#why should i keep trying // oswald

[amomentsescape]

Hello! So I am such a sucker for one bed tropes and I havent seen any with my favourite Gotham characters so Can I request a Riddler, Oswald (separately) with a reader(future S/O) where they are stuck in a situation with one bed trope. You can write either headcanon or drabble. Which one is easy for you. My english is not really good but I hope I explained good. And Thank you!

Sharing a Bed

Oswald Cobblepot x Reader, Edward Nygma x Reader

A/N: I love this trope! Thank you so much!

Oswald Cobblepot

Hiding from danger is just another typical Tuesday for Oswald

But he now finds himself in an even trickier situation with you

You may not realize it now, but Oswald has taken quite a liking to you

And even though you don't notice it, his enemies do

Which is why you two found yourselves in this current predicament

You were currently hiding out in a pretty luxurious suite

Even though Oswald was trying to keep you safe, he still had standards

That being said, he didn't think the location through very well

He was already ushering you over to the lone bed in the room, putting your stuff on it in hopes that there would be no question about it

"I think you should have the bed," you insisted, not wanting him to be uncomfortable

He shook his head

"No, no. You will be taking the bed. I likely won't even get to sleep tonight."

You frowned but decided not to push it further

You were all tucked in and ready to sleep, but you couldn't get yourself to shut your eyes

Instead, you kept stealing glances at Oswald, focusing on the way his brows furrowed and mouth tightened at all the paperwork in front of him

He was planning something big

You enjoyed spending time with him during these crucial moments, but they always left you confused

Why did he keep you around more than anyone else?

His irritated look immediately softened when he met your eyes, trying to convince himself that you most definitely were not blushing at being found out

He gave you a soft smile and looked back to the files

With this, you felt yourself relax enough to close your eyes, immediately drifting off

You didn't know how much time had passed when you shot up from the bed, your forehead covered in sweat

A nightmare, you assumed, although you couldn't remember much about it

Oswald was by your side in an instant, his face etched in worry

"Are you okay, my dear?" he asked softly, not even noticing the nickname he just gave you

You nodded and tried to offer a small smile

After a few moments to slow your breathing, Oswald hesitantly stood back up, heading towards his desk

However, in a moment of shocking confidence, your hand shot out and reached for him

He spun around immediately

"I-it's getting late, and I-" your voice cracked. "Will you stay with me, please?"

Oswald's cheeks turned a light shade of pink at this question, watching you scoot over slightly

He glanced over to his desk for just a moment, already having made up his mind

He shrugged out of his overcoat quickly and climbed in next to you, laying on his side to face you

You did the same and smiled at him

"Thank you for keeping me safe, Ozzie," you whispered

The smile didn't leave your face as you closed your eyes gently

Oswald reached for your cheek but hesitated, not wanting to scare you

Instead, he placed his hand carefully over your own, his heartbeat thumping quickly in his chest

Edward Nygma

Escaping from Arkham was no easy task

This meant that you two couldn't exactly be picky with where you ended up hiding

Ed had a couple "connections" thankfully, so you two found yourselves at a rather desolate motel

It would only be for the night

But when you entered the room, you both happened to stare at the lone bed in the the middle, the tension immediately building in the air

"I can take the chair," you offered quickly

You didn't want to put yourself in any more stress than needed

It had already been life risking to breakout of the asylum

And the last thing you needed was to make things awkward for the one person you cared about

He had his moments of course, but the mind of Edward Nygma was fascinating to you

You found his riddles entertaining

And he was truly a breath of fresh air compared to all the other crazy inmates

He made you feel seen and validated

And his voice was always just a bit softer whenever he spoke to you

He promised to save you from that place

It was no wonder you fell for him as quickly as you did

But Ed was a logical man

He had no time for love and feelings, you were sure of it

You could hear him scoff beside you

"Don't be ridiculous. I'll take the chair."

You managed to finally raise your gaze to his, heart racing at the realization that he was already looking back at you

"No, it's okay. I'm fine with-"

"There will be no argument," he stated matter-of-factly

Maybe it was the exhaustion of the day, or maybe it was all the anxiety, but you found yourself snapping back almost instantly

"After everything you've done for me, I insist on returning the favor in some way. Take the bed, please."

Edward seemed to go silent at this

You could tell by the way he was chewing on his cheek that he was assessing some thought

After a few moments, he finally let out a sigh

"The bed is surely big enough for the both of us..."

Your face turned red at the thought

He immediately began to backtrack

"But of course, your comfort is my main concern, so please don't agree if-"

You immediately plopped down on one side of the bed, leaving an empty spot beside you

Ed hesitantly made his way into the bed with you

The first 15 minutes of attempted sleep consisted of you two lying on your backs, a whole foot of space between you

You shivered a bit at the lack of heating in the room

Edward unknowingly scooted a bit closer to you, concerned about you being uncomfortable

You couldn't help but scoot a little closer to the middle as well, feeling drawn to him

He finally turned to look at you

His eyes were tired but worried

"It's cold," you whispered

He just nodded once and turned back to the ceiling

His lack of response made you feel a bit sick to the stomach, so you turned the other way so he wouldn't see your disappointment

You were almost asleep several minutes later when you felt his body press against yours, his arm wrapping tightly around you

"Goodnight," he whispered softly

[ozimagines]

Oswald Psychiatric Hospital, West Wing

Uncooperative (1/?)

They had to sedate him in the ambulance. When he’d been Baker Acted, as it had been come to be known, he went into a full blown panic attack. He was labeled ‘uncooperative’, thrashing away from the medical personnel and law enforcement that had been called to abort his attempt on his life. If you asked Miguel, he wasn’t trying to die. If you asked Miguel what he was trying to do, he wouldn’t have had an answer for you. That’s probably what got him taken away. He should have come up with an excuse for the mouthful of pills before they got there. In his defense, he didn’t know the suicide hotline could contact law enforcement, and furthermore, he didn’t know law enforcement had the power to Baker Act. Miguel was unable to focus his eyes, even his toes going numb as his heart pounded the sense out of him. He turned to his side to see the paramedic next to him. Grace.

“Hey… Grace…” he slurred as the sedatives took over his system, his eyes still blurry. “I’m feeling much better now… you don’t have to take me to the hospital anymore…”

Grace the paramedic rolled her eyes, knowing that his lame attempts at escape were all for naught. Miguel tried to get up as if he wasn’t strapped down. Grace tutted.

“They told us you were uncooperative. Stop fighting it, you’re only making it worse for yourself.”

‘worse for yourself’ burned a hole in Miguel’s head. How could things be worse? He was getting put away. No one knew how to help him anymore, so they were locking him up. Miguel tried to escape verbally a few more times during processing, the actual process taking hours. These hours provided plenty of time for Miguel to panic. He panicked so much they had to strap him to his bed in the hospital and keep him sedated until he was through processing; through those big, heavy doors with mystery on the other side.

“I’m not a nutcase though.” Miguel reasoned with the intake nurse. “I don’t really have to be here.”

“Mr. Alvarez-“

“Miguel.”

“Miguel.” The intake nurse said with a kind of harshness. It helped to hear him first name. He felt so much like a number the other way. Miguel read the name tag; Eugene Rivera. “You’re exactly where you belong. You tried to commit suicide not twelve hours ago. Here you’ll be safe.”

“Mr. Rivera… can I call you Eugene?”

Rivera nodded tersely and continued to fill out forms.

“Look, imma level with you, I can’t be here.” Miguel pleaded with him, trying to keep as level a head as possible. When you’re mentally ill, any big reaction is categorized as an overreaction. “See, I’ll lose my job. I can’t afford to pay the copay for being here. The ambulance ride alone-”

“Miguel, I’m going to level with you.” Rivera looked him straight in the eyes. “Debt is the least of your worries. You can’t pay anything back to anyone if you’re dead.”

Miguel tensed up, his eyes narrowing.

“I didn’t try to kill myself.”

Rivera nodded, but made a face that showed that he didn’t believe it for even a second. He started working on the forms again, when someone entered the room from the only door out, being let in by some security. Miguel instantly shivered.

“Hello,” the man checked his clipboard. “Miguel, right?”

“…yeah.”

The man in the suit smiled, as genuinely as he was able. Creeped Miguel out a little.

“I’m Tim. This is Sean. We work on the West Wing of the Oswald Psychiatric Hospital. Why don’t you tell us why you’re here-“

“I didn’t try to kill myself.” Miguel snapped, losing his cool for a second. That Tim guy kept smiling. The Sean guy didn’t smile once.

“Wanna explain the mouthful of pills you had when the paramedics arrived?”

Miguel went to answer and then hesitated. He side eyed Eugene for a second, who was writing everything down.

“Does he have to be here?” Miguel asked, lamely.

“Yes.” Rivera said without looking up, making more notes. Alvarez craned his neck to see what he was transcribing, but Eugene moved his notes away.

“I wasn’t feeling good, that’s all.”

“So you took enough antidepressants to tranq an elephant?” Tim responded, swirling his iced coffee in his cup for a second. Alvarez wanted to deck him. “Okay, so you didn’t try to kill yourself, but you came awfully close to doing it anyway.”

“I didn’t swallow the pills.”

“Why’d you tell the 988 that you did?”

Miguel hesitated again, casting another glance at Rivera.

“Look, the bitch was giving me the same runaround I get from everyone. I’m depressed, so I called for someone to talk to me -just talk- until I calmed down. She kept asking questions. ‘Do you have a plan?’ and ‘have you executed a plan?’ And I’m just trying to tell her how I feel.”

“Uh huh, so then you took the pills.”

“I told her I just needed to talk. Just calm down and she kept trying to figure me out and if I was trying to die-“

“That’s pretty standard for a Crisis Line.”

Miguel took a deep breath, that vein in his forehead starting to bulge. They weren’t listening.

“No, I just needed someone to talk to me, like a person, just for fifteen minutes to feel like a person again. Fifteen minutes. She kept asking me if I had a plan so I told her about the antidepressants, that I was in pain and didn’t want to be in pain anymore.”

“And then you took the pills?”

Miguel slammed his hands down on the desk, and the security guy -Sean- put himself between Tim and Miguel, Eugene jumping back a little. Miguel curled into himself immediately.

“I’m sorry. No, I just… I didn’t put the pills in my mouth until I heard the paramedics. I got scared. I just told her I did so she would try and talk to me like a human being, but she’d already called the cops and I got picked up.”

Tim nodded his head.

“So you never actually took anything?”

Miguel sighed in relief.

“No… I never took any of the pills.”

He’d expected Tim to slap his forehead and release Miguel, apologizing for them being so silly. He didn’t, though.

“Unfortunately, Miguel, the paramedics showed up at your place and you had a mouth full of at least 6,000 milligrams of sertraline, so the cops weren’t gonna take your word that you weren’t intending to swallow them.”

Miguel’s heart sank.

“Why’d you even ask?”

“To assess your thought process at the time. Most non-suicidal people don’t call 988 and try to down a month’s supply of their antidepressants, just a note.” Tim took a sip from his coffee and Miguel wanted to hit him all over again. “So this is a no lose situation; we’re not gonna chance sending you home. You have a 72 hour psych hold right now with the possibility of extension if the 72 hours aren’t deemed sufficient.”

“Who deems it sufficient?”

“The doctor.”

“Can I see the doctor now?”

“Dr. Nathan will check in with you once every day, and assess the hold, but it will be at least 72 hours before you’re considered for release.”

Miguel’s heart raced again. He wasn’t good with small spaces; wasn’t good with being captive to anyone.

“What happens if they don’t deem the 72 hours sufficient? Can I sign myself out against medical advice?”

“No, you can go before a judge and contest the doctor’s decisions, but then you’d have to wait for a court date.”

Miguel’s heart beat even faster. Tim must have seen the look of panic in his eyes.

“Miguel,” he waved Sean to the side and sat down in the chair next to him. “You’re here because you need to be here.”

“It wasn’t a real attempt.” He pleaded, threading his fingers and rocking himself back and forth. Tim smiled sadly and patted his knee.

“All attempts are real attempts, Miguel. People don’t do what you did in a normal state of mind, even if you weren’t intending to die.” He put on his best dad face. “In time, you’ll see this for what it is; help. We’re not the enemy, Miguel.”

“You’re not exactly an ally.” Miguel grumbled, leaning back in his chair anxiously. He saw one word on the chart in front of Rivera.

Uncooperative.

He tried to calm himself down, but no one was listening to him. No one gave a shit. They didn’t ask him why he’d called the hotline. Why he was on the antidepressants in the first place. What had him sad enough to call a crisis line. No, they just wanted to ask about the damn pills. The pills were a symptom, not a cause.

Still, he knew enough at this point to understand that being marked ‘uncooperative’ wouldn’t get him out of there any faster. So he swallowed his pride and let them lead him to the West Wing. The involuntary, complicated, uncooperative ward.

First thing he noticed was that there were paintings on the wall, but not in frames like normal paintings, literally painted to the smooth, beige wall. The one closest to him was a palm tree and an ocean view. He thought it was cruel, painting lovely vistas in a place people weren’t free to leave. He saw an outline of something in marker drawn on the wall. He focused his eyes to see what it was. Someone had taken a faint orange marker and drew a hard dick halfway down the palm tree. He smiled against his better judgement.

Miguel took in the common area, filled with men just like him who had been deemed to be a threat to themselves or others. The involuntarily held. The uncooperative. Tim touched his arm and led him to a black man in a wheelchair.

“This is Augustus, and he’ll help you adjust to life in Oz- that’s what the patients call it. Oz.” He smiled a little. “Nice, right? Like the Wizard of.”

“Wasn’t the Wicked Witch from the West?” Miguel said, heatedly. And he heard an unhinged laugh behind him. He turned to see a large black man and a skinny white man laughing their asses off, listening to the conversation. Tim rolled his eyes.

“Ryan, Simon, please, be cordial.”

“Sorry, sir,” Ryan remarked sarcastically. “I thought we were being cordial by laughing at the new guy’s joke. Right, Adebisi?”

“Oh, yeah,” he smiled unkindly. “Very cordial.”

Tim turned to Miguel.

“They’re the resident jokesters.” He explained away and that only sent Ryan and Adebisi into further hysterics. They seemed to laugh at anything and everything. He scanned the room again. There were two older men sitting at a table, playing cards. A curly, black haired man sitting by the window and staring off into nothing. There was a tall, thin black man who looked like he was tweaking coming straight towards them. Shit.

“McManus, my man, you got any more o’ that clonaze-whatever? Feelin’ a little shaky right now…” he droned on, and Tim took a deep breath before answering.

“No more clonazepam, Omar, it’s a controlled substance. We told you if you tested positive, your controlled substances would be stopped and not restarted.”

“Okay, yeah, but, see, I can’t not take the clonazepam, ‘cause, like, I’ll go fuckin’ crazy without it, like I’m talkin’ loco, my man…” he went to put his arm on McManus’s shoulder and Sean shut him down, pushing his hand away.

“No, Omar. You already took your Hydroxicine dose for the next two hours. You’ll just have to make do until then.”

“Yeah, McManus, but you see-“

“No, Omar.” McManus said resolutely and Sean stepped between them again.

“Ok, White, back up.”

“Woo! Murphy!” O’Reily cheered, patting Simon on the shoulder, both laughing.

“Get ‘em, baby!” Simon jeered. Omar was escorted away and to his room by other orderlies. Miguel was sufficiently stressed out, hand on his head and starting to feel the room spin. This wasn’t happening. He didn’t belong there. He wasn’t crazy like these people.

Augustus must have known what he was thinking.

“Nobody thinks they belong here, man.” He advises Miguel. “It’s like how the saying goes that prison is filled with innocent men; wards are filled with sane people.”

“Yeah, we’re fuckin’ innocent, dog.” Ryan tormented from the table, laughing wildly at the glare thrown his way by both men.

“What’s their problem?” Miguel asked Augustus, who gestured for them to go down the hall. The West Wing was shaped like a U, the base of which was the common area with large see-through cells along the walls.

“Adebisi’s easy; he was caught being disorderly and violent so he said he wanted to kill himself to end up here instead of in jail.”

“Does that work?”

“Sometimes. But you’d have to be somewhat crazy to do what he was doing. Lotsa public indecency and shit. They say he has delusions of grandeur.”

“And Ryan?”

“Went on a bender after his brother died. Drank himself nearly to death. BP to the motherfucking D. It’s unclear how much of reality he understands.” Augustus shook his head. Miguel nodded his head towards the man with the curly black hair and a vacant expression.

“And him?”

“Peter. Doesn’t talk much. PTSD. Only says he’s here because his parents croaked, but he gets dailies from Dr. Peter Marie.”

“Why’s that important?”

“Dr. Pete specializes in sexual trauma.”

“Oh.” The realization made Miguel double take Peter in the hallway, who didn’t even acknowledge his existence.

“The tweaker was Omar. Used so much coke he went and gave himself bipolar with psychosis. Get high enough and you never come down.” Augustus rolled his wheelchair down the hallway, explaining the various states of all of its inhabitants.

“Him?”

“Kenny. Our youngest in the ward. Only turned 18 a week before they locked him up. Like the song goes; buys a gun, stole a car, tries to run, but he don’t get far.”

“Him?”

“Good Ol’ Robson. Big tough guy but gets regulars from Dr. Pete as well. Wouldn’t go mentioning that to him though.”

“Him?”

“Bobby Rebadow; got committed at the ripe age of 32… then had so much ECT his brain turned to mashed potatoes. He doesn’t speak but when he does, he tells us what God’s telling him.”

“And you?”

Augustus stopped rolling, looking up at Miguel very seriously.

“My theory or the official reason?”

“Both I guess.”

“I think it’s ‘cause I know too much. I got their numbers, so they gotta keep me locked up before I blow the whole operation.”

“…and the official reason?” Miguel asked, eying Augustus uneasily. Augustus smiled.

“Paranoid schizophrenia.” He laughed as he rolled himself away, cackling into the distance.

Miguel just watched him, taking his paper bag of toiletries to his room. Some of the architecture was odd until you thought about it for three seconds. The door handles were smooth and oblong triangle shaped. So were the rails in the bathroom. Took Miguel a moment before he realized they were hang proof. No window blinds either, just these movable wooden slats that filtered in the sunlight. He checked his toiletries. All non-toxic lest they be swallowed. Barely a few ounces of shampoo and conditioner, with a little bar of soap. No razor. Made sense.

He crumpled up the brown bag and started arranging his toiletries. He looked down at his shirt and pants. Since he’d been wearing pants with strings and a hoodie with the same, he’d been moved into hospital gown shirt and pants. It was damn near see through, but as his last outfit was not deemed safe, they said they’d get him some safe clothes when he was through processing. They’d yet to get him actual clothes. He felt so exposed in those gowns.

“Hey.”

Miguel jumped a little at the new and unexpected presence of yet another member of the whimsical ward of wonders. The man had waves of jet black hair pressing against caramel skin, and one eye that didn’t seem to be following its twin. It was nearly painful how handsome he was, Miguel thought with an odd amount of shame afterwards. He couldn’t believe that was his first thought upon meeting his new roommate, but he’ll be honest, he kinda thought wards were all crazy people zombified by meds. It was hard to see someone so vibrant in a place like this.

“H-hey, I’m Miguel.” Miguel went to put out his hand to the roommate, who didn’t take it, just eyed him suspiciously. Miguel retracted his hand a second later. “We bunking together?”

“Seems so.” The new man said with a raised brow. “Tu eres Latino?”

“Sì.” Miguel answered instinctively. The other man instantly warmed up, putting his hand out this time. Miguel shook it, but the other man guy yanked him forward so they were an inch apart. Miguel immediately revolted, trying to move away from the other man as his arms held him close.

“Get undressed.” He breathed, splitting into an insane smile where both of his eyes lit up. Miguel found his strength and pushed the man back, until he hit the side of the bed and grunted, holding his hip. “Pendejo…”

“Pendejo yo? Tu eres pendejo.” Miguel got into a fighting stance, ready to call for guards and remove his would be abuser. The man just kept rubbing his hip.

“Undress, fuckhead, I was gonna lend you some clothes.” He hissed in pain again. That bedframe hurt like a motherfucker.

“What? Why?” Miguel found himself asking, heart rate self soothing.

“First time in one of these hellholes?” The man asked, sitting in his bed with his legs crossed underneath him, bouncing a little with a playfulness that seemed way out of place.

“Yeah…” Miguel confirmed, rubbing the back of his neck and looking out into the hall to see if he needed to get any help.

“Well, they ain’t exactly quick about giving us shit. Taking shit, they’ll do in an instant, but giving shit? They take their damn time.” He bounded up and went into his own brown paper bag and fished out some clothes. Just an old pair of pants, no strings, and a baggy shirt. Man even fished out a clean pair of briefs and tossed them over to his roommate’s bed.

“I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but why are you doing this?”

“Eventually you’re gonna start to stink in those things. You can’t wash ‘em, so every time you get clean you gotta put them dirty things back on. I’m just saving both of our noses.” He laughed, and Miguel felt his face heat up a little in embarrassment.

“What’s your problem?” The man asked suddenly, taking Miguel a little off guard, if not for the goofy fucking smile that remained.

“My problem?”

“Sure, you don’t get set up in a palace like this ‘less you got a problem. Tell me your die-agnosis, my child, and I’ll absolve you.” He made the cross with his fingers on his chest, still laughing to himself.

“I’m here because of a misunderstanding. I didn’t try to kill myself.” Miguel asserted as if there were video cameras waiting to hear him admit otherwise. Shit, there probably were. The other man let loose a boisterous laugh.

“What a fuckin’ coinky-dink. I’m here ‘cause I didn’t try to kill myself too!” He kept laughing on his bed for so long that it made Miguel uncomfortable. He felt like the man was mocking him, so he reacted as such.

“Fuck you, cabron.” Miguel shot, angrily. The man instantly sat up, still smiling, and wagged a finger at him.

“Ooooh, careful, baby, you don’t want the orderlies to have you sedated. See, that’s what happens whenever we get agitated, man. A little too wily coyote for their roadrunners.”

“Uncooperative.” Miguel echoed, and the other man touched the tip of his nose and pointed.

“Bingo.” He laughed again to himself and reached for something under his bed. It was a soft, thin journal with a packet of thin markers.

“They give you your coloring pages yet?”

“Coloring pages? How old do they think we are?”

“No, no, Miguel, it’s how bored do they think we are? And the answer is; bored enough to color their damn My Littlest Petshop coloring pages.” He reached into the book and pulled out a page of a cartoon turtle, showing it off proudly. It was fairly well colored in, except Chico had made one addition; the turtle had a massive, hard cock sticking out from under it, and a voice bubble that said ‘What do you call a turtle with a hard on? A slow poke!’. Miguel thought to the palm tree painting outside.

“You do that little number on the palm tree painting too, Picasso?”

He laughed again and nodded big.

“So you’re familiar with my work?”

“You certainly have a style.” Miguel chuckled, already feeling more at ease. He stepped into the bathroom to change, and it was nice ditching the hospital gown. He suddenly got very self conscious. He looked up and the man was standing in the bathroom doorway, looking straight at Miguel’s dick.

“Jesus, man, personal space just isn’t a thing for you, is it?”

“Nah, kinda got numb to all that bullshit ages ago. Everybody sees everybody sees everything here.” He picked at his nails, eyes still going between the dirty digits and the prick of his new roommate.

“You didn’t tell me your name, man.”

“You don’t miss a trick, do you, cowboy?” He snorted as Miguel hiked up the pants to take away the show. The man gave him a face that said; ‘party pooper’. “It’s Carmen, but if you say that name, ain’t nobody gonna answer, ya dig? It’s Chico to everyone who ain’t an orderly or a doc.”

“Chico?”

“Chico.” He smiled, made a little finger gun, and winked as he clicked it. Miguel couldn’t help the little laugh that followed.

There was a little knock on the doorframe, and both men turned, Miguel assessing the situation and Chico smiling that eternal, everloving, goofy ass smile. There was another Latino standing there. Tall, with a scruffy head of hair and beard.

“Chico, it’s chow time.” The man regarded Miguel with the barest form of recognition; a head nod, before he turned away and went into the common area.

“That’s Carlos. Don’t let his rudeness confuse you; he’s ten times worse once you get to know him.” Chico cackled again at his own wit, and Miguel shook his head, still smiling. Honestly, the situation could be worse.

That’s what Miguel thought until he saw what was for dinner; cold pasta with mayo, carrots, and cheddar cheese. He could have fucking vomited.

He collected his tray and Chico called him over to his table, full with people. That Carlos guy. Ryan and Adebisi. Another fluffy haired, younger Latino who had a blank stare in his eyes. That Augustus guy. A heavyset black man stood at the precipice of another table, calling out poetic phrases into the air;

“Tried to die / I did that / In another person’s body / Not too far from here / I wrote a note / I did that / To explain why / You won’t be seeing me anymore / I opened the pills / I did that / Hoping my pain would stop / When I saw the bottom of the bottle / They call us worriers / We’re just warriors / That haven’t died yet /To claim that honor…”

“What’s that from?” Miguel asked Chico as they sat down. Chico shrugged, still grinning.

“His own fucked up brain, I guess. That’s Poet. He’s one of the few entertainments we get in here. We only get music therapy every week or so and the TV’s been busted for some time now.”

“How long you been in here?” Miguel asked, and Ryan let loose a sharp laugh. Chico’s eyes shifted but he never lost that insane smile.

“Just as long as everyone else, man, too long.”

Miguel gestured to Chico’s food; he had chicken nuggets instead. Miguel asked how you get that instead of the shitty casserole.

“You try and stab your wrists with the plastic fork, ma, that’s how.” Ryan informed, licking his spoon ravenously after dipping it into the salad dressing. “You get the finger food diet from then on, right, Chico, my man?”

Chico kept his head down, eating his food, not acknowledging the topic but a brief smile in Miguel’s general direction. Miguel’s eyes were drawn down to a faint scar on his wrist. It turned his stomach if he was honest. Chico must have noticed, because he nodded his head to Ryan.

“Don’t pay him too much mind, yo, he’s been on the holy trinity for some time now.” At Miguel’s confused expression, he elaborated; “Lamotrigine for moods, risperdal for psychosis, and sertraline for depression. Mood, ups, and downs; the holy trinity.”

He made that cross gesture with his hand again. Ryan didn’t mind; he held out his arms as if to say ‘you know it’.

“What can I say, homie, I applied myself. Gotta cover all them bases.”

“That reminds me, I usually take my… my meds at 9ish.” Miguel kept it vague, not as comfortable with everyone knowing his shit as some of the others. “Do they need my med regimen or what?”

“Med regimen, dig him.” Ryan remarked and Adebisi laughed.

“They got your file, Miguel.” Augustus informed him, rolling his eyes at the idiots he was forced to be friends with. “Any meds you need, they got for you. We take ‘em after dinner, after breakfast, and after lunch if they’re thrice dailies. Plus they’re gonna give you new ones.”

“New meds?” Miguel shook his head. “I don’t need new meds.”

Everyone at the table laughed.

“Yeah, your meds are working super, chocha, that’s why you tried to kick the bucket.” Carlos stated, meanly. Miguel turned bright red and stared at his shoes. Chico noticed. Everyone did but Chico gave a shit. He nudged Miguel’s shoulder.

“Carlos is just pissy ‘cause his cariprazine makes him constipated.”

Miguel snorted, and Ryan sent a couple of ‘ooohs’ Carlos’ way, who lifted his hand up and smacked a middle finger against his palm.

“Fuck you.”

“Name the time and the place.” Chico fake kissed in Carlos’ direction, who rolled his eyes and stood to throw his food away.

Miguel was thankful that Chico took the spotlight off of him for a second. He sent an appreciative glance his way, before feeling like it was too much affection, and looking away. Chico clocked it before he stopped, smiling a little into his food.

“Keep the juice you don’t drink and the dessert you don’t eat, we bet those playing cards later. That and the little grippy socks they give you. Shit gets cold in here sometimes.” Chico advised before going to throw his food away. Miguel nodded, and followed in suit, not being extremely hungry for the cuisine. The 72 hours would be somewhat bearable. There was always the creeping thought that it wouldn’t end at 72 hours. That the doc would say he was loco and keep him there, forever in the worst of cases. He could be like that Rebadow guy who barely remembered his own name. Poet kept reciting off to the side.

“I went to the hospital / I did that / Where they give you clothes / Made of paper / And if they rip, you’re exposed / Like a nerve ending / Or a vein / Once shielded / Now open to all / To poke and prod / And try to put me back together again / I told the doctors how I felt / I did that / Only to hear / That this is life my dear / And it will never ever end / I cried alone in my room / I did that / Because their words of comfort / Reach me like knives / Driving deeper with each syllable…”

It came time for bedtime and the lights in the main area were turned out, people trudging to their beds and doors being shut. Miguel and Chico got into their respective beds, settling in for the night.

“I’m no good at sleeping away from home”. Miguel admitted into the darkness.

“You get used to it.” Chico responded, turning over.

“I’m no good at sleeping in silence either.”

“Clearly.” Chico snorted. Miguel smiled softly and turned over, closing his eyes and trying to get himself to sleep. The silence was deafening. He still couldn’t shake this creepy feeling all over him. He turned his body towards Chico, and came face to face with the man who had apparently moved out of bed.

“Wh-?” Miguel started to ask before he felt Chico’s lips crash into his, hand on the back of his head, lips moving rhythmically together. He felt something push into his mouth on Chico’s tongue and go down his throat. Chico kept kissing him for another minute or so, rubbing his thumb along the side of Miguel’s head. Miguel’s heart went from racing to lub dubbing peacefully under his roommate’s touch. Chico pulled back and pecked his lips again, softly, smirking at him dickishly. Miguel gave him a puzzled, questioning look. Chico just puckered his lips and winked.

“Diazepam… you’ll sleep like a fucking baby.” He got up and stroked Miguel’s head once more before he went to his bed. “Nighty night, precioso.”

Miguel panicked a little at taking meds that weren’t his own, before his heart started beating slower, and a weight was lifted off his shoulders, the room sort of stopping spinning but melting away underneath him. It was an out of body experience, taking valium for the first time. It felt as if someone were sitting on him, like a weighted blanket, going shh shhh shhhh until he drifted off to sleep. He was able to breathe again for the first time in a long ass time. It cradled him as he went to sleep, letting those bad feelings from only 18 hours prior be forgotten. Everything was forgotten. It was only Miguel and his bed and that glorious son of a bitch Chico snoring away next to him.

Miguel, for the first time in a long time, was cooperative.

[raymondshieldsofficial]

right just throwing this out there but if you’re not from the UK, we’ve just had local elections (elections to local councils, aka the people who deal with immediate issues in a condensed local area) and a party called “Reform UK”, formerly the Brexit party, formerly formerly “UKIP”, have made significant (although thankfully mostly insignificant) gains. they’re led by Nigel Farage, known arse-kisser of Trump, spineless grifter, charlatan, and all-around deeply unpleasant person.

in each speech Farage makes, he’s increasingly sounding more and more like Oswald Mosley, who was the leader of the “British Union of Fascists”, aka literal Nazi sympathisers. whether or not he’s doing it because he actually believes it, or for money… I don’t really care. it’s gaining traction.

the UK isn’t perfect. I am a queer person whose Ashkenazi Jewish heritage shines through in my features. this was something I used to be proud of; now, given how hostile the UK politics and media are increasingly getting towards minorities, I’m increasingly anxious. and I’m white, and was born here, but I have had multiple instances when people have clocked my Eastern European heritage based on just looking at me. and, again, I am white. my heart is breaking for people of colour right now.

the best thing about the UK, in my opinion, is that it’s been shaped by so many different cultures, ethnic groups… it’s a melting pot. and that’s AMAZING. I hate the UK politically but if you’re out at the pub, in the sun, and especially if we’re doing well at a sport? it’s an amazing place

I also want to add - because I feel like most of you know that transgender women have been unfairly targeted via a recent supreme court ruling - that queer rights are so fucking recent in the UK. in 1989, Thatcher introduced the infamous “Section 28” which made it illegal to publish media portraying gay people, or talk about being gay in schools. everyone who was complaining about Good Omens not being explicit in queer rep (Gaiman being awful aside) - this is why. it wouldn’t have been published.

to illustrate how recent this was, Section 28 was revoked when I was 7 years old. I am currently 28. and the impact it had on me as a queer person was immeasurable. that type of ingrained hatred didn’t go away as soon as the policy was lifted. a girl I went to school with was outed as a lesbian and pelted with stones by a group of boys in 2011.

Nigel Farage and Reform UK are trying to drive the UK back in that direction.

also everything about British people “taking it back”…

I’m also Welsh. I’m Welsh and fucking proud of it. my great-grandmother was beaten for speaking it (with something called the Welsh not; Great-Gran was born in 1914 and regardless of what wikipedia says, it was used on her at school), so she never learned it. so she didn’t pass it on to my grandad, and it didn’t get passed down to my mum, who learned bits of it in school but, when she was choosing her GCSE subjects, was told she needed a language if she wanted to go to university. Welsh, the language native to the country where she lived her whole life, wasn’t counted as a language.

this was in 1981.

I know bits of Welsh. I can read it, I can speak it at a very basic level, but not much. not as much as I should be able to. when I told my mother I was learning our heritage language, she shouldn’t have felt the need to burst into tears and hug me.

…my point being, Farage and Reform don’t know what they want to “take back”. WW2 values? WW1 values? young men going off and dying abroad for a conflict that’s happening because some royals in a different country beefed with their each other, because you know they’d be backing Hitler during WW2?

to my foreign friends, please keep the UK in your hearts. despite everything, I promise we’re not all terrible and the vast majority of us care deeply about other countries, and our impact.

to my UK friends? rise up. protest. vote against Reform. call Farage a facist outright. protect the people of colour in our communities. don’t let him win.

[neathyingenue]

What’s been going on with Silvia?

An update ft. sticky note doodles

After hearing that her dear friend the Six-Finger’d Scrimshander was living somewhere that wasn’t a house, Silvia has installed it in the guest room of her Side-Streets flat, where they’ve been getting along swimmingly.

Her professional life is going great! Ever since she and Lord Oswald J. Emerson struck a bargain—he writes silly plays, Silvia writes silly reviews, they create public beef that sells tickets and papers—the Prodigal Plebian has practically been printing itself.

Silvia’s also made a new friend, one Youthful Naturalist! She’s been lending him a hand where she can—trying to convince him to move out of his rookery, and keeping her kitchen stocked with jellied eels should he come over, and taking him wherever he wants to go in her zee-clipper.

In the meantime, she’s been growing frustrated with her lack of progress regarding her research on the Third City. If you’ve been with Silvia for a while, you’ll recall that she has been learning Yucatec Maya and chasing leads to discover if there are any pockets of Third City inhabitants untouched by colonialism where she could convince her remaining dad to move with her. (Hm? Inherently contradictory logic? What inherently contradictory logic?)

Enter the Sixth Coil and the freed captives. Several of them are from the original Third City. Silvia follows them to Venderbight, uses her broken Yucatec Maya to explain what she’s after—

They tell her: There’s no such place as you’re describing. We hang around in Venderbight, but even now, there’s nowhere untouched by the Masters, by London.

Silvia presses them—No, there has to be, maybe you just don’t want me there? Why not? Why won’t you let me in?? I promise I’m trustworthy, I won’t tell—

And she finally realizes that she sounds like a fucking conquistador.

Welp! No better cure for a crumbling belief system and self-perception than to zail as far away from your problems as possible! She and the Youthful Naturalist fuck off for a while and that’s when the Delight gets wind of them.

Speaking of wind. The Wax-Wind catches up with Silvia’s ship. Silvia gets a bad burn across the right side of her neck and shoulders.

Not to just rehash everything that happens ever in Evolution, but, uh, shit hits the fan, Silvia gets pretty traumatized. But secretly she’d glad that she’s helping the Youthful Naturalist, proud of both of them. Her search for precolonial Atlantis failed. But here’s another basket to put some eggs in. If they crack the secret to life and death, well, no one else will have to die like Silvia’s other dad, they can have all the time in the world to create their own utopia.

And the other basket of eggs is the Marvellous. She’s been so busy she’s scarcely had time to think of it [I’ve been on the lodging grind for 3+ months ;_;]. But can’t she just win and make the Masters let go of everything, set everyone free, end imperialism, or whatever? That’s how it works, right?

Oh, by the way, no one knows she’s been doing this shit. Not her father-ish figures, not her flatmate, not her partner, not her best friend, not her newspaper employees. Just her crew, and they are pretty pissed at her right now, so she’s been avoiding them.

Around this time, Silvia gets a letter from Shaw (one such father-ish figure) explaining about Nemesis and saying he might not make it back from his final revenge quest.

ALSO around this time (or maybe right after) Silvia gets what really sounds like a last will and testament from Jones (other father-ish figure).

And ALSO also around this time, Brett (Silvia’s best friend) is recovering from learning of the death of his partner.

Then Silvia forgets to be careful, and Caoimhe (her partner) sees her burns and asks what’s going on. She doesn’t buy Silvia’s story about a cooking accident she forgot to tell Caoimhe about (Silvia never cooks), and she really doesn’t appreciate that Silvia tried to lie. Caoimhe gives Silvia the chance to come clean.

So it all comes out. The Marvellous. The scientific voyages. The experimental surgeries. The multiple supernatural enemies. Caoimhe is appalled that Silvia would be taking all these risks without saying a single word—she thought the most dangerous shit Silvia was involved with was printing ill-advised articles about powerful people. Caoimhe’s extraordinarily patient and supportive, but Silvia didn’t even tell her!

The breach of trust frays at their relationship and drags Silvia further into guilt and despair, especially because Silvia’s support network is spread rather thin at the moment!

So… here we are. Silvia’s standing in the crumbling ruins of her relationships and ideals. She needs to help this 20-year-old cheat death, and then she needs to beat a bat at cards, and she’s so, so sad about everything.

This is it folks! We've hit rock bottom! Even I'm not sure how she's getting out of this one :) :) If you made it this far, thanks for reading <3

[The Six-Finger'd Scrimshander - @T6FS; Lord Oswald J. Emerson - @lord-emerson; August Shaw - @zeebreezin; Robin Jones - @viric-dreams; Brett Heroux - @thedandy-detective; Caoimhe Coledoc - @the-insouciant-scientist]

[mar64ds]

Long mickey and oswald talk.

love mickey and oswald because they are awesome brothers but truthfully i think they would be each other's best friend too. Yeah technically goofy and donald will always be mickey's best friends but more and more i notice that goofy and donald kind of stick together more often (kingdom hearts, ducktales, even a goofy movie implies donald to be goofy's best friend) and i think in-universe that's because mickey can be slightly more... unnaproachable? Mickey is either the super positive 'perfect' best friend or the most famous toon celebrity or a king OR all of the above. It IS a bit more difficult to be a normal toon and open up to him, and it's not Mickey's fault or even donald and goofy's fault, they all trust each other constantly, they are true friends, but it IS one of the reasons why i think he would end up being closer to Oswald

Oswald on the other hand is also really unnapproachable but for completely different reasons, Mickey is for reasons out of his control, meanwhile Oswald is like that because he constantly puts walls around himself. He isolates himself, he lashes out, his emotions and trauma impact his relationships constantly, he even decides to make himself king and tries to be a celebrity or a hero more than a person sometimes and ends up disconnecting himself from people even more. Oswald has friends and kids and wife, but it's not easy to really get Oswald, he has so much baggage that it's hard to know him, sometimes people might leave him alone because they might think that's what he would want?? Or what he needs right now?? He keeps being all alone not because of Mickey or the Blot or anyone, HE is doing this to himself at this point. And even after epic mickey i think he is still someone not always easy to connect with because he still struggles personally

This is why i think, yeah they kind of get each other perfectly. Mickey is not the 'perfect' friend to Oswald, he has seen him in one of his worst moments, he hated the guy, and he learned to love the guy, even when you choose the thinner path. He's had his whole life of acknowledging Mickey is a huge celebrity, it's not really something that would make him hesitant to interact with Mickey, it's something that he goes directly to Mickey and complains about (after epic mickey probably as a joke).

When it comes to Oswald, he kept venting and mocking and lashing out to Mickey, even almost betrayed him, and Mickey still stayed. He didn't hold resentment or is hesitant to interact with Oswald. I think Oswald is SO sincere all the time, for better or worse, that it makes Mickey more sincere too (that one part where he gets mad in the graphic novel is awesome, let him be mad at the rabbit). Oswald isolates himself and puts all the walls he wants, Mickey is the only one to climb up that mountain and still sticks around even when Oswald tells him to leave him alone

Like it's not just we want to see these characters together cause they are brothers and we like epic mickey, it's the fact that if Mickey Mouse ever needs to work as a duo, Oswald SHOULD be the guy. Oswald is SO essential to Mickey as a character, epic mickey told us the truth and now you can't try to hide it and never do anything with this again. I'm tired of them giving Oswald content without Mickey, you do NOT get this game at all

[lemonadetartyellow]

Last night I wrote a fanfiction. I don’t think it’s worthy of being posted on my AO3 so I’m just going to post it here. It’s 1k long and pretty unserious. Enjoy

——————————————

Edward Nygma rarely considered any of his actions "mistakes", but admittedly it was entirely possible that his drug habit had gotten....slightly out of hand.

At first, his hallucination of Oswald Cobblepot did attempt to give him advice when he asked for it, which was why he kept taking the pills after they started making him hallucinate. But the more he took them, the less helpful the hallucination bothered to be.

And now here was the end result of his (maybe poor) decision-making. His hallucination of Oswald sitting on his lap and humming an Amy Winehouse song while Ed attempted to work.

He no longer had control over its actions. Or, at least, not as much control as he wished he had. Even if he willed it to stop it would simply do or say something else equally...irritating.

"Pour myself over him, moon spilling in...."

He was about to tell it to shut up (not that that did anything by itself) when he heard the sound of heels clacking from out in the hallway.

He didn't even need to think about who it was. There was only one person he knew of who wore heels and would actively seek him out.

His suspicion was confirmed when Barbara Kean opened the door to his office and strode in.

"Nygma. I almost thought you got yourself killed. Tabby will be thrilled to hear that you're alive and well," she told him, grinning.

He glanced at Oswald, who was still there and just as much on his lap as he was before. For some reason he had expected it to cease when Barbara came in. He attempted to exert all of his mental energy into making it disappear, but it was entirely unsuccessful.

"That reminds me, Edward," he felt himself stiffen as it began to speak, "you should hope that you're correct when you say ghosts aren't real. Because if they are, not allowing me to live long enough to take my revenge on Tabitha Galavan would be one more reason on an already impressive list of reasons why I would spend my afterlife trying to destroy you."

He had to remind himself that Barbara could not hear it. He was simply experiencing an auditory hallucination.

"Um, hello? Earth to Nygma," Barbara said, snapping her fingers in front of his face.

He was not zoned out, but her doing that helped him to focus. As long as he acted normal she would have no reason to suspect anything about this situation.

"Did you need something?" he asked her. He liked to believe he managed to keep the frustration out of his tone, but deep down he knew that that was wishful thinking.

Instead of answering that question, however, Barbara squinted at him for a few moments, most likely attempting to figure out why he was acting differently,

"Wait," an amused glint in her eye, "you're hallucinating right now, aren't you?"

Ed stared up at her, wide-eyed. What? How could she possibly know?

He attempted to recover from this setback. But before he could, she went on.

"Why am I even asking? It's obvious to anyone with a working brain. Tell me, Eddie, what is that twisted psyche of yours conjuring up? Did I interrupt you imagining Iris or whatever her name was giving you a lap dance?"

Ed blinked multiple times, unable to fully process the words that were just spoken to him. For the first time in a very long time, he was rendered almost entirely speechless.

This state only lasted for a few seconds, thankfully. Oswald laughed, the sound reverberating in his brain. It didn't help the fact that for the first time in a long time, Ed didn't know what to say.

It only lasted for a few seconds, thankfully. He did his best to ignore his hallucination of Oswald cackling as he formulated his response.

"Her name was Isabella!"

There were bigger issues to pay attention to, but that was by far the easiest to correct. It took him a moment to even realize she was talking about her. At least Oswald's insistence on calling her Isabelle was at least close to what her name actually was!

"Isabella, Isasmella," Barbara said, rolling her eyes, "I was close enough. Why do men insist on focusing on the one thing you got wrong when you're making a good point? Jim used to do it all the time when we were engaged..."

Ed glared at her, "Good point? If you actually think you made a good point, Barbara, you're even dimmer than I thought. I am not hallucinating Isabella, or anyone else for that matter, giving me a lap dance."

Just because he was having a hallucination of a man on his lap did not have to mean.....well, anything that being a grown adult and sitting on someone else's lap usually implies!

To his frustration she only appeared more amused at this, however, even going as far as to smirk.

"So, you're not hallucinating that someone is on your lap?"

He felt as if he was about to fall right into her trap, but he also had no clue what the trap was.

"My hallucinations don't work like that, even with the pills you gave me."

It was the truth. Or at least it was the truth until very recently.

Barbara began grinning again, practically confirming his suspicion.

"Hm. Well, maybe I'd have an easier time believing you if your arms weren't telling me the exact opposite!" she gestured to said arms.

His.....

If he were a more poetic man, he would say that his heart stopped when he realized what she was referring to. Somehow, he had not noticed that one of his arms was wrapped around the hallucination's waist, and the hand on his other arm was resting on his knee despite the fact that it was noncorporeal. Or, at least that was what it looked like to him. In Barbara's point of view he had his arm encircled around nothing and one of his hands was hovering a few inches above his knee.

He immediately dropped both of his arms in mortification, but not before Barbara and his hallucination both broke out in a fit of obnoxious, grating laughter.

Never in his life did he wish for a bomb to be unceremoniously dropped on him and another person as much as he did in that moment.

[riddle-me-fear]

Hi Riddler! Big fan, love the riddles and the murders etc. I was wondering if you have any friends besides Crane, or does your big brain, ego, and obsessive compulsive swagger make friendship unnecessary? Or maybe just not viable ? Maybe you should ask Joker out for coffee, he seems like a reasonable guy.

Jonathan Crane | The Scarecrow

Eheh, oh this oughta be intrestin'.

Edward Nygma | The Riddler

Quiet, you! This question is for ME! Anyway, contrary to popular opinion, I do have what I'd consider friends. But you are right about one thing, in the past I've indeed found it extremely redundant, and, as you've mentioned, unnecessary to have anything but employees, acquaintances at best. That was until...

Jonathan Crane | The Scarecrow

Penguin.

Edward Nygma | The Riddler

Yes... Until Oswald... But! That's in the past now, no reason to dwell on it. Nevertheless I've learned the value of friendship, as cheesy as it may sound. Friends are more useful than mere acquaintances, more reliable, and also far less likely to betray me. You know, dear anon, I find your first instinct to name the Joker as a potential friend quite amusing, and I don't know if you're stupid, ignorant, or downright trying to insult me. No, friendship with the Joker is more Selina's thing, even if I still cannot understand how or why she does it. Well, that aside, let's get back to the far more important subject - me, obviously.

Jonathan Crane | The Scarecrow

Pff, obviously.

Edward Nygma | The Riddler

I will choose to ignore that taunting comment this one time, Jonathan. For now. A pressing question must certainly be on your mind, dearest anon - Who are The Riddler's friends? Luckily for you, I am in a good mood to provide you with an answer. Firstly, Jonathan and I have a mutual friend very dear to us, Waylon Jones, otherwise known as Killer Croc. Comes as a surprise, doesn't it? Moving on, there would be fellow intellectuals I quite enjoy the company of, such as Calendar Man, Clock King and King Tut. Harley is also a friend of both myself and Jonathan, despite me continously making efforts to wipe her clown boyfriend off the face of the earth. I have Jon and Pamela to thank for that. Speaking of Poison Ivy, we're sort of on good terms with her, but I wouldn't consider her a friend.

Jonathan Crane | The Scarecrow

Ya forgat someone.

Edward Nygma | The Riddler

Hm? Mmmh no, I'm fairly certain that's all of them.

Jonathan Crane | The Scarecrow

Tetch.

Edward Nygma | The Riddler

The Mad Hatter- Oh please! He may consider me his friend, for whatever ungodly reason, but the feeling certainly isn't mutual!

Jonathan Crane | The Scarecrow

Aw come on, Eddie, he ain't that bad. He likes you.

Edward Nygma | The Riddler

He is an irritating, disgusting little lunatic, I truly do not understand how you can tolerate him. His "tea parties" which he forces you to participate in, if you want to keep your head, is the dullest, most understimulating waste of time- I swear I've lost a couple of my precious brain cells because of him. Ah, and also, did you listen to anything I've said before? The whole "less likely to betray me"-bit? We're both running out of hands to count the many times Jervis has bailed, ditched us, and sold us out.

Jonathan Crane | The Scarecrow

Hm. Fair point.

Edward Nygma | The Riddler

I'm glad we're seeing eye to eye on that matter. Haaaah, in any case, thank you for the questions, dear anon. I think I've quite excelled at answering them, if I say so myself. Now one last thing before I stop talking, as I can see Jon's patience waning from the corner of my eye. Since you're a fan of my riddles, why don't we end it on one, hmm? I'll even go easy on you.

Riddle me this!

I am alive, but do not breathe. I always move, but never truly leave. And if I die, you will die with me.

What am I?

[fanfic-the-wish-your-heart-makes]

Chapter 2 of Two Rain-Drenched Detectives in a Gangster's Cherry Blossom Filled Mansion 🌸⛈

Gobblepot (=Jim Gordon x Oswald Cobblepot) x reader fluff

Chapter 2: Cherry Blossom Twigs and a Newspaper Article

<-last chapter

Author's note: Me: Hm, it seems like a long time has passed since the first chapter of this spring-oh, of this spring fic. 😂 (Fun fact: I wrote this intro in summer but am now writing this in autumn, that's how long it took me to finish the chapter, which I started immediately after the first one 🤫) In any case, the spring feeling here has more to do with hope & feeling at ease and Gotham is a cold place, so this should work just fine as a fall or winter fic. Or summer fic. 🙃🤭😂 Warnings: discussion of a murder/missing people case Word count: 2’431 Prompts added for this chapter: blanket, spring fever (the positive one) & cherry blossoms 🌸

🌧🌧⛈🌧🌧🌧⛈🌧🌧🌧⛈🌧🌧

Oswald settled down in an armchair after ordering a small buffet for his favorite detectives. Just hearing your voices — and an unusually good-humoured Jim — had made his day after spending all of it ensuring that his businesses' purchases were stored in dry places and that his poorer employees would find a way to survive the weather.

Now all he had to do was wait. He peered outside. No trace of you two, and the wind was already picking up speed. He hoped you would arrive safely. Ah, there! A familiar car at the gate. He quickly hobbled over to press a button to open it.

🌧🌧⛈🌧🌧🌧⛈🌧🌧🌧⛈🌧🌧

Jim's car came to a splashing halt in front of the old-fashioned gate to Oswald's mansion. Peering through the rain-dotted window, you didn't see a doorbell or guard. "I'll call—" The gate buzzed open, surprising you because of its old look. "Well, let's get inside." Above you a window was pulled open and Oswald appeared, shouting, "You can use my garage!"

A minute later you were dripping water onto an old-fashioned rug in the foyer, trying ti stay stil in fear of ruining the warm-toned wooden floor. So this was it. The Penguin's residence. You looked around curiously, seeing multiple interesting paintings and books, and eventually getting distracted by the sound of a cane on the floor.

"Oswald!" "Y/n, Jim!" He smiled. "So good to see you!" The kingpin walked over with two towels in his hand, handing you one. "If Jim's foresight can't keep you dry, at least mine can remedy some of its consequences." He winked at you and gave Jim, who took no offence, a playful nudge with the towel for him.

A young woman in a black-and-white uniform walked into the room, holding a vase filled with light rose-colored flower twigs. "Mr. Cobblepot, sir, where should I put the flowers?" "Ah." He smiled and thought about it, "Put them on the dining table. The smaller room." He nodded and adressed his guests again when she was gone, "I had the gardener come over and cut the cherry blossom tree outside, in case it gets destroyed by the storm."

"They, uhm, look good", Jim surprised you by voicing his opinion on someting insignificant in the present of the gangster, small as the compliment may be. "Yes, they bring some of that spring feeling into the house," you agreed, reckoning that this was the very same reason why Jim was in such a good mood today. Despite the weather being less than ideal for going outside, the change in tone was noticeable, hopeful in a way.

Oswald gifted you both with smiles, "My mother always had an eye for such things. Anyways," he turned around and gestured to the side, "feel free to use the shower, you must be cold." "No, thank you," Jim was quick to decline, then to correct himself to add to his high spirits, "We don't want to claim too much of your hospitality." "Oh," Oswald waved off, "take as much time as you need. Like I said: if it comes to it, you can stay overnight as my guests. There's plenty of space".

"What about you," he adressed you, "would you like to shower first? I'm sure Jim," he raised a playfully admonishing finger, "wouldn't want his partner to catch a cold." Their eyes were on you. "Oh, I can manage. He still has to drive me home afterwards. I don't want it to get too late for him." Jim gave a small smile at that. "Well, alright then," Oswald said, "but I insist on at least giving you something warm. You can hang your clothes up", he gestured to a row of coat hangers and hooks, "and just wait here. Tea should be ready in a minute and I'll fetch you something so that you don't drip on the floor." He disappeared at a quick pace despite his limp, leaving you and Jim looking at each other impressed and slightly surprised.

You nudged his side. "It's not everyday that a criminal offers you tea instead of a bullet in your head, huh?" You hung your raincoat on a hook. He shrugged, "Could almost get used to it." You turned away slightly. Of course there would be an "almost". Jim would never completely accept the friendship Oswald was offering the two of you. You couldn't even blame him: it was Jim's right to choose not to get close to a crime boss. At least he could joke about it at the moment. He might not be making the biggest exception, but he had never gotten as close to accepting Oswald's innocent-seemming offers as today, and you were happy to enjoy it while it lasted.

"I'm back again! Here you go." Oswald was about to put a big towel on Jim's shoulder when Jim took the soft fabric out of his hands and put it around his back with a "Thanks, no need for that." Oswald eyed Jim's wet blazer. "Are you sure you don't want to take that off?" Your partner scratched his neck and caught the small expression of amusement you tried to suppress. His eyes widened and he turned his gaze from you to Oswald, who noticed his cute abashment, "I...didn't mean to..." He gestured behind himself. "I can lend you a jacket. O-or a sweater, whatever you prefer." Jim gave him a smile and decided to take off the blazer after all. "Thank you, I'll just let this dry for now." He made to hang it up near your raincoat. Oswald stilled Jim's hand. "It will dry more quickly on a heater. I'll have someone take care of it. Now, if you'd follow me."

The house continued to be impressive and Oswald quickly regained his confidence while Jim trailed behind him, still with a faint hint of embarrassment on his face. The hallway was impressive as well, painted pictures lining the walls and the same wooden floor bringing a warm note into the house while raindrops tapped against the windows insistently.

Eventually the elegantly clad man halted in a big living room of sorts with old armchairs and a sofa to one side and a dining table to the other, a more private room, where he usually didn't receive guests. "Here we are. Where would you like to sit?"

You admired the no doubt expensive table and spotted the vase of cherry blossoms Oswald had instructed to put there. They only made the room more beautiful, empathizing the hopeful feeling in the air. Your gaze swept to multiple armchairs and a sofa with a table next to them. There were more than enough chairs for all of you to find something fitting, each looking comfortable, not to mention the sofa, which was looked soft, inviting you to warm up— Jim chuckled. "The sofa or the chairs, it seems." You chuckled. "That obvious?" "I can understand your expression", Oswald agreed, "The sofa is indeed very comfortable. As are the chairs." He turned away from the table, stepped back to allow Jim a better view, and made a welcoming gesture. "Have a seat wherever you'd like."

Not thinking about it for long, you sat down on one of the upholstered chairs and watched Jim take place on the one next to you. Sitting on a sofa with Jim or Oswald would only distract you from the case. The latter was still standing, looking away when you glanced his way eyeing Jim, who awkwardly folded the towel he had used to rub some of the rain out of his hair.

Oswald turned around to grab a bunch of fabric you hadn't even noticed, being too busy admiring the furniture. "If you're not going to take a shower, at least allow me to give you blankets." With a proud smirk he handed you a patterned one in red, orange and lilac and held a similar one out to Jim who felt the need to look away with all this hospitality Oswald was offering him. "No, thanks." Oswald gave him an impatient look that reminded you detectives of the power he held, especially in his own place. Still, Jim insisted, ever the stubborn person, "I'll warm up in no time." "Take it." Oswald gestured to you. "I don't have any use for this many blankets anyways. He remained standing for two seconds and then got seated in one of the armchairs himself. "Have it your way. The blankets are here." He put them onto the low table in the middle of you.

You wrapped up in the one he had given you and touched the fabric, which was surprisingly comfortable for something vintage, or at least something that you assumed was. "Thank you. The blanket is nice." "I'm glad to hear that. They often help with the cold..." Assuming that he was talking about his leg, he must be using them quite often, you mused. "The-they're washed, of course", the man added hastily and Jim gave your flustered host a trusting nod.

"So," you started, "the person we're looking for is a serial kidnapper who goes by 'The Spring Sword'. They've left their mark — a series of slashes on the ground — in front of multiple clubs where people disappeared, and the only witnesses are the three reporters who first covered the case and five people who want to remain anonymous. It w—"

There was a thunder so loud that you forgot what you were going to say and fidgeted with Oswald's blanket. The man gave you a smile and chimed in with a quick look outside, "And now you need to catch this kidnapper or killer before they drag the next person outside after this weather calms down? The weather reports certainly are on your side: the storm will hopefully have calmed by tomorrow but it's still supposed to rain heavily for the next days, so you should at least have less other crimes to deal with." "Yeah." You hadn't thought about it like this before. It was nice to get this positive outlook.

"How do you have time to keep up with the weather?" Jim blurted out. Oswald's eyes flitted down to this leg for a split second and he contemplated on what to say. The truth would bring him your sympathy but if Jim ever decided to use it against him... "It's your leg, isn't it?" Jim felt stupid for asking. "...Yes. It is. But don't worry, we're at home." Jim nodded and wondered how many times he'd barged into Oswald's club and made him stay there for longer than his leg could take, pushed Oswald against a wall when all he wanted was to sit down.

The two of them were quiet, Jim looking away and Oswald trying to decipher his concentrated look. You rose to speak, "It is a lovely home. Fits your style." "I try my best." So he had decorated a part of it. Then you're not just good at putting looks together. The words were at the forefront of your head but saying them would be too much. If Oswald got closer to you, which he most certainly would if you allowed it, you'd prefer him to get closer to Jim at the same pace. Okay, enough with the yearning. You were a detective.

"So, you've never heard of the 'Spring Sword'?" Oswald raised his index finger. "It didn't ring a bell at first. But..." He grabbed a newspaper from the table, perfectly prepared. "While you drove here, I had some time to freshen up my memory. It didn't actually read it in the news but it reminded me of something an... acquaintance asked me a few days ago." Jim grumbled, "And what was that about?" The gangster didn't let it deter him, "He wanted to know whether I was involved in the kidnappings. Because when his grandmother told him the news, some things didn't match his information." Oswald pointed to the new's article. You leaned forward, fingers brushing with Jim, who'd done the same thing. Both of you retracted your arms and concentrated on what Oswald explained.

"According to the news, faint slashing sounds could be heard from outside all clubs around the time the abductions or killings must've happened. If you ask the regulars though? No one heard a thing, not even from friends." "And you didn't deem it important to investigate?" Jim crossed his arms. "I—no," Oswald tried to defend himself, "well, it wasn't that long ago and at the time not many people had been kidnapped. But I assume there are more victims now?" You nodded. "The Spring Sword is a serial kidnapper or killer now, and the numbers have kept growing. At least until the weather started changing."

All three of you listened to the strong raining sounds from outside, the patter of droplets against the glass windows, and the wind making the trees bow. Turning to Jim, you wondered whether he really wasn't cold. With him being stubborn again, it could take some time until he took another offer from Oswald, and currently his hands were covering his arms pretty suspiciously. If only you could warm him up... Jim noticed your attention and relaxed his arms, now crossing them defensively. No, hugs weren't on the table right now, the newspaper was.

With three people having disappeared so far, the so-called Spring Sword may not seem like a special criminal, but they're a force to be reckoned with, having managed to kidnap, probably kill, multiple people in a busy spot of this city, and possessing more style than your average murderer. Follow our column to stay up to date. We're sure: there's more to come — and it will be thrilling.

"It's oddly sensationalist, isn't it?" you asked, making Oswald lean towards the newspaper and consequently you, who pointed towards the end of the article. Jim came closer too, brushing against both of you, seemingly too focused on the article to care. "Yes", Oswald figured, still waiting for your partner to finish reading. When Jim was done, the kingpin spoke again, "I know how the press can be: one day you're interesting because you're a criminal, the next, they try to appeal to your sense of mercy," Jim sent him a dirty look at that, "but no matter what, they try to make it entertaining. They need to, in Gotham. Everything's so unusual, the readers want to know the articles they're reading won't just all be the same. But—"

Someone knocked on the door. "Mr. Cobblepot, sir, the food plates are ready. Can I bring them in?"

🌧🌧⛈🌧🌧🌧⛈🌧🌧🌧⛈🌧🌧

Author's note: Here you go, the next chapter before December starts ❤️ (most of you will probably see this in December 🤭) There's one more chapter planned, which will probably be published in 1.5-3 months. Keep in mind that I have other projects (not just ones for my blog) and that I always edit my works, before and after publishing them (hopefully before anyone reblogs it 😂). It's astounding how many mistakes I can miss even after reading through something at least ten times, often much more often. Before publishing the second chapter, I found and edited a total of 14 mistakes in the last one! 🤫 With that being said, what did you think of this chapter? 😊

->next chapter

[beastie-anon]

kill GOD? uuhh wouldn't be the first time but, what GOD are you talking about? I know you said that its the one that caused all of this but, does that mean there's more than one for this world?

"You know the one I mean. The real one."

"The o' wh' m' all of 's. The one who m' th' bl'g."

"...?"

[tophthedaydreamer]

Oh this is DELICIOUS I've got so many questions

Is the AU a meta story or an in universe thing or a mix of both as in are the things happening meant to play out in real world kinda like roger rabbit movie or in a seperate universe?

How old exactly is mickey in this? He looks a bit younger than usualy (but it could be me seeing things)

And finally if mickey's a robot does that mean other toons are also bots and the realization is crushing on him or is he "special" iykwim

Also I just wanna say i love how you put oswald in a mirror in the art its so so good he's trying to warn mickey but is stuck in a very helpless position OUGHHH this is SO GOOD please drop more info this is so well cooked 😭😭😭 i need to know more!

SO GLAD YOU ASKED

so the story is is that mickey is an experimental animatronic meet-n-greet character, the first of his kind. he lives in Toontown Disneyland and spends his existence living in his cute lil house and saying hi to all the nice people who come to visit. he has no idea he's a robot though, he fully believes he IS mickey mouse. Idk how Disney is keeping the secret from him tho lol.

So, it technically takes place in the real world! I'm still debating if I should add mickey's friends or not, as it would give him more people to talk to but it would sort of diminish his specialness. He is the world's first sentient animatronic, after all. We'll see, it's subject to change...

mickey is ageless, as he's a robot, but he's got a very innocent, child-like view of the world. poor boy has no idea what's coming lol.

oswald is really really fun bc he's sort of a second personality that glitched into mickey's brain hehehehe!! the reason why is because oswald's AI was developed as a prototype before mickey (reflecting his real history in a way hehe!!). when the scientists cracked the code on sentience, they did away with oswald but reused his base AI and exoskeleton to make mickey. yet oswald still remains, a fragment of himself buried deep in mickey's subconscious. oswald appears to mickey in his imagination, no one else can see him but our fave robo mouse!

thanks for asking!!!! ❤️❤️❤️

[silasamerica]

look I’m not going to argue that Edward truly loved Kristen for who she was genuinely ( he didn’t ) but seeing him as someone who got over her death and it barely affected him is kinda a reading I can’t agree with at all

I know what scene started this reading it was the whole “actually I do enjoy hurting people this is my true self and I greatly thank Kristen for making me reach my potential” but that realization came from when he cut her up, no? When you go back to THAT SCENE he describes how the light vanishing from her eyes was beautiful. This means two things, one, he had to first known he was hurting her, and two he was enjoying that fact

WHEN YOU GO BACK TO THE SCENE WHERE HE KILLED HER THERES NO TRACE OF THIS IN THE ACTING THERE!!!!! He’s not even angry he’s more so desperate to explain himself, he even smiles as he tells her he loves her and would NEVER HURT HER! And when he realized he killed her he sobbed himself to the point of blacking out. Even if you brush off the fact riddler is very poorly written and just make it be ed the fact he blacked out and went out fucking around with her corpse while not remembering any of it and only hours later regained consciousness and now having to search around the gcpd to find her. Genuinely why should I believe a man, who consistently convinces himself he’s actually super smart and has no emotions is telling ME the truth here about his own feelings when I as the viewer have just witnessed things that contradict this!!!!

Also the show contradicts that whole motive like two episodes later!!!!!!!!!! When Oswald tried to kill Ed for saying his mother made him weak Edward discusses Kristen’s death and says love wasn’t meant for men like them and that it will always weaken them. Notice how different of a explaination that is to the one in the woods? The one in the woods basically says it was his true self leaking out and he actually had some awareness of what he was doing and he enjoyed every second of it and he feels no remorse. The one during this scene says that it was unavoidable, an accident, but actually him brushing over his feelings and forcing himself to not think about it or ever attempt to love again is the correct awnser. Doesn’t the second answer flow better with the actual death? It aligns exactly with both his narcissism making him unable to admit he was in the wrong and also unable to let him grieve since it would go against the idea he has of himself in his head and aligns with the fact it was a ACCIDENT WHERE HE DIDNT EVEN INTEND TO HURT HER AT ALL!!!

I can’t blame people for taking the whole actually I enjoyed it reasoning as the true one since Gotham is very very badly written but the reasoning he gave to Oswald works better for his character and for the event itself! The whole point of that death was you can hurt people without even trying to and not be able to see that ur acting like the people who have hurt them before it’s too late and that’s!!!! Powerful but Gotham just had to make Edward secretly evil and sadicist this whole time which takes away from that message. The first time he finally realizes Kristen was a person who existed outside of what he thought of and was capable of thinking and acting outside of his image of her was when she died, and he pushed her back into a fucking box, a fucking role she played to further him in his life because the mere horror of his actions were too hard to bare, he had to convince himself this would always happen and it was either of their flaunts to keep his ego intact.

not to mention how the whole denying he needs love in his life kinda relates heavily back to his npd too. Since he couldn’t get what he wants he feels terrible and then convinces himself that actually WHAT HE WANTED was the inadequate thing instead of him, so he doesn’t have to mourn the fact that he couldn’t have it. It’s projection in a way, he projects his inner wants and desires that he hates to others so he can mock them and feel better. He is telling himself he doesn’t need connection to others, that he can provide for himself and will never need or depend on anyone ever in his life again which is contradicted again and again in the show. He can’t stop needing people to like him, affirm him or to depend on them. That is the ultimate paradox with npd, narcissism in itself locks someone into a state of both being completely independent and not needing or caring for others while completely needing and depending on their praise so you can keep your self esteem intact

i think why I’m kinda quite against this reading of Edward as someone who intensely enjoys hurting others in his nature and is completely logical and almost unemotional in his action is because it kinda just falls into his lie he folds himself and others, it’s believing in the narcissist fantasy he has convinced himself and others around him to be true, he will never be that, no matter how hard he tries he will never be smart enough and unemotional enough for himself, he will chase proving that fantasy until he dies if he keeps doing this, taking anyone who comes in his way down with him

you can read Gotham Ed however you want idc I’m not ur mom and I’m not mad I just really wanted to explain myself since last time I tried to it was horrid and nonsensical I should’ve been executed on the spot. You can read Edward however you like I’m not thought police I just really needed to say my peace here

[alterworldstudios]

Farmers follies: episode seven

Oswald was busy toiling away at the fields, removing a few of the decayed plants and diseased roots. He never thought he'd be trying to fix this old place up, but here he is, trying to. Who knew that farmer would be so.. Motivating. 'Hm.. Where is he even from anyway? Hadn't seen him around here, nor around town... Did he come from outta town? Surely not that, no one comes to this hellhole anyway-' "slow down, I can't keep up-" "sorry!!!"

Oswald's ears perked up, as he looked up at... What is that, farmer rushing back with someone? Who is that? They're A bit disheveled, look like they hadn't showered in weeks... "What the hell-" "rabbit!!!!" "Oswald. Its oswald." "Right- AHEM.... beep Bap be dai!" {I met this fellow down by the road!}

Oswald glared down at the fellow farmer had brought along. The fellow flinched a bit. 'that rabbit... Whys he so.. Tall?' "And you are?" "Uh- well- my.. My name is Kelly. Kelly Rodgers. Sorry for the trouble..." Kelly bows at him, Oswald giving a confused glare. "first time I actually heard someone say their name up front, and not some stage name." "Oh uh.. I have that too... I think.. What was it again?... Uh..." Kelly turned to the side, trying to remember what his stage name was, whilst farmer turned back to Oswald. "beep Bap be! Bep beep ba dai?" {They need a place to stay awhile! Is it ok if they stay here?} "This guy?.. Why?" "Beep Bap be! Beeeeep?" {You said I could ask around for help and I did! Can he stay pleaseeeee?} "Well...." 

The rabbit looked back at the man, who was mumbling to himself, then sighed. "Fine. But he's gonna have to pull his own weight around here. got it?" Farmer twirls from happiness, whilst Kelly, knocked out of his thoughts, nodded swiftly. "Oh- Got it, sure I can. I can.. Do things, I guess." "well that guess had better turn into a 'you will' if you plan to stay here" "...yes sir" "good. Now farmer, can ya get back to getting those items? we kinda need em if we're gonna make a dent in this place." Farmer laughed sheepishly, then rushed off, leaving Kelly and Oswald behind. How could he have forgotten? He must've gotten too distracted to remember. Oh well! With the list in hand and the money in his pocket, he made his way down the dirt road towards the gray streets of inkwell city. Oh the sights and sounds, toons rushing this way and that, random stalls lazily selling their wares, A soft call of someone selling papers... No. Focus lucky, can't get too distracted. Looking at the list, he notes how most of the things he needed were gardening products... Well actually, all of them were. Should be easy to get then! Just some seeds, A new shovel.. Yeah! This'll be easy! Farmer looks around at the many stalls around him, his eyes eventually resting on a oddly colorful stall in particular, the flowers had a faded pink and blue look to them, the first color farmers actually seen in this world!

The stall was empty.. But a note seemed to be left on the countertop. 'Out for lunch!! But feel free to take anything!!!' With a small smiley face drawn on it. Farmer seemed a bit confused, why leave things up for free?... He thinks a moment, then grabs the things he needed from the stall, leaving the money it would've costed behind under a pile of flowers. Smiling, he takes the bag and walks off.

He just got here, surely he doesn't have to leave so soon? Fixing his hat, he decides to take a look around, see what there is to see, after all, its his first time in such a big surface world city! So many sights and sounds, so many toons! Gosh, how exciting this is!

He looks up at the big buildings, seeing the tv screens littered throughout. A mouse was there, seemingly telling the news... Though it wasn't good news. 'Huh?... I highly doubt pigs can fly...' Perplexed, he drew closer... Accidentally bumping into somebody. "EEP-" "O-oh! Sorry!" "i-it's ok, I-i'm fine, p-please don't hurt me-" farmer took a step back, confused on why this person would be afraid of him already. He got a good look at him, A small fellow wearing a grey sweater and bowtie, grey hair, shaking figure...wait, is that a tail? "Are you an angel!?- COUGH cough- ow..." Farmer shudders, forgetting about the curse he had for A moment, the pain... Wait, did the fellow also get affected? They're coughing and hacking a ton, almost as though they were about to... Oh.. They threw up.

Alarmed, farmer rushes over to his aid, beeping too fast to translate. The fellow in grey fearfully looked up at him through the coughing, sputtering out "l-look I don't mean anything! I was just looking! P-please don't hurt me!!! Please!!!!" Before farmer could get a word in edgewise, the fellow dashed off.

Alarmed, and a bit dumbfounded, farmer gave chase, using everything in his power to keep up with this mouse fella.

Whilst he did so... Well...

Why don't we check on retro for A moment, Hm? Dear reader?... No objections? Or perhaps many.. Well, despite what you may say, I'm afraid it's important we check on him regardless... Don't you think?

[therealdaisytdm]

Mickey and Oswald enter an elevator, Mickey looks around and notices something different. Mickey: Ozzie, where are the buttons? Oswald: oh the doc installed voice recognition technology into the elevator. Mickey: voice recognition technology? in an elevator? In a cartoon realm? Have you ever tried voice recognition technology? Oswald(who is confused): no? Mickey(who had an unfortunate experience with a VRT): it only works with humans. Oswald: ...11. Elevator AI: I'm sorry, can you please repeat that? Mickey: ...11. Oswald: 11...11. Mickey: 11. Elevator AI: I'm sorry, can you please repeat that? Oswald: 11. Mickey: who told the mad doctor this was a good idea? We should probably sound like a human voice actor. Mickey(who starts sounding like Walt when he normally speaks): 11...11. Oswald(who was stunned by Mickey's impression of Walt): Walt did your voice?! Mickey(in his normal voice): he didn't do yours? Oswald: *shakes his head* Mickey(Walt Disney voice impression): 11. Oswald: not gonna lie that's impressive. Elevator AI: i'm sorry, can you please repeat that? Mickey(back to his normal voice): dang it. Oswald: let me show you how it's done all right.*clears his voice* Oswald(with his own voice impression this time of Mickey Rooney): 11...11. Mickey: it doesn't work well with the voices of children. Oswald(back to his normal voice): shut up rodent. Elevator AI: please speak slowly and clearly. Oswald: RODENT. Mickey(with a flirtatious tone): 11. Elevator AI: i'm sorry, can you please repeat that? Mickey(who is starting to get angry): 11... if you don't understand anything, i'm going to tear you apart! Oswald: whoa Mick... you can't just tell people that you're going to tear them apart. Mickey: oh don't you dare start that, how can you murder an elevator?! Elevator AI: please speak slowly and clearly. Oswald: ...11...11...11...11. Mickey: you're just saying that the same way! Oswald: I'm going to keep saying it until I sound like a human, OK?! Oswald Then proceeds to repeat the number 11 4 more times Mickey(who is obviously triggered): OH FOR THE LOVE OF WALT, OPEN THE STUPID DOORS!!! Elevator AI: this is a voice activated elevator, please state which floor you would like to go to in a clear and calm manner. Mickey: Calm?! CALM?! Where is this coming from?! Why is it telling people to be calm?! Oswald: because they knew that a lot of toons have been going at it FOR MONTHS!! Elevator AI: you have not selected the floor. Oswald: I ALREADY HAVE...11!!! Elevator AI: if you would like to get out of the elevator without selecting a floor, simply say "open the doors, please". Mickey: please, please, suck my hot dog. Oswald(who is feeling defeated): maybe we should just say please. Mickey: I'm not begging that for nothing. Oswald(with puppy eyes): open the doors, please. Mickey: "please" really Ozzie?! Elevator AI: please remain calm. Oswald(who is enraged by this point): AAAAHHHH... THAT'S IT, I'M GETTING UP THERE *hops onto Mickey's back*, JUST WAIT FOR IT TO SPEAK!!! Elevator AI:. . . You have not selected the floor. Oswald: AAAAAHHHHH... YOU STUPID PEACE OF JUNK! IF YOU DON'T OPEN THESE DOORS RIGHT NOW! I AM GOING TO GET A HEART, ENTER THE CARTOON WORLD, FIND WHOEVER GAVE YOU A VOICE, AND GIVE THEM THE ELECTRIC CHAIR!!! Mickey: WASTELAND YOU B[female dog]!!! Oswald: WASTELAND!!! Mickey: WASTELAND!!! Oswald: WASTELAND!!! Mickey and Oswald: FREEDOM!!!!!! The elevator door opens from the outside as people were trying to enter, they noticed the boys acting funny, and started staring at them, when Mickey and Oswald realize that the door was open and that there were people watching them, Oswald got off of Mickey's back, and started whistling his own theme song. Mickey: ...going up?

[badwolfpaci]

a lil continuation of this post i made

picking up where i left off, eleven is permaregressed

the first face he sees is amy’s, this little twelve year old girl, and it’s like the doctor “imprints” on her? that may not be the right word, but he matches her vibe basically

and then he accidentally leaves her for years, and when he comes back she feels like a kid again (she does not realize it’s because of age regression)

after a while, she mentions it, because it’s happened so frequently and she’s mildly concerned. the doctor explains age regression to her, and she’s like “oh… there’s a name for that”

since the doctor is permaregressed and amy is a regressor with no clue how to be a caregiver, it’s nothing but chaos for a while, and then rory joins the crew

amy knows she should tell him about her regression, so she does, and he’s very understanding about it. he offers to be her caregiver (in that rambling rory way like “i mean, if you want a caregiver anyway, if not that’s fine,” etc etc lmao) and she accepts

the doctor is secretly a little tiny bit jealous of their dynamic, but he tries not to show it. he may be a kid, but he can take care of himself, he doesn’t need rory to do so

then he meets river again, and she is sooo mama coded in every way and he’s like. trying to put up a wall but it’s very difficult. he wants river to be his caregiver and he’s not sure how long he can keep that from her

well, spoilers, but she knows already lmao that’s why she’s been so mama with him

im gonna kinda retcon their romantic relationship just because idk how dating works for permaregressors? and i really like the idea of river being his caregiver lol

anyway, the doctor is content with the tardis dynamic. amy and rory being little and caregiver, river occasionally popping in to baby the doctor, it’s all cheery and delightful

then the weeping angels take it all away, and for the first time since this regeneration, the doctor is no longer regressed

he refuses to see river no matter how much she tries to get through to him, he spends all his time alone in the tardis above victorian london, and he’s content to spend eternity this way

then clara oswald wanders in

victorian clara makes him want to be the doctor again, to be a kid again, and when she dies he almost wants to give up, and then he realizes she’s the impossible girl

he finds her modern day form and she joins him on the tardis. he’s not ready to regress just yet, he still has his guard up just a little bit

then he finds out clara regresses and decides to try his hand at being a caregiver. it’s a rocky road in the beginning, but he eventually gets the hang of it

im trying to remember everything that happens in clara’s season with eleven but all i remember is the 50 year anniversary special and the episode where she becomes the impossible girl 😭 oh yeah and the episode he regenerates

i can only imagine being a regressor and watching your caregiver change his appearance from head to toe. no wonder she had issues adjusting

i hope this is comprehensible lol i tried my best

[sl-newsie]

Behind Masks (Dr. Jonathon Crane x OC) Ch. 13: Damsel Not Distressed

Some independent hero I must be. Abducted by two idiots and tied to a chair. What an icon.

How long have I been out? The sack’s still over my head.

“Where the Hell am I?” I try to give authority but my croaking voice wouldn’t startle a kitten.

“She’s awake!” One of the voices from earlier whispers nearby and heavy footsteps approach.

The sack is ripped off and sunlight blinds my eyes. On top of that my hair piles over my face and gives me no clue to where I might be. All I can see through the strands of hair is the chair I’m bound to.

“Whoever you are, I have nothing to give. Go ahead and kill me.”

“I’m afraid that’s out of the question,” a familiar voice calls from overhead.

A hand folds back my hair and a better view of my captive environment is allowed. It’s an abandoned skateboarding rink. A concrete arena. The goons who abducted me are still standing behind me. Up above is the one giving the orders. Edward Nigma.

“I’m truly sorry it’s come to this, Callie.”

Through the blazing sun I make out his new appearance. Instead of the prison suit I last saw him in, Nigma has donned black trousers, a green blazer, and green bowler hat with a giant question mark painted on it.

“Nigma, this is ridiculous. Why keep me hostage?”

“Because I need Crane to cooperate.”

“With what?”

“I need him to stop terrorizing the workers at the bank. That’s where my next scheme is. As much as he hates to admit it, he does care about you. When he sees you like this he’ll budge.”

If it weren’t so saddening I might actually laugh. From how Crane acted when he ushered me out of his lab I don’t think he holds any amount of affection for me.

“Sorry to disappoint you but he doesn’t care, Nigma. He’ll probably encourage my death. The only reason he keeps in touch is because he’s obsessed with my psychosis.”

Bang!

A gunshot rings out and I look around for the source. It’s- An umbrella? There’s a strange-looking portly man in a black suit holding an umbrella with smoke coming out. Is that umbrella a gun?

“This foolish game is taking too long, Nigma. I want assurance that my own business will remain untouched as well.”

Just how many people are using me as bait?

I look up, annoyed at the riddling villain. “Nigma, who the Hell is this guy?” 

“Oh! Where are my manners? I am Oswald Cobblepot, at your service. Or should I say, your untimely death.” The man does a dramatic bow and tips his hat. The Penguin.

“Et tu, Cobblepot? Do I need to spell it out? I’m not a suitable bargaining chip!”

A shuffled noise alerts me to the edge of the rink and a flash of green catches my eye.

“Really, boys? You can do better than this. Leave Callie alone.”

I smile gratefully at the familiar botanist. “Thanks, Ivy.”

Ouch. The sun’s beginning to burn. I can feel my reddening skin rubbing against the ropes I’m tied up in. At this point being shot might be a decent way out of this. No more Gotham, no more sunburn.

“Did anyone tell him?” Ivy drones in a bored tone as she leans against the stone wall.

Nigma chuckles. “I sent a riddle-” 

“Never mind,” Ivy cuts him off. “Do not need any elaboration.”

Penguin shuffles around impatiently. “I’m starting to agree with Ms. Prentiss. I don’t take Crane for the affectionate type-”

“What are you doing?” Another familiar voice asks from the shadows.

“Or perhaps I spoke too soon,” Penguin says. “It appears he figured out your riddle.”

I can’t see! Where is he-? Oh. He did come after all. Although I don’t doubt his motive is to watch the show of me being cooked. Dr. Crane strides into the arena. He’s wearing the same clothes except for one accessory: the Scarecrow mask. Is this a rumble or what?

Nigma cackles with glee and hops down from his pedestal. “Delightful! Now that you’re here, let us establish our terms. You stop gassing the bank tellers, and we don’t hurt Callie.”

“Callie?” Crane whips his head to where Ivy’s pointing at me and his face darkens. “What’s she doing here?”

“Just a little insurance that you’ll cooperate,” Penguin explains smugly.

Dr. Crane’s eyes don’t look away from me. “You’re hurting her.”

“We haven't cut a hair off of her-”

“It’s the sun. She’s burning.”

He noticed. How attentive. Whether or not he cares if I’m being burned is shielded by his plain tone. Who does start to show concern is Ivy.

“He’s right. Get on with it, Nigma. Don’t worry, Callie. I’ve got the best aloe for you.”

Nigma tilts his head, still watching Crane’s alertness towards me. Cobblepot, however, is growing impatient.

“I’ll do it myself,” he mutters. He waddles closer and points his umbrella straight at my head. “You’d better be right, Nigma. Close the deal, now. Or else I will take my associations elsewhere.”

Crane’s body stiffens. Behind his mask I see his vibrant eyes flash. He can’t be serious-

“How about a compromise?” The fear doctor suggests.

Penguin lowers his umbrella by a fraction. “I’m listening.”

“You can do your little bank scheme, but also steal an adrenaline compound for me. You get your petty cash and I get a new ingredient for my experiments.”

He’s actually going along with this? Nigma struts up wearing a devious smirk and holds out a hand. The two men shake and he leans in to whisper something to Crane. Can we please get this done? My back feels like it’s about to char. 

“Pleasure doing business, Ms. Prentiss. Perhaps next time it will be on more friendlier terms.”

Penguin tips his hat to me and disappears into the shadows. While Nigma and Crane continue their whispering Ivy comes over and sets down a white bottle.

“Aloe. Apply twice daily. This should clear that burn up right away. It was good to see you, Callie. Stay safe, stay in touch.”

She too walks off and I’m left to wait for the squabbling geeks to stop arguing about… whatever. I don’t care.

“Remember: I’m not a flower, but I bloom in the heart,

In many stories, I play a part.

I can make you cry, or make you smile,

Through hate or sadness I reconcile,” Nigma chants tauntingly.

What the Hell kind of Riddle is that?

“Now let her go!” Crane orders.

Nigma shrugs. “Very well. There’s no need to hold onto her anymore.” He pulls out a knife and slices the ropes behind my back. “Sorry again, Callie. See you later.”

“Try to use me as bait again, and you will regret it,” I hiss as the ropes rub against my skin.

The chair pulls away and I fall onto my hands and knees. The pavement is hot enough to cook an egg. I don’t even want to know how red my back is.

“You owe me.” A hand grabs my arm and I’m tugged up to stand.

“Ow! In case you forgot, I am here because of you." I sneer at Crane. "Somehow I’m a valuable bargaining chip. Care to explain why?”

Dr. Crane doesn’t answer. He finishes untying the ropes around my legs. When he’s finished I bent over to pick up Ivy’s aloe. Every inch I move causes my skin to yell at me.

“Is it safe?” Crane asks in a lazy voice.

“I trust Ivy. Plus my skin can’t get any worse now anyway.” I practically limp into the shade and lean against the cold concrete. “I was just held hostage in broad daylight. What do you expect?”

“I expect it hurts.”

No shit, genius!

“Yes. Yes it does. Now please get your gloating over with so I can be miserable in peace.”

A small dose is all it takes. I pour a small drop of the green goo onto my hand and smear it across my arm. Thank you, Ivy! It feels like liquid relief-!

“Here.” Crane takes the bottle and suddenly more aloe is being rubbed gently on my back. “This should help.”

Oh- God, he’s good at this. Of course he is. He studied anatomy the same as I. But why does he have to be so frustrating?

“You’re helping? Are you high?”

“Hardly. These actions are based on pity, Dr. Prentiss. You look like a cracker dipped in ketchup.”

Surprising. He still has a sense of humor. Probably because it’s directed at me. 

I fight the urge to moan and pull away before I let my trust slip. I pivot and walk through the alley towards the main street. Where do I go? What direction is-?

“Your apartment is that way, Dr. Prentiss.” Crane points north.

I pull my face into a tight smile. “Thank you,” I reply stiffly.

Continuing onward. And he’s still following me.

“Did you know that- Oh come on, take it off!” I yank Crane’s mask away and shove it into his hands. “We’ll get caught! Anyways, did you know that New York built the first electric chair in 1888 because they were seeking a more humane method of execution than hanging?” 

He takes a minute to adjust to the bright sunlight. “That seems rather dark and random for you.”

“I find it interesting. We still kill, but look for more humane methods. In my line of work I’ve seen many criminals design their methods of death. Including you.”

We get to the intersection across from my apartment. Good. A hot shower- Scratch that. A freezing cold shower for my skin and some fresh clothes. My poor black dress from last night is wrinkled and dusty. With a little luck it can be saved. Some hero. Dressed the part for damsel in distress like a pro. 

“Would you like me to escort you?”

Escort? God, he’s right. I am poisoning him with thoughts of chivalry. This does not sound like the Dr. Crane from five months ago. First he lets me live from a Nigma’s crazy scheme and now he’s offering to escort me.

My tone turns gentle. “No, thank you. I’ll be fine.”

Crane nods. “Take care of those burns. Good day, Dr. Prentiss.”

He walks straight past me towards the docks. Back to his lab. So that’s it, then? Him popping in and out of my life when it concerns him. I shouldn’t care… But then why does my heart drop the further he gets down the sidewalk? Maybe Nigma’s right. Maybe he does care. Why else would he have acted to preserve my life today? Or it’s to earn a favor from me. I ‘owe’ him. Well, favor or not I’m still going ahead with my plan.

I strike first tonight.

[imjustforthefandoms]

TWSTOBER DAY 7 PART 2

part one here: https://www.tumblr.com/imjustforthefandoms/764196409102778368/twstober-day-7-jack-howl?source=share

Jack looked around the cafeteria for Epel, his ears perked up listening to the slightest sound. He was thinking about what to say to Epel for two whole periods, and now he had his chance to talk with him. Thats all he needed. His ear twitched at a sound. That laugh, that laugh like bubbles in a sparkling cider. He turned to the sound, catching sight of Epel as he was talking with another Pomfiore student. His chance was now, and his legs moved before he could even think about it.

“Hey, Epel.” he called out, catching the attention of the purple haired boy as he finished his conversation.

“Oh, hi Jack.”

“I… think we should sit together for lunch.” He tried to keep his eyes on Epel, trying to keep his instincts under control. “I think it would be pretty nice.” Epel looked at him with a soft smile, a smile that almost had Jack’s tail going a mile a minute.

“Oh, sure! Just let me get my lunch and we’ll get a table.” the shorter boy replied, heading over to the lunch line. Jack stood there still for a moment before he replied.

“Oh, yeah. I’ll…grab us seats.” Jack looked around the cafeteria, before finding an empty pair of seats near a window. Perfect. We could talk about…oh. He didn’t plan what to talk about. He bit his lip as he walks over to the table. What does he talk about? Workout? Nature? He could talk about his cacti. Would Epel like cacti? As he sat at the table, he fidgets with his food a bit. What did Oswald say, “make it a joke”? I guess that could work. Make him laugh. He could do that. Epel did have a really nice laugh.

“There you are!” Epel said as he approached the table, sitting across from Jack. “it's a good thing you’re tall, I could see you from a mile away if i needed to.” He lets out a soft chuckle, and Jack couldn’t help the sheepish smile on his face.

“Well I guess it has its perks” C’mon, make it funny. “But some doors are an issue.” That laugh. That bubbly laugh was heard again. Good! He did good.

"I guess. But I would prefer that to being small.” Epel let out a sigh as he cuts another piece of his lunch, a grimace on his lips. “It's real hard for people to take you seriously when this short.” Jack let out a soft hum. He never thought about it from the other end. He knew Epel didn't like his short stature but…

“If people don't take you seriously because your smaller, they're real idiots.” The words came out of Jack’s mouth before he could stop them. Epel looked at him with wide eyes. Jack met his gaze as he realized what he just said. It's not like he was lying but…maybe that was a bit too strong for now.

“Oh, well…” Epel’s smile returned again. “I'm glad I have your respect, Jack.” Jack’s ears perked up, his tail practically smacking against the chair.

"Oh, well…it's nothing you need to thank me for. You're earned my respect.” He replied. He brings his hand to gently comb through his hair. Was that weird? Epel was still smiling so maybe he was on the right path.

"Well you have my respect too. You're a real nice person, Jack.” Epel said with a soft smile. “I don't think I've met someone like you before I came here." Jack looked at him with wide eyes. Was that his chance? He never met anyone like Jack, so maybe…

“Maybe you'd like to date someone like me too” Jack's mouth was getting the better of him today. Epel's eyes went wide, meeting Jack's gaze. His ears went flat but he refused to leave Epel's gaze. Well. He said it. He wanted to say it. The tension was thick in the air. Until Epel let out a chuckle, a smirk on his face.

“Why, do you want to date me too?” He responded. Jack couldn't hide the blush on his cheeks, or the fwapping of his tail.

“I- well-” Jack’s legs seem to move on his own, standing up from the table. “I need to go for a moment!” He ran from the table and out of the cafeteria, biting his lips. Coward! That was a coward move! Why did he say that!? Why did Epel respond to that!? He stopped running right outside of the botanical gardens. He let out a sigh, pounding his fist against the wall. “Dammit!”

“Well well well, there ya are Jacky.” Jack turned around to meet Oswald's gaze, a smirk on his lips. “How'd it go with the Felmir boy?”

“I-” he let out a sigh, his ears drooping. “I ran”

“You ran?” Oswald looked at Jack with wide eyes before he stifled a chuckle, soon followed by loud bositerous laughter. Jack let out a growl.

“Listen, I was just caught off guard okay?! I'm not proud of running away, that's a cowardly thing!” No matter what Jack said, Oswald continued his laughter almost doubled over despite Jack's scolding.

Epel sat at the table, his face twisted into a pout as he shoved another piece into his mouth. Why did he say that?! I mean, yeah he wanted to date Jack but, why did he say it like that?! He let out a sigh, he wasn't going to live this down.