#But understanding how pathetic and impractical he is kills me

[elfdyke]

What are your thoughts on Nica within the Season 2 of Chucky?

augh the torment is insane. to be clear i genuinely dont consider the dismemberment + season 2 canon. but 😪 WELL man ok. so i really did like how she interacts with tiffany in season two. i liked that you could see her emotionally antagonizing tiffany and trying to manipulate her. like when shes like "when you first took me here i felt so lucky! i thought i was gonna get to live with a real movie star. but now i know the truth. youre pathetic" LIKE ERMM OK!! i loved it. even in a non dismemberment universe i think nica being very cruel to tiffany starting off is sooo essential. i do think she needs to tell her repeatedly to kill herself i really do.

nica was criminally underutilized in this season and its sooo obvious that don had absolutely no clue what to do with nica after dismembering her +_+ fiona even mentions that don . literally regrets doing this. theres not much you can do with her at this point X_X its actually so upsetting to me .. all this because he wanted to be a little silly? fuck offfff

but yeah um. i think her writing in the beginning of the season was very flat and not really doing anything and then they decided to make her go all crazy assassin at the end and its just. thats not nica to meee. for the love of god i want nica pierce back. "im not a murderer." goddd i cant take it its just so painful watching a character you like be dragged through the mud. also those robo arms shes wearing are so fuck ugly and impractical it makes me so irritated. FIONA BABY WE CAN GET YOU OUTA THERE.

oh also um one more thought i think don mancini is not understanding how incredibly fucked up and traumatized nica would be from the dismemberment and everything it entails. 😐. like can he sit down and think about it. everything that she would need tiffany to do for her. IM GONA BE SICK ITS SOOO UPSETTING TO ME.

also um this isnt what u asked but i thought nicachucky flopped this season... idk if other people felt like that but i did nawt think it was on the same caliber as how good he was in season 1 + cult....... sorry fiona shes such a slay actress but im really going to be blaming don for this ^_^ she can do no wrong to me if she acts a scene amazing don had nothing to do with it and if something flopped um. don youre over.

[asupernaturalgirl]

Carryin’ Our Child

Daryl x Reader

Request: Hiiii! Your writing is amazing, I recently found your blog and I’ve been obsessed! Could I please have a one shot with some extra protective Daryl because you both found out you are expecting a baby? The timeline could be S9/S10. Thank youuuu!

A/N: Confession, I haven’t watched past season 7 of The Walking Dead *shocked gasps*. I’m sorry. I attempted to write it from what I know on Season 9, but I’m very sorry if I got something wrong. I tried my best. I hope everyone enjoys this one. Very fluffy. 

Warnings: fluff, protective Daryl, pregnancy

Adjusting the old plates covered with only the crumbs of what was once a full plate of food on your hip, you opened the door from the jail cell that held Negan and walked into the light once again. One of the Alexandrians had asked you to bring him some food as they had been too busy to get it done. 

Before heading there, you had made sure Daryl wasn’t anywhere near you. He was so busy with trying to deal with the drama around Negan’s imprisonment as well as trying to build several pieces of infrastructure that you didn’t want to make him more anxious with something else. If he knew you’d gone to feed Negan, he would have lost his mind. 

You dropped off the extra plates at the kitchens and decided to go back to the house. Your head was beginning to ache and your stomach was starting to feel uneasy. You’d heard the pregnancy symptoms in the first trimester could be absolutely brutal and they were living up to the hype. You and Daryl had only told Rick, afraid that informing too many people could put you in an awkward position. Rick was ecstatic and gave you both as many tips as he could. 

You slowly walked towards the bathroom, taking your usual seat by the toilet that you’d grown so accustomed to. Everytime your stomach would lurch, you would lean over the bowl, trying to let it out so you could feel better, but it never came. Instead, you sat there in pain, wishing it would stop. 

Soon, the sound of the front door opening and closing shut echoed through the house. Daryl’s voice projected to the upstairs where you sat. “I’m home. Where are ya?”

“In the bathroom,” You answered quickly, leaning over once again. You felt absolutely pathetic when the drool began to pool in your mouth. 

Daryl clunked up the stairs, his footsteps letting you know he was getting closer. His eyes softened as he peeked in through the doorway. “Ya don’t feel good?” 

You shook your head, your body forcing you to gag once again. Your boyfriend quickly rushed forward, holding your hair out of your face as you finally let out the sick you’d been holding in. You sighed once you were finished, learning back against the man behind you. He rubbed your shoulders slightly. “Thank you.”

“You should be cursing me for doin’ this to ya.” 

You rolled your eyes and turned around. After finally getting everything out, you felt much better. “Well, I think having a child is worth being sick for a few weeks in the beginning.” 

He smiled. He joked that he ‘did this to you’ because he felt bad that he couldn’t take the pain from you, but in reality, he was excited. You’d never seen him so thrilled about something. He wanted to talk about it all the time and constantly thought of different names. He secretly wanted a daughter, although he would never tell anyone. 

“Can you help me to the bed?” You asked, using his strength to hoist yourself up. He assisted you in walking. You were weak after being sick and once you were in the bed, he brought you up some water as well. 

He laid down with you, pulling up your shirt so he could see your belly. Daryl gently ran his hand over your belly. “You be nice to your mom. She’s tryin’ her best.”

People who were only slightly familiar with Daryl would have never seen or even thought of him in this way. They would have likely imagined he would be a terrible father. You were so pleased that he loved the unborn child so much. It meant everything in the world. He kissed you softly as he laid back down beside you. “I feel like they’re gonna love you more than anything else.” 

He immediately shook his head at your comment. “They’re gonna love ya so much, ya can’t even imagine. I can tell. You’re gonna be the best mom in the whole world.”

His words warmed your heart. There were always doubts about the limitations of being parents in the world but you knew that if the child had the two of you, they would be just fine. You and Daryl would give parenting everything you had and it would pay off in the end, even if it was hard in the moment. 

“What did ya do today?” He questioned, unconsciously rubbing your pregnant belly, even if you weren’t showing yet. 

You had to come up with an excuse and quickly. The first thing that came to mind was a friend of both of yours. “Aaron needed some help with cleaning his arm up a bit. I went over there to give my assistance.” 

His brows furrowed and he nervously bit at his fingernails. “Michonne told me she saw you over by Negan’s cell.” 

Your heart dropped. You hadn’t thought that someone might have seen it and mentioned it casually to Daryl just out of habit. If you had told her to keep the secret, she definitely wouldn’t have told Daryl, but she had no idea. “Someone was busy and asked if I would bring food to him. Daryl, it was no big-”

He cut you off, immediately standing up with an angry expression on his face. He ran a hand through his tangled hair. You sat up quickly, leaning against the backboard. You hated making him feel this way. He was so inexperienced when it came to relationships and actually worrying about someone’s safety, you tried to live your life so he didn’t have to actually worry about it. 

“How could ya do this, Y/N?” He gestured wildly, his voice holding an annoyed tone. “Why would ya risk going in there?”

You stood as well, understanding now there might be an argument. “He’s not going to just attack me for no reason, Daryl. I was safe. I didn’t even step foot in the cell.” 

“He’s killed so many people. Do you think he wouldn’t kill ya?”

“I’m in my first trimester, Daryl. I can’t just sit in bed all day waiting for you to get home to do things for me. That would not only destroy my mental health, but my physical health as well.” 

He wasn’t sure what to say. You could nearly see all of the emotions in his eyes. Anger, concern, worry. He was feeling so conflicted, so absolutely broken inside. He wanted nothing more than for you to stay locked in a room all day so he could make sure you were safe, as impractical as it was. 

“I’m just askin’ that you try not to do anything dangerous, Y/N,” He began to calm slightly, holding your shoulders as he got closer to you. “You’re carryin’ our child in you right now. I just don’t want to have to worry all the time that you’re doin’ somethin’ reckless.”

You knew that this anger, this concern, came from a desire to protect you. His self-esteem was generally pretty low and one thing he actually felt he brought to the table was protection. He knew he was capable of protecting you and he would do it even if it took his own life. “I’ll try, Daryl. I know you just want myself and our baby to be safe.” 

He nodded, bringing you in for a tight hug. “I want to tell everyone. I don’t want people askin’ ya to do things. If they know you’re pregnant, they’ll be more careful with some of the jobs they give ya.”

At first, you were hesitant. You were enjoying the fact that this baby was a secret between you and Daryl. The more you thought about it, though, the more you realized it was probably a good idea. People would begin to either notice or assume soon if you didn’t tell them directly. You slowly nodded your head. 

“I agree, Daryl. It’s time to tell everyone.”

[redxblueihateloveyou]

What would you say are Rin and Haru's biggest flaws, individually?

Hmmm... I think when it comes to Haru, it’s firstly his stubborness, like he’s one of those people who would rather go broke, than budge from their life principles, which is not necessarily bad in my opinion, but it’s just very impractical and sometimes can lead to, well.. season 2 kind of thing, when you know... you gotta think about your future and realize that in reality you can’t be “fully free” in life, or like how you gonna pay the bills haha (like I skipped school a lot like him too, but this kind of thing doesn’t really matter if you can pass anyway, cause you smart without them and like reading, but after school you still gotta do smth, and even tho I undestand the whole “turning smth I adore into profession can make me hate it” dilemma, there’s still ways of figuring out how to go around it, which thanks to Rin he did, so it’s all ok).

But that was like s1-2 Haru’s problem, now he’s completely changed and grew up so nicely and behaves like an adult and does everything he needs to do, once he realized what his dream is, plus he didn’t even faulter after the Albert thing and I was so proud of him, I just didn’t expect such radical growth tbh, so it’s getting harder to find the flaws in him lol

The second one (and that once again not now!Haru related), but it’s been mentioned in the books too is his unwillingness to accept help. He’s like a real tough cookie, when it comes to this. Like the only two people who can make him do it and whom he allows to are Rin and Nagisa. And that's mainly because they manage to do it in a way that doesn’t hurt his dignity, I think. Cause like with Makoto for example, Haru stated that every time he tries to help him, he does it in a way, that makes him feel pathetic and weak, like Makoto is pitying him. And I don’t know if anybody ever experienced this, but when you feel like someone pities you, normal people’s pride just won’t allow to accept any help like this, and when it comes to ppl like Haru (and coming from a person like this xD), he’d rather die somewhere in a dumpster, than accept it haha. Which leads to situations like “I’ll let all Makoto’s mom food rot in the fridge, but won’t touch it, even if I starve and pass out.. cause I have my own rice, you bitch” haha

And I know it’s kinda a bad trait to have maybe, but I understand it. Plus it’s really mostly past Haru related, I mean, after the last movie, when they released a scene, when Haru himself went to ask Ryuuji to train him (well, in his own savage way, ofc and disrespectfully in the middle of the night haha, but still), I kinda think he’s dealing with this real good and gonna be okay. But in case something too drastic happens, everyone knows they should call Rin lmao, but now it’s okay, since he’s gonna be always near us anyways:)

Rin... well, his biggest problem in my opinion is the fact that he’s complitely oblivious when it comes to reading people’s feelings. And I mean, most might think that’s it no biggy and just a cool trick to have, but no needed in general, but to be honest it can really help you in life, and in Rin’s case, literally half of his problems wouldn’t even be there in the first place. 

I know, it’s very ironic, since he’s obsessed with watching melodramas and it’s really funny in moments, like when he thinks Gou is into Momo or smth like that... like him being clueless about other ppl is pretty harmless. But when it comes to his personal love life it’s just, it gets sad and just absurd. Like okay, he didn’t get that Haru didn’t want to let him go and that he was heartbroken seeing him cry (although since when Haru runs after people, and physically refuses to let them go idk), but he also apparently thought that Haru asking him to call him was just him being polite... and even after everything was resolved and Haru dropped the new team and everything, just to say that without him he doesn’t even need swimming, and after knowing that Haru wasn’t even swimming all these years... he still didn’t get what it was about. And let me just remind you, that he returned home on each holiday with a thought that Haru didn’t want to see him and when Gou said that it killed me, it seriously killed me!

He wants to call Haru, but then he doesn’t, cause “what if he disturbs him”... when Haru literally said to his face that he can’t wait to see him again, when they went to their sakura date, when Haru was all “pls come back soon”... but nah, Rin’s brain still went “he doesn’t want to hear you, let me pine here”.

He fucking thought that Haru called him and ran to him in the middle of the night... because he was intersted in Gou. I’m... shoot me, pls.

I literally know only two fictional characters who were oblivious to this extent. And the other one had to die, reincarnate, and be on the verge of dying again to realise this and only after he was told openly by another person “bitch ya blind”, so I honestly do not know how do we deal with this here lmao

The second one (and that once again mostly about past Rin and I think it’s fine in that age)... he was a drama queen, he’s like “I quit!!!!!!!!” and he throws his goggles and he kicks the trash bins and squeezes and throws cans around, but we all know that he just needs to calm down a bit and he’s gonna keep going xD And that’s perfectly fine, I mean, I have such days, too, but the problem is that many people around him actually take his words seriously, so like, idk... I get it, everyone gets emotional, but maybe be careful about throwing words like “I never have to swim with you ever again” out there, some things are hard to forget, even when they’re said in the heat of the moment. Like, did you ever like say smth in the middle of the fight that you didn’t mean, but just cause you knew it would hurt the other? This is like very common, but still wouldn’t recommend xD And it applies to both of them actually, like Mr.”What dream? What future?” is no better haha, although Rin still wins the crown, cause in s1 he was offended by literally everyone, and he was like little Godzilla all cause he thought Haru didn’t want him back lmao. Which really leads us back to his first and only problem:D

P.S. Their biggest flaws tbh were just like a normal part of growing up thing in my opinion. I just feel like they were both extra in their own kind of ways back then, but now... looking at them now, the way they talk, the way they behave.. I mean, they grew up so nicely and their characters progressed so nicely, that I don’t even know what flaws they have now.. well, except for Rin still not getting anything, when it comes to Haru’s feelings. He was like “you’re the one for me” and Haru went “same” and Rin went “hahaha well, okay, we must not say that, do you want me to show you how to put your seat down?” and then he fell asleep... yeah #EXTREMELYSLOWBURN #YOUMIGHTDIEWATCHINGTHEMBUTITSOKAY #TOTALLYWORTHIT

I’m just literally waiting for them in 2021 to have a scene from the memes:

Person A: I love you.

Person B *is heartbroken*: Who is You? Do I even know him?

Person A *points at B*: No. You. I’m in love with you.

Person B *turns around to see that there’s no one behind him and starts crying* Well, of course you’d love this beautiful piece of air, before you loved me.

Person A: Jesus fucking christ on a pogo stick...

[captainkurosolaire]

Destined ‘X’ Forever

“Ye wouldn’t b’ doin’ anything that’d take a special kind ov’ stupid now would ya’ ma’ Lord?” A cheeky rattle hit in a echo of the barren Ruins. For all intended reasoning's this wasn’t a planned encounter. Last he saw his Noble other halve was after attempting to salve some helpful advice to put him in a discovery. Though what the amber optic witnessed was anything but the type of discovery he meant. The pirate meant from the self. This was someone who couldn’t move on. Didn’t know how. This is hurt. He had been there, embraced it, and the result damaged him past the point of repair a self-searing that he still hadn’t entirely resolved. And forever because he couldn’t contain or control his heartbreak he discredited and discarded it. Letting it coal until he lost himself and a savage feasted on his homed temple. A severance between souls. A path to nefarious and damaging for anything that crossed was a clear future for Elune. If he paid the price and fed that side of demonizing that festered in all thing’s in varied degrees of morality. He would become consumed with dangerous and devastating levels that may scar him in irrecoverably.

                   “I..hate..you.” Muttered off breath before turning to face and direct to ensure this was more personal his regality was cracking he was so shortly an ilm away from being granted his wishful desire by utilizing a forbidden relic that protruded a hint of Mhachi. However, by activating this, It’d cost his last remaining dignity, his humanity he akin to most chose to run from it thinking and disassociating it as ‘weakness’ for the appearance and value it often represented no-good. He was possessed and consumed with the empty. That hollow part of losing a piece that stabled and made you feel wholly, he had forgotten what living was like without it after a sip. Without something to protect to be any meaning, he found himself misplaced. Knights didn’t exist without their duties or their morals to wage crusades in belief or service; they were dull like any Samurai in the obligated swords sworn after they slew their intended advisory it was weightless and immeasurable. None of that crossed his mind that once was recognized and pristine for being intelligent, all other forms living or to be sacrificed were insignificant, they could all be shriveled and pay the price even if it brought utter devastation and internal turmoil to that which he so starved to have returned to him. This resentment stood beyond even their current vessel’s their souls were entwined to contest. Negatives and positives. “I hate you. I hate everything about you, your stupid hat, your trashy ingrate demeanor. All of it! Hate is my sum for you.. You--- you’re, why I am here in this position. You cost me, my world! If you weren’t such an irritating blight, I would’ve never lost control… I’d still have them!” Flailing his arms out in the arm like a tampered child throwing his blame. The crystallized air around him howled in chimed ice sang like a banshee as his instability continued. Captain swallowed soft listening before presenting a stepped chortle and follow, “You need a tissue? Or a tampon for yer leakage?” The Seeker fired back as during that entire rant he just nodded his head. “Mate, I’ll b’ straight blunt yer being a bitch. O’ boohoo, ye lost something in your sheltered life, you in your fancy Ishgardian Walls always catered and given and throwing a hissy fit when ye didn’t get something fer Starlight. Your rant is the same shite I’d get from a dozen of stuttering cucks at the Quicksands for me so effortlessly tossing their lass over my shoulder and tending to them from their plagued bore. -Ye hate me? What a crock… Matey you don’t hate me, you just hate yourself. You got caught, ye won a battle but I got in your most prized place -- your head. Fail to understand your performance in our last skirmish saw you ACTING more like a pirate than a noble. Ye can’t get those thoughts ov’ me outta your mind… How naughty.” Tsking with a finger waggle further adding antagonizing fuel with even more expression by holding his chest to shield his exposure in that unnerving smug. “Standing over there and wanting t’ talk about hatred and losses. Ye murdered my near entire crew, ye tried dismantling another. Ye kidnapped my Star Healer and stole her away to fuck who knows where and then n’ your whole, ‘I gotta be th’ Elite White Shining Knight’, ye let her suffer alone and vanish to silence! Ye point and like t’ remind others of their failures, their faults, but conjure a solid mirror with that fancy-dancy magick. Leviathan… I gave ye an ale and I didn’t even charge ye on your last visit t’ my Cabin. I told you…! I warned you…! I did more than enough in my part, so-wait, is this what I’m missing out on sticking around for parenthood? Just sheer disappointment? This was supposed t’ be your discovery, but let me guess, the only thing you figured out in this entire time is that, ‘O I’ve got a dick, so well, I must be one and I’ll damn the rest in my way even the ones I love? Not even factoring their own thoughts? YOU aren’t wanted back. There’s isn’t any riveting other reasoning why they discarded themselves from you.” He unleashed every form of his smash-mouth and laid out the crass even if overkill. Thick skulls often were swelled in ego and ego was born often of entitled never spoken against, here enters the brazen. All the while Shiro’s fist rattled and quenched his inner demonic price for all his sin’s and wrongs began transforming and corrupting his veins, his roots that stemmed inside became a grotesque green. “Enough! What does the pirate know of actual loss and pain? You are thieves, takers, you’re scum. Compassion and your kind don’t mix, nor does it exist. Use everything and leave, you can’t even remain devoted to a single solitary thing. Always roaming without purpose to the next big thing for your greed. Making every little detail’s about yourself. Do not forget, I met your crew… None of them are innocent. It didn’t matter which you led. They were all heathens. Neither of them could listen to their betters. They didn’t respect anyone outside you, and when you were missing and disappeared on your so-called ‘shipwreck’ those who salvaged and carried your flag paid your price. You brought them into a War against a literal Sea Empire. None of them were equipped or readied. And without me, they would’ve all been slaughtered maggots. They even wanted to kill each other and decapitate the latter to get some heroic favors or get into the panties of your ‘woman’ you led only a cult of unwashed stains. Threatening like the barbarians you raised to even lash out at my sister because her own heart was on the opposing side. Who even was brainwashed and used as another pawn on the board though despite that fact their inbreed tribal and unorthodox wild crew of yours was but the essence of chaos. You mere peasants outside the Pillars and the arrogance you bestow, are far grander than anything we harbor.” Now it was the Keeper’s turn to verbally unleash a hailstorm. They bickered like an old couple cover many generations of grudges. Building their resentments and hatred until… that moment where there wasn’t going any back and one swung. The words actually began rattling against the Captain’s inner instincts and primal urges. For his own bonded knot was mentioned and brought up. The tone of Shiro’s higher ‘superiority’ shout echoed against the blank and outdoor ruins in a condense clap. Was steering and disturbing a slumber that snarled, his complexion became more heated. Irregular and unnatural... The scoundrel’s blood began surging. Weapons in War only ever are mentioned what was used to quell or the materialistic solution. Never in mentioning how any War or Battle began. Often originated from disputes. The contesting of disagreement is what drew first-blood before any sharp dared part flesh from. “What th’ seventh hell did ye say?” The ruffian stepped in closer even against biting and foreboding chills. A vein vessel popping out of his forehead. Shiro’s visage turned to a dastardly and deviled one impractical aetherial horn’s started to lowly form on his temple. “Many things and all I assure you, I mean them all. Your crew was worthless they lapped up and swam under your dirty seawater. You a Captain? A joke, your, -kind- don’t have admirable emotions or hearts, you are written as heartless and crude as you’ll always be known utter tasteless, savaged buffoons. THAT is your booked cover and shall always be to me and anyone else with somewhat wit.” The Seeker’s steps continuing forward his framework began bulking up hit by a nerve earlier. Every part of Shiro’s weighted words came from a merciless and mean intent. Making every remark sound as categorized and labeled as possible. The first step of all Jailers and those that hide behind anything against the grain or that make them feel even the slightest uncomfortable about the insecurities often came from classification putting a firm distinction between someone else innocently in the cross-hairs to try so desperately to distance themselves and stay on their elevated ladders, artificial thrones above someone. Despite that answer wasn’t what left a sour look on the mug of the rugged slicker those didn’t seem to be what triggered him.    “No, the other.”  He corrected calmly his stance seemed like a preparing lunge.

Shiro knew all too well what he said and brought a gleeful sinister grin to further elaborate the struck cord. “Ah right, the pathetic and high-excuse of a complex woma--” Right before he could finish that deplorable remark. The Blackguard used a rash Ghost Step (Shukuchi) to close in and lob for a full-force spinning roundhouse.   (Previous)  — /References/ —   ♫ ‘Invincible ♫ — (Next Page)

[out-of-jams]

For the drabble hobi as a vampire 🧛‍♂️ that has just woken from an 100 year sleep and has no knowledge of the modern world

I hope that you don’t mind me changing it from 100 years to 1000! Also, this turned out a little more crack-y than I intended haha.

Word count: 842

Warnings/Genre: Smaaaall mention of blood. Like almost nonexistent. Vampire!Hoseok. Human!Reader. 

Jung Hoseok was going to commit murder.

When he had asked his butler to awaken him in a few years, he did not mean 1000! And who cared if the incompetent butler had been mysteriously murdered? That simply was not an excuse. Hell, the only reason Hoseok was even awake and conscious was because of the thirst itching at the back of his dry throat. And the ghost of a stomach rumble.

Hoseok had been alive for a very long time. Well, “alive” was not quite the correct choice of vernacular. He was turned around 1693, back when the biggest worry were so-called witches being burned at the stake. Humans had never been very smart.

Idots. All of them.

Because any witch worth their salt had high-tailed it the hell out of dodge and went into hiding the second that their own were being discovered.

Which was exactly why--

“Excuse me.” Someone’s pointy shoulder rammed itself deep into Hoseok’s gut. The crowd of people around him were the only reason why he did not rip their throat out and drain them dry for even thinking of touching his person.

Well that, and the fact that he was too busy trying to figure out how in the hell there was a giant screen plastered on the side of a building. A building that was taller than the human eye could see. And all of the scents and sounds that assualted his senses almost drove him over the edge. If it were not for Hoseok’s experience with human rabble, he would not have been able to control himself from slaughtering them all in a murderuous rage.

As another crop of steel (what Hoseok had learned were called “cars”) raced by with their obnoxious noise and burning miasma, he glared at a loud blow of a whistle. Which, thankfully, managed to scare off the cult of bizarrely dressed characters hovering in his peripheral from approaching him. Hoseok had already made a mistake in allowing one of those creatures to harrass him for money for even being in the same space as it.

New York had changed a lot since he had last set eyes on it.

Luckily, Hoseok had already drained the first lowly human he had seen completely dry the mere second that he had set foot outside his manor. Which was not as well kept as he would have liked, given the circumstances.

But that was a matter that he would need to take care of at another time.

Especially because another sack of warm flesh nearly ran him down. Or they would have if Hoseok’s body was not built to withstand thousands of pounds of pressure.

So he just watched, disinterested, as the woman who had dared to invade his space fell to the hard, dirty concrete beneath his shoes. Though her fall also failed to gain the attention of any other mundane in the area. Because New Yorkers nowadays, as Hoseok had quickly learned, simply did not have even an ounce of sympathy to spare towards anyone else.

By now, he would have looked away from the pathetic scene happening below. But his eyes were completely riveted on the way that you scrambled up from the unforgiving ground and stared up at him with a softness that he had not seen for a long time. Even dispite the fact that Hoseok had not listed a mere finger to assist you.

“You okay?” The question flowed from your lips as you brushed off your impractical looking pants. Your eyebrows were scruntched in what Hoseok could smell was pain, based on the scent of blood wafting from you like a wordless invitation.

Hoseok tongued his teeth and looked down at you through his lashes, brown hair flopping into his eyes. “What?”

Now you appeared worried as you slowly repeated yourself. “Are you okay? You’ve been standing here for a while now, looking confused. You a tourist or something? You lost?”

Hoseok did not respond at first.

He did not quite know how to. It had been a very long time since he had actually conversed with a human in the manner that he currently was. 1000 years ago, humans were only kept around covens for food or entertainment. Which brought Hoseok to his next problem. He needed to find his coven. Wherever the hell they had wandered off to.

“I am looking for someone.” He tilted his head to the side and watched as your expression morphed into something he could not quite understand. Hoseok was not well-versed in human ways.

“Well, do you know where you’re supposed to find them?” Your eyes were big, bright. And so full of life. “Maybe I could help.”

As Hoseok glanced around at the busy square around him, something inside of him urged him to use you. Perhaps you could assist him and then he would drain you dry.

That was right. He looked back down at you. You would be easy to kill. To sate his thirst.

Yes, perhaps you could be of assistance afterall.

[aseriesofunfortunatetexts]

I posted another chapter of the zombie fic! Now featuring Esmé, and her being surprisingly concerned for Kit.

You can also read it under the cut, if you want.

There’s a plume of pitch black smoke rising to the east, out in the forest. The color tells Kit that it’s still burning. She slows the taxi down to a stop and sits for a moment staring at it. She’s too late. She just hopes Charles got away before whatever happened went down.

Sir can burn for all she cares.

She knows she should continue onward to investigate, although that wasn’t her original mission. She ought to have something to show for her journey into the field, some information to bring back to Dewey at least, so he hasn’t been forced to worry about her for absolutely nothing. But the part of her that just wants to go back to headquarters argues that there will be very little left to investigate, with no firefighters on hand to combat the flames.

There’s a twinge in her gut and she immediately reaches down to touch the slight swell of her stomach. A kick? If so, it would be the first one. She’d hoped she’d be with Dewey when that milestone was reached, and that’s what helps her make up her mind. She’s writing off the mission and going to the hotel, mission be damned.

She’s just put the taxi in gear when she spots a figure on the side of the road out in the distance, walking towards her. She immediately reaches for her spyglass, hoping against hope that it might be Charles.

It isn’t. Not unless he started wearing black catsuits and elaborate blonde wigs. No, she knows who this is even though they’re too far away to make out their features.

Once again Kit is faced with a choice. She can drive up there, like her superiors definitely wouldn’t want her to do, or she can turn the taxi around and pretend like she never saw anything.

Weirdly enough the thought that crosses her mind in the last second before she shifts the taxi into gear and drives ahead is that Esmé is probably donning really impractical footwear with that outfit.

For a person who presumably just burned down a small town and a lumber mill, and fled on foot in boots with five-inch heels, Esmé looks good. Great even. When she recognizes Kit as the driver of the Snicket taxi she smiles wickedly and waves at her. Kit ignores the gesture and turns the cab around so it’s pointed back towards the City, then brings it to a stop. Esmé opens the passenger’s side door and slinks inside, making herself comfortable on the seat with a satisfied sigh. Finally she turns to Kit, “Hello, darling.”

Kit fixes her eyes on the road ahead and floors it, enjoying the way she is pressed back into the seat as the taxi lounges forwards almost as much as Esmé yelp of shock. The taxi gains speed at a much faster rate than you’d expect for a vehicle of its age, but Kit doesn’t let up until they’ve hit 100. It’s terribly irresponsible to be going this speed, even out here in the middle of nowhere, what with random Infected shambling all over the place, but Kit wants to get back to the City as fast as possible, so she can kick Esmé out somewhere relatively safe, and then return home.

Esmé takes a few miles to relax. “You’ve made your point,” she then says, tersely.

Kit doesn’t slow down. “Why did you do it?”

Esmé somehow shrugs without shrugging. “Orders.”

Kit bites down on a snide comment, realizing that she’s not really in a morally superior position this time. “Charles?” she asks, trying her hardest to sound uncaring.

Esmé gestures dismissively with one hand. “Didn’t see him.”

That’s not comforting in this world of theirs, but Kit still finds herself relaxing her press on the accelerator.

And she regrets this choice of action immediately when Esmé’s hand comes to rest on her knee. “It was very... noble of you to pick me up.” There’s an undeniable hint of mockery in her voice and nary a trace of genuine gratefulness. “Must have been a difficult decision.”

Kit doesn’t answer, but nor does she try to get Esmé hand off. Human touch is in short supply in this world, it despite everything it feels comforting. That obviously changes when Esmé inevitably starts sliding her hand up Kit’s leg, nails dragging along the fabric of her pants. Now would be the time to put a stop to this, but Kit is uncharacteristically frozen. Esmé reaches her thigh and then goes for the button of her pants.

Which is the moment her inner wrist comes in contact Kit’s stomach, and she immediately jerks her hand back as if she’d been burned. Kit doesn’t need to look at her to know Esmé is stunned, her temporary silence is enough.

Her hand darts out again, moving Kit’s jacket out of the way and exposing her middle.

“You’re pregnant?” she shrieks, loud enough for Kit to flinch. “Have you lost your mind?!”

“It wasn’t planned,” Kit replies tersely.

“You do realize there are ways to fix problems like this, right?” Esmé asks, voice still laden with disbelief.

The very thought makes Kit press harder on the accelerator as she is overwhelmed with emotion and finds no other outlet for them. She’s not going to cry in front of Esmé.

This time Esmé doesn’t react to the change in speed. “Who’s the father?”

Her gut instinct is to ignore the question, even though there’s really no reason to keep Dewey’s existence a secret anymore. What’s the other side going to do, kill him? There’s no reason, Dewey’s work no longer involves gathering evidence to put firestarters in jail, so why should they care that he’s alive and working?

“Dewey Denouement.”

“Dewey Denouement isn’t real,” Esmé says. “Or he’s dead.”

Kit sighs. “He’s real. And alive. And he’s the father.”

Esmé covers her eyes with one hand and sighs dramatically. “Immaculate conception would have been more understandable,” she asserts.

Kit doesn’t answer.

Esmé removes the hand again and out of the corner of her eye Kit can see her giving her a surprisingly serious look. “Does your side have any qualified doctors? Or a midwife?”

Kit frowns. “What?”

“Do you even know what the mortality rate is amongst women giving birth without professional help?” Esmé asks, sounding increasingly disturbed. “Imagine dying in childbirth during the apocalypse, that would be very not in, darling.”

“You still care about what’s ‘in’, do you?” Kit asks, because she doesn’t know how else to react to Esmé unexpected concern.

“Dying has rarely, if ever, been in,” Esmé says, then adds, “I’m serious. We have a couple of doctors who used to work at Heimlich Hospital in our ranks. They could help you, when the time comes.”

There should be something fundamentally wrong with considering letting some firestarter help her give birth, but Kit finds herself doing it anyway. Sure, almost all of her associates are trained in first aid, but there are no real doctors amongst them anymore. And while there are plenty of books on childbirth and care in their libraries, actual experience with the process must be vital.

Esmé must sense her wavering resolve, because she pops open the glovebox and fishes out Kit’s common place book (she still remembers that Kit keeps it there during missions, that’s almost flattering) and a pen, flipping it open and writing something down. “This is the address of one, he lives in the Free Zone, so unless you people are banned from entering the safest place in the world, you should be able to get to him.”

Kit almost tells her that, actually, all known VFD members have been banned from the City by the authorities, and they’ve had to create false identification papers by the hundreds and brush off even the oldest disguises to keep moving freely. Obviously the tunnels are still safe, and they will remain so no matter what, but sometimes you need access to the streets.

Esmé tosses the book back where she found it, “Please consider it. I would hate to see you dead.”

Kit feels tears threatening to form in her eyes again. She was never this emotional before she got pregnant. She takes a minute to compose herself, then speaks, “Thank you, Esmé.”

“You can thank me once you’ve safely delivered the ghost’s spawn and both of your made it.”

“Please don’t call my baby a ‘spawn’,” Kit says, but she finds herself smiling despite it all.

Esmé makes a dismissive sound, then asks, “Boy or girl?”

“Girl,” Kit replies.

“Is that a fact or a feeling?”

“Just a feeling.”

Esmé scoffs. “Typical. Got a name picked out yet?”

“Not yet.”

“How about Gigi?” Esmé asks. “As a show of gratitude for my help.”

“I’d rather not advertise your involvement,” Kit says. “If I can help it.”

She doesn’t need to look at Esmé to know she’s rolling her eyes. “You people are absurd, shouldn’t your safety be more important than anything?”

“I’m afraid some people will never accept it if I seek help from your side,” Kit says, and she knows it’s true.

“Then I guess we’ll just keep it between us, won’t we, darling? I can be discreet.” 

Kit lets out a bark of laughter, which morphs into a series of half-hysterical giggles. “I’ll believe it when I see it,” she finally manages to say.

Esmé doesn’t sound offended when she replies, “You forget, I’m a very good actress.”

There’s no denying that. Hell, if it weren’t for Jacques, Esmé would be married to Jerome by now, and they wouldn’t have the penthouse, the last safe place in the City for them.

Actually, Kit can’t help but gloat a little at the thought. “Too bad about Jerome,” she says.

Esmé waves her hand casually through the air. “Easy come, easy go,” she declares breezily. “He was a terrible, cowardly little man anyway.”

Kit feels unexpectedly defensive of her brother’s lover all of the sudden. “He is a kind, generous, well-meaning man.”

“Exactly. It’s incredibly pathetic.”

Kit decides not to argue any further, and the irony of doing that during a conversation about Jerome isn’t lost on her. “Where should I drop you off?”

“The edge of Zone 3 would be nice,” Esmé answers. Then she leans further back in her seat and sighs. “Wake me up when we get there.”

Kit finds herself feeling sad at the apparent end to their conversation, but she doesn’t want to appear desperate to talk with someone other than her associates, so she floors it and lets Esmé doze. Burning things down can be tiring. She knows from personal experience.

[bandicoot88]

First Gotham story I ever wrote, written in one sitting at stupid o’clock because I’m a moron. Based somewhat on Gotham’s Season 5 Trespassers Promo, with mentions of episode 1 (major spoilers there!) and the parallel I spotted between Oswald and Edward and their reunion.

Lemme know what you think. Honest opinion, etc. It’s not the best it could be, seeing as it was written in one sitting (while being tired writing it), but... I like it, and it’s basically how I want it to go.

Alternatively, read it under the cut:

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  Oswald lies about the streak being overcooked. He put on his usual, melodramatic attitude. An absolute bastard. People were starving, though it was important for Oswald to spoil his dog with the meal Oswald had just rejected. The dog... the only living being that held any connection to the man he loved. Still loves. A dead man now. Hugo Strange had the power to bring back the lives of Jerome Valeska, Fish Mooney, and Theo Galavan, but not Edward? Unacceptable! Even Lee was a success in being brought back to life, after Edward had stabbed her. But not Edward. Oswald relives the memory of that moment when Hugo had broken the news to him. A knife through the hand was what awaited Hugo for his failure, while Oswald darkly promised that he would make Strange's life a living hell. There wasn't even a body he could mourn over. A part of Oswald wished he had just killed him, but a part of him could respect the man's work at least, and that, somehow, perhaps... Edward could still be brought back if Hugo tried again. Clone him even! But would that even be Edward? It didn't stop Oswald from thinking such thoughts though. Even if he only got to see him once, it would be something.

  Oswald never loved anyone else, apart from his parents, and Fish of course, who had been his mentor during his days as a mere umbrella boy. He had risen himself from the cold slabs of Gotham, its icy waters, survived being shot... and for what? He had all this power, but no one to share it with. Edward... a man that liberated the Penguin after the death of his mother. Fish wasn't the only one who left a mark on creating the Penguin. He remembered the day she had spared him in the woods, despite that he had killed her once, and threatened to kill her again. But no one ever stays dead in Gotham. Except Edward. Fate was a bitch.

  Fate... such a funny thing. Edward had asked him if he believed in it. After everything they had been through, it was somewhat hard not to ponder on the idea. If Edward had not found him in the woods, he surely would have died, and the two would have never become friends. That night Oswald had learned about love, and how it can hold you back. But Edward's words were lost him, as all Oswald could do was trip over his own thoughts when he looked at Edward's face. If only he had told Edward he loved him sooner... What a mess. And now Edward is dead, stabbed by the one he loved. Oswald almost laughs at the irony.

  Oswald knows he should just move on, but he couldn't bare Edward's name to be lost to the wind. People would talk about the Riddler and his exploits, but who fucking cares if he's dead? Oswald needed some normality, to have Edward in his life in any shape or form. As a mark of respect, he passed the man's name onto his dog, allowing some days for him to forget and pretend that everything was dandy. He could spoil Edward and love him, and Edward would show unconditional love in return. But some days were not everyday, because some days he had to cry and shout at the walls. Oswald would be forced out of the bubble he had created for himself, and be reminded of the reality he was living.

  “Do you believe in fate?”

  Those days, Oswald companied himself with alcohol, attempting to forget that reality. Though the memories didn't fizzle.

  Bitch.

  Tomorrow, the sun will rise over Gotham, and life in dead man's land would resume. Again, without Edward.

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

   Several weeks had passed since Edward had awaken in the presence of Strange. He wasn't even sure if he had died, because how would he know the difference between that, and losing consciousness? Strange however did inform him that he was revived, confirming that he himself had found Edward's and Lee's bodies. He never disclosed as to why someone like himself would be wondering The Narrows, but with Gotham gone to hell after the bridges blew and the likes of Jeremiah running things, it wouldn't be the strangest thing to happen. With Gotham in the shape it was in now, Strange told Edward that there wasn't a better time than now to gather allies in this waging war, and as thanks for saving Edward's life, that he would be willing to work alongside him. Besides, there wasn't much love to be shared towards Jeremiah. Even Oswald hated him!

  Oswald...

  Oh, yeah, the guy he'd locked in the bank with Butch to favour Lee.

  So much for being smart. Oswald, yet again, had proved himself to speak the truth. He really did know Edward inside out. He had heard Oswald was residing in City Hall, controlling Gotham's ammunition, and basically having an army of people working for him.

  It had to be said, Edward had to admire him at least a little for that. Already, Gotham was at war with itself, and Oswald wasted no time in moving in on taking the opportunity to cease power.

  What a bastard, and oh how Edward hated him for that.

  Strange allowed Edward to leave, telling him that he would be in touch if ever a time were to present itself for the two to work together. It's not like Edward had much choice... Still, he wasn't proving much help when he found himself waking up on discarded sofas located on rooftops, and even dumpsters. Honestly? Quite humiliating! Strange never left a contact. Oh, of course he didn't, because he was the one likely controlling him! The snake probably had gone into hiding, working within the shadows, behind the smoke and rubble of Gotham's labouring backbone.

  On the way back to the library he had cooped himself in, his thoughts were interrupted by something calling his name.

  “Ed?”

  He addresses the voice in question.

  Barbara. Her hair was different the last time they saw each other, shorter. Edward's own hair was looking very different these days too, allowing it to grow past his cheeks.

  “Barbara. A surprise to see you here. Looking... deadly as ever.”

  “Likewise! Well.. I wouldn't put you down as looking exactly someone I should be terrified of. That hair? Total disaster, honey.”

  Now isn't the time!

  “Barbara... can you help me? Something is happening to me. Strange brought me back to life and I keep waking up in random places, I-”

  “I know, sweetie,” she interrupted.

  She knew?

  “What do you mean!? How-”

  “It's not exactly news, Eddie. Strange may have been the one to bring you back, but those orders were on Penguin. No doubt whatever is going on with you, it's through him. I heard you two didn't exactly leave on the best of terms after all...”

  Revenge?

  “Oswald, of course! This'd be so like him to get back at me! That pathetic birdbrain!”

  “You can say that again. I suggest giving him a visit. He's fortressed himself in City Hall, but no doubt the Riddler can find the answer on how to get inside?”

  “Oh you better believe it... Got a spare gun I can borrow?”

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

  The great Riddler shouldn't be crawling through narrow, dusty vents, but needs be. Oswald's security was tight, and Edward saw no other way to get inside other than this. His string-like body, legs especially, made manoeuvring a challenge. He was half afraid he would get stuck in there forever. Turning a corner, he could hear Oswald's demanding voice.

  “Edward.”

  Edward froze. Had he been caught?

  “Edward! You can't play with that! Give it back...”

  Edward continued to listen.

  “Good boy. Now, go to bed. Mr. Penn, can you bring Edward his bone?”

  “Certainly sir!”

  “A bone!? Oswald... has a dog? And he called him after me!? That twisted minded freak, wait until I- Ah-aah-ah...”

  Cursed these long legs. His ankle was caught on a corner of the vent as he was turning. Why did vents have to be so small? How can a criminal like himself work with such impracticality? Edward's voice seemed to have attracted the attention of the dog, as he eyed the creature who was looking back him.

  “Oh crud...”

  The dog barked back in response.

  “Shhhh, I'm not here,” Edward answered, flailing his arms slightly in order to put a finger to his lips. Right, like the dog could understand...

  “Edward, come now! Daddy has work to do.”

  “You have GOT to be joking me,” Edward sighed in mild disgust. This was absolutely not happening.

  Thankfully, Oswald paid no mind to Edward the dog's shenanigans, allowing Edward the continue on nearing himself closer to their long awaited reunion. Edward was thankful to Barbara for not only providing him with a gun, but a knife. A knife could often prove more intimidating. And personal, yet intimate. Edward remained still, listening for the nothing that he was waiting for, to allow himself to sneak in undetected. It was risky, which proved to be exactly that when he heard Oswald's footsteps and voice carry themselves closer as he began to return. Edward was barely out of the vent, and made haste behind a pillar, leaving no time to hide the evidence that someone had sneaked in. The door to the vent had to be left open.

  The double doors to the room squeaked as Oswald entered. Edward attempted to calm himself, gripping at his gun to make sure he was still holding it. This was insane. Oswald was surely going to kill him. Edward listened for Oswald to near closer, until he heard Oswald gasp. The vent had been discovered. Edward held his breath as Oswald neared closer to inspect it. Taking advantage of Oswald's distraction, Edward emerged from the pillar, gun in hand, aimed straight for Oswald, grabbing Oswald's attention.

  “We have a great deal to talk about.”

  Oswald's face was filled with pure shock. Edward is somewhat surprised as to how much.

  “But first, did you name your dog after me?”

  Edward waits for Oswald to reply, but receives nothing more than the gaping look Oswald was already giving him the moment the gun was pointed at him.

  “Oswald! Answer me! Now!”

  The look on Oswald's face reminded Edward of the time that Oswald announced that he had something very important to tell him, only to supposedly forget. Edward still remembered the slight crushing of his heart that he felt when he thought that maybe, just maybe... Oswald was going to tell him that he loved him. Right now, history was repeating itself, as Oswald couldn't find the words to speak, like his voice had been stolen from him. It was aggravating.

  “Well come on, Oswald, speak up. I'm sure you have a lot to say!” Edward exclaimed, flinging his arms out in classic Riddler fashion.

  “I- Ed... you're alive?”

  “Well clearly! Why, half hoped that I wouldn't come back to life after you brought me back? We both know I can be a threat to you, Oswald. Perhaps you should have just left me dead.”

  Edward taps the side of the gun to his forehead.

  “But then, that wouldn't be a good revenge now, would it? Penguin, in classic villain fashion, cooks up the perfect revenge for his most hated enemy. I mean, look at what you did to poor Butch. I must say... that's cold.”

  “Revenge? Ed, w-what... what are you talking about? How are you alive?”

  “You tell me!” Edward advanced, pressing the gun right into Oswald's head. “You did something to me, and I'm not leaving until you tell me what, and how I get fixed!”

  As soon as Edward finished talking, Oswald no longer felt his lively presence upon him, as Edward stormed off, seemingly requiring space. Oswald somewhat missed the closeness, even if it meant having a gun on him. Angry Edward may be, but he was alive nonetheless.

  “Fixed? Ed, what's going on? I thought you were dead!”

  “Well I'm not okay!? My brain, it's- Half of me wishes I was dead, Oswald! I'm freaking out and waking up in random locations over the city. I'm being controlled, and I know YOU are responsible! After all, it's revenge for locking you in that bank isn't it?”

  “Strange told me you died.”

  “LIAR! You're lying, Oswald, I know it! You brought me back to mess with him. And why not? I would have! It's a brilliant idea, y'know? Why kill someone when you can just have them be miserable, like what you did to Tabitha when you killed Butch? Not that I really cared for that guy, but Tabitha? She has to live with that, just like how I'm living with THIS!”

  “No she isn't.” Oswald's voice sounds somewhat cold.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Tabitha is dead. She came after me, so I killed her.”

  Well this was a turn of events.

  “Really? Huh... Well, she'll hardly be missed. But still, she would have been alive if she hadn't come after you I gather. So...”

  Edward paused.

  “What's going on with me, Oswald? Enemies we may be, but don't I at least deserve to know what's going on? Or am I not even worth that?”

  “Ed, this is sil-”

  “I mean!” Edward can't help but laugh in-between his words. “It's not like I'm that important to you as an adversary is it? Replace me with a dog that you coddle so it can love you back? It's sick, Oswald. Absolutely sick!”

  “Hello, Ed!? I thought you were dead.”

  It's all Edward can stand. This petty squabbling was getting them nowhere. He indistinctly throws the gun on the floor, and pulls out the knife Barbara had given him. He grabs a piece of Oswald's suit, drawing him closer to the deadly metal.

  “You broke me!”

  He hates that he can hear the fear in his voice. No doubt Oswald picked up on it too. He's losing his nerve. If he breaks, Oswald will certainly be taking advantage of that. Edward expects Oswald to say something, and is disappointed when all he is given is silence and a look he can only describe as pity.

  “I am broken, Oswald... I-” A shaky breath escapes him. “I am nothing. I HAVE nothing!”

  Oswald remains quiet still.

  “I think it's high time you got your revenge on me, Oswald.”

  “Wh-?”

  Oswald could barely comprehend what had just happened, but Edward had retrieved the gun he had discarded earlier, and placed it in-between Oswald's own fingers. It was pointed right at him. Edward wasn't going to get his revenge today, or any day. He was right... Oswald was going to kill him. And that was fine.

  “Do it, Oswald. Kill me. Living like this... it's hell. I want out. At least show me some mercy, please... I ca-”

  The tears are coming now. Wonderful, what a way to die! He imagines that Oswald is finding this hilarious. He is literally the King of Gotham now. Here is a man that once fed his step-mother her own children, before killing her. The man that outwitted him on that damn pier and had him frozen for months in his club. The man that saved his life on the same pier, only to be betrayed for a woman Edward knew was using him. And now that man has a gun pointed at him, ready to fire a single bullet into his heart. The wait is antagonizing.

  “Oswald... please... kill me?”

  The bullet never comes. The gun hits the floor at their feet.

  Edward's body quakes when he feels Oswald draw him in for a hug. Maybe Oswald will stab him instead? It would be the perfect opportunity. Instead, Oswald's fingers are stroking themselves through Edward's overgrown hair. Edward finds this to be torture. He feels like he's being mocked, and yet... like he's home.

  “Edward?”

  “Hmm?” It's all Edward can manage at the moment.

  “You once told me... that a man with nothing can be a powerful thing. You opened my eyes that day, and although I didn't heed your words about having nothing to love, I have still risen. You too can be someone, Ed. You already ARE someone. You're Edward Nygma, the Riddler, are you not?”

  “That still doesn't explain my blackouts, Oswald. Strange and Barbara told m-”

  “That bitch! Of course Barbara's involved in all this. Payback for Tabitha no doubt.”

  “So the stuff about how you thought I was dead? That was...”

  “Strange told me he was unsuccessful in bringing you back to life. I was... distraught. We didn't leave on the best of terms, but we've done worse to each other. Edward, my dog, came into my life. I named him after you. I missed you, Edward. After everything we've been through? I still... can't live without you. And this isn't me asking you to return those feelings for me, Edward. Love is a weakness, you taught me that, which is why it's taken me this long to be someone. I didn't heed your words, but you can, Ed.”

  Neither one of them notice the slight swaying they are doing, as if a slow dance. Real slow.

  “Of course you wouldn't heed my advice, Oswald. How can I expect you to when... when I... can't even follow them myself?”

  The distance Oswald puts between them is horrifying as he pulls away.

  “What do you mean?”

  Edward looks Oswald dead in the eyes, hoping that Oswald can read them. But with everything that had happened, all the betrayals, how can Oswald be expected to know?

  “Oswald, I don't-” There's a pause. “Nothing.”

  “Ed...? Come on, tell me. It's okay.”

  “It's really not. You'll laugh.”

  “I won't, Ed, I promise. Please?”

  Oswald's hands touches Edward's face, and again, Edward feels at home, like he often did with Oswald, yet unable to really pinpoint as to why. Being Edward and the Riddler in one body came with its difficulties. Not to mention that Oswald did kill Isabella, which put a damper in their relationship.

  “I tried, Oswald... I really did. I wanted to be somebody so badly, to be noticed, to be seen, acknowledged... loved... in a sort of twisted way. You showed me that, until you killed Isabella. I hated you for that, STILL hate you for that, but I... couldn't just switch off these feelings I had for you, Oswald. You said you were sorry, and I believe you, but apologies don't bring back the dead. Although... it wasn't really about her, it was more about us. You and me. Heck, I called her Kristen that one time didn't I, back at your home? She was a dead ringer for Kristen, I don't know why I didn't see it really. Or maybe I saw it too much that I was blinded. I wanted Kristen, and I wanted Isabella, and when you stole Isabella from me, it broke my heart, Oswald. You were my friend, so I shunned friendship entirely, because in the end, betrayal is the only thing that's left.”

  Edward spots the tears forming in Oswald's eyes.

  “Ed... I know I've said this before, but I do regret that decision. I felt like you were being taken away from me. You were my first real friend, and the thought of losing you... it scared me. I can't change the past, because believe me, I would if I could and give you that happiness with Isabella, or Kristen, or whoever you desired, because that's what you deserve, Ed.”

  Edward half chuckles at that. This situation is frightening.

  “Oswald, did you not hear me? Kristen, Isabella, hell, even Lee... I don't want them. I want... you, Oswald. I think I always have.”

  Oswald can scarily believe what he's hearing.

  “I'm just so messed up in the head though I- I'm the Riddler, but I also feel-”

  “Like Ed?” Oswald finishes.

  “Yes! How d-?”

  “Ed, listen to me. I told you, I could see the man you could one day become. The man you called the Riddler? That's not who I saw, because that's not him. He was a part of you, but he wasn't the whole you. This,” he jabs a finger at Edward's chest, “is you. You, here? That's the Riddler, and Edward Nygma, as one.”

  Edward properly laughs this time, and it's the kind of laugh that Oswald adores, because Edward shines brightest when he's happy. When Oswald's hands return to his face, Edward uses his own hands to hold them in place there.

  “You were always good at this, weren't you?”

  Oswald offers Edward a reassuring smile, using his thumbs to wipe away the tears from Edward's eyes. The sob comes shortly after.

  “I have a riddle.”

  “Of course you do,” Oswald half scoffs.

  Edward clears his throat.

  “To seal me, I am one, but to achieve me, it takes two. What am I?”

  They both feel the rush when Oswald's hands quickly escape from under Edward's own hands, favouring the back of Edward's head in a half-hard grasp.

  “Oh, Ed... that's too easy,” Oswald coos.

  “So give me the answer.” Oh, it was like that. Okay.

  Oswald yanks Edward's head down in a haste, their mouths finding each other in a desperate need to regain lost time they had wasted. Years they had known each other, too busy trying to kill each other, or in Oswald's case, just trapping him. All their petty fights and bickering, what good did it do them? It just made them look like three year olds. Edward's hands flail until settling on the front of Oswald's suit, where he grasps for dear life. Oswald feels a surge of power running through him, and proceeds to force Edward backwards until he's pinned to the nearest marble pillar. Edward's chest heaves at the impact, his body tingling as he's dominated by the Kingpin.

  “Oswald...” His heart flutters as he hears himself speak Oswald's name.

  The moment is ruined when the double doors suddenly burst open, revealing to be Mr. Penn.

  “Mr. Cobblepot sir, I've just had word th-!”

  Before he can fully process what he is seeing, Oswald spoke first, distancing himself from Edward, while smartening his suit up.

  “Do NOT say a word, or I will kill you. What is it?”

  Mr. Penn whole body rattles at Oswald's tone. Oswald probably meant it.

  “Yes... sir, word has it that Jeremiah Valeska was the one responsible for the chopper that was shot down recently. Perhaps you could pass this information onto Gordon, despite your...”

  “Despite the fact, that he SHOT me in my bad leg? Bastard... but yes, I suppose! You may leave!”

  Mr. Penn wastes no time in leaving two alone again.

  “Jeremiah huh? How dangerous are we talking?” Edward inquires. “You know, apart from the blowing up the bridge thing.”

  “It's hard to say, the guy is a filthy rat, and a scumbag at that! But, my dear Ed, I don't believe he'll be a match for the two of us.”

  “I hope you're right.”

  “Oh, that reminds me. It's high time we gave Strange a visit. That bastard has lived for long enough.”

  Oswald appreciates the way Edward grasps hold of his left arm as if he was a high schooler.

  “Yes, Oswald! Let's kill him! And our first date!” Edward is giddy.

  “You're impossible, Ed. Come, let's hear what Strange has to say.”

[rose-of-pollux]

Another MFU blurb, pt 2

Written for today’s short affair prompt at Section VII.

Summary: In which Napoleon and Illya find out the identity of a killer plaguing the city--and have to figure out the next course of action to capture him.

Notes: Continuation of last week’s piece, and is rather dark/heavy and not like the usual feel-good pieces I write.  There is also minor canon character death (i.e., characters that were one-time appearances, not Napoleon or Illya), admittedly the first time I’ve ever written such a thing.

Not cross-posting this because I might expand this more someday.

The quest to find the serial killer responsible for the death of five blondes had led Napoleon and Marton to an abandoned warehouse downtown.  The killer hadn’t had the time to cover his tracks—only escape, and just as they had arrived.  Napoleon had attempted to apprehend the fleeing killer, who had hidden his identity (save for a few tufts of dark hair) behind a blue woolen ski mask, but the killer had fired a poison dart in his direction, narrowly missing him by an inch; in the moment Napoleon had taken to dodge the attack, the killer had vanished into the night.  A pursuit in the darkness was in vain, and as he returned to the warehouse, Napoleon cursed himself for not arriving sooner; the demon was loose somewhere in the streets of New York, and all they could do was try to warn blonds to stay inside? It was as pathetic as it was impractical; they had to identify the killer and apprehend him as soon as humanly possible.

He found Marton looking at a corkboard with Polaroids arranged in a line; he was glaring at the latest one—one of Angelique, talking to a young blond man—flirting with him, by the looks of it.  It was as Napoleon glanced at the other four photographs of the other four victims that he noticed that the same blond man was talking to each of the victims, too—another link they hadn’t known about earlier.

“This isn’t about Illya,” Napoleon realized in relief.  “Look…”

The blond man was casually talking with Marion and Jojo, and was giving a large care package to the homeless man.  The fourth picture—the one with the waiter from the Russian tea house, was of the waiter trying to console the man about something—probably the deaths of the previous three victims.

“The murderer is killing blonds that this man has had contact with…” Napoleon said.  “Illya is good with the whole psychological profile thing; we can ask him to go over the evidence here.”

He still didn’t want Illya being out in the open, just in case he had come into contact with this man, so he waited until all the evidence had been logged and taken back to U.N.C.L.E., and he, Marton, and Waverly patiently stood by as Illya did his analysis.

“I think I understand now,” Illya said, after consulting a ledger and some newspaper articles from a few weeks back.  “The man in the photos with all of the victims is Lance Stephens; up until a month ago, his father was the head of Draconic Wings; they are a local pharmaceutical company known for their charity work in the city—for those unfortunate to afford their medicinal needs, they have been known to provide the life-saving treatments for little or no charge.”

“A month ago?” Napoleon asked.  “What happened?”

“His father had been planning to retire for a while now; that was no surprise.  What had been unexpected was Lance inheriting the company solely—he has an older brother, Clayton Stephens, and both were expected to jointly run and inherit the company.  Just prior to the retirement, Clayton had been caught in a scandal involving him selling prescription medicines unlawfully.  There was quite an effort made to keep him out of prison; obviously, they succeeded, but he was subsequently disinherited.”

“So Clayton Stephens is murdering these blonds his brother comes into contact with?” Waverly asked.

“It’s a modern-day Cain and Abel,” Napoleon said, quietly.  “But rather than just killing his brother, our Cain wants to psychologically torture him. He gets to vent by making sure his victims are blond, like his brother, and gets to torture his brother by making sure his victims have had some contact with him—the guilt he must be feeling is incredible, if that picture in the tea house is any indication.”  His eyes narrowed.  “And I was so close to catching him; if I’d just been one minute faster…”

“You did the best you could, Mr. Solo,” Waverly said.

“But we need to capture him before he strikes again,” Napoleon said.  “I don’t know if he might be scared into hiding, but we can’t risk that chance.”

“Just leave him to me,” Marton insisted.  “THRUSH can find him and strike him down.  Angelique has many who will avenge her.”

“Victor…” Waverly said, in a warning tone.

“That is not how we solve problems,” Illya said.  “But I have a plan that might work.”

“I’m all ears,” Napoleon said.

“…You won’t like it,” Illya said, and Napoleon extrapolated the plan from those words alone.

“…If it’s what I think it is, then you’re absolutely right,” Napoleon said.  “Illya, you can’t--”

“Clayton knows who you are; a chance meeting between his brother and myself—another potential victim—might be the one thing that might draw him out into the open.”

“We can assign someone else to this,” Napoleon said.  “As CEA--”

“I believe Mr. Waverly would have the final say in this--”

“Oh, I’ll let the two of you work this out, but do be quick about it; we don’t have time to waste, you know,” Waverly said.  “Come along, Victor; let’s leave them to it.”

Napoleon waited for them to go and exchanged glances with Illya.  This was going to be a long and difficult conversation that lay ahead.

[baxterfilms]

Film Essay: STAND BY ME

(WARNING: spoilers ahead!) 

In their book Screening Scripture: Intertextual Connections Between Scripture and Film, George Aichele and Richard G. Walsh explain the meaning to come of age as "a delicate mixture of rebellion, assistance, discovery and accommodation." Fundamental in many narrative stories, coming-of-age films follow characters that undertake a rite of passage to find a new sense within themselves. This transitions them into maturity, bestowing a vast sense of their own individuality and direction in life they, at first, thought impractical.

Often, in the course of a coming-of-age film, the protagonist or protagonists—often precocious beyond their years—accept the quest from their struggle to claim an identity outside of their social norms, outside of their own family or community. Examples of reasons for the protagonist to progress would be an event, a traumatic loss, banishment, escape, or battling against their own internal and external obstacles in their normal environment. Coming-of-age films revolve around a young persons’ desire to find their own honesty as individuals, previously unchallenged before they embarked on their personal journey.

Jule Selbo’s Film Genre for the Screenwriter categorizes the genre with different age groups: pre-teen (12 or younger), teen/adolescence (13-19) and pre-adolescence (20 and over). Selbo also states an undocumented detail that young audience members prefer coming-of-age films where “the protagonist is a few years older than the viewer,” allowing them the opportunity to alter their vision of the future from the character’s pedagogical objective. Thereby, much like the central character (or characters), the journey shapes and molds them with a keen perspective on reality after viewing. The specific knowledge gained from the genre, where the film allows itself to gain access to “memories of insecurity, immature behavior, stubbornness in the face of change,” and similar emotions invoke reality, which, if successful, resonates with observers.  

Set in the small town of Castle Rock, Oregon, in the summer of 1959, Rob Reiner’s Stand By Me adheres to the pre-teen age group of coming-of-age films. These focus on friendship and teamwork to further understand the adult world. A quartet of twelve-year old boys embark on an overnight camping trip to find the dead body of Ray Brower—a boy about their age—in order to claim his body and better their reputations with acclaim and publicity, with thoughts of their faces featured on television or a newspaper.

Told through flashback by Gordie LaChance (Wil Wheaton) as an adult (Richard Dreyfus), his other friends are Chris Chambers (River Phoenix), the tough leader of their gang and part of a bad family scorned by the community, including his alcoholic father and his other hoodlum brother Eyeball. Teddy Duchamp (Corey Feldman) is the disturbed, bespectacled member of the group, with a father given to psychotic fits of rage; in one particular incident, he held his son’s ear to a stove, almost burning it off. The chubby and pathetic Vern is always the target of their jokes, due to his timid nature and peculiar behavior.

The train tracks that lead the characters further to Ray Brower’s corpse builds on character growth throughout much of the film. Reiner and the child actors showcase a sense of camaraderie among the four boys, including frequent displays of childish behavior, given their age. Of course, the drawback to this behavior is an inability to cope with their central problems in a mature way. The train tracks may provide the way forward, but carries danger when speeding locomotives make their route. In one scene, Teddy stands on the tracks, wanting to dodge the train as it travels in front of him. In his mind, he is a soldier centered at the beach of Normandy, where he claims his father fought during World War II. Teddy still stands, with his sleeping pack adjusted like a machine gun, as the train draws closer. Chris grabs and takes him off the tracks, since Teddy’s intentions might have been suicidal instead of playful. His indignant response to Chris after being saved: “I don’t need no babysitter.” 

The boys pursue the quest to find Dan Brower’s body not only to appear heroic, but also to emerge brave men in the eyes of their community. Gordie has the benefit of the American middle-class, it is not ideal as one would hope. The sensitive Gordie is the “invisible boy” in his own home, even more so after his older brother Dennie’s death from a Jeep accident. Shown in the young Gordie’s memories, his brother was considerate and encouraging towards him than his parents, especially his domineering father. In the two scenes with the brothers together, Dennie gives Gordie his Yankees baseball cap and praises a story he had written while their father chooses to keep the subject of Dennie’s all-star football match at the dinner table. Evidently, Gordie bears a resemblance to his brother, according to a store clerk he encounters while purchasing food for the trip.

Gordie providing the food for the group alludes to the boys’ maturity, as well. Though they want to gain a newfound wisdom after they find Ray Brower’s corpse, the boys still lack basic judgment. They forget to pack food for their excursion and have to contribute pocket change to survive, which comes to a paltry $2.37, with Vern having only seven cents. In another instance of youthful naïveté, a farfetched urban legend about the vicious junkyard dog Chopper—reputable for attacking specific parts of the male anatomy—also confirms their simplicity consistent within their age group. This legend is debunked when it is seems Chopper is only a small golden retriever. In one scene, their boyish innocence in an age where early stages of puberty loom over them, indicative when they mention Annette Funicello’s increasing breast size on The Mickey Mouse Club.

In one exchange between Gordie and his father, he tells his son that he does not approve of his friends, which he deems “a thief [Chris] and two feebs [Teddy and Vern].” His father’s denigration towards them dooms him, but it provides a springboard from his father’s all-American standards, since Gordie’s friends do not possess the machismo or intellectual as his older brother’s. The emotional layers within the characters that permeate the film are quite evident. Teddy emulates the valiant military soldier in his father, through ersatz battle cries and machine gun fire. The fact that he endured his abuse does not matter to him; what he sees in his eyes is a true man who withstood combat. Chris has committed petty crimes, but he does not want to share the notoriety his family is known for at Castle Rock. He becomes a victim of prejudice when he returns milk money he had stolen from school to one of his teachers. However, the money had not been returned, resulting in a three-day suspension for Chris, all because the teacher stole it back to buy a new dress.

In their writings of coming-of-age films, George Aichele and Richard G. Walsh state that often in this genre, when a protagonist chooses to separate from their home and community, they journey along and conquer obstacles with the help of a friend that serves as a guide. In a scene that separates the boys into two separate groups along the train tracks, there is an implication that Gordie has a worldly skill to become successful in the future, but not as bright for the other three, obstructed by their idiosyncrasies. Stand By Me takes place shortly before the new school year, and the boys are each defined by the “shop” and “college” courses they will enroll. Whatever Chris believes that Gordie will befriend better classmates, while the rest will be “with the rest of the retards, making ashtrays and birdhouses.” To Chris, if Gordie remains with the gang, he will not become successful as a writer. However, Gordie’s lingering thoughts over his father’s harsh opinions—not explicitly present in the film—make him doubtful about these notions and does not wish to leave his friends.

As their journey grows precarious, the sooner their relationship wanes. Gordie spends a moment of solitude away from his friends, when he makes eye contact with a deer on the train tracks. To him, this is more significant than the usual horseplay he participates in with his friends. His communication with nature reflects how Gordie had felt alone, having lost his brother and raised by an unappreciative family, but if the deer is able to adapt to its surroundings and survive on its own, so can he. However, after the group moves forward across a deep pond, they fool around and dunk each other before they find leeches on their bodies. After evacuating from the water, Gordie faints after finding a leech in his private region. The gang has second thoughts about continuing their journey but Gordie wants to move forward. The narrator implies he would have wanted to travel alone and focus on the task, and not engage in immature antics any longer.

In an age where life demands Gordie and his friends to make decisions about expectations in education, Ray Brower’s corpse is the transition into their teenage years before they arrive back at school. The store clerk mentions a quote from the Bible that acknowledges mortality: “In the midst of life, we are in death.” Though the boys are able to enjoy life’s pleasures, they should not take full advantage of them. When Gordie sees the body, he sobs, wondering why Dennie had died and left him with an ungracious family, stemmed from a nightmare that occurs earlier in the film. In the dream, Dennie’s casket lowers underground, and Gordie’s father turns to his other son and states that it should have been Gordie who died. Meanwhile, rival hoodlums older than the boys, with Chris’ brother Eyeball among them, decide to claim the body and threaten to kill them if they interfere. Like Gordie and his friends, publicity is their gain.

Earlier in the film, a part of Gordie’s deceased brother is desecrated when Eyeball snatches his baseball cap back home. When Ace (the leader of the group) attacks Chris, Gordie commits his own righteous act by pointing at Ace with a .45 caliber handgun he brought along. His retribution has a dual purpose—Gordie refuses to have his memories stripped away and perhaps, a change of heart over Ray Brower’s corpse. Ace and his gang leave, and the boys decide not to claim the body, leaving behind the accolades they yearned throughout their entire trip. When they travel back home, they barely speak to each other, their lives restricted and their town of Castle Rock smaller and different from when they left.

Life, especially childhood, is short. In a coming-of-age film, if the protagonist has a friend that serves as a guide, after the obstacles they have withstood, they at least consider their advice. Gordie becomes a writer, obviously encouraged by Chris, and this story serves as his latest written work in progress. He reveals that he had not seen the rest of the gang in years, but he reveals their futures ahead of them, as they wave their farewells to each other and fade away. Vern is a married man with four children, working as a forklift operator in a lumberyard. Teddy’s deformed ear and poor eyesight led to his rejection from the Army, and has spent time in prison, leading to low-level odd jobs around Castle Rock. Chris enrolled in the college courses with Gordie and became a lawyer before he is stabbed to death in a fast-food restaurant. His last sentence he writes on his computer sends the message further: “I never had any friends later on like the ones I had when I was twelve.  Jesus, does anybody?”

Director Rob Reiner spoke about his interpretation on the film’s meaning and stated: “It was all about the beginnings of learning to like yourself, beginning to accept yourself, with the help of good friends who could help you validate yourself by seeing what was good in you.”

[worldsentwined]

Okay, so, I still haven't read the new book, but since it's an AU anyway I figure spoilers aren't so much an issue as long as I'm familiar with the characters and thus: for Kamet/Costis, either "our friends that we came here with went off together and now we’re making awkward small talk" or "my date just made a scene in public and got arrested and now i’m stranded in a city without a ride home" (that second one could be a canon-divergent AU from QoA frankly)

(So I’ve been sitting on this one for a while because I couldn’t decide which one to do - I liked the idea of “my date just made a scene in public” but couldn’t decide whose date would do that. Then I realized: Why not both?)

Kamet/Costis - my date just made a scene in public and got arrested and now I’m stranded in a city without a ride home

“Are you all right?”

The words startled Kamet out of the loop his thoughts had been in ever since they dragged Nahuseresh from the bar in handcuffs. He’d been staring at his own hands, taking note of the ink staining the callus on his his right middle finger. If he’d been left to his own devices, he would be at home right now, safely ensconced in his bedroom (the smaller of the two - he’d let Nahuseresh have the big one) with a pen in his hand and his notebook open on the desk. For all that late nights got lonely in an empty apartment, there was a certain peace to it, too.

But Nahuseresh had insisted on dragging him out drinking (”You’ll never meet someone if you stay holed up in here all the time!”) and as with all things involving Nahuseresh, Kamet hadn’t resisted very hard. There was no point in telling his roommate the truth: that he didn’t want to “meet someone” because the guy who slept in the room next to his was everything he wanted. And he’d thought, foolishly, that one night out wouldn’t kill him.

That was before “that little shit Eugenides” (Nahuseresh’s words, spit out like a mouthful of vinegar) waltzed in with his hulking boyfriend/bodyguard and stirred everything up. Kamet had seen it coming: his roommate’s increased agitation, his muttering, the way he couldn’t stop scowling at the table where the other two were sitting. But nothing he did could calm Nahuseresh down. Then the bodyguard had gone off to the bathroom, and Eugenides strolled over “to say hello”. Ten minutes, three broken chairs, and one shattered window later, Eugenides and Nahuseresh were being ushered into separate police cars. And now Eugenides’ boyfriend was inquiring after Kamet’s health.

“I…what?” Kamet hadn’t really gotten a good look at the guy before, but now he found himself staring into a pair of concerned eyes that didn’t match the persona he’d conjured up. Any friend/boyfriend/lackey of Eugenides should have been no friend to Kamet. He was pretty sure that was how it worked, anyway.

But the other guy didn’t seem to know that. “You look pretty out of it. Did you get in the way of the fight? Gen flails all over the place when he gets riled up.” He searched Kamet’s face for injury, and finding nothing, picked up one of his hands. Kamet flinched, and the other man quickly released him. “Sorry. I thought you might be hurt.”

“I’m fine,” Kamet said automatically. It usually worked when he said it to Nahuseresh, but it didn’t satisfy this guy.

“Are you sure? How much did you have to drink? Can you tell me your name?”

Kamet shook his head. “I only had half a beer, it’s fine.” And then, because the other guy was still waiting, he said, “I’m Kamet.”

“Costis,” the man said, extending his hand. As Kamet shook it, he added, “And sorry for all the questions. You looked like you were in shock.”

Shock would certainly explain the numbness, but that wasn’t why Kamet felt like he’d been kicked in the chest. It wasn’t even seeing Nahuseresh arrested. It was what his roommate had said right before they took him away.

Get the hell out of here, Kamet. I don’t want your help anyway, you’re useless. It wasn’t the first time he’d something like that, but that didn’t mean it hurt any less.

“Kamet. Hey, earth to Kamet.” Eugenides’ boyfriend - Costis, his name was Costis - was still talking to him. “Look, do you want to get out of here? Maybe some fresh air would help.”

There was plenty of fresh air coming through the broken window, but Kamet followed him anyway. It was better outside. He could stop trying to keep an eye on everyone around him - the bartender scowling as he swept up glass shards, the whispering girls at the end of the bar, the policemen hanging out as though waiting for something else to start - and focus on Costis. For all that he was a potential enemy, his solid presence was a comfort. He led the way down the street like someone who knew where he was going, so they’d walked two blocks before Kamet dared to question him.

“Umm. Where are you taking me?”

Costis stopped so fast that Kamet nearly ran into him. “Oh. Oh, I’m sorry! I was in such a rush to get you out of there and somewhere quiet, I didn’t even think to ask where you live. Do you know which bus you need? Or a cab might be better, at this time of night.”

“A cab?” Kamet shook his head. It was a kind thought, but impractical. “I live all the way out in Mede. If we go back to the bar, I can find where we parked and - oh.” Nahuseresh had the car keys. And the key to the apartment, because Kamet had left his behind, thinking he wouldn’t need it. “Shit.”

“What is it?” It was weird, how concerned Costis looked. They were strangers to each other. If it had been the other way around, Kamet would probably have left Costis and hoped he figured things out. At least, he thought that’s what he would do. It was what Nahuseresh would do, probably.

But since Costis had offered to help, Kamet wasn’t about to turn him down. The situation was pretty desperate. Kamet sighed. “I think I’d better go to the police station, actually. Nahuseresh has the keys. And I should wait for him, anyway.” There probably wasn’t anything he could do, but maybe his presence would be a comfort. Gods, I’m pathetic.

Costis didn’t seem too happy about that idea. “The police station? They’ll be stuck there for hours, and it’s late already. Even if you want to pay your friend’s bail, it’ll take forever. It’s probably best to catch some sleep, let them cool off, and go deal with it in the morning.”

“But I can’t just leave him!” Why didn’t Costis understand? Nahuseresh might be a little thoughtless and quick to anger, but he didn’t deserve to spend the night in jail without even a friend to support him. Even if he didn’t share Kamet’s feelings, that didn’t change how Kamet felt. “And are you really going to leave your - Gen there? I thought you’d want to help him.”

Costis waved that away. “Nah, I’ve already told him I’m not bailing him out anymore. I called his wife, she’s going to deal with it.”

Kamet’s thoughts ground to a halt. “His wife?”

“Yeah, Irene. I almost feel a little bad for the police officers, having to deal with her,” Costis said. He grimaced. “And I’m sure she’s pissed at me. I was supposed to keep Gen out of trouble, and look what happened. She won’t let me forget this anytime soon.”

The universe was still rearranging itself in Kamet’s head, so his next words weren’t well thought-out. “He really has a wife. I thought you were his—”

“You thought - Gen? And me?” Amazingly, Costis didn’t seem at all offended, he just laughed. “No, no. There was a time when I might have, but - no.” Then, as though it had just occurred to him, “Are you and Nahuseresh…?”

“What? No! No no no.” Was he that obvious? He probably was. “We’re roommates. That’s all.” Unfortunately.

“Ah. Good.”

Good?!

“I mean - sorry! I didn’t get a very good impression of him, that’s all. That stuff he said to you was pretty nasty.” Costis gave him a searching look. “Is he always like that when he drinks?”

Nahuseresh was always like himself, whether he was sober or shit-faced. But it felt disloyal to say that out loud. “He doesn’t mean it when he talks like that. He regrets it later.” Not that he ever said so.

Rather than looking reassured, Costis frowned harder. “And he was your ride home.” They’d walked back to the corner where they’d started; any minute, Costis would probably call a cab and be on his way. Kamet found himself regretting that. It was kind of nice, having someone to talk to who actually seemed interested in what he had to say. Maybe they could exchange phone numbers and meet up some time - but no, not if Costis was friends with Eugenides. Nahuseresh wouldn’t like that.

“So if you’re stuck in the city until he gets out of jail,” Costis said, “Do you have a place to stay? Because if you don’t…well…you could stay at my place. It’s not very big, but it’s close, and my roommate moved out last month so I have an extra bed…but only if you want to! I know we just met, it’s a little weird…” He trailed off, looking everywhere but at Kamet.

On the other hand, maybe it didn’t matter so much what Nahuseresh liked. Especially since he was in jail, and it was his fault, really, that Kamet was in this situation.

“That…would be great, actually,” Kamet said. “If you’re sure it’s not too much trouble.”

Costis raised his eyes to meet Kamet’s, and he smiled. “Okay. Come on, it’s this way.” He slung an arm around Kamet’s shoulder to get him out of the way as a drunk staggered past, and even when they got past the crowd in front of the bar, he didn’t let go. After a moment, Kamet put his own arm around Costis.

Maybe this night wouldn’t be the death of him after all.