#crinkle paper is the stiff brown paper that comes in packages that crinkles when he jumps all over it

[sweetfirebird]

Trying to finish this story and the cat keeps screaming at me to look at him while he plays with his crinkle paper

[chilling-seavey]

okay so HI CLEMMIE WALKED IN ABM BUT THE OTHER BEBE'S FIRST STEPS PLEASE AND THANK YOU - OMG CLEMMIE CHEERING THEM ON AND AND USUALLY FIRST STEPS A BABY TAKES ARE TO THEIR PARENTS OKAY SO MAYBE LIKE FOR WHICHEVER SISTER WAS NATURALLY CLOSE TO CLEMMIE / JUST RANDOMLY - THEIR FIRST STEPS ARE TO CLEMMIE AND CLEMS IS LIKE OMG 🥺

I copied Clem’s first steps (and Daniel’s reaction) from the original ABM fic here as well, just so everything is together 🥰

Clementine

Once presents were done, Michael and Luke started to make brunch. It wasn’t long before the smell of bacon and eggs filled the house, the rest of their group in the living room talking loudly amongst themselves. Ivan had Clementine on his lap, reading her one of her new books, his messy pronunciation of some English words making her look up at him, almost like she was confused.

“God, Ivan, you’ve lived in LA for how long?! Why don’t you know how to pronounce English words right?” Emilio smacked his hand to his forehead with a sigh. The room erupted into laughter – even Clementine – and Ivan’s cheeks went red.

“Don’t be so mean.” Florence chuckled, giving Emilio a small shove. “He’s trying his best and I’m sure Clementine appreciates it.”

“Don’t you, Clemmy?” Callum tickled her side and the baby giggled, curling into him.

Ethan leaned over the side of the couch that he and Grayson were on and picked up one of Clementine’s new stuffed animals. The sheep was unrealistically fluffy but undeniably cute. Clementine shrieked happily, reaching for it from her place on Ivan’s lap.

“Go get it, Clem.” Florence smiled. Callum pulled the baby onto her feet, holding her gently by the waist. Ethan passed the sheep to Emilio who was in front of him and they enticed the little girl with sweet voices and words of encouragement. Her little legs wobbled as Callum slowly moved his hands away from her. Clementine took an unsure shuffle forward followed by a second. She stumbled forward a little bit more before falling into Emilio’s waiting arms.

Florence’s proud scream startled the room and Luke and Michael rushed over to make sure everything was okay.

“She walked!” Florence cried, scooping up her daughter in her arms. The baby reached for the sheep that she so desperately tried to get and Emilio passed it to her.

“She did?!” Michael gaped.

“Come here, Clemmy.” Callum clapped his hands gently before holding his hand out to her. Florence stood her up and tossed him the sheep and soon Clementine was wobbling over to him too.

More than just Christmas was celebrated that sunny morning, the adults giving the newly mobile baby a little extra love. There was something about the process of growing up and new milestones that always seemed to lighten the mood.

~~

Daniel stood in the doorway of the large room nervously, swaying lightly under Florence’s startled and yet expressionless stare. He had his hands in the pockets of his long black trench coat, a black hoodie and black jeans on underneath, his brown boots completing the neutral look. After a moment of silence only between the two as the party went on behind them, Daniel made his way over to her. He held a small, flat package in his hand and he tapped it nervously against his fingers.

“I thought you weren’t back from Vancouver until the 4th.” Florence spoke dryly once he stopped in front of her, keeping a good three feet between them.

“How could I miss Clementine’s first birthday?” Daniel said, cracking a small smile and hiding it by looking to the ground.

Florence didn’t answer. Daniel looked past her to where Clementine was across the room with Grayson and Connor, the boys running around in small circles and she ran after them trying to catch them, shrieking happily.

“You didn’t tell me she’s walking now.” Daniel whispered, keeping his eyes on the one year old.

“We’re not friends anymore, remember?” Florence answered quietly.

“Flora, I-“

He was cut off by Clementine waddling messily over to the two of them, attaching herself to her mother’s legs. The little girl’s blue eyes stared up at Daniel under wispy blonde bangs. He bent down in front of her, admiring the not-so-little baby he had watched grow up.

“Hi, Clem.” Daniel greeted her quietly, “Happy birthday.”

“Dada.” Clementine smiled shyly, reaching one tiny hand towards him.

“Still haven’t learned, have you, little miss?” Daniel whispered, pressing his index finger into her outstretched palm. “I’m not dada.”

She wrapped her fingers around his one and he kissed her hand before holding out the small package that was wrapped in bright orange paper to her.

“I have a present for you.” he said gently, smiling as the little girl shrieked in content, reaching for it with two hands.

Penelope

Penelope was the late bloomer out of her sisters, and she was the one who was the most cautious about everything which meant walking wasn’t on her mind for a while. By sixteen-months she could stand up while holding onto the coffee table or someone’s hand but she was adamant on not moving once she was on her feet. No matter how hard they tried, Daniel and Florence could not get their youngest to take even one step.

“No!”

Daniel huffed as the nearly-toddler dropped back onto her bum on the living room carpet, her cheeks streaked with frustrated tears after a few minutes of him trying desperately to get her to walk.

“Come on, bug.” Daniel scooped her back up by her armpits and set her back on her feet, taking her chubby little hands in his, “Little steps for dada, please.”

Penelope only whined, staying stiff in place even when he tried to lead her forward across the rug.

“Dada will buy you an ice cream if you walk.” Daniel whispered down to the little girl.

“Don’t bribe her.” Florence chuckled from her spot on the couch.

“I’m desperate, Flora. Why won’t she walk?” Daniel frowned, gently setting Penelope on her bum on the living room rug.

“The doctor said it takes some babies up to eighteen months. She still has two months to go.”

Daniel crouched down beside Penelope and pet his hand over her soft brown hair, making her look up at him.

“Stop stressing yourself.” Florence finished, watching her boyfriend’s near terrified expression as he stared at their youngest.

Daniel wiped Penelope’s chubby cheeks with his thumb and pressed a kiss to her head. She reached her hands up to him to be picked up, opening and closing her little fingers in his direction. He only picked her up high enough to set her on her feet.

“Dada!” Penelope cried, holding her hands up to him again, “No!”

“Come on, miss bug.” Daniel said softly, holding her hand as he shifted to sit on the rug an arms length in front of her. “Walk to dada.”

Penelope hesitated, holding onto his finger on wobbly legs and she sniffled.

“That’s it, baby. Little step.” Daniel encouraged sweetly, giving her hand an ever so gentle tug.

Penelope just dropped to her hands and knees and crawled over to him instead, crawling right up onto his lap and curled into his chest. Daniel sighed and wrapped his arms around her.

“Maybe she’s had enough today.” he mumbled.

“You overwork her.” Florence teased, setting her book down on the coffee table and came over to the rug to join them. She left a kiss to her daughter’s cheek and then one to her boyfriend’s lips, “I’ll go wake up Clementine.”

“Okay.” Daniel sighed.

He watched her walk off down the hallway and then looked back down to Penelope on his lap, “Come on, we can surprise Mama when she comes back that you can walk!”

Daniel lifted her to her feet again, holding her up by her hands wrapped around his fingers.

“Go, Penny, go!” he cooed.

She stood perfectly still.

“Ugh!” Daniel groaned, setting his hands around her body to keep her on her feet at least and he leaned over to pepper kisses to her cheek, “Penelope Magnolia, you drive me crazy, little girl.”

At that moment, Clementine came rushing out of her room down the hall, her dark blonde hair an absolute mess on her head from her nap and she was only in a pull-up and nothing else.

“Oh my goodness.” Daniel reached out one hand to catch the toddler before she could crash into her sister, “Where are your clothes, little miss?”

“Gone.” Clementine giggled, bending down in front of her baby sister, “You walk yet, Nelly?”

“No walking yet.” Daniel answered.

Penelope laughed cheekily and reached a hand up to her older sister’s face. Clementine stuck out her tongue at her. Florence returned from the girls’ room with clothes for the eldest and a small baggie of toddler crackers for her to snack on as she was dressed on the living room rug.

Daniel took his hands from the baby, expecting her to sit back down on his lap but she stayed standing on her own. His eyes went wide, “Good girl, Penny.”

Penelope pointed to her sister and the intriguing crinkly bag of snacks as she wobbled a little, babbling slightly.

“Come here, sweet girl.” Florence encouraged, brushing her finger against the bag that Clementine held to make it crinkle again.

Penelope beamed and took a shaky step forward, pausing to keep her balance before taking another.

“Oh my God.” Daniel breathed, watching in awe as their youngest took her first steps over to her big sister sitting only a little bit away.

Clementine shrieked with pride and yanked her baby sister right off her feet into a hug once she was within arms reach but Penelope was only interested in the baggie of snacks and she reached her little hand inside cheekily.

“Good girl!” Florence cheered, applauding a little for their youngest, “You walked, Penny!”

Penelope only smiled as she stuck her fingers in her mouth to eat one of the small crackers, draped messily over her three-year-old sister’s lap. Daniel shuffled over to join the little celebration, leaned down to praise and kiss his baby daughter, and his obviously relieved sigh had Florence smiling at him.

“See?” she whispered, resting her head on his shoulder as they watched their girls cuddle and snack together on the carpet, “Nothing to worry about.”

Lucy

Lucy was Penelope’s opposite in the sense that everything she did, she did first and she did fast and she did herself. By nine months she had two words under her belt (“okay” and “dada”), could crawl (at quite an impressive speed too), and she was already starting to pull herself up using the coffee table or the couch to explore more of the apartment or cruise with assistance from someone’s hand. Her early learning never failed to take Florence and Daniel by surprise and her first independent steps were no different.

Daniel was on the living room couch, just got home from work, and yet still had his guitar in his hand and the girls were playing on the carpet nearby with Florence finishing up dinner in the kitchen. He wasn’t even really watching the girls, his eyes locked solely on his wife bustling around the kitchen as he played his guitar and hummed softly, making up some random tune from the inspiration that was simply her presence.

Lucy loved to try and keep up with her sisters and their ‘grown-up games’ but she couldn’t really pay much attention to them when Daniel was quietly plucking away at his guitar on the couch. She turned herself around on the carpet and reached a tiny hand up to the edge of the coffee table to pull herself to her feet.

No one was looking at her – not even her sisters who were far too busy with their dolls. Lucy held onto the table as she walked around it and then let go completely. She stopped a moment as she wobbled but then giggled proudly at herself and went stumbling forward right towards Daniel’s legs. He looked down at her with surprise as she wrapped her little arms around his legs and slobbered a little on his jeans.

“How’d you get over here?” he asked, setting his guitar on the couch to turn his full attention to his youngest. He scooped her up by her armpits and set her a few paces away from him but she just came wobbling back over, tripping on the last step but he caught her before she fell. Daniel gaped at his nine-month-old and called to his wife, “Oh my gosh. Flora, you gotta see this.”

Florence came over quickly and Lucy looked between her mother and her father innocently.

“Walk to mama.” Daniel instructed.

Lucy giggled and held her arms up to him to be picked up, “Dada.”

“Show mama that you were walking!” Daniel encouraged, turning her to face Florence.

“Come here, little one!” Florence crouched down, “Come to mama.”

Lucy held onto Daniel’s jeans, sticking her other hand in her mouth.

“I swear she did it.” Daniel said quickly. “She walked right over to me.”

“At nine months? That incredibly early.” Florence questioned.

“Yes! I swear it. Take her.” Daniel got up and stood Lucy with Florence and he grabbed his guitar again to play a little tune to entice the baby. Singing softly, “Come on Lucy, show Mommy that Daddy’s not crazy.”

“I know you’re crazy.” Florence teased to her husband as she rubbed a gentle hand over her daughter’s back.

“Dada.” Lucy held out her hands to him. She took a small shuffle forward, and then a step, and then a few rushed ones as she nearly toppled right into Daniel’s legs again.

“Oh my gosh! Those were lots of steps!” Florence gaped. “Good girl, Lucy Lu!”

Daniel beamed as he set his guitar to the side and scooped up the baby onto his lap, leaning down to cover her chubby cheeks in kisses, “You’re so, so, so, so good!”

Lucy giggled proudly and pulled his fingers into her mouth.

“Let’s walk some more.” Daniel got up from the couch and set her on her feet before shuffling a little bit away.

Lucy always loved being the centre of attention so when both her parents and both her sisters were focussed on her and her brand-new exciting skill, she was more than proud to show it off. She walked between them all until she was nearly dead tired and flopped onto Daniel’s lap with an adorable little huff. Dinner was had later than normal that day because of how much time they spent on the living room rug but the whole little family was buzzing once they finally sat down to eat.

“Lu-Lu’s gonna come to the park with us now!” Clementine said.

“In a few more months.” Florence chuckled, “She is still tiny.”

“But it does seem that I gotta start baby-proofing the apartment, huh?” Daniel said.

“Oh, yes.” Florence fed the well-walked baby another spoon of her food, “No one is safe anymore with this one on her feet.”

Lucy smiled through her mouthful, drooling peaches down her chin and pointed across the table, “Dada.”

“Yes; especially not Dada.” Florence agreed.

[fleckcmscott]

After

Summary: Arthur is heartened to have Y/N back by his side. But moving forward isn't as simple as he'd daydreamed.

Warnings: Adult situations, Swearing

Words: 3,391

A/N: This request comes from @jokerownsmysoul​! It's a continuation of Ch. 23 of Watch What Happens and takes off right after the last paragraph. Funnily enough, when Karen originally beta'd that chapter she said, "Where's their conversation? Oh, well, I guess it's implied." 😄 Special thanks to Domino, aka @thegirlwho​, (who also wanted their conversation 😂) for sharing her point of view and helping me see things from a different perspective.

A good portion of my life is the exploding head emoji right now, so it's been a while since I've posted. However, I'm still here. Still writing. Still trying. Work on the new multi-chapter continues. If you've got any requests, let me know. Your patience, support, and you mean a lot to me. Thank you.

Nimble fingers twined through his loose, brown curls, a gentle tug as lips met and parted, met and parted. Her body surrounding that soft, most intimate part of him was visceral. Warm and wet. "I love you" fell from her mouth. Once, twice, more than the walls of his apartment had ever heard. He swallowed but was unable to murmur an appropriate reply. She came back, his mind affirmed. She came back.

Shit, I haven't mopped for a week.

Arthur braced himself on his knees and elbows to look down at her. The notched collar of Y/N's blouse had somehow remained uncrumpled. Strands of her hair fanned out messily over the beige, aged hexagons of the kitchen linoleum. Her tears had reduced to stains on her flushed cheeks. He brushed them away with the back of his knuckles. She'd said he hadn't hurt her, that she was happy. Both good things. If he could figure out the next step...

His eyes flitted back and forth between hers, brows pinched. Moving to kneel, he tucked himself back into his briefs, pulled his light blue pajama bottoms over his rear, then ran his hands along his thighs. "Have you had dinner?"

Buoyant laughter left her as she propped herself on her forearms. "I'm famished. Especially after that." She extended her hand and he accepted it gladly. When she started to pull herself up, he grabbed the other. Her kitten-heels slid the weave rug along the floor; it took some effort for her to get her footing. Once she stood, she tied the drawstring of his pants and adjusted her skirt. "Be right back," she said and scurried to the bathroom.

The thud of the door closing cleared the awe from head. He'd rather have kept it. Changes in mood were typical as of late. The bliss of her return was already twisting into dread. No longer consumed by the need to be inside her, his mind conjured questions, too many to brush off. He turned the knob of the toaster over. Studied the orange glow of its heating element. Had charity - or worse, pity - caused her return? Had distress afflicted her as deeply as it had him? Had she thought of him half as much as he'd thought of her?

Was she going to abandon him again?

He suddenly felt very silly and quite small for allowing himself a modicum of relief. Nothing had been clarified. By having a quickie on the floor after they'd barely exchanged a word, he'd set himself up to be hurt. The way he had when he'd kissed Helen, or when he'd considered Randall his friend, or when he'd believed, for one foolish minute, that Murray might be kind. He flinched against the fury simmering in his stomach. That same panic and anger from when Y/N had walked out of his apartment and, he'd been convinced, his life. He clutched the counter's curved edge so hard his fingertips went numb.

But then she curled herself into his side and squeezed him tight about the waist. Her blithe bearing was almost enough to quiet his tumult. "Anything I can help with?"

"No." He moved to dig through the freezer. Beans and franks with a brownie. English style fish 'n' chips. His mother's favorite, meatloaf. Only the teal packaging made them appealing. He grimaced at the meager offerings. He snatched one from the door, held it out with some trepidation. It was possible the gel-like gravy, slices of turkey roll, and drowned stuffing wouldn't put Y/N off. "Um, this was on sale. I bought a few."

"It's perfect." She accepted the carton and tore it open. "I heard a song on the radio yesterday that made me think of you."

"Oh yeah?" He closed the door of the toaster and set the timer with a flick of the wrist.

"The man was singing that his name was Carnival. That's your clown name, right?" She chuckled, dragged the black, wooden stool from under the counter, and perched on it. "It reminded me of the subway." A flirty pinch to his abdomen. "And that I still have to see one of your performances."

Arthur scoffed and averted his gaze, struggled to push through his anxiety and enjoy her. But he wasn't the type of man to let questions lie. When he'd gotten the courage to ask Y/N on a date, he'd taken the risk. When he'd read Penny's letter, he'd hopped on the first train to Wayne Manor. After the confrontation in Wayne Hall, he'd gone to Arkham and stolen that wretched file.

His curiosity tended to pick wounds that hadn't yet healed over.

The warmth of her hand met his back. "Thank you for giving me time."

The tenderness of her tone loosened the clench of his jaw. But he still couldn't bring himself to look at her. He'd done what she'd requested, because he'd feared mistakes would drive her further away, not because he'd wanted to or understood. He wondered if someone without a mental illness would have behaved differently. She'd pleaded with him to listen, kissed him goodbye, then left like it was nothing.

Whatever the case, her appreciation felt wrong. He didn't need gratitude. He needed answers. He inhaled sharply. "Why did you go?"

She traced the knobs of his spine. "I had to figure out the best way to be with you."

"Am I that hard to be with?" he bit out.

"Of course not. That's not what I said."

He gulped and released a ragged breath. "It broke my fucking-" He faltered when his voice cracked.

"Arthur, I didn't want to hurt you. I'm sorry." Her embrace was tight, a welcome pressure on his ribs despite the ache. Her palm slid up his sternum. "I was afraid to do more harm than good." He should have contradicted her, told her she was crazy if she believed loving him would damage him. But he stopped himself when she nuzzled his bicep. It was a while before she cleared her throat. "I love you more than I imagined possible." She giggled, then, and sniffed. "Which isn't bad for six weeks, Mr. Fleck."

Tears threatened as his eyelids fluttered. He managed to keep them at bay, covering her hand with his to distract himself. He pressed it tighter to him, until he thought her fingers might break through his chest. Finally, he met her stare. Found it full of love and what might have been joy at being together. In that moment, he knew nothing would ever separate his heart from hers.

~~~~~

"Christmas is coming up. Let me know what you'd like to do."

Arthur's slight nod was typical of their conversation this evening. Well, that wasn't quite fair. More like half of it. He'd been vacillating between bouts of confidence and timidity, with the latter tending to win out. He'd put his arm around her, examined the latest issue of TV Guide, and asked what she'd preferred to watch. She'd let him choose; he'd picked a three-hour variety show. Minutes later, he'd been squished into the corner of the sofa, legs neatly crossed with his hands clasped in his lap. She'd risen to refresh their ice teas, and he'd halted her with a kiss to her knuckles and his handsome grin. Upon her return, he'd focused on the floor and kept quiet. The changes were difficult to predict.

At least the periods of stillness made it easy for her to reflect, even as those reflections weren't entirely pleasant. She'd had faith in his ability to take care of himself and his judgment to reach out to her if he was in crisis. And while she had no regrets about taking five days to ensure she could sustain their relationship, she lamented the pain it had caused him. She'd detected it in his stiff posture in the kitchen. Seen it in his glistening eyes. Sensed it in his inconsistent reluctance to be touched.

It had been hard for her, too. The absence of their nightly calls, of shared laughter, of his presence had been keen. She would have returned to him without receiving his letter. But the ink on the page, with its occasional misspellings and earnest admissions ("I don't kno if I'm doing this right but I want to try. Maybe you want to try with me, to?") had prompted her to run to the subway before she'd taken off her coat. Confirmed that despite their differences, them being opposite in many ways, their hearts were the same.

He perked up slightly when the next performer came on, an old man from Whitefish, Montana and his paper mache ventriloquist dummy. Y/N's attention drifted to Arthur as he leaned forward onto his knees. Though the act was nothing special - terrible jokes, drinking water while the puppet talked, strumming a ukulele as it sang - his face crinkled in amusement. "They just have regular people on there," he said. "I haven't seen anyone from Gotham. I should try out."

Thankful he was focused on the show and not her, she pursed her lips. Had he forgotten how Murray had gone? Or Pogo's? Then again, he'd believed both had gone great. And she wanted him to succeed. To strive. To dream. His determination impressed her, made her proud. She searched for a truthful but kind answer. "Once you've got a set you're comfortable delivering, sure. Would you send a tape? I have a recorder you can borrow."

"I wrote a lot this week. Not many jokes but I've done some brainstorming." He flicked ash from his cigarette into the pink ashtray on the coffee table. Splayed his fingers and rubbed his palms together. The bob of his Adam's apple was faint in the dim, blue light. "Do you- Do you want to sleep over?" He turned to her.

Elated, she smiled widely and shifted to sit side-saddle. "I'd love to, but I didn't bring any clothes."

"Hold on." He rose from the couch and disappeared into the bedroom. After a minute, she followed to find him digging through a couple of cardboard boxes. Boxes filled with his mother's things, she realized. She'd have to follow-up for details, find out what had happened to ensure the transition would go as smoothly as possible. Though the relationship between him and Penny was complicated, change wouldn't be easy.

He held out a threadbare, light-blue, nylon nightdress with ruffled cap sleeves and a ribbon at the neckline. "Here."

Y/N cocked her head. The gown was exceedingly narrow, its seams stretched. If she had been inclined to wear it, it wouldn't have fit. Arthur's hopeful expression made it plain he did not see the oddity in offering his romantic partner his mother's nightwear. It was logical, she supposed. His years had been spent living hand to mouth. He didn't have any siblings. Hand-me-downs - a spare sweater here, a pair of socks there - would have come from Penny. A tad strange, to be sure. But poverty had a way of making the abnormal normal.

"Thanks," Y/N said. "But I'll be fine in my panties." At his pout, she closed the inches between them. "If you have a t-shirt, I'll take it." His brows lifted and he gave a toothy smile, comprised of surprise and conceit. The shirt he retrieved from the living room was plain and white. The lightly stained armpits didn't bother her, nor did its loose fit. It was part of his work outfit, he explained. And he claimed she looked cute in it.

Her sleep was restful, deep, better than it had been the last two weeks. Arthur being nearby and her certainty when she'd lain her head on his pillow had calmed her. She didn't think about the Wayne Foundation. She didn't worry about how to pursue a future with him. She didn't waste her energy being afraid of powerlessness. Warmth filled her, aided by contentment and cozy blankets.

When the mattress sunk beneath his weight, she didn't check the clock. Judging by the speed with which her drowsiness dissipated and the blackness of the room, it was likely around 4:00 AM. She'd gotten a solid five hours. With a slight stretch and mewl, she blinked up at him. Her elbow accidentally bumped his chest. "Aren't you tired?"

"No." He palmed her shoulder, caution palpable in every movement. Then his caress dragged down her upper arm, hovered over her breast.

She stroked his stubbled cheek. "What are you up to?"

"Making sure you're really here."

It was unclear if he was kidding. The extent of his imaginations or hallucinations - if that's what he experienced - weren't yet known to her. She recalled how he'd clutched her jacket, the way he'd fiddled with her wall calendar and coffee table when he'd come to her for help. Tactility oriented him, as it had her father before the final stages of his diagnosis. And, outside of acute episodes, Loving Someone with... had advised her to carry-on as always.

Laughing gently, she entwined their legs. "Where else would I be?"

"I don't know," he scoffed. He tucked his chin. Silence permeated the room, interrupted only by their exhalations. Eventually, he spoke, his rasp bashful and desperate. "Are you going to leave me again?"

"No." She pressed his hand to her breast, tried to soothe his tremble away. "I like it here."

She could hear his smile in the dark. He dipped his head to capture her lips. He kissed her and kissed her and kissed her again. She kissed him back until she ached with emptiness. Until she felt him hard against her hip.

"Y/N?" he breathed into her mouth.

Her pulse throbbed in her ears. "What?"

His forehead met hers and she shivered all over. "I wanna make you come."

~~~~~

Drip, drip, drip. A calming, predictable sound. The pungent smell of generic brew wafted to his nostrils, slightly burnt but familiar. Coffee. He was making his girlfriend coffee before she went to work. After they'd made love and snoozed until sunrise. After she'd admonished him for smoking in bed, then caressed his flaccid sex and teased him about his "secret freckle." (He'd covered his face in horror and delight and promised himself that one day he'd find a "secret" on her.) He hummed along to the radio, though he disliked the song, and whistled while he filled their cups. Once he'd added three sugars to his and the last of his milk to hers, he padded to the bath. He leaned on the doorframe, an imitation of nonchalance.

In her apparent rush to get to him, Y/N hadn't simply neglected to pack a change of clothing. She was swiping his stick of deodorant under her arms with haste. When she grabbed his comb and tried to tame her hair, he didn't mind. She declined his offer of Penny's eyeliner and mascara but that was fine. She didn't need them, anyway.

As she buttoned her pleated blouse, he giggled. He'd heard jokes about women going to work in identical outfits two days in a row. The innuendo had escaped him until now. A thrill went through him at finally getting the joke. He blushed. "You're dressed the same."

"I left Patricia a message that I'd be late. It won't surprise anyone." She accepted the proffered mug and took a long drink. A mischievous look as she arched a brow. "She'll want details."

Arthur's eyes widened and he rubbed his forehead. This would take getting used to.

She squeezed a line of toothpaste onto her index finger. "What are you doing today? Any gigs?"

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, braced his arm on the wall. "I have to call the hospital. Figure out where to send my mother." He was glad to begin the process of moving on, moving forward. To start building a life of his own. Freed from the woman who hadn't protected him. Paired with the woman who understood him most. Still. He was daunted.

After a few seconds of attempting to brush her teeth, Y/N rinsed her mouth and washed her hands. "The social worker should be able to help. There must be homes specializing in lobotomy patients, given how common they were. Actually..." She stepped to him and wrapped her arms around his middle. "I bet there's an advocacy group for the elderly in Gotham. I'll call around on my break. We can have lunch and review their recommendations."

The tightness in his chest prevented him from holding her gaze. His longings for kindness didn't make it any less peculiar. He hoped he would be able to accept it without skepticism soon, like a normal person. That he wouldn't wait for the other shoe to drop. He tried to fight his negative thoughts rather than give into them.

But he couldn't. Not yet. "Why are you doing this?" he mumbled.

She gave a small shrug, as if what she was about to say wasn't a miracle. "I love you. Why wouldn't I?" Before he could react, she walked to the front door and slipped on her heels. "Besides, we should plan this weekend. Shall We Dance is showing at the Monarch. We could catch it and have dinner at my place. And there's a doctor I found for you - when you're feeling up to it. We'll go over the particulars."

The offer to see the film, one he knew every number of, was an obvious attempt to butter him up for that discussion. It would work. "That sounds nice." He went to her side and took her coat off the wall mounted rack, guided her arms into the sleeves

"Arthur," she started, zipping her jacket. Her pretty eyes met his. "I wasn't going to end our relationship. I don't want you to fear that."

He winced and clutched his hands together, annoyed she had raised the subject again after the wonderful morning they'd shared. "I believe you now."

"Back home, I made mistakes. That's why I needed time." She shook her head. "The thought of repeating them with you..."

Mistakes? What kind of mistakes was she referring to? She'd said her divorce had been mutual. A big fight with her sister or mother hadn't been mentioned. She almost never talked about what had happened with her father, other than to name his diagnosis and state she'd gone on medication. She was a good woman. Whatever she had done, it couldn't be that terrible. Not half as bad as the notions that wormed their way into his brain like a broken record.

Then she continued. "I didn't know what to do then. But I think I do now. " She nuzzled his sideburn and carded her fingers through his hair. "If I see you walking towards a cliff, I won't follow. I'll pull you back before you get there."

He stared at her, blinking rapidly as he tried to hold himself together. Her words felt like the kind of fantasy he'd created to ease his misery. To try to convince himself he should exist another day. That he should stick around. Multiple hospitalizations had proven that hadn't always worked. But this was new. Real. Maybe that reality would allow him, for a little while, to be all right.

He cupped her face, drifted his thumbs over her cheeks. She leaned into him, into the kisses he placed on her brow, her nose, her mouth. His lips parted but all he could manage was a shaky exhale. The press of his face to hers.

She must have noticed he was overwhelmed. It frustrated him - he wanted to find a way to articulate himself. But her peck to his jaw, her hand covering his, made him feel safe. "Meet you at my office at one?"

"Mm-hmm." He nodded into her hair, not quite ready to let go.

Gently, she pulled away from his grasp, took her purse, and opened the door. She smiled. "Call if you need anything."

At that, she strode down the hall in the direction of the elevator. He stepped out and watched until she disappeared around the corridor's corner. He rested against the door and closed his eyes, wishing harder than he ever had before that every morning would be like this for the rest of his life.

~~~~~

Tag list (Let me know if you want to be added!): @harmonioussolve​, @ithinkimaperson​, @sweet-nothings04​, @stephieraptorr​, @rommies​, @fallenstarsabyss​, @gruffle1​, @octopus-plasma​, @tsukiakarinobara​, @arthur-flecks-lovely-smile​, @another-day-in-chuckletown​, @hhandley80​, @jokerownsmysoul​, @mrscarnival​

[gladiators-intoxication]

In Search of Justice, Concerning Family

Part three of three: The artistry of found family, the science of deserve.

Warnings: Spoilers for Kaeya’s companionship stories, alcohol mention

[1], [2], [3]

Kaeya ignored the sound of his doorknob turning. “Why’d you put a rug in here?” Kaeya jumped at the sound of Diluc’s voice.

“I wanted to,” he said, recovering quickly. “Why? Did you want your old office back?” They stared at each other for a long minute. “I didn’t mean that,” Kaeya said suddenly.

“Of course not,” Diluc replied, stiff, awkward.

“Why are you here?”

Diluc’s eyes drifted to the bookshelf Kaeya had been staring at when he’d entered. “I…” he faltered. “I wanted to ask you something.”

Kaeya waved vaguely to the room. “Couch or the desk, whichever.” It took a long moment for Diluc to find the couch, which was buried under a small mountain of pillows and blankets. He remained standing.  “What do you need?”

“Whose temple was that?”

Kaeya’s smile was wry. “Our time god,” he said. “She fell centuries ago with the rest of her kingdom. I have the story in here somewhere.” He gestured at the bookshelf. “I’ll… I guess I’ll translate it or something for you.”

Diluc swallowed the demand to tell him now. “You said...” he coughed to cover the hesitation. “You said, rather, you called it your last service to, you know.”

Kaeya paused, and for once, Diluc could see the gears turning in his head, the fiddly little mechanics clicking into place behind his clear blue eyes. “Do you know about Liyue’s exorcists?”

Diluc frowned. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Never mind. Khaenri’ah was a city of people that died a long time ago.”

“What, you think you’re some kind of exorcist?” slipped out before Diluc could stop it.

Kaeya laughed good-naturedly, the way he did over a drink at The Angel’s Share, practiced to perfection. “Not at all. I’m just what’s left of the ghosts.”

Diluc forced his “sorry” past the stubborn set of his jaw. “And Dainsleif?”

Kaeya shrugged with one shoulder. “He’ll figure something out. I doubt he’s going far.”

“Who is he?”

Kaeya’s eyes went distant as he considered that. “That’s up to him,” he said finally. “I only know who he was.”

“You’ve become awfully poetic from your stint in jail.”

Diluc didn’t expect the genuine smile that turned up Kaeya’s eyes. “You were always such a good boy,” he teased, “I wouldn’t expect you to know the first thing about jail.”

Diluc didn’t know what to say to that. “I’ll see you this evening?” he asked instead.

Kaeya shrugged, still smiling. “I’m out of solitary at sundown,” he agreed.

~

It was a strange day, the day that Diluc found Kaeya, Klee, and Albedo on the floor of Kaeya’s office surrounded by the blankets and pillows off Kaeya’s couch, and books in a foreign language lying half-read, scattered across the carpet. Klee was curled up in Albedo’s lap, wide eyes devouring the pages of the book in Kaeya’s hands. Kaeya was reading in a language Diluc didn’t understand, softly, in a voice Diluc almost didn’t recognize.

The conversation from a few days ago was still tender, sore. It felt like a bruise on Diluc’s pride. He stepped away from the door, but Kaeya called out to him. “Join us. It’s not like Klee knows what I’m reading either.”

Diluc sighed inwardly, but now that they knew he was there, he supposed there was no harm. “Nothing you wouldn’t read in our language I hope?”

Kaeya laughed. His voice was a bit dry from reading, but he didn’t seem to mind. “Of course not. These are just our old legends. Come sit with us.”

From her place in Albedo’s arms, Klee gave Diluc a baleful stare as he carefully picked his way over to the three of them. Albedo offered Diluc the faintest smile, before returning his attention to the book. “Do you want me to read the next chapter?”

“What’s the next chapter again?” Kaeya flipped a few pages. Diluc only caught a flash of something dark in Kaeya’s eyes. “Ah. Would you kindly?”

Diluc pushed the two or three blankets that remained folded on the couch aside and at beside Kaeya, who leaned to the side a little to rest his head against the side of Diluc’s knee as Albedo began to read. Diluc stiffened a little, but didn’t push him away. “Are those for me?” Kaeya asked quietly, mouth pulling up into a teasing smile, his visible eye cutting to the tall, slim, glass bottles Diluc set on the floor beside the couch.

Diluc scoffed a little. “Who else?”

“Just making sure you’re not teasing me.”

Diluc didn’t look down at him. “Between the two of us, who does more teasing?”

“Of course,” Kaeya said, eyes sliding shut.

They sat in mostly-comfortable silence while Albedo continued to read. Softly, slowly, Diluc lifted a hand and placed it on Kaeya’s head. Kaeya stiffed with a flash of blue, but allowed it.

Klee’s eyes felt like fireplace tongs fresh from turning logs, burning straight into the side of Diluc’s head.

Albedo’s reading faltered, breaking off into a sentence that ended in Klee. “Is something the matter, Klee?” he tried again after an awkward cough. “Is the Young Master bothering you?”

“No,” Klee replied, still glaring at Diluc.

Albedo’s eyes crinkled, turning up ever so slightly as he smiled. “Good. Because if he was-” his sentence broke off back into the foreign language. Diluc couldn’t understand the words, but he knew a threat when he heard one, and while no one would believe him, Albedo was much scarier than he let on.

~

Diluc couldn’t help but feel like an intruder on Kaeya’s life anymore.

Today, it seemed that Kaeya and Albedo had both shirked their duties to spend the day with Klee. Kaeya had an arm around Albedo’s shoulders, and Klee dangled between the two of them, laughing brightly. She had windwheel asters tucked into her hair, poking out from under her hat, drifting to the ground behind her.

Kaeya and Albedo were talking over her head, but Diluc couldn’t hear the words from this distance. Kaeya tilted his head, but Diluc didn’t need to see his face to know that was a signal that he’d been detected. With a sigh, Diluc approached them. “How do you always know?” he asked.

Kaeya only smiled.

Albedo took Klee, tucked her into his side, not bothering the hide their accusatory stares. “What do you want?” he asked.

Kaeya patted his shoulder. “There’s no need to be hostile.” For a moment, Diluc could only see the playful, coy smile Kaeya wore over a drink in the company of enemies. Albedo backed off, muttering under his breath. “Though I am curious,” Kaeya said. “You’re not in town often. Especially at this time of day. It’s a bit too early for the bar.”

Diluc scoffed a little. “The only reason you’re not in there yourself is because you’re taking care of a child.” The jab came out a bit more aggressive than he’d intended, but Kaeya didn’t seem to mind.

“What can I say? It’d be terribly irresponsible of me to be drinking in the company of children.”

Albedo beat Diluc to the response. “Do you really want to start an argument about irresponsible, Kaeya?”

Kaeya laughed, unrestrained, unconcerned. Naturally. “So mean,” he said. “As if I would do anything but help our precious Klee. I’d almost be hurt if I didn’t like the two of you getting along.”

“You’re not calling him ‘your Highness,’” Diluc observed, perhaps a bit late.

Albedo gave Diluc a threatening smile. “His kingdom is no longer, and he is no prince here.”

“Be nice,” Kaeya scolded, affectionate. “Really, both of you need to lighten up.”

“You need to be more reliable,” slipped out before Diluc could bite it back. Klee scowled.

Kaeya only made a face. “Why, you wound me. I’m much more reliable than I look.”

Albedo snorted. “Sure, when it suits your agenda.”

Kaeya only laughed again. “I’ll see you around, Diluc. Keep an eye out for a package.”

“I thought we were keeping that a secret.”

Kaeya smiled at Albedo. “Well, yes, but I made him a promise.”

 ~

A brown paper-wrapped package appeared on Diluc’s desk one morning. Heavy and square. Upon opening it, it was a book, exotic and foreign-looking, bound in dark leather and gold. Tales from a Long-Forgotten Time: Memories from the Corrupted Kingdom read the title in a looping script that seemed distantly familiar. Translated by Remnant, illustrated by Khemia.

Diluc flipped open the cover, where a translator’s note was printed.

“To our readers,

We had fallen long before we had died. Our goddess was corrupted long before our savior’s birth. Our Kingdom had died long before our last Prince destroyed it. Feel for us no pity, for our home has been among the stars for far longer than we have been there, our time on earth long past. All that remains, all that we would leave behind are our legends. Who we were matters not. All that’s left of us are stories.

-  The Remnants”

Scrawled on the inside of the front cover, another handwritten note.

“My heart of the Abyss was always here.”

[darlinrogue]

[ love ] for your muse to touch mine as a show of affection or reassurance ++

Word Prompts Collection 

Kota and Adam || @lavmisc​

Adam’s hands shook as he buckled his belt. A tremble that worked through his fingers and wrists, making it a struggle to force the strap through the loop. Sweat soaked his tangled curls and shone on his brow. A dark red flushed his collarbones and Adam breathed uneasy. Like, he had laced his rib cage too tight this morning. It’d been like this for weeks. Heart fragile and fit to burst; lungs raw and the pressure building behind his teeth. He worked his jaw and relieved none of the tension. The belt went on and he adjusted his jeans to lay flat against his hips. Voices echoed from down the hallway.

The Title Eliminator Tournament was a blessing and a curse. After All Out, Adam had been lost without the week-to-week struggle of defending the tag-belts. It was like every Wednesday he had a direction and someone to walk that way with him. Then, the rug got yanked out from under him and he was left dazed. The tournament drew a clean line from Point-A-to-Point-B, when otherwise he lacked a goal. From Adam’s current position, as unranked single’s competitor, to AEW World Champion. All he had to do was run through Colt Cabana and Wardlow, easy enough. He could out play and out wrestle Colt. He could out smart Wardlow. Adam saw victory in each match clear as day from bell-to-bell. Afterwards, when the ref lifted his hand— things clouded. Because it’d been months since he saw Kenny last and all the roads crisscrossed in confusing tangles. Adam couldn’t even picture his former tag partner anymore. 

The door had been left open and there was a quick rap of knuckles against the metal. Kota stood in the doorway, his hand rested on the handle. He wore loose jeans, a t-shirt, and a soft smile. Tucked under his arm was a package wrapped in brown paper. This was a rare week stolen away from Japan and in the past few months Kota usually spent these brief excursions ringside with Kenny and Adam. For some reason, on this particular Dynamite, Kota was here with Adam. Which was strange, because Adam always thought Kota came to America for Kenny. Yet, he was here and Adam watched as he swiped a piece of ginger hair from his eyes. It was impossible not to return that smile. Adam beckoned for Kota to come in. 

“Needed a double buckshot for that big guy,” Adam joked. He picked-up a button down from his open bag and yanked it over his shoulders. “So, I uh, guess I’m going to the finals.”

He ran his thumb over his lips and ducked his head. A hand on his hip, Adam breathed a soft sigh. Adam knew, Kota knew, damn, Kenny probably knew too— that it would come down to this. Look at all the shit Adam had to do to get Kenny to look him in the eyes these days. 

“And looks like it’ll be Kenny,” he finished. 

Kota said nothing but set aside his package on the locker room bench. He straightened and hands reached for Adam. Kota adjusted Adam’s collar so it laid flat against his throat. Then, he buttoned the shirt for Adam, eyes downcast to observe his work. When he finished, Kota hooked his thumb in the lapel of Adam’s shirt. With his other hand he patted Adam’s chest and nodded. 

“Sometimes,” he murmured, voice soft. English was never Kota’s preference and so the words felt all the more significant in Adam’s native tongue. “This is how things have to be.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Adam said. He grinned, “I won’t uh, ask who you’re rooting for.”

“I want to support both of you,” Kota said, returning to Japanese. Adam bowed his head so he could better hear and distinguish Kota’s words. Kota admitted, “but I want you to win, Adam. I think you can.”

Adam rested his hand on Kota’s hip. He shivered again and rubbed small circles with his thumb into the soft fabric of Kota’s shirt. A swallow and he licked his lips with a dart of his tongue. Such faith in Kota’s words and Adam struggled to hold all of it. It spilled over the edges and seeped between the cracks in his grip. Adam held it too tight and it cracked. He wished he could ask why Kota still believed in him. After everything he’s done. The belts and friendship he threw away. Except, he couldn’t ask, because the answer terrified him. That Kota still believed he was a good man and worthy of this concern. He couldn’t stand to hear those words come from Kota’s mouth right now, though.

“You don’t have to pick sides,” Adam managed. Each word in stumbling Japanese, not because of his iffy fluency but because of the tightness of his throat. In all honesty, he had hoped Kota didn’t choose between them. Because Adam had expected Kota to pick Kenny. And then, Adam would be truly alone. “I just— I’ll try not to let you down.”

He’ll try, because Adam knew if he made the promise he’d inevitably break it. 

“You can’t let me down,” Kota smiled. He cupped Adam’s cheeks between his hands and he was radiant. Like a star, and it reminded Adam why he loved Kota so much. Kota pressed his forehead against Adam’s and Adam murmured a pitiful, ‘thank you.’  Kota met his eyes, something mischievous in the glimmer, “I got you something.”

Kota reached over and picked-up the package from the bench. He offered it to Adam with both hands and another, shy smile. For a heartbeat Adam met his dark eyes and forgot to breath. He opened his hands though and Kota gave him the package. The paper was plain and crinkled under his touch. Adam could feel the shifting flexibility of fabric. He swallowed and began to pull off the wrapping. Torn paper revealed black leather, gleaming under the light. Adam pulled the article of clothing free, his brow furrowed. 

It was a black leather, biker jacket, fitted for Adam’s size. He ran his hand over real leather, well tailored and designed. He turned it over and looked at the back. Again he trembled, in gold and silver detail, across the shoulders read: Golden Riders, embellished with filigree, and a bedazzled gold star. It wasn’t quiet or subtle at all, in fact, the jacket seemed to scream at Adam. So, loud and startling that he almost dropped it. Instead, his hands fisted in the fabric, and he gritted his teeth against something desperate in his throat. 

“Kota,” Adam breathed. 

“Try it on,” Kota insisted. 

Adam nodded and pulled his arm through the right sleeve. Kota helped him through the left. Once again, as the heavy leather settled on Adam’s shoulders, Kota adjusted the jacket to lay flat. Adam shrugged a couple times and ran his hand along the lapel. It fit perfect, settled on his frame like it belonged. Warmth bloomed in Adam’s chest and he looked-up to meet Kota’s eyes. Soft, gentle, caring, and Adam wished Kota would be the opposite, cruel, callous, rejecting. Because these days hate was easier to understand than love. Yet, Adam couldn’t bring himself to chase Kota away or to say something that’d give him cause to turn his back. 

“Thank you,” Adam managed. “It— It’s beautiful, and it fits.”

Kota hooked his arm around Adam’s head and pulled him in. Chin ducked to Kota’s shoulder, Adam shuddered as the last of the adrenaline left him.  He buried his nose into Kota’s throat and tangled his hand in the back of Kota’s t-shirt. Kota said things like that Adam ‘did good’ and he was ‘proud.’ Things Adam couldn’t believe in this moment but may return to at a latter date. Held Adam like he was delicate and valuable, something to be treasured. Before he pulled away Kota pressed a kiss to Adam’s jawline.  

“I want to— get dinner?” Kota said, in English. He tilted his head to the side, as if to make sure this is what he wanted to say, then nodded. “Yes. To celebrate your victory.”

“In the jacket?” Adam asked, thumbing over the collar. 

Kota nodded again, resolute, and jaw stiff. Adam laughed and patted Kota’s back to signal him to head for the door while he gathered his things. On the way through the winding halls of the arena, Adam summoned an Uber on his phone. It felt okay, to Adam, to go to a nice, local restaurant, and eat good food. To let his mind focus on keeping-up with Kota’s Japanese and the conversation. To capitulate to Kota’s suggestion that they order a desert to share. To head back to the hotel, return to his room, shower, and change into sleep clothes after taking a shot of whiskey. Sitting on the edge of his bed though, elbows on his knees, and glass half-drained, Adam cussed to himself. 

How the fuck was he going to beat Kenny Omega? 

[sabraeal]

Hihi~ I'm not sure if it's still up, but 7 for Sen and 18 for Mondo, if you may :3

7. Around someone they’re attracted to [Sen]

Elena pounces on him the moment he slips through the casement, bobbing around underfoot. “Did you find something?”

“Of course I did.” He plucks the package out from under his arm to shove it into her grasping hands. “Dresses are sold here, just as anywhere.”

She frowns at that, giving it a dubious look. The brown paper crinkles under her palms, and, strangely, his back goes stiff, tense. He’s anxious.

“Just open it,” he snaps. It only makes her more wary, cautiously plucking at the string.

“You didn’t pick something terrible, did you?” she asks, eyeing him askance.

“I–?” He sniffs, swallowing down his annoyance. “There is no point wasting coin to humiliate you, when I may watch you do it yourself at no cost at all.”

Elena ignores him. It rankles. “Not even by accident?”

“No!” He scowls, folding his arms across his chest. “How could I answer if--” she is infuriating -- “if my taste was so poor, would I not think its purchase well done even still?”

Her mouth takes a thoughtful bent, and she nods. His frown deepens. It’s not as if she had to agree.

Her hands return to the paper, eagerly folding it back, and -- and he has to do something, to keep from thinking about it.

“I do not know why you want a new dress anyway,” he says, legs stiffening where he sits. “The Paterev are humble by nature. And in a few weeks you will hardly be able to wear it. It is said humans never get their shape back.”

Her hands still on the paper, and instead of raging, of shrieking, she merely looks up with a weary look and says, “Must you?”

He looks away. Clearly they have been traveling too long together.

She strips away the last of the papery husk, dress laid bare before her eyes and -- and she does not move, not a muscle. He doesn’t dare look at her face, but her hands blanch white at the knuckles, crumpling the wrapping beneath them.

He can take it no longer. “Well?”

“It’s...” The word is barely more than a breath. Her hands drop to the fabric, palm stroking the fine weave and lingering over the smooth fur. “it’s...”

Her body shakes, and Sen startles. The thing, can it--?

The salt hits his nose, sharp on the air. She is crying. “Do you hate it?”

“It’s the finest thing I’ve ever owned.” She lifts it with reverence, craddling it against her breast. “I’ve never -- I’ve never had anything...”

He stares, wide-eyed, and she shudders, trying to keep the tears at bay. For him, he knows.

Of all the stenches humankind can muster, tears are worst. Ah, how he wishes he had never said such a thing.

“I thought the green would look nice,” he blurts out. “Most would look sallow, but your skin is not so yellow as other--”

“Thank you,” she says, so soft only he can hear. “I--how did you--?”

He cannot stop the smile that cants his mouth. “My mother.”

She nods, holding it closer. “Thank you. Thank you.”

Sen grimaces, twisting away. “Shame you’ll only get to wear it the once. I should have bought it with some extra, so that you could let it out once you’re--”

It was a mistake to look away. He doesn’t know how close she is until her hands wrap around his shoulders, her pulse beating brightly in his ears, his veins. She yanks him against her and --

Oh. Oh.

“Thank you,” Elena says again, letting out a weak laugh into his chest. “But be quiet. You’re ruining it.”

18. Just done something embarrassing [Mondo]

“Swimming?” Mondo’s whiskers quiver, more lively than a ballroom floor. Juda watches them, mesmerized. He’s known a lot of Olmu in his time, but this one -- well, he’s never seen one so animated. “What’s swimming?”

Devrim whirls, hands on his hips. “You don’t know?”

Mondo tips back his snout, thoughtful. “It has to do with the water. And floating.”

“You...” Deverim’s nose quivers. “Come with me. We’ll go now. You should--”

With no hesitation, Mondo throws off his robes, and though Olmu don’t blush, Devrim’s whiskers go all on end, and my Juda’s reckoning, that’s just about the same.

“Mondo--” he trills, choked. “You cannot--”

“Come, friend Devrim!” the Olmu calls out, waddling toward the pond. “You cannot teach me swimming from the shore!”

“Oh my,” Svetlana murmurs, words muffled by a hand. “Have you ever...?”

Juda watches the two little ones toddling off, Devrim stiffly picking up the clothes Mondo leaves littered behind him, and he shakes his head. “I think we all learned a little about the Olmu today.”

[friendlylocalwhumper]

Can I have a lux in the hunters cellar on xmas day (sooo mean sorry)

“Do you know what day it is, little one?” The Hunter asks, descending into the cellar with a big smile.

Lux’s eyes squeeze shut and he yawns, nose scrunching up, before his eyes blink open and he looks up at his captor from where he lies on the floor. He was allowed to be out of his chains last night to sleep. He thought he was just very good to earn it - he didn’t know it was Christmas Eve.

The warlock shakes his head slightly. He isn’t going to move unless he has to, with the aches from yesterday’s beating making him stiff and sore. “W-what day is it?”

The Hunter sweeps Lux up into his arms, not minding that he tenses, not pausing at the soft sound of pain, and hugs him.

“It’s Christmas day!”

Wonderfully, incredibly, Lux smiles. It’s a nervous, feeble smile, but the Hunter ruffles his hair and kisses his brow and hugs him tight once more before setting Lux more comfortably on his lap. “Would you like some presents, darling?”

Lux nods, smile fading for a moment, then coming back. “Yes please.”

“Well, have you been a good boy? Have you been good this year?”

“I, I th-think so?” He looks up at the Hunter, unsure if he’s been that good. He can’t really remember. “Tried, to b-be good, try to be g-good for, for you.”

The Hunter’s eyes crinkle with his smile. “Yes, you do, little one. Now, why don’t you stay right here while I bring down your presents?” He shifts Lux so he’s sitting on the floor, only to return a minute later with three packages in festive wrapping. Lux never sees anything so colorful and neat down here, so he’s smiling as they’re set before him.

“Go on, open them.”

Lux reaches first for a lumpy, soft one with red wrapping paper studded with little snowmen, a curly ribbon tied around it. He opens the wrapping from where it’s taped, not ripping it, but still excited. Inside the paper is dark fabric; he pulls it out and lets it unfold. An old jacket, forest green and soft, lined with fluffy beige material, dark brown buttons down the front. It smells like the Hunter, but it’s that big, not as broad as him. Almost small enough to fit Lux.

He puts it on, moving his arms stiffly into the sleeves and pulling it closed over his thin shirt. It’s soft, warm - it feels like protection. It’s always cold down in the cellar, and he’s so easy to hurt, but this makes him feel safer.

“Th-thank you,” He says quietly, looking down and running his hands over the fabric. “It’s so -” The right pocket is torn, there’s a thread loose on the left sleeve, its smell has grown almost musky and sweet with age, and it must be so loved to have been kept that Lux feels just as precious. “It’s so warm, and soft, thank you s-so much.”

The Hunter seems pleased that he likes it, and pats Lux on the shoulder. It’s far less scary and uncomfortable with the jacket on, a barrier - Lux even smiles when the Hunter rubs his arm over the jacket, giving a gentle squeeze by his shoulder and then leaning back again.

“Two more, my light.”

Lux picks up the second gift, a very small box in silver wrapping paper. He has to tear this paper off to open it, doing so gingerly and taking off the lid.

He drops the box after reaching in quickly to grab what’s inside. A necklace - his, the one that the Hunter tore off of him months ago, the length of thin leather replaced, the pendant part - a small horn, polished - entirely intact. He holds it in shaky hands that come up to put it on.

“Thought you might like that one.”

“I do!” The warlock holds the little horn, a fist around it and his other arm around his middle, holding the jacket shut. “This is - these are - thank you so much.”

“You still have one left.”

Nodding, Lux unfolds to reach for the last gift. He got so excited to have two precious things that he wanted to cling to them, stay small so they wouldn’t be ripped away, but the Hunter wouldn’t do that yet. He can probably keep these things for a little while if he’s good.

The third gift is similar to the first, soft and covered in wrapping paper, with a bow on it this time. He tears this one open, too excited to be careful.

It’s only a simple, plain white pillow.

It’s his favorite present.

Lux lies down, he doesn’t ask for permission to. Just curls up on his side, sore torso and arms protected from the cold hard floor in the jacket, head on the pillow, fingers wrapped tight around the pendant. The Hunter chuckles at the emotional sound that comes from his light and runs a hand up and down Lux’s arm.

“Merry Christmas, sweet one.”

He’s not going to sleep, he’s too happy, and he just woke up anyway. He’s simply too comfortable to do more than smile into the pillow and mumble “Merry Christmas” back.