hihi ivy!!!!!!!!! could I pretty please have two twoface banners? I would like one to have "more than anything else, he wanted to fly. beyond gravity, above heaven: past wonderland, neverland, and oz." + golden yellows— and the other to have "something dark and heavy was left behind, something shameful and ugly... and cold." + (sad) purples. if possible!, images from two-face crime and punishment would be cool (I could get some!) but otherwise go for anything that isn't live action. ty :D (tumblr banners if anything in particular, but they're probably just going on my strawpage 🙂↕️)
꩜ Twoface Banners // Request
･ ⟢ ⋮ Free to use, credit not required but appreciated. Reposts/Edits/Recolours/adding to Masterlists or hoards allowed.
HIII ALLEN SURE! I’m so sorry I tried so many times to add cool gifs but my device crashed every time… so here are the lame gif versions 😭 anywhoooo hope you like these :)
So I made Harvey Dent and Two-Face seperate miis to avoid having to do split face facepaint. Here is Two-Face :) (plus the scratched coin I made for him)
Characters: Edward Nygma, Harvey Dent, Oswald Cobblepot (mentioned)
Additional Tags: Miscommunication, Humor
Summary: Ed is hired by The Penguin to organize a heist in the Gotham Heights. The problem? He's currently incarcerated at Arkham Asylum. To make matters worse, he's working with useless idiots.
Read on AO3
Arranging the opportunity to make a phone call was crucial. Ed’s letters to The Penguin at the start of this whole process were a limited success. Despite his efforts to simplify the hidden messages within, responses were slow to arrive and it was clear that his colleague was uninvested in communicating.
He’d requested an in person visit of course, but the date was continuously pushed back, low priority on Cobblepot’s agenda. It didn’t bother him at first. He often gloated that if he ever wanted to leave his stint at Arkham prematurely, he could. He usually chose to play nice and sit quietly so as to not lengthen his stay.
But, he had a particularly exciting personal project on hold, barring funds. And Oswald Cobblepot had requested his services for a job he could organize from behind bars. If he could wrangle Oswald’s particularly useless staff. Reasonably intelligent goons were hard to come by, and shortly after hiring Ed to pull this off, Oswald had gone radio silent except for responding to mail when he got round to it.
The rotten cherry on top of a stale cake was the disrespect that the man didn’t write his own responses. A secretary delivered all incoming mail and Oswald dictated the response for them to forward. This lengthened the entire process and increased the frequency of miscommunication.
The only reason Ed didn’t bother to take any of it personally was that this behaviour was entirely expected from the man. Oswald was not one for efficiency unless it benefited him. He was happy to string others along, tank inconvenient investments, and leave a collaborator high and dry. But, he was shockingly, a man of his word. If you took him very literally and held him to it.
Ed needed that money. Not out of vanity, but for personal endeavors. He wasn’t about to lose it because of other people’s stupidity. He’d follow this line of bullshit and ‘organize’ as instructed, up to a point. But he was quickly approaching the end of his rope.
So, a phone call.
It was difficult to swing the first time. Despite how at home he managed to feel in this rotten hell hole, Arkham guards were still a particular breed of imbecile. Cruel for cruelty’s sake and standard procedure was depriving all inmates of outside contact, regardless of offense. Still, he managed to swing it.
It was a Tuesday morning and he arranged for ten minutes under watch of the head of security, Bolton himself. Great big ignoramus that he was.
The line rang three times before a gruff man answered.
“What?”
Lovely start.
“Nygma. I’m organizing the…” He sighed, knowing he must stick to the parameters Oswald originally put in place or god forbid he’d confuse the goon. “The staff party? I’m predisposed in Arkham, but your number was included in my last correspondence from your employer.”
“Oh yeah you’re the uh… The Riddle man… Puzzle guy… that you?”
Glorious.
“That’s me. Now, what has been prepared thus far, nothing?”
“Sorry you’re breaking up let me uh… Oh goddamn it.”
There was a great big rustling sound, sharp on his ears and Ed winced, holding the wired phone further from his ear. He could now hear music in the background, a radio? A car door shut and the radio cut off.
“Got one of those radio phones in the car. Wonders of technology ay? Forgot I can’t go far with it. What were you saying uh… say what you say your name was?”
“Edward Nygma. Now listen, I only have 9 minutes 30. If you’re my contact I seriously doubt anything has been arranged. Do you have a good memory?”
“I-”
“No what am I saying- Do you have a pen?”
More rustling. No answer. There was a thunk and Ed assumed the phone had been set on the dash. He leant his shoulder against the wall, eyeing Bolton, who eyed him right back with distrust.
He couldn’t afford to speak too clearly, or the best case scenario, Bolton caught wise to something illegal and Ed wouldn’t be able to call a second time. There was the distinct sound of a glove box being pressed shut and the goon returned.
“Yeah I got a pen. You there, Nygma?”
“Yes. Now, I want this arranged before 4. That’s Thursday night. That’s when the party is. Do you understand? Don’t answer, just write this down. It will be hosted at Oswald’s favourite spot in the Heights. Arrivals begin at 4. In the morning you’ll need to retrieve all concessions from Finger Memorial Park. Entertainment is to be handled by our best Slugger, you know he may be roided up but he used to play ball. Broke his bat last season.”
“Uh.”
“Do you follow?”
“Sure uh, I’ve got down the park, 4, and er, juiced up dirtbag-”
“Four what?” Ed asked through his teeth.
“Um… What?”
“Christ’s sake. Arrivals begin at 4. Before Friday.”
“Before Friday.”
“Yes!”
“There’s a game Wednesday I think. In the Stadium my uh my niece wants to go that night. You want me working at the game? Let me see if Theo is free instead, you’d better talk to him.”
“No, No! No game! The game isn’t important.”
“Then why’d you mention it?”
“I didn’t! You- Ugh… The man doesn’t play anymore; he just… never mind. Oswald will know what it means alright?”
“Alright… I’m still not sure about Wednesday.”
“Nobody said anything about Wednesday. Focus.”
“Alright alright, don’t get your panties in a twist Mr. Riddle, I’m writing it down. Don’t a party need like uh… guests?”
“Do we pay you to think? Christ. Just get the Slugger for entertainment next week. Fireworks. He’s a big guy, you’ll know him.”
Bolton seemed to be listening closer, arms crossed. Ed turned his back on him.
“What’s your name?” He asked the goon.
“I’m Bill. Hey uh… I don’t know any Batters. I don’t know anybody plays ball. I just watch it.”
“Bill?”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t ask questions. That’s my job.”
“Okay. Listen, I don’t got long. But I got it. What else you need for the eh… party?”
Three minutes or so left. Ed cleared his throat and organized his thoughts.
He heard the call disconnect. He turned to see Bolton had hit the button from the front desk that disconnected the phone lines from a distance. He looked far too pleased with himself.
“Let’s go, Nygma.”
The next day Ed skipped his meal to slip into the phone hall, paying off the guard he favored who was running security cameras for the day. He dialed the same number as before, waiting impatiently as it rang. He looked up at the corner of the room at the camera.
Just when he thought it would disconnect and the operator would chime in, someone answered. It wasn’t Bill.
“Where’s Bill?” Ed asked.
“Fuck if I know, we got shifts. What you want?”
“It’s Edward Nygma. I’m meant to organize the party for Oswald. Which means you work for me, or, Bill does.”
“Good for Bill.”
“What’s your name? Is this Theo?”
The goon on the other line hesitated, as if discomforted by Edward guessing who he was. Good.
“What’s it to you?”
“Just the man I needed to speak to, that’s all. Have you lot spoken to our er… entertainer for the evening?”
“Who?”
Great. Back to square one. He lowered his voice as much as he could, hissing into the receiver.
“Bane, you fatuous moron. We need him by next week. Have you spoken to the man?”
“Hey what’s your problem, Nygma?”
“You! You are! Now listen- What about this week’s pickup?”
“What pickup?”
“For the love of- Is there anyone else I can talk to? Preferably someone who has a handful of functioning brain cells and can do his damn job?”
“I’ll get the Boss."
Blessed relief. Finally. Two minutes with Oswald on the phone and all would be in order. At least he had half a brain dedicated to these delicate sorts of operation. Working with Charles Baxter making children’s toys had been less dull and irritating than this, and that was saying a lot.
“Hello?”
A man’s voice carried over. Rough. But almost certainly not The Penguin. Another setback. Ed evidently didn’t answer quickly enough, because the man tried again. And this time, Ed recognized his voice. Their voice. Wonderful.
“Who is this?”
“Oh for fucks sake, Harvey? I thought they’d give me to Oswald. Since when are you working with The Penguin?”
The last thing he needed was to work through the plan with the predictably unpredictable Twoface.
“That you, Nygma? Since when are you?” Harvey barked a laugh, then his voice grew colder, bored. “Oz is busy. Fuck off.”
The call disconnected.
This couldn’t possibly be worth the effort.
He'd given up on it for the time being. He didn't worry all week, tried to prioritize his sanity in this horrid place. Arkham was no walk in the park on a good day, even for someone like him. He managed to keep to himself most days, keep to his cell as often as possible.
With minimal effort to fool the doctors and little regard for their attempts at “treatment” that were certainly illegal, he got along just fine.
Then there was the matter of professional pride.
The money was unimportant. He could wait until he was up for parole and wire himself a few million from some dirty politician's offshore account.
But his word was worth something because he kept it.
By the time Thursday came around he was agonized. Penguin still wasn't taking his calls and even less luck with Twoface.
Damn them all to hell.
He resolved to break out of Arkham that night. In theory, leaving after sundown should give him enough time to get to the Heights and get the job done personally. Nothing like a good old fashioned heist, without any of the dramatics.
Tasteless, sure. But that couldn't be avoided! It was hardly his fault that it was impossible to find good help these days.
One sentiment circled his psyche as he climbed into the underground tunnels beneath Arkham, heading down a metaphorical and literal drain.
