#fivan ff

[qqueenofhades]

Completely shocking, out-of-the-blue prompt that I've never mentioned to you before, definitely not inspired by work:

Ivan is a grumpy librarian/archivist, and Fedyor is a researcher who comes by looking for information on Darklina and/or their connection to Nikolai, and he finds the background of a love story. Obviously, the main character is Ivan's Disgust at the Perception of Heterosexuality

The light in the windowless back office is dim, grainy, and often gives Ivan a headache within the first few hours of him getting to work, which is not ideal for improving his temper. (Then again, not much is.) And despite its flaws, he does vastly prefer it to actually having to interact with the library patrons, as there is literally nothing worse than that. Especially academics, who come in with their laundry lists and their obscure texts, their pet projects and their insistence that if he just looks harder, he's sure to find it this time. Ivan has entertained many, many happy visions of just walking out, locking the doors behind him, and setting the whole thing on fire. Not that he has done that, and he probably -- probably -- wouldn't. He needs this job. Employment for a notorious ex-special ops soldier is thin on the ground as it is, and especially when it means he can, if he plays his cards right, spend most of the day completely alone. But still.

It is now, however, winter break at Os Alta Imperial State University, which means the throngs of panicked students trying to finish their last-minute assignment have mercifully receded, and Ivan can mostly organize his boxes in peace. Or so he thinks, until the accursed tinkle of the Please Ring for Service bell summons him like a wrathful specter, sweater-clad and glowering, to the front desk. "What?!"

"Uh. Good morning to you too." The newcomer -- young, dark-haired, and holding a large manila folder which portends absolutely nothing good, raises both eyebrows. "Can I speak to the archivist?"

"You're speaking to him," Ivan growls. This welcome has caused more than one quaking undergraduate to flee in abject terror rather than ask for even one book, and he fondly hopes for a similar effect this time. But the newcomer -- too old for an undergrad, so probably an advanced doctoral candidate or junior lecturer -- is made of stronger stuff, and doesn't flinch. "Can I help you, Mr... ?"

"Doctor," the annoyingly handsome interloper (not that Ivan has noticed) informs him. "Dr. Fedyor Kaminsky. I'm the new lecturer in the history department, Modern Ravkan History, and I was hoping that you could retrieve a few records for me? Boxes..." He consults his notes. Ivan contemplates murder. "T-1343 and T-1345 especially?"

Oh, great. Not again. Kaminsky -- yes, he vaguely recalls that name, from a department telegram welcoming the new faculty and staff, but it is absolutely not germane to Ivan's further actions in any part. He knows what is in those boxes, and someone always thinks they'll find something there that hasn't already been found, removed, and/or heavily censored. Ravka's last tsar and tsaritsa, Nikolai Lantsov and his half-Shu queen, Alina Starkov, are a figure of fascination and mystery for plenty of people, even after the revolution and the establishment of the Konsilium and everything that befell them as a result. Especially their relationship with the so-called Darkling, Aleksander Morozova, one of the most enigmatic and controversial figures in all of Ravkan history. Doctor Fedyor Kaminsky thinks he's going to jump into his new job with that? Good luck.

"We don't have those boxes," Ivan says, which is almost true. The Konsilium strongly prefers, in general, that people don't look at them, and any other uncomfortable bits of their history. "Go away."

Fedyor Kaminsky folds his arms. "No."

Saints, Ivan thinks sourly. What has he done to deserve this purgatory? (The Konsilium has also tried to outlaw the Ravkan Faith, since they're all supposed to be modern and secular now and because nobody wants another Apparat, but old habits are hard to break.) He stares at Fedyor, who stares back. This is confounding. Why hasn't he run away in terror yet? Everyone else does.

"Sorry," Ivan says, and turns away. "Can't help. Good day."

Naturally, Fedyor Kaminsky does not take the hint. He's back again the next day, still politely and stubbornly repeating his request for those boxes, and when Ivan loathingly suggests that the library is on winter-break hours and does not have to accommodate him at all, cheerily asks if Ivan's boss, the director of special collections, would agree. The threat of workplace discipline (or Saints forbid, a note in his permanent file) is stiff enough to make Ivan finally, furiously recant. Fine. If Kaminsky wants to get himself fired before even finishing his first year, it's nothing to Ivan. Might be a perk.

So, when they're into the second week of the requests, Ivan gives in, stomps to the back, and angrily hauls down the boxes, which are gathering dust from all the times he has, according to the rules, refused access to them before. It's not wise for Fedyor to look at these materials in the open, so Ivan tells him to take them to one of the backside reading rooms -- which is right across from Ivan's office, and makes him grimly reflect that he should have planned it better. But Fedyor works steadily and mostly silently, which is always a commendation in Ivan's book, and finally, on one dead-silent freezing morning right after the Winter Fete, when they are literally the only two people in the library and probably all of campus, he gives in. "What are you looking for?"

Fedyor jumps, glancing up in patent surprise. They eye each other for a long moment, as if to be sure that Ivan Sakharov actually did, entirely of his own volition, initiate a conversation with another human being. Then finally, warily, he says, "What's it to you?"

Good, Ivan thinks. Good instincts, just in case I was in fact an informer for the Konsilium. "I don't care," he says aloud. "I was just curious. They seemed so important to you."

"I'm just working on something," Fedyor says, after a long pause. "Confirming a hypothesis. It'll probably get me into trouble, but -- " He shrugs, with no small amount of bitterness. "I'm used to that."

Ivan thinks about it. This can't go anywhere good, but they've been made a strange sort of partners in this buried secret, and he's almost gotten used to Fedyor working away outside his door. "What?"

"I think they were lovers," Fedyor says, after a final, reluctant moment. "Alina and the Darkling, that is, and then also Alina and Nikolai, and maybe all three of them together. I think it's a love story. And as for why this matters, well -- it wouldn't change anything about our own history right now, how it all ended. But the narrative has always been that the Darkling was this awful monster who had to be destroyed, and the Grisha were his secret shock troops determined to overthrow the country on his behalf, and that pulled Alina and Nikolai into some regrettable circumstance they couldn't control and that led to their tragic downfall -- you know. It's just..."

"What?"

"I don't think it's true." Fedyor shrugs again. "I think everything we know about our own past, about the fall of the Imperial House of Lantsov, and about the Grisha, is a lie. And if that's the case, then the Konsilium knows it, or has covered it up, and that means -- "

"Shut up," Ivan interrupts roughly. "Saints. Don't talk like that. Someone could hear you."

"You could hear me." Fedyor smiles a little, a shadowed eclipse, and it does something very strange to Ivan's innards. "Does that matter?"

"I... " Ivan's mouth is dry. He can't look away. Not for any reason that means anything. "Never mind," he says, which seems the best and safest option, if it isn't already far too late. "Go back to work."

Fedyor eyes him a moment longer, then nods, a deliberate motion indicating that he knows and understands Ivan is choosing to keep his secret. Ivan himself doesn't know why, or what it is about Doctor Kaminsky, the feckless and foolish and fearless, that's gotten under his skin. It could be -- but no, it's not, it can't be that. From time to time, the very brave or very stupid actually think that Ivan himself is good-looking and try to flirt, and once a woman actually asked him on a date, which was the worst moment of his entire life (does he look like a heterosexual?!?!) But it's just shallow, surface-level, not like they're seeing him. Not like they know what monstrosity lies beneath. I think it's a love story. As if love matters. As if love, and the simple truth of it, can change the course of history.

Ivan shudders, once and then again. He looks at Fedyor for a very long moment, allowing himself -- just for that short and fleeting instant -- to imagine something he can never, never have. He grieves for it as if it was real, and then he lets it go. Turns, and walks away.

#mearcatsreturns #ask #fivan #fivan ff #heartrender husbands #darknikolina #winter prompts

[blackmvgic]

in case you're in need of the boys today

#fivan #heartrender husbands #fedyor kaminsky #ivan kaminsky #shadow and bone #fivan ff

[mearcatsreturns]

/whispers/ So maybe I now have to ask for Ivan and the No Good Terrible Very Bad Day Attempting to Babysit a Grisha Child Who Can Summon Light and Shadow. How could this possibly go wrong.

Once again, this got long, so here's the first chapter of A Day in the Life of Ivan, Or: Ivan’s Terrible, Horrible, No-Good, Very Bad Day.

The worst day of Ivan’s life begins years before the fateful day itself, if that’s possible. He’s grateful not to know the precise day, but he knows who—or what, rather—is to blame.

It’s the damn heterosexuals. They just won’t stop fucking, and they’ve made it everyone else’s problem now.

The heterosexuals in question are, of course, Kirigan and Alina, or as they’re known now, the Tsar and Tsarina.

&&&

About three years before the Worst Day™, Ivan is minding his own business, just trying to find some decent food after returning from a mission to the northern border. It wasn’t a bad trip; Fedyor had been with him and they’d enjoyed the opportunity to spend some time together outside the political games of Os Alta.

Nevertheless, Ivan is eager to eat some food that isn’t dried and to sleep in his own comfortable bed. He’s already debriefed with the Tsar and bathed, so he’s delighted to find it’s time for dinner. It’s to be a small group tonight, just the king and queen, Nikolai, Zoya, Tamar, Nadia, Fedyor and him. He can tolerate them all (except Fedyor, who of course is the light of his life), though Alina remains permanently on thin ice. She makes the Darkling light and happy, and it’s just unnatural.

They settle around the table and fall into comfortable conversation. Tolya is on an assignment and intends to travel to Kerch after this. Tamar and Nadia are beginning to formalize their union and are looking for a house. If their bickering and the obscene looks Zoya and Nikolai are giving each other are any indication, Ivan expects some kind of announcement from them any day. The Tsar intends to invite some dignitaries from Novyi Zem to the palace in a few weeks.

And Tsaritsa Alina is pale and...unwell. She looks queasy, and Ivan feels a moment of alarm. Grisha can’t get sick, not unless they don’t use their powers. Given that Alina is the Sol Koroleva, the renowned Sun Summoner, that seems unlikely. Few things lead to such ill appearances. Maybe some kind of poison? If she or her food are being poisoned, they need to know as soon as possible.

Ivan does his usual first step; he counts the heartbeats, checking their speeds. One, two, three, four, everyone is normal, five, six, seven, eight, nine...ah, the ninth is faint and fast.

Wait. Nine? There are only eight of them here at dinner, and the attendants have long since departed.

It hits Ivan like a lightning bolt, and he gasps aloud in shock and horror. The most reasonable explanation for the extra heartbeat and Alina’s ill looks is—oh, saints protect them all—a baby.

Everyone turns to look at him, as though he is the one who’s done something strange and dangerous.

Ivan gapes at Alina and points a finger accusingly, “You’re pregnant! With a baby!”

Beside him, Fedyor closes his eyes and shakes his head, letting out a sigh. Tamar and Nadia exchange a knowing, amused look, though they manage not to laugh. Zoya raises one shapely eyebrow.

Nikolai grins. “One generally is pregnant with babies, as opposed to anything else. Except perhaps with genius ideas, in my case and David’s. Alina, moi tsar, congratulations to you both.”

Alina glares at Ivan. What? He’s not the unholy saint about to unleash terror onto the earth from their womb.

Once he glances at Kirigan, though, Ivan stills. The Tsar is ashen and looks as though someone has dropped an iron on his head, or told him that his beloved horse is Grisha too.

“Aleksander, I wasn’t sure. I was waiting until I was to tell you,” Alina says, one hand on her husband’s forearm. “Are...are you all right?”

The Tsar opens his mouth, but no sounds come out.

Tamar and Nadia stand, hand-in-hand. “We, ah, think we’ll take our leave now. Thank you for a lovely dinner, Sol Koroleva, my King,” Tamar says, and she and her fiancée flee.

Zoya clears her throat and gives Nikolai a look that is very different from the hungry one Ivan so despises on faces that aren’t Fedyor’s.

With a nod at her, Nikolai stands and helps her to her feet. “Indeed. Your hospitality is, as always, boundless, though I can’t help but feel we’re trespassing on it every second we linger here. Erm, do let me know when I can get you a gift.”

“Congratulations,” Zoya says, and to Ivan’s disgust, she actually sounds sincere. He watches as she and Nikolia leave, one of the Lantsov pup’s hands at the small of her waist. One would think the heterosexuals would have learned from this evening that touching each other is dangerous, but apparently some of them are just utter fools.

Fedyor elbows him, and Ivan turns to scowl at his beloved. “Wha—”

A point of his head in the direction of the Tsar and Tsaritsa quiets Ivan.

Alina is kneeling beside her husband’s chair, stroking his arm. Aleksander Kirigan, King of Ravka, Shadow Summoner, the Black General, sits still as a statue, eyes wide with shock.

“We’ll head out now too,” Fedyor says.

Ivan nods, grabbing Fedya’s arm and hauling him from the room. Over his shoulder, Ivan yells, “Good luck!”

Fedyor smacks him, whispering furiously as they close the door behind them. “‘Good luck’?! You’re supposed to say ‘congratulations,’ or ‘have a nice evening,’ you utter troll.”

“I’m a troll now? See if I give you a massage when we get back to our rooms,” Ivan grouses. He pulls Fedyor along, pulling him away from where he seemed inclined to linger by the door. Eavesdropping, pah. He can’t believe he’s married to such a busybody.

Who would want to stay to hear whatever nonsense the Darkling and his wife are about to say or do? He’s had enough of that for one lifetime, thank you very much.

Ivan shudders. The two most powerful Grisha on the planet, one a sun summoner and the other a shadow summoner, having a baby? The world is definitely doomed.

&&&

The next day, Ivan receives a summons to go see the Tsar. Dread churns in his stomach, and he rubs his eyes. He hadn’t slept well, especially after he and Fedyor had a tiff about “inappropriate behavior and outbursts.” And now he’s to see his boss, probably about said outburst the previous night.

He accompanies Anton, the young oprichnik to the Tsar’s quarters, and the boy brightens with excitement to be talking to one of the Tsar’s most favored Grisha. “Thank you, Andrei. I’ll make my way from here.” The boy’s face falls, but Ivan dismisses him with a nod. If the oprichniki got any more friendly, they’d start calling him Vanya without his permission. Appalling.

Ivan takes a deep breath, then knocks at the door. He’s long since learned the value of knocking after Alina and the General got together, especially now that they share their quarters. Unfortunately, no healer has yet to find something to wipe certain sights from his brain.

“Come in,” Kirigan’s faint, disembodied voice commands.

Ivan lets himself into the room, waiting while the Tsar steps around the corner from the bedroom he shares with his queen.

“Good morning, Ivan.”

“Good morning, moi soverennyi. I hope you rested well,” Ivan replies, tone funereal. Saints, he prays he’s not about to be sent to Tsibeya permanently. He runs his hand under his collar, annoyed to find he’s actually sweating.

Kirigan’s face gives nothing away. “I did, thank you. The Tsaritsa is with Genya and one of the healers.”

“And she...she is well?” Ivan gulps.

“Yes. She was apparently a bit surprised last night herself, as she’d only just begun to suspect she might be pregnant.”

As much as Ivan hates when the Tsar’s feelings show—it’s usually him making soppy, annoying faces at Alina—he wishes Aleksander would just say what’s on his mind.

“My apologies, sir, I was also surprised. She seemed unwell, and I wanted to make sure she wasn’t, say, being poisoned.”

“You thought someone might be poisoning my wife?” Kirigan is incredulous.

“Things have been very calm with Fjerda lately. I don’t trust it.”

The General mutters under his breath, something about not trusting anything.

Ivan waits. Finally, Kirigan breaks the not-so-silent silence. “Well, thank you for your concern. And, ah, the surprising news.”

“You’re most welcome,” he replies gloomily.

“You don’t seem thrilled.”

“Forgive me, moi tsar, but I don’t see a need for excitement at a natural result of your conjugal activities. Sir.”

Oh, saints, is Kirigan frowning at him? Ivan mentally starts packing his belongings when the frown becomes a smile and then a laugh.

Perhaps Aleksander still isn’t quite recovered from the shock of his impending fatherhood.

He’s not paying attention to Ivan anyway. Kirigan makes his way to the table, shuffling the papers there unseeingly. “I didn’t think it was possible, you know.”

“I did not.” And Ivan would like to keep it that way.

Alas, Aleksander seems inclined to continue talking. “In all my long life, longer than you know, I’ve never fathered a child.”

Ivan grimaces. The world is probably grateful, though now it has much to fear. “It would have been challenging to have had a child during the wars, sir.”

Kirigan waves this aside, and unfortunately continues speaking. “Still, for it to happen with Alina...I’m so thrilled, Ivan.”

“And I am...happy for you, General.” Make it stop. Ivan is queasy.

“Of course, it’s probably for the best that it didn’t happen when Alina and I first got together, especially now that I know how possible that was.”

Ivan wants to cover his ears and sing “la la la la la,” but the implications of what his boss is saying finally sink in, and his horror at this whole situation increases exponentially. “Wait. Do you mean to say you weren’t using, ah, preventative measures?”

Kirigan’s face grows sheepish. “Until my conversation with Alina last night after you all departed, I wasn’t aware there was such a thing. In my day, one simply planned around the time of the month or withdrew from—”

“I beg you to stop talking. Moi soverennyi,” Ivan adds as an afterthought.

The Tsar falls silent, and Ivan sighs with relief.

But something bothers him. “Did you not get any sort of talk about how to prevent pregnancy when you were training? Even I did when I was young, before everyone knew I wouldn’t have to worry about that.”

“Like I said, there weren’t those kinds of options when I was young, as far as I know,” Kirigan says with a shrug.

Ivan begins to realize that his boss is, in fact, much older than he thought. That explains the herring and rye, too. He hesitates before venturing to speak. “Do...was Alina—the queen, that is, did she explain the different kinds of birth control, or…?”

“Well, I can’t get her more pregnant, Ivan.”

It’s too horrible to even contemplate, and Ivan shudders.

Kirigan laughs and slaps his shoulder. “Don’t worry, you don’t have to give me The Talk. Alina was so upset I didn’t know that she told me everything last night.”

Ivan’s lips twist in dismay at Aleksander’s rapturous expression that indicates there was a demonstration of some practical applications. Ugh. “Small mercies.”

“Well, hopefully you’ll consider this next a mercy: I want you and Fedyor to stay close through Alina’s pregnancy, especially once word gets out.”

Staying in Os Alta won’t be so bad, but the idea of dancing attendance on Alina, all while some parasite hijacks and distorts her body...well, hopefully he’ll get a good field assignment once this pregnancy is over. “Of course, moi tsar. And when will it end? I mean, ah, when is the blessed event?”

“In seven and a half months or so, perhaps eight. She’s about five or six weeks along, the healer says. And that, well…” Kirigan smiles at what is clearly the memory of this child’s conception.

Ivan fervently wracks his brain, desperate to keep his boss from offering more information that will give him nightmares about heterosexual intercourse. “And is there any way of knowing whether the babe will be a shadow summoner or sun summoner? Or both?”

A stricken look comes over Kirigan’s face. “Both?” He clearly hasn’t considered this possibility yet. “But that…” He doesn’t continue, instead going to fall into his chair and stare into distance.

It’s going to be a long few months.

&&&

It’s roughly eight months after that when Ivan is rudely pulled from sleep by Genya bursting into his and Fedyor’s room like she has the right.

It’s obscenely early in the morning, Ivan is, as is his usual habit, sleeping on his side facing the window. Fedyor, as is his usual custom, sleeps with his arm slung over Ivan’s waist and his head buried between his shoulder blades. It’s very soothing, normally.

Not today, though. The door opens with a bang, and Genya yells, “It’s time! She’s here!”

Ivan, suddenly wide awake, goes to jump out of bed. Instead, he finds that Genya has slowed their heart rates enough that hurrying is impossible. He glares at her. “What the fuck are you doing in our room? Who is here?”

“The baby is here. The tsarevna.”

“It’s a girl?” Fedyor asks with a smile.

Genya grins back. “Yes. She’s adorable.”

Ivan does not smile. “I’m glad she’s arrived. But why are you here in our bedroom at—” he glances at the clock and continues, “4:52 in the morning?”

“Everyone is going to see here. You’re the Tsar’s right-hand man, Ivan, so they’ll be expecting you.”

“Well, Genya, darling, you’ll have to let our hearts do their normal thing if you want us to do that,” Fedyor adds.

She shakes her head and drops her hand. “Of course. Sorry. See you there in fifteen minutes, and please be wearing pants. And shirts.”

Ivan grumbles, but gets out of bed. It’s difficult to want to leave when Fedyor is looking over him like that, but Kirigan probably will be upset if they don’t come to fawn over his spawn in what he deems a reasonable amount of time.

He and Fedyor make their way down the halls of the palace to Aleksander’s and Alina’s private apartment. The door is open, but Ivan nods at the guards and knocks anyway before stepping inside, Fedyor on his heels. He walks back to the bedroom, where he can hear hushed, happy conversations.

Alina is lying on the bed. She looks sweaty and disgusting, but in a radiant and maternal way that the Tsar seems to find beautiful, since he can’t look away from her. Typical, and exactly what got them into this mess.

The mess in question is wrapped in a blanket in her mother’s arms. Ivan glances at the small bundle, which seems to be sleeping. It is certainly very red.

Kirigan sits in a chair beside the bed, as close to it and his wife and new daughter as he can. He’s resting one hand on Alina’s shoulder, while the other trails along his daughter’s tiny head.

“The tsarevna is lovely,” Fedyor says, smiling down at the family.

Ivan thinks that’s a bit of a stretch, but he nods. “She looks like a baby. A healthy one.”

Fedyor elbows him, but Alina just rolls her eyes. “Thank you, I think.”

“She’s beautiful,” Aleksander says firmly, his face still disturbingly dreamy. “We’ve decided to call her Anastasia.”

Nastia. That seems about right.

Just then, the wee girl stirs and starts to wail. As her cries grow louder and Alina shifts to be able to feed her, shadows creep into the room. Then through the darkness, Ivan sees little flashes of light coming from the baby.

Fuck. This tiny child can summon shadows and light.

Nasty little Nastia indeed.

#fivan #heartrender husbands #darklina #heartrender husbands ff #fivan ff #ivan ff #darklina ff #sab ff #shadow and bone #grishaverse #my fanfic #next chapter should be up tomorrow or the next day #Ivan remains a beleaguered and snarky fool #will be on ao3 too #give ivan a raise 2kwhatever

[qqueenofhades]

Chapters: 4/? Fandom: Shadow and Bone (TV) Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Ivan/Fedyor Kaminsky, The Darkling | Aleksander Morozova/Alina Starkov, Nikolai Lantsov/Alina Starkov, Matthias Helvar/Nina Zenik Characters: Ivan (The Grisha Trilogy), Fedyor Kaminsky, Alina Starkov, The Darkling | Aleksander Morozova, Nikolai Lantsov, Kaz Brekker, Jesper Fahey, Wylan Van Eck, Nina Zenik, Matthias Helvar, Inej Ghafa, Zoya Nazyalensky, Genya Safin, Jan Van Eck, Jarl Brum, Mei Kir-Azaan (Original Character) Additional Tags: Shadow and Bone (TV) Season 3, Or What It Would Have Been, Post TV Canon, Obligatory Fuck You Netflix, Ice Court Heist (Six of Crows), The Darkling Is Dead But Doesn't Let That Stop Him, Future Fic, Mad Queen Alina, Lots of Fivan Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Crows Shenanigans, You Know All That Good Stuff Series: Part 2 of Shadow and Bone Seasons 2 & 3

Summary: Mei hesitates a final moment. She doesn’t know how this request will be taken, but has to work with what she has. “Their names are Ivan Sakharov and Fedyor Kaminsky, Your Majesty. They are both Heartrenders, well known to you and the entire Grisha order. We traveled together for a time, from Ahmrat Jen to Ketterdam, and then were separated in the course of several misadventures. But we were pursuing a deadly weapon, the one that was used against you at your own coronation. It is called jurda parem. If you help me find Ivan and Fedyor, I will tell you what I know about it.”

There is a very long pause. Alina’s eyes remain that same unsettling, hungry black, until she looks up. “Indeed, Mei Kir-Azaan,” she says, and smiles. “I would very much like to take that bargain.”

Sequel to we could stay like this forever [lost in wonderland].

#shadow and bone #sab ff #fivan #fivan ff #heartrender husbands #darklina #darklina ff #in the land of snow and shadow #HEY LOOK IT'S HERE #i am delighted to announce that after 84 years i am posting new fic #sequel to #we could stay like this forever #and some other season 3 fun stuff #enjoy! #i am sure there will soon be more #but there are four whole chapters here for your reading discretion #so yes

[qqueenofhades]

HELLO HILARY for a fic I would like "Grishaverse Ivan like, six months into living, sleeping, and spending every free moment with Fedyor realizing to his undying horror that they are dating, and people know, and people say things to him about it and have opinions" please and thank you

The first hint of trouble comes at breakfast. Normally Ivan spends this time in straightforward fashion: consuming his required nourishment and being happily and completely unbothered by all other people, especially since he was promoted to Botkin's chief assistant for training Corporalki. He's only twenty-two, but they are already whispering about him as one of the best Heartrenders in history, and that, as you might imagine, is a strong impetus for everyone to keep their distance. This is fine with Ivan. Small talk is the only thing in the world more horrible than fighting Fjerdans, and at least he enjoys that.

This, however. This is bad. It starts when Andrei, one of the junior Heartrenders, passes Ivan's chair, glances at him, and then glances at the man sitting next to him: Fedyor Kaminsky, obviously. Not only is he the only person who dares to approach Ivan without getting his head promptly bitten off, they've recently been more or less a single unit. Both in the field, in battle, and here at home in the Little Palace. Fedyor moved into Ivan's rooms about six months ago and has shown no inclination to leave, and to his consternation and confusion, Ivan likewise has no inclination to kick him out. They're just spending time together, that's all. Even he can do it. They train together, and they eat together, and they do in fact sleep together, but that doesn't mean --

"Good morning, Captain Sakharov," Andrei says. "And you, Fedyor. You're, er. You're quite brave, you know."

Fedyor shrugs and grins. "Someone has to be, I suppose."

Andrei nods and continues on his way, but Ivan scowls. "What," he demands, "is that supposed to mean? Why are you brave?"

Fedyor raises both eyebrows. "Are you suggesting I'm not?"

"No." Ivan scowls down at his breakfast. "Of course not. I was just wondering why Andrei felt the need to inform you."

"Well." Fedyor sounds like he's biting his cheek. "I am the only person who sits with you at breakfast every morning. Not to mention anywhere else."

"Why does that make you brave? I don't want anyone else sitting next to me, but that doesn't make them special."

"You..." Fedyor seems to be thinking very hard about how to phrase this. "You do realize that we're... close, yes?"

Ivan opens his mouth to hotly deny this -- they're just comrades, companions, no more and no less. Comrades that regularly fuck each other's brains out, yes, but that is beside the point. "Even if so, I don't see what business that is of Andrei's," he snaps instead. "I hope nobody's getting the wrong idea."

Fedyor, if possible, raises both eyebrows even higher. He finishes his breakfast with a slightly hurt air, gets to his feet, and stalks out, whereupon despite the fact that they're training together, he pointedly does not say a word to Ivan for the rest of the morning. In fact, when Botkin calls for a student volunteer to practice a move that Ivan's been showing them, Fedyor cheerily offers himself up as tribute and then almost blows Ivan through a brick wall. As he's lying flat on his back, dazed and seeing stars, Fedyor strolls over and offers him a hand up -- then, as Ivan grudgingly reaches for it, pulls it back. "Oh, I'm sorry," he says. "Would that be the wrong idea?"

Ivan is aware that he has done something wrong somehow, but he still can't see what it is, and he glares at Fedyor, struggling to his feet and brushing off his kefta. "That," he barks to the crowd at large, "was not what it looked like. I let him do that. Anyone else want to try?"

A few of the Heartrenders whisper. Nobody steps forward.

"WELL?"

"If that was what you meant to let Kaminsky do," Botkin announces, when nobody seems in any particular haste to die, "then we need someone who isn't going to do the same. Kurochkin, would you like to try it on him instead?"

Vladislav Kurochkin is the size of a troll, with hands like smoked hams, and he steps forward, leering. "I'm not your boyfriend, Sakharov," he warns. "I'll not be going easy on you."

Ivan opens his mouth in outrage -- whether because someone has dared to call Fedyor his boyfriend, or the implication that he could be humiliated further -- but Botkin jerks up a fist. "Enough talking, you two. The Fjerdans could have shot you both ten times over. Sakharov, if you didn't actually mean to do that, settle your lovers' quarrel with Kaminsky elsewhere. Now, if we can get back to training -- "

Ivan opens his mouth again, but nothing comes out. The gall -- the nerve -- the bloody unmitigated cheek -- do they all think that? Oh Saints. They do, don't they? They think Fedyor is Ivan's boyfriend. Even worse, Fedyor thinks that he is Ivan's boyfriend. Is that why he was so miffed this morning, and why Ivan nearly got thrown through a wall? That doesn't make any sense. They're just comrades! Good comrades! Nothing more!

So, at least, Ivan manfully insists to himself, until the observance of Sankta Elizaveta's feast a few weeks later. By order of the tsar, the Grisha get the day off from training, though nobody actually goes to church to listen to the Apparat drone. Ivan is doing his usual party routine of standing in the corner and talking to nobody, glaring at anyone who comes near, when he sees that absolute bastard Matvei Tymoshenko, that fucking Squaller with his flashy blond hair and big white teeth who thinks he is God's gift to women and men, smiling coyly at Fedyor and trying to chat him up. Ivan nearly sets a landspeed record as he rushes over. "Is there something I can help you with?!"

"Er." Matvei looks deeply alarmed, holding up both hands. "I didn't think -- you insisted the other day that it wasn't serious, so -- "

Ivan doesn't say anything. He just glares violently until Matvei takes the hint and sprints away, and Fedyor looks even more exasperated. "Well," he says. "Does this mean you're admitting it?"

"Admitting what?"

Fedyor glares at him even more violently, and Ivan sighs and gives in. "Fine," he says, lowering his voice and looking from side to side. "Maybe you are my boyfriend. Don't tell anyone."

"Oh," Fedyor says virtuously, putting one arm around Ivan's waist and snuggling in -- in full view of everyone, even General Kirigan, though Ivan has a sinking feeling that Kirigan, and indeed all of them, are entirely unsurprised. "Don't worry, Vanya. It's far too late for that."

#bonfireofthesamities #ask #fivan #fivan ff #heartrender husbands #fic prompts

[qqueenofhades]

Chapters: 8/? Fandom: Shadow and Bone (TV) Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Ivan/Fedyor Kaminsky, The Darkling | Aleksander Morozova/Alina Starkov, Nikolai Lantsov/Alina Starkov, Matthias Helvar/Nina Zenik Characters: Ivan (The Grisha Trilogy), Fedyor Kaminsky, Alina Starkov, The Darkling | Aleksander Morozova, Nikolai Lantsov, Kaz Brekker, Jesper Fahey, Wylan Van Eck, Nina Zenik, Matthias Helvar, Inej Ghafa, Zoya Nazyalensky, Genya Safin, Jan Van Eck, Jarl Brum, Mei Kir-Azaan (Original Character) Additional Tags: Shadow and Bone (TV) Season 3, Or What It Would Have Been, Post TV Canon, Obligatory Fuck You Netflix, Ice Court Heist (Six of Crows), The Darkling Is Dead But Doesn't Let That Stop Him, Future Fic, Mad Queen Alina, Lots of Fivan Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Crows Shenanigans Series: Part 2 of Shadow and Bone Seasons 2 & 3

#shadow and bone #sab ff #fivan #fivan ff #in the land of snow and shadow #it is saturday so that means fic update for the three people and a cat

[qqueenofhades]

Chapters: 5/? Fandom: Shadow and Bone (TV) Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Ivan/Fedyor Kaminsky, The Darkling | Aleksander Morozova/Alina Starkov, Nikolai Lantsov/Alina Starkov, Matthias Helvar/Nina Zenik Characters: Ivan (The Grisha Trilogy), Fedyor Kaminsky, Alina Starkov, The Darkling | Aleksander Morozova, Nikolai Lantsov, Kaz Brekker, Jesper Fahey, Wylan Van Eck, Nina Zenik, Matthias Helvar, Inej Ghafa, Zoya Nazyalensky, Genya Safin, Jan Van Eck, Jarl Brum, Mei Kir-Azaan (Original Character) Additional Tags: Shadow and Bone (TV) Season 3, Or What It Would Have Been, Post TV Canon, Obligatory Fuck You Netflix, Ice Court Heist (Six of Crows), The Darkling Is Dead But Doesn't Let That Stop Him, Future Fic, Mad Queen Alina, Lots of Fivan Angst, Canon-Typical Violence Series: Part 2 of Shadow and Bone Seasons 2 & 3

#shadow and bone #sab ff #fivan #fivan ff #darklina #darklina ff #in the land of snow and shadow #yes hello new chapter #and four ones before this to catch up on!

[qqueenofhades]

hello! you asked for winter prompts? ❄️🌨

- first snow

- baby, it's cold outside

- holidays in the city

- hot chocolate

and i have a hankering for some Fivan but anything you want to write is lovely! 💙

The wind off the water stings like a whip, and the stormclouds roiling in the northern sky are laden with the promise of snow, the first of the season -- which in Weddle comes much later than it did back in Os Alta, where winter often lasted five or six months of the year. Fedyor isn't entirely used to the gentler, warmer, mistier climate of Novyi Zem, or Novyi Zem in general, but he can't say that he objects. In fact, it's nice not to freeze his arse off in a tent, or a battlefield, or wherever he was spending the latest campaign. Of course, Ivan is worried that it might turn them soft, but that's just Ivan for you. It's three months since they arrived in Weddle and got a small apartment in its city districts, settling awkwardly into their new life, but he still stays on his toes, tense and watchful, just waiting for something to go wrong. Even here, on the far side of the True Sea, far from Ravka, his face could be infamous, and if Queen Alina is inclined to pursue the vendetta that drove them into exile in the first place....

Fedyor sighs, shakes his head, and continues on his way. By the time he reaches the market square, the first flakes are swirling down, and he pulls up his hood -- it's still strange not to be wearing a kefta -- and greets the merchants politely. Neither he nor Ivan speak Zemeni particularly well, but Fedyor is a quick study and Ivan is extremely stubborn, so between the two of them, they've picked up enough to get by. There are enough immigrants around here that they can get by in a rough polyglot of Ravkan and Kerch, but it's better not to draw attention to themselves. You know. Just in case.

Fedyor finishes his shopping and heads home through the narrow streets, windows lit with candles and pine wreaths hung on doors, kids laughing and looking at the sky in eager expectation of snowballs with which to wreak generalized havoc. He likes the energy of it, the ordinary vivacity of living among regular people and not shut away behind the cloistered walls of the Little Palace, and he stops to savor it for a long moment. Then he ducks into a narrow stone doorway, fumbles with his mittened hand for the key, and opens it, ascending a creaky staircase to the second floor. Pushes the door open and calls, "Vanya, I'm home."

His husband glances up briefly, his scars looking particularly pronounced in the grey light, and silently satisfies himself that Fedyor is in one piece. Then he says, as usual, "Any trouble?"

"No." Fedyor knows why he asks, but he does feel that if there was, he could handle it, lingering parem hangover or otherwise. He carries the shopping into the crammed galley kitchen and begins to unload it, as Ivan pads in, leans against the doorway, and watches him like a lone wolf. Over his shoulder, Fedyor adds, "We could even go out and do something, you know. Something fun."

Ivan snorts. Ravka or Novyi Zem, it doesn't matter; Ivan and fun simply do not go in the same sentence. "Or not."

Fedyor raises an eyebrow, but decides not to press. Instead he fills the kettle with milk to warm it, melts some chocolate in the tarnished tin pan, and stirs it into two cups, handing one to Ivan. "Fine, then. Suit yourself."

They sip the hot chocolate for several moments, neither of them speaking, falling into that long-married silence where they don't need words to communicate. Then Ivan says at last, "I wish we could, Fedya. I just -- I don't think -- I'm not in the mood."

Fedyor could remark that when it comes to doing anything frivolous, Ivan rarely is, but he knows the feeling. Part of his eagerness to go out and socialize and make the best of it, in the way he habitually does as much as Ivan glowers in solitude, is to cover up that bone-deep pain, the sundering and the loss, the knowledge that it might be a very long time -- if ever -- until they go home again. He's grateful for the new life they're building in Weddle, even though it's decidedly out of the pulverized ashes of their old one, but that can't whisk away the ache. Then Fedyor finishes the hot chocolate and sets aside the cup, puts his arms around Ivan's neck, and snuggles close. "In that case," he orders, "keep me warm some other way. It's cold out."

Ivan smiles, just a bit, the way he does with Fedyor and no one else. He brushes a kiss over Fedyor's temple, slips his arm around him, and holds him close, and they stand there in the kitchen, listening to the shared echo of their heartbeat -- always, no matter where they are in the wide world, the one thing that feels like home. Then he shifts his position and lifts Fedyor up onto the counter, moving close to kiss him and let everything else fall away. "As you wish."

#anonymous #ask #fivan #fivan ff #heartrender husbands #sab ff #winter prompts

[qqueenofhades]

Hi Hilary. I want you to know how much your writing is brightening a sad Christmas for me. If you're still taking requests I'd love to see Ivan and Fedyor coming back together after being parted for a long time.

Doesn't have to be the 'big' parting, just anything for a significant length of time. I miss the husbands, and I'm rereading all my fave old fics.

It has been almost a month on the road, slogging through the frozen wastes of Tsibeya after an especially ill-advised invasion attempt of eastern Fjerda ended in predictable failure, and Ivan is gaunt, cold, filthy, sporting an especially scruffy beard that he loathes with the fire of a thousand splendid suns, and otherwise more than ready for the comforts of home, in more ways than one. He's normally impervious to whatever discomforts the field can throw at him, but they're more bearable when he's with Fedyor, and they've spent almost all of the last year apart -- Ivan directing the northern theater against the Fjerdans and Fedyor tied up with operations against Shu Han in the south -- and since the tsar's never-ending war is going even more stupidly than usual and they have very little to show for it, Ivan is therefore most displeased at this enforced separation.

As the dispirited caravan creaks and clanks through the gates of Os Alta, Ivan and Kirigan riding side by side at the head of the column and trying to look like this is a triumphal homecoming instead of a humiliating defeat, Ivan turns his head in all directions. The southern campaign broke off several weeks ago at least, according to the spies, and they were also obliged to beat a retreat northward to the capital. Not that this is an outcome to cover themselves in glory either, but at least it means Fedyor might be home.

Ivan swings down from his saddle, issues a few terse replies to the assorted underlings who swan up with assorted idiotic questions (his purpose is to deflect them from Kirigan, but he sorely needs a hench-henchman whose purpose is to deflect idiotic questions from him) and looks around again as if his head is on a pivot, barely listening to anyone or able to offer any explanations or strategic advisements. Fedyor is here, right? The fucking Shu didn't pull some funny trick at the last moment and either delay their return or -- Saints forbid -- even worse? Bad enough to be returning from the imbroglio in Fjerda with nothing to show for it, but if something happened to Fedyor --

Just as Ivan is about to properly spiral off the handle, he senses a familiar warm presence in the alcove nearby, waiting for him to finish his duties and come to meet him, and flatly ignores the First Army lieutenant pressing for a detailed status update. Ivan shoves past him, then breaks into a run, ducking under the eaves. "Fedyor!"

Fedyor grins at him, dark eyes dancing and dimples doing that stupid thing they do that causes Ivan's heart to perform all number of absurd calisthenics. "About time, don't you -- "

Whatever else he's going to say is cut off as Ivan grabs him into a rough, hungry kiss, dragging Fedyor off his feet, whirling him around, and pushing him up against the back wall of the cloisters. He almost doesn't care if anyone sees them (besides, they're all too terrified to ever say a word), and takes his time about kissing Fedyor slow and thoroughly, until he is good and properly ready to stop (or rather, pause for breath). Then he growls, "Yes, I would damn well say it is."

They have had one too many close calls with nearly being caught by Kirigan and/or some other officious underling walking in on them when they didn't bother to get all the way to to their room first, so they do, though it's a terrible strain to keep their hands off each other that long. Then they slam the door, shed their keftas, and get around to reuniting properly. There is that one upside to being separated for so long, Ivan thinks dizzily. It does make the reunion especially sweet.

Afterward, they lie in bed curled up in a tangle of limbs, Fedyor's head resting on Ivan's chest and his fingers lightly stroking and Healing away the worst of Ivan's new crop of scars. He doesn't bother to ask how Ivan got them, but Ivan can sense his consternation in the particular ferocity of his touch. "It's all right," he murmurs. "I'm fine."

"You always say that." Fedyor sighs. "You are, I hope, at least back until spring?"

Ivan shrugs. It's a week until the Winter Fete, when combat operations are technically forbidden by the Faith and when everyone just wants to huddle up by a warm fire and drink hot kvas, but there's no way to say for sure. Still, he doesn't want to spoil their reunion with such talk. So he just rolls them over, puts Fedyor on his back, and takes his time about reminding him that they are here, now, together, alive, real. And that -- as ever, as always -- is all that truly matters.

#anonymous #ask #fivan #fivan ff #heartrender husbands #sab ff #winter prompts #and boo for sad christmas! nobody likes that! #sending you extra chocolate and/or hugs as you prefer

[qqueenofhades]

Chapters: 6/? Fandom: Shadow and Bone (TV) Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Ivan/Fedyor Kaminsky, The Darkling | Aleksander Morozova/Alina Starkov, Nikolai Lantsov/Alina Starkov, Matthias Helvar/Nina Zenik Characters: Ivan (The Grisha Trilogy), Fedyor Kaminsky, Alina Starkov, The Darkling | Aleksander Morozova, Nikolai Lantsov, Kaz Brekker, Jesper Fahey, Wylan Van Eck, Nina Zenik, Matthias Helvar, Inej Ghafa, Zoya Nazyalensky, Genya Safin, Jan Van Eck, Jarl Brum, Mei Kir-Azaan (Original Character) Additional Tags: Shadow and Bone (TV) Season 3, Or What It Would Have Been, Post TV Canon, Obligatory Fuck You Netflix, Ice Court Heist (Six of Crows), The Darkling Is Dead But Doesn't Let That Stop Him, Future Fic, Mad Queen Alina, Lots of Fivan Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Crows Shenanigans Series: Part 2 of Shadow and Bone Seasons 2 & 3

#shadow and bone #sab ff #helnik #helnik ff #fivan #fivan ff #in the land of snow and shadow #new chapter! #we may even have semi-regular updates #what a thought

[qqueenofhades]

in the land of snow and shadow is SUCH a lovely title, which ship is it for? I have a bet with myself over which it is. XD

Aha, this is the sequel to my Shadow and Bone season 2 Fivan fic, we could stay like this forever [lost in wonderland]. I wrote it after we learned by Word of God that Fedyor and Ivan were both alive and supposed to be in SAB s2, but foiled by scheduling conflicts for their actors. Anyway, now that Netflix has been its usual terrible self and cancelled SAB (everyone throw poo at them), in the land of snow and shadow is both the sequel to LIW and the exploration of things I would have liked to see in season 3. As such, the ships are Fivan, Darklina (he's dead but since when does that stop him), some Nikolina, and my dearest need, which is Ivan/Jesper foetp, or rather Ivan hating Jesper's guts for all eternity while Jesper is like AH YES I KNEW WE WERE BESTIES!!!! I am excite.

I actually just finished chapter 2 of that earlier today, and have about 15k words written overall. I'm trying to decide when I want to start posting it, but yes, it is at least in production. Ahem.

#letmetellyouaboutmyfeels #ask #fivan #fivan ff #in the land of snow and shadow #wip tag game #so was your guess correct lol

[qqueenofhades]

I don’t know if you’re currently taking any sort of ficlet writing prompts, but this popped into my head earlier. Fedyor to Ivan as newly graduated grisha trying to figure out where they stand with each other after having spent all of training hating each other, “you want to fuck me so bad it makes you look stupid and don’t you dare deny it”

It is a sad but common fact of Fedyor Kaminsky's life that Ivan Sakharov absolutely loathes him. This isn't exactly news, because as far as anyone can tell, Ivan Sakharov absolutely loathes everyone. The tall, skinny, angry northern kid from Chernast with a permanent chip on his shoulder and an apparently pathological aversion to making friends, taking it easy, or even smiling at anyone in the dining hall or the dormitories, ever. Even the other junior Heartrenders, including Fedyor, think he's a little much, and they tend to start conversations with any of their fellow trainees by apologizing for whatever Ivan did to them all yesterday. It's an oddly common currency for cross-Order friendships at the Little Palace. Who knew.

The thing is, which Fedyor doesn't get, is that Ivan seems to especially hate him. This doesn't make sense, because Fedyor is about as friendly and outgoing as a Heartrender can possibly be (maybe that's why he's so offensive to Mr. Doom of the World over there?) He can get along with almost anyone, he's the only one who has attempted to stand up for Ivan when the rest of his friends are bagging on him, and it just seems unlikely that of all the fledgling Grisha, Fedyor is somehow the most intolerable. It bothers him, not least because the two of them have had what you might call moments. A few of them. From time to time. It's hard to tell with Ivan and his complete inability to grasp basic human emotion, but still.

Now, however, it's the celebration for the newly minted Grisha cadets, allowed an evening of drink, food, and revelry before they're all packed off to the Fjerdan frontlines tomorrow and get to prove how much that training was actually worth by whether they stay alive. Fedyor has been enjoying it with his friends, raising toasts and convinced, as every young soldier is, that they're in fact immortal. But he's also taken note of Ivan sitting in a corner and glaring at everyone daring to do something so heretical as enjoy a party, and after his third cup of wine, Fedyor sees no need to put up with it. He gets to his feet, brushes off the heavy new black-embroidered red kefta that they all officially get to wear, and marches over. "Sakharov."

Ivan eyes him up and down, chewing his tongue. There is a very long pause. Then he snaps, "Kaminsky."

"Look at us." Fedyor, displaying more bravery than the entire Second Army combined, flops himself down directly in Ivan's lap. He is running a real risk of being the first casualty of the autumn campaign, but while a muscle leaps in Ivan's cheek at this unbearable familiarity, he doesn't actually try to murder Fedyor on the spot, and therefore Fedyor knows in smug vindication that he is, in fact, correct. "We're real soldiers now and everything."

"Get off," Ivan says, after several moments too long, "my lap."

"Actually? No." Fedyor snuggles closer. "Because you want to know what I think, Sakharov? I think you secretly like me. More than that, I think you want to fuck me. So bad that it makes you look stupid."

Ivan stares at him. Fedyor stares at himself (you know, metaphorically). Even with three cups of liquid courage, that is more than he has ever pushed it before, and he winces and braces himself for his heart to abruptly stop. Still, it doesn't. Ivan's muscles are coiled as tightly as steel wire. His gaze flicks over Fedyor's head at the other partying young Grisha -- who, probably for their own welfare, haven't noticed anything. He doesn't move for a final instant. The entire world hangs and waits.

Then, all at once, Ivan gets up with a jerk, dumping Fedyor ignominiously off his lap and onto the floor. Fedyor hits with a thump, too surprised to catch himself, but he doesn't have long to wait. Ivan reaches down, seizes him by the wrist, and yanks him to his feet. "Fine, then," he says, in a growl that should not excite Fedyor nearly as much as it does, but here they are. "Come on and stop talking."

(Fedyor moves all his clothes and belongings into Ivan's room two weeks later. Ivan gets back and discovers it already finished, grumbles helplessly for a few hours, and then gives in. They have been together ever since.)

#anonymous #ask #heartrender husbands #fivan #fivan ff #this has been sitting in my inbox a while (apologies) #but the fivan gifset earlier made me go 'yknow. reasons.' #i also have the other one (possibly also from you?) about their wedding night #which i meant to do a while ago and then uh #did not (again apologies) #we will see

[qqueenofhades]

Gonna go ahead and enable you.

Fivan, Any Continuity, Lost in the Forest (and Ivan won't admit they're lost)

HAPPY PUMPKIN SPICE SEASON

Amusingly enough, someone also asked for this same prompt last year. Apparently, what the people need is The Terrifying Ivan Sakharov Getting Soundly Beaten By Trees.

"Vanya," Fedyor says dubiously, when they have made yet another circle of the thick dark undergrowth, cast out in search of any nearby heartbeats, and have been finally forced to admit that they can't hear, see, or sense anything except the empty and forlorn howling of the darkening wind. "I think we might be lost."

"We are not lost." Ivan angrily brushes a thicket of dead pine needles off his kefta and glares at the glowering wall of trees, as if this is entirely their fault. It's definitely not his. He and Fedyor have only been fully-ranked Heartrenders for less than a year, and now that they have earned their stripes, it is apparently their job (horrible) to take their turn in teaching the younger cadets. They have therefore been put in charge of two dozen aspiring Corporalki, the oldest of whom is eighteen and the youngest is ten, and taken them to the wild woods outside Os Alta to practice their tracking, hunting, and survival skills. All of this land is owned by the tsar, and nobody else is allowed to set foot here on pain of death, so it's become as tangled and thorny and blackened as any Dark Forest in a fairytale. Ivan half-expects to see Baba Yaga leering back at them from the branches.

"Kirigan is going to kill us," Fedyor mutters, as if that's something either of them don't already know. This entire situation was incredibly avoidable, because strictly speaking, Fedyor and Ivan are not supposed to leave the oblivious youths to just fend for themselves. But after a day of drilling them hard, they were interested (ahem) in other kinds of drilling each other hard, and therefore snuck away from the campsite for a bit of private consultation. Now, after full dark has fallen and they've been distracted enough to lose track of time, they've forgotten which way they came from or where to return, and they have nobody to blame but their horny, horny selves. "And if we're lost, we're supposed to stop moving. Sit down and wait for -- "

"I said, we are not lost." The only thing worse than getting caught sneaking off to have furtive sex with his boyfriend (who he has only recently admitted is, in fact, his boyfriend) would be losing their bearings and having to get rescued by the hapless juveniles they have already callously abandoned to the mercy of the wilderness. You'd hope that two dozen Heartrenders, pipsqueaks or otherwise, could avoid getting eaten by wolves, but Ivan doesn't trust children in the least and therefore has his doubts. Even more, if the cadets find out that Ivan Sakharov, already more feared in the Little Palace than battle-hardened warriors twice his age, committed this blunder --

No, no, no. Nope, no, not happening, no. Ivan glares one more time at the trees, ordering them to part (can you Heartrend a plant? He doesn't think so, but he's tempted to try). They don't. He stands still and listens hard. Nothing. No sound. Anywhere. Saints, those infants haven't already gotten devoured, have they? Just think of the paperwork back at the Little Palace. Terrible.

"Vanya." Fedyor tugs on his sleeve again. The situation is genuinely ominous, but he seems to be biting a smirk. "We might have to huddle for warmth again, eh?"

Truth be told, Ivan doesn't mind that part of it, if only he could be assured that nobody, ever, would find out about this. He ventures a few steps into the thicket, then stops short when it quickly becomes too infested with gorse to continue. He kicks at it a few times, which fails to do anything except make his foot hurt. He snorts, steps back, briskly brushes his hands off, and announces curtly, "Well, it's definitely not that way."

"One must respect the serene natural beauty of His Majesty's Ravkan kingdom," Fedyor piously intones, sounding exactly like the Apparat at his most insufferable. "Those who kick bushes are frowned upon by the Saints."

Ivan throws him a dirty look. "Why do I like you, again?"

"Because I put up with you." Fedyor snuggles closer, still obnoxiously untroubled by the prospect of having their reputation ruined for at least the next ten years. "And I'm also very cute."

(Ivan mutters in a deeply disgruntled fashion. He cannot deny it. Teach him to get into an argument with Fedya. He's already well aware that he will never, ever win.)

#silverbirching #ask #fivan #fivan ff #heartrender husbands #fic prompts #'i am not actively taking prompts' i said #'okay but what if you did' y'all said #enablers the lot of you #enablers #(fedyor and ivan do get back and strenuously deny that anything happened or that they were gone at all what are you talking about)

[qqueenofhades]

Why hello my dear lady, this is a completely random person you DEFINITELY DON'T KNOW, I was wondering if perhaps you might have some SAB fic recommendations? Perhaps something recently updated and in progress by some jolly handsome and interesting west coast nerd who's probably bugging you on WhatsApp as we speak?

/squints

WHY HELLO, CHARMING AND JOLLY GENTLEMAN WHO IS DEFINITELY NOT @silverbirching, NO SIR

Why what is this? SHADOW AND BONE FIC RECOMMENDATIONS, YOU SAY?

Love is War (and War is Hell)!

It has EVERYTHING:

Half-dead Ivan on the couch, furiously irritated that Jesper is doggedly befriending him and won't stop? CHECK!

Absolutely FUCKING HILARIOUS Jesper narration? CHECK!

Makes show!Wylan into an actually interesting character? CHECK!

Badass Nina who is Also Going Through Things and giving us all the Feelings? CHECK!

Is Ivan in any way whatsoever Foster Father Shaped? NO. HOW DARE YOU SAY THAT! CALUMNY? CHECK!

ANYANWU! I say no more??! CHECK!

Kaz and Ivan having a whole conversation through silent furious glares and mutual disdain for Jesper? CHECK!

IVAN AND JESPER BUDDY COP SHENANIGANS WHICH ARE GOING TO BE AMAZING?!?!?! CHECK!!!

Does this sound like it was written just for me, you say?

Well it kinda was but

(I got 99 problems/visits of this fic but the fic ain't one etc)

READ IT READ IT READ IT IT'S SO GOOD IT'S LITERALLY A GIANT CHOCOLATE CAKE OF EVERYTHING I WANT IN THE WORLD

YELL AT SAM

INDUCE HIM TO UPDATE MORE

I HAVE NO INTEREST IN THIS OR ANYTHING

I MEAN WHAT

#anonymous #silverbirching #ask #shadow and bone #shadow and bone ff #fivan #fivan ff #ivan kaminsky #sankt ivan of the many glares #i love this fic so much you guys #JUST READ IT

[qqueenofhades]

Chapters: 7/? Fandom: Shadow and Bone (TV) Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Ivan/Fedyor Kaminsky, The Darkling | Aleksander Morozova/Alina Starkov, Nikolai Lantsov/Alina Starkov, Matthias Helvar/Nina Zenik Characters: Ivan (The Grisha Trilogy), Fedyor Kaminsky, Alina Starkov, The Darkling | Aleksander Morozova, Nikolai Lantsov, Kaz Brekker, Jesper Fahey, Wylan Van Eck, Nina Zenik, Matthias Helvar, Inej Ghafa, Zoya Nazyalensky, Genya Safin, Jan Van Eck, Jarl Brum, Mei Kir-Azaan (Original Character) Additional Tags: Shadow and Bone (TV) Season 3, Or What It Would Have Been, Post TV Canon, Obligatory Fuck You Netflix, Ice Court Heist (Six of Crows), The Darkling Is Dead But Doesn't Let That Stop Him, Future Fic, Mad Queen Alina, Lots of Fivan Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Crows Shenanigans Series: Part 2 of Shadow and Bone Seasons 2 & 3

#shadow and bone #sab ff #darklina #darklina ff #fivan #fivan ff #in the land of snow and shadow

[qqueenofhades]

Heyy :)) I don't know if you still do prompts and if you do them for this ship but if yes could you please do 26. or 19. for Ivan x Fedyor? That'd be so lovely ♡ thanks a bunch and if not no worries!

Ivan has been staring at a pile of paperwork for almost three hours, the pain in his head feels like someone has driven a spike into his eye, and he really doesn't know why someone else couldn't do this. All right, they'd probably fuck it up and make him fix it anyway, they're not of sufficiently high rank to look at the Darkling's sensitive secrets and classified attack plans, and all other people are idiots etc. etc., but it still feels unfair for it to have fallen on him, particularly. They only got back from the latest Fjerdan campaign a few days ago, it went worse than expected, every strategy needs to be revisited and revised, and that has become, undoubtedly, Ivan's job, now that he's the unquestioned second-in-command of the entire Second Army, subordinate only to General Kirigan himself. He's not yet thirty.

He has just drawn a deep breath, angrily splashed the last of the kvas into his cup and taken a fortifying swig, and otherwise braced himself for another few hours of torture, when there's a knock on the antechamber door and -- barely waiting for an answer -- Fedyor Kaminsky rushes in. "Captain," he says, spotting Ivan and stopping to salute. "Good, you're here. You need to come with me at once."

"What?" Ivan jostles the desk, jumps to his feet, and looks around suspiciously, as if some malfeasant has breached the sancrosanct walls of the Little Palace and he needs to kill them immediately. "What is it?"

"You'll see." Fedyor tugs at him. "Hurry."

Ivan, swallowing his questions, abandons the paperwork without a backward glance and hurries out after Fedyor, already assessing the potential options. This seems bad, or at least urgent enough that it has to be handled with no delay. Has the tsar choked on a sweetmeat, or the tsaritsa stabbed herself with her embroidery needle, or some other pressing crisis that the fucking royal family feels the need to involve their pet Grisha in? Is it worse? Did something abruptly collapse from that underwhelming campaign? Did they decide that said underwhelming campaign was entirely Ivan's fault and throw him out of the order, thus to be packed back home to frigid Chernast in disgrace? Or maybe --

Apparently oblivious to Ivan's inner turmoil, Fedyor keeps up a brisk pace down the corridors, until they enter the library, ensure that the Apparat is not lurking moistly behind a nearby bookshelf, and hurry down the narrow rows to the end. Fedyor reaches around it, presses a hidden catch, and stands back as the shelf swings out, as smoothly as if it's on wheels. It reveals a narrow passage and set of twisting steps beyond, leading upward and out of sight, and Ivan frowns. "What's this? Is there someone up there? Is it a -- "

"Just shut up and go up there." Fedyor prods him in the back, a familiarity for which Ivan would definitely flay anyone else alive, but in the several years since he and Fedyor officially became a thing, he has grudgingly learned to accept. "Take a look."

Muttering, Ivan ducks under the low lintel and ascends the narrow, creaky steps, hands held vigilantly at the ready for anything that feels up to springing out of the darkness. There's nothing, though, and when he reaches the hidden nook at the top, lit only by a skylight somewhere high above, he turns in a circle and can't see any pressing emergency. "What's going on? Why did you -- "

He's cut off as Fedyor reaches the top, bounds into the small space after him, and seizes Ivan by the collar of his kefta, pushing him against the wall and kissing him thoroughly. Ivan splutters, makes a noise of extreme protest (okay, mild protest) and windmills his arms, but somehow manages not to break free or even push Fedyor away at all. He's still grumbling when Fedyor bites his lower lip, making him yelp, and then forced to focus on kissing him back. It's only when they've sunk to their knees on the floor, Ivan is mentally calculating how uncomfortable it really could be to lie on those floorboards, and still kissing in short, hungry bursts when he realizes the truth. "You little bastard, Fedya," he breathes. "You lied to me."

"Lied to you? About what?" Fedyor looks at him with that damn dark-eyed, dimpled smile for which Ivan is unbearably, ferociously weak. "I said you needed to come with me at once."

"For a military emergency! For -- I don't know, something! Not because you discovered an interesting door in the library and had a sudden urge to distract me!"

"Or. Counterpoint." Fedyor smirks, entirely unchastened. "I did, in fact, need to do exactly that. You're going to drive yourself crazy. Admit it, Vanya. You enjoyed this."

Ivan stares at him narrowly. Fedyor stares narrowly right back.

"Fine." Ivan wipes his mouth, bites a traitorous smile, and leans back in for another round. Whatever else it might be, life with Fedyor Kaminsky is never boring. "Maybe a very, very little."

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