Gotham After Hours {One Shot/Imagines/Drabbles Collection}

I'll Never Be Her (Edward x Oswald) - Angst/Hurt

I'll Never Be Her (Oswald Cobblepot x Edward Nygma) - Angst/Hurt

Cover: Conor Maynard (feat. Olivia O'Brien)

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Author's Note:

This is my very first story I've ever posted pertaining to the Gotham fandom. I got this idea when I finished watching Season 3, Episode 6 on Monday night; but, because I had been too busy crying, writing and then crying again - it sorta got delayed. In any case, I hope you enjoy.

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I Hate U, I Love U by Gnash

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Feeling used
But I'm still missing you
And I can't see the end of this
Just wanna feel your kiss against my lips

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"I can't take this!!"

Oswald paced back and forth across the throne room floor. Despite the late hours of the evening, the mayor of Gotham was restless.

It had been hours since he had left the office but the events of the day still haunted him. Butch was back in town, coming for his head. Tabitha - that lowly wench who killed his mother - had already made two attempts on his life. An annoying reporter from the Gotham Gazette had found out he killed his step-family.

And now, he was falsely being accused of murdering a random stranger and was to face trial in the upcoming week.

To say the least, Oswald's life was falling apart.

As much as he wanted to say that none of this bothered him, none of this held any significance to him, Oswald couldn't ignore the simple yet torturous fact that he was human.

Prone to hurt, prone to emotion, prone to weakness.

'No, stop it Oswald!' He screamed internally. 'You are NOT doing this to yourself right now...!'

Everyone in the city was already turning against him. The last thing he needed was to turn against himself.

Making his way around the table, Oswald hobbled over to the front of the throne room where a statue of his mother resided. After the massacre of the Red Hood gang, he sought after the most talented sculptor in all of Gotham to recreate his mother's statue.

Except, this time, she was even more beautiful than he remembered.

The features were so detailed, so realistic, that he could've mistaken the slab of marble as his own mother had it not been for his gift of perception and common sense.

"Oh Mother," he sniffed, feeling his eyes well up with tears. "Why is life so hard to deal with?"

Though he knew she was long gone, Oswald could still hear his mother's voice calling to him in the back of his mind. 'Life is hard when you are special, my Liebchen,' she would say, while brushing his messy hair from his face. 'And you are so special...'