how i feel: deeply unhinged obviously. i adore him. i can't stop thinking about him. i wanna bottle him and put him on my shelf.
ships: the doctor obviously. ALL the doctors. but also everyone who's also shipped with the doctor? like throw some river in there, some jack in there, sure why not? (...maybe not the master)
non-romantic OTP: there isn't really basis for any, but god i'd love to see him chill with Ruby.
unpopular opinion: .....idk if i have one. yet. maybe like "he definitely has some weird alien biology we don't know about yet." but also i've been trying to hold off from headcanoning until the novelisation. is it unpopular to consider him bi instead of gay? (though tbh it's like... selectively bi. or gay with exceptions, lmao.)
wish would happen in canon: like every rogue fan: HIS RETURN. i don't have any complaints. i just want him to come back.
vampirebillionaire replied to your post: WHAT is all this talk about Eddie and Ozzie being...
Yep, it’s in the trailer - Oswald definitely in Blackgate for 10 years, Ed we’re inferring has beenin Arkham the same amount of time (it’s not specified but he’s in an Arkham uniform with long unkempt hair)
Just saw.
This is... honestly frustrating.
The two of them being in and out of those two places over the 10 years I’d be PERFECTLY cool with. Say like, locked up for maybe a couple of years at a time or whatever, then a couple at large, then captured again. That’s, you know, kinda Batman standard, right?
But a full consecutive 10 years?
......is it cos neither of them got a pardon when the reunification happened? Or did they get caught and tried for something else?
For the prompts list - #8 for nygmobblepot, please, if you're so inclined?
oh, man i am so inclined hell yeah(this actually got really long? sorry?)
ask me any of the prompts from this list
8. i know we’re best friends and all, but could you maybe be my date to my cousin’s step-sister’s wedding to prove to my judgmental relatives that i can find love and that i won’t be alone for the rest of my life? + nygmobblepot (and a canon divergence where Oswald’s dad survives for the sake of a storyline, and me not wanting to put poor ed in with his family.)
When Oswald’s father divorced his wife, Oswald considered killing the woman and her two children. He considered roasting his step-siblings, cooking them up on a skewer and serving them to their mother, considered hanging them from the high vaulted ceilings of his father’s estate, considered putting their heads on stakes and leaving them in the front lawn to rot. At this point, they’re related merely by history, neither blood or law; there is nothing, for Oswald, presenting resistance to the death of these three terrible, rude people.
And yet.
“Family is family,” his father says, and Oswald can’t really argue that, because that same sentiment is what keeps him in the family, as well. He supposes he shouldn’t bite the hand that feeds him, that keeps him connected to the only family he has— he loves his father dearly, and his extended family begrudgingly. Overall, he knows his mother would want him to be involved with them, no matter how tacky and judgmental they can be.
The questions start as soon as Oswald reinserts himself into his family after finding himself once again. His father comes to his aid, defends him where he can, but only so much can be done.
Sasha is bringing her fiancé to dinner, Oswald. Who will you be bringing?
Surely you must have someone.
The clock is ticking, Oswald. You aren’t getting any younger.
No children? Not even a wife? Better hurry up.
He doesn’t know the proper way to express that his lifestyle doesn’t quite make room for children, or relationships, for that matter. Often, he jokes that the only way he’ll come into having a child is if one follows him directly off of the playground, imprinting upon him like a duckling. He doubts that will ever happen.
When he finds out that Sasha is getting married, tearing open an invitation over breakfast while Ed reads through his mayoral schedule, he practically sinks out of his chair. No part of him wants to attend this event.
His family will never stop asking him questions. God, even Charles has a fiancé. He’s the last one, and they’re sure to let him know. Surely, by now, they wonder if anyone will have him. Pushing thirty, it’s a terrifying existence to consider; dying alone. He’s braved death alone already, he doesn’t particularly want to do it again. It would be nice to have someone at his side.
Oswald isn’t sure how he asks Ed. He really isn’t sure, when he tries to recall the conversation his mind blanks out and simply provides him with the moment Ed repeats it all back to him; “You want me to pose as your partner for a wedding, to prove your family wrong. That’s fair, and I’m happy to help. Remember, I don’t eat pork.”
The entire thing is easier said than done, Oswald realizes. None of it seems to be bothering Ed, of course. He stands at Oswald’s left side, arm wrapped around the small of his back, wearing his business smile and his nicest black suit. In pinstripe, Oswald cuts a particularly regal figure next to him, as is the intention.
Sitting in a church pew is an experience Oswald hasn’t had in years. Ed expresses, briefly before the ceremony begins, that the synagogue he went to as a child didn’t have pews, just folding chairs that would catch his jacket when he sat down. Oswald can’t help but be amused by the image; Ed, all long legs and arms, having to carefully sit down as not to have his jacket fold up. And yet, despite his apparent inexperience in such a setting, Ed fares better than Oswald does. He follows the cues to stand and sit easily, always offering Oswald a hand for assistance— Oswald has to take it every time.
As soon as they’re allowed to leave, Oswald hauls himself out and back toward the car. He doesn’t want to be stopped by anyone, doesn’t want to talk to anyone; he wants to get in the car, he wants to have the driver take them to the reception dinner, and he wants to drink. Ed, kindly, tries to oblige.
It’s never so simple, but they make it away from the church without any incident, except for Oswald repeatedly pretending to be on the phone in order to not have to talk to family members.
Most everyone at the reception dinner who isn’t the family of the groom is related to Elijah’s ex-wife; few Van Dahls remain, and very few of those that do were invited to this particular event. It doesn’t help Oswald, merely makes him feel out of place at a table full of people who likely heard painfully revealing gossip about him as soon as he came into his father’s life. The bastard son, the false heir, the lesser, the criminal.
He stands closely to Ed’s side as they greet the newlyweds, has to crane his neck to see the groom’s face. The man may be handsome, but there’s absolutely nothing behind the eyes. “What a catch, sister, dear,” Oswald says, voice dripping with insincerity and venom.
“As is yours,” Sasha offers Ed her hand, tugs him down by it to get a better look at him. “Where’d you find this?”
“A man must have his secrets,” he puts his hand up across Ed’s chest, moves him two steps back from Sasha, “you understand.”
The groom and Ed share a hollow glance; two men out of place but kept by conviction. Such is love.
It feels, at least to Oswald, that everyone around them is watching them. Maybe it’s his nerves, naturally tuned into the proper level of vigilance that is required in Gotham, not so much in a wedding, purposefully held upstate. Or maybe, he’s right.
He’s right, because Ed is doing so well. Ed is laughing at his snarky comments, corroborating his stories with what feels like a practiced ease, catching him before he can stumble, bringing him drinks and stealing hearts all the way. By all accounts, Ed is perfect. (Then again, Oswald already knew that. But to see him fawned over by such hard to please members of his family? It makes something sick and depraved in his heart twist up, like a dry heave the morning after a binge of vodka and rum. It makes him think of that night on the couch, makes him think of the way Ed’s skin gives off fireplace heat, the way Ed looks at him, over his glasses and full of trust. Oswald hears his mother in his ears; What good is love if it is one-sided? He wishes she were here.)
“You ought to marry him,” a woman says to Oswald, quite possibly someone he’s supposed to be related to, as Ed is distracted by a cousin, aunt, grandmother, someone who works in ballistics in Metropolis, “don’t let him get away. He loves you.”
And maybe it’s a mockery. Maybe she can see right into his desperate eyes, can see through what he hopes come across as loving gazes, right into his longing, his despair, his lack of understanding as to why this is simultaneously the easiest and most difficult thing he’s ever done. Or, maybe, she sees something he doesn’t. He hopes that’s the case.
“I intend to,” he assures her, speaking loudly enough that Ed will be able to hear him. “I just know there’s no one I’d rather have at my side than him,” Oswald puts his hand on Ed’s knee, makes a show of tensing his fingers around the soft flesh; mine it says, “he’s absolutely remarkable.”
Ed melts under the praise, casually drops a kiss to the side of Oswald’s head when he gets up for more drinks. Neither of them try to read too heavily into it. With a driver waiting patiently in the car, there’s no excuse for either of them to endure the event sober, and being able to drink allows Oswald to pretend all of this could be real. Just for a minute.
It all goes so well until Elijah dances with Sasha, passes her off to her new husband with a reverence that only loving fathers can have for their daughters. Oswald admires that, in Elijah; the ability to look past a grudge and see a person who lacks something he can provide. (Sasha has a father of blood, but he isn’t at her wedding, he doesn’t love or appreciate her quite like Elijah does. Elijah spent so long thinking he had no children of his own, couldn’t help himself from loving a daughter who was beautiful like he dreamed his child with Gertrud could have been. It isn’t the girl’s fault that her mother’s hand brought her up cruel and vicious; sometimes it’s safer for a girl to be cruel in Gotham, than it is for her to feel loved. He can’t hold that against her, all he can hope to do is warm a hole through the ice around her.) Oswald knows, despite his relation, he will never be able to be as forgiving as his father.
It could be all of the alcohol in his system, but Oswald can’t help but be jealous as he watches Sasha’s husband bring her around the floor, as he comfortably dips her and suddenly everyone else is out on the floor with them. Instead of following them, Oswald tucks his chair up next to Ed’s and rubs at his ankle. He listens as Ed describes the various things he’s learned, some news old but Oswald pretends it isn’t, if nothing else but to let Ed speak uninterrupted. Absently, their hands come together and Ed gestures into Oswald’s, draws tiny diagrams with his fingertip into Oswald’s palm.
He isn’t choked up, because he shouldn’t be. Because he’s the fucking penguin; he’s killed men, destroyed families, uprooted hundred-year-old precedents— he does not get choked up at mere gestures of domesticity. But he does, because he thinks about waking up next to Ed, he thinks about a stupid piece of metal being a representation of something so much bigger, he imagines hyphens and shared safe houses.
“What exactly is it about Oswald?” Someone asks Ed, after having distracted Ed from his lecture on the gossip in the family tree, “I can’t imagine he was your first suitor, is all.”
“Oswald is fantastic,” Ed says, haughty, tone like he’s stating one of his various facts, tidbits of knowledge that he understands as inherently true and without question. “He’s the only one— he sees me for who I am. There’s nothing more important than authenticity, now is there?” His fingers circle around Oswald’s wrist, then slide up between his fingers, closing down and holding his hand firmly. Ed pats the top of Oswald’s hand, hums contentedly, “Though, honestly, what isn’t to love?”
Oswald chokes on his emotionality, but covers it up as a cough. He excuses himself, squeezing Ed’s hand before disengaging in the direction of the open bar. The person talking to Ed tries to say “he’s always doing this,” and it makes Oswald want to wheel around and scream. He wants to grab them by the shoulders and say, “You don’t know me, you’ve never known me. Ed knows me,” but he knows that an outburst like that would put all of Ed’s effort to waste. And he’s obviously tried so hard.
When he gets to the bar he orders something strong, something with vodka, and he has a few. Not enough, not by far, but when he comes back with white wine for the both of them, he’s significantly less capable of listening in to whatever Ed is saying to other people.
“Would you like to dance?” Ed asks him, later on in the night, once the music has slowed down and the children have filtered out of the reception hall, leaving only those interested in continuing to drink and socialize. “I’m a very good dancer, you know.”
“I’m sure you are,” Oswald says, and he means it. Ed is good at everything he sets his mind to. “With this leg, though, I’m afraid I’m not.”
Ed sits, watches the other couples on the floor, before turning back to Oswald with a smile. “Take your shoes off,” he starts to unlace his own, “you can put your bad foot on top of mine. It’ll alleviate the pressure.”
“I—”
“It’s tradition to dance at weddings,” he argues, “I’m sure it brings bad luck if someone refuses to dance.”
“What if I want to bring her bad luck?” Oswald is sour, though he does work at untying his own shoes and setting them beside Ed’s. He leans his cane against the table and hopes that nobody is stupid enough to try and steal it.
“Then do it for me,” Ed stands up and offers Oswald his hand, so gentlemanly it hurts, “I haven’t been able to do something like this before.”
For the first few steps, it feels as though neither of them quite knows what to do; both drunkenly stumbling until they find their bearings within one another. Oswald gets used to the feeling of Ed lifting his foot with his own, learns to follow it with his good leg like he does his cane. Doing things traditionally is a lost cause, Oswald a little too tipsy to remember the proper positioning for his hands, so he just wraps his arms over Ed’s shoulders and settles his face against the junction of his shoulder and neck. Ed has to lean down, just a touch, to properly drape his arms around Oswald’s hips, fitting them against one another perfectly.
“I’ve been rather selfish,” Oswald admits, after they’ve been dancing for a few minutes, “I must confess.”
“Oh?” At no point does Ed stop their slow swaying, the gradual spin they’re following.
“I—” He huffs, doesn’t notice how Ed shivers when the breath goes over his neck, “It wasn’t fair of me, to ask you to do this, considering the circumstances.”
Ed’s arms tighten minutely around his hips, fingertips twitching, “Circumstances?”
“This entire night, I—” the emotion returns to Oswald’s voice, and while he knows Ed will never mock him for it, he’s still loathe to let it manifest. “I love you, Ed. I don’t know what I thought— it was just— I apologize.”
“You’re not teasing me,” Ed’s breath is hot and uneven where it flutters over the shell of Oswald’s ear, shuddering like tears or wet brakes, “are you?”
“God, Ed, no,” when Oswald pulls back, he takes hold of the sides of Ed’s face, grip loose but still caging. Ed can see his sincerity, just as he’s been able to see his jealousy and discomfort the whole night; he’s simply misread it as something negative toward him. “Why would I tease you about—”
Ed dips him back, carefully rearranging his arms so that he can hold Oswald easily, in case his good leg slips out from beneath him. He steals a kiss when Oswald’s mouth is still parted, aborted words no longer daring to escape. It’s simple, sweet, and so easy to get lost in— Ed has to consistently remind himself not to let go of Oswald, not to slide both hands up into his expertly styled hair.
“You fogged up my glasses,” Ed laughs, once they’ve righted themselves and have resumed dancing. “I love you. I had just—”
It’s Oswald’s turn to kiss Ed, getting up on the tips of his toes despite the pain it causes him. He surges up into Ed, nearly knocks the both of them over and doesn’t even care enough about it to apologize once he’s broken away for breath, “You understand my family will want you at events, after this.”
“That’s fine with me,” Ed admits, sheepish as he positions his wide palms over Oswald’s hips rather than wrapping his arms around them, “you’ve convinced them to love me, with all your compliments.”
“I’m afraid you’re starting to do the same,” Oswald’s fingers drag down, over the lapels of Ed’s suit as he makes himself comfortable against his chest, “you make me sound much better than I am. I appreciate that.”
“I didn’t say anything untrue, you know.”
“Nor did I.”
“We’re going to be one of those terribly affectionate couples,” without realizing it, Ed has started tapping the rhythm of the song into Oswald’s hip, “aren’t we?”
vampirebillionaire replied to your post “Question - Do people in Gotham ever actually have like… proper trials?...”
I know I've said this before but Oswald also got away with murdering the guy at Pyg's dinner - in front of a dozen credible witnesses, leaving behind a body and a murder weapon with his prints on it. You'd think Sofia would at least mention that as a backup in case the Martin charge didn't stick
It’s one extreme or the other with this show - you either murder people in broad daylight and suffer no consequences for it, or you’re arrested and sentenced without a trial like the GCPD are a less violent version of the Judges from 2000AD
Want as my mentor: Mmmm, good question. Probably Grandpa Falcone, as I call him. He’s about the only person I trust here to have any sense. He could teach me how to be a master criminal and, you know, not implode every other season.
Bake cupcakes for: Harvey! Harvey doesn’t get enough love, he gets all the cupcakes
Lend my books to: Mmm... Ivy, Ivy’s going to need all the consolation and retreat she can get living with Penguin
Put thumbtacks on the chair thereof: Lee. I’m sorry, I'm just... really really done with her character. To be fair though, it’s not her fault, it’s the writers. Oh my god the fucking writers.
Have a crush on: Zsasz. What a Good Boy he is. Good Boy™
Pack up and leave if they moved next door: Well, Jim’s place and Oswald’s place regularly get shot up. They’re both walking hazards. Ed is... a whole other kind of nightmare. Any of them. Oh and Tetch, I will have NONE of that please.
Follow as captain of a ship: Harvey X333 Harvey is a Good Captain and I’d do what he says X333
Pick as my partner in a buddy movie: I mean, really, Harvey and Jim should do it together, I”ll just enjoy from afar X333 Although Oswald and Zsasz could be fun too X333 God I hope there’s more Zsasz in season 4, please bring my son back
Marry: ...no.
Want as my boss: Well, not Oswald, he gets people killed... all the time. Butch would be a good boss c: I’ll work for Butch. I know he shot his crew that one time, but, again, that was totally Oswald’s fault. So. I’d probably work for Tabitha too, she’s pretty reasonable.
Sue: The writers. For their myriad crimes against character motivation. Or Nathaniel Barnes for being a Way Less Good version of the Punisher. #notsorry
Want as my best friend: Ed, and I’ll tell you why. Ed DESPERATELY needs someone he can trust, someone he can complain to about his relationship problems, someone who can look at him and go “Sweetie, no. Sweetie, go to bed. Stop.” He needs someone to talk to to help him work out his Issues someone who ISN’T Penguin. This has to be uncolored by romantic/sexual tension, so this CANNOT be Oswald. And I can do that for him and I will take the burden of “No, Ed, you can’t rig a mousetrap for the whole city. Yes I understand you have a giant question mark, but it’s not... that’s not... oh my god we need to get you a therapist.” on behalf of everyone else. Also Foxy! Lucius is so wonderful and deserving of only good things. Together we can try to bolster Ed and get him to a level approaching functionality.
I would like a missing scene of the proposal/wedding!
You would XP
“What do you want for breakfast?” Oswald asks, still half awake and sucking down his first cup of coffee, nose buried in the newspaper even though he isn’t registering half the words on the page.
“I think I’ll make something we haven’t had in awhile. Crepes, maybe.”
“The orange ones are the best,” Oswald adds, and he turns the page to continue this illusion that he’s fully awake and aware and not fighting sleep while sitting up at the table. “And after that? Do you have any ideas?”
“I’d like to marry you,” Ed says.
Oswald nods. “That sounds lovely.” Then he blinks, and sets the paper down on the table, gaping at Ed, who’s grinning ear to fucking ear. “What did you just say to me?”
“We should get married.” Ed says again, and Oswald boggles at him. “Today, if I was being unclear.”
“Today,” Oswald repeats, and Ed nods. “You want to get married today.”
“I do,” Ed says, and he laughs.
Oswald sets down his coffee and quietly folds the paper, then he picks his mug back up and sips at it gingerly. He watches Ed’s face as his cheerful smile begins to fall, and then his eyebrows droop in that kicked puppy sort of way they do, and Ed bites his lip. “Oswald? I had assumed that you would be receptive, but if I’ve overstepped some boundary you have I am very sorry.”
“I just wanted to surprise you back when I said yes, Ed,” he says, grinning over his mug, and Ed beams at him. “Now I’m going to assume you’ve made no plans.”
“I haven’t,” he replies, giddy. “We need rings,” he says, more serious. “And a witness.”
“And some money,” Oswald adds, with the intent to bribe a few people, but he supposes there are certain legal costs associated with a marriage. “I think we should have time before lunch, if we want to get something afterwards.”
“I suppose that doesn’t leave time for new suits,” Ed muses, but he shrugs. “I suppose that isn’t a problem if we’re not planning on having any photos.”
Oswald sighs, “I think that’s not something we can really risk, in any case. Not outside our home.”
(Home being a lovely apartment on the water, with a view of the river and large picture windows, plus an entire mezzanine level for Ed’s books.)
“Well, I’ll begin breakfast,” Ed tells Oswald, “and following that we’ll go get the rings, and then we’re off to the courthouse.”
“I’ll go find some clothes,” Oswald stands up and stretches, taking a moment to go over to the counter and refill his mug. “And I’ll see if I have a contact or two available to be our witness.”
Oswald makes it to their bedroom and sets down his mug before his eyes water, and he laughs, wiping his eyes and looking to the mirror above their dresser. “Today, Oswald Chesterfield Cobblepot, you are marrying Edward Edwin Nygma. And you are going to look like a horrible mess if you put any effort into your makeup.”
-
“I was thinking something with a bit of green,” Ed whispers as they peruse one of the back counters at Gotham Silver and Gold, scanning the display, which Oswald has deemed lackluster for the most part.
“I’m sure you were,” he tells Ed. “And I’m sure you know I’m looking for something with a bit of purple.”
“Of course.”
“Well, since we know each others tastes, why not find each others rings?” Oswald suggests, and Ed smiles fondly. “We don’t have time to surprise one another with any sort of engagement rings, so his can substitute.”
“Then we better start at opposite ends of the store,” Ed suggests. “I intend to thoroughly surprise you.”
“Likewise,” Oswald says, and Ed scurries away to the far end of the display, leaving Oswald to stare down at the silver and gold rings, willing the perfect one to jump out at him so he can start peeking over Ed’s shoulder. He’s terribly excited, and also horribly impatient, not a great combination, but time is ticking away far too fast, and he wants to hurry up and get to the courthouse.
“Excuse me,” he waves one of the clerks over and gestures to the cases, “could you just pull out anything with green? Thank you,” he says, standing back and watching him pull out a few trays, frowning when it appears to do little to narrow down his choices, but he is appreciative of the ability to handle a few of the ribs, getting a feel for the weight and size, and writing off gold bands entirely. Ed looks dashing in silver, and Oswald wants him to look good.
He picks up a tri-banded ring, and initially he writes it off, but upon closer inspection he pauses, and moves to a complementary magnifying station to get a better look. There isn’t a stone, but there appears to be a band of onyx next to the band of marbled green inlay, surrounded by silver on both sides. It’s a lovely shade of green, not that tacky, overnight green Ed became infamous for, and when Oswald glances over at Ed as he speaks with the other clerk he holds up the ring so it’s visually near his face. He smiles, triumphant, and indicates that this is the one he wants.
“It’s an inlay of-”
“I don’t need your sales pitch, thank you,” he holds the ring in his hand and tries to put it on for size reference. It’s too small, but just a hair, and Ed’s hands, while longer than Oswald’s, are thinner, especially through his knuckles.
“That’s a very nice one, Ozzie,” Ed whispers in his ear, and Oswald covers his hand, turning in a huff.
“That’s hardly fair.”
“As if you wouldn’t have done the same,” he teases, and Oswald tilts his head side to side, silently relenting that, yes, he was planning on peeking around Ed’s shoulder, although he has no plans of admitting it verbally.
“Unless you’ve also found something I’d say you’re just being cruel.”
“Oh, I have,” he smiles and presents a ring to Oswald, holding his hands similar to a small box and opening the top one, and Oswald marvels at the ring in his hand. It also has no stones, and while Oswald is sure his younger self would object the omission he finds himself falling in love with the silver and purple ring. The silver is braided, or perhaps just twisted, he’s not sure, but the purple is just the right shade to bring out his eyes, should he ever plan to wear his ring in public.
He gets a bit sad, then, because as lovely as these two rings are they can’t honestly expect to wear them in Gotham, not without becoming giant targets against one another, but he smiles, and takes the ring, handing over Ed’s and trying his own on.
“It fits,” he smiles, and Ed nods, waving his hand triumphantly while wearing his own. “We’ll take them.”
“We can put in an order for your rings right away,” the clerk tells them, and Oswald chuckles. “Is that funny somehow, sir?”
“He means we’re taking these,” Ed tells her, and she looks between the two of them. “How much?”
“But those are the store models-”
“And they fit perfectly, how fortunate,” Oswald beams at her. “Would you prefer cash or check?”
“I can’t really sell those to you,” she says. She’s squirming uncomfortably, and looking across the store at the other clerk, shrugging helplessly.
“Nonsense, everything has a price,” Oswald tells her. “And we are going to buy these. Now, if you could tell me how much we’ll get out of your hair.”
-
“So is this your version of not seeing the bride before the wedding?” Zsasz asks him, and Oswald curls in on himself just a bit tighter. “Not complaining or anything but I had some stuff I wanted to do today.”
“What if we start hating each other?” Oswald asks. He’s been somehow going through an entire month’s worth of neuroses in the span of a half hour, and somewhere Ed is out there, possibly feeling stood up, probably regretting his spontaneous suggestion this morning. “We can’t even be publicly married. He probably forgot all of that, but when he remembers-”
“Boss he loves you,” Zsasz tells the stall door, and Oswald nods to himself. Ed does seem to love him an awful lot. “Who else would bother?”
“I’m sure you meant for that to sound comforting, and not insulting,” Oswald sneers. But still, is Zsasz wrong? Who else in this hell city would go to these lengths just to be privately married to Oswald? “Alright, fine, I’m coming out.”
Zsasz is standing by the mirror, twin ring boxes in his hands, and smiling, and Oswald scowls at him before turning to the mirror and looking over his face. “My eyes look tired. Do they look tired? I think they’re awful.”
He’s busy dragging at the skin around his eyes when Zsasz holds up something in his right peripheral. Oswald turns and grabs what he determines to be his eyeliner, and he Huff’s, irritated. “What do you expect me to do with this?”
“I was pretty sure you already knew that.”
Oswald shakes his head. “I will not have my makeup running at my own wedding, Zsasz. I refuse.”
“Good thing I found the right one then. You have like, twenty of those by the way. Might want to clean out your supply.”
Oswald rolls his eyes and looks at the eyeliner. Standard black, his preferred thickness, and, “you grabbed the waterproof one? I am giving you a raise. You’re a saint,” he croaks, his eyes start watering, just a little, and Zsasz’s smile becomes a little queasy, but he nods. “Well, I can’t imagine it works well when I’m already tearing up,” he laughs, dabbing at his eyes. “Shoo. Go tell him I’m nearly ready.” He waves Zsasz out of the room. “I’ll be there in a moment.”
-
He’s giddy, elated, the past fifteen minutes went by so fast. Oswald remembers almost nothing aside from the actual “I do” part. Admittedly he spent the entire time looking at Ed, eyes watering but never fully crying, but his eyeliner stayed perfect regardless. And they exchanged rings, held by Zsasz until the exact moment they were needed, and signed their license Misters Nygma and Cobblepot. Neither took the others name, neither really feeling quite right in its own, and either option to hyphenate just sounded clumsy on their tongues. Zsasz had “helpfully” offered use of his name, which they “regretfully” declined. The name isn’t the important part anyway.
Ed’s hair, which he must have styled in one of the other bathrooms, is getting horribly blown about in the wind, but then again so is Oswald’s, and really, this has been such a whirlwind day already. What’s a little wind on his wedding day?
He clutches their license to his chest as they stand in the cover of the founders statue, smiling to each other, giggling. He feels so damn young doing this, being so spontaneous with such a life changing decision, but as he and Ed pry their eyes away from one another long enough for Zsasz to capture the moment with his phone, hideous statue and all, he acknowledges that it feels much more like “finally, we did it, this for real” and, at least in this moment, he couldn’t be happier.
OH, thank you for those tags about Gabe being in the set pictures - I'd convinced myself that the promo screenshot of Butch with a gun on someone in the mansion was him shooting Gabe, since the last episode made sure we knew he was staying by the phone. (Maybe he tries and fails and Gabe comes to Oswald's rescue?)
Hello!!
For those that didn’t see my tags on my reblog earlier, Gabe does not die. I was concerned, my friends were concerned, we all were concerned for a little while there but then I remembered the red sweater of cuteness™ set images and recalled Gabe floating around in them.
Look, here he is. Maybe he does get threatened, but he clearly survives it. It would be great to see him come to Oswald’s rescue, Gabe has been there for him since the beginning, and he will continue to stay by his side even though he is a little concerned with Oswald’s rash behaviour as of late.
