#feekins writes sometimes

[feekins]

when Conrad sees teen Nai at his absolute worst, it's always as cataclysmic as a dying star: violent, lashing out, screaming himself hoarse with rage and despair until there's nothing left, at which point he collapses in on himself, too upset to care how loud or ugly he's crying, lost to all the Bad he feels. it's just so much and so strong and Nai's sure it'll never end...

...and that's when Conrad makes his move.

sometimes it takes a while for Nai to notice Conrad's sat down beside him, but that's okay.

sometimes they just sit there, not talking but not alone, and that's enough.

other times, once Nai settles enough to attempt speech, he croaks, "Why are you here?" and Conrad shrugs, "Oh, you know. Just in case."

sometimes, this sets Nai off, has him crying all over again, but that's okay, too. sometimes the weight of it all makes Nai crumple on the spot, sagging into Conrad's lap where he cries and cries and cries as Conrad cards his fingers through his hair. other times, sniffling, Nai leans into Conrad's side and, with that unspoken permission, Conrad brings an arm up around Nai's shoulders - and Nai's trembling, but he doesn't shatter.

sometimes, they talk things out like this.

other times - more and more frequently as of late - all Nai needs is the other's friendly, familiar presence. Conrad sits with him, holds him steady. somehow, that takes Nai out of his head. it carries him over the threshold, holds his hand and guides him out the other side of the storm.

Nai doesn't know how he does it, and he doesn't care.

Conrad can't fix everything - after all, he's only human - but he has this way with making things work out, and really, that's all Nai could ever wish for.

[sternenzelt]

Both @odric-master-swagtician and @circlesmadeofglass tagged me to list 10 things people don't really know about me, and I tried to dig up some,,, hope they're actually new to you, as I'm such a blabbermachine.

1) I may or may not have drawn *cough* suggestive Yuri at night when I was 14. The real joke is, I still thought I was straight.

2) I apparently did some pretty stupid shit as a toddler. I climbed into a tree and then couldn't get down (at age 2), ran on woolen socks through the house and full speed into a heater and stabbed my forehead with a pencil. The last thing actually left a tiny dot tattooed under my skin.

3) I still haven't registered for my WotC account, even with the card in my purse. I'm the master of procrastination.

4) I only ever feel truly alive when I'm swimming in a lake or lingering somewhere near huge trees. The feeling is not comparable with anything else.

5) Drawing is a physical need for me, like sleeping or eating, and I will get extremely aggravated and aggressive when I want to draw but for some reason can't at that moment.

6) I secretly write self insert fanfiction because sometimes the fandom just doesn't deliver and it heals my soul a little and keeps my writing skills at least lukewarm.

7) I have often considered getting a pet bird, especially as I'm growing more lonely living away from my family, but I still find it unethical. Birds are meant to be free, as kitschy as that sounds. Maybe with the exception of bred carrior pigeons.

8) I check every single reblog on my art for nice tags and that 1 case in 100 where there are any, it's more than worth it.

9) My favourite animals are not just ravens, but also lions!

10) I have a good relationship with Apollo and sincerely hope it'll stay this way despite my phases of being a slacker.

I'm tagging (no pressure) @ladyofstardvst, @feekins , @bow-tie-cat, @zarrocktumbles and whoever else feels like participating! Sorry, I'm sometimes really bad at remembering all my mutuals but I swear I love seeing you all in my notes. Anyway, have fun!

[tr3velyan]

woo tag meme below the cut!!

TAGGED BY: @feekins !!

FIRST RULE: Tag nine mutuals you would like to know better.

uhhhhhhhh what if i just tag some friends instead @angrycleric @leelinator @prinxipality @ficwitch @baetakemi @adjit

SECOND RULE: You have to BOLD the statements that are true. (emily’s added rule: italics for things that are semi-true/sometimes true)

APPEARANCE:

I am 5′7′’ or taller I wear glasses I have at least one tattoo I have at least one piercing I have blonde hair I have brown eyes I have short hair My abs are somewhat defined I have or have had braces (too bad i never wore my retainer)

PERSONALITY:

I love meeting new people  People tell me that I’m funny Helping others with their problems is a big priority for me I enjoy physical challenges I enjoy mental challenges I’m playfully rude with people I know well I started saying something ironically and now I can’t stop saying it There is something I would change about my personality

ABILITY:

I can sing well  I can play an instrument I can do over 30 pushups without stopping I’m a fast runner I can draw well I have a good memory I’m good at doing math in my head I can hold my breath underwater for over a minute I have beaten at least 2 people in arm wrestling (probably??) I know how to cook at least 3 meals from scratch I know how to throw a proper punch

HOBBIES:

I enjoy playing sports I’m on a sports team at my school or somewhere else I’m in an orchestra or choir at my school or somewhere else (used to be) I have learned a new song in the past week I work out at least once a week (looool) I’ve gone for runs at least once a week in the warmer months I have drawn something in the past month I enjoy writing Fandoms are my #1 passion I do or have done martial arts

EXPERIENCES:

I have had my first kiss I have had alcohol I have scored the winning goal in a sports game I have watched an entire season of a TV show in one sitting I have been at an overnight event I have been in a taxi I have been in the hospital or ER in the past year I have beaten a video game in one day (close but no cigar) I have visited another country I have been to one of my favorite band’s concerts

RELATIONSHIPS:

I’m in a relationship  I have a crush on a celebrity I have a crush on someone I know I have been in at least 3 relationships I have never been in a relationship I have asked someone out or admitted my feelings to them I get crushes easily I have had a crush on someone for over a year (not currently) I have been in a relationship for at least a year I have had feelings for a friend

MY LIFE:

I have at least one person I consider a best friend I live close to my school  My parents are still together I have at least one sibling I live in the United States There is snow right now where I live I have hung out with a friend in the past month I have a smartphone I have at least 15 CDs I share my room with someone

RANDOM SHIT:

I have breakdanced I know a person named Jamie I have had a teacher with a last name that’s hard to pronounce I have dyed my hair I’m listening to one song on repeat right now I have punched someone in the past week I know someone who has gone to jail I have broken a bone (i guess a ruptured kidney doesn’t count) I have eaten a waffle today (i actually did!!) I know what I want to do with my life (i guess???) I speak at least 2 languages I have made a new friend in the past year

[feekins]

teen Nai coming down with something that has him bedridden and miserable…it's the sickest he's ever been (but it's nothing serious - he's just a big baby) and he's SO achey and tired and out of it…and Conrad takes the BEST care of him, checking in on him every so often…treating what symptoms he can…keeping Nai comfortable…sitting with him and rubbing his back when all else fails…and Nai's feeling so very crummy, but Conrad's touch is so gentle, so soothing…and after a while, Nai gets the distant, strangest sense that this isn't a scientist monitoring a research subject…Conrad's so genuinely NICE and CONCERNED ABOUT HIM and like…Nai can whine about how he doesn't feel well and Conrad will ask for specifics, look for ways to try to make it just a little better. for some reason, Nai can't stop thinking about this.

then, when Nai's feeling his lowest, the words just…come out. the same way they would for Rem. it's just so EASY. Conrad's just finished injecting something to help with the fever (no pills bc Nai's digestive system is p much just for show), he's holding a cotton ball to the injection site, in the middle of praising Nai for taking the needle so well when…

"Love you." mumbled. barely intelligible. at the end of the day, Nai IS a 6-7yo boy.

for a moment, Conrad's staring at him wide-eyed…and then he's smiling at Nai with his whole face, crinkling those faint lines at the outer corners of his eyes. so soft. so fond.

"I love you too, kiddo."

it's one of the only times Conrad calls him that, and for some reason, Nai wants to cry…but he doesn't. he's feverishly drifting somewhere between sleep and wakefulness, and as sick as he is, he knows he'll be okay.

[feekins]

took fking months to finish BUT BEHOLD: MY DADSON CONKNI HEATFIC 😁😁😁

(🔗 in replies)

[feekins]

ok but Conrad quickly learning that teen Nai represses the shit out of everything and that, if left unchecked, it comes out in compulsively self-destructive ways. obviously there's the occasional tantrum - Nai screaming himself hoarse (sometimes at Conrad), physically lashing out at his surroundings (but never at Conrad), sometimes in ways that result in him accidentally hurting himself - cuts, bumps, bruises, a pulled muscle. it happens. but the bandaged fingertips are another story.

Conrad asks what happened exactly ONCE - bc Nai gets so prickly, so defensive about it...he even holds the injury out of sight whenever he's around Conrad. and of course it heals completely, no scar, no lasting trauma, just another pretty fingertip, nail neatly trimmed, cuticle clean and perfect. then, one day, Conrad catches Nai lost in thought...chewing through the bandages around the tip of his thumb...and Conrad pretends not to notice, looks away as he calls Nai's attention to something they're working on, and Nai is focused again, but he seems...bothered, somehow...and again, he's careful to hide his injury.

and Conrad is so! worried! about him! but he doesn't know how to have that conversation with him! it could easily go very very bad! besides, Conrad isn't a psychologist or a counselor - just a plant molecular biologist...which...could be the PERFECT angle to take, actually...

the next time Nai comes down to the lab with the tips of multiple fingers bandaged, Conrad waits until they've finished up everything for the day. then and ONLY then does he neutrally, very professionally offer to take a look at Nai's injuries. just to make sure he's healing properly. and of course, Nai is prickly and suspicious and turns him down at first, so Conrad's like "you're right, it's probably fine - it's just that a damaged nail bed tends to make it grow back weird. have you ever had an ingrown nail?" and of course Nai hasn't, and there's this proud part of him that's sure he never will, but...maybe it's okay to let Conrad look. just this once. he IS a doctor...

and Conrad plays it straight - he takes Nai back to the exam room, pulls on a clean pair of gloves, gathers supplies... Nai insists on taking the bandages off himself. Conrad lets him - it's important that this whole thing happens on Nai's terms. and when Conrad first lays eyes on the damage...it's not as bad as it could be, and it all looks to be healing well...but he can't get over the fact that it's self-inflicted. he keeps it professional, though, keeps his touch gentle, manipulating Nai's hands with such care, and Nai just watches, not knowing how to feel - bc Conrad doesn't scold, doesn't lecture, doesn't demand an explanation. instead, he offers to clean everything before they re-bandage - as an extra precaution, just to make ABSOLUTELY sure that no infections take hold. they both know this won't be the case...but Nai accepts Conrad's offer all the same. and of course Nai acts like it's a bother, but he never pulls away - not even when the disinfectant stings (which Conrad apologizes for).

something in Nai's chest is unwinding. his shoulders start to relax. he's quiet as Conrad applies antibiotic ointment and bandages everything back up...and then, when he's done, he takes both of Nai's hands into his own, just...holding. and STILL Nai doesn't pull away. not even when Conrad looks him RIGHT IN THE EYE and says something like "this is probably a stupid question, but I have to ask: are you okay?"

Nai doesn't know why he can't meet Conrad's gaze...but he DOES allow himself to mumble "...more than I was."

Conrad gives his hands a gentle squeeze (being careful of his fingertips), saying "and if you're ever not, you know my door's always open, right?"

a little nod - now, Nai does.

and it IS - time after time after time.

[feekins]

ADHD fun sometimes. it does silly shit like randomly remembering that part in Cloverfield where that chick who got bitten fuckin exploded and then connecting it to Current Hyperfixation like "mm...teen Nai with a perfectly benign tummy ache but scared bc he doesn't know what's happening to him, but he's STUBBORN and won't ask for help, so he just gets more and more scared the longer his tummy hurts, and the anxiety's making him feel sick, which scares him EVEN MORE and! maybe him and Vash once watched a scary movie or two featuring someone's torso exploding from the inside! or an alien bursting out of it! and Nai KNOWS that can't be the case with him but now he can't get those scenes out of his head, and he hurts, and he feels SO yucky, and he feels STUPID for being so scared

and eventually Conrad finds him just. sitting against the wall in a random hallway. hood up. cloak drawn around himself. and Nai refuses to get up, and it takes a lot of gentle prodding just for him to finally admit that he doesn't feel well. but he won't move. and when Conrad asks if it's okay to carry him to the exam room, Nai responds with just the most pathetic, obstinate little grumble, but he doesn't fight him, and Conrad doesn't say a word about that one arm looped around his neck or how reluctant Nai is to let go as he's set down on the exam table. and of course Nai won't just tell Conrad what specifically is wrong bc he's Embarrassed and Stubborn, but Conrad's so patient with him, asking simple questions to narrow things down, and then he indulges Nai with all the non-invasive procedures and exams he'll put up with to show him that everything's perfectly normal with him

and THAT'S when Nai finally lets himself admit it might just be stress getting to him...and it's impossible for him to hide how embarrassed and stupid he feels for getting so wound up over something so small - by now, it's just so easy for Conrad to see right through him, and he also knows Nai will NOT ask for help or comfort no matter how upset he gets. so Conrad offers to give Nai something to help settle his stomach - he'll still have a tummy ache but at least he won't feel so yucky - and sticks around "just in case you have a reaction to it" except what Conrad ACTUALLY does is sit with Nai and rub his back as he's curled up on the exam table feeling gross and dumb and trying not to cry about it

but once he's managed to calm down a little, Nai starts to open up. he mentions that ill-advised scary movie marathon he and Vash did years ago. Conrad asks about what they watched, and that gets Nai to open up a little more, and soon he's telling him about those scenes that scared him so much - and Conrad says something like "you're more brave than I was; I couldn't watch anything like that when I was that age... well. you know what I mean." and Nai doesn't expect that to make him laugh, but it does

and FOR SOME REASON that's what opens the flood gates. the next thing he knows, Nai's lying there sniffling, trembling from the sobs he's struggling to hold back - until Conrad's combing his fingers through his hair, and at last, Nai gives in and lets himself cry and cry - and Conrad doesn't make a big deal out of it, doesn't try to make him stop. he gently, so gently encourages Nai to just...let it all out. and he does. he cries until he feels like an empty vessel. it's a good kind of empty, though - like dumping lukewarm water out of a glass, like some strange weight has been lifted - and as his tears run dry, Nai is SO. EXHAUSTED. maybe he'll just...sleep a bit. just this once.

when he notices Nai's starting to nod off, of course Conrad offers to set him up somewhere that's actually comfortable...and of course Nai's fast asleep in his arms before the elevator even reaches the penthouse. Conrad carries him to the master bedroom, tucks him in, then heads out and gets back to work. he's not expecting Nai to still be there when he returns that evening, but there he is - and that's okay. Conrad's careful to be extra-quiet as he gets ready for bed, gets in the far side...only briefly reaches into Nai's personal bubble to tug the covers up over his shoulder. and yes, Conrad knows that, come sunrise, Nai will be long gone...but for now, he's here, safe and warm and loved and cared for - and tonight, not even his deepest fears can reach him..."

...anyway. yeah. that's what's playing in my turbo-unmedicated brain theater rn =u=

[feekins]

Finally posted a thing for Good Omens - 1992 words of me projecting my neurodivergencies on my favs. Again.

I'm extremely proud of this piece.

[feekins]

And I Won't Let You Choke, my 2nd Good Omens fanfic.

Summary: The eyes weren't the only serpentine trait Crowley retained regardless of what form he took. There were many - his strange tongue, his loose movement, his preference for warmer temperatures, his occasional hiss. Aziraphale was familiar with all of them, or at least, he thought he was. Even after 6000 years, the old serpent was full of surprises. This was fine. At least they were largely harmless surprises.

Except when they weren't.

[feekins]

Thanksgiving dinner at Dirk and Todd's new apartment was an incredible success, with the exception of one tiny, unfortunate detail - which, according to Dirk, was actually very Big and Devastating and Not, In Any Way, His Fault. Todd begged to differ - gently, though, because obviously, something was upsetting Dirk. Figuring out what was just a matter of time, patience...and an unexpected heart-to-heart on the bathroom floor.

Rated: T (for language)

[feekins]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Gotham (TV) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Oswald Cobblepot & Edward Nygma Characters: Oswald Cobblepot, Edward Nygma Additional Tags: Nygmobblepot Week 2018, Sharing a Bed, Can Be Read As Pre-Slash or Ambiguous Relationship, Post 2x09, Apartment-Era, Slice of Life, References to 14th-Century English Texts, Semi-Graphic Description of Healing Wounds, Content So Sweet It Will Give You Cavities And Make You Cry Out Of Happiness Summary:

When Ed wakes up unusually early, he doesn't expect Oswald to be awake, too. It’s welcome company, though, their mutual not-quite-consciousness in the soft stillness of pre-dawn.

[feekins]

Okay so I've already made 2 posts about this, but neither of them are showing up in the tags for me, so...third time's a charm?

Anyhow, on Monday night, I posted my fic for the Nygmobblepot Week prompt, "sharing a bed." It takes place during Oswald's stay at Ed's apartment in s2, and it's really sweet, and I worked really hard on it and I'm super proud of how it turned out, so please consider giving it a read! :,D

EDIT: Didn't realize I had my blog set to not show up in searches, lol sorry;;;;;;:

[feekins]

So hey, don’t think about several months to a year in the future, after Oswald’s returned and he and Ed have managed to reconcile with one another.

Don’t think about Oswald deciding to go to bed early, right in the middle of collaborating with Ed on some new dastardly scheme - and don’t think of the guilty look Ed casts in his direction as he leaves the room. Don’t think about Oswald all curled up under plush blankets, trying to sleep but unable to because of the pain from a wound that didn’t heal properly. Don’t think about the door creaking open and closed so softly, Oswald doesn’t hear it. Don’t think about the surprise he feels when Ed slips into bed beside him, still fully dressed (except for his shoes and coat, of course). Don’t think about Ed settling right up against Oswald’s back like they were made to fit together. Don’t think about Ed wordlessly slipping one hand under Oswald’s shirt to rest, warm and apologetic, over a gnarled scar from a wound he himself dealt.

Finally, whatever you do, don’t think about Oswald gently clasping a hand over Ed’s, because he forgave him a long time ago.

[feekins]

A Little Lace Never Hurt

A Nygmobblepot Fanfiction

SUMMARY: A non-smutty yet very self-indulgent fic about pre-election Oswald, Ed, and pretty lacy underthings. Also a smattering of asexuality. That’s really all there is to say on the matter. I fully blame @blackratchet for this because they really should not encourage my weirdo soopar-seekrit let’s-put-all-my-faves-in-lingerie aesthetic. Please enjoy, and have a happy Valentine’s Day, my fellow Nygmobblepotheads! :3c

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

“...did you forget to throw out your stepmother’s clothes?”

“Whatever are you talking ab-?”

Upon turning around, Oswald immediately wished he hadn’t. His face blanched, eyes boggled, posture stiffened, like a boy whose parents had just discovered something particularly lewd tucked away under his mattress.

It wasn’t too far from the truth about his present predicament.

He knew it was a mistake to let his friend help him finish dressing for the day. Of course it wasn’t necessary, but Ed had insisted, and who was he to deny him? At the very least, they hadn’t started from scratch. As it was, Oswald stood there in naught but trousers and a dress shirt, though he felt so embarrassed he might as well have been naked. Before him, Ed cut a fine figure in his handsomely deep green suit. Any other time, he might have appreciated such perfect tailoring and pleasing form - but not now.

Not when Ed was peering into an open dresser drawer full of lacy, delicate, decidedly non-masculine underpants.

“I’d say stepsister, but this is the master bedroom,” the taller man continued, pulling the drawer open a little further. It would have been humiliating enough had Ed not then hesitantly reached in to prod through all the different pairs. “Though I will say, for her age, she was quite a small woman, wasn’t she?”

“N-Not really,” Oswald squeaked out.

Damn Ed for being so inquisitive. Damn him for his persistence. And damn himself for being too horrified to do anything to stop him!

A pause. Ed’s hand stilled. Then he extended his fingers again, brushing aside prettier panties to reveal several rather unremarkable pairs of boxer briefs underneath. Oswald’s stomach flipped horribly at the comprehending, bemused look Ed shot him, nearly flinched at how his too-bright teeth flashed in a grin.

“I see. Trophies?”

The fact that he didn’t faint from the sudden rush of blood to his face was both a surprise and a terrible disappointment.

“No! It’s not like-!”

“It’s alright! I completely understand!”

No, Mister Edward Nygma, you most certainly do not, Oswald’s mind screamed back.

“It’s not an uncommon behavior among murderers! It’s sentimental, something to remember the victim, the crime, the thrill of the hunt, if you will-”

“Ed, that’s not-!”

“I kept Miss Kringle’s glasses, remember? This is no different - though I admit, I never pegged you for this type of, um...” The taller man chuckled, gesturing to the thin lace, the soft colors, the occasional simple but elegant print. And Oswald, poor Oswald, he wanted nothing more than to shrivel up right there and die. If ever there was a time for someone to attempt to assassinate Gotham’s soon-to-be mayor, oh, how he wished it was now!

Still oblivious to his friend’s embarrassment, Ed prattled on, speaking much too enthusiastically and fast, “What I mean is, I don’t recall you ever expressing much interest in women - or anyone, for that matter, but that’s neither here nor there. People look sometimes. It’s only natural-”

Oswald bristled because Ed, there is NOTHING natural let alone DECENT about ogling people like that, why on EARTH does everyone think it is and why do YOU of all people buy into that garbage, too?!

“-but you don’t! I noticed that about you! You also never talk about your sex life, so it’s either nonexistent or you’re very private about it.”

“Edward, please.”

Leaning a little heavier on his cane, Oswald brought a hand to his face. Sure enough, his skin burned against his palm and fingers. This conversation was not happening.

“Either way...wow, why women’s underwear, Oswald? If you don’t mind me saying, it doesn’t exactly fit in with the whole.....you. The Penguin persona. There’s also the fact that she was your stepmother, which makes this a little questionable, but I assure you I’m not passing any judgment-”

“Oh my God.”

“So - it’s fine! Again, trophies! I understand!” Ed chuckled again. Judging by the way he withdrew his hand from the drawer and by the faint pink starting to dust his cheeks, it seemed the subject of the conversation was finally catching up to him. Still, he pressed on unflinchingly, “Incredible, though. I learn something new about you ev-”

“NO, THEY’RE MINE, ED!”

Silence settled over the bedroom. Face falling in an instant, Ed stared down at him, baffled by the sudden outburst. It took all of Oswald’s willpower not to shrink away. In that moment, the awkwardness, the self-abasement gripping him was so strong he could throw up. But he couldn’t escape from this, couldn’t even look away. Best to deal with it now, and head-on. After all, his dearest, closest friend was bound to find out about this thing sooner or later.

At long last, Ed broke the silence, breathing, “...beg pardon?”

Oswald swallowed hard, not sure if the lump in his throat was from fear, humiliation, nausea, or a vile cocktail of all three. He averted his eyes, forced himself to draw in a deep breath before opening his mouth again. When he spoke, his voice was so small, so indignantly strained.

“That...underwear. It’s mine. All of it.”

The bafflement lingered, all too evident in Ed’s tone.

“That’s. What. I’m saying, Oswald, they’re-”

“They’re not trophies.”

With that, Oswald turned, moving unsteadily toward the large walk-in closet. He wasn’t running away. He wasn’t. Not really. Behind him came a roll and tap of wood on wood - the closing of the underwear drawer - and Ed was following after him, still undeterred.

“If they’re not trophies, then why would you have them?”

“For the love of-! Why else, Ed?!”

He didn’t know what possessed him to do it - frustration, his damnedable predisposition to melodramatics, to shut Ed up, whatever. All Oswald knew was that one moment, he was rounding on the other man. The next, he’d undone his trousers and yanked his waistband down - just enough to reveal an edge of black lace riding low on his hips.

Finally, everything clicked - or seemed to, anyway.

Palpable realization hit Ed full in the face....which, incidentally, Oswald had never seen turn quite that red before. Another moment or so, and the smaller man all but ripped his eyes from the other, mumbling as he zipped and buttoned himself back up, “Like I said. They’re mine. For me - just me. To wear.”

The seconds ticked on, dragging indefinitely, it seemed. Ed’s silence only made Oswald more painfully self-conscious, more distantly ashamed. His secret was out, and for all the world, he wished it wasn’t. He pushed past Ed, desperately willing the moment to pass and time to resume.

“Now can we please get back to getting dressed?”

“....Right. I’m sorry.”

An outfit was picked out. Colors and accessories were coordinated. The tension was impossibly thick in the air as they stood before the mirror, eyes averted, cheeks still burning bright. Oswald followed his silent chief of staff’s reflection as he retrieved today’s vest. After knowing him for so long, Ed had to be shocked, incredulous, revolted. Men like Oswald didn’t just-!

“Is that your kink?”

Well. That was one way of getting the embarrassed Penguin’s attention.

“...what?”

Ed opened his mouth, closed it, licked his lips, then haltingly spoke up again. He still wouldn’t look at Oswald - not that Oswald could blame him.

“Do you...have...a cross-dressing kink?”

“No!”

“Sorry. I thought...better to ask then assume, right?”

“Oh. Yes. I suppose...”

That scandalized look faded from Oswald’s face, and silence settled back upon them. After helping him into the vest, Ed retreated to fetch their next garment. For a moment, Oswald fidgeted with his cuffs, still quite unsettled.

“.........I’m not-!”

Now it was Ed’s turn to glance over in surprise. Oswald fidgeted a little more, pulled at his sleeves, then began again.

“Ed, you should...um. Truth be told, I don’t...do...those sort of things.”

“...what sort of things?

“Oh, you know,” he replied with a vague wave of his hand, trying and failing to act casual about the whole thing, even while his face and ears were still burning. “That. Kinks. Any, ah....carnal activities, really. That is to say, I don’t-”

“-engage in...?”

“No.”

“Ah. You’re non-sexual?”

Their eyes met, and.....somehow, Oswald felt a little less vulnerable, a little less threatened. He even managed a small smile as he nodded, “Yes. Precisely.”

Ed gave a thoughtful nod. Up came his coat, and Oswald slipped into it easily. His earlier embarrassing reveal aside, it felt as if they’d come to a bit of an understanding. Maybe...Ed had moved on?

“I...apologize for making you uncomfortable.”

“No, it’s...okay.”

“...I’m still curious, though. Why do you wear...?”

Like that, the fear and shame flared right back up again. Oswald stiffened, swallowed hard. It was still weird. It was still not right. He shouldn’t have let Ed help him. He didn’t understand. He wouldn’t, he couldn’t. Even so, Oswald racked his brain, planned his words carefully as he folded his arms tightly across his chest. After all, Ed had already seen all...or, close enough. How much further could Oswald possibly fall?

It took a moment for him to realize Ed had stopped moving to help. He stood beside him empty-handed, watching him expectantly. This did nothing to calm Oswald’s nerves.

At long last, he shrugged, explaining softly, “I just.....I like how I look and feel in them, that’s all.”

He glanced back over to Ed, and....that smile he found waiting for him was pleasantly unexpected, red though his friend’s cheeks still shone.

“Those are some good reasons. Now...!”

Like that, the moment had passed. Ed looked him up and down, assessing their work so far.....brown eyes lingering a little too long on the other’s hips.

Shoving down the urge to smirk, Oswald pretended not to notice.

“I know we were originally going to go with something simpler for the cuff links,” Ed continued distractedly, “but now I’m thinking...the silver ones with black inlay?”

Relief washed over him. Ed didn’t mind. He wasn’t mad, he wasn’t disgusted. Finally, Oswald was able to relax. With a shrug and a grateful look, he replied, “Well...I think I’ll just trust your judgment on this one, friend.”

After all, Ed did have quite good taste.

Oswald just didn’t expect for further proof of this to show up a few days later, when he’d all but forgotten about the...incident.

It was set carefully on his pillow, all wrapped nicely in tissue paper and ribbon, with a telltale green question mark scrawled in one corner. Oswald opened the gift without suspicion. The moment he set eyes on what was inside, though, he gasped and dropped it on the floor, blushing wildly.

A pair of deep aubergine pinstriped boxer briefs, its trim and paneling on the sides an intricate lace, stared innocently up at him.

And Oswald didn’t know which he wanted to do more: to scream at Ed or to kiss him.

[feekins]

Apropos of Wet Pavement

A Nygmobblepot Fanfiction

SUMMARY: Nothing can spoil Oswald’s good mood the evening he picks up Ed from Arkham Asylum…..well, almost nothing. A one-shot to the tune of 5,800+ words containing hurt/comfort, many stomach butterflies, benign invasion of personal space, one worksafe bathtub scene, and a particularly perturbed and petulant Penguin.

My third and longest piece I’ve written for this fandom. Please enjoy! Comments and critiques are always welcome! :D

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

It hurts when it rains - not every time, not always immediately, but often enough to be considered a pattern and a nuisance. It must have something to do with pressure changes, he thinks. When the weather takes a turn for the dreary, it’s only a matter of time until that telltale twinge starts up again. Sometimes it’s a simple, constant ache. Other times, there’s this awful sharpness to it that’s so unlike any of Oswald’s usual muscle pains in that leg, the soreness that comes with his unnatural way of walking. Out of nowhere, it pierces through him, and that’s when he knows it’s going to be another one of Those Days.

Mind you, Gotham’s newest politician can push through the pain just fine. He’s been doing it to some capacity all his life. That occasional sudden stab is something else, though. It’s unpredictable, cropping up at any time of day and lingering anywhere from mere minutes to several hours….and there’s nothing he can do about it.

Of course, it’s the last thing on his mind the evening he picks up Ed from Arkham.

Soft, planing splashes as the limousine barrels through puddles. The larger ones pull slightly at the tires, but for the most part, such great patches of standing water are few and far between on this particular route. It’s all background noise to Oswald, all in one ear and out the other. He’s restless in his seat, legs crossed tight, fingers ever fidgeting and shifting their grip on his cane. One might mistake it for nervous energy if not for the wide, barely-contained smile on his face.

“This is it.”

No reply; Aside from him, the back seats are empty. While the Penguin still has his eyes out the window, the outside world does not quite register to him. Back alleys, decrepit stoops, brick buildings of all shapes and sizes roll by unseen. Oswald gives a brief squirm, lets out a happy little hum, swept up as he is in his own fervent anticipation.

Getting closer left turn then straight to the gates closer yes soon.

“My dear friend is finally coming home!”

It feels so good, so reaffirming to say it aloud, even if there’s no one there to hear him. Just having those words flow from his mouth makes the situation and its immediacy that much more real to him. Oswald really is moments away from seeing Ed again - only this time, there will be no fences, no guards, no distant din of the deranged. At long last, Ed will be a free man.

Free…

The smile fades, if minutely, tightens and thins. Memories of his own release from Arkham flutter unbidden before his mind’s eye. The happy, naïve daze. His torment at the hands of Butch and Tabitha. Visiting Ed at his apartment… Oswald doesn’t blame him for ultimately turning him away. If he’s honest with himself, he knows he would have done the same. Ed’s current predicament is very different from that, though. For one thing, he is perfectly sane - as opposed to the ruined, pathetic state Professor Strange had left Oswald in. For another, his friend simply cannot turn him away to fend for himself. By now, the green-bathed studio apartment they both know and love has likely long been in the hands of a new tenant. Oswald knows nothing about Ed’s parents, but he feels it’s safe to assume it’s unlikely he would receive any assistance from them.

Without Oswald, Ed has nothing. That much is plain to see.

He needs to get back on his feet. He needs to be in a stable environment where he can reestablish himself. He needs a home. Oswald is more than happy to provide that. They’re such good friends, and it’s not like they haven’t shared a living space before. Besides, there’s plenty of room at the mansion, too much for one man. Ed should be able to settle in most comfortably.

Familiar buildings loom ahead. They grab Oswald’s attention, pull him from his reverie, and a new burst of excitement courses through him. By the time the limousine pulls up to the gates, it’s reached a fever pitch, manifesting as a fluttering in his stomach, jittering in joyful anticipation. Two figures stand outside, one just inside the gate and one outside of it. It’s all he can do not to throw the car door open then and there. Instead, Oswald quickly moves to shuffle closer to it, uncrossing his legs and pushing away with his feet.

It’s been a long day. The soreness is to be expected. The sharp pang through his ankle isn’t. A sudden intake of breath through his nose and a grimace, but the Penguin is undeterred. More shuffling and he’s at the window, rolling it down, then using his good leg to half-stand, thrusting his head and shoulders out into the cool night air. How his face hasn’t split in two from how hard he’s grinning is beyond him.

“Hello, old friend!”

And now, it’s real.

Right there before the wrought-iron gate, Ed smiles warmly back at him. He’s free, officially sane, out of those horrid black and white stripes, and…….yes, that’s definitely the sweater Oswald sent him, and it aches how incredibly happy his heart is at this realization. He doesn’t wait for Ed’s approach. The man has barely taken two steps before Oswald’s opening the door, beckoning enthusiastically, “Come, come! No reason to stay any longer than we need to!”

The grin Ed gives him in response is breathtaking.

“Agreed.”

One last look over his shoulder at the now-closed gate, at the meek old head of the asylum’s retreating back, then Ed closes the distance between him and the car, sliding into the seat directly across from his excited benefactor. By the time the door is closed, he’s already falling back into the habit of forgetting the concept of personal space. At one time, it was off-putting, but now, the way Ed leans in and clasps the other’s hands in his is more than welcome.

“I don’t know how you did it, but thank you, Oswald.”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about!” All sweet words and light, feigned innocence. Then, as he too leans forward, his tone shifts and his hands clasp back. “But it is truly a delight to see you, Ed, and to have you back in the real world!”

A slight lurch as the limousine rolls into a slow three-point turn. The larger of the two pairs of hands briefly squeezes before releasing and retreating to their owner’s lap.

“I’m glad to be here.”

Another lurch, and the limousine finally pulls away, putting Arkham Asylum behind them for good - God willing, of course.

“You’d been in that wretched place long enough,” Oswald nods. “Too long, to be honest, but I count our blessings. I’m only sorry I didn’t do this soo-” 

Ed cuts him off with a wave of his hand. “Don’t be. Even if Professor Strange had allowed it, it would have looked suspicious and…likely worked against your public image and reputation. And bad press is the last thing you need right now, no?”

“No indeed,” Oswald all but beams. For the umpteenth time this ride, he squirms in his seat for a second, just enough to get comfortable and shake off a little of the giddy restlessness…right as the car rolls over a pothole. The resulting jolt goes straight to Oswald’s right foot. Right on cue, another stab laces through his ankle and lower leg. He only just manages to bite back a sharp gasp.

“Oswald?”

So that’s how it’s going to be - not one-and-done, but persistent. And now Ed’s giving him this look, mouth troubled, brow creased. The sharp pain in his ankle recedes into a dull but deep, inexplicable soreness, like sensitive teeth after a sip of ice water. Oswald shifts again, bringing up his mal-aligned foot to cross and rest casually atop his left leg. As he does so, he’s sure to flash Ed a disarming smile.

“Yes?”

No answer at first. Part of him hates the way Ed’s eyes bore into his own in the silence. Lovely as they are, they’re too critical, too perceptive. It’s like they’re strip-searching him from the inside out, but for what? Fortunately, it’s over in an instant. Ed shakes his head and his expression relaxes, save for a growing smirk - one that’s all too familiar.

Oswald knows exactly what’s coming.

“Work with or without me, whichever you pick. Success is assured if to me you stick. What am I?”

A chuckle, then, “I have no idea.”

“…Are you sure you don’t want to take a guess?”

“Out with it, Edward!”

“Plan! It’s a plan,” comes Ed’s gleeful answer, “something which you obviously have, or else I’d still be staring at a gray wall. So, my friend… Care to fill me in?”

“I thought you’d never ask!” Despite the pain lingering in his foot, Oswald can’t help but grin back.

No. He’s not going to let his stupid leg ruin this night.

——————————

The rest of the ride back to the mansion is blessedly uneventful, their time spent catching up with one another and conspiring. Absorbed as they are in their conversation, it comes as a surprise to both of them when, at long last, a lackey pulls the door open for them. Ed peers out…and right away, his eyebrows rise.

“You weren’t kidding when you said it was a mansion.”

There’s another little fluttering within Oswald as he watches Ed’s expression fill with an almost childlike wonder. He could sit here forever, he thinks, just drinking in his dear friend’s quiet awe. Ed must not get out of the city very often. Part of Oswald wonders just how much of his life he’s spent amidst all those skyscrapers, walking those busy streets, breathing that thick, smoggy air. Then again, such industrialism suits Ed. The old apartment had been a testament to that. Out here, it’s as if he’s stepped into a different world. The way Ed goggles up at the mansion before him, it’s as if he’s gazing upon some old English castle.

“It meets your expectations, I hope?” The Penguin grins coyly.

“Not at all, actually…” With that, Ed turns back to him, looking just as playful. “I’m sorry, Oswald, but your descriptions of it do not do it justice.”

Pride swells in his chest, pride and warmth towards the man before him. It only intensifies when Ed then gestures toward the door.

“After you!”

“No, no,“ Oswald waves, “go on, I insist!”

Ed doesn’t need to be told twice. Certificate of sanity and meager belongings in hand, he steps out and away to take in as much of the mansion’s perennial grandeur and charm as possible. Oswald follows suit…and the regret hits instantly.

“Ah-!”

No sooner than his foot taps down on the rain-slick driveway, the stabbing pain is back, and it’s so much worse now that he’s put his full weight on it. On the inside, Oswald is mortified, hyper-aware of the two sets of eyes suddenly fixed so intently on him, following his every move.

“Boss…?”

“Are you alright?”

But Oswald, stubborn as he is, is already out of the car. He can see the concern written all over Ed’s face as clear as day, and in his peripheral, the nameless lackey is a little closer, reaching out to help. Something about it all sets off a little spark of fury within him.

“Fine!” Oswald snaps, all but slapping helpful hands aside. “Just. Fine.”

He doesn’t care if they buy it or not. Gripping his cane a little tighter, he moves forward, stone-faced against the shooting pain that comes with every other step. The lackey retreats, and he hears the car door closing behind him. Smart man.

Ed, on the other hand, trails after Oswald, following a little too closely. It’s grating now, only making his annoyance and self-consciousness spike.

“You’re sure?”

“Absolutely.”

Not another word is spoken between them as they head inside. By now, the mansion is near-empty, all but a handful of bodyguards having retreated to their respective homes for the evening. Silence surrounds them, broken only by their own footsteps and the errant creaks and groans of the building’s age. It’s a wonder Oswald’s troublesome joints aren’t doing similar. Needless to say, he decides against the full house tour he’d been planning earlier. Besides, all Ed really needs to see tonight is his personal quarters. Such a shame, though; He’d really been looking forward to sitting down and catching up further over tea…

“I’ll show you to your room.” He doesn’t mean for it to come out so clipped. Nettlesome though his too-close presence is, Ed is hardly deserving of his ire at the moment.

“…by all means, lead the way.”

No sooner than his friend replies, Oswald makes a beeline for the stairway - and if looks could kill, the whole damn thing would be on fire right now. As it is, it endures his stare down. It’s mocking him, but he is not so easily defeated, even as he pauses at its very feet. To be honest, he does have half a mind to ask Ed for assistance…..but unfortunately, the other, more stubborn half of him wins out.

Just get it over with…

With a deep breath, Oswald steels himself and starts climbing. It’s a miserable process, to say the least. His ankle twinges dreadfully. He can feel his knee creaking in protest. Thank goodness he has such little distance left to walk today - and thank goodness the pain isn’t getting any worse. Awful though it is, it’s something he can live with a little longer, long enough to wash up and get to bed. Those promises serve as his motivation, driving him to keep putting one foot in front of the other. Then, barely halfway up the stairs, a strong arm snakes around Oswald’s back and under his arm. He nearly jumps out of his skin, feels his cane slip, but then Ed’s beside him, all but half-supporting, half-carrying him.

“What’re you-?!”

“Right, I think that’s enough of that, Mr. Penguin!”

“Unhand me this instant!”

“I’m sorry, Oswald. I’m afraid I can’t do that!” Adjusting - no, tightening his hold on him, Ed adds, “You know, there’s no harm in asking for help.”

“I don’t need help,” Oswald bites out indignantly, and yet… Despite his anger and reluctance, he finds himself leaning against, putting his trust in the warm body beside him all the same.

It doesn’t go unnoticed.

“Don’t you?”

When he makes the mistake of glancing up for a particularly resentful glower, he’s met with none other than that infuriating smile Ed gets when he knows he’s right about something. Just as Oswald’s about to protest further, his friend cuts him off with, “Your leg’s been bothering you all night. In the car, before my plan riddle? You flinched.”

“I did not-!”

“And that was a cry of pain when you were getting out of the car. Also, your limp is obviously worse! You’re leaning on your cane much more than usual. You are dragging your foot more than usual. You look incredibly unstable…”

Now, Oswald begins to feel convicted. With every point he’s made thus far, Ed’s tone has gradually shifted from self-satisfied to brutally honest and firm. It’s the same tone he’d used back at the apartment when he’d explained why the injured Penguin needed to lie low and recover. His friend is right and they both know it. Oswald’s about ready to concede defeat just as they come upon the last stair, but…

“…and for someone who claims to be fine, you’re being awfully defensive.”

With a huff, he pulls away from the taller man the moment they step onto the landing. It’s a shaky move, one that has Ed taking his arm to help steady him - and damn it all, even now, he can’t make himself pull away. The next thing Oswald knows, he’s being steered down the hallway, and he releases a long-suffering sigh.

“Ed, what are you doing now?”

“Change of plans. I’ll take you to your bedroom, then you can tell me where mine is.”

“That won’t be necessary, I can-”

“Oswald.”

Ed stops them dead in their tracks. The Penguin can feel him trying to seek out his eyes and defiantly keeps his head down in response. It’s so childish of him, he knows this. He almost expects Ed to force his chin up…but he does no such thing.

“Oswald.”

Damn it all, he can’t not meet the other’s steady gaze. Ed’s entirely too earnest, too understanding in this moment, even before he continues, “You don’t have to tell me what’s really going on. Just whether or not there’s anything I can do.”

It takes a surprising amount of effort to force down the inexplicable guilt and vexation, and even more not to look away. Oswald swallows, licks his lips.

“No. I can take care of it myself.”

The other’s expression is unreadable.

“I mean it. Leave it alone, Ed.”

At long last, a slow smile - one that Oswald isn’t sure he trusts - breaks the spell. “Very well! I’m still helping you to your room, though.”

Oswald doesn’t even try to hold back a loud grumble. He lets Ed pull him along just another few steps, until for the sake of pettiness, he replies, “Then you might want to turn around, because we just walked right past it.”

“….Of course.”

A pause, then a pivot, and Ed helps him back to the ornate door to the master bedroom.

Let it not be said that Oswald hadn’t been able to get in the final insult.

——————————

The mirror is completely fogged up by the time Oswald slips into the tub. With a drawn-out sigh, he sinks down until the faintly pink water laps at his ears, luxuriating in the warmth that envelopes him. Already, the mess of stiff muscles all up and down his bad leg begins to unravel. If only it could have the same effect on his mind. Tired blue eyes flutter open. A faint scowl creases Oswald’s brow. He sits up, hunches over slightly, pulls his left leg up to rest his chin atop his knee. Before him, one hand cuts through the water just below the surface. Rosy particles swirl and dance, foam twists and curls. After a moment, his scowl deepens. A hand comes up, up out of the water…….then splashes down through the middle of the spectacle.

Tonight, not even a bath can distract this Penguin from his brooding.

It’s not often that Oswald finds himself questioning his own actions. He’s always so self-assured, so passionate, throwing himself so completely into all that he does. His own emotions sweep him up so easily, and sometimes this gets him into trouble, but never anything that’s insurmountable. Tonight is no different.

His foot is the source of his sour mood. That much is obvious. As he reviews this conclusion, Oswald releases his leg and slips down low in the water again, stretching across the full length of the tub. A moment’s hesitation, and then he gives his right foot an experimental push against the tub wall. Shooting pain, as piercing as the first time earlier that evening. He hisses, then sputters, having accidentally drawn a bit of water in between his teeth. Coughing as he pulls himself upright again, Oswald shakes his head, wet bangs slapping at his temples.

Stupid.

It hurts, but it’s not much different from the muscle aches that plague him daily. He can deal with it. He knows he can. Why can’t they see that? Anger boils up inside of Oswald, rises like bubbles in a flute of sparkling champagne. His mind first flashes to the man who’d opened the limousine door, who’d tried to grab him when he’d stepped out. The brazen fool was lucky his boss hadn’t just lopped off those offending hands then and there. And Ed…

Out whistles a sullen breath, anger turning to irresolute bewilderment. Ed is his friend. Why in the world is Oswald mad at him? It feels as if it should be so instinctively obvious, but as he racks his mind, the reasoning behind the rage eludes him. Ed really hasn’t done anything wrong. From their arrival at the mansion, Ed has only shown concern for his wellbeing - and for whatever reason, this grates on him.

With both hands, the Penguin gathers up as much foam as he can hold. So fluffy, so fragrant, glistening so prettily in the light…until Oswald brings his hands together and squeezes the foam between his fingers, letting it dribble down his arms and back into the water. This shouldn’t be an issue, not after all they’ve been through, after how far they’ve come. Ed has seen Oswald at his very lowest and subsequently helped him in countless ways. For that, he is grateful. But this…? Somehow, this feels like too much. It’s stifling and thus infuriating because he doesn’t want that from Ed, doesn’t want him to give him that look of…

…oh.

Something within him sinks. Oswald scowls again, draws his left leg back up and hugs it to his chest. That fluttering feeling in his stomach has returned, but this time, it’s uneasy. It eats at his core, vindicates him so cruelly.

The epiphany comes out soft, barely above a whisper.

“…I don’t want him to pity me.”

It’s irrational - no, it’s completely stupid. So what if Ed’s worried? Why should such a thing bother him? Why should Oswald Cobblepot care? His scowl deepens, his arms tighten around his leg. He’s strong, unrelenting, unshakable. His earlier show of anger had been completely justified, he thinks. He had to show them he was capable, not fragile. He’s the goddamn kingpin of Gotham’s underworld! He can take care of himself! They all need to know that!

But Ed isn’t another henchman or business partner. He’s always been so much more than that. Over the past year or so, he’s become so close, so dear. He knows him in ways no one else ever has before, and he accepts him for who and what he is. Perhaps that’s why the thought of Ed pitying him hurts Oswald so.

He doesn’t know how long he sits there curled in on himself. He’s far too busy mulling everything over, just barely paying attention to how the foam around him gradually dissipates. When at last his mind comes back down to Earth, Oswald is surprised to find himself shivering: The bath water is practically lukewarm.

He’s never washed up so quickly, nor has he ever been so eager to pull the plug.

The pity, though… It nags at him, poisons his thoughts as he clambers out of the tub and goes through the motions of drying off, ever cautious of how he moves his bad leg and foot. Suppose Ed does pity Oswald. It throws their whole friendship into a different light, doesn’t it? All those times he’s helped him out, tended to both his broken body and tormented mind…all because he’s felt bad for him? It’s an awful realization, one that makes Oswald feel distantly sick, because if Ed’s only stuck around because he feels sorry for him…

The force with which Oswald scrubs his towel over his head is completely unnecessary for the simple act of drying his hair. When at last he abandons his towel, his hair stands up every which way, a reflection of his troubled state of mind. Maybe…it had been a mistake to help Ed out of Arkham Asylum, if that’s how he really felt about Oswald. That thought hurts worse than his leg as he limps out into the bedroom. To his exasperation, it seems a long, hot soak isn’t sufficient treatment for tonight’s aches and pains. Oswald’s knee still feels stiff, his foot taut, his ankle laced with that piercing twinge. It’s enough to elicit from him an actual whine before he finally reaches the bed and seats himself on the edge.

Nope, he thinks, snatching up his pajamas, folded so neatly down by the footboard. I’m not dealing with any more of this tonight. Not Ed, not the pain, not-

A gentle knocking at the bedroom door cuts through the silence. Thinking his mind is playing tricks on him, Oswald decides to ignore it and goes back to pulling his boxers and pants the rest of the way up his hips.

The knocking resumes, a little louder this time.

“…Oswald? Oswald? Are you still awake?”

“…..oh, to hell with it.”

Grumbling under his breath, the Penguin shrugs on his silk night shirt and grabs his cane from where it’s propped up against the nightstand. The world is all bent against him tonight, he just knows it. Within seconds - terrible, agonizing seconds - Oswald is wrenching the door open, glare in place, lips pressed together in a tight, thin line.

“I said leave it alone. Didn’t you hear me?”

The smart little grin on Ed’s face makes Oswald want to scream.

“I did! I just decided not to listen. Your leg isn’t still bothering you, is it?“

“Not that it’s any of your business, but yes.” The shorter of the two shifts in the doorway, hoping against hope his friend doesn’t notice the way he winces before putting all his weight on his good leg. Ed’s brow creases, and with that, Oswald regrets getting up and answering the door, feeling his already low spirits sink a little lower.

Please don’t give me that look…

“I see. May I come in?”

Somehow, he still can’t refuse him. Making a show of rolling his eyes, he steps away, leaving Ed to let himself in. It’s terrible how guarded, how wary Oswald feels right now. He shouldn’t be feeling this way, not around Ed, but the new doubts linger. Biting the inside of his cheek at the ever-present aches and the shooting pain, he beats a slow, wobbly retreat to his bed. He doesn’t have to look to know the other man is right on his tail.

“So tell me, my friend,” Oswald announces sardonically as he settles back down on the mattress and turns a leery eye to his pursuer, “What part of ‘I can take care of it’ do you not understand?”

“Oh, I understand completely; However, considering the circumstances, I have to disagree.”

Oswald narrows his eyes and doesn’t even try to hold back an incensed scoff. Ed takes a seat near the foot of the bed - this time, giving the other a little space. He sets something down beside him, but Oswald isn’t paying attention to it. Ed’s brow furrows, and he presses, “Oswald, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing. There is nothing wrong with not wanting help.”

“And why is it that you don’t want help?”

“Because this isn’t the same as last time, Ed!”

He isn’t helpless, damn it. He doesn’t need coddling. The mere thought of it makes Oswald’s mouth curl into a sneer, practically daring Ed to just try it. Ed visibly retreats, straightens his back a little as he carefully considers his reply. It takes another moment for the confusion in his eyes to clear.

“You’re referring…to the time you recuperated at my apartment.”

“Yes.”

“I fail to see how that’s relevant to our current situation.”

Ed sounds so honest, so endlessly patient, it makes Oswald feel guilty, but he’s too caught up in his own frustration to even think of backpedaling now.

“Then allow me to elaborate,” he snarls. “When you found me, I was dying. I could not help myself. Now, as you can plainly see, I am neither of those things! This isn’t a gunshot wound to the back, Ed, this is something I am perfectly capable of managing on my own!”

“I understand that.”

“Then what are you doing here?!”

“I’m here to offer whatever help I can because you have been obviously hurting all evening and I am concerned.”

“Don’t be! I don’t want your pity!”

The moment the words fall from his mouth, Oswald’s tirade comes to a screeching halt. Alarmed, distantly hurt, Ed stares back at him. It makes Oswald much too self-conscious. Suddenly, he realizes he’s leaning in towards Ed as if seconds away from physically lashing out, his fists tightly balled in the duvet beneath him. And Ed… Dark eyes are locked on his, steady and searching and then understanding.

In that moment, Oswald feels so terribly small and vulnerable, like a baby bird moments away from being plucked from its nest by human hands.

“….pity?”

Oswald’s eyes drop to his lap. Maybe if he doesn’t say anything, Ed will let it go…

“Oswald? Is that what this is about?”

But now Ed’s leaning in to seek out his eyes. Oswald bristles at the sudden closeness but makes no move to draw away. He licks his lips even while his mouth is suddenly dry, then mumbles, “Maybe. Partially.”

No response. When at last he chances a fleeting glance upward, Oswald can see, practically hear the gears turning in the other man’s head. The silence is all the more unbearable for it.

And then, those brown eyes are locked on his once more, and the smile Ed offers him is small but encouraging.

“Well. In any case, I brought ice and a hot water bottle - whichever you need most.” He takes the items at his side, briefly lifting each one in turn for Oswald to see. Ed shuffles a little closer as he continues, “And… If it’s all the same to you, I’d like to take a look for myself. At your leg. Just to make sure it isn’t something serious.”

“Trust me, it isn’t.”

“Can I double-check? I promise I’ll be gentle.”

“I don’t think it can be fixed.”

“We’ll see what we can do.”

Ed’s too reassuring, too willing to help. It doesn’t banish all uneasiness from Oswald’s mind, but…

At a loss, Oswald lets out a blustery sigh and flops back against his many pillows. The awful doubts remain, the fear that his friend merely pities him, among other insecurities…and yet, part of him still desperately wants to trust, to let Ed in. Another part wishes to go back to being petulant about the whole thing.

And so, the Penguin makes a compromise.

“So, how are we doing this, Doctor Nygma?” Without waiting for a reply, Oswald draws both of his legs up onto the bed, grabs his waistband, and promptly shimmies out of his pajama pants.

It doesn’t have the desired effect on his friend.

“…That was hardly necessary,” Ed snorts, eyebrow raised in amusement. Undeterred, he moves in closer, now cross-legged before the smaller man, and reaches out to help work the other’s right foot free of the pant leg bunched up around it.

“I’d say the same thing about this, yet here we are.”

“And here we are. Show me where it hurts?”

There’s nothing remarkable about Ed’s examination, yet Oswald eventually finds himself paying attention to every detail, to all his friend does. Ed is careful, methodical, murmuring apologies whenever he moves his foot in a way that makes him flinch.

“…bone spur from a healed fracture, most likely. It could be part of why your foot’s turned this way, depending on what broke and the angle at which it healed…”

The smaller patient isn’t listening. Oswald’s mind drifts as a thumb smooths over the misshapen bump of his ankle. Large, warm hands continue to manipulate the limb. Fingers gently probe, trace curves of strained muscle. He doesn’t realize he’s being spoken to until Ed repeats himself, prompting him to look up like a deer caught in the headlights.

“Oswald. Why would I think you’re pitiful?”

His stomach clenches. Doubt, fear, hurt, all simmering deep within him, gnawing away at his insides all over again. Oswald doesn’t answer at first, but Ed doesn’t press the matter. He doesn’t tear his eyes from his, either.

After a moment, he lifts the foot in his hand. “Because of this?”

“…you’re always helping me so much,” Oswald murmurs at last. He shifts, fidgets, but unlike earlier, it’s all nerves. There’s that feeling again, that terrible vulnerability. It makes him want to clam right up. But the way Ed’s watching him, listening, and the unexpected softness of his expression and words, it drives him to continue.

“I’m grateful for…all of it. For you. But you’re too kind.” A forced chuckle, then, “No one’s that kind for no reason. I’m not that kind-”

“If that were true, I’d still be in Arkham. Or did you arrange for my early release out of pity?”

The idea is so absurd, Oswald can’t help but gape. “Of course not!”

“Then why?”

“Because I need you, Ed!”

It feels like the most indisputable, the most obvious of facts, and yet…..dear God, why is his heart racing? Why does he feel fit to burst into flame at any second? Why won’t that damn fluttering in his stomach stop?

Ed releases his foot. Oswald doesn’t remember when they’d moved to sit so close together - any closer and he’d be in his friend’s lap. Somehow, though, it isn’t at all obtrusive or uncomfortable, and Ed’s face is bright, warm as those gentle hands.

“I need you too, Oswald. My motivation is the same as it was the day I took you in. In some ways.”

Time stands still. He can’t remember the last time he’s felt this close to Ed - this moment simply doesn’t measure up to anything else they’ve shared before. Oswald feels impossibly light, almost giddy as he breathes, “What ways?”

“I still admire you. I still want to learn from you. But also, I’d like to continue being your friend for as long as possible.”

An immeasurable weight is lifted off Oswald’s shoulders, a weight he hadn’t realized he’d been carrying. The doubt is gone, along with the feelings of insecurity. He feels so happy, he can only grin so wide that his cheeks begin to ache. That happiness is contagious, it seems, for Ed’s smile only grows more tender.

In the end, there’s nothing that can be done to make the stabbing pain in Oswald’s ankle go away. Neither of them is bothered by this. After all, Ed has done all that he can and so much more. His hands return to the other’s foot to gently massage, working out whatever remaining stiffness he finds. Oswald’s content to lie there and watch, his eyelids beginning to grow heavy.

It isn’t anything like the evening he’d originally planned for the two of them. Somehow, it’s more intimate, and Oswald finds he wouldn’t trade any part of it for the world - not even the pain.

[feekins]

Their first kiss is far from picturesque or perfect.

Teeth accidentally clatter, making both of them flinch. Graceless lips move together, working their way through this new territory through trial and error - after all, they both have so much to learn about this sort of thing. It’s so wet and snotty, and Oswald can’t stop crying, but this only makes Ed press in closer. They finally break when the smaller man starts sobbing in earnest. Ed holds Oswald, doesn’t comment on how fiercely the other is clinging to him, can’t care less about the wetness seeping into his lapel. He just holds him, warm and firm, pressing kisses into messy black hair.

He can’t believe how long it took for him to realize his second chance at love had been right there in front of him all along. He feels terrible about it, knowing how deeply the then-unrequited affection must have been hurting Oswald. That’s why, in this moment, Ed holds him as close as he can, prompts him to lift his head so he can come in for another softer, slower kiss.

He knows all’s been forgiven when he hears a thick laugh and feels Oswald’s mouth grinning against his.