#i wanted to write more christmas fic

[baronessblixen]

So I know you don’t do ficmas but if you want to write from time to time this month I have this combo : Christmas + Sick Mulder in a fic

Love u ✨

Been meaning to write this for ages! thank you for the prompt. So Mulder isn't exactly sick but he's injured - and that's why Scully can't leave him alone and has to bring him to her mother's Christmas party! Wc: 2,187.

Tagging @today-in-fic

Christmas With The Scullys

“What is he doing here?” Frothing at the mouth, her brother Bill regards her and Mulder with narrow eyes. His bark has always been worse than his bite, but Scully tightens her grip on her partner’s bicep anyway. Today of all days, Mulder doesn’t need to deal with this. She didn’t give him any choice. It was either him accompanying her to her mother’s Christmas party, or her staying behind with him, missing family time. A cheap shot on her part, but desperate times and all.

“I couldn’t leave him on his own,” she explains. Next to her, Mulder is quiet. She can only imagine how much pain he’s in. They shouldn’t stand here longer than necessary, but Bill is still blocking the door. “Would you please let us in? Unless you want Mulder to pass out because you will have to carry him inside if he does.” Bill practically jumps out of the way and Scully leads Mulder inside, a hand on his back.

“There you are.” Her mother walks out of the kitchen, drying her hands on a towel. “Oh, Fox,” she says, touching his arm. “I heard you’re not well.” A loud snort comes from the direction of the living room. Scully rolls her eyes. Bill Jr. wouldn’t dare say anything in front of their mother, no matter how much he dislikes Mulder.

“I hit my head,” Mulder says, nevertheless smiling at her mother and shaking her hand. That, however, is not enough for her. She draws him close and gives him a bear hug. “I’ll be fine, Mrs. Scully,” he says, his voice muffled.

“Mom, Mulder needs rest,” Scully says and her mother nods, but doesn’t let go of him. “Can he- it’s too noisy down here.”

“I made up your bed.” Finally, Mulder is free. Scully sees him sway and grabs his arm. He needs to lie down and quickly. She doesn’t need him passing out and making his concussion even worse. Her fingers dig into his arm and he winces. She mouths an apology and he sighs, his shoulder bumping against her own head.

“My bed,” she says, just to clarify. She hears a clatter from behind her and doesn’t need to turn around to know that Bill is there and listening.

“With the whole family coming,” her mother explains, “there’s limited space.”

“I can sit in the car,” Mulder says, turning to Scully.

“No,” both Scully and her mom say in unison. Behind them, Bill snickers. Scully whirls around and glares at him. At least he has the audacity to blush in embarrassment.

“My bed is fine. It’s… I was just- let’s get you upstairs, Mulder.”

“Do you need any help, Dana?” Her mother asks and she shakes her head no.

“Thank you, mom. I’ve got it.” She can feel her family’s eyes on her back as she leads Mulder up the stairs. They’re walking slowly, taking every step deliberately.

“I’m sorry,” Mulder mumbles when they’re at the top. He sounds out of breath and his eyes are glassy when he looks at her.

“This isn’t your fault, Mulder.”

“Isn’t it?” She steers him towards her bedroom, momentarily distracted by the fact that he’s here. He’s been to her mother’s house before and she’s shown him all of the rooms, but this is different. He’s in her room. And he’s going to sleep in her bed. Where she will most likely sleep, too, later tonight.

“Sit there,” she says softly, pushing him towards her bed. He does as told, letting his eyes wander around her room. “How are you feeling?” She asks, helping him out of his jacket. “Does your head hurt?”

“Hmm,” he says, still taking in his surroundings. “Dizzy,” he adds.

“Stop looking around,” Scully scolds him with a smile.

“This is your room,” he says.

“I know it is.”

“It’s pretty. Ouch.” He sighs. “I really am sorry, Scully. For being here.”

“I’m glad you’re here,” she says, her voice shaky. She means every word. She knows Mulder probably doesn’t remember or only remembers half of it. He might never recall how he sustained his concussion but she does. And she can’t get the pictures out of her head. Scully takes a deep breath and focuses on Mulder, who is looking up at her with tired eyes and pouty lips.

“Next year I’ll make sure you get to spend Christmas with your family. It’s a promise. It’s my Christmas gift. I need to tell your mom, too,” he says, trying to get up. Scully stops him. “And your brother. I know he hates me.”

“Mulder, stop.” She keeps her hands on his shoulder. “I’m giving you something for your headache and then I need you to rest. I will come check on you every 30 minutes. Okay?”

“I want you to spend Christmas with your family,” he says as Scully hands him the pills and a glass of water.

“I am spending time with them. We’re at my mother’s, remember?” He nods slowly, taking the pills she gave him. “Now please lie down.”

“You don’t hate me,” he says, already sounding drowsy.

“I don’t hate you,” she assures him, leaning close to him. The combination of disinfectant and his very own Mulder scent brings tears to her eyes. Very gently she runs her fingers through his hair, making sure to stay clear of the bump on his forehead and the small, barely there cut.

“That’s good,” he mumbles, his eyes closing. “I don’t hate you either, Scully.” With that, he’s asleep. Scully watches him for another moment, covers him with a blanket, and leaves the room. She sets an alarm on her phone to check on Mulder in half an hour before she joins her family downstairs.

“But why is he here?” It’s Bill Jr. again. This time he’s lamenting to their mother and his own wife, who are both busy baking cookies. A few children smile at Scully, all red-headed and cute, with apple-round cheeks and big eyes. She smiles back at them, sticks her tongue out at little Matthew, who claps his flour-covered hands, making himself and one of his cousins sneeze. The adults don’t even notice.

“He’s here because he’s your sister’s partner.”

“Partner,” Bill grumbles.

“He is,” Scully chimes in, crossing her arms over her chest. “And he’s hurt. What was I supposed to do? Leave him all by himself?”

“Doesn’t he have his own family? Or do they not want him there either?”

“Bill Jr.!” Their mother doesn’t raise her voice often. When she does, they all know to keep their mouths shut. “Fox is a guest in our house. I want you to respect that.”

“I’m just gonna say hello to everyone else,” Scully says, needing to get away from her brother. She checks the time and stares up the stairs, worry for Mulder running through her veins. As much as she tries to focus on her family and the relatives she hasn’t seen in so long, her thoughts are on Mulder.

“Dana, there you are.” Scully stops, turning to look at one of her aunts walking towards her with a smile and a glass of eggnog in her hand. “It’s so good to see you.”

“You too, aunt Sylvia.”

“Your mother said you were coming and then Bill said we shouldn’t get our hopes up.”

“I’m here,” Scully says with a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. Anger bubbles up inside of her like lava. “I’m, um, my work is unpredictable sometimes.”

“That’s what your mother said, too, dear. I’m glad you’re here. And I hear you brought your partner?” Her aunt’s face lights up. Another aunt, who must have heard the word partner, saunters over, followed by more and more nosy relatives.

“I did,” she says, trying to bring some distance between herself and the swarming crowd. “He hurt himself and couldn’t stay on his own.”

“When are we going to meet him?” Someone, who Scully assumes is one of her mother’s neighbors, wants to know.

“Tomorrow,” she says. “He should be better tomorrow.” That’s her hope anyway. If not, they might have to go back to the ER. “I should actually go check up on him. Excuse me.” A sigh escapes her as she walks away, the chatter growing quieter. She loves her family and she loves the noise. But right now, she wants to be with Mulder, make sure he’s okay.

“You really don’t want to spend time with us, do you?” Bill is waiting for her in front of her bedroom, looking just like he did back when they were teenagers and he didn’t approve of something she was doing. Which was all the time. Back then, he might have intimidated her from time to time, but not anymore.

“What are you doing?” She asks him. The door to the bedroom is open and she catches a glimpse of Mulder, still blissfully asleep.

“Is he that important to you?”

“Yes.” She doesn’t have to think about it. The word is out before Bill has even closed his mouth. He’s staring at her as if she were a riddle he has to solve before he can keep going.

“What is it about him? Why does he have to be here?”

“What would you say if someone – if I – asked you that about Tara?” Bill recoils as if she just slapped him.

“Don’t compare my wife to that- to him. Is he that important to you?” His voice softens slightly and she looks up at him, seeing conflict in his face. He’s just a big brother, looking out for his baby sister. Her mood softens and her shoulders sag in defeat.

“He is,” she says, admitting it to him – and to herself. “He’s important to me, Bill. And more than that, he needed someone tonight. He- do you know how he got his concussion? He was protecting people, Bill. Thanks to Mulder people got to go home and be with their families tonight because he didn’t care for his own well-being, only theirs. That’s who he is.”

“I didn’t know,” Billy says, shuffling his feet and clearing his throat. “Maybe… maybe I can be nice to him while he’s here. It’s Christmas after all.”

“Thank you, Bill.” They hug each other, Scully smiling against his shoulder. “I missed you, you know.”

“Well, whose fault is it we hardly ever see each other?” She glares at him and he nods in apology. “You’re right, you’re right. I’m glad you could make it, Dana. Even if that guy is here with you.”

“That guy has a name.”

“He’s gonna be that guy to me,” Bill says and the siblings smile at each other.

“I’ll be down in a second. I’m just going to check on Mulder.” She waits until Bill has gone back downstairs to enter her bedroom. Calm overtakes her seeing Mulder there. In her bed. That’s something they will have to deal with later. For now, she sits by his side, gently shaking his shoulder. His eyes open and he cracks a smile.

“Was wondering when you’d show up,” Mulder says.

“How are you feeling?”

“Tired. My head is killing me.”

“It’s gonna hurt for a while.”

“Worth it,” he says, yawning.

“You could have died out there, Mulder,” she says quietly.

“Better me than you and a dozen other people.”

“Not better for me,” she says, touching his cheek. There’s the slightest hint of stubble there and it gives her goosebumps. “Don’t do something this reckless again, okay?”

“I’d promise, but…” He grins at her. No, he can’t promise her that. If he did, he’d be lying. They both know that. Her hand is still on his cheek, her thumb caressing him. Seeing him here, she’s reluctant to leave his side.

“I think you told Bill you’d be right down.”

“I- what?” Her fingers still on his face. “Did you hear us fight?”

“You and Bill weren’t exactly quiet, Scully. And by the way, you’re important to me, too. Very important.” The smile slips from his face and is replaced by an earnest look. With Scully too shocked to reply, Mulder just keeps going. “I know you didn’t mean for me to overhear it. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but I just wanted you to know. This is not the drugs talking, by the way.” His grin returns and she can’t help herself but smile back.

“Let me be the judge of that,” she whispers. “Now go back to sleep. I will check on you in half an hour.”

“Make it an hour.”

“Mulder.”

“Scully, go spend time with your family. I’ll be fine. How am I supposed to rest if you wake me up every five minutes?”

“An hour. Not one minute longer.”

“That’s my Scully.” He closes his eyes and Scully leans forward, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

“Sleep well,” she whispers.

She’s almost to the door when Mulder says, “hey Scully?” She turns to him, leaning against the door frame. “Is there mistletoe downstairs?”

“You will have to find that out for yourself tomorrow,” she says, grinning.

“Can’t wait.”

And neither can she.

[wikiangela]

fuck it friday 🎄

tagged by @thewolvesof1998 💖

wasn't sure about posting this bc I don't wanna share like everything I have so far but it's fuck it friday so fuck it lol I'm too excited to keep it to myself haha - here's more of the christmas fic and the main idea behind it (I said it's gonna be mostly silly and fluffy and I promise it will be, just gotta add a little more sad while buck talks about his childhood lol)

prev snippet

___

His eyes don’t leave the screen, while Eddie’s are glued to Buck’s face. “Well, there’s a lot of things I always wanted to do with my family on Christmas, but never got to.” his voice gets even quieter. “But there’s one thing in particular. I, uh, that’s so stupid.” he chuckles quietly, then nods to the screen, where a kid is opening a gift with a bright smile, his family surrounding him. “I wanted this.” he admits quietly, as if embarrassed. He never told Eddie much about his life growing up, but based on everything Eddie knows about his parents, he can imagine it wasn’t great. He never asked, not wanting to pry, but now Eddie wonders what Buck’s Christmas must’ve looked like, especially after Maddie moved out. He must’ve been miserable, and Eddie’s heart is breaking just at the thought.

“It’s not stupid to want a happy holiday with a loving family.” he says softly, carefully. Buck shakes his head, the red in his cheeks now visible despite the dark.

“I mean, that too, I- I never got this, and I always wished- but not just that.” another shake of his head. “I mean, the sweaters.” he mutters under his breath.

“Christmas sweaters?” Eddie asks, not sure if he heard right, just because of how quiet Buck said it.

“I know, it’s dumb. I just always imagined sitting around in matching sweaters, as a family, taking pictures, looking like we belong together, like I- like I belong.” he adds, turning his head away, so Eddie can’t see his face. Eddie reaches his hand further, touching Buck’s shoulder.

“They couldn’t give you matching Christmas sweaters?” he asks incredulously, fighting not to raise his voice.

___

no pressure tags: @elvensorceress @gaydiaz @diazass @thebravebitch @silentxxsoul @shortsighted-owl @eddiebabygirldiaz @arthursdent @diazblunt @911onabc @spagheddiediaz @housewifebuck @gayhoediaz @rogerzsteven @watchyourbuck @monsterrae1 @honestlydarkprincess @underwater-ninja-13 @eowon @weewootruck @loserdiaz @evanbegins @steadfastsaturnsrings @ladydorian05 @malewifediaz @pirrusstuff @theotherbuckley @911-on-abc @hoodie-buck @wildlife4life @fortheloveofbuddie @nmcggg @diazpatcher @jeeyuns @jesuisici33 @lover-of-mine @jamespearce9-1-1 @giddyupbuck @spotsandsocks @daffi-990 @exhuastedpigeon @disasterbuckdiaz @buckaroosheart @hippolotamus @king-buckley

[owlf45]

tagged by @pocketramblr

OH I FORGOT TO TAG PEOPLE

@rose-blooms-red @figurativepieceoftrash @achairwithapandaonit @queenangst and uhm uhm anyone else who wants to be @ ed bc im not sure who in our circle has already been tagged

[inkblackorchid]

I swear to fucking—this duel is tormenting me. Outline and all, I have been writing on this thing for a month. I'm officially shaming myself for stuffing a duel with too many plot-relevant elements, character moments, and card game actions. Somebody put a dunce hat on me.(Or pat me on the head and tell me to keep going, I am s t r u g g l i n g.)

Like. Don't get me wrong. Would I rather be doing anything else than this? No. Am I still acutely frustrated with how hard it is to juggle several structural writing threads at the same time, while weaving them together to form something coherent? YES.

[actualbird]

n/s//f///w ish but i saw a post on my dash that was like "oh no not even the sickos on ao3 have written the tags you just searched up" and then it had the addition "this post is about thinking 'oh surely the more seasoned perverts on ao3 have written this already because it is so obvious but oh no it turns out im the weird one" but my dang app refreshed before i could reblog the post because i HUGELY RELATE IN REGARDS TO LUKE PEARCE PUPPY PLAY

i dont understand. luke pearce being a subby little puppy in BDSM sex is THEEEEE most obvious connection to make. canon constantly likens him to a dog, he has an immense desire for service and loyalty like a dog, he has a WHOLE MR CARD WHERE HE IS A WEREWOLF WITH LITTLE DOGGY EARS AND A DOGGY TAIL.

and yet. AAAAND YET

when you search on the tot ao3 tag with the filters "luke pearce" and "puppy play" or "pet play" guess what shows up

A GRAND TOTAL OF 2 FICS

and guess what

BOTH FICS ARE MINE

can you sense my desperation here. i have no food except my own. you can even see that ive clicked the link on my own fics because i have no cHOICE but to read my own damn work because theres NO OTHER FOOD

i feel insane. i guess im the weird one. but come on. puppy play and luke pearce go together like peanut butter and jelly. why isnt there more food......I CANT BE THE ONLY ONE INTO THIS OTL

[pixelatedraindrops]

RainCode Sickfic (Sequel 3) preview!

(RainCode Endgame Spoilers!)

Behind the mask…lies the pain you’ve kept hidden all this time…

So as I’ve briefly mentioned multiple times, over winter break I will be writing a new fic, aka the third and final part to my RainCode sickfic trilogy. I call the it the “Sickfics of the Heart” series~ :)

The final fic I write will take place in the post game. Where former Number One, Yuma decides to visit Kanai Ward to check on his homunculus Makoto before the year ends as a break. But he finds out he’s not in good shape health-wise and decides to try to look after him.

I will be making multiple references to my first fic “Home is Where the Heart is” so be sure to read that fic first!

This fic will also contain more angst. (that I will make super fluffy in return :3)

Here is the summary of what I have planned.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Title: A Heartwarming Reunion

With his memories back, Former Number One, now Independent Detective Yuma Kokohead has recently solved yet another case. One more step towards his goal of eradicating all the world’s mysteries. He finds himself a little tired and realized that it was getting close to the end of the year. He thinks maybe it’s a good opportunity to take a small vacation to recuperate.

New Years is usually a time best spent with family. Sadly, Yuma didn’t have any blood relatives. His secondary family was the Nocturnal Detective Agency, but with the master detectives off doing their own thing, and the chief deceased (or rather wandering aimlessly as an undead homunculus zombie) he couldn’t be selfish and take up their time.

But as he thought back to his time spent in Kanai Ward's city of endless rain as an amnesiac, one person crossed his mind. The person who shared his face, his mind and his build. The homunculus clone he had to battle to solve the city’s mystery. (Though he could not remember what exactly happened) The CEO and now Leader of the clouded city of rain full of homunculi like him. Makoto Kagutsuchi.

Yuma thought to himself that even if they were previously enemies, Makoto was probably the closest thing to a blood relative he had left. So he decides to return to Kanai Ward to pay him a visit, to see how the city is fairing and hoping he had some time off to talk and catch up. And as the city’s leader, he was usually alone. He wouldn’t mind a little surprise visit from his original …would he?

Little did Yuma know, that Makoto may have needed his help more than he originally expected. He overhears rumors in the city that speak concerns of Makoto pushing himself too hard. It turns out their city’s leader was ill, and he had only gotten worse due to his days of continuous overworking and trying to brush it off, by hiding it using his mask.

Yuma is about to experience being a caretaker for the first time in his life, and to his own double. He has a bit of trouble at first, but he has a little bit of help from his heartwarming memories of his previous found family, the Nocturnal Detective Agency. He also finds out more about Makoto in the process. Realizing that he’s been in a lot of pain…that he’s kept masked all this time, all alone.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Also yes this edit is terrible... x'D Makoto's sprite art makes it difficult to edit into his body... I tried okay? x-x;

Anyway, I hope you will look forward to it! I will try to get it done by either Christmas or...the end of the year :3c

Also this will likely be a multi-chapter fic.

[innytoes]

missing Kidnapped by the fae moments (dunno if u still create for it) so here i am asking for some crumbs

Okay so you know the fae probably Went Hard on stuff like the summer and the winter solstice. Even though time moved differently over there.

So when the boys are back in the human realm, there's a bit of an adjustment. For one, LA doesn't have seasons the way the fairy realm did. And Reggie and Luke came from places in the US where winter was a thing, so they're kind of adjusting too. Though Luke is pretty fine with it, since he wears a beanie and no sleeves no matter what.

Willie and Reggie kind of miss the snow. I think Willie didn't care much for snow until Caleb stole Luke, who taught him the Joys Of Snowball Fights and Snow Men and Sledding.

Snowball fights were very much only a 'Caleb and the other fae are Out Hunting' thing after the first time a snowball went wide and hit one of the fae it was Not A Fun Time For Luke And Willie for several months.

So yeah, the boys are lamenting how they miss snow and sledding. Making sand-men on the beach is just not the same. Throwing sand at each other is Bad actually.

But, they get the bright idea, they could totally make a sled out of two skateboards and some cardboard, right?

Ray has a Very Bad Day after that. At least there were no broken bones this time but Reggie's on crutches for a week (it should have been more, but well, the boys aren't fully human yet) and Willie is Grounded from Skateboarding for just as long. Ray didn't even take his skateboard away, he just used the 'I'm not mad just disappointed' voice and explained it was unfair if Willie could skate when Reggie couldn't even walk

First time Reggie tried to walk through a wall with his crutches (what? his hands were full and doors are hard to open like that!) he went through fine... the crutches did not.

The boys do embrace other parts of the season, though.

Alex and Reggie really like baking. It's soothing, the steps are all laid out, everything smells nice, and there's food at the end. Julie and Ray and Carlos supervise the first few times just to make sure they understand the oven, but after that, they have free reign.

Reggie is the one who discovers the TikTok Baking Twink and starts trying more out there recipes. Some of which, Alex put his foot down to say no. He already lived through the horrific things that did with aspics and pineapple once, thank you. He has no need to relive it.

Luke of course is obsessed with modern Christmas music. Because he hasn't heard it seventeen billion times before, he really loves 'All I want For Christmas Is You' and he sings it to Julie once, really sincerely. Julie is utterly charmed.

He doesn't get why Flynn laughs at them.

When they try to explain Santa to Willie, he just nods sagely. Ah yes, he says, like the fae. You leave him offerings, he decides if you are a good person or a bad person, and rewards or punishes you as he sees fit. And he uses magic.

They are all very creeped out about Santa after that.

Willie does love the idea of gifts, though. Being raised by fairies, he has a very warped relationship with them, but when they explain that you get people you care about gifts for Christmas, he is all on board. Especially when Flynn introduces him to Sparkly Wrapping Paper.

(Yes, Ray has a conversation with Willie that if he wants things from stores, he must use money to buy them and not ask his crow friends to steal it.)

When Willie starts leaving them gifts, it's at random, in the weirdest places. But the right person always discovers them.

It starts normal enough, with some Fun Socks for Alex. Julie gets some sparkly glitter pens. Flynn gets some really weird soda she's never heard of before that has the same effect as seven sodas.

Luke and Reggie get rocks he found that look like a guitar pick and a dog, respectively. They are just as touched and excited as the others, though.

Carlos gets a videogame. It's a game that isn't supposed to be out until next year. Ray is starting to get a headache but Willie earnestly tells him it's not from a store.

Ray gets sweets he loves and misses from Puerto Rico. He has never mentioned these in front of Willie or any of the kids. He knows for certain they're not available in the states. He is scared to ask.

The gifts only get weirder but just as heartfelt from there. Food appears while Julie is studying that she didn't even realise she was craving. Sheet music for long-forgotten songs Luke only remembers snippets of.

Dogs appear whenever Reggie is sad, and once he's cheered up, they happily trot off to wherever they came from. Ray keeps checking the local facebook pages but nobody seems to notice their missing dogs.

Ray is almost relieved when Christmas comes around because hopefully it will stop the ever-increasingly-weird gifts.

He sits through the kids opening their stockings first. His new 'foster kids' are very easy to buy for, because there's so much they've never had and they appreciate just about everything. And yes maybe he did get them all little puzzles in the hopes of distracting them long enough that he can have a quiet afternoon.

Thankfully, the gifts on Christmas seem pretty normal. He maybe gets a little teary-eyed at the World's Best Dad mug the kids all got him together. And everything was bought in stores with money, just like Willie promised Ray.

Until the solid gold barbecue tongs.

[daydadahlias]

Deal Breaker

I had this idea and I ran with it :) happy holidays!

Summary: Michael guffaws. “I know, right? Anyway, sorry, what was I saying?”

“That going to a cabin with my boyfriend’s family for the week is a really bad idea and I should fake my death to get out of it,” Calum grunts back, balling up his briefs haphazardly and cramming them into his bag.

or, the one where Calum's boyfriend invites him to a family Christmas and Calum ends up falling for his cousin.

Word Count: 17,055

Pairing: Ashton Irwin/Calum Hood, Calum Hood/OMC

Rating: T

Content Warnings: homophobia & racism

Read on AO3

[readingwriter92]

Doing my own first semi attempt at NaNoWriMo in which I aim to do 50k but mostly just get a handful of stories I have been trying to write finished. Keeping this thread for accountability and motivation

Day 1:

Stories finished: 0

Word count: 622

Total: 622

[thatgirlonstage]

I have a Grelliam fic idea that is so stupid ambitious but it’s been two weeks and it won’t leave me alone yet and it sounds so FUN

[ravencromwell]

Ros Vortalis trans headcanons

There are some remarkable trans Holland fics and headcanons, but can we talk about Ros Vortalis, whom all of his friends simply call Vor? Who, even when he’s _dying Holland calls Vor, to be expected, but also Vortalis which’s so much longer than Ros.

A bit of googling informs me Ros is “protector” in German, which’s chef’s kiss one hundred/ten no notes V.E. But it’s also, more frequently, a diminutive of Rosalind. Disclaimer before I start these that I respect and love! the headcanons of Makt as fairly gender nonrestrictive, with power being more of a defining factor of treatment. My Makt, however, is more complicated, with gender and gender transitions being imperfect but still a site where joy can be created, much like the rest of White London existence. Putting the rest of these beneath a cut with that in mind because as a trans person, I know some days I can’t handle transness as careful complication to be navigated and don’t want to inflict it on anyone unprepared. (Though, I promise! there’re fluffy as fuck nsfw Vor/Holland and Vor/friends headcanons in here to cut the angst.)

Ros retains a shortened form of his given namefor business purposes within the Shal—we know Shal means “market” in Red London, and I tend to think it means the same in White, such that when Holland calls him a “thug from the Shal” he’s referring to Vor being in the merchant/smuggling business. When he transitions, he’s relatively young and honestly to flagrantly demand a name change would be seen by too many as blood in the water. His greatest focus, always, is Makt rather than his personal happiness and he’d rather be burdened with the “nickname” Ros and be capable of rising in the Shal in service of becoming king.

There’re two ways of transitioning: the easiest and least painful is utilizing a spell similar to Astrid’s with Lila and stealing a face and voice. But that spell fades with death and though Vor understands that his body is likely destined for desecration once he’s gone as Makt’s people drain its blood and magic, there’s still this stubborn demand that they destroy a body without the face that made him shudder every time his child self caught a glimpse (he is so grateful for a lack of mirrors in Makt for much of his young adulthood.)

So he chooses the harder, excruciating method: finds a bone magician to permanently reshape his body. Session after session, over months traveling abroad on a ship with only the open sea and crew to hear him scream himself hoarse.

The first time they share a bed, Holland strokes along the broadened shoulders, runs fingers along the scars on his chest—eyes fixed on Vor’s all the while— and murmurs: “If they did not believe you would hold the throne, they were fools.”

“I’m flattered.” He’s bright-eyed, with that deep, rolling-sea laugh.

“After this, very little would stop you.” Fools have marveled at the extent of spells across his body, and inwardly he howls in hysterical laughter because there is very little to dull pain in Makt, and the shipboard pain was so vast it made everything else feel like pinpricks by comparison. He’s never bedded someone who would know that as intimately as the man who had done his damndest to use that same magic in stopping Vor’s fist before it connected with his face, and the admiration uncoils something deep in his chest. “Sometimes I’m certain I can’t keep it. One moment it will be there and then not.” He manages a farse of a smile “Foolish, after all these decades, but such is the weakness of your future king, Holland.”

“Lucky you would have an Antari to put it back, then.”

By the time he returned to London, voice rumbling deep from an expanded chest, people understood quickly to use “Ros” with the proper pronouns or see just how effective the runes on his hands were. But well…Ros is an easier shirt than Rosalind to slip into, but it will never sit comfortably. As he develops allies, he finds that Vor and Vortalis fit easier. And it becomes a good gauge for trust. Those who understand implicitly how painful his given name is and respect that, are people worth keeping. It becomes easier, as fewer and fewer people survive who remember Rosalind.

There are far too many moments to count when former friends or lovers try to use “Ros” as a weapon, with a little smirk that says: “You never said we _couldn’t call you that.” And he’s deeply glad he made a relatively small name fuss and provided only a small chink in his armor. (Those sorts of people tend, inevitably, to cause the use of his knives. As though letting them close and showing kindness is an invitation for open season. But such are the risks in Makt, and he is a man who craves touch and closeness. What good to craft the ideal body only to never have it appreciated. The way Holland simply…withdrew from people after Talya is something almost unfathomable. Whether they’re the closest of friends or both king and night and! king and beloved—which’s pretty much always in my head—there’s a deep, profound ache that he could never touch Holland enough to make up for too many years alone.

It’s the dimmest flicker every time he sees the “knight” and “Antari” masks slip, when Holland leans against his shoulder or puts his head in Vor’s lap, eyes half-closing at fingers in his hair. But, simply because the task is nigh on impossible, doesn’t mean he won’t do his best. Vor touches Holland Vosijk a hundred thousand times in those two years of rule—and so, so many more if they both survive—and is so very, very grateful he could take the touches the best of his lovers and allies offered over the last thirty years. (On a slashy front, can we also just talk about how, as a couple, there’s an incomparable way arousal and awe intertwine for Vor _every time Holland reaches out and shows affection: a kiss against his temple as Vor lets their foreheads rest together; a hand moving slow and easy down his back. To be trusted enough for the most guarded man he’s ever met—it took Vor _months to convince him to kill Gorst and he’s never had to work so hard or wanted so desperately for someone to say yes in his life—to touch him is such a valuable thing that he has immense responsibility not to break.)

Also in couple’s verse: If Vor has a small regret, it’s that the bone magicians are far more skilled with outward, above-the-waist presentation—because the best of them have not only done this for trans people, but for criminals etc. seeking a disguise. Thankfully, they had no trouble cutting him open to ensure he would never be with child—he doesn’t have the vocabulary for dysphoria, but the idea of his stomach rounded and heavy is one of the few things that can make him viciously soul-deep terrified. But the below the waist equipment well, it’s not a magic Makt has the luxury of learning.

By the time he meets Holland, it’s the very faintest of regrets: he has a collection of strap-ons for when he and a lover want to indulge in that particular fantasy—and is comfortable enough in his skin it’s an indulgence and not a requirement. It’s beautiful to watch lovers slide to their knees and take them in their hands or mouths or slide inside and watch them arch with pleasure. But oh, oh he wishes he could _feel it. It’s not a complaint worth voicing, and honestly after he becomes king, there’s very little time to indulge.

But one day, Holland comes back, smelling of flowers holding a box, tells the guards to wait at the end of the hall because he has crucial business from “the other London” for the king’s ears alone, which has Vor intrigued and concerned because he hasn’t come close to asking Holand to send a message. But before the concern can swell to anything beyond a flicker, he sees a flush so faint anyone would miss it who wasn’t watching. (Even before the Danes, Holland held his feelings and desires in an iron grip; Vor learned early in sharing a bed that Holland loathed the idea of being heard by those not his lovers when losing control: not merely a discomfort that could add spice to an evening, but viscerally, the way it would take everything Vor had to turn his back on an armed opponent.) This is pleasure, not business and he flicks his fingers in a silent command before they can even turn to look.

"Go get yourselves some dinner,“ he says for good measure, "If there is a foe Holland cannot protect me from, there’s little more bodies can do.”

When he opens the box…there are the usual straps but the cock. The cock feels like _skin. “The Arnesians-” and oh, there’s still so much contempt in those words “With their infinite supply of magic have learned to transmute. From earth to bone, and then something softer. There is an illusion for the Arnesians who want to forget the straps.” There were layers upon layers beneath that statement: neither of them wished, at least then, to go begging for scraps, but to _take a little of the bounty Arnes had hoarded,

“_Yes!”

Neither of them know how the illusion works: it is as mysterious as the fireworks Holland has seen that fool his eyes into certainty dragons fly across the unbearably vivid Arnesian sky. It does not matter; in those moments when Holland’s mouth is hot on skin, Vor is utterly, entirely certain Holland is swallowing down the cock he has always had.

It’s almost too much, leaves him speechless for the first time in decades, has Holland scrambling up and onto the bed even as his eyes are still glassy from watching the king come undone to wrap himself around Vor’s back until the world comes into focus again. “Is it only good once or-” he asks, finally and Holland’s smirk is wicked.

When he’s upending the Ost table and coughing up blood—, so much, too much kajt I hope Holland can take the throne because whoever these bastards are they can’t rule, the thing he clings to: more than “Stay with me"—though he _tries—, more than the raw panic in Holland _swearing—is the name. _Vortalis, he says when the table overturns—though it would be such a forgivable mistake to use Ros. Vor, he says while chanting stay and one of his blood spells. He will die as who he made himself, not as he was born.

The three threads of coherence for Holland are the blood spell. That Vor _has to stay. And that if he cannot be enough to stop this, he _will not let Vor die hearing him use the wrong name.

In verses where Vor lives, they both know the "thank you” when he wakes is not for the healing, though to be alive is a joy.

[moonlit-knightz]

not me still writing a horror fic even though halloween passed and we are in december 😭😭I just want to finish my story and not abandon it

[spinoff-antithesis]

RATING: G RELATIONSHIP: Female Pokedex Holder Blue | Green & Silver (Pokemon) SUMMARY: green feels that she has a lot to apologize for. silver, on the other hand, doesn't know how to explain to his sister that he doesn't blame her for anything. EXTENDED SUMMARY:

“I’m proud of you. I don’t know what all happened on your journey,” she starts, looking back at the direction they’re taking, “and I wish you would’ve contacted me before you started working with Lance, but you made it out in one piece and better than I could’ve ever hoped for. I’m just sorry I wasn’t able to be there more for you.”

Silver stares at the back of her head, walking on autopilot.

He wants to tell her that she’s done enough, that he’s sorry for never reaching out until they ran into each other by pure chance. That he’s thankful for her and keeping him together in one piece when they were no more than children and that he wants to get stronger to protect her and keep her from ever having to go through something like losing her family again.

Instead, what he says instead is, “Why did you leave me that night?”

[ghost-proofbaby]

happy halloween, ghouls. i hope you all are enjoying my favorite holiday as much as i am (i'm writing about ghost hunting with eddie while listening to creepy podcasts/youtube true crime cases, and am now considering doing some sort of special fx makeup. wahoo.)

[aparticularbandit]

Nonnie who had the Avengers Christmas Party prompt - that I was heading towards in Instigation--

Heads up that I might be changing that to a New Years Eve party, if that's cool?

[pyrriax]

hey guys im back at it again with the horrible levels of s4 zam brainrot. um.

did i manage to somehow make this song about him in my head? yes! yes i did. and i cannot be normal about it.