#shouting FIVAN

[qqueenofhades]

Okay but isn’t it like Warrior Nun or something that was canceled by netflix but then due to fan support was eventually brought back or renewed somehow?

I'm not sure, but there have been a lot of "uncancellations," because whether a show is popular has literally nothing to do with whether a streamer, especially Netflix, renews it. SAB was top of the most-watched list for months, had a vocal and dedicated fanbase calling for its renewal, and it was clear that people were interested both in it and in the potential Six of Crows spinoff. But Netflix gonna Netflix, and I don't for one moment believe that "the impact of the strike" had anything to do with it. That reeks of studio propaganda, frankly, to blame the writers/actors for going on strike at all and being the Big Meanies who are the reason (not Netflix's well-established pattern of doing exactly this) they won't get any more of their favorite show. After all, they're only giving up a TINY extra portion of their revenues, there's no actual budgetary reason they couldn't do it, and if it was just because it was popular (which has never saved non-Witcher Netflix shows in the past), they could have renewed it. Instead, this plays very much as a petty "fine, you forced us to do the deal with the writers/actors, but we can still axe boatloads of your favorite shows all at once to punish you, neener neener" power move.

As I said in my tags last night: they didn't HAVE to wait until after the strike to cancel it (and a few others). I realize that shouting at Netflix for dickish cancellation practices is like shouting at the sky for being blue or Republicans for being idiots, but still. SAB was always long odds to get a season 3 just because three seasons means Netflix has to start -- gasp! -- paying people for residuals and streaming, or at least that was the case under the old contract. So it had reached the dreaded Two Season Chopping Block, but if Netflix wanted to cancel it, as they were clearly planning to do, they could have just, you know. Done that. Instead, waiting this long and explicitly blaming "the impact of the strike" sounds, to me, like a great big bucket of passive-aggressive bullshit, and we know they're petty enough to do these kinds of things. So yeah.

Anyway, this means I am in fact going to do the Lost in Wonderland sequel fic sooner or later (Empire of Bones still has first dibs on my muse, I know people are waiting for an Unknown and Static Strange update as well, etc etc). It won't be a full retelling/treatment of s3, but the fact that I can now use other characters in addition to Fivan means that there will be a somewhat broader focus with more plot threads, and it will incorporate elements of what I would have liked to see in SAB s3. I.e. Mad Queen Alina, Crows Ice Court Rescuing Fivan Shenanigans, Mei Looking For Her Dads, Very Polite Shadow Monster David, and other fun things. So hey. Silver-ish lining, or something. Still, fuck you Netflix. Fuck you very much.

#anonymous #ask #shadow and bone #fivan

[malewife-darkling]

18-19 year old first time fivan schenanigans, fucking undetected in the heartrender’s sleep tent... 

except sometimes during orgasm, things can become “stuck”. 

So imagine, Ivan whisper-shouting at Fedyor to “release him NOW” and accidentally waking up the whole tent

#fivan #ivan #fedyor kaminsky #shadow and bone #heartrender husbands #'fedyor gorilla grip pussy' is the new corporalnik meme for the next few weeks

[wingsofhcpe]

whumptober day 2- choking

fandom: shadow & bone

pairing: fivan [ivan x fedyor kaminsky]

rating: T+

additional warnings: blood, injury, gore

you can also read here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/34208404/chapters/85175464#workskin

[tagging @camilleisback upon request <3]

He makes it out of the Fold by the skin of his teeth. He uses everything that he has at his disposal; his powers, his experience, even the little bit of faith to the Saints he has retained over the years. It’s enough to get him out in the end, but not enough to make sure he does so unscathed.

Ivan crawls the last few meters away from the outer reaches of the Shadow Fold, tendrils of darkness still clinging to his clothes -or whatever has remained of them, anyway- as if they’re trying to pull him back into the hell he just barely escaped. He knows it’s all in his mind; the Fold isn’t sentient, although it houses sentient forms of life. Still, if there’s even the slightest possibility that something, be it the darkness or its monstrous inhabitants, may appear out of nowhere and drag him back inside, he knows with mortifying certainty he’ll be unable to get away a second time. All of his strength, his willpower, the force of his very life, is spent. It’s quite literally bleeding out of him as he collapses for good between the abandoned ruins of Novokribirsk’s outer reaches, the thick red liquid soaking into the barren ground. Within the haze of pain and exhaustion that muddles his thoughts, Ivan realises what poetic justice means; he helped cause this disaster. He helped drain all life out of this ground. Now, he’s giving it all back with his own blood. That’s alright, he thinks. It’s the circle of life, after all; when someone dies, their essence returns to the Making at the Heart of the World. Their life force seeps back into the heartbeat that makes the earth turn, that moves the waters, feeds the animals, drives the Grisha. They must all return to it when they’re ready.

And Ivan is ready. He really is. He is content to be sacrificing himself for General Kirigan’s righteous purpose, for the good of all the Grisha, for the safety of everyone in Ravka. He’s content to be reunited with his deceased brothers, his father, his uncle. And he would have been content to leave this cold, cruel world behind, if it wasn’t for one thing. One mere little thing that’s still holding him back. That is making him think he’s not yet ready to leave this plane of existence.

He doesn’t want to leave Fedyor behind.

It’s foolish, really. They’re soldiers, and the knowledge that one or both of them will most likely meet an untimely death, far out of reach from the other, has been ever-present in their relationship even before they made their feelings known. It had all been a silly little fantasy, a comforting but naïve dream, thinking that they may get the chance to grow old together, to die in bed held in each other’s arms after living to see Ravka in peace. Ivan had always believed himself to be a pragmatist, if not a pessimist- but this dream, this hope… Fedyor had almost made him believe they would get their happy ending. And now… it hurt. It hurt to think that he would leave Fedyor behind. That his death would extinguish his beloved’s warm, bright smile. That it would break his heart.

What Ivan wouldn’t have given to be able to speak to Fedyor one last time. To say all the things he may have kept to himself all those years. ‘I love you’. ‘You’re the light of my life’. ‘There is nothing more important to me than you are’. Fedyor knows already, and Ivan is aware. But still- he has been frugal with words of affection. Fedyor deserved so much more than his silent. Sometimes actions may speak louder than words, but others, you need to hear those words from someone’s lips. Words are comfort; words are a promise. Ivan didn’t realise until now. But now it’s too late, far too late.

Ivan closes his eyes as the sun sets below the horizon, somewhere to his left. Part of him mourns its descent; he already misses the warmth, the light. The sun… Fedyor is his sun. The Starkov girl, the traitor, may be the Sun Summoner, but nothing she does will ever come close to the warmth radiance that Fedyor emits just by existing.

“F-Fedya…” Ivan chokes on his own blood, sputtering and coughing until his lungs feel like they’re on fire. He knows he’s alone, and that Fedyor can’t hear him. But he wants to speak his beloved’s name just once more. A prayer, a goodbye.

Darkness seems to ebb out of the Fold and engulf the world around him, but it is just the night. Simply the natural order of things. Ivan gradually begins to shiver, his temperature dropping by the minute due to blood loss as well as the lack of a proper heating source. He groans softly; the little spasms that run through his body make the pain worse, make his wounds feel as if they’re being torn anew over and over again. But soon even those weak sounds fade, his strength nowhere nearly enough even for that. It’s barely enough to keep him breathing. To keep his heart beating.

The hours pass, or at least he thinks so; he cannot be sure. When he hears the distant sound of hoofbeats on the ground, he initially dismisses it as a hallucination, or perhaps even Death itself riding on its black steed to come claim his soul. But then something else tugs at the corners of his senses; a sound as familiar as breath, as life itself. A heartbeat he would be able to recognise even if he was already dead.

Ivan wants to stand. He wants to shout, to draw the attention of the one person that’s still keeping him tied to this world, that is making life worth living. But he cannot move- he cannot even speak. He can only lay in silence and pray with all of his might to whatever Saint is still watching over him, that Fedyor will detect his heartbeat just as Ivan detected his. That he won’t just ride right past him, leaving him to die alone, and cold, and in so much pain.

Don’t leave me. Fedya, please, don’t leave me.

Call it a miracle, call it divine intervention, or just luck. But the sounds that have stirred Ivan from his dying slumber draw closer and closer, until there’s no further doubt- it’s not a hallucination. It is real. This is real. He’s not alone.

A voice, a familiar and adored voice, calls his name. Fedyor is suddenly kneeling on the ground next to him, the flickering light of a traveling lantern illuminating his face. His eyes are brimming with tears, and all he repeats, over and over, is Ivan’s name.

“Vanya, my Vanya. It’s alright. I’m here now. You’ll be okay my love, I promise.”

Strong arms lift him slowly, as carefully as possible, and Ivan hears his own voice distantly as he cries out. Saints, the pain- it’s unlike anything he has ever experienced before. He feels his insides may drop out of his body from the gaping wounds across his chest and stomach, and he’s not certain whether or not his right arm is still properly attached to his body. It surely doesn’t feel like it is. But Fedyor whispers words of comfort to him, even as Ivan chokes and coughs up more blood. He cannot reply, although he dearly wants to; he wants to thank Fedyor, he wants to ask him not to leave him, to be gentle because oh, it all hurts so bad. And even though he’s unable to talk, and can only stare at his beloved pleadingly through blurry eyes, Fedyor understands. Fedyor has always understood, and now it’s no exception. He presses a soft kiss on Ivan’s blood-streaked brow, and sets himself to work.

Ivan flashes in and out of conscience while Fedyor and his Grisha companions clean and bandage his wounds. Even amidst unconsciousness, however, Ivan can feel his partner’s steady, unwavering and comforting presence. And he knows, now, that everything will be okay.

The next time Ivan comes properly around, the pain has subsided. Someone has lit a fire between the ruins that have offered shelter to the group, and there’s something soft and warm enveloping him. It takes him a moment to realise it’s Fedyor’s kefta, having replaced his own torn and ruined clothes. Fedyor himself is holding him in his arms, humming a soft Fjerdan lullaby- one that Ivan had sung to him during a particularly bad injury, while the Healers at the Little Palace had been patching Fedyor up. Despite himself, despite everything, Ivan’s lips twitch into a small smile. Fedyor smiles back, and leans down to gently bump their noses together.

“I’m here, lapushka.” He says reassuringly, as if he knows it’s just what Ivan needs to hear. The latter sucks in a wobbly breath, but Fedyor immediately shakes his head.

“No, don’t try to talk now. Just rest. I’ll stay with you.”

There’s no need for words between them, as there has never been. But Ivan silently promises, both to Fedyor and himself, that as soon as he regains his ability to speak, he’s going to tell Fedyor every day how much he loves him, how much he means to him, how thankful he is that Fedyor didn’t abandon him out here in the darkness and the cold.

Before sleep overtakes him, he swears he won’t ever again leave those words unspoken.

#my writing #whumptober #whumptober 2021 #fivan #fedyor x ivan #heartrender husbands #fedyor kaminsky #ivan no last name #shadow & bone

[qqueenofhades]

#92 for fivan!

(you really said to come at you with the prompts, idk if you should have done that 😂)

92. “You make me happy.”

It's a freezing, snowy night in the absolute arse-end of winter, just a few days from the Fete, and out there in all the villages of weary, war-torn Ravka, little children are nonetheless praying for Ded Moroz to bring them presents just like he once did. Fedyor stands at the window, watching the heavy snow beat down on the gilded domes of the Little Palace and the distant crookbacked roofs of Os Alta. Even here, he can feel the chill, as the place is old and draughty and even possessing your own personal army of Durasts cannot quite patch all the cracks. He's glad to be inside.

Fedyor remains where he is for a moment longer, then turns away and kneels to stoke the fire, throwing on a few extra logs and jabbing it with the poker. Then he crosses the floor, pushes aside the heavy red bed curtains, and whisks the book on the great deeds of some dead man from Chernast directly out of his husband's grasp. "Pay attention to me, Vanya," he orders. "Or I'm putting my cold feet on you."

Ivan looks at him with an expression of mild horror. "You wouldn't."

"Would I?" Fedyor lunges, which is entirely a feint so he can stick his cold hands down Ivan's back instead, and the roar which he lets out will practically bring the oprichniki running in fear that the general's right-hand man has been scurrilously murdered in his bedchamber. Fedyor hisses at him to shut up, Ivan nips at him, Fedyor keeps his freezing paws glued to the hard, warm muscles of Ivan's torso until feeling starts to return, and Ivan's furious thrashing has subsided into a sort of resigned flopping. "Mmm," Fedyor says. "That's better."

"You are the worst, Fedya."

"That's too bad." Fedyor kisses him. "Because you make me happy."

The fearsome Ivan -- well, he's flat on his back, twisted up in the comforters, doing his best to look furious, and uttering occasional pitiable whimpers where Fedyor's warmer-but-still-chilly fingers creep up his spine, so he's not as fearsome as usual, but we're going by overall reputation here -- actually melts. Just a little. He sighs deeply, reaches up with one hand, and cups Fedyor's head in it, pulling him back down. "You make me happy too," he grumbles, low and deep in his chest. "And no, I still don't know how that happened."

#anonymous #ask #fivan #heartrender husbands #indeed i opened my inbox #in came the masses #shouting FIVAN #you know #valid? #anyway have some fluff #fivan ff

[qqueenofhades]

RE: job interview, any time someone in our Italian class was nervous about sth, the elderly Genoan lady who taught us would shout "FORZA" at them and somehow everytime she did that everything went well, so...

"FORZA!!!!!!!!!!!!"

It's going to go well!!!!!

Aha well I just hung up with the search committee and I think it went well?? They seemed very interested in what I had to say and impressed with my background/skills and the guy who is gonna be the chair of the department next year seemed definitely receptive so??? Who knows?? I don't know how many other people they are interviewing but maybe???

I am now gonna attempt to stop hyperventilating and write the Fivan smut prompt that has been waiting for a few days in my inbox in order to cope. Hoo boy.

#anonymous #ask

[qqueenofhades]

Pretty much every song makes me go lighthouse fivan now, this is entirely your fault, I think about them every day😭❤️❤️(the latest one is le capitaine de saint malo by the longest johns lol)

I loved the new chapter so much, like fedyorrrr babyy what are you doing? But also you're the rightest bitch who lived 😭 idk there's just something about reaching the "promised land" but it's just another land, only it doesn't have Ivan, I'm just 🥺🥺

(I hope you don't mind me sending you repeated asks shouting about how much I love your fic barely coherently 😁)

Ahaha, of course I don't mind you sending me repeated asks shouting about how much you love my fic. Fic writers are greedy creatures who crave interaction and validation, so yes, yell at us all you please, lmao. We are certainly not going to object. Or rather, me, I am not going to object. 😂

I likewise had many feelings about Fedyor reaching the so-called "promised land" only to discover that without Ivan, and indeed with being asked to explicitly betray Ivan, it's not so great and/or promised after all. I have indeed been shouted at a great deal since chapter 7, so I would like to duly notify you all that I have finished chapter 8. It is a monster (over 11k words before editing, aha) and there are feelings that will hit you like a windmill from multiple directions and repeatedly. So yes. Thou hast been warned.

I still need to edit it and such, so it won't be up until tomorrow (after that I am going to work on more TBOR chapters as they are ALSO clamoring for my attention, so many fictional idiots so little time). But yes, prepare your backsides, it cometh. 👀

#thoughtfulgardenerpirate #ask #lighthouse au

[wingsofhcpe]

whumptober day 3- "who did this to you"

fandom: shadow & bone

pairing: fivan [ivan x fedyor kaminsky]

rating: T+

additional warnings: injury, discrimination against Grisha

you can also read here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/34208404

[tagging @camilleisback upon request <3]

Fedyor had hoped he could make it to his and Ivan’s shared chambers without making too much of a fuss. It was an hour past midnight, after all- by all accounts, Ivan should be asleep. Then again, Fedyor wasn’t known for being late, and although Ivan knew he’d been assigned some errands at the Grand Palace that evening, he couldn’t have possibly thought Fedyor’s duties would last so late into the night. So there was little chance that Ivan would not notice him returning to begin with. As for what Ivan’s reaction would be when he saw the state his partner was currently in, well… That was going to be a little harder to hide.

He groaned a little, shifting his injured arm closer to his side, then wincing as it pressed against the already-forming bruises there. Great, there was no way Ivan wasn’t going to notice this, even if he hadn’t been limping from one side as well.

Fedyor let out a small sigh of relief when he finally stopped outside the polished mahogany door to their rooms. He took a deep breath -and regretted it a moment later as the movement served to aggravate the pain at his ribs and chest- and clumsily shouldered his way through the door.

The bedroom was lit only by a candle on Ivan’s nightstand, but the flickering golden glow was enough for Fedyor to detect his partner sitting up on their bed, heartbeat already spiking with frustration and worry.

“Where were you?!” Ivan asked, all but throwing himself out of the bed and stalking up to Fedyor, who only gave him a sheepish smile after carefully closing the door behind him.

“I, ah, something came up.” There was no point in trying to hide his injuries from Ivan, but he could at least gain some time before he’d have to explain them. Although it seemed like there wasn’t much point in trying to do even that; Ivan’s eyes widened, picking up on Fedyor’s erratic, pained heartbeat. Even if he hadn’t been a Heartrender, the dark red and purple bruises on the side of Fedyor’s face would have been a dead giveaway without the need of more light than what the candle provided.

“You’re hurt!” Ivan all but exclaimed, anger and concern writing themselves all over his unshaven face. He lifted a hand and lay it over Fedyor’s good arm, using his powers to examine the extent of his lover’s injuries. As soon as he became aware of it, he let out a small gasp.

“Fedyor- how?”

“It’s nothing, really. I just… need to lie down.” Fedyor murmured, blinking sudden stars away from his field of vision. Now that he was home safe, he abruptly realised how hard it really was to keep himself standing. He stumbled, and Ivan caught him and helped him stay upright.

“Fedya.” Ivan repeated his name, although this time his voice was gentle. “Tell me what happened. Who did this to you, my love?”

He led them both towards the bed, and Fedyor groaned quietly as Ivan helped him sit on it. Saints, everything hurt. “I, uh, I run into some young otkazat’sya soldiers in the Grand Palace. They were… quite inebriated, and I suppose the sight of a high-ranking Grisha at their midst wasn’t welcome at all. Especially after the devastating losses their side suffered on the Shu-Han front last week.”

“Did they dare raise a hand against you?” Ivan’s tone was clipped, and Fedyor could feel the fury that surged through him at the realisation. He winced.

“Ivan, it’s no big deal. They’re just children. They’re scared, really. I was just a scapegoat they could let their fear out on.”

“You’re not a punching bag! So they did beat you up? Unprovoked?” Ivan had leaned closer, eyes examining the bruises on Fedyor’s face. His thumb gingerly brushed over a cut below the latter’s eye. Fedyor let out a small huff.

“Well… yeah, sort of.” He shrugged, then immediately regretted it and groaned. “Ow. I tried to ignore them and just walk away but, well… one of them just grabbed my arm, turned me around and straight up punched me. The rest happened too fast.”

Ivan’s brow furrowed further. “You didn’t fight back? You could have used your powers on them.”

“You know that’s not me. And anyway, even if I wanted to use my powers, I would only be proving their point.” Fedyor said defeatedly. “I tried to fight them hand to hand, but it was seven of them and one of me. I did pretty well though, all things considered. I think one of them may find it particularly hard to produce an offspring if he so desires.”

Ivan’s expression finally relaxed just a margin, and a small smirk played at his thin lips.

“That’s my Fedya.” He murmured proudly, bending in and pressing a chaste kiss on Fedyor’s lips. There was dried blood where a well-placed punch had split the skin, and it stung, but Fedyor didn’t mind. He kissed back slowly, enjoying the comfort Ivan’s presence brought him. He had been scared, even though he would never admit it- he hadn’t known how far the First Army soldiers had been willing to take it, and while it was rare, it wasn’t unheard of for a Grisha to be killed by an otkazat’sya in such incidents (although to be perfectly fair, the opposite was a much more frequent occurrence). But now he was home, safe, sitting next to Ivan, his Vanya. It would be alright.

Ivan drew back a few moments later, but his eyes lingered worriedly on Fedyor. “We should get you to a Healer.”

“No!” Fedyor had to restrain himself from shouting, his eyes widening with worry. “Listen, Vanya- I’ll have to give an explanation of how I ended up like that if we go. And, well, I’ll have to give the General a list of names or rank numbers or just a description. You know what they do to otkazat’sya soldiers that as much as stare at one of us funny.”

“I damn well know, but it’s what they deserve.” Ivan’s voice was harsh. “Fedya, they could have killed you. I’m sure they would have, if they could’ve gotten away with it. Why are you protecting them?”

“Because…” Fedyor looked down at his hands. “Because they’re children. They were, what, sixteen? I don’t want one mistake to ruin their lives, Ivan.”

“It would have been a mistake if they cussed or spit at you.” Ivan snapped angrily. “But they beat you black and blue. As a group nonetheless. This isn’t a mistake- it’s prejudice. It’s hatred. We can’t allow them to get away with this kind of behaviour against our people.”

“I know, I know. But… I still think they should be given the chance to learn. To do better. To become better and unlearn their hate, rather than just die for something that has probably been drilled into them by people older and stronger than them.” Fedyor said quietly. “You know… you were raised to hate the Grisha, too. You would have been a druskelle, had you not discovered your gift early enough. And when you first came here, you despised us, and you despised yourself for what you were. But you unlearned it. You realised everything you’ve been taught was wrong. Shouldn’t they be given the same chance?”

“That was different.” Ivan hissed, but his voice didn’t hold the same amount of conviction as it did earlier. “I am Grisha. I knew I was, when I unlearned this mentality. I had to, because the world would hate me whether I accepted myself or not.”

“You don’t know they won’t be facing similar issues in the future.” Fedyor countered fiercely. “Maybe one of their younger siblings will be revealed to have a gift. Or maybe one of them has went untested and they will discover they themselves are Grisha. Anyway, I’ll speak to their superiors privately come morning. I don’t want this to spread to more people on either side. I’m not excusing them and I’m not protecting them, Ivan, I’m protecting all of us, and all of theirs. There are many soldiers in the First Army that accept us and view us as equals, as human beings. You know they’ll be in danger, should word of conflict spread among the Grisha. They’ll want payback, and you can’t guarantee that their victims will be the ones responsible for what happened to me. Besides, if this escalates, more Grisha will also be endangered.”

Fedyor paused to catch his breath and steady his hands, that had began to tremble slightly. It wasn’t as if he weren’t angry or scared out of his wits- he was. But he knew all too well, that violence only bred more violence. It would benefit neither the Grisha nor the otkazat’sya, if each side’s soldiers suddenly turned on each other and began to tear at each other’s throats like rabid dogs.

Ivan must have finally understood, too, because his grip on Fedyor’s wrist relaxed, and his shoulders slumped. He let out a frustrated growl.

“Fine. I suppose you have a point.” He relented, but his features were still pinched with worry. “But, anyway. Someone still has to patch you up.”

Fedyor allowed himself a small, relieved sigh. “Well, that’s why I have you.”

Ivan snorted out a little laugh. “You’re incorrigible. Come, let’s go to the bathroom. I don’t want to make a mess of the bed and then have to clean that up, too. If that’s alright with you, I would prefer to get some sleep tonight.”

One of the advantages to being two of General Kirigan’s most favoured soldiers, was that their living quarters were a little more spacy than the other soldiers’. Unlike most of the other Grisha, they didn’t need to share the banya with everyone else; they had running water available in their room, and could clean up themselves there if they preferred to have some privacy. It was a useful thing under many different situations -such as uninterrupted moments of affection when they washed after a particularly dangerous mission- and Fedyor guessed that wanting to clean and patch each other’s wounds up without alerting anyone else, was no exception.

“Here.” Ivan led him to a stool next to the bathtub, then helped him sit. Fedyor bit his already-bleeding lip to hold back a pained whimper as he sat, and Ivan’s hand immediately squeezed his own in a silent gesture of comfort. Fedyor squeezed back feebly, then let Ivan pull away as the latter rummaged around the small room for various medical supplies; clear strips of cloth, a bottle of disinfectant, bandages and a healing salve provided by a Fabrikator friend. He set all of it down on the floor before turning the water on. He waited until it had become sufficiently warm and then soaked a piece of cloth in it, and turned to face Fedyor.

“Take off your kefta, yes?” Ivan said firmly but without the usual bite to his commanding tone. Fedyor swallowed and nodded, shrugging awkwardly and trying to take the aforementioned piece of clothing off without jostling his injured arm too much. In the end he failed, and let out a small cry as he tried to stretch his arm to the side and pull it out of the sleeve. Ivan was immediately on his feet, having temporarily discarded the washcloth by the tub.

“Let me help.” He murmured in a low, comforting tone, his hands resting on Fedyor’s shoulders. Fedyor took a deep, steadying breath and yielded to Ivan’s ministrations; he knew that if he made any further attempts to remove his clothes by himself, it would only be a waste of time.

Once the kefta, undershirt and pants were out of the way, Ivan’s eyes darkened with worry. Fedyor supposed he couldn’t blame him this time- his entire left side, his back and his chest were badly bruised, and his right arm was bent at a strange angle that didn’t look at all natural. Less extensive bruising blossomed down his shoulders and arms, even his legs, especially over and around his right knee. Ivan clicked his tongue.

“I don’t care how much of a pacifist you want to be about this, Fedya. I’m going to find the bastards that did this to you and make them regret the day they slid out of their mother’s cu-“

“Alright, alright.” Fedyor waved his good hand placatingly. “I truly appreciate the anger on my behalf, Vanya. But for now, let’s just get done with it. You’re not the only one who can’t wait to get to bed for the night.”

Ivan growled under his breath, clearly not giving up on his aspirations of revenge, and Fedyor decided that maybe that wasn’t so bad. Ivan could teach a lesson to the perpetrators without the incident spreading further behind the lines of Grisha and otkazat’sya alive. It wasn’t the best possible solution, but Fedyor had to admit to himself that he wouldn’t mind watching if Ivan decided to make true on his word. He disliked answering violence with violence (barring extreme cases, such as facing a group of druskelle), but he was only human, and most humans have a petty streak to them. He was no exception.

Still, he decided to worry about it in the morning. For the moment, he allowed himself to relax under Ivan’s care, as the latter gently wiped the blood off his nose and lips, and dabbed at the cut under his eye. Fedyor caught Ivan’s eyes and smiled thankfully, which earned him a tender look and another squeeze of the hand.

“Let me see your arm?” Ivan asked after a few minutes, during which he had applied some of the healing salve across the worst of Fedyor’s bruises. Fedyor had been unable to restrain a deep groan of relief as Ivan’s fingers had gently massaged the salve onto his injuries; the discomfort receded almost immediately, the herbs contained into the salve having a cooling effect that soothed the throbbing pain. It wasn’t completely gone, but he already felt much better, and was able to stretch out his arm for Ivan to examine.

“Ow!” Fedyor yelped the following instant, glaring at Ivan as the other Heartrender’s fingers prodded at the swollen area around his elbow. “That hurt!”

“That’s what worries me.” Ivan grunted, displeasure evident in his voice. “There’s a fracture, I think. It’s not too bad, so we don’t need a Healer. I’ll bandage it, but you’ll have to use a sling for a while, and it’s going to keep hurting for at least a week.”

“It’s okay.” Fedyor sighed tiredly. At that point he didn’t care- he only wanted this to be done so they could both go to bed. “I’m sure we have painkillers somewhere around here. I’ll take some and sleep it off.”

Ivan raised an eyebrow. “You’re going to sleep for a week?”

“You know I’m more than capable.”

Ivan cleared his throat, but Fedyor knew he was trying to hide a laugh. He smiled, too. For all that had happened that night, he didn’t feel too horrible- not when Ivan was next to him. He just felt exhausted and a little crestfallen. But that was life, and life was usually tough. He had learned that lesson early enough. All he could do was shoulder it, smile and press on. He was good at it, too. He had learned how to be.

Ivan finished up a few minutes later, after taking a quick look at Fedyor’s knee. The swelling and bruising were bad, but he could detect no fractures, so he just talked Fedyor out of walking for a few days. Which, Fedyor suspected, wasn’t going to be a problem. He didn’t plan on leaving their bed, not unless Kirigan came and dragged him out by his ear.

“You deserve a few days off.” Ivan agreed when Fedyor voiced that thought. “But the General is going to ask questions. I thought you didn’t want him to know what happened.”

“I don’t.” Fedyor admitted as Ivan helped him to bed. He lay down with a groan and shuffled around, trying to find a comfortable position, where his arm and side wouldn’t hurt quite so bad. He’d already gulped down half a bottle’s worth of painkilling herbal pills, but it would be a while until they kicked in. “Just tell him I’m sick. I can pretend if I need to.”

Ivan rolled his eyes as he blew out the candle, and slipped under the covers next to Fedyor. “I know you can. You used to do it all the time to get out of training with Baghra, when we were young.”

Fedyor flashed him a shadow of his usual cheeky grin. “I was quite good at it.”

He shifted again, until he was laying flush against Ivan’s side, his aching arm stretched across his lover’s broad chest. Ivan hummed softly and pressed a tender kiss on Fedyor’s temple.

“Sleep.” He said. “Everything else can wait until tomorrow.”

Tomorrow didn’t sound very far off, all things considered. It had already been late when Fedyor had first stumbled in the room, and with all the talking and the time Ivan spent treating his injuries, another two hours had gone by. Under normal circumstances, they would be waking up in three more hours, but Fedyor trusted Ivan to let him sleep in this once. So he forced all miserable thoughts out of his mind and quelled the fear that had caught fire inside of him from the moment he had first encountered the otkazat’sya in the Grand Palace. He was home now, behind high walls, nestled within his husband’s arms. He was safe. They both were. They’d always be safe, so long as they had each other.

So Fedyor told himself that everything was alright. That he wasn’t scared out of his wits, and that he wasn’t in pain. He closed his eyes and let sleep overtake him, while he clung to Ivan’s steady, familiar, beloved heartbeat as if it was the gentlest of lullabies.

#my writing #whumptober 2021 #whumptober #fivan #whumptober masterlist #fedyor kaminsky #ivan no last name #fedyor x ivan #shadow & bone