Here's the thing about the royal family not fully understanding that Wilhelm and Simon were *truly* in love though.
And subsequently, why Wille's coming out to the entirety of Sweden was so so powerful: them not knowing, or simply refusing to acknowledge this, no matter how many times he tried to tell them, actually gave Wille a much higher edge over everyone trying to cover up the scandal, even if he didn't realise this at first.
Every single person had a misunderstanding that this was something he wanted. That they were doing him an obvious favor by helping him cover it up, preparing a speech for him, threatening him whenever he got sidetracked. Or at least something he'd see sense in once he got past that "hormonal driven teenage tantrum" and understand that covering it up was the best course of action. Of course he wouldn't bring the other boy and his feelings into all of this. Simon was just an experiment right? Who'd go so far as to sabotage themselves to bring justice to someone they didn't even love and care about?
And this. this exact misassumption was what eventually brought them all down in the end.
Take August for example. If he had secrets and lies as his weapons and to keep his crimes in the dark, Wille had the truth. A whole truth bomb in the palm of his hand, all this time. And no matter how ballsy Wille was trying to be in that "I'm gonna slowly ruin August's life" mission of his, he was still fighting fire with fire. He only won when he clashed against August as an exact antithesis of him in that coming out speech. August's whole plan was doused only when Wille spoke the truth and refused to play along with his games.
I mean really, had he not done this, what would've happened at worst? August would've.. gotten voted out of being rowing captain?? Maybe he would suffer a bit then, but would it really matter in the long run? August knew that, and so did Wille, deep down, but he ignored that part and instead convinced himself that he was at least doing something to make himself feel better.
Because honestly?!
August never understood, or even cared to! He'd pretend to be sorry whenever needed and go right back to being where he was if needed, as long as he was gonna be king. The moment August actually. genuinely lost to him was when Wille did something not out of hatred for August, but out of love for Simon. And when he did, without having August in his mind, but the person he loved and cared about, he made it impossible for August to go anywhere from there on. It wasn't revenge, it was reconciliation that finally got him. (And simultaneously saved Wilmon's relationship too, for that matter 👀)
This has such poetry in it btw?? I can't properly explain it, but it does remind me of atla and Zuko's arc in a way. How there's a whole world of difference between his firebending when it's fueled by rage, and when it's fueled by wisdom, focus and harmony within the elements. The difference in outcome is so visibly there when the motivation is switched, and when Wille has love and understanding and bravery in his heart instead.
The whole time, the entire Hillerska staff, student body, royal court and royal family and tHEIR ROYAL FAMILIES- *deep breath* WERE AFTER MY BACHCHA had anticipated Wille to lash out for having his royal image tainted and getting at odds with his family but the fact that he'd do it on Simon's behalf never even crossed their brilliant little minds. They had equiped themselves, sure, but never for this >:) Because for all their brains and strategising, no one had actually sat down and thought for once that Wilmon were actually in love. There was a power in it that no one had anticipated.
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Every time I see one of those charts ranking how good various fictional detectives would be at solving a fictional mystery, I am now obligated to ask myself how Andreas Maler would fare, but the thing is, the answer is always "badly," because even for the ones I think he could actually solve (only some of them), something calamitously terrible has to have happened to force him into being the detective in this scenario in the first place.
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a customer just came in and ordered a flat white with six (6) shots in it. for clarity thats like.. a full cup of espresso with maybe an inch of milk sitting on top. this mf is trying to meet the hat man
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the thing about art is that it was always supposed to be about us, about the human-ness of us, the impossible and beautiful reality that we (for centuries) have stood still, transfixed by music. that we can close our eyes and cry about the same book passage; the events of which aren't real and never happened. theatre in shakespeare's time was as real as it is now; we all laugh at the same cue (pursued by bear), separated hundreds of years apart.
three years ago my housemates were jamming outdoors, just messing around with their instruments, mostly just making noise. our neighbors - shy, cautious, a little sheepish - sat down and started playing. i don't really know how it happened; i was somehow in charge of dancing, barefoot and laughing - but i looked up, and our yard was full of people. kids stacked on the shoulders of parents. old couples holding hands. someone had brought sidewalk chalk; our front walk became a riot of color. someone ran in with a flute and played the most astounding solo i've ever heard in my life, upright and wiggling, skipping as she did so. she only paused because the violin player was kicking his heels up and she was laughing too hard to continue.
two weeks ago my friend and i met in the basement of her apartment complex so she could work out a piece of choreography. we have a language barrier - i'm not as good at ASL as i'd like to be (i'm still learning!) so we communicate mostly through the notes app and this strange secret language of dancers - we have the same movement vocabulary. the two of us cracking jokes at each other, giggling. there were kids in the basement too, who had been playing soccer until we took up the far corner of the room. one by one they made their slow way over like feral cats - they laid down, belly-flat against the floor, just watching. my friend and i were not in tutus - we were in slouchy shirts and leggings and socks. nothing fancy. but when i asked the kids would you like to dance too? they were immediately on their feet and spinning. i love when people dance with abandon, the wild and leggy fervor of childhood. i think it is gorgeous.
their adults showed up eventually, and a few of them said hey, let's not bother the nice ladies. but they weren't bothering us, they were just having fun - so. a few of the adults started dancing awkwardly along, and then most of the adults. someone brought down a better sound system. someone opened a watermelon and started handing out slices. it was 8 PM on a tuesday and nothing about that day was particularly special; we might as well party.
one time i hosted a free "paint along party" and about 20 adults worked quietly while i taught them how to paint nessie. one time i taught community dance classes and so many people showed up we had to move the whole thing outside. we used chairs and coatracks to balance. one time i showed up to a random band playing in a random location, and the whole thing got packed so quickly we had to open every door and window in the place.
i don't think i can tell you how much people want to be making art and engaging with art. they want to, desperately. so many people would be stunning artists, but they are lied to and told from a very young age that art only matters if it is planned, purposeful, beautiful. that if you have an idea, you need to be able to express it perfectly. this is not true. you don't get only 1 chance to communicate. you can spend a lifetime trying to display exactly 1 thing you can never quite language. you can just express the "!!??!!!"-ing-ness of being alive; that is something none of us really have a full grasp on creating. and even when we can't make what we want - god, it feels fucking good to try. and even just enjoying other artists - art inherently rewards the act of participating.
i wasn't raised wealthy. whenever i make a post about art, someone inevitably says something along the lines of well some of us aren't that lucky. i am not lucky; i am dedicated. i have a chronic condition, my hands are constantly in pain. i am not neurotypical, nor was i raised safe. i worked 5-7 jobs while some of these memories happened. i chose art because it mattered to me more than anything on this fucking planet - i would work 80 hours a week just so i could afford to write in 3 of them.
and i am still telling you - if you are called to make art, you are called to the part of you that is human. you do not have to be good at it. you do not have to have enormous amounts of privilege. you can just... give yourself permission. you can just say i'm going to make something now and then - go out and make it. raquel it won't be good though that is okay, i don't make good things every time either. besides. who decides what good even is?
you weren't called to make something because you wanted it to be good, you were called to make something because it is a basic instinct. you were taught to judge its worth and over-value perfection. you are doing something impossible. a god's ability: from nothing springs creation.
a few months ago i found a piece of sidewalk chalk and started drawing. within an hour i had somehow collected a small classroom of young children. their adults often brought their own chalk. i looked up and about fifteen families had joined me from around the block. we drew scrangly unicorns and messed up flowers and one girl asked me to draw charizard. i am not good at drawing. i basically drew an orb with wings. you would have thought i drew her the mona lisa. she dragged her mother over and pointed and said look! look what she drew for me and, in the moment, i admit i flinched (sorry, i don't -). but the mother just grinned at me. he's beautiful. and then she sat down and started drawing.
someone took a picture of it. it was in the local newspaper. the summary underneath said joyful and spontaneous artwork from local artists springs up in public gallery. in the picture, a little girl covered in chalk dust has her head thrown back, delighted. laughing.
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