#iva talks

[doingitforbokuto]

I have so many thoughts about Ned Stark it's rotting my brain

[biscuitmir]

Hi I'm Iva, and this blog was formerly known as iva-veliciano ^^ I mainly draw usuk (hetalia), so you'll be bombarded by that 99% of the time :^) Making a pinned post of my other socials since tumblr allows it now: ♠Instagram - I'm very active there, but my IG has minimal usuk. I guess if you're interested in my misc/life ramblings/posting that's the place for it. ♠Twitter - RT heavy (usuk + minimal others) my works are hidden fast :V ♠Bluesky - This is... just there. ♠Pixiv - Haven't updated this in ages but I got it too. And my tumblr here.. which will have most, if not all my shared works :V

[artkaninchenbau]

A h-heartfelt reunion..?

Bonus

[dkettchen]

she would've told them unlike her canon! version who decided not to be an ally smh

[tinukis]

not only is he shaking, but you can hear how scarred he was in his voice. while he did succeed in his mission, there were still things he 'failed' during it even though there wasn't a choice. plus, he saw imu and barely escaped the gorosei. he is shaken up by that day

and not to make things worse or anything... (as i think about this a lot and did mention it before...) imagine sabo checking luffy's vivre card and helplessly watching it burn away. when he swore- /vowed/ to be by his brother's side no matter where he was. but all is good cause luffy's alive !!

still, despite the mission's success, he couldn't do what he wanted. he couldn't save cobra and he watched lulusia disappear. he's badly injured yet when he returned, he smiles and laughs as he is happily welcomed in arms.

and mind you, sabo Is an emotional person. he was raging when he saw kuma's state during the start of reverie. and as i looked back at chapter 1085, he screams out cobra's name as he watches him die...

imagine how sabo feels in that very moment. how he feels watching someone he wanted to save die in front of him. even though cobra told him not to, sabo tried anyway but couldnt. like how he couldnt protect his brothers because he didnt remember them until it was too late

[suddencolds]

insatiable appetite [1/?]

sooo... this is one of the thirstiest things i have written—and also one of the only times i've written a character with the kink, ever T.T warnings in advance for mess, character getting sneezed on, implied contagion, possible ooc-ness, & me writing this entirely with my d instead of my head

ivan and till are from al//ien sta//ge (a very fun watch which will only take 30 mins out of your life; i really recommend it!!). that said, this fic takes place in a modern au setting, so feel free to read it without any prior context :)

special thanks to @6pmsoup for sending me a very cute alnst doodle of these two which altered my brain chemistry permanently

—

Summary: Till shows up to a dinner outing with a brewing cold. Ivan suffers. (est. relationship, kink!Ivan, ~2k words)

—

For all Till tries to hide it, Ivan can tell immediately.

There’s this: Ivan has been paying attention to Till for most of his life. A full decade before they’d gotten together officially, and some more—this is how long Ivan has had to observe his tells. Always from the sidelines, always with a detached air of indifference that, in reality, was anything but.

All the signs are there the night before. Till, turning up the thermostat a couple degrees higher than he usually keeps it. Spending a little too long in the shower and using up almost all of the hot water. Clearing his throat one too many times in the morning before Ivan leaves for work, his smile distracted, the rasp of his voice nearly indistinguishable—but only nearly.

Now, Till is here for dinner—it’s a dinner they’ve had plans for a couple weeks now, at one of the nicer restaurants downtown, in celebration of Till’s recent promotion. Ivan had booked the reservation a couple weeks in advance.

When Till arrives, stepping out of a taxi cab, he’s wearing a scarf, even though the weather is too warm for it. Ivan steps up to meet him. 

“Sorry I’m late,” Till says. “Traffic here was the worst I’ve ever seen it, swear to god.”

“Was it cold outside today?” Ivan asks, a little pointedly, tilting his head towards his scarf.

Till looks at him, his expression unreadable. Then he nods. “Colder than usual, for this time of year.”

“Strange,” Ivan says, just to be difficult. “But the weather forecast says it’s the same temperature today as yesterday.” 

“It’s probably just windier today,” Till says, readjusting his scarf around his neck. His face is a little flushed.

“Your voice sounds a little off, though.”

Till clears his throat with a scowl. “You must be imagining it,” he says. “It always sounds like this.”

No admission, then. That’s fine. Ivan will get the truth out of him at some point. He lets Till guide him into the restaurant.

It’s a nice restaurant—worth the hassle of the reservation, Ivan thinks. Each table is set with flowers arranged tastefully in long glass vases, empty wine glasses turned on their heads. The server—who leads them to their table in a small, private booth—is wearing a suit.

It’s a shame, really. Ivan has a feeling that he won’t be able to pay attention to any of that tonight.

They sit. Ivan looks down at the menu, picks out something at random in a matter of seconds. Truthfully, he can hardly think of anything less worth his attention right now. He turns his attention to Till instead—Till, who’s seated directly across from him, the scarf still around his neck, obscuring the lower half of his face. 

Till sniffles, reaching down to turn the page, and oh. The sniffle is terribly liquid—has he been sniffling like that all afternoon? Perhaps it’s a good thing that they work at different offices—Till at a law firm, Ivan as a senior manager at a consulting company—because Ivan certainly doesn’t think he’d be able to get any work done with Till sniffling like that. 

It’s not two minutes later that Till is reaching up to wipe his nose against the back of one knuckle. All in all, it’s discreet. Just a quick brush of the fingers against his nose, which is still hidden under the scarf. Though, the look of sheer ticklishness that passes over his features for a brief moment there is...

“What are you thinking of ordering?” Ivan asks.

“I can’t decide,” Till answers. He turns the page again. “It’s between the ribeye steak and the… snf! The pork belly. Is this the kind of place that skimps on the portion sizes?”

“Not from their Yelp reviews,” Ivan says. “You know, if you really can’t decide, I can flip a coin.”

“I’ll pick,” Till says. “Why? Hungry already?”

He looks up, now. His eyes are a little watery. There’s a faint flush over the bridge of his nose. Ivan thinks that if he reached out and touched him, he’d probably be running warm. The thought is almost unbearable.

“Your taxi did take forever to arrive,” Ivan says, by way of explanation. 

“Did you really wait that long?”

He looks uncertain, for a moment. Ivan says, “Not at all. But you know, I’m always impatient when it comes to you.”

Till rolls his eyes, but it’s fond. “There was a meeting that ran late. I wasn’t avoiding you.”

“Is that also a part of your new position?” “I guess so, yeah.”

“I can see why they were eager to promote you, then,” Ivan says. “How productive can late afternoon meetings be, anyways?”

Till snorts. “Not that important. It definitely could have been an email instead. I was about ready to doze off.”

He sniffles again. “Okay. I think I know what I want.” The way he says know betrays the slightest hint of congestion. 

“At long last,” Ivan says, just to be a little bit of an ass. “I’ll call over the waiter.”

He flags their waiter down, waits for Till to order first.

“A spiced apple cider,” Till adds on, at the end, with the slightest of coughs. “Hot, if you can.”

That’s new, too. Till seldom orders hot drinks at restaurants, though he’ll drink tea without complaint if it’s offered. Perhaps his throat hurts, then, from the cold that has clearly started to settle in his system. Subtle, still, but Ivan is familiar with colds like this. He knows it will probably only be a few hours before this deceptively “small” cold turns into…

Ivan orders, too, and thanks the waiter, who leaves with a curt nod. When he looks back over to Till, there’s a… strange something to Till’s expression, a slight distractedness. Irritation.

Ivan swallows hard. He should look away. 

He should, but then, Till’s breath hitches. He pulls the scarf higher over his face preemptively, as if he anticipates having something to have to cover for. The sharp intake of breath that follows is breathy, though Ivan can hear Till’s voice in it. He should really look away.

Instead, he takes the scene in, painstakingly, little by little, as Till’s shoulders jerk forwards. As Till presses a hand to the scarf, presses the fabric closer to his face, to muffle a sneeze into his fingertips:

“hhH-Ih!! hiHH-’IESCHH-eew-!”

God. It sounds utterly miserable, the harsh release of it scraping against his throat, the spray tearing into his scarf. It’s the kind of cold sneeze that is undeniably telling: this is going to be one hell of a cold. It’s not very quiet, either, even muffled into the fabric.

For more reasons than one, Ivan is glad they’re in a private corner of the restaurant, not somewhere more public.

“Bless you,” he offers, once he can trust himself to speak. It’s a good thing that Till is too distracted to look up at him right now. Ivan isn’t sure he can keep what he’s feeling off of his face.

Truthfully, he isn’t sure he’s going to be able to endure a whole night of this.

The problem here is that Till—Till, of all people; Till, who Ivan has been pathetically in love with for almost as long as he can remember—has no idea about Ivan’s… relatively niche interests. That is to say, he has no idea what effect it has on Ivan when he does that.

“Thanks,” Till says, a little stuffily. He sniffles again, lowering his hand. 

Ivan can’t help it. He knows he shouldn’t pursue this line of questioning, but he can feel his self-control dwindling by the second. “Don’t you think it would be better to take off your scarf, now that we’re inside?”

Till freezes. “Y-You know what,” he says evasively. “It’s pretty cold in here.”

Ivan tilts his head in question. “And just how do you plan on eating like that?”

“I’ll take it off when our food comes.”

“I can ask the waiter to turn the temperature up, if it’s a problem,” Ivan says. 

“It’s not a problem.”

Ivan rises from his seat. Till watches him, perplexed, as he heads to the opposite side of the table, where Till is seated.

When he gets there, he stops. Stands, unmoving, so he can study Till from above. 

“What are you—”

Ivan reaches out, settles his palm across Till’s forehead. As expected, it’s warm. Not quite feverish, which is a good sign, but warm enough to be notable. 

“Just how long were you intending to hide this?”

Till stares back at him, wide-eyed. “Hide what?”

Shouldn’t it be obvious? “The fact that you have a cold.”

“I didn’t think it was worth mentioning,” Till says, slowly.

“Hmm.” Ivan drops his hand to his side. He is a little concerned, now. “We could’ve called a rain check.”

This time Till really does roll his eyes. “For the reservation we planned weeks ahead?” he sniffles again. “That just sounds completely and utterly unnecessary. Are you the type of person to call things off just over a little cold?” 

Ivan leans over, tugs down the edge of Till’s scarf. Till bats his hand away just a moment too late, cups his other hand over his face to shield his face from view. For a moment, he looks faintly mortified.

Then his expression settles into something more disgruntled. “What are you doing?” he hisses.

So uncooperative. “Let me see,” Ivan says. Slowly, gently, he pries Till’s hands away from his face, and then—because the restaurant is dimly lit—tilts Till’s face up slightly so that it catches more of the overhead light. 

Till’s nose is redder than usual. He’s probably been rubbing it all afternoon, if the redness that percolates into his cheeks is any indication. There’s  a damp, liquid sheen on the underside of his nose.

“What’s there to see?” Till says, a little crossly.

“Your face, since you’ve been so intent on hiding it under that scarf,” Ivan says, leaning in to get a better look.

Till scowls at him, but there’s no heat to it. “You see my face every day.”

“On the contrary, I don’t see it nearly enough,” Ivan says. “And you hardly ever get sick. Is it so wrong for me to be concerned?”

Without looking, he reaches behind him with one hand to grab a couple cocktail napkins. The other hand he keeps held up to Till’s cheek. 

But then, Till’s breath hitches. “Wait,” he says. Panic flashes through his face. “Ivan, move, I—”

Oh. Well, seeing as there’s no way he’ll be able to get the napkins over in time, it looks like he’ll have to improvise. If Till wants to cover, Ivan can help with that. He moves his hand to cup it loosely over Till’s mouth. Not a second too late, it seems. Till jerks forward unceremoniously, his nose twitching, his eyes squeezing shut.

“hHheh-! HHh’EIITShHh’yYiew!” he gasps sharply. Two? “Hh-! hHiiH’DSSCSSHh-IIew!”  

The jolt of the sneezes is practically electrifying—all of that force, brought to an abrupt halt behind Ivan’s waiting palm. He feels the expulsion of air against his skin, the warmth of Till’s breath, feels the slight dampness behind his hand as the spray mists over his fingertips.

Ivan swallows, hard. Thank god it’s so dark here, otherwise Till might notice what this is doing to him. 

“Bless you,” he says, withdrawing his hand at last to wipe it on one of the cloth napkins. It comes out slightly raspier than he intends it to, though perhaps it’s a miracle that he’s still able to talk at all. “Some cold, hmm?” Belatedly, he hands Till the stack of napkins.

Till practically snatches them from him, turns aside to blow his nose wetly into the top few. The way he sniffles afterwards suggests that his nose is still very much running. 

“Do you have no self preservation? It’s as if you want to catch this,” Till says, drawing back with another sniffle.

Oh, Ivan thinks, fighting back a shiver. That would be far from the worst thing.

[newvegascowboy]

before he experiences The Horrors (again)

[charsui]

So I'm at the Impel Down arc and I wanna talk about a few things:

1) Ivankov is an icon and the queer community should be more like them, accepting of all those who are masc, femme, none, both. Just what we need to be

2) Crocodile is absolutely a trans man, that's just obvious.

3) Buggy and Mr 3 are quite clearly a couple and I wanna watch a rom com series about them. Or some sort of animation AU for them living in San Francisco.

[leaddyart]

[god] came down from her boat to tell me i'm a man

[clearancecreedwatersurvival]

Crocodad was just a fun silly little theory I’d heard about UNTIL I got to the end of impel down and well. Not so silly now.

[onepiece-polls]

can you do a poll on who people think gave the ASL Brothers the sex talk? with the options being:

Garp

Makino

Dadan

Magra/Dogra/another bandit

Sabo himself (he read about it in a book and told the others)

they learned from different people (the Shanks or the Straw hats for Luffy / the Spades or the Whitebeards for Ace / and the Revs for Sabo)

they just saw some animals having sex in the forest and figured it out

they accidentally walked in on people having sex and figured it out

no one, they have never had the sex talk

multiple of these

any other options you want to add

~

(I like to think that they saw some animals or people fucking in the terminal/forest and then asked Dadan who was like "I don't get paid enough to explain that to you," so then Sabo does some research about it in books and learns about sex that way and tries to explain it to Ace and Luffy who don't pay attention, then Garp comes around one day and is like "I'm gonna give you the birds and bees talk" (to which Luffy is disappointed isn't actually about birds and bees) but all Garp tells them is to always use a condom no matter what. which is good advice but like that's it. he doesn't actually explain what sex is or even what a condom is or how to use one, just to always use one. so they don't actually gain much knowledge from that.)

I've given this too much thought and I want to know what other people think. Thank you.

Lololol, yeah, here we go.

[moongothic]

Crocodile and dragon meeting because Ivankov introduces them is a cute au idea….you go to the queer pope for magic HRT and through whatever compulsive small talk they decide that you would be *perfect* for their less powerful token cis bestfriend

Describing Iva-chan as the Queer Pope is so fucking funny though oh my god

Part of me feels like it'd be funnier if Ivankov assumed both Croc and Dragon were straight, so they were introducing the two so they could literally be Just Friends (esp because you'd assume they aren't each other's type to begin with)

So when Iva-chan then accidentally walks in on the two smooching they just

[applecherry108]

Being so absurdly late to the game in terms of one piece is insane bc how am I just now finding out that there’s a prevailing fan theory that Crocodile was born female. I thought it was just a silly fandom gag, what the fuck do you mean it could be potentially true?? 😭

[cosmicrhetoric]

i don't know if fishman island era sanji is genuine flanderization or im somehow giving him too much and too little credit at the same time. and maybe i was just frustrated that he regressed so bad after two years on Gender Island when i erroneously assumed (after watching iva + co at impel down express that queerness is as close to the ultimate ideal of freedom that one piece is about as you can get) that he would be better for the experience. and i know im going to turn around on him by the time i get to whole cake island but literally brother can we cut this shit out lmao

[mugiwarafan]

btw i need someone to send in a request in the sbs for oda to draw the potential hybrid form for dragon-iva if he'd eaten the fruit

[hauntingblue]

Luffy and his big ass godmother iva san and godfather jinbe