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#but if I don't indulge myself who will?

heytheredeann · 2 months

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Not a love song

Tags: Post-Canon, Mentions of Gaby Teller, Misunderstandings, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Alterous attraction, Asexual Character, asexual illya kuryakin, Aromantic Character, Aromantic Napoleon Solo, Angst with a Happy Ending, Internalized Acephobia (only like one line of dialogue), Non-Sexual Intimacy, Sharing a Bed, Cuddling & Snuggling, Hurt Napoleon Solo (only a little bit - to make him TALK loool)

Notes: This fic exists because with the new year I figured I'd try to be change I want to see in the world, and I definitely would love to have more aspec fics to read LOL. Sidenote for those who don't know: the term "alterous attraction" indicates a feeling that is not necessarily platonic but is not romantic either, it's something in-between that doesn't fit into either label or that is not easily identifiable as one or the other, and that's what I imagine Napoleon is experiencing (I struggled to pick a relationship tag, I wish Ao3 had a third option LOL). He's just there like "I WANT HIM" "Like a boyfriend?" "DUNNO, I W A N T HIM *grabby hands *". Illya's feelings could be straight up romantic or platonic or alterous as well, his POV is not shown so *shrug *. I tend to headcanon him as biromantic, but if you want to read aro Illya into this I definitely won't complain LOL. That's all, I think, enjoy!

It’s possible that Napoleon might have—misread the situation.

Though really, how is this his fault? Illya is the one sending mixed signals all around.

First he gets all cozy with him, always finding an excuse to touch him, be it with a hand on the small of his back, an arm around his shoulders as they sit close together or even his hands on his hips as he leans to look over his shoulder, and then, when Napoleon starts flirting back, he closes up like a clam.

Perhaps Illya is just confused about his feelings. Maybe he’s never been with a man before, and though he very obviously started indicating that he wants him close he wasn’t sure what to do once Napoleon started responding.

It would be understandable, and Napoleon should perhaps just talk to him about it, but—Illya has been steering clear of him for a week now, since when Napoleon got tipsy and impatient and he straight up tried to come on to him, and he isn’t sure what to do about it now that he might have completely ruined everything.

He was stupid, he shouldn’t have jumped the gun like that, he should have tried to ease Illya into it, but—he missed him. The most concerning part of the whole thing wasn’t the insistent pull of want that began growing in the pit of his stomach as Illya started freely touching him, that deep-seated desire to be held in his arms, tangled together under the sheets and allowed to relax skin to skin after a good fuck, that was acceptable, normal, but—

What he wasn’t prepared for was the panic that would overtake him the moment Illya started pulling away from him.

[More on Ao3]

#napollya #napollya fic #tmfu fic #ace illya #aro napoleon #the man from uncle #napoleon x illya #tmfu #not spn #my fanfic #this has been ready for ages tbh looool #but that's it i'm done re-reading it BYE #i'm probably not completely happy with it because it's so self-indulgent but THAT'S THE DEVIL TALKING. IF I DON'T INDULGE MYSELF WHO WILL #so here i'm finally posting it looool

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astrum-aetherium · 10 months

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listen… modernly speaking and just for funsies, is henry the type to watch my silly little reality shows with me or is his ass going to complain about it 🙄 i find it hard to believe he’s indulging in any television but you know… for me?

for you? why, of course.

if he were to entertain a partner with a profound ability to convince and sway people — and i'm sure he would, that'd even be his type if i do say so myself — then he would certainly have to suffer the consequences. in this case, they'd be harmless (maybe not in his eyes, but definitely in all of ours). of course, he'd complain a little bit about it at first out of obligation, but he'd eventually grow tired and give up on it. i mean, your charms would be difficult to resist. you'd cuddle up to him on the couch while he'd sit there, stiff as hell and corporally communicating that his interests lie elsewhere, but he would nevertheless watch along.

hell, he'd even find it entertaining. but do you know what? he would never admit so. however, i think he'd secretly look forward to reality show sessions with you. i mean, they wouldn't exactly be the most intellectual of endeavors nor a perfect date night, but why not? it's still time spent with you.

#i'm in a cutesy mood can you tell #might be a little OOC but who gives a fuck #i certainly don't #i don't mind myself a little henry fluff on occasion OKAY!#henry winter imagine #henry winter x reader #henry winter thirst #astrum asks #indulgent thoughts #god i love him

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ravencromwell · 4 months

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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.

#Holland Vosijk #Ros Vortalis #Ros Vortalis/Holland Vosijk #[to anyone who saw this before I could add the read more fuck I'm sorry I haven't posted on here for too long and how you do everything wit #screen readers is different now]#queer stuff #my meta #shades of magic #please anyone who would like to incorporate any of these into anything Shades related do so gleefully #seeing any of these floating around in fic would make my fucking year #from the moment! all Vor's friends called him by his surname I wanted to write him as trans #so this is my gleefully self-indulgent Christmas present to myself #I'm taking the anxiety out of fic with an essay/meta and fic hybrid I first saw the brilliant #badassbutterfly1987 #use on a different topic a few days ago *bows to this ship's captain who's supplied a shockingly wonderful amount of content solo #and is watering my crops with current drabble collection*#it lets me not worry about producing a perfect product while indulging my love of dialogue and is kinda glorious #(for the record. askbox/messenger's always open to talk anything in this fandom #especially White London and/or these two whose dynamic has sent me into the hardest hyperfixation since I don't even know when

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nateriverswife · 10 months

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writing about an A and a B that are so different from the common idea people have about them in this fandom is both a blessing and a curse, because now I see all the posts talking about them as basically puppets with no free will and I have to remind myself that they are not my A and B. because mine not only are older than L and first met him at the Wammy's but also enjoyed the idea of becoming this detective L planned to create. like, L showed them what he can do and what he can teach them. and they both accepted it because "hell yeah, sign me up". they had different visions on how that's going to work for them, and they also kind of helped him set up the successor programme because in my mind, there's no way that L would start his career - he's overly confident that he'll become a great detective in no time - without a solid foundation that can make the detective persona live forever. basically, I changed them in this way cuz i want them to be the responsible for their own downfall, since it's a common theme in death note

#even the wammy's house is different from what people say cuz I had to plan it out completely and make it make sense #so I had to decide the grading system before A's death - the activities - what kids are accepted (age 5 and up) and so on #rules - the entry exam - the other school related activities and much more #so I have a clear view of what's going on in my opinion #and while it's still emotionally neglectful and kids there are not alright #they are aggressive and even if I set up the first like 3 grades to be about social norms and whatnot #that just turned against me because I now realise that most of them don't learn how to live with others #but that lying and cheating the system is alright as long as they advance lmao #but that's not my fault anyway #and while all of that #it's not the hell on earth that most people say it is #I find myself writing more about the kids playing with each other and doing whatever they want than them trying to get at the top #because that's not their priority - except a few exceptions - since they are young #and even in mello's and near's case - Mello was the only one who was like obsessed with being first #the others didn't care that much #cuz all they see is that they live in a good place that provides for them and other than compulsory school work #they can just play and indulge in their hobbies freely cuz I don't think Watari nags them to be at the top #death note #wammy's house #beyond birthday #quillish wammy

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kradogsrats · 3 months

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so in my And I'll Toast at Your Wedding rewrite I made it more explicit in the first scene that there's definitely some maneuvering going on to feel out whether a marriage could be arranged between Harrow and the princess of Duren, and in my heart this is Annika just because a) I think it would be funny for it to then be really awkward when they meet again for the magma titan arc, and b) I think it is funny for the reason that the unnamed princess won't give him the time of day to be because, y'know, Harold Harrow she's a lesbian

but realistically it doesn't make any sense because in a system absent the specifically patriarchal primogeniture of actual medieval Europe, it would be a marriage between the heirs apparent of two separate kingdoms and the political ramifications of that are WACK, like I sat down and actually thought for a minute about what merging Katolis and Duren into a single kingdom would do to the Pentarchy and my brain melted out my ears

#i'm basically only posting this to make the 'harold they're lesbians' joke #but if i don't indulge myself who the fuck will amirite #kradogsfic

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