i don't do bad sauce passes

Love Begins
Monterey Bay Aquarium
One Nice Bug Per Day
KIROKAZE

blake kathryn

#extradirty

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roma★
sheepfilms
d e v o n

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Keni

Kiana Khansmith

oozey mess
occasionally subtle

tannertan36
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Xuebing Du

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@kapelput
{-?-} — ”I was going to get a sandwich from a cart. I haven’t much money to spend on a sit down meal.”
Tilting his head in the direction he planned to go, a cart right by the police station, his nerves resurfaced in embarrassment from having to say out load how broke he was. It was too easy. Getting a stranger in Gotham to agree to eat with him— there had to be something mentally unchecked with this man to do such a thing. But then what did that say about his own sanity? ”Unless you have another place in mind.”
It was ideal, really. If this little venture failed to reap any benefit - no real money will have been wasted.
"Cart works for me." The shrug was repeated, popped off the opposite shoulder. The bespectacled other had mentioned something about whittling his bank balance away in the book store. Oswald assumed it merely to be turn of phrase, apparently not entirely.
As long as the other was leading to the cart, Oswald led the conversation.
"So what sort of read is it that can cut into your food money?" His chiding bounced, drenched in joviality. A vague gesticulation. A lop-sided grin. Like shooting fish in a barrel.
"Inquiring minds want to know."
Utterly shameless.
The ghost of a smile played at the corners of Crane’s lips. There was an unmistakable oiliness, a practiced servility to every single syllable that dribbled from his patient’s quivering mouth. His patient, yes…the man had stepped into his office, had he not? And he was to treat his wounds like a proper doctor would. Hippocrates would have frowned upon any other course of action, after all…
His patient. Perhaps the poor wretch could be of more help than he’d first anticipated. He certainly wouldn’t be missed, should he become preoccupied. The fact that he hadn’t called a friend or family member immediately after he was accosted was testament to that, as was his haggard appearance. Living on the streets, maybe? He was a bit too polished for all that, but it was as good a guess as any Crane could make without more information to analyze.
They would rectify that soon enough. Jonathan smiled politely, applying firm pressure to the wound’s point of entry with the edge of the gauze and winding the tape around Oswald’s middle with single-minded purpose.
“You’re in good hands.”
"Indeed I am."
Oswald held the tatters of his pilfered clothing aloft. He was caught in a slow continuous nod as tethers of dread began to slacken. Solemnity was beginning to creep back into his person, slowly - drop by drop.
"I am so very terribly sorry about your carpet. I assure you I can make some sort of reparation." Or not. More likely, not. The ghostly pressure of deft fingers had left his abdomen. Layers of gauze, expertly wound and tight, left the blood to only stain rosey pink. The charity should have caused some alert, but couldn't muster enough precedence. Oswald wet his lips.
"Could I trouble you for some sort of pain killer? This really does - well it feels like murder!" There was something manic wrigging behind the brittle smile. Oswald lived life with different masks for different tasks, and his current guise was fractured. The least he could do was abate the throbbing pain gnawing at his temples.
She nodded her head happily, loosely braided pigtails swaying and bobbing. She was a peculiar case of a child, especially in terms of awareness. In some degrees she was naïve and didn’t fully comprehend some of her father’s malicious intents and yet, at the same time, seemed to perfectly understand in a phrase simply put that she spoke aloud;
❝He’s real important, mister. My Daddy’s a bad man.❞
A bad man was a man in power too. Only the crooked and the corrupt could get their way to the top by any means necessary. Rather than bad, some tried to rephrase it as the only ones with real courage to take initiative. But her father was simplistic and enjoyed what he was. 'Remember who ya are an' what ya are, Mel. 'Cause the world ain't gonna let you forget it.' she recited to herself.
Delightful, childish laughter escaped from her. This funny sounding man was funny in general. Or real dumb. But not all the new folks got the memo about who was in power and all. They’d learn quickly.
❝He might as well be. ‘Cept he don’t like politics. They’re shit. But he knows how to scare ‘em an’ control ‘em, ‘cause ol’ Falcone taught ‘im. Don’cha know ‘bout the Sionis family, mister?❞
It had been an inopportune time to return to his coffee. Oswald found both his heart and heavy gulp of hot acrid liquid caught in his throat. He gagged and the little pigmentation in his features drained, granting absolute pallor.
"Da, myshka. They are very very powerful people, yes? And you - you're a little one of them. That's what you're telling to me?"
Tremors of fear were scratches on a record, jostling around the rhythm of Oswald's words. The accent desperately clung, exaggerated as his smile. He could feel the quivering in his expression, the blisters in his mouth and every vein go cold.
The Sionis Family couldn't be looking for him. Would they kill on sight? Or worse? Mafia was creative he knew that, first handedly - but from a more favorable end of the equation. Would Roman return him back to Mooney? That vile bitch played with her food. Oswald would be dying for days.
He was panicking. The last few weeks had been hard living. Scraping by on petty murder, paltry lies, and grit did the body a terrible injustice. And it favored the body to the mind. Oswald's nerves were coiled too tightly to let his emotions be prodded by a child. He cleared his throat. It stung.
"I am sorry. Your family is big and strong. It's hard not to be a little - intimidated."
I love how in Gotham Penguin’s first first response to things going south is “can I fix this with murder?”
A large smile stretched across Hannah’s lips, “Thank you so much! I’ll definately give ya’ a hug when I ain’t in a helluva lotta’ pain!”
She stay huddled beneath the umbrella following Ozwald as he walked. Though the apartment complex didn’t look too welcoming, nothing in Gotham seemed to. True, it wasn’t as nice as Selina’ apartment but not everyone was forunate enough to live in a nicer part of Gotham, rare they were after all. “O…kay…Quick question, the fuck does penchant mean?”
As long as the other was to stay by her side, Hannah could care less where they were to go. It could be a hospital or a dirty alleyway filled with drug dealers, as long as she had someone there. Of course, the two hadn’t even exchanged names but she felt the need to rust the man. He was helping her after all, but knowing his name would at least be nice.
"I’m Ha-nnah, Hannah Quinn. No relations ta’ any sort a’ harlequin. Yer’ free ta’ call me Ha, though."
He shrugged, exuding nonchalance. "Just a general fondness," exhibited by the nasty habit of making grabs at the backsides of his patients. Unless Fish was present. Or Oswald, who duly scampered back to Mooney heels to snitch.
"Oswald," he supplied with a slithering glint of teeth - before swiftly tacking on his surname. "Cobblepot." The mispronunciation had begun to stick comfortably in his mouth. It no longer tasked brackish and wrong. Cobblepot. His nom de guerre.
"We had best hurry." And with that, continued to herd the lamb, crimson and dripping, to the surgeon. Over the blackened welcome mat, up a mercifully few number of stairs - cutting straight away to a door with envelopes shoved underfoot.
"Mr Darcy!" Oswald rapped his boney knuckles against the door. A moment's dulled shuffled ticked by, and left a thin Indian man slumped in the door frame. He wore wells of sleepless nights under his eyes, and a burnt spoon sticking from his pocket.
"Fuck's sake, Cobblepot. It's Darzi." His eyes turned to Hannah, cigarette dangling from a grin. "You can call me anything, beautiful."
Damnit, Nygma.
Lorde - Glory and Gore
“I spend most of my salary there. I would hope so.” It was hard. Being around someone like Oswald. His words were smooth, they had a way of coming together without a hint of hesitation, delay or thought. As if he knew all the right things to say and just going through the motions. In stark contrast Edward was awkward and coursed not only in his speech but movement. In the short time they’ve met he could feel his confidence in his own social abilities dwindle to nothing. But if he could spend more time, learn from the other by watching then who’s to say he couldn’t become like Oswald someday? “Oh right.” Brought out of his thoughts, he moved away from the door, though not sure where to stand now, settled for inches away from his original spot. If he wanted a chance to spend more time with the man he’d need to move quickly. “Would you like to join me for lunch?” Maybe not that quickly…
There was a light jingling. A woman dragged her sour-faced child into the shop. Oswald, on the other hand, was anything but.
The con's vainglory was screaming. This man was a fly careening into the spider's nest. His only muttered prayer was that his feast wasn't a maggot. Oswald exclusively sought Friends In High Places. Or at least, someone who could keep their ear to a door he could not reach.
"I don't see why not." A shrug rolled off his shoulders; there was laughter on his lips. "It is lunch time after all. Did you have somewhere in mind?"
Oswald Cobblepot and Gertrude Kapelput in Gotham 1.06 Spirit of the Goat
Edward: Star Trek TNG fan
Bullock: Star Trek TOS fan
Gordon: "I dunno...I kind of liked Deep Space Nine"
Bullock: "SHUT THE FUCK UP"
Gotham fans who’ve always found the Penguin attractive:
Gotham fans who only find Gotham’s version of the Penguin attractive:
Gotham fans who only find Gotham’s version of the Penguin attractive and keep talking about how much better he is now that he’s thin and constantly hope the creators don’t make him fat because that would “ruin the character” and feel the need to make posts about how “shocked” they are that they like a character who’s traditionally over weight, only to emphasize that it’s ok to like him NOW because he’s skinny and conventionally attractive and are basically just fat shaming all over the place:
I will be wild. I will be brutal. I will encircle you and conquer you. I will be more powerful than your boats and your swords and your blood lust. I will be inevitable.
Iphigenia, from A Memory of Wind by Rachel Swirsky.
(via hxwlett)
+1 Came For A Laugh
❝Oh well, so am I.❞
Harleen gave a sweet smile to the man before her, ❝Do you know anywhere we can go to get out of this down pour and dry off?❞
Not to say that she didn’t particularly like the rains in Gotham but when it was a down pour like it was, rain didn’t seem too pleasing to her. ❝Or even an umbrella to huddle under would be nice.❞
His shoulders slumped. A flicker of honesty came and went behind his eyes, though it came together purely in the form of disappointment. The smooth lacquer of a wooden handle in his grasp. The weight of the fine black pendulum swinging by his knee. Sometimes all one missed was the little things. "If only I did."
The set of lingering eyes on his person broke Oswald's brief reverie. And reminded him that he had no fondness for children.
The smile returned, pithy and fake.
"It is indeed a shame. I don't happen to - live around this area." He was not about to invite the urchin into a dingy motel room. Even with incentive it would give the wrong...impression.
The sudden yelp made Bullock turn his head. It was instinctive, and as soon as he laid eyes on the money-snatching kids, the detective nearly resolved to let it go. Yeah, he was a cop and cops should stop pickpockets…but who was he to make a couple of hungry brats fork over their food money?
Beisdes, he thought as his hardened eyes casually flickered to the man who made the call, that guy probably doens’t need the cash as much as those—
What.
The fuck.
Years of working Gotham’s seediest streets and Harvey had thought he’d seen it all, but a dead man downtown? That was a new one. Temper combusting, his mind raced with confusion and fury and Shawn of the Dead flashbacks. Remove the head, destroy the brain. Obviously, in the back of his mind, Harvey knew the staggering, pasty-faced runt wasn’t a zombie, but by the way his body sprang into action, he might has well been.
"Jesus christ, yer ali--HEY! Stop! Hold it right there!” He yelled, knocking people down in pursuit, mumbling under his breath, "Bastard better NOT be, if ‘e knows what’s good fer ‘em…!"
Shackles of fright-induced rigor mortis fell at Oswald's feet. The corpse scrambled and tore down the street, desperate to evade the lawman.
The panicked sprint was murder on his leg, but the cold barrel of a gun could transcend metaphor into something more literal - and Oswald ran faster. Bullock wasn't one for speaking poetically.
Stark unrelenting images of the pier clouded his eyes. Its slate skies and unforgiving water that left a film of grime on his flesh. The long walk to its end, all his pleas and guile dying in the wind. That fat, scruffy swine sitting on the hood just watching. If Oswald's justice was to be served, he would have to escape. To live. So the pig could be slaughtered another day.
It was in the thick of these formidable sentiments that the flightless bird toppled over a broken crate, while turning down an alley. Pain shot up from the bad leg, virulent and immobilizing. And it became very clear that that was only the beginning.
It's stupidly hard to find a POC Face claim and a lot of people wont thread with people who have drawn or nonexistant FCs. Part of it is the white washing in the media tbh.
Ah. I honestly hadn’t considered that. I’d consider it a fraction of the issue, yeah. Thank you for your illumination.