly, “I’m not going to lie and say that the fact that I want a life with you, the fucking heir to a country, doesn’t come into play, because that’s too big to ignore. But I think it’d be cool to have a few babies with you,” he smiled. “Just a few, though. No more than three, for fuck’s sake.”

It got Wille laughing, which is Simon’s goal in conversations with him ninety-nine percent of the time, and the subject was mostly dropped.

It was dropped between the two of them for the time being, but their parents didn’t have the same idea. Cousins started having kids occasionally. Simon has a distant cousin on his dad’s side and news somehow travelled to his mum about his baby being born. Apart from Wille’s second cousin who had the christening, his first cousin Eleonora gave birth to a bubbly baby boy as well.

The comparison was even worse because they are mostly “older cousins” in their families, born from the eldest sibling. In their generation, Simon is only second to Sara on his mum’s side, and Sara had barely even started another relationship, nowhere near ready for children. Wille is also the second, since Erik died, behind only Eleonora in age. That, in their parents’ minds, automatically meant that they were supposed to start the new generation before everyone else, and they were already late.

And they were responsible for the country’s next leader, so no pressure.

Their initial deal, as a couple, was to revisit the conversation when they felt like it. Apart from outside pressure, the two of them didn’t have the urge, the need for children right away. It was always something for some day. Something for eventually. Something for when we’re not drowning in royal adulthood.

Simon doesn’t know what triggers it. Maybe he isn’t as immune to the passage of time as he thought, or maybe the comments start getting to him. Either way, those assaulting mental images have been building up in frequency and complexity, until one day Simon finds himself slowly pacing one of their spare bedrooms in Haga Palace, a week before his twenty-ninth birthday.

That is how Wille finds him near dinnertime, after calling out for him a couple of times. “Hey, what’re you doing hiding in here?”

Simon doesn’t answer immediately. Wille is still dressed in his daily formal clothes, having just come home, and Simon’s eyes automatically pan up and down his body, even with his head kilometres away. He sees Wille stepping closer to greet him, but lets his eyes lose focus. He interrupts Wille’s leaning in when he finally speaks. “Do you think this is too far away from our room?”

At Wille’s head tilt that he catches with the corner of his eyes, Simon meets his gaze. Wille asks, “What do you mean?”

Simon knows what he himself means, although he finds it hard to say out loud. Sure, they don’t have a solid plan laid out, but he recalls Wille talking about how his mum had Erik at thirty-one and also how Simon himself rolled his eyes at Queen Kristina’s half-playful remark about giving them five years to have children since their wedding. It has only been half that long.

(Linda had Sara at twenty-three.)

“I mean,” he picks his words carefully, feeling restless and needing to continue walking around and gesticulating, “this room’s got one of the prettiest views of the garden, with the cherry tree, and it faces south, so it’s got sunlight year-round. And I know there are, like, three more guest rooms like this along the corridor, but they’re all so big, no matter how much stuff we try to put in them, but also, is this too far away from our room? And it would be weird to have a few guest bedrooms and random rooms between ours and…” his voice trails off.

Slowly, an amused smile grows on Wille’s face. “You’re asking if this is too far away to walk in the middle of the night every two hours? Because yes.” Wille steps closer to him again, drawing Simon to a stop so he can comb a hand through his curls. “You’ve been worrying your pretty mind about this all day?”

“No, not just today,” Simon confesses, and then bites his lip briefly. “And I’m not… worrying, I’m… brainstorming.”

“Brainstorming.”

“Yes.”

“Simon,” Wille says with the same amused smile, “we’ve got another four potential bedrooms by our room, if you’d be willing to turn the music room and the gaming room. It even beats your limit of three kids. Why are you pacing the tiniest guest bedroom we have?”

Wille’s idea of tiny has never been the same as Simon’s.

Simon sighs and lets his shoulders drop. “Because… I don’t know,” he mutters, averting his gaze. “This room is… cosy. It’s…” He looks around. “Can you imagine a baby in one of those rooms? It’s ridiculous. They’re way too big for a baby. But then, what if when they grow up they resent us for not putting them in a bigger room? Do we just– Do we move their bedrooms? Is that what happened with you and Erik? Did you guys have smaller bedrooms closer to your parents when you were super young? Is that how this works? Because it would be weird to change their bedrooms. Wouldn’t it? I feel like it would. But I can’t think of a single room in this godforsaken palace that is appropriate for both a tiny baby and a rebellious teenager.”

Simon has lived in five bedrooms in his almost thirty years of life, but they changed when he changed houses. First, his childhood room in his parents’ flat, before his mum had saved enough money to move them out. Then in the house where his mum still lives. Then his Stockholm flat. Then the Drottningholm apartments. And now Haga (before he eventually moves back to Drottningholm someday). He can’t really picture moving inside the same place.

During the speech, Wille doesn’t lose his playful air, and Simon has no idea how. Maybe he is being ridiculous and there is a simple solution right in front of him, but he feels like, whatever he chooses, it will somehow be wrong, both from a parenting point of view and a royal point of view. He can’t say he is the best prince Sweden has ever had.

“Simon,” Wille says his name again, in that endearing way only he can, “why would it be weird to change their bedrooms as they grow? We’ve moved houses before and it wasn’t weird. People do that.”

“We’re adults, Wille, and we didn’t move inside the same house.”

“I did,” he shrugs. “I mean, I don’t remember much but, back when we lived at the Royal Palace, before my grandfather died, I know I had a room closer to my parents and then, at some point, I was moved closer to Erik. Then we were put in an adjacent wing to them when we moved to Drottningholm when I was seven, and I moved again when you came to live with me.”

All he is saying makes sense in a practical sort of way, and Simon knows Wille moved inside Drottningholm. Of course, if your house is a literal palace with hundreds of different apartments and available rooms, you can just… move from one side to the other and it will be like moving houses. You don’t keep the new-born in the same place as the sixteen-year-old heir. It makes sense. However, Simon grew up with the notion of His Room. People rent, buy, and build regular houses with those things in mind.

Simon frowns. “You were moved to that different wing when you were seven?”

Wille mirrors him. “Yes…?”

“You were a little kid and, when you guys moved, your parents put you in a completely different wing?”

“It’s not a different wing – it’s within the same apartments, just in a different portion of them, but it’s honestly not that far.”

Simon thinks back to sharing a thin wall with his sister and his parents’ room. “I’ve been there. It’s very fucking far.”

“No, it’s not.”

“It’s very far for a seven-year-old child to be from his parents.” Simon sighs, frustrated, and looks around. “And this is definitely too far as well. I just… This is smaller. It’s more fit for a baby.”

Now, Wille has dropped the playfulness and is instead searching Simon’s face with a more serious expression. He raises a hand and caresses his cheek, in an attempt to calm down his rambles, and it works, taking away a bit of concern with each swipe.

Simon knows how he sounds like right now, so he crosses his arms and doesn’t meet his eyes. “I’m just… I’m brainstorming.”

Wille raises his eyebrows. “You weren’t brainstorming a few months ago.”

Simon shrugs, unsure of what he wants to say, unsure if he wants to start that discussion. To be honest, fucking terrified of opening up that line of discussion. Terrified of what they will tell him about how to raise his kids. Terrified of having to fight on every decision, even as small as wanting his children’s bedroom close to his.

“Hey.”

The whisper startles him into meeting Wille’s eyes.

“How about we talk over dinner? I’m starving, and I know you get cranky when you don’t eat,” he finishes with a slight upturn of his lips.

Simon wants to be petty and argue that he isn’t cranky right now, even though he very much is, although not because of hunger, but he finally lets himself register the fact that his husband is home with him after busy days for them both and how amazing that feels. How their guards aren’t inside with them and they can put on pyjamas and make a mess in the kitchen if they feel like it. And Simon feels like it.

An involuntary smile tries to creep up on Simon’s lips. He fights it, shoving Wille’s shoulder for good measure, and he is drawn back into a bone-crushing hug, which makes it really hard not to smile.

They do eventually talk very seriously about it later that night. Simon confesses that something in him is growing space and that that space is starting to feel empty. It’s not like he feels his life is empty – he is extremely happy to be living with someone he loves and being able to use the privilege of the royal name to do charitable work that is important to him –, but maybe, in a little while, he will crave more.

Wille watches him talk, and Simon realises he has got a dreamy expression on his face by the end of it. When questioned, Wille simply says that hearing him go on about having kids with him makes his heart burst and that it awakens something in him as well. There is definitely something about seeing your significant other around kids or talking about kids; Simon can verify. He knows he very nearly had a heart attack when he had to see, with his own two eyes, Wille playing with Eleonora’s son and glowing while doing it. So, he gets what Wille is saying.

With all the excitement of it, there is the downside. Simon knows he would be feeling uneasy even if he hadn’t entered the Royal Family, because his own dad wasn’t the best at being a dad. Plus, how does one even go about being a parent? How much will he actually sleep? How do you not fuck up a child?

He had entered the Royal Family, though, and married the heir apparent. Just his luck that it means he needs to have A Meeting™ with his mother-in-law/boss to say he wants to have kids.

He and Wille have a gameplay sort of ready, because they know they need to present a united front in this. Part of that involves having the meeting on their own turf, with their own rules about the attendees and level of formality.

[theyaremycrocsyoudonut]

Ok I have gained a new and deeper understanding of why Mickey grew up with Terry as a dad. Had they given Mickey a loving and supporting household growing up, he would simply be unstoppable. He would rule the world. They had to nerf him somehow. It's only logical.