#early xmas present | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lucidpantone · 2 years

Text

So a couple years back I wrote this fanfic that was sorta of hit for another fandom(wtfock or belgium skam). I’ve been wanting to write something for young royals for awhile but I knew I wanted to do it in that similar style of that past fic because people seemed to LOVE that parallel puzzle piece timeline style. Anyways so surprise surprise gonna be dropping chapter 1 soon but here is a preview. Oh, and one last thing:

Fic Rules

If its in italics its the past

If its not in Italics its the present (particular scenes from the last year)

Into The Blues

We’re all just journeymen in catacombs of the earth’s womb.

Riding life like a log down a stream burrowing through artificial portholes that men sowed into the roots of the city as an act of defiance; when travel above the waterline did not suffice.So instead we defiled her core from the inside out.

Yet, here we find him.The interloper standing shoulder to shoulder in a cigar shaped transport vessel amongst the everyman attempting to blend into a world he no longer belongs too. Sporting garments perfectly hand crafted by french artisans for his physique and leather bound shoes of italian origin.

The commuter populace sways as the ocean does in twilight. Mellow and familiar. Unobstructed and in uniformity.

The conductor breaks his mental surface.

“Mind the gap between the train and the platform. This is Green Park.”

He navigates the route towards an exit. He is late but he insisted on venturing into the world as the common folks do.

This isn’t his side of town and if given a choice he wouldn’t have hosted the Royals Arts Gala here but the honorees were swedish alums of The Royal Academy Art who were funded by the Swedish Royals Arts Foundation so a marriage of both Swedish and British houses had to be decided and London seemed to appeal to a wider audience.

He scurries out of underground to street level when the harsh cold air hits him. A loving reminder he thinks to himself.

Reality gnaws at him when he sees it. The Ritz Hotel signage glowing back at him.

A wave of guilt washes over him from sins past and yet here he finds himself once again running towards his mistakes atop a pair of italian soles that would entice even the top ranks of the Bourgeoisie.

He picks up pace and jettisons towards the Grand Ballroom as tear drops begin to fall from the heavens.

You’d think after years of exposure to all this pomp and circumstance he’d be used to the classic french rococo style but it still feels so grandiose at times. Banquet rooms adorned with gold leaf walls, gilded oak paneling richly embellished with C-scrolls and S-scrolls, sprigs of flowers, rocaille motifs and hand painted frescos. 18th century crystal chandeliers prevailing in their usage to light an avarice crowd of thespians devouring the fruits of France's champagne region like it was manna from heaven.

But he needn’t worry tonight because these throngs of acolytes were here to bear witness to his recital of one sacrosanct individual.

However, before he stood atop a podium for his song and dance routine he kept his interactions with the crowd wrapped up in an air of breviloquence and wit.

He’d be expected to frolic amongst the flock and express his gratuity for the copious amounts of flowers, gift baskets and condolences sent his way. Though arduous work, he had an inert sensibility when it came to working a room of uppercrust socialites after years of conditioning.

“Hello sir, this way please” a gala usher quickly takes his coat and escorts him to his table for the evening when an unfamiliar sensation reemerges from eons past. A fibrillation in his heart, one mimicking that of a hummingbird in fast pursuit. He hadn’t had much time to ponder this strange occurrence when he noticed the guest at his table standing up to greet him.

Anders Olsson was the first to lock gaze with him. He greeted him with an overworked smile and spread out arms welcoming him into a fast embrace.

“Am so happy you came” Anders whispered in his ear softly as he pushed off from their hug.

Then Anders immediately went around the table introducing him to the director of the Royal Academy who gave him an assertive handshake, the other honorees who’s displays of dominance were absent and meekly greeted him,the gala’s main sponsors two Americans one of which was sat next to him and felt the need to remind him that she was a hugger and gave him a good squeeze before he could even object, and lastly the person sitting directly to his left the head of the Swedish Royals Arts Foundation.

“Prince Wilhelm, this is Simon Bancroft-Erikksen, Tomas’s husband” Anders confirms.

“Hey”, Wilhelm states softly as he embraces Simon’s handshake with a dual hand handshake creating an over-under type of shelter for Simon’s touch.

Simon’s notices Wilhelm linger and slides his hand back slowly.

“Hi” Simon says softly as he musters his best subdued smile for his highness.

As Simon takes a seat he notices a few patrons looking directly at him as they cover their mouths and about his recent life updates. Forgetting for a moment that he is “that” guy now.

Simon Bancroft-Erikksen, a swedish born singer/composer, recent widower to the late Tomas Åström Bancroft and now sole heir to the Bancroft banking fortune. A fortune worth more than some countries GDP.

It was like looking through a lens but fish eyed, distorted and misshapen.

Lacking distinction, and depth, an exam based on muscle memory and repetition. A performance of sorts.

“Simon, how are you?”, They asked with a worry in their voice that had become oh so familiar.

“Am good”

“Simon, are you getting enough sleep?” This was definitely somewhere in the top 3 questions as of late.

*Shrugs*

“Are you eating?” and this question? This one usually led to a non sequitur from him.

“Oh pardon me. I see a colleague, I must run to say hello too.” This was Simon’s cue to beeline it back to his table and avoid the thickets of bullshit he had to spatter.

Simon plopped himself back down on his seat and took a deep exhale.

“I brought reinforcements,” Simon heard him say.

Wilhelm shot him a sweet smile as he picked out a small plastic bag from his blazer.

Simon’s eyes widened and for the first time tonight and he genuinely smiled.

Simon couldn’t decide which one to choose from so he went for his usual sweet and salty licorice. Swedish candy had become Simon’s main food source throughout this period in his life. It was one of the only things he could stomach to keep down. That and mandarins.

“Thanks, you’re a lifesaver.”

“I had an inclination that you may need backup.”

Simon shook his head in agreement.

“You’re doing great,by the way” Wilhelm encouraged Simon somewhat gingerly.

The ballroom lights dimmed and the ceremony got underway.

Notable honorees received their totems of recognition from high society.

And then a darkness befell them and he felt the room surround him and suddenly there he was in full technicolor. Tomas and Anders discussing the inspiration for what would become Tomas’s final commissioned symphony.

It was a strange sensation for Simon. In many ways he thought he had become infallible to public displays of sorrow. He’d numbed himself to a point of no return, gone full scorched earth, become some sort of cultural philistine with a match in his hand walking on gas ready to ignite the pain away.

Pay no credence to his grief.

Yet, The chinks in his armor began to chime through the air like a siren’s song.

Without notice Simon’s body began to react badly. His hands began to shake as Tomas’s voice filled the room. He hid his hands underneath the table but the shaking only worsened and as Simon was about to deploy his metaphorical airbag and abort this mission. Wilhelm tethered him back down to earth. Threw him a safety line and kept him at bay and from floating away. Wilhelm took a hold of Simon’s hand and interlaced his fingers into Simons.

Simon was fully prepared to shoot Wilhelm a rather terse glance when suddenly the lights went up and the crowd stood up for a standing ovation. Wilhelm pulled Simon up with the crowd and let go of his hand to indulge in the clapping.

Ander’s walked over to him and before he knew it they were walking in the direction of the podium. Simon wasn’t taken aback by this gesture if anything he expected. He had written a speech and all but it was all happening so fast. The spotlight flashed atop of him and he stood there looking out at a sea of onlookers.

He pulled the mic towards him and reached into his blazer pocket to read from a cue card.

“Firstly, I would like to say thank you for the beautiful in memoriam segment and to everyone who has sent their condolences to my family throughout the last year.

My husband Tomas was a kind and thoughtful soul who truly inspired me and many others. When he began this consortium project he felt a great responsibility to represent the cultural richness of the great landmarks of Sweden. His music was merely a vehicle to explore what he felt in his heart was an undeniably beautiful landscape filled with everlasting summers and a wonderful winter wonderland. Except for those 4 months in the dead of winter which we don’t talk about.”

The crowd broke out in laughter.

“Thank you for honoring Tomas’s legacy and to the Swedish Royals Arts Foundation for recognizing his accomplishments, To the Royal Academy for their constant support and to the Bancroft foundation for their relentless advocacy in forestry conservation.”

Applause raptured around the ballroom.

As Simon stepped back from the mic his heart rate adjusted and he looked out into the crowd for a tether back into the normal world. The one where he once felt he belonged to, had a home in, fell in love in and felt like he could operate within without fear or reservations.

As Simon walked off stage he felt a tug, a reel, a life line leading him to a sanctuary where he could be caught and released out of these predatory waters. This wildlife was foreign to him now. He needed to live in a habitat where the aquamarine life was curated and made out of plastic.

He needed everything to be fake, to go to a place where he could be inoculated from his reality. Where none of the people were real and just made out of metal.

There was only one exception to this rule.

As he took his seat again and looked to his left; it was all gut, an unfathomable feeling, a pavlovian response as he reached out underneath the table and took hold of Wilhelm’s hand and thought to himself.

This, and only this, he needed to be real.

#young royals #my young royals fic #preview to my debut hoping to get this fic out this week or so #early xmas present #new fic coming soon

2 notes · View notes