Sherlock

oh and this one because i love pain: having to watch your lover die, as you’re restrained by the antagonist, unable to fight your way out of their grip, yet your eyes are glued on your lover’s

(@sparklingrainbowdragon you asked for this too so, tagging you here!)

I am very sorry in advance for this. Read below the cut!

--

"Sir. We have captured some of the deserters."

Ivan turned around to look at Galina, his second-in-command, as she walked into the strategy room. She looked rumpled, as if it's taken a lot out of her to capture the rogue Grisha. Possibly, Ivan thought with satisfaction, that meant her squad had caught a lot of them.

"How many?" He asked, and raised an eyebrow when he saw her shift her weight from one foot to the other. "Well?"

"Just... Just two of them, sir." Her heartbeat spiked up dangerously, and Ivan wondered if she was afraid he would reprimand her for not bringing in more captives.

"Well then." He said strictly, but not as cold as he would have usually been. "That's still something worth reporting to the General."

"Sir..." Galina swallowed. "Sir, one of then is- we- we have captured Fedyor Kaminsky."

Ivan stood very, very still. For a moment, he thought it was Galina's heart pounding against her chest like a caged bird trying to be freed; then he slowly realised, the sound of blood rushing in his ears, was his own.

He stalked past Galina and was out of the tent before he could check himself. Another of his Grisha threw a pitying glance at him, but Ivan hardly registered it. It didn't matter. None of it mattered.

Fedyor had been thrown into one of the Fabrikator-enforced cages, with a set of sturdy, iron cuffs clamped around his wrists. He sat slumped next to the second captive Grisha (an unconscious young girl who Ivan didn't recognise), but when he picked up Ivan's heartbeat his head shot up like a deer caught in the firelight. Those warm, brown eyes widened impossibly, and to Ivan's shock, he smiled.

"Vanya!" He said, his voice as soft and warm and loving as it had always been. Ivan nearly threw himself on the metal bars, his hand reaching through the gaps as if to reach Fedyor.

There was no need for words; their hearts did the talking. Besides, there wasn't anything they could have said. Not in this situation.

Fedyor didn't move, but he leaned closer to the bars. Belatedly, Ivan realised his right leg was bent in a strange angle underneath him. He cursed under his breath.

"Who did this to you?" He hissed, a spark of his old fierce protectiveness bubbling to the surface. Fedyor shrugged.

"One of the oprichniki decided I wasn't being cooperative enough while we were being transported here."

Of course he hadn't been. Ivan would have been proud of him had it not ended like that. He made a mental note of finding the oprichnik in question and tanning their arse so hard they wouldn't be able to sit for days.

"Does it hurt?" Ivan askes uselessly.

"A bit." The words were breathed out softly; Fedyor was good at masking his pain, but Ivan knew him too well. He knew he was in agony. He longed to lay his hand on Fedyor's knee, ease his pain, call a healer. But... He couldn't. And Fedyor wouldn't want his pity.

Ivan blinked the sudden wetness away and shifted his attention at the other Grisha. "And she?"

"Her name is Mariya." Fedyor said fondly, and for a moment Ivan felt a pang of jealousy. Then he realised Fedyor's heart beat for her the same way it had done for Nina. Protective, a mentor. His shoulders relaxed against his will.

"She was knocked unconscious by one of the Heartrenders. But she'll be okay, I think. Until..."

'Until we're sentenced to death and executed for high treason.' Ivan knew he would have to be the one to pass the sentence. The General wasn't going to let him off the hook for sentimentalities.

"Saints, Fedya." Ivan sat on the ground so he could be at level with the other man. "Why didn't you leave? Why didn't you go to Ketterdam or something?"

"I'm sorry, Vanya." Fedyor said softly, and sounded like he meant it. "I couldn't leave Alina. I couldn't leave Ravka to Kirigan's mercy."

Not the General's. Whatever respect Fedyor had once held for that man, had vanished into thin air. The worst was, Ivan found that he couldn't blame him.

"You should have left." Was all he said, uselessly. It didn't matter anymore. His husband was going to die. And he would be the cause of it.

Fedyor shifted awkwardly as if trying to pass one of his hands through the bars. It was hard with the cuffs on, but in the end he managed to slip his fingers out, towards Ivan's. Ivan quickly held his hand out to hold them.

"It's alright, Vanyusha." Fedyor whispered as their heads leaned close to each other. "We both made a choice. I'm glad to die for it."

"I'm not!" Ivan blurted. "Saints, I don't want to lose you!"

He already had, in a sense. But at least he'd known Fedyor was out there, alive, possibly happy. This... This was different. Permanent.

"I love you." Fedyor replied simply, his eyes twinkling in the twilight. "You know that, yeah?"

"Of course. And I love you too. More- More than anything else, Fedyenka." Ivan said softly. He didn't say more; he knew he wouldn't be able to keep his voice steady.

"Can you stay?" Fedyor asked. "If only for a little while. My leg hurts."

The simple admittance broke Ivan, along with the knowledge he couldn't do anything to help. He let out a choked sob, gripping Fedyor's cuffed hand tighter.

"I will. I promise I will."

---

"Mariya Abramova Svetaeva, and Fedyor Alexeivitch Kaminsky, you are hereby sentenced to death for the crime of high treason against the Second Army, the Grisha, and Ravka as a whole."

Kirigan's voice echoed like the drop of a hammer in the silence of the evening, that was only interrupted by Mariya's muffled whimpers as she cried. Fedyor spoke softly to her, trying to comfort her.

"Silence." The oprichnik that held him hissed, and punctuated the order with a swift kick on the Grisha's broken leg. Fedyor couldn't swallow back a short cry of pain as he nearly crumpled to the ground, and Ivan felt hot rage building up inside of him.

"Soldier." He snapped. "You will not attempt to harm the prisoners before the passing of the sentence."

The oprichnik muttered something about lovesickness and lack of conviction, but Ivan elected to ignore it. Kirigan cleared his throat to restore order.

"The sentence will be carried out immediately."

He announced. Ivan felt his stomach drop to his shoes- no, surely they'd have more time, surely he could have another moment with Fedyor-

"Aleksandra," Kirigan turned to the lead Inferni "build a pyre in the middle of the camp."

For a second, Ivan wasn't sure what the General had meant. Then it dawned on him, and he swore he could feel the ground crumpling from under his feet.

"Sir, that's not-"

"An order is an order, Ivan. They do not deserve a Grisha death. Rather, they will be treated to a druskëlle sentence."

Mariya must have finally realised what was happening, because she let out a heartbreaking wail and strained against the guard that held her.

"No!" She screamed. "No, please, sir I repent, I repent-"

The General ignored her and turned around. "Ivan, I trust you will carry out what needs to be done. It's what's best for Ravka, and for the Grisha. No sentimentalities."

Ivan didn't know what the feeling building up within him was; he had never felt anything like it. Too cold to be called rage, too powerful to be called fear. All he could see was Fedyor chained to a wooden pole, screaming and crying for mercy as the flames consumed him. Looking at him, those brown eyes filled with agony.

Something inside Ivan broke.

Distantly, he heard himself roaring as he hurled himself against Kirigan's back, hands wrapping around the other man's neck. Grisha powers be damned, Ivan was going to kill the bastard with his own two hands-

But Kirigan flipped him around easily, and suddenly his back was pressed against the other man's chest, his hands held painfully behind him. He couldn't move a finger.

"Careful, Ivan." The General hissed in his ear. "Or you will share your lover's fate."

"I'd rather burn than side with someone who would kill us like the druskëlle!" Ivan snapped, straining against Kirigan's grip. "You are a disgrace to the Grisha. To think I believed in you-"

"I am only doing what is best for all of us. Our personal feelings don't matter." Kirigan's voice was cold, detached. As if he had killed whatever warmth remained inside him long ago. He probably had.

"Vladimir." He said to the guard that held Fedyor. "Kill him now."

"No!" Ivan shouted. "No- Fedya, Fedyenka- no!"

Fedyor's eyes met his. Impossibly, he smiled; that damned, irresistible smile that Ivan had fallen for the first time he'd ever seen it.

"It's alright, Vanya." He said easily as the oprichnik fumbled for his dagger. "I'll wait for you, yes? We'll see each other again."

He sounded so calm, as if he was just leaving on a long mission rather than being executed. Ivan sobbed, sagging against Kirigan's grip.

"Vanya-" Fedyor grunted as the oprichnik pulled him back, the cold steel of an ornate dagger pressing against his throat. "Look at me, my love. Look at me."

Ivan forced himself to look. The knowledge that this would be the last time he heard Fedyor's voice, saw him alive and well and smiling, shattered him. But Fedyor kept smiling, his eyes filled with love and tears.

"Fedyor." Ivan whispered. Fedyor closed his eyes.

A moment later, the dagger sliced his throat, and blood painted the ground in front of him red.

me trying to convince myself that two straight white men in their 30s are going to write the best (slowburn) queer love story ever made

Saracen’s Suicide Part 2

This is part two of a (Saracen Rue X Dexter Vex) fic

If you haven’t read part one PLEASE check it out🙏

Saracen had fallen asleep in Dexter’s arms, but he woke up alone. Blankets were draped across his body. He realized Dexter was gone immediately. He sat up quickly, but when he tried to slip off the couch, he stumbled and fell on his ass. The blankets dragged down with him. Dexter heard the noise and rushed in. When he saw Saracen sitting dumbly on the ground, he raised his eyebrows, “What are you doing?”

“I fell,” Saracen responded.

“Yes. I can tell,” Dexter said and turned his back again. “I’m making breakfast,” he added. Saracen sat up to follow him. He hadn’t realized how hungry he was. He barely ate anything yesterday.

“What are you making?” Saracen asked.

“Pancakes,” Dexter responded.

“Blueberry pancakes,” Saracen asked hopefully.

“Fine,” Dexter said. Then his expression turned more serious, “Listen, we should talk about last night.” Saracen shook his head, “Do we have to?”

“Yes,” Dexter frowned, “You need help.”

“I have you.”

“Am I enough?” Dexter asked.

Saracen looked at him incredulously, “Of course you’re enough.”

“You never came to talk to me. Last night, you would have killed yourself if I didn’t walk in.”

“But you did walk in.”

Dexter frowned, “That’s not the point. I'm scared, Sar. I'm scared you’re going to hurt yourself. I’m scared I won’t be there when I need to be.”

Saracen looked away, “I can deal with it myself now. Last night won’t happen again.”

Dexter eyed him suspiciously, “You know I don’t believe that.”

“Can we talk about this later?” Saracen asked. Dexter nodded, “Later today.”

“Thank you,” Saracen pulled a chair out from the table and sat down. Awkward silence followed briefly.

“Did you mean it when you told me when you said you wanted to kiss me?” Saracen questioned.

“I meant it. I’m in love with you,” Dexter grinned. Saracen formed a relieved smile, “Can we just pretend nothing happened last night. Except for what you said. Just for a little bit?”

Dexter walked over. “Just for a little bit,” he repeated. He leaned over to Saracen and kissed him. One hand cupped his cheek, and the other ran through his hair. Dexter kissed Saracen gently. He had to pay attention to the pancakes first, but he told himself, right after pancakes, he was going to give Saracen all of his attention.

He pulled away and rushed to put the pancakes on plates. “Give me the bigger one,” Saracen added. Dexter turned back to him with the plates in his hand. Saracen’s cheek was cupped in his hand, and his finger subconsciously moved in a circular motion.

“Here,” he placed the smaller blueberry pancakes in front of him.

“You think I won’t notice?” he smiled, “Switch.”

“No.”

“No?’ Saracen made a mock-gasp, and reached for the plate of pancakes.

“No! This is mine!” Dexter yanked the plate away, “Back off!”

“This isn’t fair!” Saracen reached farther across the table. Dexter leaned farther back in his chair.

“I made the pancakes, so-” Dexter’s chair tipped back too far, and he fell backwards.

“Dex?” Saracen leaped out of his chair. Instead of asking if Dexter was okay, he laughed. Saracen kneeled to snatch the pancakes, but Dexter pulled him all the way down. “I won’t let you!” Saracen tried to get back up, but Dexter pulled Saracen’s leg across his own and bridged, so that he was on top of Saracen. Saracen started to reach up for control of Dexter’s neck, but Dexter grabbed his wrists and pinned them to the floor. He reached his face down and pressed his lips against Saracen’s.

They never acted like this together. They were never this intimate, but even when they were, it was never out of attraction for one another. Seeing Dexter act this way sent butterflies into Saracen’s stomach. He became aware of how close they were to each other. He was attentive of how much bigger and taller Dexter was. He never minded that before, but now it made him feel helpless. His face became red. Dexter smiled in amusement, and pressed his entire body onto Saracen. Saracen gasped at the pressure, which, mixed with Dexter’s lips against his, made him breathless.

Saracen’s hands were still pinned against the floor, but one of Dexter’s hands now held Saracen’s thigh, pulling it up until Dexter could slide his knees beneath, and enable him to move forward. Saracen wrapped his legs around Dexter. Dexter pulled his hands under Saracen’s shirt, pulling it above Saracen’s chest. Dexter brought his lips down to Saracen’s chest.

“I’ve been waiting to do this forever,” Dexter whispered.

OWEN WILSON and STEVE COOGAN as JEDEDIAH and OCTAVIUS in the NIGHT AT THE MUSEUM trilogy

Idk what I’m supposed to title this.

I just found this and thought it was cool

YOU hates terfs

source