(december catch-all) LEGGY KRAMPUS IS COMING TO TOWN

[vestigemods]

DECEMBER CATCH-ALL

► YOU WANT SNOW? WE GOT SNOW

To all who've endured the last couple of dismal months, congratulations - you've broken through the windy rains of October and damp, depressing ones of November to an inexplicable peace falling over the containment zone. Untouched snow covers the ground, a veritable winter wonderland. It's almost idyllic, even if not quite in the same way that the early weeks of summer may have been. The air is brisk and chilly, but at least you can see the sun again. In fact, the heat of it on your skin is almost enough to make up for the chill, at least when the sun is at its peak.

Make snowmen! Have a snowball fight! Perhaps even skate on the frozen lake - Foodland seems to be stocking brand new sets of ice skates in various sizes, their colors obtuse enough to make sure you'll be spotted even if it starts to snow. And... consider showing a little pity on the local wildlife if they come a-scritching at your door? If you're cold, they're cold, et cetera.

BABY IT'S COLD OUTSIDE

But December has a little bit more misfortune in store than just a little bit of nippy weather. On the 16th + 17th, you might start to feel... a little strange. Maybe you've come inside from a rousing snowball war to park by the fire, but instead of warming up, you just... keep getting colder. In fact, your temperature keeps on dropping no matter what you try - blankets, a hot bath, none of it seems to do more than slow down the speed at which you're cooling.

Or maybe you're not cold at all... but oh, you're starting to wish you were. Because your temperature only keeps rising, like a hot flash from hell no matter what you do to cool down, with sweat beading on your forehead and dripping down your neck. You may even find yourself desperate enough to strip down to your underclothes and lie in the snow, if only for some sort of relief. Don't worry, though - whether you're too hot or too cold, it'll go away on its own eventually. Let's hope it's before the hypothermia gets too bad or you go delirious with fever.


Then, throughout the couple of days before Christmas, the snow kicks up to a flurry. According to the children's books in Foodland, this is a telltale sign that a magical gift-bearing man called Santa Claus is on his way. But kids' books never do tell the full story, do they?

True to form, there's a pitter-patter up on the rooftop. Is it reindeer paws? Since when do reindeer have paws, anyway? Then the fire in your fireplace, if lit, goes out with a magical puff of air... but what comes down your chimney is quite a bit worse than the stories. His Naughty List is filled with those who have yet to satisfy the elder gods with their horrible death, and rather than bringing gifts and cheer, this particular Santa has come to collect.

Two clawed hands wrap around each side of the fireplace, eyes pale as the snow, the beard around his gaping mouth tinged with the red of blood. But there are more hands now, so many hands, so many too-long arms, peeling himself from your fireplace to attack. He moves quickly, almost uncannily so, with an agility one might not expect from one with such gangly arm-legs. His hands are sharply clawed, perfect for swiping and drawing blood - but that's not what he's trying to do. No, his goal is to drag those who've been Naughty back up the chimney from whence he came, hauling them off through the flurry of snow and disappearing from sight if you try to pursue. But it's fine. Being choked to death by Leggy Krampus's obscenely long prehensile tongue isn't... the worst death, at least?

► MOD NOTES

• This is the December Catch-All Log, for any action top-levels throughout the month. Large gatherings (parties, meetings, etc) are still encouraged to post their own logs for organizational purposes!
  
• Refer to the bottom half of the November + December Bulletin for any December-specific info to potentially include in your prompt, as well as more specifics regarding the events.
  
• Because this is a catch-all for everywhere + all month, try to remember to label your top-levels with identifying information like the IC date and location of each prompt (whether in the subject or in the prompt title within the comment). Also consider mentioning if any of your prompts are event prompts!
  
• December's specific resources can be found in the Not-Bulletin.
  
• Any questions can be directed to this top-level or, for a quicker response, to Trace on discord/plurk.

Comments

fuck, i just realized i never hit this, it now has my boomeranging attention henceforth

[mannerless]

( in this proximity, he can practically feel the thoughts which churn in lan zhan's head thickening the air between them. trying to do his part to 'figure this out on our own', no doubt. he can always be counted on for such things, lan zhan can. and perhaps he'll even be the one to figure this out after all, since wei ying's own thoughts are floundering in their usefulness now that face warm, touch warm face occupies the forefront of his mind.

but then something seems to shift. to soften? and this time lan zhan's blinks are distinctly slower, almost languid (or perhaps they just seem that way to someone who can't stop shivering). it's something wei ying is still puzzling when an indescribable warmth wraps carefully around his hand, dragging his attention to where lan zhan's own hand now covers his. gods, that's even warmer than his face, how is he this warm?? how can anyone be this warm and not just burst into flames or something? or -

'you're here.' eyes flicker back to lan zhan's now, bemused, uncertain. not confused, though. wei ying isn't quite obtuse enough to misunderstand this one, even if he doesn't nearly have it in him to dig into whatever lies beneath it. the man seems to be reveling in the cool of his hands, which gives him a much more practical outlet through which to funnel his response, shifting the fingers against his temple to place his chilly palm on lan zhan's face more directly. and you see, any other time he might be spectacularly tempted to gently smooth his palms together and afflict poor lan zhan with some manner of fishy lips, but the shiver has reached a point at which it's a bit difficult even to keep his arms extended rather than curled around himself, so mischief is (for once) the last thing on his mind.

but then lan zhan's hand disappears, and wei ying makes a vague protesting throat-whine, breaking eye contact as well just to hunt down where it's gone -but oh, it finds his shoulder now, and 'turn around.' turn around? is lan zhan aware that doing so requires deliberately forfeiting the one little bitty reservoir of warmth he's finally gotten ahold of?? the protest from the absent hand lingers in his furrowed brow and parted lips (ready to object, of course)... but only for a couple of seconds more. then, with a petulant huff, he draws his arms back to wrap them around himself and he stiffly scoots around facing the other way as requested. ) And now what?

[taciturnly]

( yes, trust lan wangji to figure out a way out of this mess when his heart remains a shambled one nearly two decades later. besides, wei wuxian has always been the cleverer one, though this particular issue seems insoluble--at least as far as usual methods go. but it’s not as disquieting as it should be. it is still, in various ways. the heat and the cold, clashing yet melding, excruciatingly uncomfortable. his mind, another mess. but wei ying is here, closer than propriety might dictate, and in spite of itself, lan wangji’s blood sings allayed, every nerve in his body aflame with a different kind of warmth.

wei ying’s momentary grouchiness is met with silence, though lan wangji’s focus is wholly set on him, as sharp as his weaker senses allow. and now what? everything, palms ridiculous moist as he carefully parts his legs wider on the couch, reaching for him with one arm. two might be dangerous. too much like an actual hug, and it’s all the restraint he’s capable of here as he delicately circles his waist and pulls, helping him closer in the space between his thighs.

breathe. and he does, perhaps a little too stiff as he patiently allows for wei ying to comfortably settle there. his arm tingles. his chest, too, where his heart beats too hard, pounding against wei ying’s back. distantly, he hopes he can’t feel its wild beats, though his eyes already drift close as strands of dark hair brush against his nose, the glacial aura irradiating from wei wuxian soothing both his nerves and the heat overwhelming his senses. )

[mannerless]

( the answer doesn't come in words, because of course it doesn't - but even though that really just leaves actions, he doesn't quite expect the arm that slips around his middle, so very light and careful until it isn't. then a veritable wall of lan arm strength is pulling him unquestionably backward and into the furnace of lan zhan's chest and the equally warm space - (oh, yep, he's definitely being tugged right in there huh) - seated between his thighs,

and there's a definite moment in which wei wuxian isn't entirely sure what to do with that. lan zhan may be a little too stiff but so is he, less because of any sort of potential awkwardness and more just... like, what does one do with being this close to someone in general? apart from his commandeering of a-yuan's bed and subsequent commandeering of his personal space, which wei ying can only assume is an exception by virtue of being a-yuan.

but after that initial moment of hesitation and uncertainty, there's something almost twitch-like but distinctly softer - like his uncertainty has lost traction, slipped a bit - and then he lets out a long, slow sigh and allows himself to sink back into the warmth. it's simpler that way, to think of it as 'the warmth', because that's something he does know what to do with. leeching heat from fires and blankets and whatever else is a skill he has long since learned in the time since his golden core ceased to warm him from within. and honestly, were he able to relax enough to melt into said heat right now he's certainly shameless enough to do so, but the vibrating undercurrent of a shiver won't release any part of him now regardless of the heat now wrapped around him.

but at the very least, he can convince his neck to relax enough to rest his head back on lan zhan's shoulder, which quickly becomes a shift to tuck his forehead in against the heat of lan zhan's neck for somewhere even warmer to shiver. )

[taciturnly]

( silence is comfortable. familiar. preferable even, most of the time. touch, on the other hand, is still foreign, yet lan wangji can’t decide which is more unnerving: wei wuxian’s skin against his own, or the unusual absence of his vocal antics. it leaves his own thoughts free to wander, a cacophony in his head that flounders at the same rhythm as the beats in his chest. he can hear that, too, unsteady palpitations, and warmth and cold have no meaning any longer, none other than the bundle of interrupted shivers in his arms.

arms, because sure enough, as soon as wei wuxian makes himself more comfortable, lan wangji instinctively responds, both of them wrapped around him. it’s a loose embrace, mostly, but the way his head tilts, just enough for his cheek to gently brush against wei wuxian’s hair, feels a little more intimate than it should. and it stays there, too, while his eyes remain close, distantly battling some sort of urge to… well, he doesn’t know, exactly. bury himself there, maybe. snuggle, for lack of a better word, which isn’t part of lan wangji’s vast knowledge. but he wants, and he sighs with that want, quiet, which squeezes and swells behind his sternum. wei ying, alive, in his arms. frozen to death, almost, and he presses his cheek to the side of his head, tightening his hold. )

Wei Ying. ( he doesn’t know why he says his name. to moor himself, if nothing else, his mind a maze he doesn’t have the strength to navigate. he’s borderline feverish, or maybe he already is, much more focused on warming wei wuxian up than cooling himself down. one of his arms slowly rise, fingertips landing on wei wuxian’s temple. it’s vaguely reminiscent of another life, sharing with him some of his energy, healing, strengthening, warming.

and then faintly, quietly, he hums, a tune he knows by heart. )

[mannerless]

( as if his concession has given permission, lan zhan's other arm winds around him now, one more beacon of warmth against chilly skin. perhaps he has given permission. perhaps he gave it a long time ago, when he agreed to let lan zhan help - but that feels like a lifetime ago anymore. right now anything apart from this couch and this evening feel so very distant. here and now, the arms around him tighten, lan zhan's cheek pressing into his hair, and wei ying finds it inexplicably harder to breathe. the arms aren't too tight, it's not that. it's... deeper, something which bloomed unnoticed when he was first pulled back into lan zhan's chest and now it's filling the space between his lungs with a terrible ache.

wei wuxian has never been held like this.

he wasn't really prepared to be held like this, right now when everything within him is already raw from the insurmountable cold. he has gotten so fantastically good at deflecting anything even resembling raw emotion, denying it even to himself, but right now he can't quite think of how. all he can think of is the way that heartfelt 'wei ying' strums at the tightly-wound chord which seems to stretch from his throat to the pit of his stomach, resonating through him so deeply that it's a wonder lan zhan can't feel it. and in this embrace, in the cheek pressed to his hair, in the sound of his name, wei ying is reminded once more of how terribly he must have hurt him. choosing to die when lan zhan, who begs for nothing, pled for him to live. leaving him with that weight for a godsforsaken decade and a half, and even once he comes back, he just- leaves again, somehow.

and here lan zhan sits, warming him. humming to him, and the melody is so wretchedly familiar that a desperate sort of frustration flickers through him for a moment before the cold consumes that as well. he's played that tune on chenqing so many times since his retreat to the burial mounds and even a few times in his first months here, yet somehow lan zhan knows it as well. it's just one more thing amongst the many, many things beyond his grasp right now, and he carefully measures out his next breath, slowly out and just as slowly back in.

then, ) Lan Zhan. ( it's hardly more than a whisper, the tightness still lingering in his throat and his chest. ) Lan Zhan, how can it - ( '- really be alright? everything that i've done.' that's how the question would've ended up, but already these five words sound more dire at a even whisper than he's willing to sound, and that's more than enough to steal away his ability to bring himself to finish it. so instead he huffs out a weak chuckle, and - ) How can it be so cold. ( because senseless complaining is far easier to reconcile than the conflicted mess of things he's feeling. )

[taciturnly]

( the notes dither in his throat, wane until only the sound of his breath remains. it’s quiet, but heavier than it should be, ragged and frayed with the slightest hint of a hitch. wei ying’s question gives him pause, not because he doesn’t know the answer—it would startle even if he did. it’s just. desultory, it seems, an aimless conversation hidden beneath another, and lan wangji’s mind reels on wayward thoughts. muddled thoughts, thick and slow and opaque, through which he can barely navigate. this heat is merciless, his heart even more so, and for one brief, lucid moment, he feels grievously out of place.

certain liberties should never be taken, and this feels a lot like trespassing. it’s the chasm between them, harboring things untold, and a plethora of aches unaddressed. his back stiffens. his arm drops, fingers digging into the plush cushion of the couch. he doesn’t know how to give what wei ying desperately needs without taking here, and too much indulgence has left his skin sizzling with greed. enough.

his reluctance to pull away is an odd little sting where his breath shortens, a pang of frustration that’s entirely aimed at himself. craning his neck back, he finds the strength to loosen his grip around him, the droplets of sweat trickling down his temples a welcome distraction. ) A storm always tests the strength of a blade of grass. ( more of a reminder than an answer, really, and maybe a warning to himself. quietly he exhales, closing his eyes as the arm around wei ying’s waist struggles to stay still. ) Cloaks and blankets might keep you warmer. ( which he has a ton of, just upstairs. ) A bath, perhaps. ( because there’s only so much he can do here, without inappropriately basking in his cool proximity, which has only managed to increase his own warmth. )