Reblog To Make A White Gay Big Mad

↳ family trees + House of York, Tudor & Stuart (15th - 17th century)

Dead Men: (in a crowd of soldiers and can’t find Larrikin) That idiot’s wandered off again.

Dexter: Leave it to me.

Dexter: (uses his hands as a microphone) ANTON SHUDDER WANTS A HUG!!

Larrikin: (from other side of the room) mOVE OUTTA MY WAY I GOTTA GET TO THE MUSCLY GUY

Dexter: There he is.

Anton: (slaps Dexter)

“But if you forget to reblog Madame Zeroni, you and your family will be cursed for always and eternity.”

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.

Fedyor: Ivan, we get to meet the sun summoner! Zomgz!

Ivan: So.

I love them. Fedyor fanboys and Ivan is not impressed. You can write this. You know, if you wanted to. :)

“You know,” Fedyor says, as they leave the dining hall after supper. “You could be a little nicer to her, Vanya.”

“What?” Ivan is preoccupied with the news from the messenger, the mounting casualties on the Fjerdan border, and the way their great vaunted hope, their so-called living saint, is sitting and giggling with her girlfriends and eating figs. “What are you talking about? I told her that she should be training more! That was not inaccurate!”

“Maybe it wasn’t,” Fedyor says patiently, “but she is the Sun Summoner! And she has only just learned that she is Grisha. If you helped her feel more at ease, perhaps she would learn faster or – ”

“It is not my job to coddle some orphan from the country who cheated her way out of her power being discovered as a child,” Ivan interrupts brusquely. “Everyone else in the Little Palace treats her as if she is made out of pretty porcelain. She is a soldier in the Second Army now, no more, no less. Did she not learn that in the First?”

“She was a cartographer, darling. Not an infantryman.”

“I don’t care!” Ivan barks, causing a nearby Squaller to jump, look at him anxiously, and scuttle away. “If it was up to me, she would be sleeping with the rest of the recruits in the barracks, not given her own lavish room and all the servants who fetch and carry whatever she wants! No more special treatment, no – ”

“Has anyone ever told you what a terrible grump you are?” Fedyor drapes his arm on Ivan’s shoulder as they reach the staircase. “I do have to wonder.”

“Yes. You. Frequently.”

“I mean, anyone aside from me.”

Ivan shrugs. “No idea. Why should I care what other people apart from you and the general think of me?”

Fedyor grins. “You know, if everyone wasn’t so scared of you, I swear you would have been murdered in your sleep by now.”

“Good. They can be scared of me.” Ivan reaches up and links his fingers through Fedyor’s. As they climb to the top of the stairs and step out into the hallway beyond, he asks, “Do you really believe that only one girl in all of Ravka can banish the Fold?”

“I don’t know,” Fedyor says, suddenly serious. “But you know that I grew up only twenty miles from Kribirsk. I saw the crossings, I heard about the people who died, I was put to bed at night with scary stories of how the volcra would eat me if I was not a good boy. Once on a dare, I went all the way to the edge with two of my friends. We were... seven? Eight? When my mother heard what I had done, she tanned my arse so hard she broke her best wooden spoon. She was... she was scared.” He pauses. “I saw it in her face. The Fold is real, Vanya. And it’s terrifying, and terrible. If Alina can banish it – ”

Ivan feels an oblique prickle of guilt. He grew up in Chernast, far from the Fold’s frontiers, even if he heard about the Unsea like everyone else. But until he was recruited into the Second Army and became the general’s right-hand man, he never saw it for himself, not in the same way Fedyor does, and did. It is an abstract to him, a simple problem of military strategy, and he is impatient with people who treat it as some great divine judgment. “You know I am not a believer in the Saints, Fedya,” he says, more gently. “I just don’t think it’s a good idea to trust one girl more than this. More than us.”

“You know.” Fedyor tilts his head back, a smile playing across his lips. “Underneath all the gruff, you’re really a bit of a romantic.”

“I’m not,” Ivan says, failing to frown as totally as he usually does. “You’re mistaken.”

“Mm.” Fedyor links his arm around Ivan’s waist, kisses him on the cheek, and they walk the rest of the way to their quarters in comfortable silence. As they close the door and get ready to sleep, then crawl into bed together, Ivan thinks that General Kirigan, and indeed all of Ravka, can keep Alina Starkov and her magical hands. He has all the sunlight he needs, right here in his arms.

Y’all being pregnant while moving into a new house is BUCKWILD

My husband is an intelligent man, but he has gotten in his head that if I lift one box I will PERISH