Reblog Mulder’s Drawing Of Bigfoot Titties Or Be Cursed For 12 Years And 12 Nights

Henry: *finally stops repressing all his emotions and decides to just go for it and kisses Alex*

Alex: what

Henry: 

So like. What if there were a fic of Ivan and Fedyor falling in love? Just saying. Someone could write that...(and could that someone be you?!)

Fedyor Kaminsky is brought to the Little Palace when he is nine years old. Before that, he has lived his whole life in the place he was born: a small village about twenty miles southeast of Kribirsk. It is just close enough for him to be constantly aware of the Shadow Fold, looming like a thunderstorm on a hot summer day, and to know, also, the honor that it is when the examiners arrive, he receives a sharp prick in the arm, some sort of strange result takes place, and he is formally declared to be Grisha. His parents know it too, and are eager to tell him of it. They are not well off, and Fedyor is the sixth of seven children. The payment for their patriotic service will be welcome, and while his mother hugs him tightly and tells him to make the Saints proud, he feels, somehow, that they are not that grieved to see the back of him. He is the only child from his village that has been picked, and they all assemble to see him off. Just think. One of their own, in the Second Army.

Fedyor cries himself to sleep his first night in the dormitories, as most of the children do. But he wakes fully rested, hungry for breakfast, and eager to throw himself into his new life. He has a sunny temperament, a personable nature, that serves him well here, and any talented Grisha can climb high in the ranks, almost as high as the Black General himself. Back home, what did he have to look forward to, aside from the taunts and punches of his brothers, who always saw him as more like one of their sisters than one of them? He is learning things here. Religion and medicine and geography and history. And, of course, the arcane art of the Small Science, the one thing that binds these young people from all across Ravka. Their power, their responsibility, and their upcoming effort in the endless wars.

His first few years pass rather well, all things considered. When he is thirteen, it is officially declared that he will be taken onto the Order of Corporalniks, and – somewhat to everyone’s surprise, including his – he is best suited not as a Healer, but a Heartrender. It turns out that unassuming, smiling, friendly Fedyor, who knows everyone’s name and is always given an indulgent second portion of dessert from the doting canteen ladies, packs quite a punch.

It’s here where he first puts Ivan Sakharov on his back, and his whole life changes.

Fedyor and Ivan have known of each other, ever since they arrived in the same class of recruits. Ivan is a tough, taciturn northern boy from Chernast, skinny and scowling and always displeased about something, no matter what. Fedyor once saw him brood through the whole Winter Fete, and he has taken it as a professional challenge to get Ivan to smile. Once Fedyor plays a practical joke on him, to the awe of the entire dormitory, who would not dare to even imagine such things themselves. Ivan scowls at him like the Black Heretic himself, and stomps off to have his important life problems somewhere else. But now they’re both thirteen, Ivan is shooting up like a weed and channeling all that pent-up resentment into some really effective Heartrending, and Fedyor is regretting all his previous liberties. As they face each other and bow, thus to commence the duel on Botkin’s word, he thinks, Please don’t kill me. Please don’t kill me.

Then he remembers that he’s the same Order, he has the same red kefta awaiting him when he finishes his trials, that he has as much right to be here as some tight-arse bastard from the frozen northern wastes, and that is why, thirty seconds after the duel has begun, Ivan is flat on his back and looking astonished. Everyone is applauding, and Fedyor feels somewhat confused. He strides over to his fallen adversary and offers him a hand. “Good job.”

Ivan glares at him, exquisitely sensitive to the possibility that he’s being mocked. “You’ll regret this, Kaminsky,” he says, low-voiced. “Mark my words.”

After that, for several months, Fedyor lives in terror of going anywhere in the Little Palace alone, lest Ivan suddenly leap out from behind a shrubbery and murder him. He and Ivan spar in their classes, in practice, in trying to outdo each other in Baghra’s ridiculous lessons, throwing all their effort into the sort of stupid, pointless rivalry that can only be maintained by teenage boys with too much pride and too little sense. They start to look for each other wherever they go, waste no opportunity to glare heatedly, and they are sixteen years old when Fedyor notices to his extreme vexation that during all this time spent staring at him until he has memorized his face, Ivan has gotten a little… handsome.

(What? No? Ivan? Horrifying.)

Fedyor himself isn’t exactly cursed in the face department, once a persistent bout of acne clears up. With his wavy hair, dark eyes, and easy smile, he provokes his fair share of sighs and pining among the female Corporalniks, but he is oddly uninterested in reciprocating their advances. Then he and Ivan get paired together on some training exercise that goes horribly wrong, they are trapped in the woods for hours until someone comes to find them, and with nothing else to do, they are forced to actually talk. Ivan has that northern chip on his shoulder that they all seem to, and probably started fighting Fjerdans when he was two years old, but what he says next takes Fedyor completely aback. “You’re… not that bad,” he says grudgingly. “You’re the only one who’s brave enough to actually talk to me, not just tiptoe like a mouse.”

“Well.” Fedyor throws a stick of wood at him. “Have you considered being less of a total grouch all the time?”

Ivan scoffs, lunges at him, and they end up wrestling in the leaf mold, an exercise that both of them enjoy a bit too much and take extreme care that the other not notice. By the time the search party from the Little Palace comes to retrieve them, they have forgotten all about being lost. In fact, as they were lying on the ground together, tangled up and panting and staring at the stars, Fedyor had the strangest thought that it was the best night of his life, and he doesn’t have a clue what he should make of that.

After that, an even stranger thing happens: they become friends. Well, sort of. Ivan maintains his default posture of appearing to hate everything and everyone, but Fedyor is the only person he tolerates, or allows to yank his chain in any way. And in turn, though Ivan Sakharov is the last person who would seem to need any kind of protection, the favor is returned. Once, when a city boy from Os Alta starts going on about how savage northerners are, staring pointedly at Ivan the whole time, Fedyor launches him halfway across the room. He gets in trouble, but it’s worth it. And they do undoubtedly work better together, Fedyor fighting right-handed and Ivan fighting left. They cover each other’s weak sides, learn to anticipate each other’s moves, and…

It’s a deeply inconvenient fact of life that when you are a Heartrender, and are exquisitely sensitive to pulse rates, you notice when yours starts going consistently haywire around certain people. Especially when, the year they turn eighteen, they are assigned to room together. The Little Palace is spacious, but not enough for every Grisha to have his or her own room, and since they’re no longer children, they’re not expected to share with the entire class. So Fedyor and Ivan end up in a garret room of their very own, and it is here, to his extreme consternation, that the next phase of Fedyor’s torment re: Ivan begins.

It is difficult to share a small room with Ivan and not want to look at him, and unless he is much mistaken, Ivan always seems to be concentrating a little too hard on his books whenever Fedyor is changing clothes. Fedyor is self-aware enough by this point to know that he prefers men, but he has absolutely no idea as to Ivan. Do they do this sort of thing in Chernast, or does it distract from arm-wrestling bears and shooting drüskelle? Ivan is so constantly unwilling to admit any kind of weakness or effeminacy that Fedyor figures gloomily he’s just doomed to suffer in silence. Naturally.

Except then both of them start rejecting any other romantic overtures, and they even go to the Summer Fete dance together, and Fedyor is taken aback when Zoya Nazyalensky asks bluntly the next day, “So, you and Ivan? Really?”

“What?” Fedyor is aware that Zoya and Ivan cordially hate each other, though she and Fedyor have always gotten on. “We’re not – Zoya, it’s not like that!”

He pauses.

“At least,” he adds guiltily. “It’s not like that as far as we’ve said?”

Zoya gives him a look silently agreeing that for the sake of their friendship, they will never mention Fedyor’s terrible taste in men again, though that doesn’t mean she has to like it. As for her, she’s pining after Kirigan, as almost all Grisha do at some point. Fedyor did so himself – the Black General is gorgeous, all right, shoot him – but he cares about nothing except finding the mythical Sun Summoner and engaging in a busy schedule of brooding even more intense than Ivan’s. Ivan, for that matter, seems to have struck it off with him, as Kirigan always values talent, and Fedyor has to fight down an unbecoming surge of jealousy. It’s not like they’re something. Not really.

(Though not for lack of wanting.)

After that, an even stranger thing happens, which is that people start assuming that Fedyor and Ivan are, in fact, a couple. Fedyor gets asked how his boyfriend is doing (sometimes sardonically, sometimes in a tone that turns genuinely surprised when he hastens to correct them) and he minds it less and less. Of course, for his part, Ivan is utterly oblivious. They’re sitting in a sunny hallway one day, Ivan tolerantly letting Fedyor play with his hair (though he keeps it military-short and it’s not like there’s that much of it) when Genya Safin walks by, glances at them archly, and says, “You know, Ivan, you’re much nicer now that you’re going out with him.”

Ivan turns such a deep shade of purple that Fedyor’s afraid he’s going to blow a gasket. “What?!” he splutters. “We are not – we are not – we are not going out! Never! I don’t – what are you talking – I don’t even like him!”

Fedyor’s lip quivers, despite himself. “Come on,” he says, failing to make it entirely lighthearted, wounded deeper than he wants to admit. “You don’t mean that, right?”

Ivan turns to him, flustered. “No,” he says convulsively. “Don’t look sad. Don’t look at me like that. Shh. Of course I like you.”

Fedyor brightens.

Genya gives them an obnoxiously knowing look and walks away.

By now, they’re twenty-one, old enough to be properly deployed as soldiers to the front, and Fedyor can’t help but thinking about where Ivan is, what he’s doing, if he’s all right, whenever they’re apart. He doesn’t like it, it feels wrong and unnatural, they always did better side by side anyway. Finally, they both get back to the Little Palace after a grueling campaign of many months away, Ivan against the Fjerdans and Fedyor against the Shu Han. They see each other, and it’s like lightning, rooting them to the ground. They’re dusty, dirty, banged up, bruised and bloody, but they know as a simple truth, beyond any doubt or questioning, that Fedyor will be coming to Ivan’s room tonight, and that Ivan will sit up and wait for him.

And that, therefore, is what happens. Fedyor can barely concentrate on washing up and fetching supper because he is so fixated on the knowledge of what’s coming later. He goes through the motions, barely hears his friends, barely tastes what he’s eating. He scarcely manages to wait until it’s dark. Then he gets up, slips through the corridors – they no longer bunk together, but he knows the way – and reaches the door. Fights a final attack of nerves, about how long he’s been waiting and how it might go wrong – then knocks.

“It’s open,” Ivan calls from inside, his voice dark with wanting. Of course it is.

Fedyor steps inside, and looks at him. After all this time, it feels like he should make a speech, have something more grand to say, or perhaps even an I-told-you-so. He doesn’t get around to any of that. He can’t stand it. Instead he shucks his kefta in a quick, practiced movement. Runs across the room, and climbs, claws, into Ivan’s arms.

Their kiss is rough and wet and wild, mouths open, teeth dragging, tongues scraping, trying to get as close as they possibly can, and then closer. Ivan’s hands, deft and eager, rough with calluses, spread across Fedyor’s arms and shoulders, the neat muscled column of his torso. “You should have let me do that,” he scolds between kisses, evidently referring to the business of undressing Fedyor. “I’ve been waiting long enough.”

“You’ve been waiting long enough – ?!” Fedyor Kaminsky really does love this man, but Saints help him, he is dense. “You could have said something!”

Ivan looks at him with pure wickedness in his eyes. “I thought I just did.”

Fedyor groans, grabs Ivan’s head to kiss him again, and they roll down onto the covers together, tearing at the remaining clothes in their way. It’s raw and agonized and real, this coming together, this needing, this consummation and completion, and afterward, as Fedyor lies gasping on Ivan’s chest and Ivan sleepily strokes his hair with a tenderness that seems totally inconceivable to anyone who has met him at literally any other moment, Fedyor knows, in some way, he will never truly leave this room again. That he’s here. Home.

(Later, Fedyor finds out that Ivan actually asked his boss for help with his romantic quandary, and Kirigan’s advice was evidently so terrible that Ivan decided to just give up and go for it with Fedyor rather than trying that again. Even if Aleksander Kirigan is the Black General, the Shadow Summoner, the most powerful Grisha in the world, Ivan does not intend to let him forget it. They are all fortunate that Aleksander thinks it’s funny.)

HC that some how Klaus and Dave come to 2019 but Klaus has a minor injury which Grace needs to treat.

Dave sees Grace kiss Klaus on the head and gets all jealous thinking he must have had a Nurse gf before going to Vietnam and Klaus has to be like lol what? Shes my mom!?

We were fucking robbed of Hunter Husbands Dean and Cas. Imagine Dean getting nabbed and tied up by the bad guys. With every punch to the face or twist of the knife, Dean’s grin just gets wider and wider.

“When my boyfriend gets here, you’re toast,” he laughs even while spitting up blood.

The ominous crack of thunder and the flickering of the lights makes the bad guys look up.

Dean chuckles. “Right on time.”

Then the door flies off the hinges, the frame shattering into splinters, and a wrathful angel comes barreling in, angel blade raised and eyes blazing with grace. The baddies are shitting their pants with fear.

“Hey, babe,” Dean says, almost nonchalantly.

Castiel dispatches the bad guys in a fearsome display of power and finesse. As soon as the last one falls, Cas’s eyes fade to normal and he rushes to Dean’s side, wrath faded to worry. “Dean,” he breathes, pressing his hand gently to his love’s bloodied cheek to heal him.

In a second Dean is stitched back together and cleaned up. Cas slices the ropes tying him to the chair and the second Dean’s wrists are free he’s pulling Cas into a kiss.

“Next time, try to be a little faster?” Dean laughs against Cas’s lips. But really it’s fine. He knows his angel’s always got him.

can I have the templates for the circle thing you did? thanks anyway!

Heya, beautiful anon

Here you go (also I got them off Google )

Don’t people notice that even though Sam and Dean say they’re writing an article they never actually do. Like nobody minds that they’ve been lied to

Hi! I love your writing and adore your Fivan one shots so if your still taking prompts I would love to see one where everyone in the little palace ( Genya, Zoya, The Darling etc ) finds out about Fivans relationship. Please and thank you!

Aha, my request for prompts was quite a while ago, but since I can never resist the opportunity for Shenanigans, especially of the Fivan variety, here you go.

Nadia finds out first. She, in fact, does not even need to be actually told. Fedyor is creeping down the stairs in the early morning with tousled hair and a kefta that has spent all night on the floor of Ivan's bedroom, mind filled with nothing but jumbled images and sensations and oh Saints did that finally really happen?, and as a result, is not paying attention in the least to where he is going. He walks bang into his friend, there is a mutual moment of consternation as they stumble backward and clutch their heads and apologize, and then Nadia gets a good look. Fedyor has tried to arrange his collar to hide the most obvious bites, but it doesn't matter. Her eyes go wide as saucers. "Oh my," she says. "Did it finally happen?"

"Did... what... finally happen?"

"Fedyor Kaminsky, don't even try that." Nadia points a finger at him. "You know damn well what I'm talking about."

Fedyor looks at the floor, which doesn't help. A small smile starts to overtake his mouth. This is as good as hiring the entire First Army drum-and-trumpet brigade to parade around announcing the news, he knows, but he can't help it. "Maybe."

"Maybe." Nadia utters a scoff that is twice her size. "That is a question with a yes-or-no answer, you idiot."

Fedyor's lips pull wider. So do Nadia's.

"Oh," she crows, punching the air. "I knew it."

-----

Zoya, Ivan's old nemesis from training and their shared but completely exclusive belief that Kirigan should pay attention only to their advice at all times, also picks it up by inference. In her case, it's because she sees Ivan actually smiling when Fedyor is standing closely next to him, filling him in on some item of Heartrender miscellany, rather than looking as if this is the worst thing to happen in his entire life. When Fedyor touches Ivan's wrist briefly and slips off, Zoya's suspicions are confirmed. She stomps up and demands, "Really?"

Ivan whirls around, sees her, and glares. "Did you need something?"

"Fedyor?" Zoya still hasn't processed. "But he's so nice! Did he hit his head or wake up having forgotten his entire life to this date? I'm having a hard time thinking what else he can possibly see in you."

Ivan crosses his arms across his chest, fixing her with an even greater stare of total death, but she refuses to back down. "I don't know what you're talking about, Nazyalensky," he barks. "If you're not going to train that new cohort of Squallers, then -- "

"Fine." Zoya turns on her heel, then adds over her shoulder, "He's much too good for you, you know."

Ivan stares at her implacably. He does not, however, deny either this fact or the reason for it, and Zoya, smugly, takes that as a win.

------

Genya knows soon too, but then, Genya knows more or less everything that happens in the Little Palace by virtue of her position. The queen and her ladies are very gossipy, and when one of the younger ones starts going on about that Fedyor Kaminsky, he's such a dish, so handsome, what's his situation, Genya feels obliged to speak up and provide some gentle clarification. "I'm afraid he's already taken," she says. "And you won't want to tangle with his partner. It's... well, it's Ivan, the general's right-hand man."

The reactions, of course, are predictable: "Ivan?" spoken in increasingly incredulous tones. "Ivan? Ivan! IVAN. IVAN?!!"

"But he's so...." one of the ladies protests. "So terribly rude."

Genya smothers a wry smile. "Apparently Fedyor doesn't mind."

-------

Kirigan finds out last, and most mortifyingly. Fedyor and Ivan have been together for four months at this point, are returning to the Little Palace from their first separation as a couple and have some making up for lost time to do. They have not managed to make it to a bedroom and are getting started on said actions on the wall of a nearby antechamber, when Kirigan thinks of something he apparently forgot to tell Ivan on the road and pushes the door open imperiously, not bothering to knock. "Ivan! If those Fjerdans were already at Arkesk, then we need to -- "

There is a monumentally panicked scramble as Ivan, the stern, unflappable, terrifying Heartrender captain of the Second Army physically dives away, hits the ground, rolls over and over while frantically trying to lace his trousers up, and Fedyor has lunged with equal dispatch behind a sofa. There he crouches, likewise attempting in vain to restore his clothing, as Kirigan comes to a halt and looks around quizzically. "Ivan?"

"Moi... soverenyi," Ivan pants, climbing to his feet and brushing floor dust off his kefta. "I did not -- I thought you were -- "

"I seem to have interrupted something?" Kirigan arches a sleek dark brow. He catches sight of Fedyor, then shakes his head. "Oh, Ivan. You really could do better."

At the look of pure rage on Ivan's face, a look he has never seen before in relation to him, the Black General blinks, and even he thinks better of picking this fight. "Ah," he says. "My apologies. Congratulations, of course. I hope you two will be very happy."

Neil Josten wears a gold band around his left ring finger and is absolutely cheating on his partner.

Before he ever joined the Santa Fe Cougars, Josten was part of a pride campaign for Nike. So was Andrew Minyard. It was a big deal. The interviews around it said every athlete in the campaign was LGBTQ. Josten talked about his husband. Minyard talked about queer foster kids.

That, the Cougars speculate, is where Josten and Minyard reconnected. They went to college together, separated when Minyard moved to Santa Fe and Josten moved to Jersey, saw each other again at this campaign, and then, a year later, were on the same team again.

None of the Cougars have ever met Josten’s husband. Even at team parties, Josten never brings him around. Probably he thinks it would be too risky.

None of them have gotten close enough to Minyard to figure out his relationship status. But, the Cougars collectively believe, Minyard’s relationship status can only possibly make a bad situation worse.

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I can’t believe people think that the lgbtq+ agenda is being shoved down our throats even though there are currently three kissing booth movies

ohhhh the detail of Finbar being Skug's nephew is inchresting 👀 though it makes me wonder if in your hc they know about it?

They do!

See, Finbar and Skug always felt like kind of an odd relationship.

Finbar isn't the sort of company Skug normally keeps - if you look at basically all his friends (except Scapegrace, who adopts him in much the same way a dirty stray cat adopts a random family) they tend to be very classy, highly intelligent, vaguely olde-worlde, verbal sparring sorts. Finbar is a punk rock stoner who barely knows where he is half the time and constantly forgets that Skug doesn't know his wife. But it's never mentioned how they met, or why Skug trusted Finbar enough to leave his emergency cache with him, or why Finbar sometimes treats Skug like family (i.e., calling him his kid's "Uncle Skulduggery").

So in my headcanon, it goes a little something like this:

Like? Petulance meets her husband while she's fixing planes for the brits during World War I. He's a pilot. They marry in the middle of the war, say ~1916.

Finbar is born ~1938, and once the war starts, he's looked after by his father's parents during the daytime while Petulance is working.

~1940. Petulance's husband is shot down in a dogfight. Finbar is the one who tells her daddy is dead - days before the authorities turn up on her doorstep to officially tell her she's a widow. She's inconsolable. Skug comes over from Ireland to support her, which is the first time he's ever met her son. He offers to bring her back to Dublin, set her up with whatever she needs, but she doesn't want to uproot her son from from his dad's home. Skug stays to help out, because she's struggling, and she's his favourite, and he has never not been there when she needed him.

1941. Height of the Blitz. She gets a call at some silly hour of the morning - her MIL has had an accident and has been admitted to hospital. She leaves toddler Finbar in Skug's care while she goes to be there for her MIL.

She never comes home. The hospital is a direct hit. Finbar is an orphan.

He's too little to really have a say in his custody. Skug makes the same offer of support to Petulance's FIL, if he'll raise the boy. The old man doesn't want to stay in London without his wife and son, so he takes Finbar and goes back to Ireland with Skug, away from the war. For most of Finbar's childhood, he's raised by his grandpa, with a generous monthly stipend from Skug to make sure they don't want for anything. There are very occasional, sporadic visits. But Finbar looks like Petulance, and most of the time Skug just...can't. It's too raw.

When Finbar's visions start getting more upsetting and more frequent, grandpa doesn't know what to do. He's aware of magic, but he doesn't trust it, and he prefers to pretend it doesn't exist. Eventually he reaches out to Skug, who pulls some strings at the Sanctuary to get info on Sensitives in County Dublin and - oh, how fortunate - finds one he knows. He puts Finbar in touch with Cassie, and she trains him to use his magic responsibly.

She's a hippie in the 60s, and when the 70s and 80s come around, Finbar gets really into the punk movement and feels like he fits in somewhere for the first time and becomes just. Really rooted in that whole subculture, which is a huge difference between him and Skulduggery "Got Tortured To Death For And Gaslit For A Century By Government, Continues To Work For Said Government" Pleasant, but also gives them something to bond over, because. Petulance was a revolutionary; she had Strong Opinions on Irish independence, she was a suffragette, she would've been very proud of her highly anti-establishment son. And that's bittersweet for both of them.

As with all Handbook stuff, I share credit with @thats-so-craven