#penguin plague mask

[yeetmysweetmeat]

🐧

[emi56y]

a plague doctor adopts a penguin

[crittercreations]

Day 25: Penguin

Not sure why I went for a French Revolution look, maybe I was thinking of Empoleon..

But I like it either way! Happy with the design and pose.

[greenglowinspooks]

(DCxDP) The obligations of a rogue versus those of a parent

—

Tw: vivisection mention (not in detail), bad Fenton parents

Will be crossposted to AO3 eventually

(Pt. 2 here) (Pt. 3 here)

(Masterlist/subscription post)

—

It was a dark, cold, miserable night, and Scarecrow, Jonathan Crane, wanted nothing more than to be home, covered in blankets with the heater set to max as he worked on his most recent strain of fear toxin.

Instead he was at the docks, standing in as backup for the Penguin as he made a deal with some sleaze-bag smugglers. Something about some sort of body armor for his hired help. Crane hadn’t really paid much attention to the Penguin’s words, only caring enough to show up because of the reward.

But honestly, he couldn’t care less about the money at this point.

He was cold, and miserable, and his leg hurt something fierce (he’d had chronic pains ever since being mauled by Killer Croc some time ago), and he was so, so close to a breakthrough with his new toxin, and he really couldn’t stand the Penguin anyways. The only thing keeping him there was his reputation as a rogue.

Just as Crane was deciding that the whole ordeal wasn’t worth it, he heard the sound of a chase a few blocks down. With a deep, heavy sigh, he moved from the wall he had been leaning against, looming in the alleyway as he waited for the potential threat to reveal itself.

A few moments later, a boy came careening into the alleyway, sliding to a stop when he noticed the Scarecrow, his eyes growing impossibly wide. Beneath the mask, Jonathan grinned.

The boy swore, loudly, glancing between Scarecrow and the exit of the alleyway. As the echoing sound of footsteps grew closer, he chose to face the way he came, turning his back to Scarecrow.

What an idiotic way to get killed. Either the boy was a complete and utter fool, or there was something out there worse (to him, at least) than the Scarecrow.

Jonathan Crane tilted his head slowly, considering. He could just cut his losses and leave, Penguin be damned, or he could stay and see what had the boy so spooked.

Eventually, unfortunately enough, his curiosity won out. He shifted, bringing a hand to his side where he kept several canisters of fear toxin.

Crane had to bite back a groan when the boy’s pursuers entered the alleyway.

It was those damned idiots in white suits.

They had been tailing him for weeks now. They were easy enough to fight, but they were annoyingly persistent, and always seemed to have a way to find him. (Not to mention, the Riddler had strong opinions on their outfits, and if he had to hear the white-suit-in-Gotham rant one more time he was going to throttle him.)

Led by the men in white was a woman in a teal hazmat suit. Jonathan had seen her around, too, though less frequently than the others. He had honestly assumed that she was just a new C-tier rogue and avoided her like the plague.

Her eyes went wide as saucers when she saw Jonathan standing a few feet from the boy. No one moved a muscle.

“Danny,” the woman spoke softly. The boy, Danny, flinched, glancing between her and Scarecrow, “come on, we can talk about this. Your father and I only want to help you.”

He was running from his mother?

Scarecrow paused after that revelation, choosing to fully take in the boy’s appearance.

He was lean, almost gaunt, and wearing clothes several sizes too big for him, probably stolen. His entire body shook, from fear and cold both, and he clutched his stomach with one hand. At first, Scarecrow assumed that it was due to being out of breath, but as he looked closer he could see blood staining the dark fabric of the boy’s shirt.

He was injured, underweight, and running from his parents.

Something that felt a lot like rage swelled in Jonathan’s heart.

“Danny, you don’t get it! We’re so close now. We can fix you, and then we can go home, and everything can go back to normal,” she said, smiling in a way that was clearly supposed to be reassuring. She took a few steps forward, the men behind her clearly readying their weapons.

The boy backed away from his mother, inadvertently coming closer to Scarecrow.

He glanced up at Crane again, his blue eyes shining in fear, but not of him.

Sickening. Sickening.

In one fluid motion, Jonathan grabbed the boy by the wrist, pulling him behind him, and threw a large canister of fear gas into the group who had been chasing him.

The liquid in the container turned to gas as soon as it broke open, billowing out and filling half of the alleyway with a thick yellow smog.

The boy gasped, pulling his shirt over his face in a pathetic attempt to filter out the toxin. It would have to do, though, Scarecrow thought, rushing forward to force the boy’s aggressors to breathe in the gas.

The fight that the men put up was pitiful. The few individuals who didn’t breathe in the toxin immediately were clearly unused to fighting hand-to-hand, and dropped like flies in Scarecrow’s wake.

Just as the men began to spasm and shout in their terror, as if on cue, the familiar wail of police sirens reached the Scarecrow’s ears.

He heaved a heavy, irritated sigh, fingers twitching for a cigarette. He was trying to quit as of late, but he felt that after today, he might deserve one.

Though now was not the time to be thinking of cigarettes.

Jonathan approached the boy, mindful of any signs he might run off.

The boy didn’t seem to notice his approach in the slightest, just staring at the woman in the jumpsuit as she writhed on the ground.

Right. That would most likely be traumatic for a child to see, wouldn’t it?

Scarecrow moved in front of the boy, blocking his line of sight. The boy looked up at him now, his face completely blank.

“The police are on their way,” Scarecrow spoke, his voice low. The boy didn’t acknowledge him in any way.

“You don’t want to be here when they arrive, do you?”

After several moments pause, the boy shook his head slowly. He looked numb.

Dissociation, most likely.

“You’ll come with me, then.”

It was a statement, not a question, but he waited for the boy’s response regardless. As soon as he nodded in agreement, Jonathan lifted him up, carrying him out of the cold, miserable alleyway.

Scarecrow paused briefly to warn the Penguin of the incoming officers through the comm he had been given, and then he was off, weaving through the streets and alleyways towards his getaway car.

…

The drive back to his safe house was quiet. The boy didn’t look over at him once, instead opting to stare out ahead of him.

…

Luckily, they were able to make it back without detection. Jonathan ushered the boy into his small apartment, sitting him down on the dingy couch that had come with the lease.

“Wait here, alright?” Jonathan said, the boy nodding once in response.

With that, he retreated into the small kitchen, looking for some sort of warm beverage.

It was nearly three in the morning now, so coffee was out of the question. He was completely out of the hot chocolate he had bought for whenever Eddie or Harley came over for a visit, so that was out too.

He supposed the only option was his chamomile tea. Did teenagers like tea? He supposed it didn’t really matter, the kid was on the run from his parents in the house of a Gotham rogue. Surely he had bigger things to worry about.

Jonathan made the drinks quickly, leaving the kitchen with two mugs in hand. He gave one to the boy, who looked up at him in surprise, before settling into his own seat.

It was an incredibly comfortable old leather armchair that he had gotten some years ago and stubbornly held onto ever since. He usually had one of the rogues he was at least somewhat friendly with pick it up when he entered Arkham.

Whenever Eddie and Harley were over, they would call it his old man chair, and he would tell them to leave.

The two of them sat quietly for a while, drinking their tea slowly. It was clear that the boy was leaving whatever headspace he had slipped into, becoming more alert (and uncomfortable) by the second.

“So,” Crane began, pausing before speaking more quietly when he saw the boy flinch, “you knew them.”

It was not a question.

The boy nodded, curling in on himself. He held the mug close to his chest, no doubt soothed by the warmth.

“They’ve been following me around for some time now,” Crane continued, “and you’re going to tell me why.”

The boy looked up at him, a pained expression written all over his face.

“You won’t believe me,” he murmured, curling up even further.

His clothes were soaked. Jonathan should have put down a towel before letting him sit down.

“Sure I will,” he said, ignoring the blood and water seeping into his furniture.

The landlord would not be happy.

“It’s gonna sound crazy.”

“I’ve been to Arkham.”

The boy paused, before mumbling something quietly.

“Again? I couldn’t hear you.”

“I said,” the boy huffed, quickly changing his tone when he remembered who he was talking to, “they…think you’re a ghost.”

“A ghost,” Crane repeated flatly.

“I told you it was gonna sound crazy!” The boy protested, before wrapping his arms around himself.

“Well,” Jonathan hummed, “it’s not the strangest thing I’ve heard in Gotham. Explain it to me.”

The boy paused, glancing up at his face, no doubt looking for some sign of mockery. He found none.

Then, he opened his mouth, and explained everything he could.

Ghosts, the portal to another world, the GiW, his parents. It was all incredibly far-fetched, but also far too consistent to be made up on the spot, and Crane could tell that the boy genuinely believed what he was saying.

“…but, if you don’t believe me, fine. I know it probably sounds stupid and fake,” he mumbled, looking away.

“I’ll believe you for now,” Crane said. The boy whipped his head up, staring at him in shock.

“If I do trust that what you’re saying is true, though, then why do I show up on their equipment as a ghost? I’m not dead, and never have been.”

“Um,” the boy hummed, looking somewhat nervous. Understandable, really.

“Well, have you by any chance been involved in any lab accidents recently..?”

Jonathan Crane froze, his face dropping. The boy noticed his change in demeanor, flinching slightly.

“Penguin,” he hissed out, his voice slightly inhuman. “Cobblepot, that motherfucker.”

“Wait—calm down! The angrier you get, the easier you’ll show up on the radar!”

Crane glared down at the boy, seething with rage. He once again flinched, looking away from him. With an extraordinary amount of effort, Jonathan slumped back down in his chair, breathing deeply in an effort to calm himself.

When he cracked his eyes back open, the boy was openly staring at him, curiosity written all over his face.

As soon as he noticed Crane looking back at him, he glanced away, straightening in his seat.

“Well, you’ve given me a lot to think about. In the morning, we’re going to discuss this in a lot more detail,” he said, standing up with slow movements. The boy stood as well, hands clasped together.

“For now, though, you’re going to let me take a look at that wound of yours, and then you’re going to take a shower and go to bed.”

The rest of the night went rather quickly.

The boy was rather hesitant to show him his wound, instead assuring him that it had been properly sewn up and that he was fine. Crane was having none of it, though, and gave him a once-over just in case.

It was, very clearly, the kind of cut used during an autopsy. Danny didn’t offer any information, so Crane had to assume that he was either back from the dead, or he had been vivisected. Either was possible in Gotham.

At the very least, Danny hadn’t lied about the stitches, and the wound was already beginning to heal.

With that, Danny showered quickly (he leapt out with a shriek the moment the hot water ran out), and went to bed in borrowed clothes without much complaint.

Thus, Jonathan was left with cold water for his shower, and slept on the still-damp couch so that the boy could have a bed to sleep in. Somehow, he found that he didn’t mind as much as he thought he would.

[creaman]

your designs for the rogues are so good i wanna eat them (in a completely normal way). do you have a penguin design?? little bird guy??

Not a current one, but I DID have a design heavily based off the Gotham iteration. (Art from 2022) Designed w aztec purple accents with the intention to match Ed’s excessive green glitter suit.

Most likely keeping the shoes, feathered boa and big coat elements of the design and scrapping the penguin-themed masquerade mask. Dropping it on the basis that it makes him look like persona joker. If you couldn’t tell, this penguin was initially designed to match with Ed’s peacock masquerade outfit.

Not entirely sure if I want to stick w a skinny penguin bc the twink label plagues me. I’d go for something more original but I feel Gotham kind of nailed it so I’m inclined to use Gotham Oswald as a dress-up doll. Gotham had it so that he didn’t particularly need to be fat as he was still weird and gay and a fucked up little guy. His name is still Oddballs Gobbleballs. He was the Penguin before they stuck him in that goofy season finale fat suit.

[dfortrafalgar]

I'm Losing You... (But We're Filling the Cracks)

It's time.

Warnings: read chapter 1 for warnings.

Taglist: @phsycochan | @mirillua | @augustanna | @chaixsherlock | @whore-of-many-hot-men | @nerdisthenewcool | @lilypadmomentum | @1dkneo | @kitsunechan707

Chapter 30

[Prev] [Next]

2:00 AM, May 12th

A sudden jolt ripped you from your relatively peaceful sleep at around 2:00 in the morning.  Your body had been growing somewhat used to the Braxton Hicks contractions that seemed to plague you for a better part of the previous weeks.

This was not Braxton Hicks.

The pain seemed to start in your smile before radiating outward, almost reaching the tips of your toes and the pads of your fingers.  You felt it deep in your core, a painful cramping, almost stretching sensation that made your stomach leap into your throat.

It was happening.

You swung your legs over the side of your bed and grabbed your phone.  You had it planned out.  Law was sleeping at the hospital in a call room.  His surgery was today, at 8:00 AM.  Your knees were shaking, barely holding your weight as another contraction began to pulse through you, making you lean back against your mattress and slowly sink to the ground.  Your water hadn’t broken yet, and you were spotting the day before, but your doctor said that was normal.

You fucking hoped she was right.

[Ugh… hello?]

Your voice barely reached the phone you held to your ear.  “Sh-Shachi… it’s happening.”

A sudden rustling and a pained-sounding grunt resonated through the speaker and the line went dead.  You crawled across the floor to where your hospital bag was stored, your hand just barely reached one of the straps when another cramp ripped through your abdomen, making you squeak out a pained whimper.

You heard your apartment door burst open, probably startling your neighbors, and frantic footsteps ran across your home and to your room.  The light in your bedroom flicked on, momentarily blinding you, and Shachi stood panting in the doorway.

“Penguin, I need some help over here!” he shouted, approaching you and taking one of your arms.

The second man sprinted into the room, helping Shachi haul you to your feet.  With Penguin’s arms still supporting you upright, Shachi grabbed your heavy hospital bag and began a mad dash toward your door.  

“I’m going to stay here with Bepo, alright?” Penguin muttered, sleep still heavy on his tongue as he helped you into the hallway and into the elevator.  

You were wearing a ratty pair of house slippers and your usual pajamas, but you barely had time to think about your appearance when you could feel your stomach contracting with each movement.  You had no idea what giving birth was like, but you were progressing fast.  The only thing you could respond with was a weak nod, clenching your teeth.  The walk from the ground floor to Shachi’s car in the front parking lot was a blur for you, the only thought in your mind being the immense pressure in your swollen belly.  It was only going to get worse before it got better, and the thought made your palms more sweaty than they already were.

You were helped into the passenger seat of Shachi’s beat-up car, barely having time to register your anxieties about this hunk of metal taking you to the emergency room in the dead of night.  Your hands involuntarily wrapped around your belly, trying in vain to soothe the pain that continued to throb within you.  

“Good luck!” Penguin called as Shachi closed your door and sprinted to the other side of his car, almost throwing himself over the hood.  The car rattled to life as he twisted the key in the ignition.  He carefully maneuvered through the dark parking lot, out onto the main road, and you were off.

—

5:00 AM, May 12th

Law’s circulating nurse was holding a walkie talkie.  It wasn’t often those were found in the operating prep room.  The team was pensively getting ready, donning their gowns, following their glove procedures, and securing their masks and face shields when the static-filled sound of the receiver flooded the room.

[The helicopter is landing.]

The patient was in the prep room, still completely intubated, barely clinging to life.  This operation was his and his family’s last hope at a somewhat normal life, free from tubes.  Law closed his eyes and shuddered a deep breath in, then out, before placing his own mask on his face.  A few hours ago in the stuffy call room he slept in, he was forced awake by a night terror of the mother whose son had passed away almost a year ago.  Her screams still bounced around his head like a bell chime, loud, obnoxious, and utterly petrifying.

He thought about you sleeping at home.

“Have I received any calls?”  He turned his attention toward his circulating nurse who had placed the walkie talkie down, another nurse helping him into his second pair of sterile rubber gloves.

She pulled his phone out of her pocket.  Nothing.  The only notification on his home screen was a text from the day before from you reading, ‘Good luck baby!!!  I love you!!!!’  She shook her head, placing his phone in her back pocket.

“Don’t be surprised if we receive any calls during the operation, my wife is supposed to be giving birth in a week or so.  It’s all hands on deck at home, but this operation is our top priority right now.”  Law flexed his fingers under his gloves as he watched his staff bustle around the prep room, preparing all their instruments and materials before retreating into the primary OR to receive the patient from pre-op.

“Got it,” she replied, her voice low and patient.

Law hated that his priority wasn’t with you when you needed him around most.  But in the face of the most important operation of his life, there wasn’t much he could do.

—

6:09 AM, May 12th

Shachi wasn’t allowed into the delivery room with you due to not being family.  The only one who would be allowed was Law, and clearly, he wasn’t going to be available in quite a while.  Shachi had tried to call him throughout your triage check-in, but his phone had gone straight to voicemail.  No surprise to you, a man was getting his entire chest cavity replaced across the hospital.

Still… you missed him.  A lot.  It was certainly a bizarre feeling knowing that he was technically in the same building as you, but across the expansive hospital campus and a few floors down.

Your loneliness was far more palpable in your delivery room, however.  The entire space seemed bland and boring, and you were already hooked up to more tubes than you were pleased with, which is to say, four tubes too many.  You had a hose in your nose for extra oxygen, an IV drip in your arm, and two electrode patches on your chest monitoring your heart rate.

Your contractions had lessened somewhat in the time it took for you to arrive at the hospital, and according to the on-board delivery doctor who greeted you in the room, you weren’t even dilated.  You still had a long way to go.  You had barely eaten the breakfast that was brought to you, the buttered biscuit looked far too gray for a piece of bread, and you were effectively running off of bland applesauce and a small dosage of pain meds.  They couldn’t give you any more until your active labor started, where you could then opt for an epidural.

But you saw that needle.  You were even starting to question that.

The few contractions you felt throughout the morning were intense enough, and you were barely mustering up the courage to prepare yourself for what was surely to come later in the day.  You were still holding out hope that your labor would progress naturally and that there would be no need for an emergency C-section, or any sort of emergency procedure at all.

Your body now had one job.  It had failed all the others, but now that you finally had a successful pregnancy, there was only one job left to do.

Your dazed staring at the ceiling was interrupted when the doctor who admitted you re-entered your room.  She had a calm smile on her face, slight bags under her eyes that displayed more of a long career in delivering babies than acute exhaustion, and the sight of her soft smile lines around her mouth immediately filled you with a sense of calm you had yet to feel all morning.

“Mrs. Trafalgar, how are you doing?” she asked politely, pulling up a chair and sitting by your bedside.  One of her hands rested on yours, a gentle pat for reassurance.  “I reviewed your patient history.  I see your husband is the leading cardiothoracic surgeon with our hospital!”

The fact that she immediately jumped to singing your husband’s praises instead of rapidly addressing the two elephants in your patient charts that read ‘Spontaneous Abortions at 7 and 12 weeks’ brought a smile to your face.  “He is.  I’m sure you’ve already heard the news going on down there.”

She rubbed your hand again.  It was then that you noticed she had her own wedding ring on her left hand.  She looked like the kind of woman to have a sweet partner.  “Indeed I did, it’s been the talk of the staff for months.  Our hospital’s first, and probably only, dual cardiopulmonary transplant.  Frankly, it’s an honor that your husband was chosen to perform the operation, there is no one better qualified than him.”

You picked your head up from the pillow that was supporting your neck.  The bed you were laying in was tiled up so you were more sitting rather than stretched out.  “Have you personally met him?” you asked, your eyes lighting up.

She nodded.  “When he first got the position of lead surgeon, he was made to do a speech in front of the hospital staff to recognize his achievements.”

You remembered that day.  While you couldn’t attend due to your work schedule, he had spent the two weeks prior agonizing over what he was going to say.  He hated public speaking and everything involving it, so having to write a small speech was his worst nightmare.  You weren’t even married yet.  His reward for a successful conference was a steamy night in the bedroom with you, and as far as you knew, he did well enough that he came home and was immediately ripping his clothes off.

The doctor’s voice rattled you out of your daydream.  “It is a shame that he can’t be here right now,” she sighed.  “Hopefully your labor progresses slowly enough that he can be here for the actual birth.”

“I hope he’ll be here when they actually arrive,” you groaned.  “He’ll never let himself get over it if he misses it.”

“And it would be unfortunate for you, too, dear.  Don’t forget about you.”  Another hand pat.

You grinned.  She was right.  Your husband might have been one of the country’s most accomplished surgeons and was currently about to undertake the most daunting procedure of his life, but right now, you were the one preparing to birth two babies.

—

8:43 AM, May 12th

Law gazed down through his face shield at the exposed chest cavity of the man under the sheet on the operating table.  Multiple metal frames were holding his ribs open, his sternum sawed in half to expose the fragile, failing organs underneath.  His heart somehow was displaying visible wear, almost like a machine in a factory would begin to rust.  But both of his lungs were riddled with odd growths and morbid discoloration.

“Was it noted in his patient history that he has COPD?” Law asked, his voice displaying confusion rather than horror.  The poor guy was already getting two new lungs, it’s not like that would change.

“I’m not sure it did, Doc,” one of the nurses across the room maintaining the organ cart replied.  “Does he?”

The head anesthesiologist peered around his machines toward the open chest cavity.  “Yeesh.”

“Okay, professionalism, people.  Thank you for answering my question,” Law barked sternly, bringing his team back into strict focus.

The sound of the organ cart was filling the room with a foreign atmosphere.  It wasn’t like organ transplants on their own were very common in their hospital, but to have the giant artificial box pretending to be a human body supplying a constant stream of donor blood and oxygen to a detached heart and lung trifecta was quite a shocking sight for most of the nurses.  The heart itself was fully exposed, hoses connected to every valve.  It was beating morbidly with each pass of blood, circulating a non-living machine.  Some drops of blood from the exterior of the tissue trickled down the wet organ and collected in a small puddle at the bottom of the tray it was held on.  Some of the team could barely even look at it.

The heart had to be transplanted first, due to the way he was cut open.  They could replace the heart from the front, where his ribs were separated, but his lungs would have to be removed from the sides of his body, under the arms.  The scar tissue on the man was going to be quite the sight in a few months.  

The team was only about 45 minutes into this procedure.

Law’s shoulders were already sore.

—

10:00 AM, May 12th

Your phone was blowing up.

You had texted Ikkaku that you were admitted to the hospital and that your labor had begun, but was progressing slowly.  You didn’t think she’d be able to keep it to herself, but the sheer speed in which she had informed your other close friends was almost dizzying.  After only about 2 minutes, your phone began chiming with a near constant influx of messages from your friends and coworkers, all wishing you the best of luck with your delivery.

It was a weekday, afterall.  Ikkaku probably sprung up from her chair and sprinted around the office like the boy who cried wolf.

When the doctor said your labor would be progressing slowly, she meant it.  And you were already tired of it.  Two in the morning was already far too early for the human body to be functioning, and you weren’t able to get a lick of sleep in the hospital bed you occupied.  Each time your eyes fluttered closed, another contraction would ripple through your body and remind you of exactly where you were.

It had now been about eight hours since you were admitted.

Your cervix was 1 centimeter dilated, and your water had yet to break.

Nurses were constantly in and out checking on you and your condition, but conversation was rarely exchanged.  Instead, most of your time was spent in silence, staring at the bland burgundy walls of the delivery room, the machines you were hooked up to to supply you with fluids and oxygen, and the door to the rest of the maternity ward.

The door you wished would open to reveal your excited husband running to be by your side.

“How are you doing, dear?”  Your doctor popped her head in once more.  She entered the room fully and pulled on a fresh pair of gloves.

“Hanging in there,” you replied.  You were embarrassed with how dejected you sounded.  You didn’t intend to seem so… lonely.

The doctor positioned herself at the foot of her bed and gestured for you to maneuver your legs into the cold metal stirrups that connected at the end. The stirrups hurt your back enough as it was, and the weight of two babies against your spine did little to help, but you bared through it.

“You’re at about 3 centimeters now, you’re progressing very well!” she called, removing her head from between your legs.  “In another few hours, you’ll almost be ready to go!”

Your heart panged with excitement at finally giving birth, but also extreme desperation.

Your contractions were progressively getting closer and closer together.

You wanted Law.

—

11:51 AM, May 12th

Law’s phone rang from the back pocket of the circulating nurse’s scrubs.  The entire team let it go to voicemail.  A human heart was being removed from an open chest cavity, clutched like a sacred, scarred treasure in the blood soaked hands of one of the surgical assistants, while the man was fully hooked up to the quadruple bypass machine.  He now had a mechanical assistant serving as his heart and lungs while they retrieved the new ones.  There was no time or energy to be spent on a phone call.

“I thought you said you wouldn’t be bringing your phone in for this operation, doc,” one of the nurses said.  Law could hear the sarcastic grin from under the surgical mask.

“I thought about it, but I’d worry too much,” Law grumbled back, wiping his gloved hands on a sterile towel.

“You’re such a good husband,” the assistant anesthesiologist cooed from across the room.  “I hope my husband is as attentive as you are one day.”

Law felt blood rush to his face.  He kept his mouth shut while the organ box was wheeled over to the bedside.

—

12:10 PM, May 12th

[Hey, have you heard from Law at all?  How are you doing?]

Shachi’s voice over the speaker of your cell phone was able to clear your mind somewhat.  Your contractions were still even and decently spaced out, but you were growing more and more aware of every sudden shift in your body as the seconds ticked by.  “No, and I probably won’t hear from him at all until tonight.  The operation started only four hours ago, they probably haven’t even gotten to the lungs yet.”

[And you?  How are you holding up?]  The redhead reiterated his second question.

“I’m holding,” you muttered back.  “Doctor said I’m still about 3 centimeters dilated, so it’ll still be a while before I actually start, you know, giving birth.”

[What does that mean?  3 centimeters dilated.]

“That’s how large the opening of my cervix is,” you clarified.

A long pause over the phone’s speaker followed.  [What’s a cervix?]

You paused.  “It’s… the entrance to the birth canal?”

Another pause.

“Shachi… you know where babies come from, right?” you asked, your contractions suddenly the least of your worries.

[I do!]  His voice was defensive.  [When a man loves a woman and all that shit.  But what does a cervix have to do with any of that?]

“Have you…” your voice trailed off.  “Have you and Penguin made out yet?”

[Oh, yeah.  We made out, like, two nights ago.  Why?]

You considered your questions answered.

—

1:00 PM, May 12th

The entire room was silent as Law worked, his deft, experienced fingers expertly sewing up even the smallest of blood vessels in the donor heart.  It had been about five hours now since the start of the procedure, and everything was progressing as planned.  Even faster, at that, much to Law’s delight.  The entire team was working as one fluid unit, just as discussed for the months leading up.  When the front of the man’s chest cavity was repaired, however, was when the trickiest part of the procedure would begin.  The patient remained attached to the bypass machine as Law finished the final stitches on the aorta.  It would still be a little longer before he could be fully removed.

The man was filled with tubes.  Down his throat, down his stomach, in his chest, in his arms.  It was an incredibly uncomfortable sight.

The assistants worked in tandem to close up the chest cavity, securing all of the muscle, bone, and erroneous tissue back into place.  It was like putting together a very convoluted and high-risk jigsaw puzzle.

Now the lungs were next.

His phone rang again from the back pocket of the circulating nurse’s scrubs.  Due to the small down time, she reached in and pulled it out, assessing the screen.

“It’s your friend, doctor,” she called.

“Text him to just tell you what’s up,” he asked back.  His mind had become so focused on the operation that he barely had room to think about anything else.

Hi, this is Dr. Trafalgar’s circulating nurse!  Is everything alright?

The three little dots indicating an incoming response appeared, then disappeared, then appeared, then disappeared again.  After what felt like an eternity, an answer finally came up.  A confusing one, at that.

Orca

Uhhhh idk how to relay this properly cus idrk whats happening, but tell him his wife is 3 centimeters dilated???

Oh god.

“Uhm…” she nervously called.

“What is it?” the stone-faced surgeon asked, his back to her as he assessed the organ transplant box that still contained two human lungs.

“Your wife is 3 centimeters dilated?”

You could’ve heard a pin drop.

—

1:15 PM, May 12th

[So I got handed over to that circulating nurse.  She said she’d tell him but she obviously couldn’t do much more.]

Shachi had called you back after hanging up the first time, just to inform you that he had finally gotten through to Law, or at least, Law’s cell phone.

You sighed in relief.  That was the most you could ask for.  You were just happy that he’d be able to know.  “Thank you, Shachi.  You’re not still at the hospital, are you?”

[Nah, I’m getting ice cream.  It’s hot as shit out.]

Lucky bastard.

—

2:30 PM, May 12th

Law had two sides.  Analytical and focused, and the Protective Husband.

In the operating theater, those two sides were in a western-style duel against one another.

In front of him was a near-comatose man with the left side of his ribs cut open, a withered, diseased lung slowly being removed from his body.  And on the complete opposite side of campus, two stories above him, you had begun labor.

And he wasn’t there.

“Doctor, I thought you said another week or so,” one of the female nurses asked, her voice both curious and concerned.

“That’s what I assumed,” he replied, his tone a bit snippy.  No one could blame the poor guy.  He was having babies.

“How far along is she, again?” another voice asked.

“35 weeks,” he replied, delicately slicing through a patch of diseased lung tissue.

“It’s premature?!  Oh goodness–”  One of the nurses began to freak out over the implication, but another colleague was quick to calm her down.

“With twins!  They’re having twins, it’s alright,” the other nurse explained.  “With twins, it’s far more common to be delivered somewhat prematurely.  If the rest of the pregnancy was healthy, there’s no need to be alarmed.”

Law was inwardly thankful from his colleague’s explanation.  If anything, she unintentionally lessened the tension in the theater by ten orders of magnitude, making it far easier for him to focus.  

The harder he focused, the quicker this procedure got done.  And the quicker he got done, the quicker he could run to your side.

—

4:00 PM, May 12th

It had been about 14 hours since your labor officially began, and you barely had a lick of sleep.  The hospital lunch had not been much better than the hospital breakfast, and now you were dreading the hospital dinner.

It didn’t help that your contractions were now substantially closer together, and your cervix was now 6 centimeters dilated.

Law was now in surgery for about eight hours.

One of the evening shift nurses was in the room with you.  She looked about your age.

You turned your attention toward her as she fixed another fluid drip onto your IV pole.  “How long do you think a heart and lung transplant should take?” you blurted.

Your question clearly caught her off-guard.  “Oh gosh, I mean… a single heart transplant is, like, six hours, right?  Give or take?”

Your head flopped down onto your pillow.  He was nowhere near close to being done.

—

5:30 PM, May 12th

The topic of relieving Law with another surgeon mid-operation was now floating around the theater.  Despite being adamant that he refused to leave in the middle of a procedure, his fellow colleagues were determined to let him go.  Maybe it was just the exhaustion getting to everyone.  They had just now removed the left lung and were preparing its transplant for insertion, and they still had one more organ to go.  He couldn’t leave.

“We’ll get this done a lot quicker if we all focus,” the surgeon demanded, insisting his staff return to their focused attitudes.

It was clear that everyone, despite performing their duties well and maintaining a smooth workflow, wanted Law to go see his wife.

One of the anesthesiologists was a mother to three, and was now being drilled with questions.

“How quickly did you dilate with your first?” one of the nurses asked.

It took a few moments for her to think about it.  “I think I was in active labor for about 24 hours in total,” she replied.  “It was loooong.  But, I was also only carrying one, and I was 41 weeks pregnant, so he was quite big!  I would imagine a 35 week twin birth might progress a bit quicker, since the babies aren’t quite as big as that.”

Great.  Just what Law needed to hear.

His worst nightmare was flashing through his mind as he began to suture the transplant lung.  You in crippling agony, screaming and crying with no support from the doctors or nurses, forced to give birth alone.  What if you hemorrhage in the middle of delivery?  What if the babies weren’t positioned properly?  What if you passed out or suffered spontaneous cardiac arrest?  What if one of the babies died during delivery?  What if they both died?  What if all of you died?

The assistant standing next to Law watched in awe as the surgeon, who clearly wasn’t thinking about the surgery, sutured arteries together with robotic precision.

—

7:05 PM, May 12th

You were quickly losing track of time.

8 centimeters dilated.  The doctor told you that your body would know when you needed to push.  And now, almost all the way there, with your room now flooded with staff preparing for your birth, you felt the need to push.

[iamnot-crazy]

The Dance of Steel and Gossip

Summary:

It has now been three days since the heart pirates arrived at the island and none of them know why they are still there. They began to gossip about their speculation while their captain is away.

Law x OC

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5

Three days had passed since the polar tang docked on the smoldering remains of the island, and Ikkuka groaned loudly while joining the table where her fellow crew mates ate.

"What's your problem?" Shachi questioned pointing his fork at her.

"I'm so sick of this island!" she growled, shoving food into her mouth. "Why are we even here?"

The question echoed among the crew. Penguin chimed in, "Yeah, why are we here? We came for another pirate's heart, right?"

Bepo, the gentle giant, spoke next, "Captain was after Bancroft's heart."

Shachi, let out a snort. "Well, whoever it was, they definitely don't have a beating heart anymore."

Penguin was quick to change the topic. "What's with the Echo's ship?" he asked shoveling food in his mouth.

"Is that who's ship that is?" Ikkuka questioned in surprise.

"Well duh! Their Captain was the one we were treating." Shachi snickered elbowing her slightly.

Ikkuka's cheeks flushed. "I… I didn't know that was who she was."

"Of course, you didn't, Too busy ogling her chest, maybe?" Shachi mocked, earning a deserved smack from Ikkuka.

"With all that staring, I'd think you'd recognize her by just her assets." Penguin joined in, earning a twin bump on his head.

"I hope she's alright, though," Bepo interjected, his genuine concern cutting through the playful banter. "Captain's been taking a lot of medical supplies… probably for her."

His words sparked a flurry of questions. "Taking supplies?" the others exclaimed, leaning closer.

"Every morning, he goes to their ship with medical stuff," Bepo confirmed.

The revelation hung heavy in the air. "I haven't seen any other Echo Pirates," Penguin mused. "Where are they?"

"Probably dead." Hakugan, his masked smile ever-present, spoke from the next table, his voice sending shivers down their spines.

"No way!" Shachi protested. "They are tough, even for us!"

Bart, the giant, joined the conversation. "Hakugan has a point. Their captain was barely alive when Law brought her aboard, and the island…" He trailed off, referring to the desolate landscape.

Silence filled the cafeteria as they recalled the inferno that consumed the island, leaving only the Echo Pirates' ship intact. The few who joined their Captain in surgery recalled her wounds, the burns… and how their Captain, with his Devil Fruit, was the only reason she didn't succumb to her injuries.

"Wasn't she from the Mu Echo Isles?" Ikkuka's question broke the stillness, catching everyone off guard.

Bepo's eyes widened. "Didn't they all die from a plague?"

Ikkuka shook her head. "That was a lie, spread by the nobles who slaughtered them and stole their fortune. The Echo Phantoms Pirates are the last survivors, reclaiming what rightfully belongs to them. That's where they got their name."

A gasp escaped Shachi's lips. "Then… if her entire crew has died... Captain Kairi is the last of the Mu Echo Isles?" He exchanged glances with Bepo and Penguin, understanding dawning on their faces. Their captain's lingering on the island, his visits to Kairi… it all made sense. He saw a reflection of his own pain in her, a shared history of loss and longing.

Without a word, the three left the others, their heads swimming with newfound insight. They approached the Echo Pirates' ship, waiting patiently for their captain's return.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, Law emerged, his face lined with exhaustion. He stopped short, surprised to see his crew waiting. "What is it?" he asked, his voice laced with tension.

They knew words wouldn't suffice. Bepo stepped forward, pulling Law into a silent hug, a gesture of understanding that transcended language. The captain stiffened for a moment, then relaxed, letting out a sigh.

"She's recovering," he finally said, his voice gruff. "But not awake yet. Safer to keep her here for now since last time she nearly destroyed my sub. When she wakes, we can leave."

He turned to leave, but Bepo's voice stopped him. "Captain… are you okay?"

He paused, turning back with a flicker of a smile. "I'll be fine." With that, he walked away, leaving his crew satisfied with what they could get from their closed-off captain.

***

Next Chapter

[bestanimatedmovie]

Revenge of the Underrated, Round 2!

Round 1

The big players will start competing this round, so make sure to support your favorite unknown movie with propaganda and reblogs!

Also, this round we somehow ended up with more polls than round 1, so that will be fun 😅

Luca vs Ballerina

2. Mary and Max vs Tiger and Bunny: The Rising

3. The Bad Guys vs Miss Hokusai

4. Loving Vincent vs Pretty Guardian Sailor Moon Eternal The Movie Part 1

5. Pocahontas vs The Girl Without Hands

6. Hercules vs The Twelve Tasks of Asterix

7. Anomalisa vs Cats don't Dance

8. The Little Mermaid vs Felidae

9. It's Such a Beautiful Day vs An American Tail: Fievel Goes West

10. Paprika vs Pokemon Heroes

11. Sing 2 vs The Little Mermaid: Ariel's Beginning

12. Wendell and Wild vs The Plague Dogs

13. Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs vs Ice Age

14. The Hunchback of Notre Dame vs Strange Magic

15. Azur and Asmar: The Prince's Quest vs Red Shoes and the Seven Dwarfs

16. Mad God vs Rock and Rule

17. Batman: Mask of the Phantasm vs Titan A.E.

18. The Wind Rises vs The Adventures of Mark Twain

19. Sleeping Beauty vs Tarzan

20. Zootopia vs Robots

21. Monsters vs Aliens vs The Twelve Months

22. Robin Hood vs Phineas and Ferb: The Movie: Candace Against the Universe

23. The Case of Hana and Alice vs Revue Starlight: The Movie

24. Long Way North vs One Piece: Baron Omatsuri and the Secret Island

25. Marcel the Shell with Shoes On vs Samurai Jack: The Premiere Movie

26. My Life as a Zucchini vs Lupin III: The First

27. The Fox and the Hound vs Minions: The Rise of Gru

28. The Three Caballeros vs Princes and Princesses

29. When Marnie was Here vs A Letter to Momo

30. Akira vs The Wild Thornberrys Movie

31. The Cat Returns vs The Boy who Wanted to be a Bear

32. Belladonna of Sadness vs The Swan Princess

33. Porco Rosso vs Patema Inverted

34. Rio vs Next Gen

35. The Lego Batman Movie vs Asterix: The Mansions of the Gods

36. The Aristocats vs Thumbelina

37. James and the Giant Peach vs Rainbow Magic: Return to Rainspell Island

38. Castle in the Sky vs Hey Arnold! The Jungle Movie

39. Over the Hedge vs Charlotte's Web (1973)

40. Jimmy Neutron: Boy Genius vs The Princess and the Goblin

41. Redline vs Catnapped!

42. The Addams Family vs Little Nemo: Adventures in Slumberland

43. Epic vs Padak

44. Vivo vs Bartok the Magnificent

45. Barbie: Princess Charm School vs Night on the Galactic Railroad

46. Waking Life vs The Rabbi's Cat

47. Barbie as Rapunzel vs Seven Days War

48. Cool World vs Pippi Longstocking

49. When the Wind Blows vs Ruben Brandt, Collector

50. Summer Wars vs Winx Club: The Secret of the Lost Kingdom

51. The Black Cauldron vs Mars Needs Moms

52. The Red Turtle vs Underdogs

53. Ron's Gone Wrong vs Once Upon a Forest

54. Jin-Roh: The Wolf Brigade vs Rainbow Brite and the Star Stealer

55. Arthur Christmas vs Help! I'm a Fish

56. Barbie of Swan Lake vs Sea Prince and the Fire Child

57. Legend of the Guardians: The Owls of Ga'Hoole vs Freddie as F.R.0.7

58. Pokemon: The Movie 2000 vs Rock-A-Doodle

59. Arthur and the Invisibles vs Unico in the Island of Magic

60. Barbie as the Island Princess vs Flatland: The Film

61. Mind Game vs Dragon Ball Z: Cooler's Revenge

62. Dragon Ball Super: Broly vs The Flight of Dragons

63. Dragon Ball Super: Super Hero vs Final Fantasy VII: Advent Children

64. Scooby-Doo! and the Cyber Chase vs Happily N'Ever After

65. On-Gaku: Our Sound vs Book Girl

66. Rock-A-Doodle vs Pokemon the Movie: The Power of Us

67. The Pebble and the Penguin vs The Magic Riddle

68. A Troll in Central Park vs Ico, the Brave Horse

69. Robot Carnival vs Blinky Bill

70. The Snow Queen vs The Legend of Manxmouse

71. Early Man vs Planetarian: Hoshi no Hito

72. Nocturna vs Junk Head

[crescentblossom66]

Morning Routine

A bit of a character study of sorts to get a better understanding on how to write DJ Grooves. The best way to figure out how to write a specific character better is to try to figure out how they behave normally, so...have this.

The room was near silent, the music that had been playing from the speakers just three hours before left the the place in a rather uneasy quiet. The only sound in the room was created by the soft blowing of the air conditioner that send cooling waves of air into the room that would otherwise be way too hot for its owner to handle. The digital clock on the bedside table showed the time in large, green digits, 05:29. The pleasant sound of the saxophone from Gerry Rafferty's 'Baker Street' replaced the silence, and the owner of the room awoke with a soft groan of discomfort, a discomfort not caused by his soft mattress and fluffy, red bed sheets, but rather by his rather restless sleep.

He nearly suffered a panic attack after waking up and being unable to see, thinking that the nightmare that he was falling into a deep hole had been reality. His frantic breathing only slowed back to a reasonable speed after it dawned on him that he was still wearing his sleeping mask, like he did every night. After removing the object that caused him so much woe this early in the morning, he checked the time. For a moment he simply stared at the time as if the clock itself was playing a trick on him, it was morning, no doubt, the rising sun outside only reaffirmed what the clock was telling him, yet...he felt so drained, so tired. The penguin could have sworn that mere moments had past between him falling asleep and him being rudely awoken by his alarm. Time didn't wait for no one, he supposed as he got up, feeling sluggish and a little achy. The fear that the nightmare had caused him seemed to not have left his nerves yet, as his flipper still shook when he opened the door to the bathroom. How cruel his own mind could be, it was supposed to be an ally, helping him find new creative ideas for his movies and helping him overcome the struggles that he faced on a daily basis, instead, it tortured him with visions of his greatest failures. All he could see were the disappointed expressions of his Moon Penguins that were disgruntled that all their hard work didn't pay off, and the audience laughing and booing...

He hadn't realized that he had scrunched up his face until he could hardly recognize it as his own when he looked into the mirror. He had always been proud that his great hygiene and grooming had lead to him being rather nice to look at despite his age, but now he could see the deep wrinkles that had formed around his eyes that his shades normally hid so well from the world. Just like they hid his tears every time the hurtful words of audience and critics caused him to shed when they tore his movies to shreds while they praised those outdated and stale Westerns that the yellow owl made. All the sleep he sacrificed and the blood, sweat and tears that went into his work, trampled upon by those that couldn't understand his films, all the exhaustion and nerves it cost him daily to contend with the biggest obstacle of them all that plagued him like a sewer rat bringing a terrible disease, the Conductor.

The owl embodied everything he hated. That yellow owl treated his own actors that tried their best for him like slavery had been made legal again, not caring if his owls got hurt or traumatized by what he did to them. He could see the damage everyday in the lobby, the constant jittering and fidgeting of the owls didn't go past him. He clenched his flipper around the bottle of shampoo he got out of the cabinet next to the sink. That owl never cared about art, while he was trying new things with every movie, the old owl only ever stuck to the things he knew, no wonder he was running out of ideas! The worst thing was though that people LOVED his bland, basic, uninspired, and frankly boring movies more than anything he had ever created! The only saving grace he had was award 42, the one time justice won, the one time the smug and confident grin of the Conductor vanished to be replaced by an expression that those who didn't have to be around him daily never saw, his raging anger. It was the only time his efforts were rewarded, and that one victory had kept him going ever since. It showed that his formerly untouchable rival was beatable, that he wasn't perfect.

He calmed down a bit, and wiped his face with his flipper, wiping away a few tears that had accumulated in his eyes. Yet so far, he hadn't been able to repeat that success. The weight of his own inadequacy was barely tolerable on the best of days, and downright crushing on the worst. Sometimes he felt like he couldn't breathe, like his own lungs refused to cooperate and he had to take a break in order to calm himself again. He was lucky that his Moon Penguins had somehow never caught on to that.

In an attempt to calm his nerves and to get ready for the day, he took a pleasant shower while he tried to ban the thoughts of him failing again from his mind. He sang an upbeat song instead to remind himself that he just had to stay optimistic, that good things come to those who wait. Maybe this year would be his again, maybe just maybe he could prove once again that his movies were a lot better, that he deserved the recognition that they all denied him.

He gave himself a little pep talk after dressing himself and styling his hair with meticulous care, just like every morning. He just had to believe, they might be able to take the golden trophy from him, but he couldn't let them break his spirit and his hope. He owed it to those supporting him, those that believed in him, his fans and the Moon Penguins.

The former DJ went over to the golden shelf above his comfy bed upon which an array of star shaped shades were placed. To the untrained eye, they all looked the same, but some were a bit darker than others while the rims made the difference on the ones the furthest to the right of the shelf. He'd pick a different one each day, but so far, neither his penguins nor his rival ever noticed, not that he expected the latter to ever take note of any changes. The owl wouldn't know what change was when it hit him in the face!

As he walked back out, he scolded himself internally for letting his thoughts wander back to that yellow eyesore, instead, he focused his mind on the scenes that he'd have to film today while he made his way through the confusing hallways of the basement to the lobby upstairs. The penguin greeted his Moon Penguin crew who greeted him with cheering words of encouragement and happy smiles.

Today would be a good day, he just knew it would be, all he had to do was endure...all he had to do was believe...all he had to do was ignore the voice that kept telling him to stop lying to himself.

[ghosts-of-gotham]

Edger Heed AKA Egghead

Based on 'Egghead' from Batman 66

Edger Heed grew up with dreams of becoming a chef but his parents saw this as a waste of his talents so they made him study. He found he possessed a superior brain to most as he retained information easier and found even the most difficult things to be simple.

But when he graduated college and tried to get a job, most made fun of him for his bald head, as he could not grow hair. They called him ‘Egghead’ and he could not find work. The only job he could get was as a dishwasher and watched from the back as the restaurant go robbed one night. He saw how easy it was and how much money they go away with, more than he makes in a month. He went home that night and saw how the rich were usually criminals like Penguin and Black Mask or Falcone and no one made fun of them or touched them. He was smart. He knew how to do it but he needed something else. Something to make him stand out…

He brainstormed all night and he got nothing as the sun rose. He decided to take a break and cook a omelette and he had his epifiney!

The name they all mocked him for. Egghead. He would use it to be the smartest and most respected man in Gotham.This did not work. He, instead, became a arch criminal to Batman and plagued Gotham with egg related puns and plans. He even married another villain as a way to cement his power. Olga, Queen of Cossacks. 

But when Olga fled the country and he was brought in for the final time, he admitted defeated and decided to retire. He served his time and found his passion for cooking again. This gave him another idea.

He opened his own restaurant. He still keeps in touch with other villains but is mostly retired from committing crimes. He offers advice and a meal if needed. 

[corundumb]

@tripodcoffeecup

Partially inspired by your icon, partially by a hummingbird and penguin. I liked playing with the idea of something that looks almost festive from the sides and ghoulish from the front. Perhaps an Observer plague doctor, tasked with watching and analyzing for big waves. Or even hunting specific, individual people who escaped quarantine.

When you see an Observer, they've been hunting you for a while and back up is already on the way. The long beak makes it very easy to see who or what they're looking at even at a far distance. Their masks smile almost feels mocking as recapture is imminent, the game entertainment.

[aslightaddity]

He wore a tight-fitting satin red waistcoat, fastened with a number of tags, along with close-fitting breeches; both of which were designed to emphasize the king of Gotham's figure. He wore a red velvet doublet, tailored to emphasize the broadness of his shoulders and hips. His sleeves were puffed and slashed and styled in such a way as to make him look broader at the shoulder. His mantle, trimmed with the finest fur available, remained open. The hat worn atop the king was bright red, rich with feathers and decoration. The shoes worn by the phantom were made of white leather and had a large, deliberate heel. Jewelled buckles and other ornamentation wore attached to his clothing and person, as well as a large ring for every gloved finger.

And a mask that only covered half of his face. The material was clearly marble, white and gold swirled into a delicate pattern. The mask jutted out, in a shape similar to a plague mask, though sculpted in shape to that of the skull of a penguin. I looked down. His clothes were wet and dripping on the floor, creating a puddle of dirty, black water.

Psy is short for psychological torment @psymarketofobsessions

[emi56y]

Rodolfo and I wish you a happy 2024

[crittercreations]

Day 23: Winter

Not much to say about this one, just a cute lil’ awkward penguin gal. I love her ❤️

[theboarsbride]

11. Any characters you had to cut?

for any wip you like👀

OOOOOH!!!!!!!!!!!!

Bro I almost want to answer Edgar, tbh! Mostly because who his character used to be in previous drafts of TMATB were so wildly different than who he is now! He used to be this Giga Chad, toxic, mean, literal monster who would kill women and drink their blood, since in previous drafts of TMATB he was Jack the Ripper. This was a version where he wore a plague doctor mask to hide his face😭..... yeah... TMATB used to be oozing with that edgy teen shit 😭😭

Also in TMATB I cut out super minor characters. Like Sophie had two older brothers named Gregory and I think William??? William is now no longer a thing and Gregory is a deceased brother-in-law. Sophie also had a cat animal side kick called "Carlie-Penguin" lmfao - which is lowkey hilarious to me now because Sophie isn't really an animal lover SHDJSLDJSLDJDSLJDSLSJD

OH ANOTHER MAJOR CHARACTER CUT!!!1 Sophie used to have a lover named Benjamin Salazar, a Spaniard carpenter (and in previous drafts was the fictional older brother of Mary Jane Kelley, one of Jack the Ripper's victims; uh yeah this version of tmatb was very insensitive to say the least). He was both a Gaston and Prince figure, since in previous versions of the story Edgar would've been killed, and Sophie would've ended up with Benjamin in a fashion similar to the ending of The Phantom of the Opera.

One version of Benjamin was essentially Prince Charming where he was her devoted friend and eventual lover before she left home to work for Edgar as a maid (not a gardener in these versions) and he would rescue her from Edgar for some reason???? I cannot remember why lmao... Sophie used to very much be a damsel in distress type figure. And there was another where he was her pre-established lover and to-be-fiancé but she caught him having an affair with another woman, and he became like Gaston. Yeah... TMATB USED TO BE SO BAD ADLJSLDJDSLJDSLJDSLSJDLSDJsdLSJDLSDJD

[mothpawbs]

I kinda want to make my own designs for some rogues, I specifically have ideas for scarecrow, riddler and penguin but they kinda have some problems..?

With scarecrow I have a really clear idea, classic scarecrow look combined with plague doctor (specifically a mask retrofitted into a gas mask, maybe a tank) and the needle fingers from. I think the arkham games? But there are all things I don't know how to draw

With penguin my design is basically just the gotham design, his s2 look combined with s4/s5 style. Chunkier bc make him penguin shaped goddamn it. Purple hair streaks and fur collars because fuck yes. But it feels unoriginal because IT'S BASICALLY THE GOTHAM DESIGN LIKE I SAID

and as for riddler, I have so many ideas I want to use because so many people have kickass riddler designs, specifically I don't know which of three routes I want to go with: chaotic stupid game show host, half-dead techbro, or flashy gamer/twitch streamer (which I have a design for :3) IDK!!! THERE'S SO MANY OPTIONS!!

Idk anyways I'll end my ramblings here I just needed to word these things thanks goodbyeee