Yes, of course his dream version of Ed would confirm that the dream version of everything that makes no sense makes perfect sense. He sort of can't stop himself from flitting back and forth between refusing to believe this is real and trying to process everything so he can get ahead of it.
The way Ed says 'quota' and flushes in that way makes Oswald's jaw tighten, watching how serious he is about all this, and how concerned he is about Oswald expressly.
Maybe it's just that Oswald hasn't be exposed to the reality of the situation yet, but he has a hard time truly believing that the things he's been told are true, that anyone would really be imprisoned for a lack of sex. How would anyone possibly police that?
And unfortunately, what Ed likely intends to sound like sympathy sounds like some kind of sugar-coated threat, or at the very least brushes up against something that's still raw and uncomfortable for Oswald, something he hasn't properly grappled with and instead locked away as something to not deal with. Like he did to his version of Ed.
"That's not--!" He bites his tongue, almost literally, a moment of silent, flared up rage mixed with a kind of embarrassment flooding his face as he realises he's stopped dead in the street to glare at Ed.
It's not what, though? Not true? Not exactly--Ed's right, he generally doesn't like to be touched. And ordinarily attraction isn't a language he understands. But once, not even that long ago, he did know them both. Or at least he knew he wanted and felt both, even if he never fully dared to let himself think about the shapes he'd actually want either one to take.
And he wanted it with this man, the one whose heart he broke, who shot him, who dumped him in the river, who came back to try and kill him, who did a stupid thing and tempted the Court of Owls, who Oswald went to find, and who he broke out with when they were both imprisoned.
The thing about Oswald is he wants. He wants and wants from a life that had always told him no. And now this cruel dream, this trick, this trap has dropped him in this hellscape with Edward Nygma right in front of him, virtually with his arms outstretched to welcome Oswald into them. Like a balm on a burn.
His breathing is jolted and shaky through long, loud exhales through his nose, his entire body frozen in a sort of pre-explosive state, but he doesn't know what he wants to explode at or how. Finally, he throws his hands up with a nondescript growl of frustration before starting to hobble-stalk ahead again. The fact that he doesn't know where they're going doesn't actually matter.
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The way Ed says 'quota' and flushes in that way makes Oswald's jaw tighten, watching how serious he is about all this, and how concerned he is about Oswald expressly.
Maybe it's just that Oswald hasn't be exposed to the reality of the situation yet, but he has a hard time truly believing that the things he's been told are true, that anyone would really be imprisoned for a lack of sex. How would anyone possibly police that?
And unfortunately, what Ed likely intends to sound like sympathy sounds like some kind of sugar-coated threat, or at the very least brushes up against something that's still raw and uncomfortable for Oswald, something he hasn't properly grappled with and instead locked away as something to not deal with. Like he did to his version of Ed.
"That's not--!" He bites his tongue, almost literally, a moment of silent, flared up rage mixed with a kind of embarrassment flooding his face as he realises he's stopped dead in the street to glare at Ed.
It's not what, though? Not true? Not exactly--Ed's right, he generally doesn't like to be touched. And ordinarily attraction isn't a language he understands. But once, not even that long ago, he did know them both. Or at least he knew he wanted and felt both, even if he never fully dared to let himself think about the shapes he'd actually want either one to take.
And he wanted it with this man, the one whose heart he broke, who shot him, who dumped him in the river, who came back to try and kill him, who did a stupid thing and tempted the Court of Owls, who Oswald went to find, and who he broke out with when they were both imprisoned.
The thing about Oswald is he wants. He wants and wants from a life that had always told him no. And now this cruel dream, this trick, this trap has dropped him in this hellscape with Edward Nygma right in front of him, virtually with his arms outstretched to welcome Oswald into them. Like a balm on a burn.
His breathing is jolted and shaky through long, loud exhales through his nose, his entire body frozen in a sort of pre-explosive state, but he doesn't know what he wants to explode at or how. Finally, he throws his hands up with a nondescript growl of frustration before starting to hobble-stalk ahead again. The fact that he doesn't know where they're going doesn't actually matter.