#Oswald Cobblepot Tumblr posts

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    So… about 2 years ago i drew these two Tango dancing… like… WHY am I not surprised?😂🎶

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  • The Unexpected Day in the Life (Part 5)

    That one time a little girl managed to prove Victor Zsasz wrong.

    (Warning: Profanity, gun-use, & violent scenes. Please take caution before reading)


    (Victor’s POV)

    I can’t remember where I kicked my boots off. As I search for them, I flex my arms and shoulder muscles to relieve the tension there caused by the worst sleep of my life. It brings me no relief at all.

    I find my boots by the front door and clumsily pull them on without undoing the laces. Grabbing a glass of tap water, I return to find the girl sitting again and offer it to her. She takes it without question and quenches her thirst. I don’t know if she trusts me yet or if she’s purely this naïve, but I could have very well drugged her beverage and she would never know. Kids are such easy victims. I may be a sick bastard, but it’s a good thing I have no interest in harming kids.

    Wonder if she knows how lucky she is.

    “If you’re a bad guy, why are you helping me?” she asks with a curious brow, caressing the empty glass in her hands.

    “’Good’ and ‘bad’ are relative,” I say, unsure if she understands what I mean. “A badge doesn’t have to decide if someone’s good or bad.”

    She frowns, and I can see the gears churning in her head.

    “So… you’re a good guy.”

    I grind my teeth, feeling a slight irritation building in my chest. “Look, kid. Let me put it this way. I have guns, I’m not a cop, and I helped you anyway. Draw whatever conclusion you want from that.”

    Because to hell if I’ve managed to do that yet…

    She gnaws on her lip and seems to dive into some hard-core thinking. I leave her to her thoughts and fasten my holster around my back. I wince. God damn it I must be getting seriously old. Grabbing my bag of reinforced weapons and spare parts, I bring it back to the living room and cannot help but collapse into the seat beside the girl’s.

    If a bad chair is what it takes to break me, then I may as well retire because this is some fucked up shit.

    I reload my rifle and fit a small knife into the holster around my hips. Sometimes, guns just don’t do it for me. Stabbing and slashing though… that gives me way more room to exercise some creativity.

    I ignore the girl, but I know she’s watching me. As I search for some extra mags, I hear her prudently place the empty glass down against the foot of the couch. Then, I feel her small hand on my shoulder and my eyes snap to her. She’s nervous, I can tell from the slight pull of her lips and the softness in her touch, but her eyes are warm and concerned.

    “I… My mom says I give nice back missages.”

    My brain buffers for a few seconds. “Firstly, It’s massages. And, secondly, no thank you.”

    “But you helped me yesterday. I can be helpful, too.”

    Fuck. I want to say no. In fact, I did say ‘no’, but I wanna be more convincing about it. As I stare at her and think about her offer, I am once again made certain of something I’ve decided upon a long time ago: Kids are super weird. I don’t feel sorry for them or anything. They’re not my forte and I never had a problem telling them to fuck off before, but this kid right here made me act in ways that are way outside my element. I’ve never managed to have a conversation with a kid before, not since I was one, at least. I’ve definitely never helped one out, and I sure as hell was never at the receiving end of any gratitude from them.

    Stiffly, I grunt and begrudgingly turn my back to her. She doesn’t scoot in any closer, but her second hand does come to grab my other shoulder. Agile fingers flex timidly, and I can barely feel anything at all. Maybe if I remove my holster… but no. For some reason, I’m not letting her do this to fix my back. She wants to ‘be helpful’… I can let her feel helpful for a little while.

    “How old are you?” I ask on impulse.

    “I’m six, and I’m the tallest in my class.”

    I grin. There was a time when I cared about height, too.

    “How old are you?”

    I grimace. “I don’t know. Late thirties maybe.”

    “Why don’t you know?”

    “Because I don’t know, and I don’t care.”

    We’re both quiet now and I think I prefer it this way. Of course, you can’t have too much of a good thing, because she already starts talking again.

    “That’s why you have to have birthday parties. When you have one, you always remember how old you are. My birthday is in April and I always have it in the park and I get a lot of presents-“

    I tune her out as best as I can because it is too early for this. I vaguely hear her going on and on, but I try harder to clear my head and think of where to drop her off. I don’t know where she lives, and I suppose she can direct me, but there’s no way I’m taking directions from a kid. She could end up in the wrong house. The hospital is probably the safest way to go, because I am not driving one radius near a police station, let alone the GCPD headquarters.

    “Is your back better?”

    “Hm… huh?” I mumble distractedly. “Oh. Yeah, better.”

    It’s not better at all. I’m going to need way more than timid, skinny little fingers to untie the knots, but I suppose it’s the good intention behind it all that kinda puts me in awe. I could even call it cute. I could, but I won’t.

    I move away from her and her hands fall to her lap, but she’s smiling. I hope what I offer her is my best effort at a genuine smile and not a sneer.

    It’s just after five now, Penguin will no doubt expect me at around six. We have to get moving.

    “I’m still not carrying you,” I notify the girl. “You’re walking to the car, then I’m taking you to the hospital. They can call your folks.”

    She nods and carefully stands again. She walks slowly to the front door and shivers at the cool morning air. The sun has just begun to rise. This could buy me some more time.

    The car has little fuel, but it’s enough for two stops. I can ditch it at Penguin’s. I don’t care what he decides to do with it afterwards.

    As I drive, the girl sits more relaxed now than she did yesterday. She’s not putting any extra space between us and she’s not watching me like a deer in headlights. Instead, she looks out the window and says very little, but I can sense that she’s calm.

    With the streets so empty, I reach Gotham’s central hospital faster than I’d thought. I stop a little farther away from the main gate and turn to the girl.

    “This is as far as I’m going. Make your way inside and let them check your cut while they contact your parents.”

    She worries her bottom lip. “Come with me?”

    Shit. Attachment issues.

    “I can’t, kid. I got work.”

    Great. Now she’s sniffing. Why the hell is she–

    “Here,” she pulls out something dark and raggedy from her pocket. At first, I frown, but when she extends her hand to me, I realize it’s the glove I’d given her. It’s still stained with her blood, and she’s blushing furiously. “Sorry, it’s dirty.”

    I smile, and I know I smile for real this time because I don’t have to think about it.

    “Blood is not dirt,” I tell her, taking the glove from her and pocketing it myself.

    Then, before I can physically or mentally prepare myself, the girl comes in to wrap her short arms around my middle and presses herself to my stomach. I think this is a hug; an awkward one. The gear shift is in her way and I can tell she’s trying not to put any pressure on her knee as she stretches out to reach me. Worst of all, though, is that I feel awkward too, because I don’t hug her back. Not really.

    At first, I’m frozen in place, which is incredibly pathetic of me since I’m used to always having a plan, something to anticipate. This was not planned… although, neither was the massage, or the antagonizing conversations, or the injured leg, or the girl herself for that matter.

    Reluctantly, I place a hand to her shoulder. It’s not an embrace. I don’t know what this is. I decide to give her a friendly pat before I start pushing her away gently. Her hold tightens, and I realize I’m stuck.

    For the first time in a long time, I peer around at my surrounding to make sure nobody is witnessing this painful exchange. I’d gut them before attaining any pleasure from the act.

    The girl finally lifts her head up and stares at me with riveting eyes.

    “Thank you for saving my life, Victor.”

    I shift uncomfortably. She’s still clinging onto my torso and I don’t really know how much force I can use without hurting her.

    She’s expecting me to say something back. I stall by clearing my throat. “Don’t worry about it. Thanks for the missage. Massage. I meant massage.”

    Seriously. I’ll gut whoever may be watching this right now.

    The girl giggles and I manage to indulge her with a short chuckle. Finally, she lets me go and opens her door. Just as she’s getting out, she pauses, and I curse mentally.

    “You can come to my birthday party,” she says suggestively, rendering me frozen once again. “You don’t have to bring me presents, or anything. I’m having it in the park, like always. It’s on April 12.”

    Kids are so fucking weird.

    I could just say that I’ll be busy that day, or that I might be outside the city, or even point out that she never specified which park, since Gotham is littered with them, but I don’t say any of this.

    “I’ll try my best.” I reply, and it makes her smile.

    With a wave, she closes the door and walks slowly towards the hospital doors without hardly limping. I don’t drive away until I see her walking in.


    (To be continued)

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  • Oh I forget to upload this here , sorry


    (I also put a version without the yellow thing)

    #drawing#sketch#my draws#oswald cobblepot#batman #oswald chesterfield cobblepot #fanart#art#digital art #artists on tumblr
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  • -Memory Help-

    Context: I have an Oswald Cobblepot/“Penguin” kin possibly from the show “Gotham” and I don’t know how to feel about it.

    Okay so I’ve been trying to put this off, mainly because I haven’t even been able to watch the show itself yet. But I’ve been getting Strong Kin Feels™ lately and I wouldn’t mind letting people who may have known me in my timeline to come forward and just…chat with me?? I guess?? It might be nice to have myself be acknowledged and allow myself to know that this kin I have is real and not something I’m projecting on/making up, I already have some vibes I have been feeling are mine and maybe 1 solid memory and a few others not all there, I accept any and all who come forward to speak with me.

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    Originally posted by spyrogif

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  • Part 1

    Oswald slowly woke up, he didn’t remember going to sleep and his head felt all foggy. He was exhausted and there was a dull ache all over his body as he sat up. “Oh! You’re finally awake!” Ed got up from where he’d been sitting by the bed.

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  • I’ve found another great children’s book! This time I had to view it digitally,which provided a challenge at first but I got it done! Here’s some of my favorite illustrations from the book!

    It’s cropped off, but the book describes Killer Croc as giving batman a “bear hug” and I find that just hilarious!

    Batman: Greetings from Arkham Asylum

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  • one of my favorite harvey bullock quotes: “holy ghost on a bicycle”

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    I just love him so much💜

    Follow my instagram: valeskasglow

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  • Ed shooting Oswald for killing Isabella was quite hypocritical of him considering that Ed would most definitely do the same if Oswald had found someone (a romantic partner) back in season 3.

    Just saying.

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  • Uuugh I’m having mushy thoughts about a certain someone and it’s so so embarrassing…

    #my chest is warm and i'm sure my face is as well #i have no idea where all this came from but i very much don't like acknowledging it #oswald cobblepot#txt
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  • *blows a kiss towards Arkham Asylum* for the rouges~ 

    (except Joker)

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  • Continuation

    Ed ducked as another pillow flew at his head and hit the wall behind him. He’d gotten quite used to having things hurled at him over the past six months. Oswald was still in bed, Ed knew he would be frustrated if he managed to sleep through the day but he’d also become extremely difficult to rouse. Ed rolled his eyes and went over to open the curtains. Oswald growled at the light that came flooding in and hid under the covers.

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  • yes, miss mooney.

    #oswald cobblepot#gotham#vidkun draws #thinkin about season 1 os
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  • Jim Gordon, sat in a room with several maniacs: this is fine

    Oswald Cobblepot, wearing a dress and a ridiculously oversized bow tie: please. Please just let me die already.

    Jerome, holding a pistol and grinning: sorry pengy, not going to happen

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  • ♪ Oh, does it surprise you, too? ♪

    for @lateral-org

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  • The Unexpected Day in the Life (Part 4)

    That one time a little girl managed to prove Victor Zsasz wrong.

    (Warning: Profanity, gun-use, and violent scenes. Please take caution before you read)


    (Victor’s POV)

    “Victor. Where have you been?” Penguin’s serene words are incredibly condescending to his crisp tone.

    I force myself not to roll my eyes. Something tells me he‘d sense it.

    “At home,” I answer, preparing my eardrums for what will no doubt follow.

    I manage to pull the phone away from my ear just as a flow of word vomit spews from the bird’s mouth in screechy intervals. I can still hear him loudly and clearly; he certainly has some impressive vocal cords for such a puny man.

    I keep him away from my ear for a minute, tuning in and out to his rant whenever I remember to. I do roll my eyes now, because, really, who gives a shit?

    Rosetta… no… Rosie? The girl. She stirs a little in her sleep when Penguin’s shouting only intensifies as the minutes tick by. With a muffled grunt, I move into the kitchen and rest against the dripping sink. I count the drips until I reach about thirty before growing bored.


    But the bird doesn’t hear me at all.

    I purse my lips and tap a rhythm to match the dripping tap water.

    “And you just decided to abandon the mission just like that! Those men were there under your orders! And you just, what? Felt like taking a break and left the scene? The mission could’ve been a complete failure! Not only did I lose some good force muscle, but the GCPD now have a leak into our system!”

    “I was hit, Boss,” I drawl, knowing that he still wouldn’t hear me. “What was I supposed to do? Bleed out and die over a mission so lame?”

    “-and you are irresponsible, and unappreciative of your high commanding rank, and horribly impulsive, and never the team player-“

    I yawn and wait for him to list all of my finest assets until he finally runs out of breath. I take the opportunity to cut him off.

    “What do you want from me, Boss? I can apologize, but I don’t think it’ll do neither of us any good.”

    I can hear him growling on the other end. “I want you to come in right now. No excuses.”

    “Alright. Tomorrow.”

    “Victor. You’re. Not. Listening. To me! You jeopardized a very serious mission! Obviously, you don’t seem to understand the convoluted results caused by your actions. So, kindly come by within the next half hour unless you want your head dismembered from its respective body!”

    I emit yet another determined yawn and run my hand down my face. I’m so not in the mood for this.

    “As much as that threat truly shook me to my core, Boss, I’m still going to have to deny your directive. I got shot, I needed medical attention, and now I’m going to work on squeezing in some beauty sleep. I’ll come by early morning. Happy dreams.”

    I end the call before he manages to prepare his next rant with a lungful inhale.

    Immediately, my phone rings again. It’s Butch.

    “What?” I ask, voice dry.

    “’Bout time!” he exclaims with relief. “The boss has been asking about you all damn day! You talk to him yet?”

    “Yep,” I reply and brusquely end the call before I hear anything else.

    I’ve had it with people nagging me all day. I can take it just fine when I’m on the job, but today hasn’t been the most typical of days. I’ve been thinking too much, to the point where I’m actually beginning to feel that it’s unhealthy for me. I jeopardized a mission in order to stitch up a kid in my own apartment. Who am I anymore?

    Annoyed, I discard the bulletproof vest I forgot I was still wearing and grab a cold beer from my relatively barren fridge. With just the first swig, I start to feel better, regain a sense of normality. Just another night at home after a long day of unpredictable mishaps… By the time I finish the entire bottle, a sudden tiredness overtakes me, and I want to call it a night. Especially now since I have to be at Penguin’s early tomorrow.

    But I can’t sleep. Not yet. There’s a sleeping kid on my couch.

    Sluggishly, I drag my feet to where the girl sleeps soundly. Her arm dangles from the couch, barely grazing the dirty floor, and her blonde hair has come loose from its confined clippings and is now covering half her face. When I check my watch, I realize that it’s just over eleven, too early to call it a night, really.

    After making sure that nothing is seeping through the girl’s gauze, I flop into the wooden chair again with a huff. Jesus Christ, I’ve turned into a complete babysitter within just one night, and no one is paying me shit to do this.

    With my phone off my person and with the lack of weight from my vest, I feel light and content, and… so… so very… sleepy.


    My head dips.

    I wake up with a jump and a crick in my neck. Rubbing my hand over that tender spot makes me groan with pain.

    “Fuck…” I mumble, blinking away the sleep and taking in the familiarity of my apartment.

    Everything’s seems to be in order… except for those bright blue eyes staring at me intensely.

    I try to straighten up and wince when I feel the resistance caused by the knots in my back. The wooden chair squeaks noisily under my weight.

    I hate this chair.

    “Are you a bad guy?”

    What the fuck is she on about now?

    I blink momentarily, my brain too mushy to process her words.

    “Uhm… I’m… hm… What?”

    “You have guns,” she explains, matter-of-factly.

    Sleepily, I shrug. “Cops have guns.”

    She falls quiet, and a part of me takes satisfaction in besting a kid… which should probably say something about my simplistic way of thinking.

    “But cops have badges,” she retaliates then. “Do you have a badge?”

    I let out a long exhale. “Badges are Lame, with a capital L. How does your leg feel?”

    She considers this for a few seconds. “Okay,” she decides. “But can I walk?”

    “You’re gonna,” I warn, standing up to stretch. “’Cause I’m not going to be carrying anybody today. Back’s fucked up.”

    The girl visibly shivers. “You say a lot of dirty words. You are a bad guy.”

    I roll my eyes. “You watch way too much T.V.”

    Checking the time, it’s fucking four in the morning. I contemplate dumping myself onto my spring mattress for another hour or two until I notice the girl trying to stand up. I don’t help her; she’s being careful enough. She manages to stand steadily with a hand supporting herself against the armrest of the couch.

    Then, once she gains some balance, she takes two steps towards me without ever wobbling. When she stops and looks at me, I can see the pride in her eyes.

    “It feels good,” she announces. “It’s a bit weird, but it doesn’t hurt too much.”

    I almost want to say ‘good, so you can walk home on your own’, but an internal force stops me from making that suggestion or anything else along the line.

    Why am I acting so… stupid?

    Do I care about her? Is this what caring feels like? I don’t feel anything emotionally… nor do I feel like this is the moral thing to do. It’s a nameless feeling, it almost feels like an incomplete feeling, even. Like it’s something unpolished, something undecided upon. It’s going to drive me mad.

    “Do you have anything to eat?”

    Mindlessly, I shake my head. “No, and you need to go home.”


    (To be continued - In the meantime, let me know what y’all think! Two more parts to go)

    #victor zsasz#oswald cobblepot#penguin#butch#gotham #there’s a lot here than what meets the eye #victor is a closeted sweetheart
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  • jerome: we’re engaged!!!

    oswald, looking at jon: you should have asked me first

    jon, deadpan: sorry but you’re not really my type

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