Gobblepot Gazette

So, now I have a short second chapter (almost) ready. I still need to think about the story as a whole, to see if it does make any sense or not...

Anyway, the fic:

Even though it was very last minute, I wrote something for every challenge prompt, and so I am proud to call out "Bingo"!

My fics turned into a little series with a happy ending, which you can find here.

Thank you for the fun event, @gobblepotgazette ❤️

Will You Stay?

It's rare for Oswald to enjoy the sunrise. He's not an early riser, and if he has to get up matutinally, his mind immediately drifts to work, problems, schemes.

Today, he wakes to pleasant warmth at his back and the sound of songbirds, just as a rare golden ray breaks through the usual Gotham haze.

It's ridiculously peaceful. It is perfect.

“Morning,” murmurs Jim behind him, voice gruff with sleep. His lips graze Oswald’s ear, making him squirm.

“Will you stay?”

They both have work, naturally. But that's not what Oswald means, as they both know.

“... I'm not going anywhere.”

@gobblepotgazette @broken-lycan

Make The World Make Sense Again

Dinner is a quiet, slightly awkward affair.

Olga had expected a guest, but clearly not Jim Gordon.

Victor, despite being off duty, stands like a sentinel next to the serving cart by the wall, staring and snacking on their desserts until Olga smacks his hand and drags him into the kitchen. He throws Jim a pointed look while being led away.

Both men forget about it as their conversation picks up, as they sit closer together. As their breaths catch, leaning in.

“May I?,” Jim murmurs. Oswald nods.

@gobblepotgazette @broken-lycan

Gentle, Almost Reverent

Oswald remembers the first time he'd ever been in handcuffs. Also, the first time he'd been cuffed around Jim.

And, shamefully, he recalls that he'd wished Jim would tie him up in a wholly different context.

He's almost disappointed Jim left all of his police gear back at the precinct. Another part of him is relieved. He'd do nearly anything for Jim, to make him happy, to make him stay.

But he's so, so nervous.

Jim's hands are gentle, almost reverent. Huffily, Oswald mentions it.

“Well, I've a lot to make up for.” Another loving touch.

@gobblepotgazette @broken-lycan

Don't Turn Away From Me Again

“I can show you the files,” Oswald blurts out, before Jim can turn away again. He's turned away from him so many, many times over the years.

“They're… at my mansion.”

He wishes he could take the words back. He should've bitten his tongue off instead of uttering them.

‘Do something,’ he urges himself, ‘say something. Explain.’

His treacherous mouth doesn't obey.

Impossibly, Jim grins.

“Is that the only reason why you're inviting me into your home?”

Oswald feels the old instinct to deflect, get mean. He exhales instead, heart racing.

@gobblepotgazette @broken-lycan

On Good Days, You See Me

On good days - when Oswald feels powerful and confident -, he knows he has a talent for flirting.

His peacock attire and slim, smallish build may not be everyone's type, but he does have some winsome qualities, and he knows how to use them. Attractiveness is mostly about presentation. Clothes that flatter him, a dash of makeup, a wink he'd never admit to having practiced in front of the mirror.

Today is a good day. And yet he feels shaky, talking to Jim. He masks it well, but it annoys him.

@gobblepotgazette @broken-lycan

To Pull You In Or Strangle You

Jim's necktie’s crooked. Oswald can't take his eyes off of it while Bullock rambles on and on.

Usually, the kingpin prides himself on being an attentive listener. But he's also a details person. And just like so many other things about Jim Gordon, that tie is driving him insane.

Jim clears his throat, and their eyes meet.

“...You even listening?” Bullock.

“Of course.” Oswald smiles at Jim instead of Harvey, who turns to leave with a scoff.

Oswald's hands fix Jim's tie before he can stop them, then… rest there, momentarily. Jim freezes, flushes.

@gobblepotgazette @broken-lycan

Your Words, Your Smile

Joking doesn't come naturally to Oswald. Never has, he thinks.

He can turn on the charm in a mere second, use words like honey or like knives. But his humor isn't gentle, nor shallow, and if he tries to force it to be, it turns awkward at best. Just another thing that makes him ‘other’.

Just another thing that makes him and Jim alike. They're both hardened by the city and by life, their quips at each other are quick and sharp like a viper's bite.

You can also find this ficlet here.

Never Like This

They've shared car rides before, but never like this.

Oswald is all too aware of the warmth of Jim's body next to his, despite his car's spacious interior. He almost chuckles, thinking that he's just as nervous as when he rode in the trunk of Jim's police car, long ago.

This time however, he's nervous for a wholly different reason. He still can't wrap his head around the fact that Jim agreed to this.

In the rearview mirror, he catches Victor's amused gaze.

“Shut up.”

@gobblepotgazette

This is for the Gobblepot Mini Fest. I'm writing more entries for it right now. Last minute, of course, as always with me.

I've also posted this ficlet here.

Anything You Offer Me

There are many sweets Oswald likes, even craves, on occasion. Ice cream isn't one of them. Too messy, too sticky, too inelegant.

Apparently, Jim's tastes are different. Oswald finds himself staring as Jim waits for his order in front of the run-down truck's window. When Jim turns and sees him, Oswald curses internally. Should've kept walking.

A moment of silence.

"You want one too?," Jim asks.

"Yes," Oswald replies, unthinking.

He steps up to his old friend, eyes the flavor selection.

“You can try mine first, see if you-...” Jim trails off, clears his throat.

“I’m sorry,” Jim says even though his first reaction to Oswald’s accusations was to retaliate with his own. But he’s so tired, so drained, and he can’t find the fire within himself for that.

“James?” Oswald looks at him quizzically, tilting his head. So bird-like. So familiar. He’s missed that familiarity more than he cares to admit, and it feels so natural to just thump his forehead against Oswald’s shoulder in this moment of weakness before him.

“I’m sorry,” he says again, closing his eyes. “For everything.”

“Well,” Oswald huffs, breathless. “That must be a lot even if you only consider me and mine.”

“I know. That’s why I’m trying to warn you, again.”

“I heard you, James.”

“Did you?” Jim raises his head and - he didn’t expect to see that face so close, all the lines of it exquisite and familiar and beautiful.