When he was young, his mother always told him that he was special, that he was better than all those other children. She would sit with him every night in a plush chair beside his bed petting his hair and singing to him softly in her native tongue until he fell asleep. Just as his little eyes were closing, she would lean in and whisper that he was her special, smart, beautiful little angel. Then, she would kiss his forehead and quietly leave as he settled down to sleep for the night.
By the time that he was seven years old, Oswald wasn’t that little angel his mother thought he was, but he was good at pretending. He learned that he could fool his sweet, innocent, caring mother into believing that he was the perfect little boy she always saw, even when he came home from school with bruises and blood on his porcelain skin. She always told him that it wasn’t his fault that those boys were so rough with him, that he did nothing wrong and would beg his teachers not to punish him. Oswald was always her precious little angel who could do no wrong. He saw no need to change his mother’s view of him, if she knew what he had been planning to do to these boys, it would break her golden little heart.
One day, during the school’s lunch break, Oswald had taken refuge at his favorite spot, a nice shaded area outside where no one dared to go. No one bothered him here, it was his own private safe haven to relax and feel like he was finally able to get things done without being called nasty little names or have balled up, crude drawings flung at him from across the room when the teacher’s backs were turned. It was quiet here and in that quiet, Oswald finally had time to think and plot his revenge on those twisted, horrible boys who ruined his nice clothing and hurt him. He had realized early on that playing mouse in a game with three rats who thought they were cats was going to get him nowhere. He was smarter than them, knew that he was a cat hidden under the guise of a scared little mouse.
While lost in his thoughts, Oswald hadn’t noticed the very three boys he hated most creeping up on either side of him. Their leader was a fat freckled redheaded boy with badly crooked teeth by the name of Robert Matthews, and his two goonies were the Wolffe twins, Frank and Harald, who mostly just snickered and repeated everything Robert said. The three boys didn’t stop their approach until they closed Oswald in on all three sides with the school’s sturdy brick wall to his back.
“Well, well, well. Look who it is! Oswart! What are you doing so far away from your little nest, Oswart?” Robert lets out a phlegm filled laugh and the Wolffe twins snickered, repeating the words wart and nest back and forth between themselves.
Oswald looks up in utter surprise at his space being invaded without his knowledge. It was as if his thoughts had summoned the demons themselves. The small boy swallows thickly, eyes flickering between the three boys before him as anxiety boils under his skin. There was no way out; he was stuck between a rock and a hard place. His lips part as if to speak, but words are unable to leave before the first strike. After that, everything fell apart and Oswald was subjected to curling in on himself as the boys relentlessly beat down upon him. His arms wrapped around his small frame, head ducked down to keep any of the blows from hitting his face as best as he could. He dared not make a noise save for a few high pitched whimpers. He would not reveal himself as weak, he already made that promise to himself. These boys would stop right now if they knew what he had in store for them; they would stop and run away and never look back.
A loud snap sounded as one of the twins, Oswald wasn’t sure which, sent something very heavy crashing down onto his leg with all his might. The pain isn’t like fire when it spreads through his body. It’s more like lava, slowly seeping through his leg in a bulbous, throbbing mess, consuming him whole. Oswald can’t hold his scream back, can’t keep himself from revealing that there is pain. It’s so bad that he can’t stop screaming, fat tears now streamed down his face. The three boys fell back in terror for what they had done, for what might befall them if they got caught. They were gone before the first teacher ran to Oswald’s aid.
The doctor said that his leg had been shattered, that it may never heal right. His mother had wept hard for hours at this. Oswald couldn’t help but to feel guilty and he was unable to look at her gentle, grief stricken face even after she had taken him to her bosom and stroked his hair, telling him that he was still beautiful and still her little boy and how mean and terrible those boys had been to him, how they will regret this.
The doctor had been right, Oswald’s leg didn’t heal right. He was left with a terrible limp that would last his entire life. The three boys never did pay for what they had done to him, but they did leave him alone after that. At least until his leg was out of the cast. His limp became their new choice of taunting and that followed him until even after graduation and into adulthood. It followed him right into Fish Mooney’s business and earned him his nickname. Penguin.
How Oswald loathed that nickname, but he had learned his place. Or so everyone thought. Oswald had learned throughout his past that he could be manipulative, could get what he wanted with patience and time as well as getting the hand that beat him to become the hand that fed him, only to bite it when the time was right. He had made quite the impression on Falcone when they had their little chat and he became a double agent. After all, who would suspect Fish’s umbrella boy to leak information? To cross anyone? Someone so low on the food chain could never be so high.
Or so they thought.
But now everything was being ripped from him. He had tried to plead to Jim Gordon as he was being forced towards the pier, to his death. Jim was a good man-- one who still believed in the law and followed the rulebook to a t. Oswald thought he could get through to him by telling him his vision about how he knew Gotham was going to become a warzone, that he could see it. The man’s hard set, sharp angled face was hard to read. Death was something Oswald wasn’t willing to accept, but as they neared the edge of the wooden dock, his body was shaking in a fear that he hadn’t ever felt before in his life.
“Turn around!” The words are barked so angrily, so viciously, that Oswald has fleeting memories of childhood abusers and he quickly does as told, a gasping near sob escaping his throat. He didn’t want to die like this-- it wasn’t fitting. Was Jim really going to kill him? The smooth gun against his head said yes, but the way the man’s lips were so close to the shell of Oswald’s ear said otherwise.
“For God’s sake have mercy--” Oswald gasps, closing his eyes tightly, ignoring the throb of pain and the pull of dried blood on his pale skin. Jim had become unpredictable, unreadable for this moment. Would he live, or would he die? It was a question that couldn’t be answered in the antagonizing milliseconds until the other finally speaks.
“Don’t ever come back to Gotham.”
Before Oswald even has a chance to speak, the gunshot rings out right next to his ear, the sound deafening as he is shoved forwards and down into the icy cold water. His ears are ringing, his eyes squeezed closed in shock. For a moment, he thinks that he is dead, that Jim pulled the trigger with the gun aimed at his head, but it’s the way the water sloshes against his skin as he floats, the way he feels the cold deep in his bones that reminds him of his life.
Jim Gordon left him alive. He couldn’t pull the trigger after all. Oswald was right-- the man was good to his core.
All he had left to do was to keep moving, to swim to shore on the other side and plot his way back into Gotham. He couldn’t just stay away. After all, Gotham was his home.
{{ Please reblog this if you’re a mun who’s open for angst plotting. Death, pain, drug abuse, alcohol abuse, illness, misery, fighting, screaming, tears, hate, disgust, trauma, graphic gore, etc; I’m in need of threads. Thank you. }}
if you’re a part of the DC roleplay fandom or the Gotham roleplay fandom, can you like or reblog this? it’s good to keep a track of who is active and who isn’t!!
[ CALLING FOR NEW RP PARTNERS YEES HELLO MY FRIENDS, I AM GOING TO REBOOT THIS BLOG. I NEED MORE PEOPLE TO FOLLOW AND INTERACT WITH. SO IM PUTTING THIS POST IN SOME HELLA TAGS TO HOPEFULLY ATTRACT THOSE FRIENDS. SO I'LL START OFF WITH SOME INFORMATION ABOUT MYSELF! Hello! I'm Kanky and I am now currently 18 years old. This blog was made during the second or third episode of the first season and due to the fandom being so small at the time, i wasn't very active. However, the fandom has grown and my love for Oswald and this show has grown with it. I have a much better understanding of his character and i plan on working on this blog to better it. I roleplay in a literate formate and i like to use icons but they're not the most important thing to use. I can do Oswald in each of the seasons so far. I also am a Nygmobblepot shipper :o I have been since both of their introductions, i always thought they'd make a good team. I am also open to roleplaying over skype with people who happen to not have roleplay blogs but still like to write. I'm usually on skype more often due to my work schedule. My main blog is @cxpitan and my skype is sadik411. Feel free to message me over on my main blog or on this blog if anyone's interested in roleplaying or chatting or whatever!!! I really need some new friends who watch Gotham! ]
Are you open to eventual same-sex relationships when it comes to rping?
}} Wow this is the latest response to a message ever but!!!! Yes! I am! It definitely has to be a build up given how Oswald is, but i’m definitely open to any possibilities. Especially given the nature of the newer episodes in the recent season.
Jonathan smirks at the other, “Oh, I am a lot tougher than I look,” he mentions. Hopefully, that doesn’t sound too sinister, but it is true. Jonathan decided this after Crow caused the car crash. No more frightened child in the corner, it is time for him to spread fear. The police could use the toxin he is working on for interrogations.
Jonathan manages a small yet sweet smile. Faked. It isn’t that noticeable though. Jonathan has gotten very good at faking a smile. “Are there any places you could recommend to me for desserts?” Jonathan asks, tilting his head slightly, “I’ve got quite the sweet tooth.”
Oswald finds himself grinning when he hears that. Oh tough? How adequate and fitting for someone who was looking for work at Arkham. "What a wonderful thing to hear. Especially when you wish to work there."
The question brings many answers up to his mind. He knows many places that carry the best sweets around here. It was nice to hear that he could be of assistance. "There is actually a very nice place about halfway down this street. If you would like, I can show you."
Hi guys! Sorry it's been so long since I've been on here! I've been kind of glued to my other accounts and stuff, but I'm going to try and be on here more often!
Jonathan nods before, rather abruptly, pulling his hand away, “Yeah, maybe, at least I haven’t gotten mugged yet, so there’s a good sign,” the doctor replies as he pushes his hands in his pockets. What is his sense of humor even? Yes, let’s make fun of biggest flaw in this city. He’s going to be a great psychologist.
Oh thank god, he has a similar sense of humor, bless. Jonathan chuckles softly before running a hand through his own hair gently to disguise his relief, “Okay, now, I must ask, you’ve been here a while, yes?”
A thin smile spreads across his lips before laughter bubbles out to reveal crooked yellowed teeth. Well, at least there was a sense of humor on this one. It made things a lot easier when there could possibly be a gateway into a place he has yet to see into: Arkham. "Consider yourself lucky then, but I wouldn't get to feeling too invincible now." he says in a teasing yet almost warning tone. No one ever knew what was going to be creeping across those streets when it gets darker.
The question of his own residency has him smiling again as he glances around the area. "Yes, actually. Gotham is my home; I've lived here my whole life." he admits as he pockets his hands, taking up a relaxed position.
If one of them is Ď̵̻̲͚̝̘̰̫͖̫̱̪̩͉̼̘͎̘̖͑̆̑͌͆̒̓͐̋͐͒͊͋̎͆͘͝E̶̛̙̝̤̱̯̙͉̠̖̼̻͈̩͖̠̔̈͐̏͒̂̍̍́̊̂͆͋͗̚͘̕͜ͅͅĄ̶̡̨̛̙̹͔̫͈̞̯̗̠̮̺̞̞͐́̀̏̂́͌̅̂̾͆̋̈̈́̈́̑͘͜ͅD̴̨̢̗̼̞̺̠͍̦̳̹̣̮̟̫̯̑͒͋̒̓͐͊̇̈̂̎̏͋̾̅͂̽͝ͅͅ
"Well, I actually just recently graduated from the medical school here, so not that long, but this is actually an improvement from what I was living in before, believe it or not," Jonathan explains with a small chuckle. He shyly extends a hand to the other male, "It’s nice to meet you, Dimitri."
Crane doesn’t quite believe that Dimitri is this man’s real name, but he has no room to talk. Jonathan had to lie his way out of Georgia, ridding himself of the Southern accent, making Granny’s death look like an accident, just happening to be on the scene of the car wreck Bo and Sherri were in. Yep, no room to talk.
A crooked smile crossed his face, exposing yellowing teeth as he nods. "That's really a shame, but this place grows on you." He says, shaking his hand lightly and without applying too much force. Oswald can't give his real name to anyone. He'd have to kill them if they really found out. He was a dead man walking; only Jim could know that he was still here, still alive. He was still Gotham's only hope and he had to prove that to someone.
"Well, once you get past the ridiculous crime rates and the unbelievably high level of toxins in the air, that is." It's made out to sound light hearted and joking even though it was absolutely true. He doubted that the man before him totally believed him, but as long as they were on common grounds of understanding that Dimitri was a good thing for Oswald to be called for the time being, then things were going to go swimmingly.
