#wake up alone

[inkypainter15]

He’s fierce in my dreams, seizes my guts

#art #digital art #gotham #edward nygma #riddler #batman #penguin #oswald cobblepot #nygmobblepot #riddlebird #wake up alone

[lin-manuel-samantha]

Imagine being so deep in the closet, that you get all flustered around your dead best friend that you hallucinate to seductively sing to you. Go for it, Ed, you idiot sandwich.

#gotham tv #gotham dc #gotham #the penguin #gotham oswald #oswald copplepot #the riddler #Edward nygma #wake up alone #how the riddler got his name #nygmobblepot #riddlebird #gay gay gay #I miss this show so much

[intricate-ritualz]

#emory scribbles #wake up alone #edward nygma #the riddler #oswald copplepot #the penguin #nygmobblepot #riddlebird #gotham fox #gotham

[of-faery-descent]

I’m posting this again cause I feel like it might get lost as a reblog? Anyway, this is part two kinda sorta of a hopefully ongoing series

#gotham #gotham show #nygmobblepot #edward nygma #riddlebird #oswald cobblepot #the penguin #the riddler #wake up alone #the bi panic is real #at least for Ed #my art

[jaylovesriddussy]

Just wrote an essay PowerPoint for media class about the wake up alone scene in Gotham and Ed fighting his bisexual demons, feeling good.

#gotham #oswald cobblepot #the penguin #nygmobblepot #riddlebird #edward nygma #the riddler #gotham on fox #dc #hallucination oswald #wake up alone

[tommorow-is-another-day]

U Gh— can't finish

so let it be

#fanart #gotham #oswald cobblepot #the penguin #edward nygma #nygmobblepot #the riddler #wake up alone #riddlebird

[nektaarr]

Wake up Alone

#took out my old record player #amys record was the first i got myself after buying the player almost a decade ago #totally forgot about that song #one of my favs #the sound is really crap #didnt take any care with storing the records or keeping them clean #but i just love the cracking of the vinyl while the needle just so gently scratches its surface #and the endless spinning of the record #its a whole experience #and my oh so romantic dream to one day be slow dancing with someone to that song plying on the record #yxc #amy whinehouse #wake up alone

[shyjusticewarrior]

You people see a post that mentions hallucination Oswald seducing Ed and immediately like & reblog

#i mean same #nygmobblepot #gotham #gotham season 3 #season 3 episode 15 #wake up alone #amy winehouse #ed nygma #the riddler #oswald cobblepot #the penguin #riddlebird #lgbtq+ #dc #otp #tv #queer headcanons #canon queer characters #pride month #shipping #oswald x edward #be gay do crimes #hallucination oswald #bisexuality #mlm #gay subtext #unbury your gays #fandom #tumblr

[rastronomicals]

2:09 PM EDT April 20, 2024:

Amy Winehouse - "Wake Up Alone" From the album Back to Black (October 27, 2006)

Last song scrobbled from iTunes at Last.fm

File under: Blue-and-Bloodshot-eyed Soul

#Amy Winehouse #Back to Black #Wake Up Alone

[cricetulusmigratorius]

#edward nygma #batman 2022 #nygmobblepot #wake up alone #oswald cobblepot #my art

[angelnumber27]

#Amy #amy winehouse #wake up alone #music #sounds #I love u Amy #SoundCloud

[alfinterrupted]

Do you think Oswald ever just disappears soon as the sun sets, this face in my dreams seizes my guts, he floods me with dread, soaked in soul, he swims in my eyes by the bed. Pour myself over him, moon spilling in, and I wake up alone...?

#nygmobblepot #gotham #edward nygma #oswald cobblepot #the riddler #the penguin #riddlebird #ed nygma #amy winehouse #wake up alone #yeah i think about that scene alot #like #every night before i sleep #every time i close my eyes #i see him #them #gay

[fandomofhappiness]

You know, I really love to hear Robin Lord Taylor singing Amy Winehouse’s “Wake Up Alone”. But what I don’t understand is that why didn’t they choose to perform “Back to Black”? It literally is about the same situation!

#gotham #oswald cobblepot #edward nygma #amy winehouse #wake up alone

[of-faery-descent]

Finally reached the long awaited Wake Up Alone scene. Having the context has not answered my questions

#gotham #edward nygma #gotham show #oswald cobblepot #nygmobblepot #the penguin #the riddler #wake up alone #imagine having feelings so repressed that the manifestation of your psyche has to make them known through song #kinda sad I didn’t get to see Ed’s decent into starting hallucinogens ngl #thought Oz’s death would last at least an episode #I was wrong

[musicandoldmovies]

Amy Winehouse - Wake up alone

From the album Back to Black

#amy winehouse #back to black #wake up alone #Youtube

[mortemoppetere]

TIMING: about 3 in the morning LOCATION: axis investigations SUMMARY: emilio wakes up from a nightmare. CONTENT: child death, suicidal ideation, mentions of sibling death and parental death, alcoholism

The nightmare was a familiar one. Emilio had been having some variation of it on repeat for two years now, any time he managed to sleep long enough to dream at all. 

It started differently, depending on the day, depending on where he was at the time. Sometimes, it started in Mexico. Others, in whatever shitty run-down motel he was staying in in whatever shitty, run-down town he was in for the night. Tonight, it started in his crap apartment in Wicked’s Rest. But where it started never meant much; it always went the same.

He woke up. The kind of waking up you do in a dream, where everything felt like it was floating and nothing quite made sense. His bedroom was his bedroom, but it wasn’t. There were elements of the room he’d shared with Juliana in Etla mixed together with the sad, bare-bones room in his Maine apartment. The door was green. It wasn’t supposed to be. That should have bothered him, should have tipped him off, but in his dreams, Emilio was less paranoid, less on edge. The dread was there, building in his chest, but he couldn’t grasp it. 

The ground felt different than it ought to, too, the same way everything in a dream was muted. His feet were bare against the carpet, but he couldn’t feel it. Even his bad leg, a dull ache on its best day, was quiet now as he padded over to the door. He gripped the doorknob, and it was wet. Tacky, sticky. It felt like blood, but it was clean when he looked down at it. His chest was tight, and he wanted to stop but couldn’t. He pushed the door open, and —

The Maine apartment shifted into the house in Etla. There were bodies on the floor. His mother, eyes open and empty. His sister, still and cold. His brother, his nephew, his wife, all strewn around in a way they hadn’t been in reality. They hadn’t died all in one place like this. There hadn’t been this much blood on the living room floor. He wondered how much it mattered.

Eyes wide, he searched the carnage. “Flora.” His voice was hoarse, and it didn’t sound like his. The plea was met with silence, and he repeated it louder. “Flora. ¿Dónde estás? Mija, por favor.” 

There was a whimper from over in the corner, and he stumbled towards it. His heartbeat was so loud in his ears that he couldn’t hear anything else, couldn’t breathe around it. Every desperate beat was a plea, begging for something he already knew he wouldn’t get. Flora, Flora, Flora, Flora. 

There was a shape in the far end of the room, too big to be her. Someone hunched over something, he realized. Broad shoulders, dark hair. A sickening slurping sound. Emilio grabbed them, yanking them backwards and…

It was his face staring back at him, eyes red and teeth sharpened into fangs. There was blood running down his chin, shining brightly under the dim light of the living room lamp. He grinned, wide and malicious. His mouth didn’t move, but words echoed through Emilio’s mind all the same. Is this how you keep her safe? Is she protected now? 

There was no stake in his hand until he drove it forward, burying it into his own chest and watching his own face collapse into dust. His chest was heaving, each breath a desperate gasp. He turned to the tiny shape on the floor, leaning down to cup her bloody face in his hands. There was no pulse; there never was. Some nights, her corpse spoke to him. Tonight, it was silent. Emilio could never decide which was worse. 

He awoke with a gasp, leaning forward on the dirty mattress to put his head between his knees. His heart was beating so hard that part of him was afraid it might burst, might explode into blood and carnage and leave his chest just as empty as it already felt. It took him a moment to catch his breath again. When he did, he shot out of bed as quickly as his bad knee would allow, pacing for a moment.

“Nightmare?”

“You already know the answer to that.” He limped over to the bedroom door, hand trembling as he rested it on the knob. It was peeling white paint, the way it was supposed to be. The knob didn’t feel tacky and when he shoved the door open, it was his crappy living room he saw there. He made his way to the kitchen, slow and unsteady.

“Which one was it this time?” 

“The same one it’s been for the last two years.” He yanked the cabinet open, pulling down a bottle of whiskey and unscrewing the cap with all the desperation of a man stranded in the Sahara stumbling upon a bottle of water. The gulp he took from the bottle was just as desperate, the burn of the alcohol warming his chest.

“You know, this whole ‘no sleep’ thing came in handy when she was a baby, but it was never supposed to be like this. Not sure I’m such a fan of it anymore.” 

Lowering the bottle — which was significantly lighter now — Emilio let out a sharp laugh. “Don’t think it matters so much what you’re a fan of,” he commented. “You’re dead, anyway.” He turned back around, facing the empty apartment. There was no mop of curly black hair tilted up to look him in the eye, no hand resting firmly on a hip the way it would have been if she were really there. Juliana only lived inside his head now. Maybe this version of her always had. 

“Always so blunt, mi amor. This is why you need sleep. You’re so grumpy without it.” 

“You didn’t call me that,” he commented, taking another swig of whiskey. “Not for months before it happened. You were pissed at me more often than not, in the end.”

“But that isn’t how you want to remember her.” Still Juliana’s voice, still only in his head, and speaking in the third person now. He’d worry that this was a sign that he was losing it, but having a verbal conversation with your dead wife at three in the morning was probably a sign that you’d lost it long ago. “You want to remember the good times. No one could fault you for that.” 

“I’m the reason there won’t be any more good times.” He moved over to the couch now, flipping on the light. He wouldn’t be getting back to sleep tonight. He was too wired to even consider trying it. 

“What now, then? Case files? Television? No, I know…” The voice trailed off and if he closed his eyes, he could see the reflection of that smug half-smile she’d have right about now, the one she got when she knew she was right about something. “A hunt. That’s what you do when you’re like this, isn’t it? You go out, you see if you can kill something or if something can kill you. Which one are you hoping for, Milio? Do you even know?” 

He rubbed at his eyes, moving towards the door without conscious thought. His shoes slipped onto his feet, his jacket was pulled over his shoulders. There was something tugging at his pant leg, and he blinked for a moment, eyes wide and frenzied as he looked down so quickly it sent a jolt of pain through his tired joints.

Perro stared up at him, the fabric of Emilio’s sweatpants still gripped in his mouth. He tilted his head, off-balance due to the uneven number of limbs holding him up, but somehow still on his feet. With a hint of shame, Emilio realized he’d forgotten the dog was there at all. 

Leaning down, he scooped the dog into his arms and limped over to the couch, setting him down on the cushions. “I’ll be back,” he said, no longer sure if he was speaking to the dog or the ghost that only existed inside his head. “I just gotta clear my head. Okay?” Perro let out a soft whine, pushing his head against Emilio’s fingers. They twitched slightly, and he tried to stop them trembling by giving the dog a scratch behind the ear. “I’ll be back,” he said again.

When he walked back over to the door, Perro didn’t follow. Instead, he laid down on the couch, resting his head atop his lone front paw. Emilio hadn’t known a dog could look disappointed before bringing this one home. It might have bothered him more, but he was used to disappointing. Some days, it was the only thing he was good at.

With one last glance to the bedroom door, he slipped out into the hallway and moved towards the elevator, the cold already biting even with the walls of the apartment building standing between him and it. He’d go out. He’d find something to kill, or find something to kill him. He’d pretend it still felt like there was a difference between the two. 

(And he’d never answered the question that that imaginary ghost had asked him, but that was okay, too. It kind of had to be. He didn’t have anything else to offer.)

#wake up alone #self para #wickedswriting #s1 writing #season 1