#i might put him back later because that's diabolical

[keelywolfe]

Around when did Charlie give Alastor the shovel talk? And did she figure it out before the story even began?

Mmmm, I think she suspected from almost the beginning. She grew up in Hell, she can note the difference between arguing and arguing with intense sexual tension, and also the sudden decrease in public arguments.

I can see her talking it out with Vaggie in their room at night. Vaggie, being a former angel, is horrified to think Lucifer, also a former angel, is letting that nasty radio demon put his hands on him, but Charlie insists it makes sense, sure compatible are drawn together (her and Vaggie) but opposites also attract!

And sure, it's a little...uh...weird...to think of her dad being with Alastor of all people, but Charlie can't help but notice her dad seems a little calmer, easier in his own skin. When he first got to the hotel he was all manic energy, desperate to be helpful, and as much as she understood the reason behind it, she didn't know how to reassure him it was okay. The only thing that would make him believe he wasn't going to lose her again if he said or did the wrong thing was time.

(Cutting because this got long)

So she started family dinner nights to give her dad a chance to be around her little found family, and she warned everyone else off of drinking the last of Alastor's coffee before her dad got a cup, and she watched her dad lose some of that 'King of Hell' protective shell and become more just...him. Her dad, who told her stories she'd never heard before about her childhood and showed her his sketchbook--

(and dad, really, trying to hide your relationship with Alastor and you had THAT sketch right there? Crying out loud, he might as well have drawn little hearts around it! She even tried to give him an out by asking if he sketched anyone else and he so obviously didn't. She still wasn't sure if she was relieved or irritated that Angel interrupted him, she was morbidly curious what her dad would come up with.)

--and her dad seems to be settling into the hotel better. And sure, he has a few moments, (finding him obviously fresh from the bar if not drunk was a little surprising but not a daily event) but all and all, Alastor seems to have been good for him. Something for him to push against that had no qualms about pushing back and if that was something her dad needed? She was glad Alastor could give it to him. But yeah, she also totally gave him the shovel talk, probably right after Alastor's little tantrum in the city where he ate the guy having the nasty fantasies about Charlie, and (she didn't know the details, Husk only told her quietly Alastor was protecting the hotel and she believed him) she walked in on her dad and Alastor standing suspiciously far apart in the parlor. Lucifer looked about as innocent as a kitten standing over a container of spilled cream and Alastor never looks innocent. She would have stalked right up to Alastor later that day and told him, "I know you and my dad are sleeping together!" Because asking Alastor questions when you want answers is always a mistake, he is a slippery little bastard and managed to slither his way out of answering with a laugh and a 'Oh, my dear, you and your ideas!' all too often.

Ask him directly, interrupt him before he can prevaricate, and you'll eventually dig a path to the truth. Especially since Lucifer never specifically told him to lie about it when directly asked. "What of it?"

And hey, stories about her dad were highly exaggerated, that's pretty obvious to anyone who ever meets him. Stories about her mother? Not so much and Charlie knows things Alastor would never dream she might, not even in his deepest, darkest nightmares, and if he hurts her dad, he'll learn about each and every one of them. But...if you just want to be with him, that's okay, Just don't tell him I know, not yet, I want to give him the chance to tell me! "It is such a joy to have the opportunity to see the more diabolical side of your mind in action, my dear. Rumor leads me to believe your mother would be proud."

"Thanks a lot. Just don't tell him I know, okay?"

"Agreed. The entertainment value promises to increase by the day!"

"What did I just say about hurting him?"

"Ah, ah, this wouldn't be me hurting him, now would it?"

"No, no, no, not another word, I know you, you'll get me thinking this is a bad idea! Just don't be doing any weird plotting or deals or voodoo magic to him, all right??"

"I assure you, Charlie, dear, when I am with your father, such things are the last on my mind. In fact--"

"No details!!!"

"As you wish." So yeah, I think it went something like that. 😂

[jesterday00]

adding some story stuff under the cut so the post isn't super long on mobile n stuff, also there's some major spoilers from the first and second games (Curious Village and Diabolical Box). I recommend emulating them or buying the HD versions off the app store.

Please don't spoil anything! I've only finished Curious Village and am I think half way through Diabolical box. I've already had a few things spoiled, though they're admittedly minor.

So my idea for the story is as follows:

Luke and Flora get transported together, giving her some proper screen time. (I'm playing Diabolical Box rn and the fact that she barely does anything before getting swapped with Don Paolo is crazy)

The pair go to a flea market or something, I'm not fully settled yet, and come across an antique (maybe like a thaumatrope, or the Time Turner thing?) that transports them to Hartley's universe. they'll swap with their own counterparts

Because of the transportation, the two feel a bit sick - and confused by a person who seems to have been replaced in an instant - and head back to Layton's office.

On the way, they pass gender-swapped Inspector Chelmey and Barton; this only makes the two more confused, because they're very similar to their main counterparts but are clearly women.

When they arrive back at Layton's office, the door is locked. However, I believe Luke would have a spare for emergencies, and it does indeed work. The other option is that Hershel hides a spare that only Luke and Flora know about, so Hartley would do the same thing and put it in the same spot.

Luke sits down to rest a bit and Flora decides to make some tea. However she notices some cups that Layton didn't have before - they're a bit more feminine than usual, and Flora knows she didn't pick those particular styles. She takes a second to glance around, noticing a lot of admittedly minor changes that were overlooked when they entered the room.

As she goes to bring this to Luke's attention, the door pops open, and Hartley walks in, saying, "Oh! I could've sworn I locked that on my way out."

H: "Oh, hello children! Might I ask who let you into my office?"

L: "We used the sp- Hey, wait! Your office? This is Professor Layton's office!"

H: "That would be me. Did Lou or Florian tell you where the spare was? If so, I'll have to have a word with them."

F: "N-No, we always knew where the spare was, the Professor taught us both where he puts it."

H: "Whoever do you mean, dear?"

L: "Professor Layton, of course!"

H: "My boy, I am Professor Layton. Hartley Layton of Archaeology."

Luke and Flora share startled looks.

L: "They didn't... replace him, did they?"

F: "They couldn't have, not so suddenly! Besides, she has his last name!"

L: "Then what does that mean??"

F: "Luke, I believe this IS Professor Layton... and I think Lou and Florian might be... us."

(Moment of Hartley changing sprite and that cool little "Oh I just realized something" sound)

H: "Well, this is quite an intriguing scenario we have here."

(The screen would split here and show Hartley and Hershel coming to the same realization at the same time. This would probably actually come a bit later? maybe?)

The main story would be Hartley, Luke, and Flora trying to get the kids back home to Hershel and vice versa, and could follow both parties in their attempt to find the antique. If there was a gimmick that allows you to swap at will, it would be cool to have some puzzles only be solvable by swapping to Hershel/Hartley halfway through, though that would be pretty tough.

if anyone has feedback, feel free to share!

Professor Hartley Layton, at your service!

given a recent and sudden hyperfixation on Layton, it was inevitable I'd genderbend him because I love women. I do have an idea for this concept though! like the Layton games have an air of mysticism and slight magic involved (I'm only in the beginning of Diabolical Box, no spoilers pls!) so I could imagine there being a portal or w/e that leads to a world where everyone is genderswapped.

There's a whole story brewing in my head for it rn but it's very "Scraps of ideas and one solid character interaction"

[marveldcmistress]

Henry Cavill’s Characters’ Zodiac Signs

This is (in my opinion) the zodiac vibes I get from each Henry Cavill character. I am not an astrologist, this is just based off my observations of each sign and the energy I get from these characters. If there’s a character I missed or you wanted to see on this list, let me know!!!!

So it’s basically canon that Sy is a bull, and understandable. He gives HELLA Taurus energy. He’s strong, sturdy, a little cocky, but only because he can back up all the hype. He can be stubborn as all hell, which is to be expect from the bullheaded Taurus (my brother was born in May and the boy will never budge in a fight). Negotiations during deployments is hell for his fellow comrades. And just like the grounded earth sign it takes awhile for him to soften up, but when he does, he would do ANYTHING for those he cares about, and that passion can be overwhelming to some. He’s a hard worker, but when he’s not overseas he’s DEFINITELY take some leisure time to himself, he deserves to be lazy! And don’t get started on a Taurus’ appetite. Just like the bull, I see Sy as a grazing type, munching on little snacks throughout the day, but will not hesitate to tear it up at dinner time, and his desert ;)

August is a Scorpio. I feel like this doesn’t need an explanation, but I’m gonna give you one anyway. As a CIA Agent/Terrorist, the man can’t trust anyone. Ever. Just like how a Scorpio takes forever to trust, he makes sure to know every detail about anyone he encounters. Scorpios also shroud themselves in mystery and secrecy. He’s proved time and again in the movie that he would kill to keep his secret diabolical plan from getting out. And it’s also cannon on tumblr that he’s obsessive. God help you if a Scorpio catches a liking to you, cause once they do, you are theirs FOREVER, whether you like it or not. Oh, and don’t even THINK about trying to have the control around August, it’s just not gonna happen. 

Charles is a Leo, through and through. Those who meet him think he’s arrogant, self-centered, and in those first couple seasons, they were right. He’s definitely full of himself, but we do get to see little peeks at the insecurity he feels deep down at being born lower class. Leos are very insecure, though they try to hide it (trust me, all of our confidence is fake, coming from a Leo herself), but the way his face falls when his title (or lack of) is brought up in the first season, not to mention in the later seasons when he starts to contemplate his own actions and morals after doing what he did on Henry’s orders. Now, I know what some might say, “but Tay, Leos are so loyal!” And they are! His infidelity to Margaret was born of his own ego and arrogance. But his loyalty to HENRY?? After all the bullshit he put Charles through? Only a Leo could have a heart so big as to still love and advise a friend who treated them so. And the way he lights up a room! Much like the sun, Leo’s ruling planet, Charles lit up court. He always looks good, outfits pristine and his hair always so perfectly groomed. I can go on forever, but Imma stop here. 

Walter just ooooozes Virgo energy. Work-aholic, perfectionist, never relaxes. Sometimes a little blunt, but only because they don’t have time to sugarcoat shit. But also like the earth sign, he’s consistent. You can always trust he will do the right thing and be there at the right time. Can also smell bullshit from a mile away, which is a wonderful skill set for his job. I also feel like he’s really good at budgeting and money management. 

Mikey is a Sagittarius, there’s no changing my mind. His wild and care-free personality really shines through in the movie. And just like Walter he’s blunt. “He’s dead Chelsea, time move on.” Only a Sagg has the audacity! And the entire movie all he is concerned with is having a good time and hooking up. In my limited interactions with Sagittarius men, that’s really all they cared about. I feel like if he wasn’t killed off in the movie, he could have definitely evolved into a more defined character. 

Geralt just gives Capricorn energy. So focused on his work, and very stoic in his emotions. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel them, he just buries them, deep, deep, DEEP down. And just like Scorpio it takes ALOT for him to open up. But when he does, BOYYYY. Fuck with the people he loves. I’ve also never met a Cap that isn’t determined to do EVERYTHING on their own (my sister is the best example. Full time vet student on top of two full time jobs, constantly refusing help when offered). He’s definitely an over-thinker. He stays up at night thinking through every scenario and preparing for any situation. But he’s sturdy and strong and loyal, if a little abrupt and abrasive at times. Hates people and gets along so much better with animals, and again, I’ve never met a Capricorn who like human beings over dogs, or in his case, Roach. 

Sherlock is an Aquarius. It just makes the most sense to me. Not good with emotions at all, and this is coming from experience of having an Aquarius mother and dating an Aquarius man for three months. He’s an intellectual, and individual, and values that individuality. Not to mention the job that is very outside of the social norms. Aquarians are uninterested in being like the rest, which is a perfect description for Sherlock. Also doesn’t miss a single detail, can pick up on the slightest change in energy. Most people see Aquarius as strange, almost alien-like, and Sherlock for sure stands out. He values his solitude and alone time. I feel like if he were to be in modern times, would hella ghost someone if he felt like they were getting to close and encroaching on his privacy. 

Clark Kent. My sweet baby, my Kansas farm boy. He’s a Libra, absolutely. His sense of justice and constant battle for balance wouldn’t allow him to be anything else. His need to use his powers for good to save people shines just as bright as the sunlight he gets his strength from is sometimes overshadowed by his darker side of just finally snapping and becoming the GOD he knows he is. And have you ever seen a pissed off Libra? Those red eyes are not just for show. Momma Kent did a good job of raising our boy to be a good-hearted man, but that Kryptonian blood will not relent so easily. But he loves deeply and won’t hesitate to make decisions when it comes to those he loves. Making sure they are well and safe and happy is not something he has to make a pros and cons list for. 

I know I’ve made a post saying I think Napoleon is a Leo, and I still kinda feel that way. But I can also see him being a Gemini. Now the big stereotype surrounding Geminis is that they’re two-faced. But in reality they’re a mirror. The energy you give them is the energy you are gonna receive. Being a spy, he has to learn to be a chameleon, he changes with every environment but can also blend in and be unseen. He’s only loyal to the CIA because he has to be, you can bet your lucky stars when those chains are gone he can flip the script on them in a heartbeat. But also like a typical Gemini he’s charming, knows exactly how attractive he is and uses that to his full advantage.

[sublimecatgalaxy]

can you do one with Klaus finding out he has a daughter. I was thinking maybe he finds out he has a teenage daughter when Hope is a kid or a baby?

uhhh yeah, I'll try my best haha

I was wondering where to go with this or what/how to do this but I think this is good enough :)

I know he can hear my heartbeat from across the room, his usually cocky, stoic expression is something closer to fearful, confused, betrayed. His eyes flicker between me and the teen to my left, her arm wrapped around mine as she looks around the streets of New Orleans.

I knew that there was a chance of seeing him here, it is his home after all, the place he runs and oversees. It appears that even after the years we've been apart, the beautiful town hasn't fallen apart just yet, still hanging on by a thread as the different supernatural groups continue to fight for their rightful place, Klaus' place.

When I say 'many years' that have passed, I mean that it's been almost thirteen years, parting ways after our one night together. I left a few weeks later, the eight, positive pregnancy tests on the counter scaring me away from ever seeing him ever again, needing to put as much distance between him and his diabolical ways, raising my child- his child- in the safety of my own arms.

I didn't know Klaus then for that long, the sexual tension between us more important than any type of 'getting to know each other'. I knew that he was dangerous, that he already had other women lined up behind me and that I would just become a means to an end at some point.

So I ran. Until now.

I wanted to come back mainly to visit his sister Rebekah, worried about her after weeks of missed texts, calls, emails, hell even physical letters. She's been my best friend, even through all of my Klaus drama and she's obviously my biggest supporter because I can tell from the look on Klaus' face that he wasn't aware that I was indeed pregnant when I left New Orleans over a decade ago.

He's the first one to start approaching us, my daughter glancing up at me, obviously sensing an awkward or potentially odd situation. But as Klaus approaches us, the dots connect in her head.

I was more than honest with her that her father was a bit of an interesting person and that we were better off without him for all those years. But she's more than aware that he lives here with her Auntie Beks and that there was a possibility that we could see him on this trip.

"Mom, is that-" She asks and I nod before she can finish, clearing my throat as Klaus steps up to us, his eyes trailing over me first before looking over to the girl beside me, her eyes wide and cheeks flushed.

"Ladies." He greets politely, his gaze nervous as it flutters back to meet my glance. "I believe the phrase to use in this type of situation is 'long time no see', yes?" He offers, his jaw tight as I take a shuttered breath in, biting at the inside of my cheek.

"Hi Klaus." I mutter, my eyes flickering around, avoiding his prying gaze. "We were just looking for your sister, do you know where she is by any chance?" I deflect, my arm moving to wrap tightly around the anxious child next to me, her eyes not moving off of Klaus as all the pieces fall together in her mind. I can tell he's doing the same, his gaze fluttering over to her every once in a while when there's a gap of awkward silence.

"I believe that's the question of the hour, love. No one seems to be able to locate my dear sister." He huffs, linking his hands infront of him as he visibly gulps. "I believe we haven't been properly introduced. Who might you be?" His attention turns to the obvious, small elephant in the room to my left, her whole body trembling.

"Piper, I'm Piper." She smiles softly, sticking out her hand for him to shake, her forwardness taking him off guard as he chuckles, slipping his hand into hers.

"Very nice to meet you, Piper." He smiles nervously.

"My daughter." I add before she can, knowing that she wouldn't know how to properly explain or understand the oddity of this situation that we're currently in. She knew this would come some day or another but I'm not sure Klaus did. He looks completely and utterly shocked and I wouldn't be surprised if he told me that he thought he'd never see me again. I'm sure he thought that we were just one and done, moving on with our lives. But with Piper, it wasn't that simple. And now that he knows she exists, I'm not sure if there's anything I can do to prevent him from getting to know her, from getting to know me.

"Well, it explains why you're so beautiful. I believe your mother is possibly the most beautiful, captivating woman I've ever had the pleasure of coming across." Klaus grins sweetly, my heart fluttering a bit at his compliment, not expecting him to take this so well, to choose kindness over homicide.

"She might be cute but she gets her attitude from her father." Piper chuckles next to me, her eyes rolling as Klaus' eyes tick up at the obvious joke, his chest rumbling in a knowing laugh. "She's a spitfire, aren't you kid?" I pull her to my side, pressing a kiss to the top of my head as we all fall into a comfortable silence.

The look that Klaus and I share next is simple, no anger or bitterness, just simple fondness and familiarity, almost a silent agreement as our daughter begins to tell a story to fill the space.

[adarlingmess]

Ugnayan

Summary:

Filipino word, noun: connection between persons, groups, countries, etc.

A collection of works detailing a manananggal clan’s relations with the Treses, and their allies.

II: Bad Habits

Summary: After disrupting one of House of Arko’s operations, one of the Kambal meets up with their informant.

Words: 4540

Characters: Basilio, Crispin, Sabina (OC), Alexandra Trese (mentioned only), Ammie (mentioned only), Reyna Manananggal (mentioned only), Dominic Villaceran (mentioned only), Mama Grande (mentioned only)

Relationships: Basilio/Original Female Character

Language: English, with a few Filipino words and phrases sprinkled in.

Rating: 16+

Warnings: Strong language, violence, mentions of abortion, references to human trafficking + sexual trafficking, sexual themes

Author’s Notes:

I am: back on my bullshit again

People were looking for a part 2 so have more Basilio x OC stuff. Spoiler warning for Verdugo: Takutan because this story heavily references its lore and events! The comics are known to be darker in tone, and so is this fic, so heed the warnings above. No Taglish version this time, Darling niyo pagod na 😩

This was supposed to be a simple job.

Get in, rough up House of Arko’s operation while Bossing is paying them a visit in their mansion, get out, and watch as Bossing confronts them about it at the next social gathering they’ll host.

But nothing was ever simple about the aswang, right?

Now there’s a huge one trying to eat Basilio alive.

“Damn it, Basilio. Your recklessness is a bad habit that’ll bite us in the ass later!” his older brother berates him.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever! Now might be the right time to call for backup kuya,” he strains, attempting to pull the  magubat’s jaw apart with his superhuman strength. His fingers slip from the drool and it almost bites his hands off.

Crispin’s busy with a horde of mailap, taking turns in taking pot shots from him in the shadows. “We should’ve taken a page from Carlos’ book and brought palm fronds. Who should we call?”

“What about Maliksi?” Basilio suggests.

“What’s one tikbalang to all these aswangs? We need something bigger, maybe a higante to take on that magubat!”

“Gago, a higante can’t get here as fast as a tikbalang!” Basilio snaps.

“Mas gago ka! What about that playmate of ours from when we were kids, y’know, the one that tipped Bossing off about this whole trafficking operation anyway? Think she can fly her way here?” Crispin growls, shooting down a mailap who was foolish enough to ambush the more cautious twin from above.

Ah, yes. Sabina.

Boyish, intimidating, hard to figure out- but still hot enough to flirt with, despite being aswang; that’s how Basilio would describe her. This Sab was a far cry from the Sabina Marie he once knew years ago, the one who used to wear an all-girl Catholic school uniform, shyly shared her snacks and books with him, and kissed him farewell when her mama told her she’ll not be coming with her to meetings with the lakan anymore.

A few days after they caught up with each other, she turned up at the Diabolical not too long ago with a flash drive for Alex’s eyes only. She didn’t even breathe a word to him, much less look at his direction, but Basilio could only surmise that it’s his fault.

“Sabina? Well, manananggals who follow the queen can shoot. It’s- ungh- worth the shot!” Basilio answers back, straining as he gets swatted to the side with one gigantic claw. “You make the call, my hands are full!”

“Give me your phone, I don’t have her Facespace.”

Basilio looks down from several feet, and gives his brother a sheepish smile. “Uhhh, okay, but she’s been seenzoning me.”

From behind his mask, Crispin frowns. “What did you do?”

“She might’ve seen me tagged in Ammie’s story when I was supposed to watch her gig. I got there when her set was ending, and she was pissed.”

Grumbling, Crispin takes his frustrations off on a mabangis charging towards him, a flurry of bullets raining upon its body. “What did Bossing say about getting personal with informants?”

“What? It’s Sab. She’s-”

“An aswang who might have an ulterior motive in helping us. Tangina Basilio, think with your head sometimes! The one between your shoulders!”

Distracted, Basilio failed to stop the jaws of the magubat from closing in on him. As quickly as his reflexes allow, he tosses his brother his phone.

“Just call already! Tell her it’s an emergency.”

The older Kambal flies up and extends his free hand to catch it. Crispin launches Basilio’s Facespace app and begins to search for their informant. He found her under the name Sab Evasco. Crispin pretended not to see the string of messages Basilio left for her, all left on read.

Her phone rings. One time. Two times. Three times. Crispin dials again. Twice. Thrice.

Someone picks up. He puts the call on the loudspeaker.

There’s someone strumming a guitar in the background, accompanied by a drumset’s cymbals. They come to a halt and Crispin hears a frustrated woman’s voice from the other end of the line.

“Ulol gago, fuck you Basilio, you can tell me if you’d rather go on Starbreaks coffee dates with a wind girl than watch me play.  I’m a grown woman, I can handle a simple ‘no’. I’m not in the mood for your games! Now fuck off, I don’t want to hear from you. I have a gig to practice for.”

Basilio cringes as he listens to Sabina’s tirade. Crispin guns a charging mabangis down, and his mask dematerializes for a brief moment, just enough for him to mouth to his brother “Gago ka talaga.”

“Sabina, it’s Crispin. We could use some backup here. We’re being swarmed by aswang.”

The sound of a guitar being unceremoniously dropped and the mad shuffle to catch it can be heard from Sabina’s line, followed by quick footsteps. Sabina talks again, calmer this time. “What? Couldn’t Basilio get his own ass on the phone and tell me himself?”

With an exasperated expression, Crispin turns on the camera, and points the phone at Basilio, who’s caught between the magubat’s jaws. “He said you were ignoring him, and he can’t get on the phone right now, as you can see.”

The Kambal heard her fumbling with more equipment, which sounded like a guitar case being zipped up and carried. A brief argument with her bandmates follows, then Sabina talks again.

“I’ll be there. Stay on the line.”

Now they wait.

As much as Crispin wanted to help his little brother, his hands were full with the wave after wave of aswang coming after them. They’re relentless. This is their food supply the Kambal are cutting off, after all.

“Any luck with Sab?” Basilio asks, attempting to shoot the roof of the mabangis’ mouth.

The bullets barely penetrate the thick membrane. He’ll need to transform the Armas Infinitum into a more powerful weapon to lobotomize the gigantic aswang, but seeing how he’s separated from his twin, it’s impossible at the moment.

“She said she’s on the way. She’s still on the phone. Here!”

Crispin throws the phone back to Basilio, who catches it with one hand, while his other arm continues to struggle with the magubat trying to swallow him whole. He tucks it in his breast pocket, and he jumps near the row of the magubat’s front teeth, prying it open with both arms.

Through the aswangs’ growls, Basilio could faintly hear a woman cursing and the jingling of keys from the other side of the line.

“Hey Sab! It’s Basilio. Sorry again about missing your gig.”

“Shut up and hang tight. If I didn’t care for you at all...” Sabina snaps. Basilio could barely make out the words Sabina was saying due to the wind and sound of traffic. “I’m on my way.”

“Ngh, can’t you come any sooner? I heard that aswang intestines are nasty.” Basilio pauses, realizing his mistake. “No offense.”

“I said zip it. Isn’t it enough that I went out of hiding and agreed to be Trese’s informant? Now I have to be your backup too?”

“Working with Bossing has its risks. We made that clear, princess.”

“Don’t call me that.”

There’s more turbulence and wind from Sabina’s line. If Basilio guessed, she’s now flying to the scene. The Kambal’s struggle with the aswang continued until they heard their informant’s voice through the speakers again.

“Big bad war demigods can’t handle a single fucking magubat?” Sabina deadpans, the turbulence and noise no longer accompanying her voice. “Open the fucker’s mouth wide. Make sure he’s facing east.”

“Kuya! She’s in the area, help me pry the jaws open!” the younger Kambal shouts to his older brother, who dodges a leaping mailap and quickly flies up to his aid.

“What’s the plan?” Crispin asks, and Basilio shrugs.

“I don’t know, she just asked me to do it!”

Before Crispin could question Basilio, a shot rings throughout the building, and the magubat collapses. The Kambal let go of the heavy jaws and flew away, watching the near-twenty foot aswang crush a few of its regular-sized kind. Upon closer inspection, a bullet has torn its way through the roof of its mouth. It’s a clean shot. The magubat isn’t regenerating, much to the Kambal’s surprise.

It’s a pleasant surprise, nonetheless.

“That’s for trying to eat my brother,” Crispin spits, kicking the dead aswang’s head.

Soon, more of the aswang started dropping like flies, too. Razed by bullets from an unknown assailant, the House of Arko aswangs started to panic.

“Wait a minute, I know manananggals who follow the queen can shoot, but Sabina is a sniper? Do you know about this, Bas?” Crispin exclaims, tearing his eyes away from the dead magubat to face yet another wave of mabangis.

“No! Damn, she’s using special bullets too. Where’d she get those?” Basilio mutters. A mailap attempts an ambush attack, and before he could react, Basilio watches it get shot mid-air as it attempts to jump him.

“You’re mine,” Sabina hisses, her voice crackling through Basilio’s phone speaker, smooth through the static.

Her emphasis on the word “mine” made goosebumps ripple through Basilio’s arm.

“Hot. Could you say that again?”

What he got instead was a groan. “Fuck, don’t distract me Basilio. I’m not here for fun.”

“You seem to be having fun shooting House of Arko’s minions though.”

“Fair. You two better look for the hostages. I have a bone to pick with this lot.”

The Kambal looks at each other, and nods. Glass shatters as they fly out the building’s windows, to the upper floors. After taking care of the guards, they saw them. Men and women in cages, all naked, and herded like livestock. 

“Please, help us,” one of them whimpers, crawling to the front of the cage and grabbing Crispin by the arm. She’s dirty, and her belly is swollen. Basilio turned on the lights and they saw it clear as day: most of these women are pregnant. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what was going on.

House of Arko farms their food, breeding humans like livestock, and harvesting fetuses from them.

Sirens are blaring outside, both from police cars and ambulances, waiting for the hostages to be rescued.

All is well, or so they thought.

“Fuck!”

The cry came from their informant’s line.

“Everything alright?” Basilio asks her after fishing his phone out of his breast pocket.

“There are a few of them who found my vantage point. They’re heading towards my position.”

“Get out of there already, the hostages are secure.”

“They saw me. I can’t let them report back to Mama Grande and her sons that a manananggal is helping you. Suspicion would fall on my clan.”

Crispin nudges his younger brother. “I’ll handle the hostages and wait for Bossing. You make sure our informant’s alright.”

“Way ahead of you kuya,” Basilio replies, taking his guns out and flying out the window.

Under the pale moonlight and the city’s lights, Basilio spots a group of aswang scaling a dilapidated building east of him. On the rooftop, he sees it. Wings black as night, flattened against the concrete. Sabina lies prone and is aiming her scoped hunting rifle downwards, picking off the advancing horde one by one.

“Time to play.” The demigod rushes in and makes bullets rain on the hostiles.

He takes out a mabangis approaching their sniper from her blind spot. Those who didn’t die from being shot fell to their death, regeneration halted either by his or Sabina’s doing.

Basilio descends on the rooftop, and he walks his way towards the manananggal. His mask dematerialized, and the wind tousled his long hair. Just to be safe, he kept a pistol in one hand.

Across him, Sabina takes out her wireless earbuds and puts them away. Then, she slings her rifle on her shoulder, safety on. With her wings, she crawled towards his direction, like how a bat would move. Then, uses her wings’ sharp claws to plant herself on the concrete, a feat regular bats couldn’t do.

“Thanks for the help, Sab. About that gig…”

Before any more words could come out of his mouth, Sabina holds up her forefinger and presses it against his lips. “Shh. No more apologizing about the missed gig. Just make up for it. You owe me.”

Basilio nods, smiling at her. He watches as Sabina fishes out a box of cigarettes and a lighter from her vest. She’s wearing a black, long-sleeved polo shirt underneath it, and its sleeves are rolled up. Her shirt was unbuttoned just enough for him to catch a glimpse of lace peeking through. For all her boyish, edgy posturing, her choice of underclothes is girlier than what Basilio expected.

It almost makes him want to unwrap her like a Christmas present, but he’ll keep that thought to himself.

“Nice outfit. You were rehearsing in that?”

“We had a presentation for a class. No time to get changed. Now there’s a hole in the back, so I might as well wear this more often on future operations,” Sabina replies, placing a stick of Marlborough Reds between her lips.

“I’m in the mood for a smoke and maybe a chat,” she continues. “Join me?”

Basilio nods.

“How did you know about House of Arko’s human trafficking thing, anway?”

“Believe it or not, it was a hunch,” Sabina explains, black fingernails scratching the sparkwheel several times. “Ugh, fucking lighter dying on me again. I just had it refilled… must be the wind,” she growls.

Basilio couldn’t help but chuckle at her frustration. “A hunch?”

“Hmm… maybe hunch isn’t the right word. It’s an educated guess. Mama Grande loved serving boiled fetuses to her house guests, correct?”

Basilio nods, waiting for Sabina to continue her explanation.

“I suppose that it’s my place to judge if their mothers didn’t want to raise them… I’m a manananggal, for fuck’s sake. But there’s one red flag House of Arko failed to hide. From what I can tell, those fetuses are around five to eight months old.”

Sabina’s lighter finally lit up, and with a triumphant laugh, she lit her cigarette. Then, she carries on with her explanation.

“Most abortions happen during the first three months of pregnancy. It’s rare to see expecting parents get rid of them that late.”

“So? What does that have to do with the whole thing?”

“House of Arko serving older fetuses could mean one of two things: either all, and I mean all of the abortions they performed are from those who are truly in need of one that late, or they’re getting them from another source, possibly an illicit one. They don’t have the most benevolent reputation, so my intuition tells me it was the latter. So, I paid the place a visit and recorded what I could. I guess I should be thankful that your bossing found that blurry video trustworthy enough,” Sabina concluded, watching as the victims were clothed and herded into ambulances.

Dumbfounded, Basilio scratches his head. “Wow. Glad you’re on our side. How did you know that three month thing anyway?”

“Research and personal accounts.” Sabina’s response is clipped. Cold. Abrupt. It only raised more questions than answers.

“Personal accounts? You’ve met people who got them?”

There’s a flash of regret in Sabina’s eyes; regret that she opened her mouth and let him know more than needed. She cuts him off. “I can’t put my informants’ identities in jeopardy either now, can I?”

Per his older twin’s advice, Basilio’s finally using the head between his shoulders. “No offense, but you’re a manananggal. Y’know, known for eating babies? Hearing that from you is suspicious.”

“Yes, I am,” Sabina says through gritted teeth, glaring at him. “I can assure you, I’m following the accords and I’m not exploiting loopholes like what House of Arko is doing. I’ll reveal everything in due time.”

“Alright, keep your secrets. For now.”

A tense silence has befallen them.

“So- '' the manananggal blows a cloud of smoke away from Basilio, “-is this going to be a regular thing? Because if it is, I might finally quit smoking. Nicotine makes my hands shaky. Can’t risk accidentally shooting your ass.” She pauses, looking at him in jest. “ I’d rather do that intentionally.”

“You’re breaking my heart, Sabina Marie,” Basilio retorts, clutching his chest in mock pain.

They share a laugh over it, the mood lightening up.

Basilio looks in the distance, taking in the view of the cityscape. “Maybe you should quit. Singers shouldn’t be smoking in the first place.”

“The tar helps me belt out raspy screams, but yeah, you’re right,” Sabina chuckles.

“So, when is this next gig?”

“Next week. In Ilocos Norte. All the way up in House of Arko’s ancestral home.”

“Should I take that info to Bossing?”

“Yep. It’s open to the supernatural public anyway, so it's not like I’m giving you top secret info. Even the wind tribe is invited, despite their bad blood with my clan. Hopefully things won’t get physical. Most of my sisters are still bitter over how they blew us away when my mom- I mean, Inang Reyna decided to side against the Treses.”

So that explains some things.

“I dunno, maybe I should bring Ammie so I can watch the two of you in a catfight.”

Sabina elbows him in the chest, hard.

“Not funny at all, Basilio. I don’t even know her personally! It’s you I was pissed at.”

Now he grabs his chest in genuine pain as he croaks out an apology. “Sorry.”

“Whatever. Bring whoever the hell you want, just keep your distance from me when you decide to go. Even my father’s going to be there. I need to be on my best behavior.”

The demigod turns to their aswang informant, interest piqued. She’s divulging a lot of information. Perhaps he can sway her to spill more secrets.

“Didn’t know that the Reyna Manananggal had a king.”

“Oh, no. She’s not the type to share her power with a man.” Sabina pauses to take another hit of her cigarette. “I meant my biological father. Villaceran.”

Now that was unexpected.

“You drop bombshell after bombshell whenever we meet. Tomas Dominic Villaceran’s your old man?”

“Look at me. I’m almost the splitting image of the guy. If there’s one thing I’m grateful for, it’s inheriting his good looks.”

Basilio grins. “Can’t deny that. Most of the manananggal kuya Crispin and I encountered look...”

“Hideous, I know,” Sabina says outright. “You still haven’t seen that side of me, so don’t be too quick to judge my sisters.”

Basilio treads carefully, knowing that he might be prying on a sensitive subject. “So, about Villaceran…”

“I’d rather not talk about him. Our relationship is… strained.”

Giving her a sympathetic, understanding look, Basilio nods. “Right. Never mind.”

Another interval of silence passes between them. This time, it’s a little somber.

“So, does this party have a dress code?”

“Yeah. Filipiniana. Wear a barong. It’s one of those pretentious events that attempts to make House of Arko more appealing to the masses or whatever. Manipulative assholes.”

“You can just refuse to go, Sab.”

“I could, but being Trese’s mole among the aswang means I have to attend clan activities to supply more information. That also means attending every single party those Arko fucks throw.”

“You really hate House of Arko, huh?”

Looking towards his direction to meet his gaze, Sabina’s eyes are filled with a sea of emotions. Hatred, indignation, and something Basilio couldn’t quite place.

“Why wouldn’t I? Mama Grande raised boys who can’t take no for an answer. The Arko brothers have no respect for us manananggal. As if we weren’t fetishized enough in Manong Karma’s stupid aswang dating book...”

Sabina clears her throat and calms herself down. Bad blood between aswang clans could mean war. Basilio knows he should take that to the boss. His gears are turning tonight. He asks Sabina questions that could risk her support.

“Is that why you agreed to be an informant? You wanna bring House of Arko down? Then what, your clan will fill the space they’ll leave?”

“What? No, I have no desire for power, not like how Mama Grande or my own mother does anyway. My personal gripes with them aside, the House of Arko wants to ‘unite the aswang under one banner’ with no respect to the other clans’ autonomy and customs.”

“So you wanna protect your clan?”

“That’s one of the reasons, yes. Mama Grande’s been trying to play kumare with mom- I mean Inang Reyna-” This is the second time Sabina slipped and called her mom. She clears her throat and composes herself. “And I need to stop that. Inang Reyna already made the mistake of going against the Accords once. Allying with the House of Arko will ruin us further.”

Basilio leans in closer. “And what are your other reasons?”

Sabina looks at him for a few, quiet seconds, and looks away. “I’ll reveal them-”

“In due time. Yeah, yeah, I can take that as an answer. So, making you sing in that event is a result of them being magkumare?”

A defeated laugh bubbles from Sabina’s chest. “You got it.”

“I’m surprised they didn’t invite sirena to sing.”

Sabina rolls her eyes and tosses the butt of her expended cigarette on the concrete. Basilio took it upon himself to crush the embers under his heel, seeing how her lower half is hidden someplace else.

“Oh please, this is House of Arko we’re talking about, Bas. They believe aswang are superior. Letting them shine would take away the spotlight from the aswang. Mama Grande asked for me from Inang Reyna so they can gloat that even aswang can make better singers than the famed sirena. Ugh, I doubt my singing style even matches the performance they want from me.”

“Oh yeah? What kind of performance are they going for?” he asks her.

“Now that’s another secret. You have to show up to find out,” she hums in response.

Turning away from him, Sabina checks how many sticks are left in the box. Two. She takes one and lights it up.

“Screw it, I’m going cold turkey. I guess this will be my final box. Maybe for tonight. Maybe forever.”

“Then maybe you should stop with the stick you’re smoking and throw the last one away,” Basilio suggests.

“Are you mad? That’s a waste of money!”

“Still counting your blessings even with your mama’s wealth huh?”

“Old habits die hard.”

Sabina blows smoke away from Basilio’s direction. The wind made it waft to his face anyway, and she mumbles a quick apology. He shrugs it off. Not like the adverse effects of secondhand smoke affected him anyway. Hank smoked and was polite enough to turn away too, but Basilio can still smell it. He didn’t mind it. Still, Hank had told him and Crispin that it was a tough habit to break, so he never touched a cigarette.

Not until now.

Basilio takes the box from Sabina and picks up the last stick with his lips. Then, he inches closer to her.

Ironically, in an attempt to help an old friend quit her smoking habit, Basilio engages in it himself.

Little did he know, a new bad habit was forming between him and the little lady before him.

“I’ll make sure it won’t go to waste then. Light me.”

Sabina raises an eyebrow. “Just don’t start at all. Give it back.”

“One smoke isn’t going to get me hooked, princess.”

Brows knitted together, Sabina chastises him. “Take it from me, bad habits start with just one little taste, Bas.”

“One little taste never hurts anyone...”

“One little taste could leave you wanting for more.”

Basilio can feel himself getting hot under the collar. He’d never thought an aswang of all creatures could make him feel all bothered, yet there he was, getting turned on by her choice of words.

“Princess, are we still talking about cigarettes, or something else?”

Hearing his question, Sabina exhales sharply through her nose, cheeks dusted pink. “Maybe both. Whatever. Come here.”

Black fingernails scratched at the sparkwheel. Sparks were flying, but there was no flame. The cigarette remained unlit.

“Well, it looks like fate isn’t letting you smoke, so better just give me the damn cigarette back, Basilio.”

With a sly look, Basilio closes in on her, and presses the end of his cigarette to the embers at the end of hers, linking them together.

To his surprise, Sabina is neither backing away nor babbling defensively like she usually does whenever he gets close. Instead, she presses her chest to his, a challenging look in her half-lidded eyes. She wasn’t wearing her glasses like usual, giving Basilio an unobstructed view of her heated gaze. Was it bloodlust or desire? Either way, it got his blood pumping.

“You’re chattier than usual tonight,” Basilio comments. “Bolder too. I like that.”

In the form she’s in now, Sabina’s eyes glowed an eerie white, and aside from the wings sprouting from her back, little horns sprouted from her scalp, the root concealed by her crown of short, wavy hair. Basilio didn’t pay mind to her dangling guts, instead, his eyes were transfixed on that cute little lace bra again.

Through the layers of cloth between them, he can feel her heart beating. Basilio faintly remembers the taste of human and sigbin hearts.

Now, what does aswang heart taste like?

A dark part of his psyche- perhaps from being Datu Talagbusao’s son- wanted to tear it out of her chest and eat it to find out.

Basilio felt the urge to taste all the battles she fought through her blood, and possess her heart in a way no other person can.

The memory of seeing his father tasting his mother’s blood inserts itself in the present, and the fear of turning into the monster he was is enough for him to shake that thought away.

Basilio tries to focus on something else.

His eyes wander to Sabina’s mouth. He might’ve imagined something else between her dark lips, in place of the cigarette. Something bigger.

Something of his.

Sabina’s been pliable tonight. Perhaps he’ll push his luck with her one last time.

“So, any plans tonight, dear princess?”

“Unless you intend to treat me like one, don’t call me that.”

“I’m done with work, so if you want me to make good on that and make up for my mistake…”

Giggling, Sabina flies a few feet away from him. The black wings on her back are translucent against the pale moonlight. They almost looked like a dark shade of red.

“Go tell your brother about the information I gave you for now, then meet up with me afterwards. I hid my lower half in an alleyway behind that motel,” she tells him, pointing to the building’s direction.

“If you’re lucky, you’ll get to rearrange my guts. Literally and figuratively.” Sabina continues, a naughty smirk blooming on her lips.

Taken aback by the pun, Basilio laughs. “I didn’t think you were capable of dirty jokes.”

“You should know by now that I’m full of secrets and surprises.”

Grinning darkly, Basilio finishes the rest of his cigarette as he watches her fly away.

“And I’ll uncover them all, dear princess.”

Translations:

ulol - crazy; Filipino profanity

gago/gaga - foolish or stupid; Filipino profanity

tangina - contraction of putang ina, lit. whore mother. Used as an expression to express irritation, anger, or astonishment

Inang Reyna - lit. Queen Mother.

mare/kumare - derived from the Spanish word madre/comadre; kumare a reciprocal appellation for the godmother or for the child's mother. In a more modern and colloquial context, it’s used to refer to a female friend. Magkumare means women who are friends with each other.

Filipiniana - Philippine related book and non-book material

barong - also known as Barong Tagalog. An embroidered long-sleeved formal shirt for men and a national dress of the Philippines.

[wafflesandkruge]

One Early Morning in Os Alta

Nikolai accidentally drinks one of David's experiments and becomes obsessed with solving the mystery that is Zoya Nazyalensky. The Triumvirate is his most unwilling audience as he attempts to piece together where she goes at night with nothing but his caffeine-fueled brain and a chalkboard.

Written for the @grishaversebigbang mini bang! Thank you so much to the amazing @kolarpem (x) and @denndrawings​ (x) who created beautiful art for this fic 🥺 ❤️  

ao3

In their three short years of marriage, Genya and David had developed a morning routine. David, eager to get to the labs early so he could have the room to himself, would wake at the crack of dawn like clockwork and share a few sleepy kisses with her before getting on his way. After a few more hours of much-needed beauty sleep, Genya would commandeer some breakfast and find him tinkering away at whatever project Nikolai had put him to. It was a comfortable rhythm, a familiar constant in their otherwise hectic lives.

But today, Genya was just drifting off to sleep again after being woken by her husband when the door to their bedroom slammed open to reveal a very disheveled David. His glasses were slightly more askew than usual and his kefta rumpled. Genya let out a small yawn.

“David? What’s wrong?”

“There has been a development.” He didn’t elaborate further as he strode over to their wardrobe and pulled out her kefta. She tugged it over her head without question and followed him sleepily out of the room. They’d been together long enough that she’d learned not to try to get him to elaborate. He’d either clam up for hours trying to find the right words or talk in circles trying to fully explain a very easily explainable situation. Only the Saints knew what it was this time. She just hoped it was something easily resolvable so she could go back to sleep. Perhaps a puppy running loose in the labs, or an Inferni who’d burned off their eyebrows and wanted her to Tailor them back. Simple things.

But instead of the labs, David pulled her into Nikolai’s bedroom and Genya knew it was going to be a long day. Tamar and Tolya were already seated on a sofa, both with their arms crossed and similar scowls on their faces. Zoya was absent. And Nikolai was animatedly scribbling on a large blackboard that had been wheeled to the front of the room, “ZOYA NAZYALENSKY” scrawled at the top in large letters and circled three times for emphasis. The rest of the board was covered in near incomprehensible writing and doodles.

Genya frowned as David pulled her down into the seat next to him. “Did you steal that from the Little Palace, Nikolai? How will the children learn?”

Her king didn’t answer. He seemed busy working on a doodle of what looked like a five legged tiger on a corner of the board. David patted her hand absentmindedly as he opened his notebook and started scribbling as well.

“Is anyone going to explain this to me?” Genya asked mildly as Tolya slid a cup of tea towards her. She supposed the Triumvirate had seen worse, and their king acting like a man possessed didn’t rank particularly high on their list, but she still didn’t appreciate being woken up early for this. If anything, the twins should have just knocked him out and then everyone could get their well deserved rest.

Tamar crossed her arms. Her short hair stuck up in every direction as if she’d just rolled out of bed. “Well, your genius husband over there,” she starts, her tone not quite complimentary, “was working on one of his little experiments again.”

Genya nodded distractedly as she removed a small mirror from the inside of her sleeve. David took it from her obediently and held it up as she began Tailoring away the dark circles under her eyes. It wasn’t a substitute for her lost sleep, but it’d have to do for now.

“Coffee with a mild strain of parem in it for an extra stimulant,” David explained as she moved on to bringing more color into her cheeks. “Since you’re always complaining about the Little Palace’s coffee leaving you groggier than before.”

Genya’s hands stilled as she offered David a small smile. Even after knowing him for this long, his kindness never failed to surprise her. “That’s lovely, dear. But how does that relate to Nikolai acting like...this?”

Both of them jumped when Nikolai let out a rather concerning cackle. He had moved on from the deformed tiger to a caricature of someone who looked alarmingly like General Pensky. Genya scanned the board, barely able to decipher his scribbling. Secret lover...treason...illicit rendezvous? She furrowed her brows.

Tolya glowered at them from his spot next to his sister. “Nikolai drank David’s experiment. And now he refuses to administer the antidote because he wants to observe his behavior for the sake of science.”

“That’s not strictly true,” David said as he handed the mirror back to Genya and picked up his pencil again. “I don’t have an antidote ready. Instead of taking the time and labor to manufacture one, we might as well just wait for it to wear off naturally.”

Tolya opened his mouth again to argue, but then a piece of chalk flew by, barely missing Genya’s nose. Nikolai slammed his hands on the table and her tea splashed out of its cup. 

All four of their heads turned towards their king. His shirt was buttoned incorrectly, his hair wild, and a distinctly unhinged look in his eyes. His jacket was tied around his shoulders like a cape. It had to be the worst Genya has ever seen him, though there had been that time when Kirigin had convinced him to do a few shots of that whiskey from the Wandering Isles and he’d been convinced he was a saint—

“Friends!” His voice was entirely too loud for the intimate setting. “I have gathered you here today to solve one of our most pressing problems.”

“Our empty coffers?” Genya asked with a yawn.

“Impending war on three fronts?” offered Tolya.

“My brother’s incurable love for five hour poetry recitations?” 

David continued silently taking notes in his book.

“No,” Nikolai declared with an empathetic shake of his head, “we’re here to discuss the mystery of...Zoya Nazyalensky.”

He stepped to the side and for the first time, Genya was able to see the entirety of the blackboard he’d been writing on. Not a single inch of it had been spared from his rather enthusiastic scrawl and doodles like he was preparing to give them the world’s most fascinating lecture on the enigma that was Zoya. Genya felt a headache incoming.

“Perhaps we could do this at a more reasonable hour,” she began, but Nikolai smacked his hand against the blackboard which sent up a giant cloud of chalk dust.

“Nonsense! There’s no time like the present, and Zoya is away so it’s the perfect time to speculate upon her true intentions.” He waved his arm towards a bullet point at the top of the board, but in his eagerness, nearly knocked the entire board over. Genya let out another yawn and sank back into the couch. Maybe he wouldn’t notice if she dozed off.

“Where does she go at night?” Nikolai demanded as he began pacing furiously. The papers pinned to the board fluttered in his wake. “About once a week or so, the palace guards tell me she’s seen walking on the grounds late at night, alone. She’s almost certainly meeting with someone. But who? And why?”

“Are you sure you don’t have an antidote?” she whispered to David.

“Positive.” He scratched his ear, a sure sign he was lying. Genya sighed. She supposed she’d have him make it up to her later. She knew better than to talk him out of one of science moods. 

“A lover!” Nikolai continued. “She has a secret lover!”

Genya knew for a fact Zoya had no one in her heart other than their king as much as she liked pretending she hated him and his entire existence. In her own opinion, it probably had something to do with the very expensive gifts Nikolai routinely offered because Zoya was nothing if not a creature of luxury. Still, she took a sip of her tea and raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Do go on.”

“At first I thought it was General Pensky, but he’s been stationed at the border for over a month and the night walks haven’t stopped. So that leaves no other option than…” Nikolai’s eyes narrowed. He executed a sloppy about-face that any army commander would have had him running laps for and pointed an accusing finger at Tolya. “You’re Zoya’s secret lover!”

Tolya frowned and crossed his arms. “I would rather go back to Novyi Zem and become a jurda farmer. Less chance of sudden death.”

Nikolai grabbed at his hair. “But if you’re not seeing Zoya...and Tamar isn’t– you’re not right?”

“I’m married, Nikolai.”

“Right, right, right,” he muttered. He turned back to look at his board. “Then there’s only one other answer.”

“We all go back to bed?” Genya suggested.

Nikolai turned to her, an oddly intense look in his eyes. “How could you suggest we all retire when Zoya is plotting against the throne?”

Genya blinked. “How exactly did you get there?”

“It all makes sense!” Nikolai babbled excitedly. He waved his arms in excitement. “The late night walks. The secrecy. Why she’s always so mean to me—”

“She’s mean to everyone,” Tamar interjected.

“She’s working with the Fjerdans! Or the Shu! Of course, I should have seen it from the start…”

Genya tuned him out again as he went back to drawing on the board while muttering to himself about how the Fjerdan’s diabolical plan to have Zoya seduce him was working too well. She put her head on David’s shoulder and focused on the page of notes he was working on. Except instead of notes, it was a sketch of a woman’s face. Her face. As she watched, his pencil scratched out the curve of her lips, one corner lifted in a half smile. “What are you doing, dear?”

“Studying something beautiful,” he answered without a moment of hesitation. 

Genya’s lips curled into a smile as she let her eyes shut. “You’re sweet today. Maybe we should let Nikolai poison himself more often.”

“There’s a seventy percent chance his heart would give out if we attempted this more than once a week.”

“Regicide,” Genya said with a sigh, “How romantic.”

[qitwrites]

⬅ Previous || 29 || Next ➡

The thing that doesn’t make sense is the onigiri.

The Bakusquad are currently sprawled all over the common room couches, taking turns playing on the PS5. This is a normal sight, one that Ojiro has walked in on several times. There’s yelling, screaming, fingers poking ribs, and Bakugou kicking anyone that dares to touch his hair. The whole group is in a mad tangle of limbs, the audience yelling profanities while the people with the controllers (in this case, Sero and Kirishima) have a look of sheer determination painted on their faces as they race each other in an all too intense game of Mario kart.

And, in the midst of all this chaos, is a large plate filled to the brim with onigiri- perfectly shaped, delicious looking balls of rice wrapped in shiny seaweed.

When Kirishima loses to Sero a few moments later, the tape hero whoops victoriously as the redhead visibly deflates, groaning loudly and seemingly melting into the floor. Bakugou laughs out loud at the sight and pulls the plate right up to Kirishima’s face and says, “Take your pick, Red.” He sounds gleeful, and it makes a shiver run down the length of Ojiro’s spine.

Kaminari finally catches sight of him and waves him over, “Oji! Get over here man.”

Ojiro makes his way to the couch and sits at the very edge, watching as Kirishima sighs deeply and pulls out an onigiri at random. For someone that loves food, and especially rice, with a fierce sort of vengeance, Kirishima looks deathly pale and completely unwilling to eat. Ojiro waves at Kaminari to get his attention before pointing at Kirishima and going, “What is happening?”

“Just wait,” the electric blonde smirks, his eyes dancing with delight.

Ojiro watches the redhead inhale one last time before taking a large bite. He chews the onigiri for a moment before his face contorts in absolute horror and he yanks what can only be described as a spit bucket from the other side of the couch to his face, coughing the rice out violently.

“Oh fuck,” Bakugou gasps out in between peals of laughter, “he got the mayo banana. Fuck me, he got the worst fucking one.”

Kirishima’s gargling some water while the words Mayo-banana swirl around Ojiro’s head. Kaminari takes one look at him and giggles.

“We’re playing onigiri roulette,” Sero finally explains. 

He points at the plate of food. “Before we started, we filled a bunch of rice balls with the weirdest fillings we could think of. The only rule is that it has to be edible-“ “BARELY edible” “- yeah, well, if you need recovery girl at the end of this, you’ve probably gone too far. So, we play each other one-on-one, and the winner plays the next person while the loser eats an onigiri and sits out till everyone else has had a go.”

“So,” Ojiro says, his mind still stuck on what he just heard Bakugou say, “Kiri just ate a rice ball filled with mayonnaise and banana?”

Ashido giggles at that, and Kaminari turns to the redhead and asks, “How was it?”

Kirishima takes another generous sip of water before saying, “The texture is what screwed me. It was just, god, it was mush and then more mush, and so slimy, and then the rice-“

“Ok,” Kaminari squeaks, throwing his hands up in surrender, “That’s enough, thanks man!”

“You wanna join?” Ashido beams at Ojiro, offering him her controller.

“I’m good watching,” Ojiro says, scooting back subtly. Sero sniggers and makes room for Ashido to join him on the floor.

“You’re going down,” he taunts, and Ashido burns a small hole in the sleeve of his shirt before they start up the next game.

Pinky puts up a good fight, but Sero is a master at the game, and even with her well-timed kicks at his face, Ashido loses, and Bakugou is positively glowing.

Ashido picks another unassuming looking onigiri and takes a bite. She looks so confused for a moment before her face scrunches up in agony. She perseveres though, and even as Kaminari cries from how hard he’s laughing and Sero is recording the whole thing with shaky hands, Ashido flips them the bird and makes it a point to swallow thickly.

Kirishima leans in and takes a sniff, his own nose wrinkling as he asks, “Toothpaste?”

Bakugou laughs again, an ugly, grating sound that’s so unlike the boyish smile on his face. Ashido sticks her tongue out at the rest and says, “I happen to love mint, so joke’s on you.” She still slam dunks the rest of the onigiri in the spit bucket.

The next to go against Sero is Bakugou, who sits beside him heavily and snatches the offered controller. Gone is his carefree smile and ugly laugh, and in its place is his usual fierce competitiveness, except the stakes are so much higher than they’ve ever been in hero training.

The game is nail biting, to say the least. Bakugou doesn’t yell while he’s playing, and his concentration is so intense, it almost seems like he’s being sucked into the game. Even Ojiro finds himself cheering and yelling as the two desperately try to beat each other while trying to stay on the track in the first place.

When Sero wins by a margin that’s thinner than a strand of hair, Kirishima, in what can only be described as a move perfected after many recurring experiences, grabs the controller from Bakugou and hardens himself against the tiny explosions in the blonde’s palms, saving the controller. Bakugou lunges at Sero, a litany of curses tearing themselves out his throat. Sero has the biggest shit eating grin on his face, and Kirishima can barely hold Bakugou back as he shakes with laughter of his own. The blonde ends up with his back to Kirishima’s chest as he huffs something about assholes that cheat and the redhead gives him a pat on the shoulder before picking up the plate and offering it to Bakugou.

The blonde makes it a point to inspect each rice ball carefully before picking one up and giving it a sniff. He wrinkles his nose and finally takes a big bite, because he might be a sore loser but Bakugou is no coward.

He chews through his bite quietly and swallows, expressionless. And then he smiles, a wicked, horrible turn of his lips.

“Ha, assholes, I fucking win.” He turns the bitten side of the rice ball to face the group, and out pours a stream of red liquid.

Hot sauce, Ojiro notes just as the spice hits him in the eyes with enough force to warrant immediate tears.

“Shit, that’s actually hurting me,” Kaminari yelps, blinking rapidly.

“Yeah man, what the hell?” Sero says, sitting back on his elbows to get away from it. They all watch in horror as Bakugou takes another bite and smirks. Ojiro can see the sweat dotting his brow and they don’t miss how he rubs his nose with his clean hand, but all in all, hot sauce for Bakugou feels unfair, especially after the diabolical mayo and banana monstrosity.

“Man, how does he win even when he loses?” Kirishima whines, butting Bakugou’s shoulder with his head. The blonde sniggers again and sits back comfortably just as Kirishima tosses the controller to Kaminari.

Ojiro watches them takes turns and suffer. Kaminari, by some turn of fate, beats Sero in a game that just refuses to go in Sero’s favor. Sero ends up choking down a rice ball stuffed with a slimy squid and peanut butter mixture.

When Kaminari loses to Ashido, he happily eats a rice ball soaked in malic acid because his taste buds are immune to sour apparently. Ashido nearly throws up when she has to bite into a rice ball filled with jello and meat chunks after losing to Bakugou, and Bakugou turns an alarming shade of green when he eats one with durian and mustard. Kirishima had watched that one unfold in a mix of horror and fascination, torn between laughing and holding the spit bucket out for the blonde.

Midway through, Ojiro finds himself playing with them and he has to experience the hell that is jelly beans with cheese sauce and another onigiri that is filled with nothing but wasabi. So much wasabi that he feels fumes of heat trying to escape his nose as his eyes water for the rest of the evening.

When they finally call it a day, Ojiro somehow finds himself promising them that he’ll join the next time too, and he watches Bakugou stalk away, brainstorming more terrible food combos under his breath. He laughs and heads to his own room, nose still tingling from the wasabi, his own thoughts clouded with the worst foods he can think of. That’s when inspiration strikes.

Ojiro pulls his phone out and dials a number he’s known since forever. She picks up after 2 rings.

“What’s up kiddo?”

“Hey mom.” Ojiro’s smile turns wicked. “Talk to me about your pregnancy cravings.”

[tinyboxxtink]

"Weird Secret Friends" *Chapter 7*

Chapter 6

Chapter 8

I swear you guys I never know where these are gonna go, and then a plot just starts coming out itself. It's...starting to get dark, I won't lie to you. But not like-- super dark, no assault or anything. Just be wary reading this chapter, kay? Especially if you have any addiction issues.

Tag List

@madamsnape921

@lolliepopsicle

@chasingeverybreakingwave

@milkshqke

@wanniiieeee

@word-scribbless

@gibbs274

@sassyada

@aprildecker-blog

@bookishfanfic

@stars-in-the-skies-world

@stars-trash-18

@omgsuperstarg

@objection-argumentative

@thatesqcrush

@shittanyy

--------------

A few hours later Rafael’s alarm went off, causing you to groan and pull a pillow over your head.

“It’s Saturday,” You whined. “Why do you have an alarm set on a Saturday?!”

“Lo siento, amante,” He leaned over and turned it off, then pulled you closer into him as he nuzzled your neck. “I have to go in today,”

“On a Saturday?!” You repeated yourself.

“It’s what grown ups do, carino,” He chuckled, to which you promptly turned to face him.

“And what is that supposed to mean?” You frowned at him.

“Nothing, amor,” He assured you. “I was only joking,”

“...Were you, though?” You narrowed your eyes.

“You’re not a morning person, are you?” He was still chuckling with a sleepy grin.

“Not when I’m being insulted I’m not!” You now sat up, completely unamused by his flippant remarks.

“Y/N,” He sat up as well, putting a hand on your shoulder and stroking your hair with the other. “I really was joking. You know if we’re going to...spend time together, you should really get used to my snarky sense of humor,”

“Oh should I?” You crossed your arms.

“Yes,” He nodded, his smile never leaving his face.

“....And what exactly do you mean by ‘spending time together’?” You raised an eyebrow.

“...Well, I don’t know, do you really want to label...this, right this second?” He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, now finally reaching an annoyed point.

“...No,” You replied softly while you picked at a loose thread on the comforter.

“Okay, well--” He started to kiss you, but you put a hand over his mouth.

“Uh uh, Romeo,” You shook your head. “If we’re going to ‘spend time together’, you should know I don’t kiss before brushing,”

“Noted,” He chuckled once more as he kissed the top of your forehead. “If you need a label, I think we stick to ‘weird secret friends,’

“Well I don’t know if that applies anymore,” You sighed. “Considering we are no longer secret and I don’t think friends sleep with each other,”

“Well then we’re still weird, are we not?” He pointed out.

“Ha Ha,” You rolled your eyes. “So friend, what am I supposed to do while you’re at work?”

“....Talk to Sonny?” He asked as he got out of the bed.

“Oh, great idea!” You feigned excitement. “I’ll be sure to really twist the knife in his back this time,”

“You’re so dramatic,” He shook his head with a smile. “Just talk to him,”

“There’s no point Rafael,” You objected. “Unless I stop seeing you, he’ll never forgive me,”

“Well first of all, I seriously doubt that’s true,” He disagreed. “And second of all, he’s going to be hurt whether we continue...seeing each other, or not. The bottom line is he’s upset he’ll never be with me,”

“...Does everything just lead back to you, counselor?” You asked him while he began to get dressed.

“Basically,” He teased while pulling on his pants.

“Look, you can call me selfish or arrogant, or cold hearted all you want,” He told you. “But just because you stand there in your moral ivory tower doesn’t mean you don’t feel the same way. You just don’t want to act on them,” He disappeared into his bathroom to brush his teeth.

“I’m sorry, and why is that a bad thing?” You called from his bed, an insulted tone obvious in your voice.

“Because it’s your life, Y/N!” He exclaimed as he reemerged from the bathroom, giving you a serious look. “It’s not mine, it’s not Sonny’s. You don’t have any responsibility for anyone else’s happiness but your own,”

“Well hurting my cousin doesn’t make me happy!”

“And being with me doesn’t either?” He asked with his own hurt tone while he buttoned his dress shirt. Your long pause made him stop and look at you, your head was looking at the floor in shame. “Y/N?”

“....It makes me the happiest I’ve probably been in my entire life,” You admitted, making him grin like a Cheshire cat. He finished buttoning his shirt and then walked backed towards the bed, wrapping you in his arms.

“Back at you, killer,” He pressed his forehead against yours before kissing you long a deep, crawling onto the bed. You began kissing for maybe a minute, then suddenly it dawned on him he still needed to go to work.

“Well, this might be a problem,” He pulled back from you and walked back to his closet now speeding up his routine. He grabbed his tie and began tying it quickly.

“...What is?” You looked at him quizzically.

“You’re clearly a distraction, amante,” He gave you a mischievous grin.

“Well I’ve been called worse,” You shrugged.

“I’m sure you have,” He teased.

“Hey!” You tossed a pillow at him, he dodged it effortlessly.

“Alright killer, I promise I'll be right back,” He grabbed his suit jacket and started to walk out of the bedroom. You trailed behind him, still stark naked.

“You sure you wanna leave all….this?” You presented yourself with an evil smile.

“Oh you are...you are diabolical, woman,” He eyed you up and down, kicking himself for making this meeting today of all days.

“Mmmhmm…” You raised your long leg up until it was right next to your face, reminding him how flexible you were.

“No,” He bit his fist. “No no no, I must go,” He shook his head and bolted out the door. You stared at it, shocked by his immediate departure. How rude! You scoffed and turned to go back to the bedroom to get dressed, just as the door swung open and Rafael rushed in, grabbing your naked body in a heated kiss.

“Okay, now I seriously have to go,” He sighed while taking a mental picture of your perfectly toned body.

“Fine,” You pouted. “See if I’m here when you get back,”

“Oh you better be,” He warned with a cheeky smile, walking back out the door and leaving you alone once again.

You quickly realized you might not have a choice to avoid Sonny, seeing as all you had were your still damp clothes from the night before. You grabbed them and tossed them in Rafael’s dryer while you paced the apartment in the t-shirt and boxers from the night before.

What would you say? What could you say?

-------

Later that day

You pulled up in front of Sonny’s apartment building and exited your Uber, thanking the driver before she drove away. You sighed and walked up to the stoop, ringing his box. There was a long silence, before you heard a woman’s voice:

“Hello? Sonny’s apartment,”

Who the hell was that?

“Um, yeah hi,” You stammered, completely taken aback by the turn of events. “I-I’m here for Sonny? It’s Y/N, his cousin…”

“Aw shit,” You heard Sonny’s voice muffled, before the buzzing of the door to let you inside. You walked into the building and headed up the stairs towards his apartment. As you reached his floor, you saw a blonde woman bolting out of his door, zooming past you and down the stairs. You looked at her for a moment before turning to stare at Sonny who just stood in the doorway.

“....And who was that?” You asked him curiously.

“Nobody, just a friend,” He dismissed you.

“A friend?” You half laughed. “Must be quite the friend,”

“You’re one to talk, with your stupid sneaky friends BS,” He snarked.

“...Weird secret friends,” You clarified in a small voice.

“Really, Y/N?” He asked you, unamused.

“Okay I’m sorry, you’re right--”

“Did you need something?” He crossed his arms as he leaned on his doorway.

“I um...I wanted to talk…”

“Did you now?”

“....And I need my clothes,” You gestured to the ‘walk of shame’ outfit you were still wearing.

“Ohhhh I see I see,” He nodded with a sarcastic laugh. “You needed your stuff so you can continue the sleepover with the honorable ADA?”

“Sonny--”

“Whatever, Y/N. I don’t wanna hear it. Just-- hold on,” He waved his hands in front of you as he disappeared into his apartment, his door slamming in your face. Soon he reappeared with your bag in tow, shoving it in your hands.

“There ya go, enjoy your weekend,” He started to shut the door but you put your foot in it.

“Sonny I’m not leaving until you hear me out,”

“...Fine,” He sighed and opened the door wider, letting you enter. You walked past him and sat on his couch. He walked to the couch and grabbed two beers, handing one to you as he sat on his armchair next to you.

“I um--” You started to say something, but you really needed it right now. Unfortunately, Sonny quickly realized his mistake and took yours back.

"Sorry, I forgot Sunshine," He apologized and grabbed a soda bottle from the fridge this time, and handed it to you.

“So,” He twisted the cap off his beer and took several big gulps, dreading this conversation already. “Talk,”

“Oh,” You hadn’t expected that. You hadn’t even expected to get in the door, let alone having to make some kind of speech.

Sonny knew that look in your eyes, the same look you had when you had forgotten the words to your song in your middle school talent show.

“Seriously, Y/N?” He shook his head with another sarcastic laugh. “You didn’t have anything prepared to say?”

“Well!” You took another swig of your soda

“You’re unbelievable, you know that?” “You just show up here, chase off Amanda, and--”

“Amanda?” You quirked an eyebrow.

“Irrelevant, Sunshine,”

“Right…”

“And you don’t even have a defense ready for your boyfriend?” He finished his thought.

“He’s not my boyfriend!” You objected.

“Damn straight he’s not!” He agreed.

“....What is that supposed to mean?” You narrowed your eyes.

“Let me ask you something, Sunshine,” He put down his beer. “You slept together last night, right?”

“...Yeah,” You answered cautiously.

“And then this morning-- tell me, what did he do?”

“...Well he had to go into work," You pushed a strand of hair behind your ear nervously. You didn’t like where this was going.

"Uh huh" Sonny nodded with a smile.

“He DID” You insisted.

“Right, and did you guys even discuss what happens now?” He kept questioning you.

“Wha? We're not teenagers Sonny,” You rolled your eyes as you took bigger sips of your soda, wishing it was harder stuff. You didn’t like this at all.

“But you're not wondering? At All?”

“….We decided not to label it right now,” You answered softly, looking at the floor. You didn’t know why you were suddenly so nervous about that answer. Weren’t you the one who didn’t want to label it yet?

“Did you decide it or did he decide that?” Sonny read your mind, freaking you out even more.

“What are you doing?” You slammed the bottle on the table. You're upset I "stole" Rafael from you so now you're trying to get in my head?”

“No!” He protested. “But I know how he is, sunshine. I didn't want you involved with him solely because I...have a thing for him, he said the last uncomfortably. It's because I know how...frivolous he can be with relationships,”

“Oh my god,” You rolled your eyes with a laugh. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

“I’m not fucking with you, sunshine!” He slammed his empty beer on the table angrily. “I’m serious,”

“Oh I’m sure you’re serious,” You nodded, still keeping your sarcastic tone.

“Look Sunshine,” He put a hand on your knee while lowering his voice to a softer, caring tone. “You can make excuses all you want. But I think you know me better than that. I wouldn’t tell you anything I didn’t explicitly believe,”

“...Yeah, I know,” You nodded in agreement, knowing he was right. He always looked out for your best interest, ever since you were a kid.

“So...will you at least think about what I’m saying?”

“What are you saying, Sonny?”

“I’m saying be careful, Sunshine,” He looked at you earnestly. “He can get bored very easy, and very fast,”

You thought to yourself that he couldn’t get tired of the ‘best sex of his life’ that quickly, but you’d never say that out loud to Sonny. Not unless you wanted him to have an aneurysm right in front of you. But then again, would you want him to want you around just for the sex, right?

“...I gotta go Son,” You glanced at your phone. “I promised him I’d be waiting for him when he gets home,”

“Seriously?” Sonny shook his head with yet another sarcastic laugh. “Damn Sunshine, you let him start working you fast,”

“Shut up,” You muttered uneasily as you got up from the couch and started to head out.

“Sunshine, one more thing,” He followed you to the door, you paused in the doorway to listen.

“Yes, Sonny?”

“...You know you always have a place here,” He gave you a big hug, you had missed this. You hugged him back tightly before pulling back and giving him a sincere smile.

“I know, Son,” You kissed him on the cheek and then began walking down the hall as he shut the door behind you.

He was just being his overprotective self….right?

---------

It was around eight that Rafael finally came back to the apartment. He found you stewing on the couch, half of his good vodka was gone.

“Uh….honey, I’m home?” He asked warily.

“Oh, are you?” You rolled your eyes, not bothering to get up,

“...What’s wrong with you?”

“What’s wrong with me?” You scoffed. “What happened to “I’ll be right back?”

“...Stuff came up,” He mumbled.

“Seriously?” You half laughed. “Sonny was right,”

“Excuse me?” He took off his jacket and hung it up.

“I went to go get my stuff from Sonny’s,” You gestured to your own clothes you now had on. “And he told me to be careful with you,”

“Careful with me?” He laughed. “Like I’m breakable?”

“No!” You stood up. “Like you break other people,”

“Oh come on Y/N,” He rolled his eyes as he met you halfway in the living room. “Doesn’t that just sound like something he’d say to deter you from me?”

“He wasn’t saying it like that, Rafael,” You shook your head and crossed your arms. “He’s looking out for me, like he always has,”

“And what else did he say?” He eyed you suspiciously.

“He said…” You looked up at the ceiling. It was starting to swirl a bit, you rocked back and forth. Rafael noticed and quickly put both hands on your shoulders, knocking you from your daze.

“Y/N!” He cried as he led you back to the couch and sat you down. “Jesus, is this what you do when you’re upset?”

“...No,” You lied. You were in no shape and nowhere near close enough to him to start revealing dark secrets about yourself. You really should have thought that through. You had to recover from this, you didn’t want him to know.

“Are you sure about that?” He raised a questionable eyebrow, not believing you for a second.

“...This isn’t about me, this is about how you get bored of women-- and men, I assume,”

“What?” He blinked in confusion. “Is that what Carisi said?”

“Maybe,” You grabbed the glass of vodka and started to sip it, but Barba snatched it out of your hand.

“I think you’ve had enough of that,” He told you, his concern growing more by the second the more he looked at you.

“Great,” You muttered, focusing on the TV.

“Hey, Hey!” Rafael snapped at you. “We’re not done talking,”

“Alright, fine,” You turned off the TV. “You wanna talk? Tell me about the t-shirt,”

“...I’m not having this conversation with you when you’re like this,” He shook his head and stood up to go to his bedroom.

“You’re the one who said you wanted to talk, Rafael!” You threw your hands up. “So let’s talk about it-- or even better, let’s talk about the drawer full of girl’s clothes you have,”

“You went through my drawers?!” He snapped. “What the hell is wrong with you?!”

“Are they mementos? Gifts? Trophies?” You stood up, wobbling towards him.

“Trophies?” He scoffed while putting his hands over his face in frustration. “God dammit Y/N...I…”

“You what?” You crossed your arms, steadying yourself.

“I can't deal with...this,” He gestured to you.

“With what?” You suddenly felt a wave of dread. You’d seen that look before. Many, many times. From many, many people.

“With THIS, with YOU,” He walked up to you and walked you back to the couch.

“You’re clearly more fucked up than I thought, and I-- I can’t be your emotional support fuck buddy,” He went on as he grabbed a pillow and blanket from a closet.

“Wow...wow,” You felt tears choking your throat. “So that’s what I am, a fuck buddy?”

“I don’t--- I don’t know,” He rubbed his face, sitting down on the couch next to you.

“Really? Because twelve hours ago you were sitting here and telling me that- that I meant something to you,” You started to cry.

“You do!” He put a hand to your face. “You...you do, I just…” He looked at your sorry state. “I don’t know what to do with you,” Rafael was kicking himself for getting you both in this mess; he wasn’t equipped to deal with someone so unstable. Maybe it was a one time thing, a fluke.

“Look just-- just sleep it off and we’ll talk about it tomorrow, okay?”

“I don’t…” You whimpered. “I don’t want to,”

“Well, we have to talk about it--”

“No,” You stopped him. “I don’t want to sleep it off in here, alone,” You gestured to the couch, the bed he clearly had made for you to sleep in.

“I…” He sighed, finally conceding and picking you up to carry you to his bed.

“Alright baby, alright,” He placed you on his bed and laid down next to you until you fell asleep, then he got up and went into the living room, kicking a pillow across the floor in rage and upset, falling against the wall with his head in between his knees.

What the fuck did he get himself into?

[lala-writes-fetish]

This house will be your new forever home. If you are worthy.

In this very tame little snippet, two of our main characters meet for the first time. Are you looking forward to MEDUSA?

The voice from his smartphone told him to turn onto Wilshire Boulevard, and he realized that it had directed him out of the city center and into a suburb. He read the street signs, and although he demonstratively resisted being able to orient himself in this grey city, he recognized some of the names: Clarke-Ring, Veenhouse Alley, Ninneman Road. The prosperous, dusty north of the city. He dimly recalled a conversation with Luisa and her friends about a man from this area whom one of them was lusting after. No significant detail must have dropped, because if it had, he would have remembered the conversation better. His car crested a small hilltop.

The houses to the left and right were well kept and marked the visual transition from feudal single-family home to mansion. As a tenant, he could have afforded one of them if Luisa had had a similarly well-paying job, he surmised while turning left as the light turned green.

“You will arrive at your destination in two miles,” his smartphone announced.

He raised his eyebrows. “That’s almost in the woods,” he mumbled to his car’s dashboard.

“Well, fuck me,” he remarked to that same dashboard two kilometers later. He had reached his destination. “I didn’t know Count Dracula needed a website.” He drove through a gated stone archway toward a huge mansion that might as well call itself a castle with impunity. Gravel crunched beneath the tires of his station wagon. Cultivated meadows lined the gently curving driveway. A giant weeping willow dipped its branches into an almost black pond. A woman in coveralls stood in its midst, clearing it of duckweed by means of what looked like a giant, netted spoon. The sun was shining on a small park area that included the lake and the weeping willow. The other houses in the area were two hundred yards down the road. Anyone who wanted to reach the archway had to take one last steep turn and head straight for it.

He stopped in a large courtyard in front of the massive, wooden front door. A stone staircase rose in five steps toward the portal. The only thing missing, Peter contemplated in a mixture of excitement and a little irony, were two grotesque lion statues with their paws on weathered globes, and the luxurious private home of a James Bond villain would have been complete. A sculpture above the grand portal exuded diabolical flair: the beautiful, yet distorted with rage, face of a Medusa gazed down on the courtyard, the serpents around her head craning their necks, ready to lunge forward. Peter got out of his car and shouldered the carrying case for his laptop. When he pressed the button on the key, the blinkers lit up, and the portal opened.

A good-looking woman in a pastel, knee-length dress appeared on the steps. Her dark blonde hair ought to have seemed ordinary, but lovely waves in it promised the unbridled joie de vivre of a wild mop of curls without robbing its owner of the grace of straight hair. She smiled from a beautiful face with bright brown eyes to which the sunlight gave the glow of wild honey. Peter prided himself on his vocabulary, and the best description for this woman seemed to be “otherworldly.” The spectacular blonde cast challenging waves that played the eye, and she shared the light brown of her eyes with innumerable people, but they had a depth that made prolonged eye contact a risk.

“I’ve gotta say,” Peter explained, surprised at his own bravado, “This house would fit an older gentleman with a white cat in his lap, dramatically turning in his office chair. ‘Welcome to my secret base, Special Agent.’”

Jana put her head back and laughed out loud. Her bell-bright voice made Peter smile involuntarily. “Maybe I’m just the supervillain’s charming secretary, Mr. Wartmann.”

He shook his head. “I’ll eat my hat if you’re anyone’s secretary, Mrs.…?”

She tilted her head gently, the waves of her hair seconding the almost imperceptible movement. Peter’s gaze subconsciously slid up to the Medusa above her. “Ms. Jana,” she said, and they shook hands.

I may as well have introduced myself by Winnie the Pooh, Peter thought and snorted audibly.

His hostess sassily raised her eyebrows. “Don’t worry. I have a last name, which you’ll find out, of course… if we get down to business.”

He nodded with a smile, enjoying the amusing exchange. “Why did I imagine the head of the mysterious ladies of the house to be exactly like that?”

She smiled broadly. “Because you are a smart man, Mr. Wartmann. Please,” she said, pointing to the portal, “I have coffee made.”

You better believe funny Mr. Wartmann is going to remember his stay in the house. This is MEDUSA.

[haikyuu-scenarios-drabbles]

Shower Friends (Miya Atsumu x F!reader)

The dorm you live in has co-ed bathrooms. Why that’s remotely a good idea is beyond you; and recently, your precious shower time is being interrupted by a certain blonde haired setter for the volleyball team. When he lies to his teammates that he has a girlfriend, somehow you get roped into his scheme.

genre(s): college!au, fake dating, angst, fluff, mutual pining, enemies to lovers (kinda), eventual smut  words: 2.2k

a/n: and here we are at the end, tbh im a little sad this fic is over, it was so fun to write and i am DEFINITELY more in love with Atsumu than i was before

one | two | three | four | five |

Epilogue 

Four years have passed since you and Atsumu finally got together, and this is the third year in a row he has an away game scheduled on your anniversary. It’s hard for you to actually be mad, he can’t control his schedule. But that doesn’t mean you can’t be disappointed.

And Atsumu hates that he’s let you down again. Wanting more than anything to finally spend your actual anniversary together instead of substituting for an early or late celebration. You’re a good sport, and he loves you for that, supporting him and his volleyball career without complaint despite his long absences and track record of missing important events.

Though the night before he’s set to leave, you’re sitting beside him on the couch, tucked under his arm while the two of you watch something on the TV. For the past few minutes, you’ve been fiddling with his shirt between your fingers and he knows you’re gathering the courage to say something. He’s pretty certain he can guess what it’ll be about too. And all he can do is brace himself when he hears you huff.

“What if you mysteriously came down with something?” You finally say.

He has to laugh at that. “That’s pretty diabolical of you.”

You shrug, already feeling silly you brought it up at all. It’s not really a big deal, but it’s been three years since either of you were even in the same country on the day you swallowed your pride and stormed into his dorm room to confess to him. Sue you for being a bit put out by it.

“Did you poison my dinner or something?” His heart lifts at the small chuckle he gets out of you from that.

“No, but don’t give me any ideas.”

He rests his cheek on the top of your head, eyes still on the TV as he jokes, “Besides, ya think they have any chance of winning without me?”

He feels your smile against his chest, then jolts at the jab you give him in the side. But still you say, “They’d be nothing without you.”

Pulling you into his lap, he cradles your face in his hands and looks at you seriously. And even after four years, you’ve never gotten tired of the way he looks at you—still like you’re the most beautiful person he’s ever laid eyes on.

“I’m sorry,” he says sincerely. “I know it sucks.”

“It does,” you pout.

Pressing his forehead to yours he murmurs, “I’d be with you if I could.”

You love these intimate moments with him, when you both let your teasing natures fall away and all that’s left is how much you love each other. Even after four years, it’s still abundant, and somehow still growing every day. So, you sink into his embrace and reply, “I know.” And you do. That’s what makes it bearable. Knowing that even though he’s off in some exciting country, playing the game he loves—there isn’t a minute that goes by that he doesn’t think about you.

“You gunna watch the game?”

It so happens that this year, his game landed on the exact date of your anniversary. When he’d found out, he’d vowed to make you proud; to make him being away so often worth it to you. And it makes his heart swell when you say without hesitation, “Of course.”

So, a couple days later as he’s about to leave for the airport, he tugs you to him, lowers his lips to yours and kisses you as if he’s going off to war or something. He knows it’s a bit overkill, but he doesn’t really care. He wants to do everything he can to make it up to you. And damn, is he slapped in the face with how much he loves you when you finally separate and you tease him, “Sheesh, you’ll be back in a couple days.”

His response is to kiss you again and again muttering between kisses, “Gotta get my fill now to tide me over.”

He only leaves when you’re practically shoving him out the door. “You’re going to be late!” He reluctantly let’s go of you, hefts his duffel over his shoulder, takes his suitcase in hand and heads down the hallway towards the elevator. On his way there, you shout, “Say hi to the boys for me!”

He smiles smugly, winking over his shoulder at you. “Will do.” Knowing full well his teammates are extremely jealous of him because of you. And why yes—he absolutely does love rubbing you in their faces.

Once he’s out of sight, your smile falters as you shut the door and turn to your now empty apartment. A sadness falls over your heart that’s familiar but unwelcome. You have to find something to distract yourself, otherwise you’ll just let yourself wallow, which you know Atsumu wouldn’t want.

On the night of your anniversary, you eat dinner at Osamu’s restaurant as you normally do on the nights of Atsumu’s away games. You sit at the bar alone, watching the game on the many TV’s around that Osamu always has on the sports channel when Atsumu is playing. Tonight, you notice Osamu chats with you more than he normally does, and you’re certain he’s picked up on your somber vibes.

He even sits at the bar next to you, talking with you about the game and doing an excellent job of distracting you from the hole Atsumu always leaves whenever he’s gone. Tonight, that hole feels even bigger than it usually does.

“He’s playing good tonight,” Osamu notes, his trained eyes fixated on the TV. No matter how many games you watch, or how often Atsumu talks about volleyball, you’ll never have the same understanding of the game that Osamu does.

Chin resting on your palm, you glance at him from the corner of your eye. “Is he?” To you, it always looks like Atsumu is playing well.

But you like listening to Osamu’s technical breakdown of his gameplay and aren’t opposed to helping his endeavor of distracting you. “He’s tuned in,” is all he says by way of explanation.

You watch the TV with newfound interest, noticing that Osamu seems to be right. Atsumu is normally pretty focused, but tonight whenever the camera shows a closeup of him, the look in his eyes is razor sharp. And yet, he’s still making those insane plays that catch his opponents completely off guard. You can feel your pride bubbling up in your chest like it does every time you watch him play, quirking your lips upward into a small smile.

You love how much Atsumu loves volleyball, and whenever you can you go to his games here in Japan because watching him on TV is nothing compared to in person. Plus, it’s way more fun getting swept up into his arms in the heat of the moment after a win than several days later when the excitement has died a little.

You watch Atsumu the rest of the game, noting how the closer they get to match point, the more tenacious he becomes. But unlike other times, when he gets too excited and starts making insane plays that might not work, he seems to be dialing in even further, pulling the best out of all of his hitters even when they’re at the end of their rope. You at least know enough about volleyball to appreciate just how amazing that is.

To your delight, the Black Jackals win, and as usual several of the players get interviewed afterwards. Somehow, Hinata and Bokuto are still full of energy despite playing a full match, speaking excitedly to the interviewer. The coverage switches to Atsumu’s interview, and you can’t help ogling him a little bit. He somehow manages to look good, his hair damp from sweat but eyes gleaming from the adrenaline of the match.

And as you suspect, like Hinata and Bokuto, he’s pretty amped after the game. Amped enough that he completely ignores the interviewer’s questions and looks right at the camera. Immediately, you’re struck by the feeling that he’s looking directly at you. “I’ve only got one thing to say and that’s happy anniversary to the lovely lady I got waiting for me at home.”

The interviewer flusters, changing gears quickly and trying to get Atsumu to comment more on his relationship, but all he does is give the camera his signature smile and a wink before turning his back to the screen and rejoining his celebrating teammates. You don’t hear what the interviewer says next. You’re pinned to your seat, stunned, until your natural reaction is to burst out laughing at his proclamation.

Osamu just eyes you curiously, a small smile splaying across his lips as you say, “Only Atsumu—I swear.”

He shrugs. “Hey, you picked him.”

“Yes,” you laugh. “Yes, I did.” And you really wouldn’t have it any other way, no matter how long or how many times he’s apart from you.  

You leave shortly after the coverage of the game has ended, bidding Osamu goodnight and thanking him for his company and hospitality. He waves you out, and once you’re on your way home, you’re suddenly overwhelmed by the loneliness you’ve successfully kept at bay until now. The thought of climbing into a cold bed that feels too big when Atsumu’s not there settles into the front of your mind and it’s hard not to spiral into the sadness that’s been looming over you all day.

You sigh, wrapping your coat tighter around you, trudging towards your apartment that you know is going to suffocate you with its silence. You know it’s pretty pathetic missing him so much, feeling sorry for yourself that you’re alone once again on this day, but you can’t help it. The hope that next year will be different is nearly gone by now, your determination to refuse to accept it finally broken.

Entering the dark apartment, you toss your keys onto the counter and make your way to the living room, fully intending on spending the rest of the night mindlessly watching some TV show until you fall asleep. Subconsciously, your thoughts wander to what Atsumu is doing right now. The team usually goes out after games, especially ones they win. And it’ll be a day or two until they leave wherever they’re at, so they have plenty of time.

Part of you aches at the thought of him out, having a good time with his team, while you’re here—alone, watching some lame TV show and feeling sorry for yourself.

What you don’t know, is that Atsumu has forgone the celebration tonight. In fact, he’s rushing to the airport to catch his late flight back to Japan. He booked this flight the day after he found out he was going to be gone again. He might not make it back in time to be there on the actual date, but he hopes the gesture is enough.

On the flight, he thinks about your reaction, imagining your laugh and beaming smile at the sight of him. Daydreaming about sweeping you up into his arms and kissing you until you’re both breathless and dizzy keeps him awake, though he doubts you’ll be when he arrives. That’s alright, he perfectly happy surprising you in the morning too.

He gets back to Japan in the early hours of the morning, and when he enters the apartment, he finds you fast asleep under a blanket on the couch, the TV casting a faint glow into the room. He smiles softly to himself, allowing himself a minute to appreciate how adorable you look. Leaning down, he finagles his arms beneath your shoulders and legs and hefts you into his arms to carry you to the bedroom. To his surprise, you don’t wake up. Instead, you mumble quietly, and his heart nearly bursts at how even in your sleep you press closer to him.

Tucking you in, he kisses you lightly on the forehead before climbing under the covers beside you. Pulling you into his arms, you fit nicely in his embrace, and he falls into an easy sleep.

~

In the morning, your eyes flutter open, blearily looking around and realizing you’re now in the bedroom. When did you move in here? Did you put yourself to bed last night without realizing it? It’s then that your eyes snap open at the realization that the apartment smells like breakfast. Heart thundering against your chest, you throw the covers off you and head towards the kitchen so fast you almost trip in the hallway.

Upon seeing Atsumu standing at the stove, his back to you, it’s hard to keep your feet under you. And without your permission, tears well up in your eyes so fast that a few drops are already sliding down your cheeks. You sniff to try and get a hold of yourself, which gets Atsumu’s attention.

He whips around to find you standing at the entryway of the hallway with tears streaking down your face and immediately his heart softens. “Happy anniversary, love,” he says by way of greeting.

You can’t stop yourself; your feet move before your brain can catch up with them, throwing yourself into his open arms. He squeezes you tight, and then your lips are on his, your fingers tangling into his hair pulling him closer as you slot your body against his. He can’t help chuckling at you, despite thoroughly enjoying this reaction to his surprise.

“I’m trying to cook breakfast,” he says between kisses.

You don’t think he’ll be very hard to convince to abandon the eggs on the stove. With one hand, you turn the burner off. “Don’t care,” you say, pushing him back towards the bedroom.

He happily obliges.

~

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[qqueenofhades]

Fake dating AU for the idiot Heartrender Husbands! I beg of you!

As ever, I am preposterously easy to enable, and since they will eventually make an appearance in A Phantom in Enchanting Light, I decided to write their backstory for that verse. Also, “fake dating but it’s only fake because they’re both idiots” is an Aesthetic. I love them.

Moscow, 2010

The guy is most definitely late. Fedyor got here early – probably too early, since they’re supposed to meet at eleven and he arrived by quarter past ten – but it’s now 11:08 and still no sign of him. Fedyor has claimed a corner table in the coffee shop just off Red Square with its splendid old tsarist-era décor, surrounded by the murmur of conversation and clicking laptop keys as his fellow Muscovites get on with their daily lives. The rule is fifteen minutes, yes? If Ivan Sakharov doesn’t show up in another seven, Fedyor is free to bail. But it’s been so long, and Nadia, the mutual friend responsible for this set-up, has begged Fedyor to give him a chance. And since it is understandably difficult to date as a gay man in Russia, Fedyor’s patience must be tested longer than usual. He sips his flat white and glances at the door again. Still no Ivan.

Fedyor opens his phone and checks the photo that Nadia sent him, trying to decide if this man is attractive enough to compensate for his tardiness. It’s hard to tell. It is 11:14, and he is absolutely about to pack up and leave by no later than 11:25, when a tall, grim-faced man in a red windbreaker strides in. He stops short, glances around, spots Fedyor, and powers over with such single-minded determination that Fedyor fears he’s about to be arrested. “Hello,” he says curtly. “I am Ivan Ivanovich Sakharov. I believe you are waiting for me?”

“Ah – ? I am Fedyor Mikhailovich Kaminsky, yes,” he manages, offering a hand, which Ivan crushes in a Terminator grip. “It’s – nice to meet you?”

Ivan snorts, pulls out the other chair, and drapes his jacket over it, then orders a small plain coffee (black like his soul, evidently). Then he returns, sits down, and claps his hands as if he is calling a misbehaving class to attention. “Where are you from?” he barks. “How long have you lived in Moscow?!”

Fedyor continues to gape. He’s genuinely not sure if this is Ivan attempting to get to know him on speed-run, or if he’s being interrogated by a FSB agent who can’t even act for two seconds like he’s not. It’s ominously possible. Dmitry Medvedev is the president and there are hopes that there might be a social liberalization, but the Orthodox patriarchs and the far right have been increasingly agitating against Russia’s embattled LGBTQ community, and things could just as easily get worse. Is this a setup or a setup? Nadia would never knowingly put him in a dangerous situation, of course, but maybe she was likewise fooled. You’d think that if this was a sting, they could have found a guy who was actually capable of pretending to be on a date, but maybe that��s the point? What the hell is going on here?

Fedyor opens his mouth, then shuts it. As a matter of fact, he is originally from Nizhny Novgorod, but moved to Moscow for university and has lived here for seven years, but if Ivan is with the FSB, he probably already knows that. Is this a trick? Is Ivan trying to match him to some police intelligence file or see if he’s a liar? Fedyor is seriously about to get up and walk out (or maybe sprint out) when Ivan, perhaps realizing that he’s blowing this to a heretofore unprecedented degree, says, “Sorry. I am from Krasnoyarsk. I enjoy rugby.”

Of course he likes rugby if he’s from Krasnoyarsk. This is a disaster. “Uh, what side?”

“Krasny Yar,” says Ivan, in the tone of a man about to stand up and belt out the fight song. “I also enjoy football. Yenisey Krasnoyarsk. Though I have begun supporting Lokomotiv since I came to Moscow. That was five years ago.”

So, he’s definitely a hooligan. Fedyor does his best to keep smiling. In the flesh, Ivan is definitely not unattractive. His hair is crisp and brown, there are glints of hazel in his eyes, and he has that hard, chiseled handsomeness that Fedyor always ends up getting suckered into. Except for the fact that he is lively, extroverted, and outgoing, likes clubbing and mingling and making friends, and this man does not appear to have ever heard of a single one of those things. What was Nadia thinking? It’s not like her to whiff this badly. Or did she have to be so circumspect in asking Ivan if he would like to meet Fedyor that, even if he’s not an undercover cop, he is in fact clueless about the true nature of this social engagement? Thinks it’s guys being pals?

“Did you have somewhere you were coming from earlier?” Fedyor asks, after another excruciating silence. “Is that why you were – ?”

“My apologies. The bus was late. I am normally very punctual.” Ivan scowls ferociously, as if the bus ever dares to do such a thing again, he will personally murder it. “What hobbies do you enjoy, Fedyor Mikhailovich?”

“I think you can call me Fedyor, yes?” They are clearly nowhere near “Fedya” and “Vanya” just yet, but “Fedyor Mikhailovich” always makes Fedyor look around warily for his grumpiest professor at MSU. He tries to think of subtle conversational gambits to find out what Ivan knows, without being obvious. Oh God, he really should just cut his losses, but something – perhaps the pathetic conviction that even a terrible date is better than no date at all – keeps him in his seat. Presuming that he does get out of here alive, he will call up Nadia straightaway and ask her many, many questions, mostly consisting of Why??! “Well,” Fedyor says at last. “I like having fun?”

“I also enjoy fun,” Ivan says, stone-faced. “I am very funny.”

Russian humor is normally extremely deadpan, to the point that Fedyor does wonder if Ivan is in fact a diabolical troll genius, but somehow he doesn’t think so. The rest of the conversation proceeds in this fashion, but by the end of an hour, Fedyor still has no idea if he has just been on a date or a trip to the gulag. Ivan gets up, administers another bone-crushing handshake, thanks him for his time, and marches out. Fedyor can practically hear the Red Army Choir thundering some patriotic anthem in his wake.

When he gets home that afternoon, Fedyor is resolved to write off the whole thing, except it was weirdly kind of not as bad as he first thought, maybe, somehow. If nothing else, he’s fascinated by this, like watching a slow-motion train crash. He takes out his phone with the intention of calling Nadia, only to see a text message from an unfamiliar number. When he opens it, it reads, Hello. Your company was agreeable today. Thank you. Perhaps we could meet again next week. Please reply yes or no. The message uses the formal styles of address, and some of the spellings are slightly old-fashioned. He has also signed it – Иван Сахаров – in case there might be some confusion with another Ivan the Terrible at Dating of Fedyor’s recent acquaintance. It is a bit like getting a text from the undertaker.

Fedyor stares at it, insanely tempted to burst out laughing, and finally, just because now he’s too curious to refuse, texts back his gracious acceptance. Still chuckling, he makes dinner, and then, as his phone pings with Ivan’s response, wonders in horror what on earth he is getting himself into.

This is how things continue for the next six weeks. Ivan and Fedyor meet up for the second time, stroll sedately around one of Moscow’s many city parks together, then part ways, and this time it’s Fedyor’s turn to ask if he would like to do it again. He isn’t sure exactly why, except that Ivan is unexpectedly easy to spend time with, and he nods in stoic approval of whatever Fedyor says. Of course, they follow the usual rules of dating which are especially important in Russia: don’t talk about politics, don’t talk about religion, don’t talk about America, don’t talk about Ukraine, don’t talk about Chechnya. From what Fedyor can glean, Ivan’s views tend to the doctrinaire, but he is surprisingly undogmatic, and willing to at least act as if he has an open mind. If he was an FSB agent, it feels like he would have busted Fedyor by now, but maybe he is waiting for him to do something unmistakably gay. That’s not it. Right?

Nadia calls, wanting to know how it’s going, and Fedyor grills her for forty minutes over whether Ivan is a law enforcement plant, a lonely guy looking for a friend, the world’s most method practical joker, or just extremely stupid. Nadia insists that he is actually very nice once you get to know him (HA, thinks Fedyor) and has no particular affection for either the ruling classes or the oligarchs. He can certainly be an acquired taste, but he is not evil.

Forced to accept it, still chickening out of asking Ivan whether he knows they’re dating, wondering if they are dating, if Ivan knows that Fedyor knows they’re dating, if Fedyor only thinks he knows that they are dating while they are not actually dating, or if Ivan thinks he knows that they’re dating while they’re… whatever the fresh-fried fuck is truly happening here, Fedyor trudges off for what has become his almost-weekly rendezvous with Ivan the-Maybe-Not-Quite-So-Terrible. They manage to have a few conversations verging on meaningful, and Fedyor has found himself telling Ivan about his family and Nizhny Novgorod and other such things. Fedyor likes to talk and Ivan likes to listen, though he breaks in now and again with a bone-dry quip. He’s still never what you would call loquacious, or easily forthcoming, but Fedyor likes that. Ivan is tough, complex, enigmatic, guarded, occasionally willing to let down his walls but only if the other person is worth it, and Fedyor finds, to his surprise, that he wants to be worth it. If this is a long-con mind game, he almost doesn’t care. (Almost.)

The problem, however, is that they’ve been seeing each other regularly for a month and a half and they haven’t gotten any closer than walking through a park, outdoors, in full view of their fellow comrades. Even the first time Fedyor takes the plunge and invites Ivan to his apartment, they sit three feet apart on the couch, watching a badly-Russian-subtitled version of Die Hard and providing critical commentary. Fedyor’s English is a lot more fluent than Ivan’s, and his middle-class family, while not exactly wealthy, is definitely better off than Ivan’s hardscrabble clan of miners and loggers in Siberia. That upbringing certainly does explain, to some degree, why Ivan is the way he is, and Fedyor wonders anxiously if Ivan views him as an insufferably posh city boy. Ivan barely finished high school and went straight to working in a Krasnoyarsk aluminum factory. He definitely did not faff around Moscow State University and attend global development seminars in Paris.

Nonetheless, despite their obvious differences, they do get along, and Fedyor is unable to deny the fact that he would, if it’s all right with everyone, like it to be more than that. Of course, finding out if Ivan knows, etc. etc., has been the paramount challenge, and there is no way to find out other than to go for it. Fedyor is 75% sure that they’ve been going steady for two months, but if it’s actually the other 25%, this is going to get awkward in a hurry. Is this essentially a fake relationship, or is it only fake because they’re both idiots?

After having duly commended his soul to God, Fedyor invites Ivan over on Saturday night. He rents a tiny flat by himself since he’s been burned on rooming with strangers, but Ivan is used to it by now, and it doesn’t feel too small with the two of them. Fedyor strains his limited culinary skills to cook supper, probably making his babushka cluck her tongue and sigh in a judgmental fashion back in Nizhny Novgorod, and they sit down and eat in silence for five minutes. Then Fedyor says, “Vanya?”

The consistent use of the diminutive has started sometime in the last few weeks, neither of them remember quite when. Ivan doesn’t correct him. “Yes?”

Fedyor clears his throat. “Do you…” He winces. “Do you… like me?”

“Yes?” Ivan says again, looking confused. “I would not have spent so much time with you if I did not, don’t you think? We are friends.”

“Yes, I know that we’re friends, but…” Fedyor looks at the ceiling. It doesn’t help, so he looks back at Ivan. “Are we… special friends?”

Ivan continues to look blank. “Are we?”

Fedyor resists the urge to tug at his collar, thinking that it’s a damn good thing that he didn’t go with his other idea of just leaning across the table and passionately kissing him. With absolutely no change of tone or expression, Ivan says, “Please explain. Special friends how?”

“Friends who want to…” Fedyor takes a deep breath. “Be… more than friends?”

“How?” Ivan orders again, ruthlessly. “Be clear, Fedya.”

“Are we maybe… boyfriends?” Fedyor’s voice squeaks on the word. “As in… we have feelings for each other that aren’t just… friendly? Like… feelings which are… romantic?”

Ivan continues to stare at him like a statue for several more seconds, and Fedyor contemplates the feasibility of tunneling directly through the floor of his apartment and running all the way to Latvia. Then at last, Ivan throws his head back and – startling Fedyor deeply – breaks into real, genuine, belly laughter, the kind that he has never heard from Ivan before. “Oh my,” he chortles, slapping the table. “Your face. You were sweating bullets.”

“WAIT, WHAT!?!” Fedyor pushes his chair back and stands up with a clatter, incandescently outraged. “Are you – were you messing with me?!!”

“Maybe a little,” Ivan says, wiping his eyes. “You know, all this time, I have not been sure if you are shy or a terrible prude. Why haven’t you kissed me yet?”

“God’s Mother in Heaven – ” Fedyor feels another prick of disloyalty to his babushka for swearing on the Bogomater, but some people deserve it. All inhibitions forgotten, he charges at Ivan like a runaway train, as Ivan springs out of his own chair in readiness, and starts pounding on his chest in transports of fury. “You are the worst! You are the worst person ever! For two months, what have we been doing?! I have been afraid this whole time that maybe you don’t know what’s really going on, and now – ?! You are the worst!”

Ivan catches Fedyor’s flailing arms, holds them away from him, and picks him up bodily, swinging him around and pushing him against the wall. “Maybe I am just a dumb country boy from Siberia,” he remarks, “but even I am not that stupid, Fedyor Mikhailovich.”

“I hate you,” Fedyor pants, their faces and their mouths an inch away from each other. “Get out of my apartment.”

“Mmm?” Ivan cocks an eyebrow. Then he plants both hands on either side of Fedyor’s head, leans in, and deeply, savagely captures Fedyor’s mouth with his own.

Every remaining vestige of barely rational thought in Fedyor’s head evaporates in screaming shock. He still wants to shove Ivan away, knee him in the balls, or break a chair over his head, but if he did that, he would have to stop kissing him, and he can’t do that either. He moans, Ivan’s tongue takes the opportunity to slip into his mouth, their hands clutch and claw and their legs melt out from under them, they turn away or break contact only to gulp a breath before diving back in again, and the next time Fedyor is aware of anything, they have collapsed on his kitchen floor in a wrung-out, entangled, gasping heap. Ivan says in his ear, “Do you still want me to leave, Fedya?”

“No,” Fedyor manages. “Because now, I am really going to make you suffer.”

Ivan’s smile is dark and full of promise. He pulls back, gets to his feet, and holds out a hand. “Then I’ll meet you in the bedroom.”

(Ivan doesn’t leave Fedyor’s apartment that night. He doesn’t leave it the next night either. At the end of the week, Fedyor calls up Nadia and informs her that he hates her so much, and when they do next see each other, he’ll shake her by both shoulders and then thank her for introducing him to the no-good, truly awful, very bad love of his life.)

[twdmusicboxmystery]

TWD 11x07: Promises Broken - Analysis

How did everyone like episode 11x07? This is going to be pretty short and sweet today. Right off the bat, I have less to say about this episode that I did about last week's. I've also seen episode 8 already, and it's phenomenal. I’ll have a lot more to say about next week’s as well. 11x07 is one of those episodes that sort of transitions between big events. They are still definitely some interesting developments that I’ll talk about. But not as much detail to go into.

***As always, spoilers abound below for 11x07. Don’t read until you’ve watched!***

There were two major Beth callbacks that really grabbed my attention. I'll talk about both of them and then briefly about what happens at the Commonwealth. Tomorrow I’ll do Details as usual and honestly the rest the week may be Asks. Not only because I don't have much time this week to get new posts written, but also because the Asks are really building up in my inbox and I need to get them all answered.

First major Beth saw tie-in I saw:

We learned more about Elijah in this episode. I no longer worry about him being a plant or mole of any kind. He does seem to be disappearing at random times, but we learned in this episode that his sister was killed in the attack by the reapers (actually, we already knew that), but more specifically that she's a walker somewhere. He wasn't able to put her down.

In the opening scene, a teenage girl walker moves toward the group and Maggie kills her. She says that this young woman was Elijah's sister's best friend. We learn that Elijah’s sister is still out there somewhere.

If that's not a huge tie to Beth and what we believe happened during the missing 17 days, I don't know what is.

Later in the episode, as Maggie and Elijah are leading the walker horde toward Meridian, he looks over and sees his sister as a walker. It was somewhat reminiscent of Michonne in 4B. But mostly, it just screamed Beth to me.

Obviously, in this case, Elijah was able to find his sister and she truly is deceased. It was difficult because when he sees her, they are leading the walker horde, and therefore he couldn't actually put her down. If he had, it would've gotten the attention of the rest of the walkers and he and Maggie probably would've been eaten. But he started to cry, and Maggie held his hand. I thought it was very sweet and poignant. But I also couldn't help but think that Maggie is so very sympathetic toward him because she knows EXACTLY how he feels.

Second major Beth callback:

This one came through Daryl and Leah's storyline. They find a young family, who Pope tells them to kill. But Leah has an intense emotional reaction, especially when she sees the couple's son, who looks like he's probably not too many years older than Matthew was. She defies Pope’s order and doesn't kill the family. Instead, she tells the father and son to run away. The mother, who was badly hurt, and probably wouldn't have survived anyway, asks Leah to kill her. But Leah, still upset, can't do it. So, Daryl does it for her.

He walks up to retrieve his arrow and covers the woman with a blanket. This was a direct call back to the Rich Bitch walker in Still, who he covered the blue tarp to appease Beth. Remember that after Lenny was killed by the Claimers, he also almost covered him with the tarp, but then ended up not.

In this scene with Leah, Daryl then turns around and says, "Leah, I gotta tell you something." Obviously, he was going to tell her everything and try to bring her in on his plan. He doesn't end up doing it because just then Pope radios and tells them to get back to camp. (I assume that's because they see Maggie’s walker horde coming.)

I can't help but think that everything about Leah reminded Daryl of Beth in this scene. She still wearing her blonde ponytail, she got emotional about the situation and had sympathy for the family. The fact that she reminded him so much of Beth in that moment is probably why he covered the deceased woman. It was an almost unconscious action because he was thinking of Beth. And that is why he decided to trust Leah, even though he didn't actually do it.

You might say that we have a bit of a Darth Vader situation going on here. Daryl is trying to figure out whether there is still good in Leah and whether he can trust her. That's why he's always watching her interactions with Pope so closely. He sort of wants to turn her to the good side, or TF’s side. And no, I don't think it's because of anything romantic. AK has said that's over with. But that doesn't mean Leah can't be helpful to him in making sure that Maggie and the rest of the group survive.

So, what this is probably going to come down to is Daryl finally showing Leah his hand, and then it will depend on whether helps him save Maggie and the others or turns on him and outs him to Pope. MSF next week. Just sayin’. ;D

Let's talk briefly about the Commonwealth.

We had this really weird sequence where Eugene and Stephonie are clearing walkers, but they see two younger people walk by who are being a little bit snotty about being near where walkers are.

Later, they see these two kissing under the pavilion, with walkers coming up behind them. Eugene runs out and saves them from the walkers. Another one shows up while Eugene is arguing that the young man, who turns out to be a total tool. Stephonie kills that walker, spraying the young guy’s girlfriend with blood.

While watching, I couldn’t figure out where this was leading. It was just so bizarre. Yes, Eugene and Stephani saved them from walkers, and yes, they were being jerks about it, but why would there be walkers near them while they were on a date anyway? Why did Mercer lead them to a place with walkers nearby and then leave them alone? I just wasn't quite putting it all together.

We then learned that this young man is Pamela Milton’s son. That's why he so entitled, because his mother runs the community, so he thinks the world owes him something. Because Eugene hit him, poor Eugene finds himself in this in a cell again.

I didn't really put together what was going on until Hornsby showed up and said, "Now the price is higher. We need to know the name of your town and how to get there."

So, yeah. It was all a set up. They're wanted Eugene to do something else they could punish him for because they're trying to get the name of his settlement. It's no different than what they were trying to do in the interrogation. So, these people are pretty diabolical. They realized the interrogation wasn't working. Eugene's group wasn't intimidated by them and they knew they would get answers that way. So, they set up first the radio and then the situation with Pamela Milton’s son in order to try and force Eugene to give them the name of the name and location of Alexandria. 

At the end of the episode, it sounds like Eugene is thinking about caving, but we don't know whether he did or not in this episode.

Another thing of interest is that the real Stephanie who Eugene talked to on the radio seems to be Pamela Milton's receptionist. She and Yumiko did have some interaction in this episode.

Beyond that, we also did have a really interesting conversation between Maggie and Negan. Though there wasn’t much that was TD about it, I really did enjoy that scene.

I also still think they’re setting up something with Father Gabriel, but I’m still at a loss as to what it is.

That's it for today. Like I said, short and sweet. I'll be back with details and any developments from the talking dead tomorrow. How did everyone like this episode?

[alyblacklist]

Do you think the keenler storyline is going anywhere? I used to be sure that it was, I mean why else would they have them kiss and have sex. However now that Liz has been gone for five episodes and she is being quite mean to Ressler (the whole pointing a gun to his head and pretty much telling Cooper about them sleeping together) I feel like a relationship between them will never happen and the writers are just trying to make us forget or dislike Keenler.

Ok, on to the asks about Ressler/Keenler in 8x09 where things were said, but only through contact lenses and earpieces. Thoughts below the jump, because it’s a long post that will (hopefully) address all of these at least in part.

I do think it was Liz speaking through the doppelganger at all relevant times. They haven’t given me a reason not to think that at this point. She knew things only Liz could know. So I assume (unless we get new info) that everything Mia Collins said to Ressler was actually Liz telling her what to say to him (and likewise to Aram and Cooper). I did express to BlacklistRoom on Twitter that they were evil for having faux-Liz call Ressler “Donald” on screen before real Liz does. And at first, I thought maybe that was some sort of signal to Ressler that things were amiss because real Liz wouldn’t do that, but in the end I think it was just the writers playing their usual games. NOT because they hate Keenler or Keenler fans (they’re the ones who made Keenler canon, for God’s sake), but just because they love to toy with fan emotion. They give you a Wing Yee birthday nugget one ep, they throw in a loose “Donald” in another from the lips of a faux-Liz. They know exactly the emotional points to hit if they’re paying attention to social media (and they certainly are, to a point). 

I did catch that accurate observation on Twitter that the doppelganger did not have her finger on the trigger while pointing the gun at Ressler’s head. I’d like to think the actress and crew are careful enough to catch such things as her finger was nowhere near that trigger (and she knew how to shoot that unnamed FBI agent during the chase) so I hope that was purposeful, perhaps as a small signal to the audience that Liz never really intended to hurt Ressler, even though he of course couldn’t see what was going on behind his head. A nod, at least, to the idea that Liz doesn’t really mean to hurt him.

Before I get too much deeper into my personal impressions of the scene, I want to specifically address the anon who wonders if she’s alone in finding it hard to root for Liz or Keenler in all this.

Of course you’re not.

Darker Liz isn’t for everyone. If I had a dollar for every time someone has told me Ressler deserves better than Liz over the past five years, I’d be able to buy you dinner (even at NYC prices). Never mind how many have abandoned the ship over that exact issue or related issues over the seasons. But I also think you know that I don’t share your viewpoint. Maybe that’s why you send me asks, or maybe you’re just using my inbox as an outlet to find those who agree with you. I don’t know and it doesn’t matter (although I admit if it’s the latter, publishing your thoughts on your OWN page rather than in my inbox might be preferable because as much as I enjoy asks to a point, I’m a little tired of ship hand-holding asks. I like what I like and trying to explain it or defend it gets a little tiring.)

All I can say is after five years of deep investment in this fandom and these characters, it takes a LOT more than an absent female lead and a bumpy episode to capsize my ship and send me into the pit of despair. For me, this is the expected price we pay for the ship being canon now versus only at the very end of the show. The Blacklist has never been about showing smooth, happy, relationships. Angst, drama, tension is the name of the game. You have to decide for yourself whether you can stomach that on a week to week basis and especially this season because they warned us – “good AND difficult” – difficult!  - for Keenler. I reconcile the conflict by the fact that Ressler still WANTS Liz and BELIEVES in Liz despite her flaws and if he does, then so do I. The man has some blinders when it comes to Liz, certainly, but not the sort that they love to mock him for on screen. He’s not thinking solely with his male parts brain, he’s thinking with his actual, in his head brain and he LOVES this woman despite her crazy and I love that about him. He’s smarter than most people give him credit for. And I am also of the view that real life and ships do not need to be equivalents. You can love two flawed fictional TV characters without being a person who wants to see those things manifest in real life. (I also ship Wanda and Vision for the record).

So I think we can all agree that this episode – and Liz’s absence generally – has been more “difficult” than good Keenler-wise. Ressler himself told us in those early episodes before her departure that it’s different if you see her, and it certainly is. We’ve been robbed of Liz’s thoughts and emotions entirely ever since she last graced our screen in Ep. 8x04. (And of Ressler’s reaction to said departure, for the most part). At the same time, I think Liz recognizes that too as she hasn’t to our knowledge directly engaged with Cooper, Aram OR Ressler since she left except through surrogates. Purposeful choices on the part of the diabolical writers.

As I said in my earlier ask response tonight, I remain of the view that Liz is in control of her actions and is doing her own risk/benefit assessment in how she responds to the situations she finds herself in. 

I do NOT think that means she has lost all emotion or feeling for Cooper, Aram OR Ressler, but as she explained to Townsend, “Reddington has an army on both sides of the law. I can’t do this alone. I need a partner.” She believes that the Task Force – all of them – are tied to Reddington in their own way, including Ressler, and she doesn’t expect them to violate those arrangements/principles for her. She’s moving outside the boundaries of those relationships to shed light on the secrets that she believes are being kept. Did she involve them this week?  Yes, but I think only because Townsend forced her hand on dealing with his sister. I doubt she would’ve sent her double to the Post Office otherwise. (I totally agree that the Post Office needs better security protocols btw – the idea that Liz can continually breach their defenses has become absolutely laughable at this point).

But, part of that is personal relationships.  She needed Ressler to give her the door codes and he did. Why? Not because he’s her patsy or her f--- boy or whatever derogatory term someone wants to slap on him (!), but because he loves her, flaws and all. The whole letting her go/letting him go thing has always had double meaning, back to S2. 

Cyranoid Liz: You should let me go. Ressler: Those days are over. Cyranoid Liz: Why? Nothing’s changed.

Has nothing changed? He let her go in S2 and then she shot Tom Connolly and he beat himself up over it. Then, the “I can’t let her go” (Ressler pointing the gun in S3 outside the Russian embassy), followed by that car chase and then Red in the next episode, Eli Matchett:

Red: Ressler is a law-enforcement robot. The FBI winds him up– Liz: That’s not true. He’s a person. He’s a good person. Red: Look at me. You need to let that go, Lizzy. I have survived for a very long time now, and I assure you, I didn’t do it by relying on the goodness in people.

I’d submit it has and it hasn’t. All these seasons later, she is once again having a hard time letting him go and so is he (with respect to her).

Ressler: Why’d you call? Liz: I don’t know. I guess– because every time we say goodbye, I’m afraid we might actually mean it.

Both with eyes open wider this time and yet, still wanting the peaceful night, free of all the distractions. 

Yes, he let Liz’s double go physically without much protest. Emotionally? He hasn’t let go of Liz. Not one bit. And Liz saw that, through her cyranoid. He’s still on her side. He still wants to believe in her, no matter what she’s putting him through (and poor Ressler, he’s really enduring a lot – though I hope the tide will turn on that at some point).  He had no reason to open that door, and yet – he did. He doesn’t want that one night to be just ONE night and deep down, I don’t think she does either.

“I won’t give up on you.” 

He hasn’t, yet. “But I still need to do my job, Keen.” She better not push him too far because the day he does is the day I worry. He’s desperate not to repeat the mistakes of the past, he’s desperate to trust her this time. Not because he’s thinking with his small man-part-brain, but with his HEART. He loves her. He’ll do anything he can for her within the limits of his conscience. They are each others’ second chance.

I don’t view Keenler or Ressler’s feelings for Liz or Liz’s manipulations of Ressler as fatal to the ship because I accept that this whole thing – Liz’s mission – is the battle for her soul  that the writers have teased for years . Which side will win? Hopefully the right one. The hopeful one. The one that makes second chances happen.

Cheers.

[advena87]

Let's bring Cat to Kaer Morhen!

I always think what would happen if Lambert had the opportunity to bring Aiden to Kaer Morhen at least one winter. How would other witchers react to him and whether Aiden would get along with them.

Of course, the most difficult thing would be with Vesemir, the old witcher still holds a grudge against Cats, doesn’t trust them and is terrified by the prospect that his youngest son is involved with one of them.

Geralt would be curious, both for Aiden himself (he is a notorious cat! Is everything that is said about them true?) and his relationship with Lambert. Lambert is an asshole, Geralt will have a hard time believing that he has made a real friend, and when he finally does, he will understand that it is not about friendship. And it would be hilarious for him.

Eskel immediately realizes what is happening here and is immediately tired of it, because Lambert and Aiden (especially Lambert) have a communication problem and cannot determine the status of their relationship. Lambert denies it, Aiden sabotages it. Eskel has no patience for watching these two morons and their stupid actions.

(I warn you right away, it will be long!)

.

*right after arriving at Kaer Morhen with Aiden*

Vesemir: Do you really trust this Cat that much?

Lambert: If I murdered someone, he’s the person I’d call to help me drag the corpse across the floor.

Vesemir: * glare *

Lambert: Oh, you think that disapproving glare works on me after all the times I've seen it?

***

Geralt: Have you been yelled at by Vesemir yet?

Aiden: I'm not scared of him.

Eskel: So that's a no.

***

Vesemir: Stay away from Lambert.

Aiden: I take that as an invitation.

***

Vesemir: Remember, no tricks, no lies, no trouble!

Eskel and Geralt simultaneously: Yes, Vesemir!

Lambert: Kiss my ass, Vesemir!

Vesemir: I wasn’t talking to you. *glares at Aiden*

*later*

Aiden: Wow, your dad really hates me.

Lambert: Don't worry, he hates me too.

Aiden: No, I think he hates me because he loves you.

Lambert: What kind of fucked up logic is that?

***

Lambert: Look guys, I need help.

Vesemir, glaring suspiciously at Aiden: Love help?

Geralt: Financial help?

Eskel: Emotional help?

Aiden: Help moving a body?

*Everyone looks at Aiden*

Aiden: ... What? You'd be surprised how often he needs this kind of help.

***

Lambert: Vesemir, not all Cats are crazy.

Aiden: Easy for you to say, you're not one.

Lambert: You don't make it easy, Aiden

Aiden: And you can't lie to them. I AM a lunatic motherfucker with lethal combat skills.

***

Aiden: *under his breath* This is bullshit.

Vesemir: Did you just curse? Because we don’t talk like that in this god-damn, mother-fucking house.

Aiden: ...

Vesemir: Shit.

***

Aiden: Son of a b-

Aiden: *notices Vesemir*

Aiden: Penis!

Aiden: That wasn't any better.

***

Geralt: You don’t know my family. What you call the Apocalypse, I call Sunday dinner!

Aiden: The Apocalypse on Stygga Castle was always on Fridays.

Aiden: My mentor served the boar for dinner.

Aiden: It was the only day of the week that we were allowed to eat meat…

Aiden: And then he made us fight for it to death.

Geralt: Man, what the fuck? Is he serious?

Lambert: I don't know. On the one hand, I hear a different version of Friday dinners every fucking time, on the other, he always cries when we have a peaceful dinner on Fridays.

***

* Sunday dinner*

Vesemir: Uhm, Cat, that's where I sit.

Aiden: So sit next to me.

Vesemir: No, I sit there.

Aiden: What's the difference?

Vesemir: "What's the difference?"

Lambert: Oh fuck, here we go.

Vesemir: In the winter, that seat is close enough to the fireplace to remain warm, and yet not so close as to cause perspiration. In the summer, it's directly in the path of a cross-breeze created by opening windows there and there. It faces the kitchen at an angle that is neither direct, thus discouraging conversation, nor so far wide as to create a parallax distortion. I could go on.

Aiden, getting up from the seat: Okay, I get it.

*Later, Aiden and Lambert in private*

Aiden: Now seriously, he really, really, REALLY hates me.

Lambert: No, he just really, really, REALLY loves that chair

***

*Geralt and Eskel try to make drunken pranks on Lambert with Aiden's help. A few things went wrong*

Geralt: You were only supposed to create a diversion, Aiden!

Eskel: That was complete destruction.

Aiden: What do you want from me?! I'm Cat witcher, man! It's what I do!

***

Lambert: MERRY CHRISTMSS MOTHERFUCKERS!!!

Aiden: FUCK YEAH BITCHES LETS GET IT POPPIN *plays Mariah Carey*

Geralt: Guys... it’s 5 am.

Eskel: Don't make me have to get out of bed and beat the shit out of you.

***

*after another drinking party in Kaer Morhen*

Eskel: What happened last night?

Geralt: Strangely, I have no idea. Wait. *tries to remember something* Nothing. Weird. Disjointed. My memory is completely blank.

Eskel: It sounds disturbingly familiar.

Geralt: Eskel, why is there a shower cap on your head?

Eskel: I'm sure there's a very easy explanation to this.

Geralt: Is there a very easy explanation as to why you're wearing sandals that aren't yours?

Eskel: Where are my boots?

Geralt: And why are you wearing a gold chain, Eskel?

Lambert, wakes up realising he is spooning Aiden: Oh fuck, please tell me this is a dream.

Aiden, waking up: Calm down, fluffkin. Come back to bed.

Lambert: Whatever you think happened last night didn't happen, because nothing happened you got it?

Eskel: That's nice, Lambert. Way to belittle the man.

Aiden: Yeah, Lambert. I do have feelings.

Geralt to Aiden: What is all over your face?

Aiden: I can't be sure. *checks his face* Oh Gods. You didn't see a mad dwarf dealing a fisstech, with a hook for an arm, did you?

Eskel: … what?

Geralt: N-no.

Eskel, to Lambert: Why do you have a black eye?

Lambert: Okay. It's nothing to freak about. Everybody relax. It's no big deal, it's just a small shiner.

Geralt: Lambert's absolutely right. His lover's spat with Aiden is really none of our business.

Lambert: Nothing fucking happened between us!

Aiden: Are you as disappointed as I am? And now seriously, we have to find that dwarf before Vesemir does.

***

Aiden: I have flaws! What are they? Oh I don’t know…

Aiden: I sing in the shower. Sometimes, I spend too much time being drugged and drunk.

Aiden: Occasionally, I’ll commit first degree murder.

Aiden: But please, please, may I date your son?

Vesemir: NO!

***

Geralt: What does Aiden think about your friendship?

Lambert: I don't know, I try not to bother him about this kind of stuff.

Geralt: You mean like your thoughts and feelings?

Lambert: Yeah.

*meanwhile*

Eskel: So, why do you put up with him?

Aiden: Because I'm desperately in love, that's why. And because Lambert is a great man, and I think one day, if we're very, very lucky, he might even be a good one.

*later*

Geralt: So what exactly is going on between the two of you?

Lambert: Nothing. Really. We're friends, that's it.

Eskel: You're idiots, the both of you.

Geralt: Are you sure you aren’t dating Aiden?

Lambert: If I am, I certainly wasn’t informed of it.

Geralt: To be fair, if any of us were dating someone without realizing it, it would be you.

***

Lambert after arguing with Eskel over Aiden: I can take care of my own... friend.

Lambert: Wait, where is he?

Eskel: *snorts*

***

*after Lambert refused to be Aiden's boyfriend*

Eskel: Let me get this straight: Aiden told you he wanted to be with you and you said ‘no’?

Lambert: I said no.

Geralt: What the hell is wrong with you?

Vesemir: Dumbass!

Lambert, Eskel and Geralt: *looks at Vesemir in surprise*

Lambert: Look, I have my reasons, okay?

Eskel: What the hell could they possibly be?

Lambert: He always wanders fuck knows where, getting into trouble and keeps flirting with other guys, and when he gets dumped, he suddenly comes running back to me? Look, I'm not a fucking rebound, all right?

Vesemir: You're too proud to take him back? What exactly do you have to be proud of?!

***

Eskel: Did you and Lambert get in a fight?

Aiden: Lambert had a fight. I was being perfectly reasonable.

Eskel: You guys are idiots, did you know that?

Aiden: In our own defense, we actually do know that.

***

*Lambert, Geralt and Eskel drink together after Lambert had a fight with Aiden*

Lambert: Guys, I don’t know what Aiden wants anymore! What am I supposed to do? 

Eskel: May I speak freely? 

Lambert: Yeah.

Eskel: I’m so bloody sick of hearing this shit day after day: “Guys, what am I to do? I told him I love him, I took it back, I’m afraid of commitment, I don't understand my own feelings!” *grabs Lambert* FOR THE FUCK’S SAKE! MAKE A MOVE! DO SOMETHING! DO YOU WANT TO REGRET THIS FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIFE?!

*Lambert absolutely terrified, runs away to his room without a word*

Geralt, shyly: Don't you think it was a bit harsh?

Eskel: What, you need some talk too? Because you and your sorceress  bullshit—

Geralt, scared: No, nope, I'm fine. I'm totally fine.

***

*Dandelion visits Kaer Morhen during the winter and is absolutely unaware of the on and off relationship situation between Lambert and Aiden*

Dandelion, about Lambert and Aiden: You know, you two make a cute couple.

Lambert: No, no we're not, we're not a fucking couple, we're single, two singles, like those individually wrapped slices of cheese that are friends, for the fuck’s sake!

Dandelion to Geralt: Did I pluck a nerve there?

Geralt: Yes, you did.

***

Aiden: Wait a minute! Are we hugging? Have we done this before?

Lambert: No. If you tell anyone, I'll slit your throat.

***

Lambert: Stop it.

Aiden: Stop what?

Lambert: Stop looking at me like that, or everyone here will think we did it.

Aiden: *grabs Lambert and kisses him deeply*

Lambert: Well, that'll throw them off the track.

***

Aiden: *leaving Lambert's room in the morning with Lambert's clothes on*

Vesemir, catching him: Don't you dare steal that shirt, I gave it to him for his birthday!

Aiden: Um... That's it? This is what you have to say in this situation?

Vesemir: Well...

Vesemir: Maybe you’re not a diabolical Cat sleeper agent out to infiltrate my family and destroy everything I’ve worked for.

Aiden: Truly, that’s all any guy can hope to hear from his boyfriend’s father.

***

Eskel: Someone has to tell Vesemir about this.

Geralt: Yeah.

Lambert Definitely, good luck Eskel.

Eskel: Wait, why me? It's your business!

Lambert: Because you're the scariest motherfucker.

Geralt: Eskel isn't the scariest! He just looks the scariest!

Eskel, sarcastically: Thanks Geralt, it was really uplifting.

Aiden, entering the room: What are you doing?

Eskel: We wonder how to tell Vesemir that you two cabbage heads are dating now.

Aiden: Oh, that won't be necessary. I'm pretty sure he knows about it.

Geralt: How so?

Aiden: He caught me sneaking out of Lambert's room in the morning in his clothes.

Lambert: Fucking WHAT?!

Eskel: How come you're still alive?

Aiden: I'm a cat, I always land on my feet.

***

Lambert: It's a package from Vesemir.

Aiden: What's in it?

Lambert: It's heavy. Must be his disappointment in me.

***

*After a fight with Vesemir, Lambert moved into the stable; Aiden is trying to get Lambert to move back into the keep*

Aiden: All right, I'll speak a language you understand. Five crowns if you move back in.

Lambert: Fifty.

Aiden: Ten.

Lambert: Forty-nine.

Aiden: A crown?! You went down a crown?!

Lambert: Okay, it's back to fifty.

Aiden: You know, you make it really difficult to love you sometimes.

Lambert: Yeah, that's what Vesemir says.

***

Lambert: Aiden, I need you to do me a favor.

Aiden: No, I’m not giving you anymore lap dances again.

Geralt: LAP DANCES?!

Eskel: AGAIN?!

Lambert: ANYMORE?!!!

***

Aiden about Lambert: He's got a great ass.

Geralt: Don't be gross.

***

Aiden: We have some exciting news.

Eskel: Okay.

Lambert: As you know, Aiden and I have been together for some time, and a lot of things I never thought possible now seem possible.

Geralt: Okay.

Aiden: After a careful evaluation of our relationship, we decided that the time was right to take a step forward.

Vesemir: *hyperventilate*

Lambert: Do you want to say it?

Aiden: Let's say it together.

Both Aiden and Lambert: We're getting a cat!

Eskel: This is why I've been saying we should keep champagne on ice.

Geralt: I think Vesemir is having a heart attack.

Both Aiden and Lambert: *evil laugh*

***

Aiden: We named our cat after the greatest man we know.

Geralt: What's his name?

Lambert: ...

Aiden, proudly: Vesemir.

.

[ivy-kissobryos]

Defining Witchcraft

This post is made in response to some topics I find commonly debated about within the Thai witchcraft community, but I want to post the English version here too. I will never tell someone who is or isn’t a witch- that is for you to decide. But if you claim to practice traditional witchcraft, especially those which lean towards western traditional witchcraft, then I will argue that the word ‘witch’ has a weight and history to it which you cannot ignore. It has a meaning. 

A witch, traditionally, is someone to be feared. A witch to the common folk is a terrifying figure, at times appearing vindictive, ‘intent on wrecking economic and physical havoc’ (Tangherlini, 2000). As discovered from stories and court proceedings collected between the seventeenth century to early twentieth century, witches have been accused of horrific crimes, ranging from assult to sabotage, poisoning to larceny and kidnapping to murder (Tangherlini, 2000). The book by Bever (2008) also name the crimes commonly associated with witchcraft to include ‘harming livestock’, and ‘physical acts like poisoning and surreptitious battery of children and animals through ailments’, and ‘cursing’ through ways such as ��subliminal forms of communication like eye contact’. Hence, a witch is someone who practices ‘maleficium’, a word which originally meant  ‘wrongdoing’ or ‘mischief’, but later became specifically associated with harmful magic in Roman times (Bever, 2008). Between veneficium and casting the evil eye and worse, witches were never good.

The usage of natural materials within the casting of witches’ spells were also commonplace. Historians have found ‘various cursed things, or fatture,’ like ‘bones ... human nails ... seeds ... coals ... and the teeth of the dead’ which were ‘found in a sick woman’s mattress’ (Bever, 2008). Curses, as done in the past, were not pretty and palatable. Likewise, ‘a mixture called lazaro puzzolente containing quicksilver, urine, and asafetida resin was known to be made to work a similar magic when placed under victims’ thresholds’ (Bever, 2008). Bottling urine and harmful material under the ground of someone’s threshold is a classic method to curse an enemy. Historians had also discovered ‘spells, herbs, roots ... and hair’ believed to ‘cause hailstorms and untimely frosts, sickness in man and beast; impotence; miscarriage and death’, alongside other forms of sympathetic magic such as ‘cursing tablets’ where one sample was made with ‘the skin and bones of a frog, which had been pierced by several large pins’ found at the ‘bottom of a well’, and curse poppets were also found historically, an example being ‘a wax figure with a pin through it’ (Bever, 2008).

Witches also work with an otherworldly entity (or entities) who teaches them and guides them, the most infamous being the Devil. Who the Devil is is a question for you to discover on your own. Witches of the past has been reportedly flying to meet the Devil in what is called a Sabbath. Bever (2008) touches upon this, noting that ‘witches flew to Sabbaths to worship the Devil through a variety of obscene rites, including perversions of the Christian sacraments’. Those familiar with witchcraft may notice that the description of the ‘perversions of the Christian sacraments’ sound similar to what many practicing witches call the ‘red meal’, which can be one way to commune with otherworldly forces. There have also been numerous claims and confessions of those who claimed to have met the Devil.

A man named Hanß described the Devil to be ‘a black man with horns’, who had appeared ‘to him both day and night, scaring and threatening him’ until one night ‘he had finally agreed to give himself to the Devil, who thereupon carried him to the “merry and happy” festivities where he saw the women and the musician.’ This description of the Devil as a horned dark man fits traditional folklore well, and so does the tale of the Sabbath. In the tale, ‘at the dance, the Devil fussed over him, carried him on his shoulders, brought him bread and meat, “told him to call him father, and called him his son,” and eventually carried him back home’ (Bever, 2008). This correlates with how many traditional witches nowadays may associate the Devil with the Witchfather, the father of witches and maker of witches (as I have seen the term Witchmaker used too).

The relationship with the Devil may also be partly devotional, like a woman who claimed that ‘she did homage to him’ and prayed ‘I worship you, oh lord and Devil, attend my soul’. This is similar to the admission of Maria Gekin’s testimony, who claimed to have said an incantation that dedicated herself to him:

To the Devil I want to be, To the Devil I want to stay, To the Devil I want to be bound, To the Devil want never from his hand, The Devil has made me, The Devil has saved me, The Devil has sanctified me, In his hands I want to stay, To the Devil I want always and eternally to be.

All of the above claims are explored in Bever (2008).

Historically, there have been claims about uses of a salve: an ‘ointment witches reputedly used to travel to their dances’ (Bever, 2008). The witch Apolonia, whose case occurred late in the period of the witch trials, claimed to have used the ointment which is commonly referred to as the flying ointment. Moreover, Apolonia reported her ‘flights to the witch dances’ to have ‘merged dream content with reality’. The concept of an oneiric Sabbath is also commonplace today among currently practicing traditional witches, with groups such as the Cultus Sabbati placing a high importance on the concept of the dream Sabbaths. An interesting point that should be taken into account though is that in the past and in certain cultures, there is no difference between dreams and reality. Likewise, as stated in Bever (2008): ‘dreams in which the dreamer was transported to another place to participate in magical events and which the dreamer experienced as real rather than as dreams, were, as we have seen, experienced in other parts of early modern Europe, and indeed, were recorded in other cases in Württemberg, by younger people whose cerebral integrity was not in question.’ It can be concluded that these witches who flew in their dreams were not insane, and their experiences should not be dismissed just because they were dreams.

These spirit flights or dream flights were not also known to be just flights where witches fly to meet the Devil, but witchcraft can be accomplished through these journeys. Bever (2008) notes that ‘in Slovenia sorcerers flew to fight against each other in trance or dream, as some Siberian shamans claimed to, and some Hungarian witches both fell into trances to make soul journeys and also were said to abduct victims and transport them similarly to their revelries’. Similarly, ‘other Hungarian practitioners specialized in traveling to the land of the dead while in trance and in Milan, ‘four women claimed in the late 1300s that they had ‘ecstatic experiences with the ‘good lady and her folk’ and were therefore able to cure and to look into the future’. Soul flight can be used to connect all kinds of otherworldly forces, and knowledge can be gleaned and lessons learnt from these flights.

Aside from the aforementioned acts accomplished by the old witches, a concept which I believe is integral to walking the path of traditional witchcraft is the concept of initiation, through which a witch faces spirit death and their eventual rebirth. Not only were witches ‘thought to gain from their attendance at the Sabbaths the power and knowledge to commit maleficium’, some historians believed that ‘the next step in a witch’s initiation was to fly to a witch dance at which she worshipped the Devil with other witches.’ Other historians disagree, claiming that ‘shamanic initiation often, but not always, involves a ritual experience of death and rebirth, while a witch’s initiation did not’. Still, the author of the previous quote added that ‘the witch’s renunciation of her Christian identity and assumption of a new, diabolical one could be seen as a symbolic equivalent, and overall the parallels seem strong enough to raise the question of what possible connection there might be’ (Bever, 2008).

In my personal view, cutting off old vows, making new vows, initiating, dying and being reborn is vital to being a witch in the traditional sense. To quote Aaron Oberon, a practicing witch and author of Southern cunning:

Folkloric witchcraft in the American South: ‘initiation is a death [...] something in you has to die in order to be initiated, to be given the information or power these spirits have. Sometimes initiation can result in physical illness, life changing events, job losses, or emotional upheaval’. Oberon (2019) stated that ‘initiation comes from spirits, and so what the spirits put you through is going to be different for each person […] It is incredibly personal and involves being torn apart.’

I will not go into detail about my personal practice, but every word he says rings true. In my view, to have something bore your way through your very spirit and irrevocably change you is what it means to be a witch.

So far, my attempts to define witchcraft has been quite negative. Yet, a witch does more than maleficum too. To quote Vita Tortuosa, a book co-written by Daniel Schulke, the presiding Magister of Cultus Sabbati: the path he practices is the path which ‘serve with both hands alike’. To ‘serve with both hands’ is an idiom that is commonly said among the traditional witches I have known, meaning that a witch may do harm with one hand and give blessings with the other. Magic is manipulation and so is witchcraft. Bever (2008) had found from cases of witch trials that:

‘[...] among the manipulative uses of magic, healing was by far the most important, accounting for half the manipulative cases, or almost a third of all beneficent magical practices, and was almost as numerous as all types of divination combined. Furthermore, the other kinds of manipulative magic comprised a polyglot miscellany including various enhancements to normal human capacities like strength and marksmanship; a limited number of magical countermeasures against natural and supernatural aggression by others; exorcism of bothersome spirits; a few cases involving claims of truly supernatural powers; and a couple of occurrences that were anomalous even within the magical worldview of early modern Europe.’

Witches can heal and bless and are capable of more than harm, just as there is more to magic than cursing. Not all magical practitioners are witches, but witches are a type of magical practitioner. Moreso than hurting or blessing, witches are liminal creatures, dealing with life and death and spirits and ghosts and necromancy. Bever (2008) describes how ‘technically, necromancy meant conjuring the spirits of the dead, but in the late Middle Ages it was used more broadly to refer to conjuring spirits in general’. Witches are spirit workers, as modern occultists may say. To be a witch is to work with the Otherworld, to have a foot standing in this world and the other planted in another.

Witches historically have also used the power of words and poetry to their benefit. Take this case study explored in Bever (2008), done by the accused witch Maria who was said to use an incantation to keep a horse from eating. For the curious, the incantation went: 

Your mouth must blocked be, Your mouth must stopped be, You are the Devil’s, You must bewitched be, You must the Devil’s be You won’t eat for 24 hours.

At the risk of providing a checklist and a box one must fit to be considered a ‘witch’, I want to again state that this essay is simply exploring what it means to be a witch from a historical perspective. You decide what it means for you, but to fly, to curse, to bless, to work with spirits, to deal with some Devil, to initiate and die and be reborn and more- that is what I mean when I say the word ‘witch’.

Diverging slightly from the main topic and venturing more into the area of UPG, I want to argue that at its core, this tradition of witchcraft has existed since over two thousand years ago. As explored in Ogden (2009),  pharmakeia - which is the art of poison and magic from plants - has been practiced since the times of Ancient Greek. Likewise, there also existed the usage of bindings known as ‘katadeseis’, whether it be through binding tablets or kolossoi dolls. And so is the use of incantations, referred to as epoidai. Necromancy was also talked about in the past, with ‘divination from the dead’ described in Homer’s Odyssey. Hekate and Medea and Circe are witches and witch-goddesses people may typically think of when hearing about Ancient Greek witchcraft.

Moreover, consider this quote from Ogden (2009) by Ovid, writing about the drunken bawd-witches:

“She knows the craft of magic and Aeaean incantations. By her craft she turns flowing waters back to their source. She knows all too well the powers of the herb, the threads twisted by the spinning rhombos-wheel, and the secretion of the mare in love. At her wish, clouds crowd over the entire heaven; at her wish, the daylight shines in a clear sky. If you believe it, I have seen the stars dripping with blood. The face of the moon was deep red with blood. I suspect that she shape-shifts and flits about among the shades of the night and that her old body is covered with feathers. This is what I suspect, and this is what they say. Also, double pupils flash from her eyes, and the beams shine from twin circles. She calls forth great-grandfathers and the great-grandfathers of great-grandfathers from their ancient tombs and cleaves open the solid ground with a protracted incantation.”

The quote from a 1st-century BC poet bears striking resemblance to what I consider to be a witch of the traditional, crooked path. It describes a witch who uses incantations, who draws power from the herbs and natural materia, who commands the natural world like a witch commanding the wind to howl or rain to fall, someone who practices necromancy and perhaps ancestor veneration, and also perhaps what we now call spirit flight as she ‘shape-shifts and flits about among the shades of the night’ in a feathered form of a fetch. Personally, the description of the moon and stars dripping with blood reminds me chillingly of not just the witches of Thessaly but also the witches of America, as it speaks similarly of a ritual where a silver bullet is used to kill the moon and initiate the witch (Davis, 1975).

In conclusion, the craft has been alive far, far longer than we are. Therefore, there is a history associated with witchcraft, giving weight and meaning to the word ‘witch’ whose definition is both complex and particular.

Bibliography:

Bever, E. W. (2008). The realities of witchcraft and popular magic in early modern Europe: Culture, cognition and everyday life. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan.

Davis, H. J. (1975). The silver bullet, and other American witch stories. Middle Village, NY: Jonathan David.

Oberon, A. (2019). Southern cunning: Folkloric witchcraft in the American South. Winchester: Moon Books.

Ogden, D. (2009). Magic, witchcraft, and ghosts in the Greek and Roman worlds: A sourcebook. New York: Oxford University Press.

Schulke, D., & Fitzgerald, R. (2018). VIA TORTUOSA: An Exposition on Crooked Path Sorcery. Xoanon Publishing.

Tangherlini, T. (2000). "How Do You Know She's a Witch?": Witches, Cunning Folk, and Competition in Denmark. Western Folklore, 59(3/4), 279-303. doi:10.2307/1500237

[jokerfan99]

My Top 10 Favorite Anime Villains (Updated) by DarkChild316

In a different time and a different world, I did a list of “My 10 Favorite Anime Villains”. I am older now, and hopefully much wiser and now thanks to the global pandemic and my new subscriptions to Hulu and Funimation I’ve had the opportunity to go back and revisit so many classic anime that I feel like I should re-do it. Plus I’ve gone back and looked at my previous list and shook my head thinking to myself: “My God man, what in the f**k were you thinking with some of these choices!” So, I’ve gone back and redone the list, now this list is strictly for the men only. If you want to see a list dedicated to my favorite female villains, check out my list of “My Top 10 Favorite Anime Villainesses.” But for this list, here is my updated list of My Top 10 Favorite Anime Villains:

#10. Shishiho Makoto (Rurouni Kenshin): Growing up as a kid, Ruroni Kenshin was one of the first anime I had ever watched, and this guy was someone who I hated with a passion. Looking back at it years later, I realize now what an amazing villain and foil to Kenshin that Makoto was. Unlike a lot of villains on this list, Makoto wasn’t just evil for the sake of being evil, Makoto’s evil came from the worst type of trauma: betrayal! In this case the betrayal came from Makoto’s own government, where Makoto survived not only multiple gunshots, but being doused in oil and burned alive, leaving him in complete and utter agony. What puts Shishio on my list is what he manages to do after surviving death. He compiles an army of the best fighters Japan has to offer and plots to overthrow the entire Meiji Government. While in complete agony. Who else can claim that? Did I also mention he’s topping the list of the best fighters in the show? His swordsmanship is second only to Kenshin himself as he proves in their absolutely epic fight.

#9. Hisoka Morrow (Hunter x Hunter): Hunter x Hunter is a show with several great villains that truly stand out, and while Meruem was memorable, pardon me for believing that Hisoka was the standout villain from that show. A devious killer and master Nen user, Hisoka is driven by little more than his desire to find and kill strong opponents. Be they young children or master criminals, he’ll pursue them to the ends of the Earth with a bloodlust on par with that of a wild predator. Likewise, he doesn’t care what happens to himself or others in this pursuit. Mass civilian casualties, the loss of his own villainous allies or even the loss of his own limbs barely phases him, so long as he gets to fight with someone that tests his limits. As a result, he more often than not embodies chaos incarnate, wreaking havoc in his pursuit of battle and leaving a mountain of corpses behind him. Needless to say, this puts him at odds with the series’ protagonists at regular intervals. Not only do Gon and his friends fit the bill for what he seeks, but they often take on enemies that prove to be exactly what Hisoka is looking for. And yet, this also serves to make him all the more interesting. Where other villains might strike out at the protagonists and heroes immediately, Hisoka schemes, allies himself with and double-crosses people regularly, always finding the best angle to work in order to reach his goals. He may not be a world-ending anime villain on the level of a Meruem with seismic ambitions, but he’s undeniably the most interesting and brilliant villain in Hunter x Hunter to see at work.

#8. Izaya Orihara (Durarara!!): If you think of a list of top anime villains and this guy isn’t one of the first people who comes to mind, please raise your hands so I can have a few words with you in private with no cameras or eyewitnesses. The crazy thing about Izaya is that he doesn’t even realize he’s evil, and that’s what makes him great. He loves humanity; from the depths of his bones he loves us all. This is why he makes it onto my list; he does progressively more cruel acts against humans, putting people in situations that generally lead to their deaths. He is also a master of parkour and highly skilled with a switchblade in his hand (as evident in the above picture), which he generally only uses in dire situations or fights against Shizuo. In short, I absoulutely love this guy. I thoroughly enjoyed the way he manages to manipulate an entire populous, and that’s why he’s more than earned a spot on my list.

#7. Dio Brando (Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure): You might have thought it was someone else, but it was me, Dio! All meme-worthy jokes aside, Dio Brando is unquestionably one of the most iconic anime villains of all time and, thanks to his series’ late-blooming popularity outside of Japan thanks largely to the 2012 anime adaptation, one that still feels modern in our minds. Dio is a tenacious bastard that takes advantage of the generosity of the Joestar family to further his own power, being intolerably dickish to Jonathan by constantly tearing him down, trying to make him look bad in front of his dad, spreading rumors to sully his reputation, and sabotaging his relationships. This escalates into killing his dog (his f***ikg dog of all things!), poisoning and later stabbing his adoptive father (I mean WTF!), and becoming a freakin vampire. Even after decapitation, Dio gets his revenge and sets in motion many of the events of the series, making a formal return in Stardust Crusaders as the main villain once again. With raw ambition taken to the extreme, iconic lines, poses, and outfits, incredible abilities from Aztec mask-induced vampirism and the time-stopping power of The World, Dio’s menacing presence towers over his series and over anime as a whole, which makes him MORE than deserving of a spot on my list.

#6. Light Yagami (Death Note): Yes, he’s a VILLAIN, get over yourselves Light Yagami fanboys! Anyway, there are a number of different adjectives and superlatives that could be used to described the lead character of Death Note: Diabolical, calculating, and determined to make the world in his own image all describe Light who was easily the most clever man in  Death Note, as evidenced by the layers upon layers that composed his elaborate plans.  Light started out as a good kid, doing well in school and heading to a bright career in police work like his father. But when he gets possession of the death note, he begins a remarkable descent into a disturbing mastermind who becomes judge, jury, and executioner for the entire world. But what truly makes Light's character stand out remains complicated throughout the story. His ultimate goal is to make the world a happier, safer place; a noble but perhaps misguided goal. His idealism and nobility still shine through when he doesn’t have the Death Note. When he temporarily relinquishes ownership of the death note to throw L off his trail, Light loses all memory of the death note and he reverts to his normal personality. His sense of morality returns and he shows more compassion for those around him. He even refuses to use Misa Amane to get information out of her when L asks him to. These qualities help to create a complex character who ends up being a detestable villain, yet you still kind of root for him to come out of this story as a winner. Light’s progression through the series is marked by his sheer brilliance. He's got a calculated and strategic mind that would make the great philosopher Machiavelli jealous, and the power of the death note adds a callousness that makes him free to use people in whatever way necessary to accomplish his goals. It’s highly entertaining to see his intricate plans play out. But Light’s messiah-like ego is just as big as his brain, and that arrogance ultimately leads to his tragic downfall.

#5. The Major (Hellsing): An evil Nazi Scientist, I know everyone is just rolling their eyes right now thinking I’m reaching for the low-hanging fruit for this one, but just hear me out here. While he may seem like an obvious pick for a list like this, The Major’s goals, however, are somehow far more unhinged than what may first appear. Despite being an impassioned orator and uncompromising strategist willing to sacrifice countless soldiers, the Major himself had no especial loyalty or passion for the cause of Millennium. His sole obsession is to plunge the world into an unending conflict to the point of endangering not only the lives of others but also his own. The Major’s leadership of Millennium, his decades espousing the genocidal ideology of fascists, and subsequent war against the Hellsing organization, the Vatican, and the entire world serve only as a pretext to satiate his insatiable bloodlust. The Major is one of anime’s most insidious villains, a charismatic, nihilistic sociopath driven purely by his sadomasochistic death wish.

#4. Shou Tucker (Fullmetal Alchemist): Now, you may be recalling that in my previous version of this list, I had Envy listed as my choice as my favorite villain from this show. Well after careful reconsideration, I’ve had to reevaluate my decision and give that spot to this creep, because while Envy’s actions were despicable to a point, they PALE in comparison to this guy! He only really appears in one episode if I remember correctly, yet in that one single episode, he made more of an impact then most villains make in a lifetime, which really says a lot about this guy’s character. What was it that made him so memorable you ask? Well, it could have something to do with the fact that this man transmutaed his own dog and daughter to create a talking chimera, which hadn’t been done before, and for what other reason…all in the name of recognition in the world of alchemy! That mere fact alone made this guy the most hated man in all of anime, the fact that he sacrificed his own family for the sake of fame, with absolutely no hint of remorse, made this guy the definition of an absolute living piece of shit and the only thing worse is how the episode ended, but I won’t spoil that one for you if you haven’t seen it.

#3. Gendo Ikari (Neon Genesis Evangelion) Up next is a man competing with the likes of Medusa Gorgon for the title of “Anime’s Worst Parent”, Gendo Ikari, please step up to the front of the congregation. Now Gendo is a man who’s list of atrocities throughout Evangelion is far too many to name, but I’m going to try my best to list them here: You have being actively complicit in the premature instigation of a biblical apocalypse, resulting in a near extinction-level event that caused the death of nearly two-thirds of the human population. Emotionally neglecting his own son Shinji estranging himself from him for over twelve years, only to offer him up as a sacrificial pawn in his bid to artificially bootstrap humanity’s ascent into evolutionary godhood so that he could be reunited with his dead wife. Cloning said wife’s DNA into a harem of emotionally dependent albino ingenues who share a dogged infatuation for their creator. And that’s not even mentioning the horrific emotional abuse and mental manipulation he inflicts on Dr. Ritsuko Akagi and her mother Naoko. All-in-all Gendo is proof positive that love not only has the capacity to overcome any obstacle, but sometimes it can truly make monsters out of us all.

#2. Griffith (Berserk): Griffith did nothing wrong; at least, not by his own drives and ambitions. A peasant who grew to become the leader of his own mercenary band, Griffith was a self-driven man who pursued his desires with unparalleled efficiency. No matter the situation or obstacle, he found a way to overcome them, whether that meant facing down an army of thousands or assassinating a country’s leaders. All the while, he amassed a legion of friends and followers who would follow him to hell and back, caring for him as much or more than he cared for them. As a result, they were dragged down with him when his ambitions saw him imprisoned, tortured and maimed. They cared little though, risking life and limb to save him and help him salvage a life with what he had left. That wasn’t enough for Griffith though. When given the option to become a demon and continue the pursuit of his dreams, he whole-heartedly accepted it; even though it came at the cost of sacrificing the lives of each and every one of his friends and allies. But that wasn’t the worst of it, to further spite the early desertion of Guts, Griffith proceeds to rape Casca, Guts’ love interest, in front of him as Guts is held down by demons. So yes, Griffith did nothing wrong by himself. By everyone else though, he did them the worst of injustices, and continues to do so with each breath he takes, all of which makes him a compelling and infuriating villain.

#1. Johan Liebert (Monster): I’ve covered a wide variety of monsters (pun fully intended) on this list, but THIS monster (again, pun FULLY intended) truly takes the cake when it comes to anime villains. A serial killer who would fit in well in any blockbuster film, Monster told the story of a man who had truly become monstrous; a charismatic, intelligent sociopath with no other goal than to kill everyone else in the world. Johan didn't just kill people, he made other people into monsters just like him. This skill of his corruption is first displayed in his youth, when he used stories to convince the other boys in his orphanage to kill all the staff, and each other. Johan is often compared to Light Yagami of Death Note, but the two couldn’t be any more different. Light's fatal (and genius) flaw is his own ego, which leads him to put his own life above all else, even his goal of changing the world. But Johan has never been afraid of death. Quite the opposite, he welcomes and embraces it, being more than willing to put his own life at risk, and one of his signature traits is how he challenges people to shoot him. Another of Jonah’s signature traits is his skills as a masterful manipulator. Where Light and other on this list had to resort to supernatural means to get what they wanted, Johan just used his own wits and knowledge of human nature. He's easily the most frightening villain on this list because he’s the truest to life villain on this list and he exposes the base human nature of his victims and of human society. Monster's remarkable story was almost entirely due to Johan alone, and it’s why he’s #1 on my list.

So that's my updated list, what did you guys think about it? Love it, hated it? Go on and tell me what you think and let me know who your favorite anime villains are. See you soon!!!

Deviantart: https://www.deviantart.com/darkchild316