#for being complacent and for lying about numbers and for not being brave enough to be what a journalist should be

[raandim-emortal]

This won’t happen, but I think it’d be really cool if after we took a couple of days to grieve, we just started throwing stuff at the wall to see if anything will stick. I think it’d be really cool if the ACLU and other organizations looked into people’s stories of not being allowed to vote, or anything else, and at least tried to do something about it, right now, before January ever starts.

I think it’d be really cool if there was mass protesting, and lawsuits, and dissent, and political leaders doing what they can to keep us safe. I want state governments to outline a plan to keep us safe. I want to know that these people are not going to sit by and watch this happen in silence. and I think it’d be really cool if that mass protesting caused Biden to step down and hand the reigns over to Harris who refused to transfer power under the threat that a completely unbalanced government poses.

I know nothing will stop what’s going to happen, but we have two and half months, we do not have to go into this silently. I am sick and tired of democrats in office trying to be the bigger person. There are ways they can fight back within legal parameters. There are things they can do now to make things even just a little more difficult in January and I want them to take every advantage they can claw up from this mess of a government. I want them to get down and dirty and fight with every last ounce they have.

I want them to fight until the last second and then I want them to continue to fight and resist and do the jobs they got hired for. I want them to give a shit and I want them to show that with action.

I just want someone with the power to do literally anything, to give enough of a fuck to try and do literally anything.

[captainkurosolaire]

Comprehend Don’t Glimpse (2/3)

Battered and banged up by stormed debris but overall made it to the city-gates. Reaching the Scholar’s Walk near side the Alchemist Guild he trotted to his origins.

Sure enough, the pricks from his childhood of the time were on duty. Sworn between the doors preventing escape or entry. They, however, didn’t recognize the grown matured Miqo’te from the scamp they brutalized and abused, no longer showing the same stance.

Their facial features were remorseless, entitled, so, they could be corrupt and play god, play above all matters. A thing that would be learned by the Higher’s of the City-State overtime. Complacency and status inflated ego.

The brash young Seeker bit his tongue and confronted them this wasn’t about him, not in a moment like this.

[Previous]

Each of them putting hands on their hilts from judging already the painstaking scoundrel before them. “What are you here for and holding ruffian?” A grotesque wrinkling Midlander in Brass on the left spoke first, this was the same one behind his helmet that tormented him.

The Captain needed to overcome the peril and rage of this confrontation and suck-up. He couldn’t show emotion. These were Brasses they were looking for any means to get a pay-grade or promotion. He couldn’t imply that he found this small-child in the confines of a crate that he intended on smuggling for a client, he had to make up something. To make matters worse, he was a different race entirely than the Hyur child he was holding with no characteristics of features. That was red-flags all over.

“An abandoned. I take it, ye’ll take care of it. Those are the reasons behind that door ye guard, no? She’s famished and been without a proper meal for a while so the sooner the better.” A sigh left the left man, as his head beckoned the right to step in. To retrieve the kid.

“Indeed, however, I have questions with you before I can simply, let you go... “ He was judging him based on his looks at his profile.

Kuro didn’t wish to make a scene or endanger this kid’s future. So he had to comply… Forking over the infant to one of the Brasses as they opened the doors and brought them to the caretaker and the other misfortunes.

The Brass of Left, stepped in trying to stay opposing and threatening with his sheathed blade towards the unarmed pirate who caught in a dangerous situation. If he objected and tried to flee or leave at this point, these heathens would surely reject the infant and punish it and neglect it of spoiled foods, this was often how it worked here.

They needed this reminder of power above a pirate or a criminal scum who to them was nothing but someone beneath them an advisory that fought against them. Giving them bad namesake, in any other situation the pirate would have been able to stay off the radar but he acted like this. His crew wasn’t aware and couldn’t back him either. The Brass squinches his visage to peer observantly, “What’s someone like YOU. Doing with a Midlander child, did you steal it? If I go search the case files, will I find this? What’s your possible connection, I find it highly unlikely you’re an upstanding citizen. You radiate bad-news.”

The pirate stuffed his hands in his pockets and quenched his fists in curls underneath out of sight to contain and recompose it took ever constraint not to give into fighting. Loosening and composing with an internal inhale and exhale.

Then he devised and put thoughts to actions seeing the background and hearing an unruly loud cry ringing through that made other cries behind the doors of the child who wasn’t being comforted by the other Brasses handle, he couldn’t entrust or leave this be. They were denying the kid luxuries because of who brought it in. He couldn’t allow someone like them to continue to playing guardians to promising lives, he couldn’t have his storied of abuse and neglect repeat through endless cycles. They were proven casket history, which repeats by their placement.

He also couldn’t afford to let himself get caught, he couldn’t explain or lie outright about knowing the parents they would background check and surely make him keep within the City-State… He needed to pull them away.

His trade was always speech and looking in the dark of others of what they craved the most and playing against it. There was an advantage, he knew them more than anyone by growing up around them.

“If ye hadn’t noticed by all the sand covering me, I ran into th’ situation among the midst of the Thanlans little off the bridge to soot-creek. Hard to tell but I think that a caravan may run off-course and broke through railing ye might want to get out there and check the scoped sight, more fellows could be trapped or endangered that sandstorm picked up violently have heard forecast haven’t ye? I was heading to make my rounds to the city-state coming from Horizon got caught in the thicket when I was on the bridge and found an injured lass clutching a cradle and that baby in. She selflessly wished me to get the girl safe away from it, she’s stuck and knew I couldn’t possibly get them both within my limited-focus, I’m merely one bloke after all.”

He played between the emotions and the story-telling, fully, himself believing every word of it. By blaming the force of weather that often obscured, he could use this to his advantage. He played off facts by explaining his appearance which rewrote any detective lens.

Often interrogation conducted on stories untold. Though maybe if a tale held urgency, he could most likely rewrite the issue. Blinding the Brass from notions.

The policed-figure of sorts, “So you’re implying people are still endangered? Leaving their Mother alone out there for what, a temporary shelter in us?” Quickly retorting, “Aye. I attempted to go against wishes but with how thick that sand is nothing is clear it seemed she was caught-stuck, surely she knew this. Who wouldn’t be brave for their kid and muster through their own needs? -- I think if we go now, we can still save them. Leviathan, I’d go… but well, I doubt that’s an option.” Everything was a CLUE when someone spoke. The Brass disdained and didn’t like troublemakers or those who had a prolific image of stereotypical traits. By playing that recording against him, it sounded whistles of ‘reason’ a means of manipulation.

He was far out of the clear though. He needed to play off the already corruptible tendencies and convince them to pry away.

“We shall wait until nightfall, it’ll clear by then and I’ll send this to HQ. Then we’ll validate and verify.”

The pirate lowly disgruntled a snicker and looked away with a lack of approval, The Brass had to reply, “What…” with a following of the pirate’s explanation, “That’s unwise, is that not? Wouldn’t that get you potentially in far worse down the totem-pole? Or stagnant, do ye wish to stay looking after spoiled-little brats that continue to annoy? Think if ye do this heroic act especially during a catastrophic sandstorm -- Even the Sultana would be obligated to discuss this on Royal Court I could see promotions, for acting favored. Maybe as Sworn-Elite or even grander promotions. -- There’s two of you, why don’t you take me -- an unarmed man barely passed his teens and confirm it yourself, if I’m lying you can take me in or easily apprehend me and still claim a prized recognition by jailing me especially if you believe, I’ve abducted. However, when I prove correct you’ll be able to get a medal for saving multiple lives in crossed danger and reunite a child and their Mother. Though if you choose to wait and let the storm continue to pulverize endangered denizens and have knowledge of it, you’ll be in far dire situations, cause keep in-mind now you have that runt somehow behind those doors and the caretaker knows now too. Yer words of explaining shall b’ hard t’ fall-out from this.”

He used his criminal-mind to talk to the twisted. Those who wished for fame and further power were more prone to halt here. Saying lowly, frustratingly. While acting with a hinted pitch of selling himself to a trip to the gallows, what pirate would willingly do that? His words struck true, mixing facts and conveying what was a lied short-tale and turning it into believability.

Kuro’s heart raced never being in this situation. Though he continued for what lay’s on the line.

The Brass thought among himself while his thumb stroked the shaft of his hilt upon curved gladius. Time froze it felt like or became excruciatingly slow. As tension built to his dramatic life flashing. Fear was raising but battling against bravery for what seemed like he was reclaiming his young-life. Others were in threat. The last thing he wanted was to play vigilante. The idolized were unseen-poison. He was a nuisance or the villain of the story to the public eye, enemy number one, as a voice louder than his own declared through law and brainwashing the populous on a massive scale. But dammit!

Those who turned to the petty crime were often broken into corners wishing to soar their freedom more than the word that spread around without weight. They wished to show or spread the embodiments of it. To be a painting they created and not one colored in or seen as but troubled scribbles.

All these thoughts came rushing in a flood before, “...Alright. We’ll see your merit stay here, I’ll converse with my colleague, it’s your word against our own but do not try to speak out about why we left our station. We go as I return with haste to this landmark you’ll show. If you prove dishonest, you know what’s inevitable for you. No one will hear from you again.”

[dontshootmespence]

Supernatural AU: Episode 3 - Home

Part 1

The hole-in-the-wall bar they were walking toward practically radiated the obnoxious mixture of cigarette smoke, fried foods and sexual desperation. It was about all the Winchesters could hope for save for the stale motel room smell that had virtually become a second perfume, but still, it was definitely not the most pleasant smell. Hopefully some food and a good game of pool would distract Bobbie from it.

“Ah, smells good,” Dean said, inhaling as his eyes darted immediately to the pool table.

Of course he liked the smell in here. Bobbie could go for a plate of French fries, but as for the rest of it she was pretty sure she could do without.

There were bars. There were hunter’s bars. There were places in between. This one was without a doubt a hunter’s gathering place. The only reason they knew? All eyes turned toward them. For better or for worse, they were famous despite wanting everyone to leave them alone.

Sam shivered at the feel of all eyes on him. “I hate this.”

“Me too, Sammy,” she replied, making her way over to the pretty blonde bartender. “Let’s just get some food and play a game. Ignore them.”

After placing an order for a giant plate of greasy, cheesy and bacon-y fries, some artery-clogging onion rings and a starter of three beers, they all headed over to the picturesque pool table and decided on a friendly, sibling tournament of eight ball. “Who against who first?” Dean asked.

Sam and Dean wanted to go first, which was the better for Bobbie because the gnawing in her stomach said fries were needed immediately. She actually hadn’t eaten since yesterday, late afternoon, so it was a miracle she hadn’t eaten one of her brothers alive or driven them insane in the ensuing hours. “What do I get if I win?” Dean asked.

Rolling his eyes, Sam pocketed the seven ball and promised Dean a bottle of cheap whiskey if he did win. Their sister sat back and smiled at them bickering while she inhaled some onion rings and fries like the hungriest anteater that ever walked the planet. “You leave any for us?” Sam asked, arms raised in disbelief, defeated after losing. She could see the determination in his eyes. He was going to practice pool so he could show Dean up one of these days. Dean was such a cocky bastard when it came to pool.

“Some. I was really hungry…sorry.”

“You are not.”

“This is true.”

Before Bobbie could walk toward the pool table, another bar patron grabbed her ass. In the blink of an eye, she spun around, smacked him and followed quickly with a kick to the balls. “Do not touch me again or I’ll cut it off.” More than the fair share of men had tried to make a move on Bobbie before. It didn’t matter if her brothers were there or not. But no matter what she always left them wishing they’d never set eyes on her.

Snickering, Dean threw her a pool cue. “Dad always told me to take care of you, keep on eye on you. I told him you didn’t need it.” He liked being right.

“Really?” Sam asked. “Dad said that?” If there was one person that didn’t need protecting in his family, Bobbie was it. Her and Dean were the strongest people he’d ever known, even more so than their father because of all the things they’d had to deal with in his absence.

It didn’t come as a surprise to her. Boys tended to run in both of her parents’ families; Bobbie was an anomaly. John was not a ‘girls father,’ he was meant for boys. “I’ll make sure to tell him that I need no help when it comes to defending myself from men. That shit’s easy. Occasionally I’ll need help with a werewolf though, only if there’s more than one, so in that case you boys can jump in front of them for me,” she said. Despite her statement, she would willingly throw herself into a den of werewolves if it would save the boys she loved.

“Somehow I don’t think you’ll need help there either,” Sam replied.

He was probably right, but Dean interrupted her train of thought. “So what do I get if I win?”

“You get to hit on the bartender by yourself instead of having to compete with me.”

“No!”

“Why not, baby brother?” She laughed.

“Because I can get the bartender’s number with or without you there.”

“Okay, then I’m going to go ask her now. Be right back,” she said, feigning walking away. Having a bisexual sister must’ve been a big pain in the ass for him, but honestly she felt like she kept him on his toes – made him raise his game instead of getting complacent. Either brother could rely on their looks to bed a lady for the night, but she was never one to let that slide.

“Alright screw you, you’re on.”

“And if I win, I get the bottle of booze that Sammy’s buying you.”

“Fine,” he grumbled.

-

It felt nice to finally feel settled. She still had to unpack all of her things and all of the kids’ things, but Jenny had been feeling suffocated in the old place. No matter when she walked in or whom she was with, she couldn’t breathe there anymore. It had been time for a change. As she stood at the counter, chopping celery and carrots for some soup they’d hopefully have for dinner the following night, she stared up into the clear night sky. The stars were out tonight and she felt at peace for the first time in a while. “Mommy, are you going to come up and tuck me in?”

Jenny pulled her gaze away from the stars and looked down toward where she was cutting her vegetables. “Be right up!” She called. As she turned to head up the stairs the lights flickered again. She was definitely glad to be out of her old home but this one definitely had its issues. She really needed to fix these lights.

When she rounded the corner into Sari’s room, she saw her normally brave little girl cowering in fear, pastel colored blankets held closely to her chin with her knees almost digging into her chest. “Sari, what’s wrong?”

All she did was stare at the closet. Jenny couldn’t figure it out. Sari was usually so fearless, and now all of a sudden this closet was freaking her out. It didn’t make any sense. To placate her, Jenny opened the closet and stood inside in an attempt to show her daughter that there was nothing to fear here. Her unease with the whole thing was probably a result of moving, things changing at such a crucial point in her life. But Sari was a good kid and it would all pass soon enough. Until then, Jenny would assure her there were no monsters in her closet.

With a kiss on her head, Jenny pulled the blankets up and around Sari. “I don’t like this house,” the little girl whispered.

Jenny sighed and repeated that there was nothing to be afraid of, but still, just for good measure, she put a chair in front of the closet door. “See? Now nothing can get out of there.”

Sari smiled timidly, ashamed that she was so afraid of something she couldn’t even see. She thanked her mother before lying down completely and pulling up the covers to keep away the cold.

They were finally down for the night. Sari was only hesitant to fall asleep because of the supposed monsters in her closet, but Ritchie was a whole other story. That boy was just full of boundless energy – something Jenny hoped would mellow out over the years. She was getting too tired for this.

Although she was exhausted and wanted nothing more than to go to sleep, she went back downstairs instead, making sure to be careful of the creaky steps, lest they make noise and undo all her hard work to start unpacking some more boxes instead. It was nearly impossible to get it done during the day because no matter when she decided to start in on the unboxing, her kids would undoubtedly need something and interrupt her.

Speaking of interrupting, she could swear there was a scratching coming from the basement. All she wanted to due was unpack one of these boxes without being distracted. The scratching was soft and a bit random, but it was definitely there. “What is wrong with this place?” She asked aloud.

Curiosity got the better of her. Probably wasn’t the best. That whole ‘curiosity killed the cat’ phrase had to mean something, but it was probably nothing. Maybe a boiler failure that would of course eat into the savings she had put aside for a family vacation, but nothing more.

With a flashlight in hand, Jenny headed down the steps, ensuring with each step that the wood wouldn’t crumble beneath her feet. That’s the only reason this house had been affordable for her. It needed a lot of work. The switch on the wall didn’t work – of course – so she headed toward the bottom of the steps and pulled on the string near the light bulb. “Lovely.” That didn’t work either.

Jenny had never been a fan of the dark. Not since she was a little girl, but this was her fresh start, which meant changes were in store – both for her family and for her as a woman and mother. The flashlight scanned around the room, falling on small spots of water damage, a couple of cobwebs and a few boxes with water stains of their own.

When she bent down to see what was inside, she thanked God the damage hadn’t gotten to the contents of the box. It looked like old family pictures and VHS tapes. Maybe she would be able to get in touch with whomever these belonged to. It would be a shame if they lost their family’s memories.

Pulling out one of the pictures, she saw a clean-shaven man with a chiseled face, a young blonde woman, and three beautiful kids – one girl with light brown hair like Sari and two boys with matching hair and big, cheesy smiles. She turned over the photograph and saw faded writing on the back, but she could make it out:

John, Mary, Bobbie, Dean and Sam Winchester.

-

Upstairs, Sari awoke when she heard a scratch on the wooden floors of her bedroom. Her mother had promised to get a carpet eventually because she didn’t like the cold feeling of the wood under her feet, but she hadn’t been able to get it yet.

Sari pulled the covers closer to her eyes, fearing what might be there when she glanced toward the closet, but when the shadow of the chair skidded against the wall she snapped to attention.

With the chair across the room and the doors free to open, the little girl sat frozen in fear and watched as the doors opened by themselves. There was nothing there. It was just change, right? She didn’t like it and that’s why she was so nervous in this new place. That had to be the reason.

Seconds later she realized that she was right to have concerns about this house. A nearly invisible figure – almost human – stood before her, flames licking at its heels before sprouting upward. Before the flames could engulf the entire being, Sari was screaming at the top of her lungs.

-

Whiskey was great, even the crappy stuff was fairly smooth and had a delicious kick that could knock someone out for the night. Dean’s whiskey had been particularly tasty, because why not, she’d screwed her brother out of it, but Bobbie did end up with a bit of a headache the next morning. For the most part she was a beer drinker; she definitely wasn’t used to whiskey.

“Serves you right for stealing my whiskey,” Dean said when he noticed her rubbing at her head.

Like any loving big sister would, she flipped him the finger and swallowed two headache pills dry. “Totally worth it,” she snickered. “And I didn’t steal. I won fair and square because I am the pool queen.” Turning her head toward the rickety table, she saw Sam already wide awake and staring intently at their clunky laptop. “What’s wrong?”

“I think we have a case.”

“Where?” Dean asked. He never wondered where it was. It didn’t matter. Just as long as he had something to distract himself from the barrage of old memories.

“Home.”

@remember-me-forever-silent-angel @gaylemonshark  @marveldivergentouatdctvfangirl @lalirang @averagekansan @addsomesalt @stusbunker @sebba-hiddles @fanfictionrecommendations-com @hoppy519 @thatwrestlingfan91 @extremeobsessions101 @spence-imagines @bettercallsabs @whaaatthefuuuuck @letsgetfuckingsuperwholocked @your-imagination-runs-wild @cryinglots @steggy01 @gigilame @sedulous-mind @a-unique-girls-heaven @just-antiyou @rmmalta @original-criminal-fanfics @ties-n-suits @veroinnumera @eurusholmmes @fanficienjoyedreading @astridstark13​

[cobblepot-comfort]

Some drama and trouble for our devoted pair:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/14157339/chapters/43808419#workskin

Not Just a Walk in the Park

For the first time in a long time, Oswald woke up alone.

He was holed up in a tiny cell 6 ft by 4 ft.

It was dark, and it took his eyes a while to adjust and make out his surroundings.

He had been placed on a shallow mattress on the floor. He had one thin blanket to cover himself with.

The floor was hard, and his leg was killing him, as he had been lying awkwardly on a shallow mattress on top of a cold, hard surface.

He struggled to his feet, groaning and wincing, and looked around him.  He really needed his stick but of course, that had been taken from him in the attack.

His head was also fuzzy and aching, they must have stuck him with some kind of drug to keep him unconscious.  However, what really concerned him was not his physical pain, but the fact he was alone and he remembered Jim shouting something, recalled hearing a shot before he was knocked out -  just after the bag was thrown over his head.

His heart lurched -  he felt sick. What happened to Jim?  Where was he, what did they do to him?  Was he shot?

He shivered not just from the cold but also the fear that something awful could have befallen Jim.

He limped slowly and painfully over to the metal cell door, yelled and commenced banging on it.  He hit the door so hard that it bruised then lacerated his knuckles. They cracked and bled, but still he beat his fist over and over.  

“Show yourself!  Show yourself!” he cried, over and over again, until he was hoarse, until he had almost no breath or voice left.

He stood there gasping, regaining his breath, readying himself to launch another tirade at the silent, unhearing door.

“You cowardly bastards!”  he cried. “Where are you?  Who are you? What do you want with me? What have you done with Jim?!”

He sobbed with anger and fear - but at this point, he allowed anger to be the dominant emotion.  Anger was an energy. It would stop him from going under, from surrendering, giving in to whatever mental torment - and in all likelihood, physical torture -  they seemed hell bent on putting him through. Whoever ‘they’ were. Why didn’t the cowards make an appearance, show their faces to him?

Then after what seemed like an eternity of screaming abuse at a blank door and getting nil  response, he finally collapsed in exhausted tears. He hobbled back to the makeshift bed he woke up in, pulled the thin blankets they had provided around himself, trying to keep warm, and cried himself bitterly into a fitful sleep.

He slept and woke in fits and starts, thinking he heard noises periodically, but then finding it was all in his head. The effects of the drug had  not completely worn off and he so he was still feeling physically tired even though psychologically, his nerves were jangling.

In his waking moments, he remembered walking with Jim in the park, so carefree and in love.  It had been a beautiful spring day, he remembered. He had no idea what the weather was like now, as there were no windows to look out of.

He also had no idea what the time was as ‘they’ had taken all his jewellery including his watch - but the worst thing of all was the engagement ring, finding that now his finger was bare.  They took that too!

His angry, heartbroken tears fell afresh.  “I’m so sorry Jim,” he whispered, as if Jim was there to hear his confession.  He couldn’t help holding himself accountable for the loss of the precious treasure given to him with such love and devotion all that time ago.

He recalls Jim’s smile, his gentle hand on the small of his back, and the warm late spring sunshine on his face as they walked along together.  That moment was one of the happiest of his life and this day should have been so perfect….

Their wedding was now just two months away.  They had been full of excitement, full of hope for the future.

Why hadn’t he listened to Jim?  They should have brought those two goons along for protection.  Oswald had always nurtured a certain amount of healthy paranoia, it had helped him to stay alive - but being with Jim had made him feel invincible somehow, safe, protected, and he had begun to feel more calm and relaxed about everything in general.  Love would conquer all - he had come to believe that now more than ever.

Now he was paying the price for his complacency, holed up in this disgusting damp, dark jail cell, God knows where, all alone and isolated.

But despite all this, he would feel much happier if he knew Jim was ok.    As long as Jim hadn’t paid the price for his carelessness….

Where were his captors, and when would they come to him and tell him what the hell was going on?

He didn’t care what they did to him, as long as Jim was safe.

Oswald hadn’t noticed the small surveillance camera positioned high up at the far corner of the room.

Enzo stood there watching the footage on the monitor, smiling to himself.

Yeah, let him cry himself to sleep, the stupid fag.    As if he could have got the better of me, he thought. Him and his hubris!  Him and his fag cop boyfriend. He would so enjoy torturing the little bastard.

He wasn’t keen to identify himself - in fact the hostage negotiations were all being conducted through a third party.  Contracted out, as it were. That would confuse the GCPD, put them off the scent.

He just had to decide if he would, ultimately, let this scumbag live or enjoy eventually putting him out of his misery with a bullet in his brain.  Because that’s what he would be begging for in the end.

Earlier that day:

“Let’s go for a walk in the park!”

Oswald smiled at Jim across the breakfast table, stirring the sugar into his bitter black coffee as he spoke.

Jim bit ravenously into his second slice of toast, thickly spread with butter and preserves.

They sure had worked up an appetite last night!

“Yeah, why not?  It’s a nice day for it.”

The sun was indeed shining, brighter than it had done in a while.

It was a shame to waste it.

“I have a feeling this is going to be a great weekend!” he grinned. Ozzy smiled back, dazzling him with his bright blue eyes, put down his coffee spoon  and teased the soft spikes of his ravishing raven mane with his elegant fingers.

“Me too.”  Oswald smiled with affirmation, winking his pretty blue eye.   He reached for the preserves.

“I’ll just call up Stan and Lee, they’ll want to come with us I suppose,” Jim said, beginning to punch in their numbers on his cell.

These were Oswald’s two new bodyguards, who seemed to be taking their job very seriously.  Almost too seriously, Jim thought, although he was still grateful that they were around to protect Oswald.

And they had come highly recommended by the employment agency.  Gabe had made sure of that - he wanted reliable men to take care of his boss while he and Zsasz were busy making the wedding arrangements - or as he put it to Oswald, sorting out a big problem in the Narrows.

“No, Jim - I really don’t want those two hanging around us today.  I want to be alone with you.”

“I know sweetheart, I want to be alone with you too.  But - well, after the trial..you know, after what Enzo said….”

“He doesn’t scare me!”  Oswald scoffed, then he took a big bite out of his toast.  “Besides, they wouldn’t dare do anything when we’re out in broad daylight in full view of the public,” he continued indignantly, brandishing his toast crust.  “That wouldn’t do their case any good! And besides, Detective Gordon - I feel safe with you.” He gave Jim an extra wide feline smile.

Jim’s heart fluttered, as it always did when Oswald looked that way at him.   He took a breath and collected himself.

“Oswald - please, seriously, I want to be sure you’re safe - we need this backup, at least until we can get enough evidence to put Enzo behind bars,”  Jim frowned anxiously.

Oswald cocked his head and smiled softly at Jim.  “Ahhhh Jim,” he sighed. “I’m so touched that you care for me so deeply.  I do love you for that. But really, Jim - honey - I’m sure there is nothing to worry about.”

Oswald had been a very high profile witness for the case.

He hadn’t held back  - especially as the person on trial,  Gasparo Carrara, was the right hand man of Enzo Leccese.

He had provided enough evidence to send him down for a long time.

And when Commissioner Loab had asked what he wanted in return, all he said, as deadpan as you like, was, “To help the GCPD, sir, is all I want.”  

What he wanted most was to make Jim proud and to get back at that homophobic bastard Leccese, but he didn’t say either of those things  out loud. These were personal things that meant something only to him and his beautiful fiance.

Back at the GCPD, everyone had expressed their gratitude  - the guy was a cop killer who had put away four of their colleagues in that bank raid - and even Barnes made a point of thanking him.

“There is no honour amongst thieves, Captain Barnes - you should know that!” Oswald had joked, deliberately playing down his role in the outcome.  

“No comment!  Just glad you could help,” had been the good humoured reply as Barnes had offered his hand.

The look on Jim’s face had been a picture as he had approached the two of them and seen Barnes smile and shake Oswald’s hand.  Wonders really would never cease!

And as he had reached them, Barnes had turned, still smiling, and said, “Hey, Jim.”  He had coughed awkwardly. “Erm - by the way, you two - now you’re both here - I believe  congratulations are in order. I’m sorry, guys, that it took me this long. I hope you’ll forgive me.”

Later,  Jim told Oswald that his wide-eyed, open-mouthed look of amazement had been priceless….and so, so pretty….

But  now, after the glory was done, after all the back slapping and celebrating and bonding was over,  there was that fear that somehow, there would be repercussions. Serious ones.

If Oswald felt that he certainly wasn’t showing it, thought Jim.  He was so brave, resilient and tough! But he was very worried about him.  

He wanted to protect him.   He loved him so much it hurt.

And he had nearly lost him once before, which was once too often.  That still stung him - he would never forget it.

He would kiss the scar on Oswald’s chest often, to show him he would never forget his heroism.

And now, he had risked his safety again.  They had a new threat hanging over them, that black cloud in the form of Enzo Leccese.