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jackoshadows · 3 years

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“You,” Ned said, kissing her lightly on the brow, “will marry a king and rule his castle, and your sons will be Knights and princes and lords and, yes, perhaps even a High Septon.” - Eddard, A Game of Thrones

My featherbed is deep and soft, and there I’ll lay you down, I’ll dress you all in yellow silk, and on your head a crown - Arya, A Storm of Swords

“Aegon has been shaped for rule since before he could walk. He has been trained in arms, as befits a knight to be, but that was not the end of his education. He reads and writes, he speaks several tongues, he has studied history and law and poetry. A septa has instructed him in the mysteries of the Faith since he was old enough to understand them. He has lived with fisherfolk, worked with his hands, swum in rivers and mended nets and learned to wash his own clothes at need. He can fish and cook and bind up a wound, he knows what it is like to be hungry, to be hunted, to be afraid. Tommen has been taught that kingship is his right. Aegon knows that kingship is his duty, that a king must put his people first, and live and rule for them.” - Kevan, A Dance with Dragons

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So this is an essay of sorts on my speculation/theory that Arya is going to end up as a leader of the North by the end of the series. I will split this into several parts:

Arya and leadership

Arya and Northern leadership

Arya and Nymeria

Skillsets

Importance of being a Warg/Skinchanger

Succession

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Arya Stark and leadership

“Know the men who follow you,” she heard him tell Robb once, “and let them know you. Don’t ask your men to die for a stranger.“ - Arya, AGoT

Arya has always been a leader rather than a follower. Just like Jon at the wall, she initially chafes at having to follow orders instead of doing what she thinks is the right thing to do. Despite Gendry and Hot Pie being older than her, she’s the one giving the orders and making the plans. She manipulates or forces characters into doing what she wants – getting Gendry to leave Harrenhal and forcing Jaqen to help her free the Northmen.

Arya took the lead, kicking her stolen horse to a brisk heedless trot until the trees close in around her. Hot Pie and Gendry followed as best they could. From time to time Arya glanced over her shoulder, to make sure the two boys had not fallen too far behind, and to see if they were being pursued - Arya, ASoS

Like most of our protagonists, Arya is ambitious and interested in being an active participant at the top. She wanted to become a King’s councilor and build castles. That entire little speech that Varys gives about the ideal candidate for ruling fits Arya to a T.

Arya has gone hungry, scrubbed and cleaned, cooked and kept house, sewed and mended clothes, bound up wounds, been hunted, been scared for her life – and done all this with limited protection. Just survived on her wits. Arya can wield a sword, is fluent in several languages and has studied with a Septa.

We also see war torn Westeros and the suffering of the smallfolk through Arya’s eyes in ACoK and ASoS. It doesn’t matter if it’s Stark or Lannister, the smallfolk suffer the same – Septon Meribald’s ‘Broken Men’ speech in AFfC embodies what Arya observes. After Arya frees the Northmen using weasel soup and Vargo Hoat betrays the Lannisters, there are reprisal killings, torture and rape enacted by Stark bannermen and the sellswords. The smith, Maester and the head maid are executed for merely serving Tywin – something on which they had no choice. Gendry points this out to Arya and she feels guilty for her part in all this.

“I hate this lot worse. Ser Amory was fighting for his lord, but the Mummers are sellswords and turncloaks. Half of them can’t even speak the Common Tongue. Septon Utt likes little boys, Qyburn does black magic, and your friend Biter eats people.”

The worst thing was, she couldn’t even say he was wrong. The Brave Companions did most of the foraging for Harrenhal, and Roose Bolton had given them the task of rooting out Lannisters. Vargo Hoat had divided them into four bands, to visit as many villages as possible. He led the largest group himself, and gave the others to his most trusted captains. She had heard Rorge laughing over Lord Vargo’s way of finding traitors. All he did was return to places he had visited before under Lord Tywin’s banner and seize those who had helped him. – Arya, ACoK

"It’s not a village, it’s only black stones and old bones. “Did the Lannisters kill the people who lived here?” Arya asked as she helped Anguy dry the horses.

“No.” He pointed. “Look at how thick the moss grows on the stones. No one’s moved them for a long time. And there’s a tree growing out of the wall there, see? This place was put to the torch a long time ago.”

“Who did it, then?” asked Gendry.

“Hoster Tully.” Notch was a stooped thin grey-haired man, born in these parts. “This was Lord Goodbrook’s village. When Riverrun declared for Robert, Goodbrook stayed loyal to the king, so Lord Tully came down on him with fire and sword. After the Trident, Goodbrook’s son made his peace with Robert and Lord Hoster, but that didn’t help the dead none.”

A silence fell." - Arya, ASoS

"Wolves, she thought again. Like me. Was this her pack? How could they be Robb’s men? She wanted to hit them. She wanted to hurt them. She wanted to cry.” - Arya, ASoS

The smallfolk in the Riverlands are caught between the Starks, Tullys and Lannisters with no good choices. And on the ground level, Arya sees this, understands this and acknowledges this. Her actions benefited house Stark and no one else. She understands the cost of war.

Arya is also very keen on justice. In that she not only thinks that characters deserve justice, but she wants to actively participate and deliver justice. She considers the execution of Dareon from the NW as a just one.

Dareon had been a deserter from the Night's Watch; he had deserved to die. - Arya, AFfC

“Guilty!” Arya shouted with the rest. “Guilty, guilty, kill him, guilty!” …

Arya could only think of Mycah and all the stupid prayers she’d prayed for the Hound to die. If there were gods, why didn’t Lord Beric win? She knew the Hound was guilty… - Arya, ASoS

Her father beat her so often and so brutally that she was never truly free of pain or fear until she came to us.”

“Did you kill him?”

“She asked the gift for herself, not for her father.”

You should have killed him.“ - Arya, ADWD

Arya drew back from him. "He killed the slave?" That did not sound right. "He should have killed the masters!" – Arya, aDwD

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Arya and Northern leadership

I would sooner my men die fighting for the Ned’s little girl than alone and hungry in the snow, weeping tears that freeze upon their cheeks. - Hugo Wull

The North has famously never had a female leader in House Stark. So is it possible for valiant Ned’s precious little girl to become the first Lady Stark to lead the North?

In terms of personality, Arya resembles some of the other female leaders/members of Northern houses. She is bold and forward like Lyanna Mormont and Wylla Manderly. She has trained with the sword and learned how to use a bow and arrow. She proactively engineers her own escape like Alys Karstark. Characters like Ygritte and Alys remind Jon Snow of Arya.

Arya venerates Ned Stark. She follows his advice as much as Robb, Bran and Jon do. Even more so. She executes a NW brother for desertion. And that is important for the Starks.

I should kill them myself. Whenever her father had condemned a man to death, he did the deed himself with Ice, his greatsword. - Arya, ACoK

The blood of the First Men still flows in the veins of the Starks, and we hold to the belief that the man who passes the sentence should swing the sword. - Bran, AGoT

“The Starks do not use headsmen. Ned always said that the man who passes the sentence should swing the blade, though he never took any joy in the duty.” - Catelyn, ACoK

“Rickard Karstark, Lord of Karhold.” Robb lifted the heavy axe with both hands. “Here in sight of gods and men, I judge you guilty of murder and high treason. In mine own name I condemn you. With mine own hand I take your life. Would you speak a final word?” - Catelyn, ASoS

The pale morning sunlight ran up and down his blade as Jon clasped the hilt of the bastard sword with both hands and raised it high. “If you have any last words, now is the time to speak them,” he said, expecting one last curse. - Jon, ADwD

Arya is one of the Starkiest Starks of the whole lot. She is also the only Stark to actually have the Stark look. She is stubborn and determined to do things the Stark way. She often uses her father’s advice to guide her way.

Her father used to say that a lord needed to eat with his men, if he hoped to keep them. “Know the men who follow you,” she heard him tell Robb once, “and let them know you. Don’t ask your men to die for a stranger.“ - Arya, aGoT

Arya had loved nothing better than to sit at her father’s table and listen to them talk. She had loved listening to the men on the benches too; to freeriders tough as leather, courtly knights and bold young squires, grizzled old men-at-arms.- Arya, AGoT

Whenever her father had condemned a man to death, he did the deed himself with Ice, his greatsword. “If you would take a man’s life, you owe it to him go look him in the face and hear his last words,” she’d heard him tell Robb and Jon once. - Arya, ACoK

Now there are theories that it is future Bran who was communicating with Arya through the weirwood at Harrenhal, but she does gain strength from her father’s words when she prays to the Old Gods.

Gooseprickles rose on Arya’s skin, and for an instant she felt dizzy. Then, so faintly, it seemed as if she heard her father’s voice. “When the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives,” he said. “But there is no pack,” she whispered to the weirwood. Bran and Rickon were dead, the Lannisters had Sansa, Jon had gone to the Wall. “I’m not even me now, I’m Nan.” “You are Arya of Winterfell, daughter of the north. You told me you could be strong. You have the wolf blood in you.” - Arya, ACoK

And while Arya is travelling incognito, GRRM keeps her connected to the North, house Stark and the Northern plot. She starts her journey from KL with a NW brother Yoren. She’s disguised as a boy like Danny Flint, Manderly requests a song about brave Danny Flint at Ramsay’s wedding with ‘Arya’. In the Riverlands, Arya’s plot intersects with her father’s bannermen, she participates in the capture of Harrenhal for house Stark and is there for Roose Bolton’s war council. She meets both Roose Bolton and Aenys Frey – our antagonists in Winterfell facing off against Stannis in ADwD. She meets Robett Glover – who is currently in White Harbor - when she lets him out of the dungeons. She gets Jaqen to help her father’s men.

“Vargo Hoat’s come back with prisoners. I saw their badges. There’s a Glover, from Deepwood Motte, he’s my father’s man. The rest too, mostly.” All of a sudden, Arya knew why her feet had brought her here. “You have to help me get them out.” – Arya, ACoK

Arya looked. She knew all of her father’s men. The three in the grey cloaks were strangers. Arya, AGoT

Twin towers. Sunburst. Bloody man. Battle-axe. The battle-axe is for Cerwyn, and the white sun on black is Karstark. They’re northmen. My father’s men, and Robb’s. - Arya, ACoK

Harwin?” Arya whispered. It was! Under the beard and the tangled hair was the face of Hullen’s son, who used to lead her pony around the yard, ride at quintain with Jon and Robb, and drink too much on feast days. He was thinner, harder somehow, and at Winterfell he had never worn a beard, but it was him—her father’s man. Arya, ASoS

“I bet there are Winterfell men too.” Her father’s men, the Young Wolf’s men, the direwolves of Stark. - Arya, ASoS

Arya is also involved in betrothals/marriage – first to Elmar Frey and then married off to Ramsay Bolton to hold the North. As a side note, her connection to all these bastards is indeed interesting - Elmar Frey, Ramsay Bolton, Gendry and Jon Snow. Is GRRM trying to say something here?

We now have the Northerners and Freys that Arya sees in Harrenhal transposed to Winterfell and ‘her father’s men’ rising up for Arya Stark.

Now, we can speculate and assume that these Northerners would have done the same for the other Starks, but that’s not the point here. In the books, GRRM has written this story to revolve around Arya. The mountain clans are marching for ARYA. The Northern houses are fighting alongside Stannis for ARYA. When lady Barbrey Dustin points out the anger of the Northmen at the treatment of ‘Valiant Ned's precious little girl’ she is talking about ARYA.

GRRM has Stannis wanting to rescue Arya for Jon. He has Mance trying to rescue Arya for Jon. He has Jon breaking his vows and dying trying to rescue Arya. A large part of what drives this plot forward is that it’s Arya, and her special relationship with Jon Snow influences a lot of what is happening south of the wall. The story only happens this way with Arya in the North. And that’s why it’s Arya’s story and not that of any other Stark. Superimposing this or that Stark in place of Arya to make a case for why they would be leader of the North makes no sense. GRRM writing in the marriage of Arya Stark to hold the North makes the case for why Arya is important to the North.

So, Arya has actively helped free Northmen in the Riverlands, engaged with important Northerners and Freys at Harrenhal and drives the plot to take down the Boltons in the North. With her leadership skills, her ability to wield a weapon and fight, looking like Ned, following in Ned’s footsteps and advice, her fierce personality, her loyalty to bannermen, her desire for justice and to help the weak and powerless, her huge direwolf - she would be like the Kings in the North of yore. I think the Northerners will be fine with Arya Stark being the Stark in charge.

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Arya and Nymeria

“What if the wolves come?” “Yield,” Arya suggested - Arya, ACoK

The direwolves are an important part of the books, and an important aspect of the Starks.They are as much a part of the Starks as Dany’s dragons are a part of her. They cannot be ignored as unimportant pets who will end up serving no purpose.

“He is part of you, Robb. To fear him is to fear you.” - Catelyn, ASoS

Ghost did not count. Ghost was closer than a friend. Ghost was part of him - Jon, ADWD

“Part of you is Summer, and part of Summer is you. You know that, Bran.” - Bran, ACoK

“Wolves and women wed for life,” Haggon often said. “You take one, that’s a marriage. The wolf is part of you from that day on, and you’re part of him. Both of you will change.” - Varamyr, ADWD

You have five trueborn children,” Jon said. “Three sons, two daughters. The direwolf is the sigil of your House. Your children were meant to have these pups, my lord…The direwolf graces the banners of House Stark,” Jon pointed out. - Bran, AGoT

“Roose Bolton has Lord Eddard’s daughter. To thwart him White Harbor must have Ned’s son … and the direwolf. The wolf will prove the boy is who we say he is, should the Dreadfort attempt to deny him.“ - Davos, ADWD

GRRM has mentioned several times that they are important.

The Lannisters are always likening themselves to lions, for example, and their motto “Hear me roar” speaks of a certain way of looking at life. But I think for the Starks it goes a little bit beyond that, especially in this generation, with these direwolves. It’s more than just a handy metaphor with them - GRRM, interview

"Wolves have been part of European folklore, of which America's descended, going back thousands of years. In Rome, Romulus and Remus -- there's always been this relationship between wolves and men." That relationship is seen time and again in Martin's series, and it's one that will Martin says will continue as the last two books are eventually released. Arya's wolf, Nymeria, in particular, will play an important role. "You know, I don't like to give things away." says Martin, a grin spreading across his face. "But you don't hang a giant wolf pack on the wall unless you intend to use it." - GRRM interview

The direwolves are important especially for Arya whose theme is ‘The lone wolf dies but the pack survives’ and there are constant mentions of the pack in her POV chapters. Nymeria is an alpha, a leader of her pack like Arya is a leader of hers.

“She says there’s this great pack, hundreds of them, mankillers. The one that leads them is a she-wolf, a bitch from the seventh hell.” - Arya, ACoK

Throughout ACoK and ASoS, Arya mentions the wolves in the Riverlands. They appear to be just ahead of her or behind her. In her chapters there are mentions of wolves eating people, of Roose going wolf hunting. It’s almost like the wolves are traveling with her. They even help her escape – the wolf howl giving the signal – from harrenhal. And it’s possible the pack was picking off Roose Bolton’s riders chasing Arya because they were following right behind.

She could hear the sound of her own breath, and the wolves as well, a great pack of them now. They are closer than the one I heard in the godswood, she thought. They are calling to me. - Arya, ACoK

Once, from the crest of a ridge, she spied dark shapes crossing a stream in the valley behind them, and for half a heartbeat she feared that Roose Bolton’s riders were on them, but when she looked again she realized they were only a pack of wolves. She cupped her hands around her mouth and howled down at them, “Ahooooooooo, ahooooooooo.” When the largest of the wolves lifted its head and howled back, the sound made Arya shiver. - Arya ASoS

Nymeria keeps amassing this huge wolf pack and Arya being a strong warg can sense this

She was no little girl in the dream; she was a wolf, huge and powerful, and when she emerged from beneath the trees in front of them and bared her teeth in a low rumbling growl, she could smell the rank stench of fear from horse and man alike. - Arya, ASoS

She dreamed of wolves most every night. A great pack of wolves, with her at the head. She was bigger than any of them, stronger, swifter, faster. And her brothers and sisters were with her, many and more of them, fierce and terrible and hers. - Arya, ASoS

In her wolf dreams she was swift and strong, running down her prey with her pack at her heels. - Cat of the Canals, AFfC

The wolf dreams also helps Arya connect to Bran, Jon and Rickon. We see Ghost able to sense the other direwolves and Bran trying to communicate with Jon.

Nymeria is a grey wolf and the stark sigil is a grey wolf on a white background.

“The rain had washed the guard’s blood off her fingers, she wore a sword across her back, wolves were prowling through the dark like lean grey shadows, and Arya Stark was unafraid.” - Arya, ACoK

“Arya had her father’s eyes, the grey eyes of the Starks.” - Reek, ADwD

What’s in a name? I have already mentioned in another post, the symbolism of the names for the direwolves and them being an indication of the future for the Starks. Arya’s direwolf is named Nymeria – a Rhoynish warrior queen who led her people to safety. Something that Arya may well do in the future when the North is under attack from the Others.

More importantly, Nymeria in Dorne changed the customs and rules of house Martell to follow those of Rhoynar and allowed for female rulers. Nymeria herself was the first female leader and was followed by her daughter. Nymeria changed the norm for Dorne and we could see the same happening with Arya Stark in the North.

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Skills and Education

Look with your eyes, Syrio had said, listen with your ears.- Arya, ACoK

Education at Winterfell:

Arya was mainly taught by Septa Mordane and received the same education as Sansa. She would have been taught history and about the Faith by the Septa, she can read and write, and is good with sums. She’s better than Sansa at managing a household. She can ride a horse like a Northman and is an excellent swimmer. She knows some high Valyrian. Besides the Septa, Arya also hangs around Ned Stark when he is teaching the boys. Many of his words of wisdom that she remembers is from when he is teaching the boys. She mingles with her father’s men, the cooks, the stable boys etc.

Kings Landing:

Water Dancing style of swordfighting from Syrio Forel.

Harrenhal:

Being incognito allows Arya to move around like a mouse or the ghost of Harrenhal and observe and learn things. She is privy to Roose Bolton’s war council and listens to them discuss the Northern campaign against the Lannisters. We get the first inkling of the Red Wedding in these chapters between Roose and the Freys.

Arya observes the different people, analyzes their movements and figures out how to approach them.

The night she was caught, the Lannister men had been nameless strangers with faces as alike as their nasal helms, but she’d come to know them all. You had to know who was lazy and who was cruel, who was smart and who was stupid. You had to learn that even though the one they called Shitmouth had the foulest tongue she’d ever heard, he’d give you an extra piece of bread if you asked, while jolly old Chiswyck and soft-spoken Raff would just give you the back of their hand. - Arya, ACoK

And as lords and ladies never notice the little grey mice under their feet, Arya heard all sorts of secrets just by keeping her ears open as she went about her duties. Pretty Pia from the buttery was a slut who was working her way through every knight in the castle. The wife of the gaoler was with child, but the real father was either Ser Alyn Stackspear or a singer Lord Lefford made mock of ghosts at table, but always kept a candle burning by his bed. Ser Dunaver’s squire Jodge could not hold his water when he slept. The cooks despised Ser Harys Swyft and spit in all his food. Once she even overheard Maester Tothmure’s serving girl confiding to her brother about some message that said Joffrey was a bastard and not the rightful king at all. “Lord Tywin told him to burn the letter and never speak such filth again,” the girl whispered. - Arya, ACoK

She aids in the escape of the near hundred Northmen imprisoned in the dungeons and even Roose is impressed enough to make her his cupbearer. And the next time, she conceives of, plans and executes their entire escape all by herself. She plans for the logistics – weapons, transportation, people, travel route, what to wear. She makes sure she is warmly dressed, takes the map from Roose’s chamber, uses her position of cupbearer to manipulate several men, manipulates Gendry into escaping with her, takes down the guard and leads them away. It’s an endeavor that showcases her intelligence, cunning, determination, ability to strategize and lead.

Arya also shows a lot of restraint and keeps her secrets. She doesn’t trust the Glovers or any of the Northmen in Harrenhal - and considering the Red Wedding, it’s a good decision.

Their captors permitted no chatter. A broken lip taught Arya to hold her tongue. Others never learned at all. - Arya, ACoK

Arya watched them die and did nothing. What good did it do you to be brave? One of the women picked for questioning had tried to be brave, but she had died screaming like all the rest. There were no brave people on that march, only scared and hungry ones. - Arya, ACoK

On the road Arya had felt like a sheep, but Harrenhal turned her into a mouse. She was grey as a mouse in her scratchy wool shift, and like a mouse she kept to the crannies and crevices and dark holes of the castle, scurrying out of the way of the mighty.- Arya, ACoK

Braavos:

Arya’s education here is not limited to killing for the Faceless Men. She is also educated in poisons and languages. She improves on her high Valyrian and is now fluent in Braavosi and other Essosi languages. She learns acting/mummery. Not showing emotions on one’s face, detecting emotions in another person.

“A man does not need to be a wizard to know truth from falsehood, not if he has eyes. You need only learn to read a face. Look at the eyes. The mouth. The muscles here, at the corners of the jaw, and here, where the neck joins the shoulders.” He touched her lightly with two fingers. “Some liars blink. Some stare. Some look away. Some lick their lips. Many cover their mouths just before they tell a lie, as if to hide their deceit. Other signs may be more subtle, but they are always there. A false smile and a true one may look alike, but they are as different as dusk from dawn. Can you tell dusk from dawn?”

Arya nodded, though she was not certain that she could. “Then you can learn to see a lie… and once you do, no secret will be safe from you.” - Arya, AFFC

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People skills

“I will remember, Your Grace," said Sansa, though she had always heard that love was a surer route to the people's loyalty than fear. If I am ever a queen, I'll make them love me.” - Sansa, ACoK

Arya’s ability to make friends wherever she goes highlights her people skills. And Arya is able to communicate and connect with people from all walks of life.

Sansa knew all about the sorts of people Arya liked to talk to: squires and grooms and serving girls, old men and naked children, rough-spoken freeriders of uncertain birth. Arya would make friends with anybody. - Sansa, AGoT

She had loved listening to the men on the benches too; to freeriders tough as leather, courtly knights and bold young squires, grizzled old men-at-arms. She used to throw snowballs at them and help them steal pies from the kitchen. Their wives gave her scones and she invented names for their babies and played monsters-and-maidens and hide-the-treasure and come-into-my-castle with their children., Arya, AGoT

Cat had made friends along the wharves; porters and mummers, ropemakers and sailmenders, taverners, Brewers and bakers and beggars and whores - Cat of the Canals, AFfC

Her girls were nice as well; Blushing Bethany and the Sailor’s Wife, one-eyed Yna who could tell your fortune from a drop of blood, pretty little Lanna, even Assadora, the Ibbenese woman with the mustache. They might not be beautiful, but they were kind to her - Cat of the Canals, AFfC

She’s also loyal to her pack. She doesn’t betray Jon even to her father. She helps free her father’s men. Despite Gendry talking of leaving Lommy or Weasel behind, she refuses. And despite the odds, she tries to help Gendry.

It didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was that they had Gendry. Even if he was stubborn and stupid, she had to get him out. She wondered if they knew that the queen wanted him. - Arya, ACoK

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Importance of being a Warg/Skinchanger

She was the night wolf, no scraps of skin could frighten her. - Arya, ADwD

Since this is a fantasy series, magic is a big part of the story with a magical existential apocalyptic threat on the horizon. The North is the first bastion facing this threat. Jon and Dany both have magical pets and prophetic dreams. Bran is the 3ER. They are leaders or will become leaders by the end. Arya is a strong warg/skinchanger. Apart from Jon and Bran, she’s the only other Stark to use these abilities so far. As GRRM as indicated, having a direwolf is going to be useful in battle – we are going to be seeing direwolves involved in the battle for Winterfell for example. Arya is able to warg Nymeria from all the way over in Braavos. She skinchanges cats and sees through their eyes, when she is blind. She is deft with a sword, knife and decent with a bow and arrow (she could be better now using her FM senses). She would be an effective fighter to have against the Others and her warging skills could prove useful in battle.

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Succession

I’m not a lady, Arya wanted to tell her, I’m a wolf. - Arya, ASoS

And finally we come to succession. This is the hardest part and entirely speculation and we need the next book to get an inkling of where GRRM is heading towards. I am also basing all of this on Hibberd more or less confirming that King Bran on the Iron Throne is GRRM’s ending.

So of the true born Starks, Arya is pretty much last in line. With the inclusion of Robb’s will, we have 5 Starks left. Bran is the rightful heir to the North. Taking him out of the running, leaves Jon, Rickon, Sansa and Arya. Assuming Jon ends up North of the wall – in his dreams the Old Kings in the North in the crypts reject him, maybe foreshadowing that he doesn’t belong in Winterfell - that leaves Rickon, Sansa and Arya.

As for Sansa, again there is a plot significant reason for why GRRM has put an obstacle in her path, allowing for Arya to jump the queue. Sansa is currently married to Tyrion Lannister, a marriage that cannot be easily annulled (With an enemy regime in KL) or ignored like the show did. Robb Stark has most likely disinherited/removed her from the line of succession and named a legitimized Jon Stark his heir and Lord of Winterfell. If he has the support of the Northern houses who want an experienced, older Stark to lead them, Jon Stark could well be the next KITN over Rickon Stark. I don’t think a 7 year old Rickon would object to Jon in charge. So that makes it Jon Stark, Rickon Stark and Arya Stark.

Does Rickon have to die for Arya to become Wardeness of the North? It’s possible Rickon dies, but it’s also possible he doesn’t. It could be that Rickon does not want to lead the North – by the end of the book, he would be 8 or 9. Of course there’s the argument of a regent doing the job for Rickon until he’s ready. Or, he could just give way to his sister because he wants to. Something similar to Aemon refusing the throne and it passing to his younger brother Aegon.

Or we could have the traditional situation where Rickon becomes lord of Winterfell as next in line, while it’s Arya who is involved in running the day to day affairs. However, that would very much be status quo - with Rickon at WF and Bran down south in KL, it would be men ending up in positions of power everywhere once again, except maybe Dorne. If this happens, then Arya would be a leader of the North, but the Stark line would continue with the male line.

It’s possible Jon Stark as King could change things for the North. Jon treats the spearwives the same as the brothers of the NW, he respects Val’s abilities, he trusts in Alys Karstark. If Rickon refuses the mantle, it could very well be that Jon Stark relinquishes his position to his favorite person ever, Arya Stark, to be the next Wardeness of the North. Thus paving the way for Arya Stark to be the first female leader of the North like her hero Nymeria in Dorne.

It would be fitting for the character who introduced Jon Snow to equal rights for women.

“The Lannisters are proud,” Jon observed. “You’d think the royal sigil would be sufficient, but no. He makes his mother’s House equal in honor to the king’s.”

“The woman is important too!” Arya protested. - Arya, AGoT

Could King Jon reverse Sansa’s disinheritance after her marriage is annulled when KL is in friendly hands? Sure. But we don’t know how the Sansa/LF/Vale group will react to Jon as KITN and whether they will mount a challenge in Sansa’s name. And if Jon has to choose between Sansa and Arya as to whom he wants in charge of Winterfell, we know who it is he will think is more capable and will always choose.

I do think Winterfell succession will not be as clearcut as many Stark fans are hoping. Too many factions supporting the different Starks. GRRM loves to write about dysfunctional families and the Starks are not anything special in that regard. TWoW will tell us of whether there will be any kind of Stark civil war.

Is Arya too young for all this? I predict that by the time we get to the end of the books, about 5 years would have gone by. At 14, Arya would still need a regent – one of the many lords of the houses in the North. But I think considering her experiences, skillsets, a huge direwolf, Ned Stark’s wisdom and strong connections to the North, she will be an able leader. As GRRM said,

“[Arya is] older than some of the 40-year-olds in the book.” - GRRM

Either way, whether she gets Winterfell or not, Arya will end up as a leader in the North. Either she rules for Rickon and takes care of the day to day responsibilities or she does so in her own right as Lady of Winterfell/Wardeness of the North. She’s not going anywhere or sailing off on a boat. The show’s ending makes absolutely no sense for a character yearning for home in 5 books after going on the nightmare ‘adventure’ from hell. She will be in the North, in Winterfell, being a leader and continuing Ned Stark’s legacy. She will counsel her brothers and build and her people will love her just like they loved her father.

So in conclusion, I think there is enough story, character build up, characterization and set up for Arya to go North and take over as a leader of house Stark to face the threat of the Others along with Bran, Jon, Dany and Tyrion.

#Arya Stark #asoiaf #TWoW speculation

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chrysalispen · 3 years

Text

pursuit/predation (zenoswol)

This was a lot of fun LMAO I hope you all enjoy reading as much as i did writing it! Commission for @noxi-lumi featuring their WoL, Raziela Undeni <3

NSFW under cut. CW for mildly violent imagery (it is Zenos, after all).

======

Two and a half fulms below the angled opening of his makeshift bolthole, Zenos yae Galvus peered up at the sky with a borrowed face to watch the storm that had raged for two days. The levin-aspected aether in the northern hinterlands of Gyr Abania often lent itself to violent thunderstorms, with static bursts that rendered the escarpment too hazardous to cross. There were waypoints in the mountains to seek shelter from the weather but he had eschewed them, thinking that the fewer encounters to detain (and bore) him, the better.

He had ever chafed at forced inactivity, but all in all, Zenos reasoned, this was but a temporary setback. Man was a beast bred for hunting, a pursuit predator, and he was nothing if not the pinnacle of that ideal. He would do as his ancient ancestors had done: bide his time and await his next opportunity. Once the storm had spent itself, he could go.

He whistled the opening bars of a parade ground march under his breath - a low and toneless sound like loch winds moaning around the corners of sandstone - and let his eyes fall shut.

Seconds and minutes passed as an age. Bereft of aught else to entertain him, his thoughts turned to his memories of the Eorzeans’ champion: that wild creature of sword and spell. Eikon-slayer. Saviour of the savages, so-called. Epithets overheard from idle barracks' chatter, although Zenos set little stock in the distinction between his own kind and the rest of the world as others did. Garleans bled the same, quailed in fear the same, and died screaming the same as any savage, and she had long since proven her mettle to his satisfaction. She strode the world as he did, towering above her fellows, a beast without peer.

He still recalled with crystal clarity the day they had met. Then he had barely paid mind to her paltry attempts to halt his advance; countless enemies had attacked him out of fear or desperation to stave off the inevitable, after all. Even so, he had seen neither of those things in their hero's magenta eyes. A grim sort of determination, to be sure; the steely resolve he would expect of one well-versed in the path he walked himself- but no fear.

There had been another emotion which he still couldn’t quite define, the faintest flicker of something. Curiosity, mayhap. His own exultation in the heat of the fight, mirrored in her mien. A reflection of himself, some alternate path he had never chanced to walk.

Whatever it was he had seen that day, it had moved him to spare her life.

And how right he had been to do it. She was worth a score of tribunes on her own-- fivescore, if the truth be told. Had she agreed to his proposal, or had he kept his word rather than indulge his lust for violence in that precise moment…

How very different things might have been.

Well, perhaps, he amended. They each had their parts to play. But upon the stage of his imaginings, anything was possible. There he could entertain to his heart’s content his fantasies of his friend returned to him, stronger still for her own tribulations.

He meant to duel her again and had no doubt she would oblige him. The prospect of it did not deter him; no, he yearned for the excitement of it. The surge of heat through the veins with each perfectly executed step, air burning the throat and whistling in the lungs, the ever-present specter of death looming over one’s shoulder-- what was violence, in truth, but a dance? Were not those dances with the most precarious, most intricate of steps best enjoyed with a partner of comparable skill?

In the end that was what he had seen in her: a worthy partner, at long last. Whether to stand at his side or to test her blade against his, he would accept both, but to fight his most precious friend once more, to recapture that kindled flame-- that would be a fine thing.

Oh yes, that would be quite fine indeed.

Remembered delight shuddered its way across the surface of his skin, a delicious and almost delicate frisson that bored its way down his spine to curl and tighten in the pit of his belly. Zenos was no stranger to lust; since his majority plenty of his lessers had used their bodies to curry his favor for some petty reason or other, with naught in their hearts save ambition and fear. Carnal knowledge was both prosaic and vulgar, rutting the sole province of mindless beasts, and it had not taken him long to decide that such matters held little of interest or value to him.

But this sweet and languorous warmth, like honey in a well-steeped tea-- he realized that he did not mind it so very much. It reminded him of the menagerie, and his last sight of her before he had opened his own throat and bled out into the flowers. Joy, pure and transcendent.

Yes, he decided; this pleased him.

With a soft grunt Zenos shifted his hips. The motion left him keenly aware of the physical evidence of his arousal against the mild rise below his navel, where it strained against twin cages of cloth and leather for freedom. That spreading ache was not a sensation entirely alien to him, but it did strike him strange how very aware it made him of this borrowed body on such a base level. Heat and hyperawareness punctured the fine invisible layers of his detachment with the pinpoint precision of a sewing needle through linen.

His eyes fell shut once more in a series of slow and lazy blinks: a contented feline drowsing atop a fresh kill.

He settled one hand over the seam of his breeches where the fabric was pulling taut and palmed himself, running his fingers lazily along the firm ridge his cock had formed beneath the thick weave. If he paid heed only to those slow and teasing strokes, he could convince himself that it was her, touching him so intimately---her hand dragging those sharp and immaculate nails he had glimpsed up and down his length. Scratching their points with calculated ease along the underside of his shaft, applying just enough pressure through the fabric to leave tiny trails of fire in their wake.

A soft groan rumbled deep in his chest, and Zenos tilted his chin back so as to rest his head against the rock, thighs spreading to accommodate his girth. What would she do, he mused, should she chance to see him caught in the web of his own desire? Driven to distraction by the mere thought of her, the very picture of the animal in full rut which he had so scorned?

The irony of it would amuse her, he had no doubt about that. Perhaps she might grin at the spectacle.

Perhaps she would even laugh. He presumed to imagine it, a sight and sound he had yet to experience. A wicked, throaty peal of mirth. The toss of short sable locks, the tilt and swivel of long tufted ears, the stretch of her long and graceful neck as she tossed her chin. Grinned at him, feral and dark, that smile he so loved to see before her inevitable riposte.

Savagery to rival his own, swathed in leather and crimson.

So thinking, Zenos’ fingers drifted upward of their own accord, straying from the insistent need betwixt his opened thighs to work at the waistband of his breeches instead.

Lashes fluttered like a courtesan’s fan at the edges of angular cheekbones, suffused with color and dewy with a light band of sweat despite the chill within his shelter. In his mind’s eye, she straddled him as her clever fingers worked the buttons and laces that bound him fast, impatient to pluck her prize from its confines. He fancied he could feel the contained heat of her core against his leg even through the barrier of her smalls, burning as though the sun itself had branded him.

When he raised himself to pull the offending fabric to his knees, it was she who closed her hand about his cock, grasping him just a touch too snugly. Her thumb stroked tiny circles over the foreskin as the shaft lunged eagerly within the cage of her palm; he could almost hear a hum of low-pitched approval. Each stroke she made eased the smooth, hot skin to retract and expose his crown: deeply flushed, its tip already glistening with precum. Zenos sighed, his borrowed body rocking upward to thrust into her hand, seeking friction to accompany that narrow squeeze. Anything would do, really. Except he needed--

Shallow breaths rasped unsteadily in the close space as he slicked his palm with his own saliva, grimaced, then took himself in hand once more.

Wet heat and resistance alone nearly undid him. His startled inhalation made a sharp and rasping echo that he barely heard, lost as he was in his fantasy. She had shed her duelist’s garb, laid herself bare to embrace him with long and powerful thighs, like velvet-wrapped steel. He shuddered at the effort it took to control himself, to let gravity carry her down to sheathe him in her depths, to let her move atop him to counter his thrusts with her own: a beautiful beast with lips for kissing and teeth for tearing. She laid both to work upon his throat and his shoulders with each upward snap of his hips-- drank deep of him, and he of her, until his stomach ached from ribcage to groin with unrelieved tension.

Violence in its own sense, he thought. A dance most intimate, and as real and as pure as the day they had parted.

“Yes, my beast,” he hissed aloud. The sibilant sound of his pleasure rose and reverberated around him, a chorus of empty whispers. “Just so.” His free hand fisted in a handful of loose gravel and his mouth fell slack and the spare limbs and lean angles of this unfamiliar vessel, all wrong, not his, arched like a bowstring. His heels dug into unyielding rock rather than bedsheets for purchase. Her fingers entwined with his, sharp nails grazing his knuckles, tiny cuts to blend with the myriad small scars left by

(hunting. a pale silver-white web of scar tissue in the center of his left palm - his true vessel's left palm - where his fourteen-year-old self pierced it with a crystal. a parting gift to the first man he ever killed. its tendrils radiate outward between each of his fingers like the cracks made in a pane of shattered glass)

arrows and fletching. She was close; he fancied he could hear the labored rattle of her breathing with each small moan she made. Bracing her weight against his torso and balancing upon his thighs to bounce, sounds only he could hear tumbling from imaginary lips parted and glistening, her cunt flexing about him like a silken vise as she approached the edge of release and swept him along like an incoming tide--

--and the pressure in his groin dropped, at last, and when he spilled, his seed splashing over his frantically moving fist and locked fingers and onto the muscled slope of his exposed belly, it was her name which fell from his lips, not hero or beast but Raziela, Raziela.

Long moments passed before he opened his eyes, chest heaving and fingers numb and loosely wrapped about his spent cock, still pulsing beneath his touch. The syllables of her name seemed to echo in his ears, a mantra to recite to himself until he had locked it into his memory to recall at a whim.

He waited in patient silence, willing his pulse to slow and his lungs to expand in an unhurried rise and fall. There was a low rumble from the opening of his shelter and after long moments, a flicker of lightning. The storm was passing and with it the levinstrikes. He would be able to move soon.

With movements as slow and languid as a sleepwalker’s, Zenos reached for the belt he had removed upon entering the cave and dug through its pockets until he found something that would serve as a washcloth. His gaze, as he wiped himself down and rearranged drab layers of linen and oilcloth into some semblance of order, was very far away, fixed upon the thinning clouds and the wheel of stars beyond. The moon hung low in the sky, bloated and orange.

I wonder where you are, my friend, he thought. If you have given thought to our meeting at all.

“Raziela,” he whispered once more, as if testing the sensation of her name on his tongue. In the darkness of the cavern, his eyes glittered like a hungry cat’s.

It was only a matter of time before they were reunited; he would make certain of it. Once he had regained his true form, they would have their dance. A grand reunion upon a great stage, two stars to burn bright, and oh, there would be such a burning. To capture this bliss and relive it with her-- he would give anything in his power, and the very star itself would tremble at their union.

When he emerged from the cavern at last to clear skies and a still night, the moon hid its face behind a passing cloudbank like prey that had caught his scent. And within the bounds of his stolen vessel, Zenos yae Galvus smiled to see it.

#zenos yae galvus #zenos/wol #spicy character studies

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noonmutter · 3 years

Note

Kinky Questions, Go!! ALL 50! At least the ones you haven't gotten yet.

*knucklecrack*

1: Kitchen Counter, Couch, or on top of the dryer?

"Yes. If I gotta pick one, couch. Th' dryer's noisy an' I like bein' able t' hear th' other person.

2: Your last sexual encounter: Good or Bad and why:

Answered here!

3: A fictional person that you think would be good in bed:

(I actually don't know any ingame fiction to draw an answer from here, sorry. <.<)

4: Something that never fails to make you horny:

"Pullin' me int' you. Up, down, chest-t'-chest, back-t'-chest, whatever. Not often I get manhandled, y'ken?"

5: Where is one place you would never have sex:

"I mean, never say never, but somewhere it'd take some real convincin' t'get me t' do it? Th' meetin' space at th' center o' th' Dreamgrove. I'd sooner set my 'air on fire than fuck where th' statue o' Malorne might watch me, an' Remulos would not approve."

(Rest below the cut! Yes I did do all of them!)

6: The most awkward moment during a sexual experience was when:

"...Wakin' up in a pile o' people after an especially long bender, none of 'om I recognized, an' not one stitch o' clothin' anywhere in sight except fer a gnome-sized miniskirt. An' there were no gnomes in th' pile! "Days like tha' are why I don't fuck drunk anymore."

7: Weirdest thing that ever made you horny:

"Tenderizin' steak." Sigh. "Pretty sure it was th' smell o' th' raw meat, mostly.

8: What is the best way to sexually bind someone: Handcuffs, Rope, or Other [if other please explain]:

"With my bare 'ands, or with my teeth 'oldin' somethin' sensitive. Wolf's snout kin fit all th' way 'round most people's throats without actually bitin' down as long as I get th' canines all th' way across, an' as long as neither of us move too terribly much, it's great fun."

9: What is the fastest way to make you horny:

"Hook a finger in my collar an' pull me t' yer eye level. Trouble is, if we're not already pretty damn close an' y' start grabbin' at my collar, I might punch y'."

10: Top or bottom?

"Switch."

11: We were about to ____________ but then ______________ [example: we were about to have sex but then his mom walked in] "We were about t' sneak off t' start our 'oneymoon but then I tripped through a portal some jackass dropped in th' middle o' th' weddin' party an' 'ad t' fly all th' way back first.

12: Is one orgasm enough? Are multiple orgasms necessary?

"Sometimes it's enough, sometimes it's a start, sometimes it's not even th' point. Really depends on th' mood at th' moment, dunnit? I like t'go as many rounds as either of us kin stand, most o' th' time, but I def'nitely find plenty o' value in just one long, slow go tha' ends when it ends.

13: Something that you have hidden in your room that you don’t want anyone to find:

His expression was less jovial than for most of these questions. "Th' collar I made for Vandy."

14: Weirdest nickname a significant other has ever called you:

"Squigglebird. Long story."

15: Two things you like [or dislike] about oral sex:

"Like th' noises it makes a person make--vocally, I mean--an' th' views it gives o' th' person I'm goin' down on an' th' person tha's goin' down on my. Don't like th' taste all tha' much, really 'ate some o' th' noises yer lips an' throat make if yer a li'l overzealous."

16: Weirdest sexual act some has performed [or tried to perform] on/with you:

"Li'l inflatable toy thingie in m' backside. Felt alright fer a while, cuz I mean it wasn't like it was th' first time I'd 'ad anythin' in there, but ah... she kept goin' past my willin'ness, an' it got pretty damn uncomfortable pretty damn fast. I might be willin' t' try it again but not without a lotta thought b'fore'and, an' not with my 'ands bound.

17: Have you ever tasted yourself? [If no, would you?] [If yes, what did you think?]

"Yeah." He shrugged. "Tasted like cum. Nothin' special."

18: Is it ever okay to not use a condom:

"I mean, if y'both agree to it an' y'don't fool around with anybody else, then yeah it's fine. Overwhelmin' majority o' th' time, I wrap up, even with m'wives."

19: Who was the sexiest teacher you ever had?

"...I din't 'ave any teachers I thought were sexy? My first shan'do was a 'andsome elven woman 'o could arm-wrestle a grizzly an' win, but she wasn't wha' I'd call sexy. Too gruff, too keen t' be alone."

20: A food that you would like to use during a sexual experience:

"Not somethin' I really think about in advance, t'be honest. Cook or no cook, food just kinda 'appens on a whim."

21: How big is too big:

"Can't get my mouth 'round it is usually a problem. Length isn't so much a concern, just means y' won't get t' bury it all th' way after a certain point unless y' want me dead."

22: One sexual thing you would never do:

"Mess with any bod'ly fluids besides cum. I tried real 'ard t'understand tha' one an' I just can't, sorry. Gross."

23: Biggest turn on:

"Depends on th' person; wha's 'ot from one is wierd comin' from another. Pickin' out of a hat? When Val'rin says somethin', then rolls 'is eyes up t' look at me an' tacks on a plaintive li'l 'Sir?' at th'end."

24: Three spots that drive you insane:

"Pretty much anywhere on m' throat, th' undersides o' my wrists, an' my 'air. Partic'larly yankin' on it. Just... don't come up an' do it outta nowhere. Like with m' collar, tha' shit'll get y' punched an' I'd argue y' prolly deserve it."

25: Worst possible time to get horny:

"Most times aren't really tha' bad, Iunno... middle of a warzone I guess?"

26: Do you like it when your sexual partner moans:

"I'm kinna suspicious of anybody 'o doesn't. Wha' kinna person doesn't love tha' kinda instant feedback? Tell me I'm doin' a good job, tell me 'ow t' do a better job, tell me just 'ow blown yer mind is by losin' track o' words, sing me a song."

27: Worst sexual idea you ever had:

"Really dunno why I thought it was a good idea t' let a blindfolded guy toss me anywhere, least of all into a bed with a solid headboard on it."

He touched the back of his head in remembered pain.

28: How much fapping is too much fapping:

"When yer chafed an' still 'aven't finished cuz yer too damned raw and desensitized t' get off, it's prolly time t' stop fer a while."

29: Best sexual complement you ever got:

Answered here!

30: Bald, landing strip, Jumanji:

"Landin' strip, ideally. I kin deal with whatever but tha's th' most convenient amount. Less potential fer mess."

31: Is it good sex if you don’t nut?

"What a bizarre question, 'course it is. Shit, sometimes tha's 'alf th' point."

32: Fill in the blank: “If they ____________, we are fuckin”

"Bite my neck 'r pin me t' a wall."

33: What your favorite part of your body:

"My 'air. It's gotten damned difficult t' take care of, but th' tradeoff's pretty worth it."

34: Favorite foreplay activities:

"Touchin'. Just... touchin'. Runnin' my fingers real light an' soft across ev'ry...single...inch...of a playmate's body. Learnin' th' curves, th' blemishes, th' scars, th' ins, th' outs, th' sensitive spots, th' ticklish bits, th' fav'rites all by touch. I kin do tha' fer hours if they'll let me."

35: Love (>,<, or =) Sex For those of us who don’t remember our math that's “greater than, less than, or equal to]

"Does not equal. Th' two kin be completely unrelated t'one another an' tha's perfec'ly fine. They kin en'hance each other when they're both involved, but they aren't incomplete without one another at all."

36: What do you wear to bed?

"If I kin get away with it, nothin'. I run 'ot these days, it's real easy t' overheat if I wear stuff t' sleep.

37: When was the first time you masturbated:

"Gods, Iunno. Thirteen? Fifteen? Somewhere in there."

38: Do you have any nude/masturbating pictures/video of yourself?

"Not tha' I keep fer very long. I make 'em an' send 'em t' people tha' I made 'em for, then I get rid of 'em cuz I don't wanna watch m'self wankin' or whatever."

39: Have you ever/when was the last time you had sex outside?

"So many times, gods alive. Last time was a few days ago, if y' count th' back acres on our property as outside enough."

40: Have/would you ever have sex outside?

Leon just kinda snorted. (See previous answer!)

41: Have/would you ever had a threesome?

"Sev'ral times, an' I would 'appily do so again with th' right people. Fun, but occasionally tricky t' figger out."

42: What is one random object you’ve used to masturbate?

"Most o' th' time I'm very borin' an' just stick t' my 'and an' maybe a dildo, but I got one o' those vibratin' sleeve thingers not too long ago tha' I've been meanin' t' try out..."

43: Have/would you ever masturbate at work/school?

"No, an' maybe. If I were still workin' in a kitchen where other people 'ad t' work an' there's food ev'rywhere, it'd be an absolutely not. I work in a private workshop by th' 'ouse now, so I kin get away with it more, long as 'm careful. Thus far I 'aven't been so tempted tha' I couldn't make it back in th' house first, though."

44: Have/would you ever have sex on a plane?

"Never been in one, be willin' t' try. I've 'eard 'ow tiny those bathrooms are."

45: What is one song you’d like to have sex to?

"...gonna 'ave t' ask me that'un again in a few months when I know more songs, sorry."

46: What is something nonsexual that makes you horny?

Answered here!

47: Most attractive celebrity?

"Do th' Tarts count as celebrities? I'm not even gonna try t' pick one, but tha's all I got."

48: Do you watch gay/lesbian porn? why/why not?

"Not a big porn-watcher in gen'ral, my life feels like a goddamned romance novel as it is. Not often I need more'n a couple o' particularly fond mem'ries."

49: If a child was born on the occasion of the last time you had sex, how old would that child be right now?

"Four days."

50: Has anyone ever posted nude pictures of you online?

(Hard to answer this one since the internet at large isn't really a thing in WoW, at least not in a widely-accepted enough way for me to answer it...)

51: What is one thing that NEVER makes you horny?

"Put-downs. Don't call me slut or boy or bitch--gods, especially not bitch--or th' like if y'want me t' go 'ome with y'."

52: Do you have stretch marks? (How do you feel about them? Has anyone ever had a problem with them?)

"Not tha' I've seen."

53: Do you like giving head? (why/why not)

"Like givin' it cuz it makes m' playmate feel real nice, don't like th' flavor s' much."

54: How do you feel about tattoos on someone you are interested in?

"Doesn't make a dif'rence t' me, aside from most tattoos bein' pretty."

55: How would you feel about taking someones virginity?

"Done it, though I'm not a fan o' th' phrasin'. They put some trust in me, I din't take anythin'."

56: Is there any food you would NOT recommend using during a sexual encounter?

"Nothin' spicy. Period. Just don't. It's not worth it."

57: Is there anything you do on Tumblr that you would not like your significant other to see?

(Another one that doesn't really have an answer in this context.)

58: Do you own any sex toys? (what is it? (how long have you had it?)

Leon burst out laughing and pointed at the full-size steamer trunk at the foot of his bed. "Tha's not even close t' all of it, either. Gods alive, wha' a question t' ask me!"

59: Would you give your significant other unrestricted access to your Tumblr for a day?

"Wouldn't give 'em unrestricted access t' anythin' private o' mine fer a day. If it's tha' private t' begin with, it's cuz it's my safe 'aven, an' they respect tha', same as I do their private stuff."

60: Would you be offended if your significant other suggested you get plastic surgery?

"A li'l bit if it came outta nowhere, but I've talked a fair bit about wishin' I could get rid o' some o' my scars. It's not somethin' I wouldn't consider tryin'."

61: Would you rather be a pornstar or a prostitute?

"Pretty 'appy doin' th' latter as it is. Don't think I'd wanna try th' recorded stuff, it seems like it'd be really awkward t' do tha' fer a cam'ra crew an' with somebody 'o ain't really enjoyin' it."

62: Do you watch porn?

"Not really. Most of it's not int'restin' t' me."

63: How small is too small?

"'Too small' is 'ard fer me t' quantify. I 'aven't found anythin' too small fer me t' work with some'ow."

64: Have you ever been called a freak? Why?

Bit of a flat look. "Worgen."

65: Who gave you your last kiss? Did it mean anything?

"Me an' th' guy 'o fucked me on th' fence out back shared quite a few kisses b'fore, durin', an' after. Mostly they meant 'fuck yer hot.'"

66: Would you switch phones with your significant other for a day?

"I mean, I could. Nothin' on there I wouldn't want any of 'em t' see. Be a bit inconvenient though."

67: Do you feel comfortable going “commando”?

"Frankly I'm more comfortable tha' way than otherwise. Spent too long with a big ol' poof o' fur around m' crotch t' be comfy with most undies. Same reason I'm not overly fond o' shoes either."

68: Would you have a problem with going down on someone if they hadn’t shaved their pubic hair?

"Purely in a logistical sense, yeah. I kin still go t' town an' do thin's right, but it's... sloppy. Those 'airs seem t' WANT t' get in yer mouth, an' all tha', an' it's just so much messier overall."

69: If you could give yourself head, would you?

"'O says I can't?"

70: Booty or Boobs?

"I am very much an ass man."

71: If you had a penis, what would you name it?

"I do, but I didn't. Namin' it seems strange."

72: Have you ever been on an official date?

"Sev'ral, but all of 'em only took place in th' last few years. Never when I was growin' up."

73: Have you ever cheated on someone? (Why?)

"No, an' I never will, an' you kin quote me on tha'."

74: If you were a stripper, what would your name be?

"I 'aven't th' faintest idea 'ow tha' works."

75: Have you ever had sex in your parents bed? (Would you?)

"Nope. Never 'ad th' opportunity, an' I think I'd rather throw up on th' floor an' eat it."

76: How would you react if you found out your parents had sex in your bed?

"Sweet, I'm gettin' a new bed!"

77: What was your reaction the first time you saw a penis/vagina

"Assumin' we're not talkin' about my own bits... 'That's not gonna fit!' fer a dick, an' 'This is a lot less sexy than th'other lads made it out t'be' fer a cooch."

78: If you had a penis/vagina for a day, what are five things you would do?

Answered here!

79: Oral, Anal, or Vaginal?

"Yes."

80: What’s the first thing you look at on someone of the opposite gender?

"Their face. Also 'ow they carry themselves. But mostly their face."

( @pinpep @shckaewynn @valarin-sunstorm for mentions )

#prompty things #leon #SUCK IT RANEK

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five-rivers · 4 years

Text

Obstacles

Based on a prompt by @kinglazrus! A Phic Phight Phic! (Yes, I know I already did this prompt. I had two ideas.)

Before Danny even opened his eyes, he knew he was about to have a bad day. This was primarily because he wasn't in his nice, comfortable bed, which was where he last remembered being. No. Right now he was propped up against a cold, hard wall.

He was also gagged, with something extensive that went all the way into his nose and throat and rested uncomfortably against his vocal cords. Not that it was resting comfortably against any other part of his face or mouth. His jaw had been forced all the way open and everything aches.

This lead to a number of conclusions: One, he had, yet again, been kidnapped, and, two, his current kidnappers are probably aware of his ghost powers. Otherwise, they wouldn't see the need for such an elaborate gag.

Danny believed he was also tied up or chained, but, due to sensory fatigue and his general disinclination to open his eyes or otherwise move, he hadn't checked yet.

He really hated being kidnapped. He was also sleep deprived. His kidnappers could wait.

(Or were those the drugs talking? He had to assume he was drugged, to get him here.)

"Hey!" hissed a sharp, male voice. "Hey, kid!"

Apparently, his kidnappers didn't agree. Ugh. On top of everything, he had to get rude kidnappers. Couldn't he get polite kidnappers for once? The kind that would treat him like an honored guest, except for letting him leave? Or who at least would let him have a bed? He'd still hate it, of course, but he'd be more comfortable while plotting his escape.

"Kid!" said the voice, more urgently.

Jeez. Couldn't they wait? Danny wasn't going anywhere. That they knew about, anyway. Since, obviously, he wasn't going to stay here. For long. Hopefully.

Something jangled and the voice grunted. Internally, Danny rolled his eyes. What were they even doing? Worst kidnapping ever. Zero out of five stars. Would not repeat.

Must be a new kidnapper, then. Didn't know the ropes. He giggled internally. It was better when kidnappers didn't know the ropes. That meant they were easier to untie.

Actually, wait. That jangle... That sounded disturbingly like someone else in chains.

Great. So he had a kidnapping buddy. A kidnapee buddy? Whatever. A fellow victim. Yay. Joy. Someone Danny would have to rescue without revealing his secret. At least, the voice sounded human.

The guy had probably never been kidnapped before. Most humans hadn't been. Danny didn't know about ghosts. Ghosts got up to some weird stuff in ghost land.

Ghost land. Wow. These guys had really laid on the drugs, huh?

If he were alone, Danny would would have pretended to sleep until the drugs completely wore off and he could think clearly and move properly. But he wasn't alone. He needed to know what and who he was working with.

He forced his eyes open, despite how heavy and sticky they felt. What he could see, that is, nothing, didn't change. He blinked, several times, then shook his head. This revealed that, in addition to the gag, he had been blindfolded. Also, he had been right about being chained up. There was a collar around his neck. He reached up, but the chains shackled to his wrists weren't long enough for him to reach.

Well, Danny officially hated this.

"Hey, hey, kid, don't panic, don't panic. Breathe in, breathe out, okay?"

Danny rolled his eyes. He wasn't panicking.

"If you can understand me, uh, nod, or something."

Not the best way of communicating, but, whatever. He didn't have a lot of options. He nodded.

"Good, good. So, uh, you're probably wondering what's going on."

Danny nodded, and tried to point at his face.

"Well, they've got sort of a mask over your whole face, kind of like that one movie, you know, with the French king? Except yours has a hole where your mouth is, and I guess you can feel that, because it looks like it's going in to your mouth. Yeah. And no eye holes. And from my side of the room, it looks like it's locked on, from behind."

The man stopped. If Danny had use of his vocal cords, he would have groaned. While he had wanted to know what was on his face, that wasn't all he wanted to know, and, honestly, that should have been immediately obvious.

This guy wasn't very good at being kidnapped.

Danny rotated his hand in a gesture he hoped would be interpreted as 'continue.' His wrist chafed on the inside of the cuff.

"Anyway, the people who have us... They aren't people. Are you from Amity Park?"

Danny nodded. He already knew where this was going.

"Thank god. I was worried you'd think I was crazy. We've been kidnapped by ghosts. Don't worry, though! I'm a GIW agent! We're trained to fight ghosts!"

The guy, the actual Guy, the agent, kept going on about how he'd rescue them, or how the GIW would come and get them and fight off all the evil, kidnapping ghosts, but Danny was too busy trying to keep his heart rate under control to pay attention.

Danny could handle being kidnapped. He had done it before. But escaping with a GIW agent? Without blowing his secret? That was a different story, and he suspected it was one his kidnappers were fully aware of.

His jaw clenched painfully hard around the gag, but he couldn't relax his muscles. He was aware that he was shaking.

A single, presumably tied up, GIW could scare him this much when the prospect of being kidnapped by unknown ghosts hadn't fazed him at all. It was hilariously pathetic.

The GIW agent, judging by his continued reassurances as to the prowess of the GIW, hadn't noticed Danny's panic. Good. Great. Perfect. At least he was oblivious.

Danny felt the ghost coming, icy mist clouding his lungs, long before the agent saw anything. It was obvious when the agent did see something, because he stopped talking in the middle of a sentence about how 'the GIW are looking for us even now!'

Reassuring. Not.

Something creaked, high-pitched enough for him to hunch his shoulders around his sensitive ears. A door opening? A swirl of air seemed to confirm that.

He hated this so much. He didn't even have his go-to coping mechanism: sarcasm. Well, he had internal sarcasm, but that just wasn't the same.

It would also be a lot easier to figure out how to escape if he could see.

The ghost wasn't walking, didn't make any sound or move the air, but Danny could still track their silent presence moving around the room. Just a perk of being him. Well, that and his ghost sense.

The ghost began speaking, but not in English. "Do not be so afraid, little one," she said in a ghostly language that had always reminded Danny of spiders. Ghostly claws skimmed the soft skin beneath his chin, and he tilted his head up, reflexively, away from the touch. "I swear on my own grave and the Black River, we will do you no damage we cannot repair."

Reassuring. Not. Wow. This ghost and the GIW agent were much more similar than one might think on first... listen? Not sight. Well, probably sight, too, unless this ghost was a Walker lookalike, but Danny couldn't exactly confirm that right now.

"You may have deduced by now that the fool is here to prevent you from fighting your way free. We know you are clever." The claws poked him again, and he leaned away farther, pressing the top of his head into the wall.

"Hey!" said the agent. "Leave the kid alone! Pick on someone your own size!"

The ghost ignored him. "While we have no quarrel with you, we require your presence. At the end, we shall return you to your home, and, should you desire it, we shall return the fool as well." She was pushing against Danny's chin with the back of her claws, pushing his head as far back as it could go. The collar pushed sharply against the nape of his neck. He squirmed. "This, we promise."

Then she dumped something down his throat. At least, he really hoped it was something she 'dumped' as in, from a bottle, rather than, say, for example, drool, but Danny couldn't exactly tell, either way. All he knew was that something liquid had hit the back of his throat, and now he was choking and sputtering, trying not to inhale it. He didn't have much choice about swallowing it.

His throat and the back of his nose burned. He wheezed, gasping for breath that, strictly speaking, he didn't need, and tipped sideways. He caught on the collar's chain and nearly strangled himself, but the ghost had mercy and pulled him back upright.

"Cooperate," said the ghost, "this will all be over soon."

There was a tug on his collar from the other direction and a clank. Was there a chain on the front of the collar? He tried, weakly, to twitch away. The chain went taught.

This was not ideal.

"It's okay, it's okay, kid," said the agent. "The ghost- it's just chaining us together, that's all. I think."

Abruptly, the chains attaching Danny to the wall vanished. The chain on the front of the collar tugged him forward, and he almost toppled. Not 'just chaining them together,' then. Why did he have to be stuck with this guy? Why not someone actually useful? Like Mr. Lancer? Or Tucker's mom? Heck, he'd take Dash. At least Dash would have his back if he found out Danny was Phantom.

The chain tugged up, and Danny struggled to his feet which were, predictably, asleep. His knees felt weird. He was tugged forward, slowly, but insistently. It took a few seconds for Danny to register what was happening.

The ghost was using the chain as a leash, leading him, and presumably the agent, out of the room. His shoulder hit something warm and alive, and he almost fell, but a pair of human hands steadied him.

"Sorry, kid," muttered the agent. "I don't know what's going on. The ghost came in and talked in that gibberish before, but this is the first time I've been out since I woke up."

Danny focused on not falling, after that. He didn't want the agent to touch him again.

This was humiliating.

(Also, what had the ghost put down his throat? He'd been thinking 'drug,' but he didn't feel any different. Yet.)

The air grew warmer as they walked down hallways and navigated up stairs. Hisses and whispers of ghostly speech caught on Danny's ears, but the snippets he caught weren't enough to explain anything to him. The few he could interpret were about housekeeping and cleaning.

Then they passed through a doorway into a room where the air was hot, wet, and floral. A greenhouse? A solarium? A garden? A jungle? It didn't smell as earthy as Sam's greenhouse, the odor was... sharper, more chemical, but Danny knew Sam liked to keep her plants as natural as possible. It might not mean anything.

Beneath his feet, though, the floor was tile, smooth and glazed. That didn't strike him as something that would be used in a greenhouse, or even a garden. Definitely not a jungle. Although... ghosts were weird. They often blended natural and unnatural in ways humans wouldn't.

"You know what you must do," said the ghost.

"Yes, mistress," answered a chorus of ghostly voice, both male and female.

He was pulled forward one last time and suddenly there were hands on him. Many hands, tugging at his clothes.

"Hey!" said the agent. "What is this? What are you doing? I'm not going in there! I'm perfectly- I'm perfectly clean! No bath! Back off!"

There was a great tug on Danny's neck and he went sprawling. The ghosts hissed.

"Oh, hell, kid, I'm sorry, I- stop touching me!"

Danny reached up and grabbed a section of chain, giving himself a little slack. The ghosts converged on him again, and he froze, tensing for signs that he was about to get beaten up.

Instead, they started to cut away his clothes, which was bad in a completely different and terrifying way. The agent loudly protested similar treatment.

"For your bath," said one of the ghosts.

Oh, that made it so much better. Except it didn't. What the heck did these ghosts want him for that required a bath?

The bath was- Well, it was a bath. A bath where he couldn't see or close his mouth or nose. A bath where he had to let a bunch of people who had kidnapped him touch him. A bath where he was increasingly affected by whatever drug he had been given. He could feel parts of his mind going soft and docile, feel his ghost-child instinct to submit to adult ghosts unexpectedly kick into gear.

Worse, the bath attendants apparently thought he was funny, or cute, or something. They kept giggling. Danny wanted nothing to do with it.

Except... the drug apparently had yet to reach its full effect, and, gradually, Danny found that he did. He wanted them to be happy. He wanted them to like him.

At least, parts of him did. The rest was furious.

Eventually, he was toweled off and brought back to the GIW agent, whom he had all but forgotten.

"Damn, kid, whatever drug they gave you really did a number on you, huh?" he asked.

Danny couldn't exactly respond. They were led away, back inside the building, where it was dry, and they were dressed. At least, Danny was dressed, and in something that felt thin and gauzy. Then they were moved yet again.

At some point, Danny wasn't sure when, what with the gag and blindfold, the first ghost came back. Danny was starting to have trouble understanding words They all felt like they were underwater, and he was becoming very unsteady on his feet, even without being pulled along.

The ghost, the first ghost, was touching him, tracing over his bones, mumbling things. He tried to hold still. He really did.

Something new was dumped down his throat, and his legs abruptly decided that they weren't going to support his weight anymore. He dropped to the floor, taking the agent with him.

"Follow the lights," said the ghost. "Find the sun. There is a key in the crawlspace."

Then she left. She left him alone.

Alone with the agent. Which was bad bad bad bad bad.

The agent came closer, and Danny hissed, but he couldn't exactly fight back in his current state. Soon, the agent had him pinned, and he was doing something to the gag and blindfold, and it hurt every time the piece in his throat moved.

But then- it was gone. The agent had, somehow, managed to remove it. The blindfold followed shortly after. Danny spent several long seconds just breathing and blinking, adjusting to his newfound freedom and returned senses.

Being able to see grounded him in reality somewhat. He sat up, only vaguely listening to the agent. The room they were in was cavernous and dark, lit only by a dim chain of lights on the ground that incongruously reminded him of the floor lights at a movie theater. They lead into a tunnel at the far end of the room and out of sight.

Well, now he knew where he was. He groaned.

"Kid? Are you alright?"

"No," said Danny, hoarsely. He decided not to ask the agent's name, because then the agent would ask for his. He looked the agent up and down. "They gave you a knife?"

"Yeah," said the agent, frowning at the sleek metal thing.

The reflections made Danny's eyes hurt. This was a bad trip. He never wanted to take drugs, especially these drugs, ever again.

"You should get rid of it," said Danny, recalling some of the 'rules' this particular ghostly ritual had.

"It's our only weapon."

"Do you really trust something a ghost gave you?" Danny said, trying to inject disgust into his tone. It worked too well and almost gagged. "It's probably cursed. Why else would they give it to you?"

The agent, as expected, tossed the knife away like it had suddenly turned into a snake.

Danny swallowed hard, fighting back a wave of dizziness. He could feel his ghost half sparkling under his skin, and the impulse to do what the nice lady from before said beating with his heart. The darkness crawled with herringbone patterns, pointing on.

"Okay," said the agent. "Okay. So, we've got to get out of here, and I don't fancy taking the path they've lit up for us, so let's feel around, see if there's anything off to the sides." He stood up, dragging Danny with him.

"We've gotta follow the lights," said Danny. He swayed. "They're-" he coughed. "My parents research ghost legends, and I think I know what this is."

"Right, you're the Fenton kid, aren't you?"

Danny shrugged. Figures the guy would know.

"Well, what is it?"

"They want us to find the sun." Danny blinked hard as a memory of light blinded him. "A sun. Their sun. They want us, probably me, really, to find their sun. Because it's their new year. It goes to sleep. Beddy-bye." He yawned.

"Stay awake," said the agent.

Danny shook himself. "They want us to wake it up."

"And the bath is because...?"

"Ritual puri-purification," said Danny, stumbling over the word. "The drugs, too, I guess. We need to be clean, or we'll be burnt up and they'll send someone else." He rubbed his eyes. Speaking of ritual purity, would his status as a half ghost keep him from actually attaining that?

It didn't matter. The drugs in his system were driving him on. His bones were practically vibrating with them. He had to go. He had to follow the lights.

He stumbled forward and tugged on the chain. The agent obviously didn't want to come, but just as obviously there weren't all that many choices. He followed.

It was hard to follow the little lights. They hovered, intangible, just above the ground and made all of the shadows weird. Danny wished he could summon an ectolight, but his fingernails hurt and the agent was right behind him. Stalking him. Waiting for him to trip up.

They reached a wall studded with lights. "We have to go over," said Danny, craning back his head.

The agent grunted unhappily. "I'll boost you up, but don't go over the side or we'll both be strangled."

"Uhuh," said Danny. He didn't need to breathe.

It might have tempted him, at the top of the wall, to go over and get rid of the agent. He wasn't sure. It could have just been the drugs talking. It could have been the call of the void. He didn't know, and he felt so guilty that the weight of it bore him into a hunch and turned the agent's words into gibberish.

There were other obstacles, beyond the agent, beyond the wall. There was a glowing river full of skeletal fish. A field of mushrooms with purple-glowing gills. A monster that chased them until they passed through a door to small for it.

The lights led to a tiny hole, barely large enough for Danny to crawl through. A green-yellow light flickered in the depths.

The agent started to curse. "I can't fit in there," he finish, finally.

"I can," said Danny. "That's why they want children, I guess."

"This chain isn't long enough."

"There's a key in the tunnel," said Danny.

"How do you know?" the agent sounded suspicious.

"The ghost lady whispered it to me," said Danny. He didn't really want to see her again. He was fairly certain that the drug was still running strong in his system, and that he would be ludicrously pliant with whatever an adult ghost, any adult ghost, told him to do at the moment.

He didn't want to see their sun, either. They were probably a ghost in their own right. A powerful one.

But he did want that key.

"No," said the agent, shaking his head. "There has to be another way. This is a trap. Like the knife." He started backing away.

Danny dove for the tunnel.

He got about a quarter of the way down when the agent found the presence of mind to haul him back with the chain. Danny grabbed it with both hands and braced himself against the walls of the tunnel. He could see the glimmer of a key, less than an arm's reach away.

He pulled, reaching, trying to get it. Despite his best efforts, the collar dug painfully into his neck. The agent was shouting but he was under water again. Danny didn't care. He wanted that key.

He got it.

Finding the key hole was a whole other ordeal, but he got that, too, and then he was free. He shot down the tunnel, into-

Sunlight.

He froze. There was a giant, burning skeleton in the cave in front of him. Its bones were an incandescent white. It had curled into a ball. Sleeping.

This was the sun.

Danny could leave, now, though. He could phase through the floor, now that the collar was gone. He could go home and forget about the agent. Physically speaking.

Mentally? That was another story.

Besides, he was in the drugs grip again, and didn't he want to talk to the nice adult?

He shuffled closer to the sun skeleton. It felt hot, but not unbearably so. As he drew closer, he had to squeeze his eyes shut against the light. He reached out, and put his hand on one of the skeleton's bones.

The sun woke instantly.

The celebratory feast was one of the most bizarre events Danny had ever attended, and not just because he was high on ghost drugs. An unconscious GIW agent chained in the corner and a living 'sun' as the guest of honor had that effect, he supposed. Not to mention everyone's insistence on feeding him by hand.

At least he would be able to go home after this.

He hoped.

#danny phantom #phic phight #phic phight 2020

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x-wing-junkie · 3 years

Text

Onward & Upward

Rating: Teen

Warnings: None

Tags: Alexsandr Kallus/Garazeb “Zeb” Orrelios, Garazeb “Zeb” Orrelios, Alexsandr Kallus, Airen Cracken, Hera Syndulla, Original Rebel Alliance Characters

Established Relationship, Kallus gets his own ship, based on a Star Wars Adventures story, probably going to be jossed soon,

Summary: As the Rebels search for a new home following the assault on Mako-Ta base, Kallus is given a new assignment.

Notes: Sequel to A Safe Haven!

I fully expect this to be proven wrong as soon as we get more Star Wars Adventures comics with Kallus and his crew in them, but damn it if I didn’t already come up with my own ideas before finding out there would be further stories.

The Lasana, as always, comes from Anath_Tsurugi’s brilliant mind.

Cross posted from AO3 to celebrate 200 followers!

Home One was a busy ship in the days after the Rebellion fled Mako-Ta base. Their retreat plans had been thrown into disarray by the arrival of Darth Vader.

Stormtroopers, even Death Troopers, could be handled. But how could regular Rebel troops hope to last against a Sith Lord?

They hadn’t been able to and they’d lost a lot of men in the trying, General Draven among them.

The Rebellion was in space, all crammed into Fleet ships while the Council debated a new base.

Kallus hoped it was news of such a base that made General Cracken, head of Intelligence, call him to his office, but he couldn’t be sure.

When Kallus entered the tiny office, Cracken – a middle-aged human with graying hair – was poring over a datapad, so Kallus stood by the door until he was acknowledged.

After a few minutes, Cracken looked up. Kallus saluted and then sat in the chair Cracken indicated.

“Captain Kallus, you’ll forgive me for running late,” Cracken said. “We’re just waiting for General Syndulla.”

Suddenly, Kallus felt like a child about to be chastised. He ran through his behavior for the last few months and couldn’t think of any way he’d offended someone. Ever since the battle of Scarif, he’d been serving as part of the Ghost’s crew, going on raids and scouting locations and other ‘in-the-field’ missions. It’d been an ideal setup, allowing him the freedom to leave the base frequently and feel like he was making a significant contribution to the Alliance while being able to share a bed and a life with Zeb.

He wouldn’t change anything.

Well, that wasn’t quite true. He chafed a little under Hera’s leadership – nothing to do with Hera herself, but Kallus had always been in command as an Imperial and he missed having the sort of authority an ISB agent wielded. He missed being in control of his own actions, his own missions, his own destiny.

A soft knock sounded and Hera slipped into the room. Kallus returned her smile, covering his nerves easily.

Hera nodded at Cracken and the general cleared his throat. “Captain, I assume you’re familiar with the Imperial Freighter we captured over Kile II?”

Kallus was indeed familiar with the ship. Zaarin’s commandos had taken control of it almost bloodlessly. “Gozanti-class,” he said. “Looks to be pre-Empire but modified for Imperial service.”

“You’re familiar with that class of ship, I understand.”

Kallus glanced at Hera, but her face betrayed nothing. “Yes, sir. I often flew or commanded one during my ISB days.”

“That’s what General Syndulla told me.” Cracken leaned forward on his desk. “Captain, you’re being reassigned.”

Reassigned? No! “Where am I needed, sir?”

“I’m granting you command of our new ship. You’ll need a crew. I’ll give you some leeway in selecting them, but you’re being assigned a protocol droid.” Cracken glanced up at Hera, who gave Kallus a soft smile.

“I’m keeping Zeb and Rex,” she said, “but you can pick almost anyone else.”

Kallus had known, in his gut, that Zeb wouldn’t leave Hera and Jacen anyway, but it hurt to hear he was being separated, even if it did mean his own command again.

“This assignment comes with a promotion,” said Cracken, pulling out a new rank tab. “Congratulations, Commander Kallus.”

Still trying to digest all the information being thrown at him, Kallus picked up the rank tab and nodded. “Thank you, sir. What sort of assignments can I expect?”

“You’ll be Fleet command, but most of your missions will come from Intelligence. I presume you don’t mind picking up the mantle of Fulcrum again?”

“I didn’t ever put it down,” Kallus said.

“Good. Then you’re dismissed, Commander. I’ll expect your crew transfer requests by the end of tomorrow.”

Kallus nodded and left in a bit of a daze. He wandered down to Home One’s main docking bay, where the newly-captured Transport 478 sat. Mechanics swarmed over it, removing carbon scoring and repainting the yellow and gray accents.

“Nice lookin’ ship, isn’t she?”

“Garazeb,” Kallus said, relief flooding his chest. “Did Hera tell you?”

“That you’re getting a promotion and a transfer? Yeah.” Zeb sounded just as enthused as Kallus was. He turned the conversation back to the ship, obviously a safer topic. “You know, she needs a new name. Something Rebellion-y.”

Kallus leaned into Zeb’s side. “You know what she kind of looks like?”

“Huh?” Zeb’s eyes narrowed as he peered at the ship. “She’s bigger ‘n the Ghost, that’s for sure. I dunno what else.”

“The paint job,” Kallus pointed out. “Yellow on top, gray on bottom. She looks like that meteorite from Bahryn. The one that kept us warm.”

“Mostly warm,” Zeb corrected. He cocked his head. “You’re right, she does. So what? Gonna name her the Meteorite?”

“Maybe. Maybe she needs a different name. Something the meteorite represented.” Kallus crossed his arms and thought. “Something to do with hope, maybe. Or warmth.”

“Ollirahnd Kasmera,” Zeb said after a few moments’ contemplation. “Means ‘Glimmer of Hope’.”

“‘Glimmer of Hope’,” Kallus repeated. He turned it over in his head a few times. “The Rebellion could use hope right now, I think.”

Zeb wrapped an arm around Kallus’s shoulder. “You think you can pilot this thing?”

Kallus scowled. “Garazeb, I’ll have you know I’m quite a good pilot. You just haven’t seen me fly much.”

“Oh? Better than me, are you?” Zeb grinned, pressing a kiss to Kallus’s temple. “I think we should test that.”

Huffing a laugh, Kallus replied, “In the simulators. I don’t want you crashing my new ship.”

Zeb gasped in feigned offense. “Alexsandr Kallus, are you implying I can’t fly a ship?”

“I know you’re a decent pilot,” Kallus said. “But you’re not a really good one. There’s a reason Hera doesn’t let you fly the Ghost, just the Phantom II.”

Zeb laughed. “Okay, good point.”

Kallus smiled, but said nothing. Slowly, his grin fell, becoming something sad and miserable. “I don’t want this,” he said. “I want to stay on the Ghost with you.”

“And I’d come with you if Hera’d let me, “ Zeb said. “But you’re a victim of your own abilities. You’re too good at this stuff. They saw you lead the commandos, they know you fly well.”

“I could refuse the promotion and position,” Kallus said. “Stay with you.”

Zeb stood there for a moment, obviously considering the idea. “No,” he said finally. “It’s where you’re needed. They were gonna split us up sooner or later.”

Kallus felt a jolt. “You’re not saying–”

“No!” Zeb said quickly. “No, I’m not saying we should split up. I’m just saying it was silly to believe we’d get to stay together the whole time.”

It wasn’t silly, Kallus wanted to argue. It was everything I was fighting for. “I suppose you’re right.”

“‘Course I’m right,” Zeb said, giving Kallus’s shoulders a squeeze. “Come on, it’s dinnertime.”

Zeb slid his arm down Kallus’s back and caught his hand so they could walk together to the mess.

The fare on Home One was not quite as varied as the food on Yavin IV had been, but it was edible and, most importantly, not a nutrient paste, so Kallus was happy with it. He picked out a few spoonfuls of promising-looking dishes and followed Zeb to an empty table.

Their table didn’t stay empty for long. Hera joined them, as did Zaarin, Kallus’s former roommate. The talk, of course, was all of Kallus’s promotion.

Hera seemed apologetic. “I’m sorry to see you two split up, but General Cracken was insistent.”

Kallus gave her a small, reassuring smile. “It’s really okay,” he said, even though it wasn’t. “It was bound to happen at some point.”

“So who’re you picking for your crew?” Zaarin asked, raking back his shaggy hair from his face. “You need a commando, right?”

“You want to give up command?” Kallus asked. “What will Orenth-2 do without you?”

“They’re planning on merging us with Major Lissiri’s unit,” Zaarin said. “So I’m history either way. Might as well go out and see the galaxy, not just battlefields.”

Kallus chewed his food, thinking. Did he really want to work with Zaarin? The man was a friend and they’d survived living together, but… well, Zaarin could be a bit grating. “Fine,” he said after a minute. “I’ll submit your name.”

“Great!” Zaarin leaned forward. “Now, if you really want to make me happy, you’ll ask that new elomin in Intelligence, too. I hear she’s killer with a Kyuzo petar.”

Everyone else at the table sighed. Zaarin’s penchant for aliens – especially aliens with horns, such as elomin – was well-known.

“Tell you what,” Kallus said. “If you can tell me her name, right now, I’ll ask her. But if she’s just ‘the new elomin…’”

“Mikal,” Zaarin answered quickly. “I do pay attention to that sort of thing, you know.”

“No, we don’t know that,” Zeb laughed. “Gotta say, I’m surprised.”

Hera grinned, too. “Looks like you’ve got two crew members already, Kallus.”

“Only if Cracken approves all the transfers,” Kallus said. “So Zaarin, you’re good with explosives and apparently this Mikal is good with melee weapons. I’m a good ranged shot. We have a droid. What are we missing?”

“You want a mechanic,” Hera said. “Can’t tell you the number of times I’ve found myself wishing we had one.”

“Hey!” Zeb protested. “I do that sort of work!”

Hera smiled. “You do and you do it well. But it’d be nice to have you in a turret while someone else works on the shields when they fail. I don’t want to have to choose where you go.”

Zeb leaned back in his chair. “Fair enough,” he said. He turned to Kallus. “Grab a verpine if you can. If not, grab Jaci.”

Kallus nodded. Jaci had never quite bounced back after losing her cousin and both her lovers so close together back on Yavin IV. Instead she’d thrown herself into her work, quickly becoming the most sought-after of the human mechanics. Kallus had a fond spot for her; she’d been one of the first people on Yavin to show him kindness. Perhaps a change would do her well. “If Daine lets her go,” he agreed. “Anyone else?”

Hera shrugged. “We got along with a group of five for a good while before Ezra joined us and I’m sure between you and Zaarin, you can smooth-talk your way out of bad situations one way or another.”

Kallus wasn’t sure if he should be offended or not. He’d use diplomacy if he could but Zaarin would probably flirt his way out of trouble.

And, knowing the bastard, it would work.

“All right. I’ll get those names to Cracken.” Under the table, Kallus reached out for Zeb’s hand, giving it a soft squeeze.

“So does this make us all Fulcrum agents, too?” Zaarin asked. “‘Cause that’s really good for–”

Hera cleared her throat and Zaarin stopped mid-sentence. Continuing as if Zaarin hadn’t been about to make a lewd comment, she said, “I think Kallus will be the only Fulcrum agent, although you can talk to General Cracken if you’re truly interested.”

Zaarin laughed. “No, I’ll let K handle that one. I was just curious.”

Kallus and Zeb shared a glance and the lasat rolled his eyes. “I think Kal and I need to go,” Zeb said. “Got stuff for him to do.”

Cheeks warm with embarrassment, Kallus let himself be dragged off back to the Ghost.

“Garazeb,” Kallus said, casting about for the right words. “Are you sure you’re all right with me taking this position? We’ll both be gone so often.”

“But you’re not gone yet,” Zeb reasoned. “We’ll worry about that when it happens.” He reached out and pulled Kallus close, into a deep kiss.

Kallus closed his eyes and focused on the kiss: the taste and tang of Zeb, the feel of lips and sharp fangs against his. They’d gone through so much to get to the point where Zeb felt comfortable kissing him, Kallus hated to do anything to mess that up.

Reaching behind him, he hit the door controls and pulled Zeb back into their cabin. “Ollirahnd Kasmera,” he murmured, between kisses. “You realize Glimmer of Hope is a terribly sentimental name?”

“So call it the Glimmer. Or the Kasmera.” Zeb shrugged. “Better ‘n Glowy Rock That Kept Me Warm.”

Kallus laughed and cupped Zeb’s jaw, running his thumb through the lasat’s bristly beard. “I do love you, Garazeb,” he said.

Zeb arched his brows. “Now who’s the sentimental one, Alex?”

“Only because you made me so.”

Zeb pushed Kallus back on the bed. “Guess I rubbed off on you the right way.”

“Something like that,” Kallus laughed again.

“Tomorrow we’ll get you moved into your new quarters and then break ‘em in properly,” Zeb said. “But you’re not leaving on that ship yet. We’re still together for tonight. And I have plans for you.”

“Plans?” Kallus grinned. “Show me.”

And Zeb did.

Kallus lay there after, wrapped in Zeb’s arms, running his fingers idly through thick purple fur.

Glimmer of Hope, he thought. The Glimmer. I can work with that.

He used to think there wasn’t the slightest bit of hope for both of them to make it through the war together, but Zeb’s steady belief in something better had wormed its way into Kallus’s heart.

Thanks to Zeb, he had more than just a glimmer of hope that there was something for them on the other side of this long war.

And that something was worth fighting for.

Worth living for.

#Susan writes stuff #star wars rebels #kalluzeb

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wangxiangiftexchange · 3 years

Text

Winter Solstice Gift for vedrividia

Thank you @vedrividia for giving an amazing prompt to work with!

Read On AO3

*****

Let the right one in

Let the right one in,

let the old dreams die.

Let the wrong ones go,

They cannot do

what you want them to do.

–Morrissey, Let the right one Slip In.

There are three thousand rules that are part of his family tradition. His mother had liked to break them as often as possible.

That wasn’t the important part, though she had said it was the thrill of it that made her do it-- the important part was that it was a secret. Their secret, his and hers.

Lan Wangji’s family was important. It had survived for generations. It was large and prosperous; and it was all owed to the rules, that’s why it was important to uphold them. They showed the way of living a fulfilling life: marking a clear path for what is good, just, and true.

“Sometimes rules are meant to be broken,” she had told him with a wink when she had taken him past curfew to the city. It had really thrilled Wei Wuxian to learn of this, to be the only other person in the whole world who knew Lan Wangji’s secrets.

His mother had been punished for breaking them before he had been born, a long time ago, he had explained.

He remembers kind eyes smiling at him, a careful hand holding his,

“Can you keep a secret, A-Zhan?”

That’s how it usually went; they didn’t get to sneak in or break rules all the time, or his uncle would find out.

After she left, something in him had cracked; he knew he came back a different person. Uncle and brother wouldn’t talk about it, but it had made him into someone else, something else.

Lan Zhan could tell now that his mother hadn’t been perfect, that she had made mistakes, but being with her had been the one joyful part of his insipid life. When he was with her, the sky was bluer, the sun shone brighter, the world was a wonderful place they could explore at whim.

The bath water was scalding hot, making the whole bathroom stuffy and warm.

His mother had combed his hair, then did her make up. He had watched cartoons while she filled the tub.

Lan Quiren had managed to find the best specialists in the field, a parade of white coats to cure Lan Wangji. Therapies, procedures and colorful capsules to swallow by the hour—it had only managed to make it worse.

He had felt sleepy after dinner, he hadn’t eaten much, it was not even that late really and yet—

“Come, Lan Zhan, we are taking a bath...”

After several episodes, as his uncle liked to call them, which resulted in him passing out in the student’s hall, the school counselor advised him to return home. To return to familiar patterns. Lan Wangji could read between the lines: We don’t want you to be our problem anymore.

She had promised him that if she was ever to leave, she would take him with her. Even though it meant that he would never again be able to see Xichen or his uncle… It hadn’t mattered to Lan Zhan if it meant he could keep seeing the world as his mother painted it, blooming with light.

In the end, she broke her promise.

What his uncle and his brother don’t understand is that, when he breaks, when he collapses to the floor, the air in his lungs frozen, it is because that is the most acceptable outcome to the rage that seethes beneath the layers and layers of good conduct and three thousand rules made to be written over and over and over; of speech therapy and socialization his uncle had forced on him as a kid.

The fact is that Lan Zhan had seen what the world could look like when you were with the person you loved, with the person you trusted. The fact is that Uncle forbid both Lan Zhan and Lan Xichen to speak about her.

-- And his life had gone on like she had never existed.

His brother had asked him once if he remembered something from the day his mother died.

Lying is forbidden in his family, but he doesn’t have the heart to tell him that he remembers too much.

She had left without him, and all the colors, the wonders, the joy, and brightness had left with her.

***

The incident makes it clear that living in the dorm rooms wasn’t such a good idea. But with the semester already started and at such short notice, what he could find instead, hadn't been exactly ideal. The building was a mere fifteen minutes’ walk from campus. Despite being close, it wasn’t in a good part of town; the area was made up of mostly students and families that couldn't afford the more residential areas.

Lan Xichen could sigh all that he wanted; Lan Wangji refused to back down on this. He could do it; he could live on his own.

***

It is supposed to be a mingle party for the freshmen. Lan Wangji wonders how people are supposed to hear each other through the noise, the music starts, and the bass is loud enough to make his skin itch. He tries to escape to another room, but they're all too full, the air too stale, and people are starting to look at him intently which means he's probably having another episode right now. He knows how he looks when they start-- he gets pale, his eyes bulge, his jaw clenches-- he has to find a dark room and soon. Suddenly there’s a hand on his back and someone is pushing him away from the living room, to the entrance hall. Lan Wangji would panic about the unwanted touch except he’s trying too hard to control his breathing and count backwards to even realize that the person is taking him through the parking lot and into the woods next to the university building.

His next breath dispels in a thin mist in front of him. The stranger guides him into a tree, boxes him in and whispers something to him; Lan Wangji of course can't hear over the static that are his thoughts right now. A hand guides his face up, deep black eyes are looking at him, pupils blown and glowing threateningly red. He feels his thoughts scatter at the intensity of that gaze; he feels his breath catch, then he hears the words as clear as a bell in the silence of the woods: "Breathe."

And Lan Wangji does. Once, twice; the stranger’s hand pressing to his chest--he feels the weight of it like a rock, somehow guiding him to clear his head. His vision clears as he keeps breathing, his mind returning to him bit by bit, until he can take in his surroundings, the quiet of the night in stark contrast to the sounds he hears himself making as he shivers and makes stuttering exhales. He feels his shoulders drop as he goes boneless into a crouch. Coming down from an episode can be as terrible as getting caught in one. He feels too exposed, and all he wishes he could do is curl in his bed and cover himself with his sheets.

How fitting that they meet that way, he and Wei Wuxian -- or Wei Ying, as Lan Wangji will get to know him later, the way things go in the end.

He wakes up propped up to the front door of his apartment, cold and sore from his uncomfortable position. The sun streaming through the window and filling the dingy hallway with light. He vaguely remembers strong arms helping him up, someone laughing as he was pressed to them, and he has no idea how he got from the party to his doorstep.

He goes inside and figures he will call Lan Xichen later. He gets himself in his bed and dreams of deep red eyes the color of a burning forest.

***

Lan Zhan is proud that he has managed to avoid his new neighbors so far by opting to study in the library, thus requiring him to leave his apartment early and arrive home late. But today has been different. He had woken up with a pressure in his chest that wouldn't go away, his hands numb at his sides, too cold to even hold the mug of tea he had served himself. His brain is screaming at him to go, his movements frantic because he's late for class, he's late to catch the shuttle, he's embarrassing himself, he needs to keep to his schedule and go through the motions or he will lose-- something. What he could lose is uncertain. Maybe it’s his sanity.

By the time his heart starts beating normally, and he can focus, the sun is setting through murky skies casting a soft glow over the snow settled on the ground and Lan Wangji notices his lack of fresh food too late; he braces himself to make a trip to the deli store a few blocks away. He’s double checking that he has all his essentials with him as he hears the door next to his open and close. Lan Wangji freezes on the threshold, as his door closes in front of him with a quiet click. He doesn’t dare to move, waiting, hoping that the neighbor is entering his own apartment--except that he isn't, he knows, because someone chuckles next to him. He takes a second too long to move. The stranger moves to the end of the hall where the stairs are, Lan Wangji felt for a second there like his neighbor was going to try to talk to him. He sighs, grateful for small mercies hearing the other man’s receding steps.

He hasn't even left the complex and he's already feeling tired to the bone, he forces himself to open the entrance door. The cold air hits him head on, making him curse for not planning to buy some groceries while the sun was out. He clenches his teeth as he opens the door.

He starts to make his way down the street when a sudden burst of students rounds the corner, coming Lan Wangji's way, he freezes in his spot. His breathing stutters and picks up pace; he can hear them approaching, yelling to each other, laughing out loud and suddenly the cold air, the voices, and the streetlights feel too much, chafing with the quiet of his apartment. He's about to turn around and hurry back inside when he notices the students have stopped shouting and are backing down around the corner, hastily retreating to one of the walkways connecting to the street--he has a second to feel relief until he looks at his shadow, stark on the pavement, and then notices another, longer shadow a few feet away. He turns around quickly and has a second to feel lightheaded when he notices that it is the man that lives in the apartment next door. His neighbor also looks startled by his sudden movement as he takes a step back. There is a pause as they both stare at each other, until his neighbor gives him a shy smile.

"Sorry for startling you. I was just going that way," he says as he points towards where Lan Wangji is heading. "Erm, the lady in the lobby told me there was a convenience store nearby?" He angles himself to look across the street, giving Wangji the chance to admire his profile. Lan Wangji is assaulted with the feeling that he knows this man, that he has seen him somewhere, and is suddenly struck with a longing to learn where he could possibly know him. He's sure he has never seen him in the complex before; he would've remembered him.

"Anyways," the man continues after a beat, "I should get going." He nods and gives Lan Wangji another tight lipped smile.For some reason, Lan Wangji doesn't want him to leave yet. Something in the now empty street makes him shiver, when before it had been a respite.

"I can accompany you." Lan Wangji hears himself say, and he has the luck of seeing the stranger's eyes go from shock to a heartening warmth as he throws a real smile his way.

"Aiya, you're too kind. That would be wonderful!" he says as he steps towards Lan Wangji. Lan Wangji can only nod, his mouth going dry.

"My name is Wei Ying. I just got to this part of town," the man says nonchalantly, as they head to the deli. The stranger, no--Wei Ying--keeps a stream of conversation going despite Lan Wangji's silence. He doesn't mind; it helps to relax him and dulls the other sharp sounds of the street. Lan Wangji manages to relax when they reach the store, thinking the endeavor is almost over. He enters the deli and manages to find some vegetables and packets of ramen that would do for tonight’s dinner. When he turns around to wait for Wei Ying to pay, he realizes the man is outside, a bag already in his hands. Lan Wangji lets himself look at Wei Ying for a second and notices how still Wei Ying is, almost blending in with the falling snow and the people passing by. The stillness is broken as soon as Wei Ying catches Lan Wangji staring, turning and smiling at him again.

Lan Wangji walks outside, and Wei Ying walks over to join him.

"Time to head back?" he says to Lan Wangji. Lan Wangji nods again; Wei ying just keeps smiling at him. The familiarity of the gesture shouldn't bother him that much, but it does.

Before Wangji notices, they're back inside the apartment complex, shaking the snow in the lobby and trying to avoid bringing too much inside with them. His movements feel clumsy and as he tries to reach for his boots and keep his groceries on the other hand, still tired from this morning. He feels himself losing balance--his vision goes blank for a second and when it clears, he feels a hand on his shoulder, his own holding on to the other man's, Wei ying's arm. You don’t like to be touched, a distant voice in his head reminds him. Except this feels different, soft and hesitant.

"Careful there." Wei Ying’s voice has suddenly dropped a whole octave, sounding incongruously hoarse.

Wangji wants to say he's fine, that he can manage by himself from here, but his words get stuck in his mouth, as he manages to shake his head. Wei Ying takes a step back, letting go of his shoulder. He remains in Lan Wangji’s space, he notices he's still clutching Wei Ying’s arm, he lets go as if scalded. He can feel the tip of his ears and cheeks burning; he hopes the frost of the night had kept his skin red so Wei Ying wouldn't notice.

"Well, I suppose I should head back first.” Wei Ying pauses to adjust his coat. “It was nice to have your company, neighbor," he says cheerfully. And he looks so young and beautiful this close, Lan Wangji can’t help but notice.

It is at this moment that Lan Wangji notices that he hasn't introduced himself to Wei Ying. It doesn’t matter, does it? The less we interact, the better, the same voice as before tells him in his mind; how inappropriate that he aches to keep the company of Wei ying for just another moment. "Lan Zhan," he says, shocked at how desperate he sounds, and also alarmed that his traitorous mind had chosen his given name, not the more formal one.

No way to take it back now; he would have felt mortified, except not even a beat later, Wei Ying says, “Lan Zhan," eyes glinting with glee.

Lan zhan has to take a gulp of air, completely enraptured by how right it had felt his name in Wei Ying's lips.

***

He keeps bumping into his neighbor throughout the season. Usually in winter his energy levels are low so he makes more use of the deli; it comes to the point where he starts waiting for the door next to his to open, for Wei Ying to poke his head out and ask him if he wouldn’t mind some company. Lan Wangji would mind, usually. But since it’s this time of the year and he’s still unfamiliar with the area, he agrees. Besides, he likes how Wei Ying’s monologues’ lull him into a trance; it’s almost like all the other noise and people around them disappear from Lan Wangji’s world. He welcomes the respite, especially since winter usually leaves him feeling bruised and exposed; he can’t stand many things when he gets like that. It seems Wei Ying is one of the few exceptions.

It’s his own fault when once again, the weekend is over and he hasn’t gone grocery shopping. He decides to head to the deli, Wei Ying in tow, when they’re stopped by police at the lobby.

“I’m sorry boys, but I’m afraid you’re gonna need to head back inside tonight,” The officer says.

Lan Wangji is particularly mute this evening so he's relieved that Wei Ying speaks up from behind him. “Why, did something happen, officer?”

The officer squints in Wei ying’s direction as he answers. “Well, I don’t know if you’ve seen the news, but there’s been a couple of disappearances on campus these past few months.”

Lan Wangji frowns as Wei Ying says, “Huh. But I thought they happened out of town? Has something else happened?”

The cop opens his mouth as if to speak but thinks better of it. He looks at Lan Wangji and then back to Wei ying. “You guys live here? This is a little bit far from campus, so if you need to go back to your dorms a patrol car can escort you…” he says and he starts to approach.

Lan Wangji gives a step back--his hand is suddenly caught by Wei Ying’s. “Don’t worry officer, we’re going back inside. Thank you for your time.” He pulls Lan Wangji back to the stairs and up to their floor. As they ascend, Lan Wangji remembers how his classmates mentioned something about people going missing a few weeks ago. He vaguely remembers something about two students who didn’t come back from their homes on the weekend; had it been last week? This month?

He remembers that he’s heading back to his apartment, but there isn’t really anything there to eat. He starts thinking whether he knows the numbers of any delivery service places nearby, or if delivery can even happen with the curfew in place-- when Wei Ying tells him as they reach their floor, “Wait here.”

Lan Wangji goes to unlock his door, ready to shed his stuffy clothes once he’s inside since he’s not leaving his apartment tonight.

He enters and starts the slow process of removing his coat, his gloves, and his oversized sweater. He’s sitting down on the bench placed in the small hallway that connects the entrance to the rest of his apartment when he notices Wei Ying in the doorway. He’s holding a bag from the deli, looking at Lan Wangji from across the threshold. In the light of his hallway, Lan Wangji notices how pale Wei Ying looks tonight. He doesn’t know why he hadn’t noticed it before, but something about the light coming from the single lightbulb illuminates the bruises under his eyes all too well, as well as the gauntness of his face.

Wei Ying is for once not speaking. He’s just standing there watching Lan Zhan.

“You can leave your things on that table if you want,” he says to Wei Ying, who is still motionless on his front step.

Wei Ying’s movements are suddenly unnerving as he turns to look at the dinghy table Wangji has pointed to; an eternity passes before he answers, “You need to invite me in.”

Lan Wangji is suddenly aware of his small studio apartment and how stark it looks, how quiet the hallway behind Wei Ying is, and how now that he thinks about it, he really doesn’t know the man standing on his doorstep. For some reason it hadn’t occurred to him that Wei Ying has never been inside his apartment.

“It’s alright, just take off your shoes. It’s clean.” Lan Wangji says as he stands up.

Wei Ying is still staring at him even as he relaxes his posture and smiles. “I’m sorry but you have to actually say the words, Lan Zhan, if it’s alright with you.”

Lan Wangji walks slowly towards Wei Ying, who still hasn’t moved from the doorway. He stops standing close enough to see Wei Ying’s cracked lips, his dark brown eyes gleaming. He stands there for a minute studying Wei Ying, “And what happens if I say no?”

Wei Ying’s smile does not reach his eyes this time. Something in it makes Lan Wangji want to step back, close the door and bolt it. He refrains from doing so, curious in spite of himself. Wei Ying shoves the bag he was carrying to Lan Wangji’s chest, making Lan Wangji falter backwards from the force of the push.

“Here. I didn’t like these candies so I figured I could share with Lan Zhan tonight!”

Lan Wangji looks inside the bag to see an assortment of lollipops and hard candies. Is this what Wei Ying had been buying all the times that they had gone to the store? He has the sudden realization that, except for that first time, he hasn’t seen Wei Ying enter the store when he accompanies him to the store.

“I’m sorry Lan Zhan, but maybe I can join you another time? I’m going to my place. See you next time!” Wei Ying doesn’t wait for an answer as he retreats. Lan Wangji, still frozen in place, hears the door to Wei Ying’s place open and close.

He closes his door and crosses the space to slump on his bed. He takes a few of the hard candies from Wei Ying’s bag. It’s not until much later as Lan Wangji is falling asleep, that he considers the uneasiness he had felt, he could swear he hadn’t seen Wei Ying blink in the few minutes they had been talking.

When he sleeps, Lan Wangji dreams of statues coming to life and singing him to sleep.

***

The snow is covering everything when Lan Wangji wakes up. He wonders if classes are going to be cancelled as he looks at the snow falling steadily outside. He should take advantage of the early day to finally stock up on something more than convenience store food, maybe return the books that are due for tomorrow, or even perhaps restart his workout morning routine. But he still feels stretched too thin.

It’s been ten days since curfew was instated; time seems to have passed slower since then. He could blame that fact on being unable to follow his schedule, but he knows the real reason. He hasn’t seen Wei Ying since that night.

It’s rare that he would grow so attached, but something in Wei Ying makes him feel perceived, like he could look at Lan Wangji and see through him and inside him. His brain has always been filled with static; the cadence of Wei Ying’s voice had managed to silence it. Wei Ying tends to easily avoid people too, which in turn makes Lan Wangji less likely to have to deal with other people. Even when there’s silence between them, he feels the companionable tranquility of being with someone who understands him.

What had happened that night was an exception, and though it had been frightening, Lan Wangji finds himself strangely curious to something he’s sure he shouldn’t have witnessed, but Wei Ying had tried to show him anyway.

He hears movement from time to time in the apartment next door, hears the door closing and opening, but he can’t bring himself to confront Wei Ying. Something had changed from that last time. Their friendship—if Wangji can call it that— a fragile new thing, and he feels as if he had treated it too roughly and something had come undone.

It’s a few nights later when something wakes Lan Wangji. It’s still dark outside, the streetlight coming through his window the only thing illuminating his room; he hears thumping from the side of his apartment connected to Wei Ying’s—and more concerning, someone crying. He doesn’t register moving, but in a flash he finds himself in front of Wei Ying’s door. He debates whether he should knock-- what if it was all just his imagination? Or a bad dream that had made him hallucinate the noise. As if on cue, he hears a distant sob coming from inside Wei Ying’s apartment. He steels himself and knocks, trying not to sound too frantic and failing. As he knocks, the sobs stop. With the eerie silence echoing in the hallway, he tells himself that he could always head back to his apartment, he could just go back inside and put on headphones and some classical music and forget about ever being outside Wei Ying’s door in his night clothes, palms clammy, his breath condensing in the cold air of the hallway.

He doesn’t hear footsteps, but the next moment he hears Wei Ying’s voice through his front door. “Go away, Lan Zhan,”

He sounds so distant and small; it makes something break inside Lan Wangji’s chest.

“Wei Ying, I heard…” But what can he say? ‘I heard you crying’ would sound disrespectful, he shouldn’t have been eavesdropping, and he shouldn’t for that matter care what Wei Ying does in the night in his own space. “I wanted to make sure you’re alright.”

He hears a soft chuckle on the other side of the door.

“Can I come in? I would like to help, if possible.” He says reaching for the doorknob, he doesn’t try to turn it.

There is a pause. Wei Ying’s voice, when it comes, is flat and hard. “And what happens if I say no.” It takes a moment for Lan Wangji to realize his own words are being thrown at him.

He moves away from the door, cheeks flushed and fists clenched. He doesn’t know what to say to that. He goes back inside his own apartment.

***

Lan Wangji didn’t sleep well that night. When the alarm goes off the next day, he doesn’t deliberate too much on skipping classes. The semester is almost over, his projects have already been delivered and revised, he still feels the guilt of once again shrugging off his responsibilities.

And that’s how, as he lies motionless and heavy in his bed, he distinctly hears the crash coming from the apartment next door, accompanied by what could only be screaming. He once again finds himself in front of Wei Ying’s apartment door. This time he doesn’t think twice about pounding the door and shouting, “Wei Ying! Please open up!”

The sound of fighting only grows worse. He is trying to figure out if he has the time to call the cops, or if someone would have called them already, when he abruptly remembers that they’re the only tenants on this floor; the other two apartments have already been vacated, since most of the students in the building decided to head back home for the winter break.

“Wei Ying!” he shouts again. He can feel his heart start beating faster, his vision swimming with the black spots that warn him he’s about to have another episode, except this time he knows what to do with that urge. He throws his entire weight on the door; it doesn’t budge the first time, but he’s frantic and on the third time he hears a loud crack, just as pain starts flooding his senses from the shoulder with which he pushed the door.

The first thing he notices is that beyond the weak light that comes from the hall behind him, the apartment is pitch black. The second thing he notices is that the noises appear to come from the bathroom. The shouts had stopped, but he can still hear something gurgling and thrashing in there. The door to the bathroom is wide open; it only takes Lan Wangji a few steps to look inside.

“Wei Ying?” he calls, taking tentative steps towards the bathroom door. “Is that—” he almost slips on something wet on the hallway’s floor; he can’t tell what it is but it shines dark on the wooden floor. “I’m coming over,” he calls from the foyer, inching closer to the doorway.

“Lan Zhan, can you keep a secret?” He is five and his mother is the most beautiful person in the whole world.

The water is hot, too hot, as his mother brings him in with her, sinking into the bathtub.

“Just go to sleep, my love, it will all be over soon.”

He remembers waking up shivering, the sun already set, the light of the TV dancing in the dark of the hotel room. He remembers hearing pounding on the door and his uncle shouting his mother’s name. He tries to turn around and ask mother if they were leaving already— but all he sees are her closed eyes and her hands, limp in the water. The water itself is too dark and murky. He remembers his Sunday sweater being stained with dark splotches, his arms and legs feeling heavy. He remembers flinching when the door is broken into, his uncle being the first one to storm inside. He remembers closing his eyes as he wonders why his mom never took him away like she said.

He has seen blood before; the stark contrast to the white tiles is nothing new. He has seen it clinging to his clothes, to his shoes; he has seen it drained from another human form. What he’s not prepared to see is the pair of red eyes staring back at him from the darkened bathroom, hunched over what is unmistakably a body. Lan Wangji has a moment to wonder if this is what insanity feels like until suddenly time unfreezes and he sees, really sees, the figure still moving, blood staining a dark mouth.

He doesn’t register that he’s moving, but in a flash he��s outside, in the hallway, rounding right into his apartment. He turns around to close the door, and in the last moment a hand darts between the door and the lock. Lan Wangji hears the sickening crunch of something breaking as he continues to try to close the door; for an insane second, he feels sorry for hurting Wei Ying. His hand is holding the door open as Lan Wangji pushes with all his strength to close it all the way.

“Wait! Let me explain—” Wei Ying calls out from the other side of the door.

Lan Wangji feels himself hyperventilate. He can’t speak so he keeps on pushing.

“Please, Lan Zhan, just let me, you need to look at me so I can—” Wei Ying shoves the door open abruptly. It throws Lan Wangji back, he lands on his ass, sliding across the wooden floor of the hallway.

It’s already day and the pale light of the dawn is streaming in from the bedroom window, streaks of it almost reaching the hallway It’s enough for Lan Wangji to see Wei Ying flushed and covered in blood from head to toe, his hair dripping with it, dark and red and—

His mother is filling the bathtub. He remembers how excited he was to go on a secret trip, one that not even Lan Xichen gets to go to. He’s the only one who knows about the things his mother tells him and that makes him feel special in a way he has never felt before.

He is on his hands and knees when he opens his eyes, a puddle of his own bile on the floor in front of him.He can’t breathe. He hears the pounding of his pulse on his temples; Wei Ying is talking; he feels loathe to listen to him.

“Lan Zhan, I need you to look at me, to let me help you,” Wei Ying says in a litany of more senseless words. Wei ying is—he doesn’t know but he can’t concentrate on that right now. He looks down and realizes that the puddle he stepped on as he entered Wei Ying’s apartment had been blood, and he had trailed some in the rush to go back to his apartment. On the wood next to his hand, his shoe print is dark red. He feels his strength finally giving in as his vision fades to black.

He wakes up slowly, his head still swimming, his eyes puffy and throat parched. He is lying on his side, curled up, joints locked, and the sun has started to set. As he’s trying to stand up, he suddenly remembers what he had seen, and feels like keeling over again. He closes his eyes tighter, makes his hands into fists.

A voice from the doorway turns his blood cold.

“Lan Zhan, I think it’s time for you to invite me in.”

***

He’s too tired to have another episode, or he should be, but the way spots dance in his vision as he turns around and starts shuffling backwards tells him otherwise.

Lan Wangji looks at the man standing on the threshold. Wei Ying has a new pair of jeans and a black hoodie on; his hair is wet, a few strands clinging to his face and neck. His cheeks are flushed. He looks beautiful. Lan Wangji can’t stop thinking about that mouth, red with blood, and the glowing eyes that looked back at him from the dark.

Wei Ying leans against the doorjamb, looking at him through hooded eyes. He looks more relaxed than last time—though perhaps satiated would be a better word. As Lan Wangji looks down and tries to clear his throat, he can feel tears start to stream down his face.

Wei Ying crouches in Lan Wangji’s line of sight. “Look at me, sweetheart,” Wei Ying says, and even his voice sounds clearer than last time.

Something tells him it would be a bad idea to listen to that voice at this moment; Lan Wangji resolutely keeps staring at the floor as he tries to avoid passing out again.

Wei Ying sighs and sits down. “I'm really trying to make an effort here, you know?” He crosses his legs. Lan Wangji looks at him from the corner of his eye. Wei Ying’s flexing his injured hand, and Lan Wangji remembers the sickening crunch he had heard as the two of them had struggled with the door. In spite of himself, he turns to look. The middle finger is twisted at an unnatural angle, and as Wei Ying turns it, Lan Wangji can see a deep purple bruise across the back of his hand. Then Wei Ying flexes his hand and Lan Wangji watches the bruise fade, until the skin there is just a shade darker than the rest of Wei Ying’s hand. He gasps and Wei Ying’s gaze turns toward him.

“The perks far outweigh the downsides of this too,” he jokes. He proceeds to take his crooked finger and snap it back into position, emitting a crunching sound that makes Lan Wangji flinch.

“Does it hurt?” he asks, still avoiding looking at Wei Ying fully.

Wei Ying smiles and shrugs. “Not really. I mean, I’ve had worse.” His lips are red and plump and Lan Wangji can’t stop staring, cataloguing the differences between the creature before him and the man he had got to know and grow fond of.

Lan Wangji swallows. “What happens if I don’t—” He exhales, trying to form the words in his mind so they come out easier. “You said I had to say the words…”

To this Wei Ying goes still. Now that he knows what to look for, it is so easy to spot the switch: how his movements start looking aberrant; how he stops blinking, how his chest goes absolutely still. A flash, and Wei Ying is unfolding, standing up, still staring straight at Lan Wangji, who has stopped caring and is shamelessly staring back. Wei Ying removes his hoodie, showing a strip of his navel, the skin there as pale as everything else. He throws it aside, then squares his shoulders.

He gives a step towards Lan Wangji, then another; then he is inside Lan Wangji’s apartment at last, his posture unassuming and incongruous among the stark furniture in Lan Wangji’s room.

Lan Wangji stands up with difficulty, keeping his gaze locked with Wei Ying’s. He’s about to say something when Wei Ying gives another step, this time unsteady, and blinks a few times. That is when the blood starts to pour, first from his nose, then his hairline. Wei Ying blinks again and red streaks start to fall from his eyes.

Lan Wangji lunges for him, alarmed. “Wei Ying!”

Wei Ying’s white t-shirt is also stained with blood from what looks like different cuts that bloom in front of Lan Wangji’s sight. He takes him by the arms and Wei Ying holds on to him as well as he hunches over, clearly in pain. He opens his mouth and more blood starts pouring out.

“Please stop! You can come in, I consent to you coming in!” Lan Wangji holds onto Wei Ying as he collapses into a coughing fit. Lan Wangji goes with him, unable to let go.

It takes a few minutes for Wei ying to stop hacking. Lan Wangji notices the blood has also stopped pouring out. Wei Ying is still clinging to him as he examines him, the bruise from earlier has reappeared on Wei Ying’s hand. When his gaze travels to Wei Ying’s face, he is looking back at him intently. How could Lan Wangji not notice how otherworldly Wei Ying really looks, now that the pretense is gone, his posture resembling that of carved marble.

Another liquid smile parts Wei Ying’s lips. “Well, looks like I also made a mess of your place. Now I can see why you didn’t want me to come over.” Wei Ying has blood staining his teeth, his skin is starting to look paler with each minute that passes, and Lan Wangji can’t stop thinking that he looks devastatingly attractive even like this.

***

“Would you let me tell you a story?” Wei Ying asks him.

Both of them are lying on the floor. Lan Zhan is half sitting, supported by the wall, Wei ying next to him, close enough that their legs are touching. Lan Wangji is vaguely alarmed by the amount of blood that is rapidly drying on his floor, on his clothes; he feels numb and too tired to try to move, so he lets it go.

“The thing is, my memory was never good, even before… yeah, I really don’t remember a lot, but I don’t think that is such a bad thing., I’m pretty sure I’m better off not knowing the details.” Wei Ying slouches, bringing their bodies closer together Lan Wangji is surprised to find that Wei Ying feels warm.

Wei Ying talks about being a boy growing on the streets, about the family that took him in as one of his own. He talks about the brother and the sister that had made his days so bright he didn’t think he could’ve been happier.

Then, he talks about how the war had come and torn everything apart. How it forced men into becoming killers, and families into taking sides. His family was not the exception.

“You remind me of someone,” he says. By now it is well into the night, and the only source of light is the one coming from the streetlights through his window. If Lan Zhan doesn’t look too closely, the blood looks just like shadows scattered around his floor.

He hums in interest. They’re so close Lan Zhan could count Wei Ying’s eyelashes.

“I think he was a good man,” Wei Ying says. “He tried to help me.”

“Did he succeed?”

Wei Ying shakes his head, a strand of hair falling on his face. “I don’t think so, no. But,” he turns to look at Lan Zhan, “he had this quiet presence to him, just like you.” Wei Ying is beaming as he says this.

Lan Zhan’s speechless at such a soft look being directed at him. He reaches out and moves a strand of hair away from Wei Ying’s face; his hand lingers, cradling Wei ying’s cheek. Wei Ying takes his hand and brings it to his mouth, locking eyes with Lan Zhan as he deposits a kiss onto his open palm, light dancing in his eyes.

***

He thought that cleaning blood would be harder, but like everything, it’s just a matter of having the right items and being thorough.

Getting rid of a body is harder, apparently, though Wei Ying doesn’t let him help in that department, at least not this time.

***

After a while, Lan Zhan muses, people start looking alike‒their faces start blending into one another, they have the same stories, they live in the same boring towns, one after another; they have the same troubles, the same prejudices. And there are also the same creatures that wait in the dark for unsuspecting victims. Wei Ying always tries to go for the ones that will be forgotten, that can easily disappear. Sometimes they find monsters, but not the same type as him. But simple humans who have chosen to exercise malice, to abuse those that are weaker. Wei Ying likes to take his time with those.

Wei Ying is like nothing Lan Wangji has ever seen. There is no match for the strength and power he so casually displays. But most of all there is no match for the brightness of his soul, shining through, despite everything. Lan Zhan grows tired of towns, of the people in it, of the snow and the ocean; in time he will even forget to keep count of the nights spent in Wei Ying’s company, bright and eternal by his side.

#vedrividia #wangxiansolstice20 #*fic20 #*gifts20

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language-of-love · 4 years

Text

one summer night... (prompt from @jessx2231: sitting on the porch at night) | Summer Soft Series on AO3

.........

Some hellbeast of a bug buzzes his ear and he flails wildly, both desperate to not have it touch his face and not actually make contact with whatever the hell that was. He doesn’t mind walking home from the store, in fact relishes the solitude of it, but these flying monstrosities inhabiting this town can fuck right off.

“Did you just have a stroke?”

“Oh jesus fuck!”

David feels a year of his life vanish into thin air, both from fright and sheer embarrassment as that disembodied voice takes form in a very amused Patrick Brewer sitting on Ray’s front porch.

“Sorry David, didn’t mean to startle you.”

Instead of responding, David holds his finger up as he takes a few steadying breaths, eyes narrowing as Patrick’s smile just grows wider. Why does he have to have a smile like that? And why are David’s lips nudging up to smile back? Enough of that.

“Does Ray know you’re loitering out here?”

“He does. But, point of fact, I’m not loitering. I live here.”

Wait, what? He’s known this man for weeks now and he’s just finding out that he lives with Ray?

“Really?”

“Yeah, I rent a room upstairs. Sorry, I just assume that everyone knows everything about everyone in this town, so I never mentioned it.”

“Hmm, okay, just...processing this new information over here.”

Patrick chuckles in that warm, rumbly way that he does and David’s rogue stomach does a little churn. He’s not sure what to do about his body’s growing awareness of this little business man that’s dropped into his life, so he does what he’s been doing for the past week and ignores it.

“While you’re processing, I’m gonna go grab a beer. Wanna join me for a drink?”

He doesn’t hold back the minor cringe at the word “beer”, which Patrick sees and probably misinterprets, so he quickly speaks before the wrong idea can be formed.

“Do you have any wine?”

Patrick’s smile is back immediately and he nods as he stands and heads inside, leaving David standing there completely unsure of what he’s doing. He can’t help his anxiety from bubbling up question after question into the front of his brain. What is this? What does this mean? Does it mean anything? Of course it doesn’t. This is Patrick. He’s not interested in David like that. Why would he be?

“”Hey, can you…?

David’s pulled from his anxiety spiral at the sound of Patrick’s voice to find him on the other side of the screen door, hands full with their drinks.

“Oh, yeah, let me,” David stutters, quickly pulling the door open so Patrick can step back outside.

“I figured you’d want something chilled, so I went with Chardonnay. I hope that’s okay?”

“It’ll do.”

Honestly, his standards where alcohol is concerned has sunk so low since living here that he’ll drink just about anything, except Mutt’s moonshine. That’s a mistake you only make once.

Patrick returns to his spot on the stair and David contemplates what to do. He could stand here, awkwardly, or risk doing permanent damage to his white denim. He’s not sure which is worse. So he has no real choice to throw caution to the wind and sits.

It’s just past dusk and the evening around them is growing darker, Ray’s porch light and the lights from the motel down the block illuminating the vast nothingness around them. It’s oddly calming in a way. He can hear Patrick’s fingernail picking at the label on his beer, making him realize just how close they’re actually sitting.

“I feel pretty stupid that I didn’t know you were living here until now,” he admits.

“Eh, I hadn’t supplied the information either, so I guess it’s on both of us.”

Oh...wait.

“So, when you offered up your place for me to stay during the whole...lice debacle,” he pauses, allowing the full body shudder to pass before continuing. “You were offering up what, Ray’s couch, or...your…?”

The chuckle Patrick releases gets caught in his throat a little and it comes out more like a cough and when David looks over at him, he’s pretty sure there’s a little redness coloring those pale cheeks.

“I guess I hadn’t really thought that through.”

Hmm… Interesting. Or is it? David’s history of turning nothing into something is longer than a CVS receipt, so he’s mentally stopping that train of thought. Remembering his wine, he takes a long sip, cringes, and goes back in for another. It’s bad, but it’s cold and he likes the company.

“Luckily, that tragic chapter of our lives is over and we hopefully will never have to think about it again.”

“Cheers to that.”

Patrick tilts the neck of his beer towards him and David lifts his wine, smiling at the soft clink of glass against glass.

“So, Patrick, what else is there to know about you that I’ve neglected to learn?”

Patrick shrugs, but David spies his lips curving up a bit behind the mouth of his beer bottle, and yeah, that sparks some real curiosity about this man he’s obviously not given enough attention to.

“Nothing much, really. I’m just, honestly, really happy to be working with you at the store. I’m enjoying the challenge…”

“I’m a challenge?” David interrupts, his incredulous expression marred by his inability to fully wipe away his smile.

“The store is a challenge, David. You’re…”

He falls quiet and David arches an eyebrow, lifting his free hand to motion for Patrick to continue.

“I don’t know. You’re...you. I’ve never met anyone like you before, and I...I like that, I guess? I never know what you’re gonna say or do next, so yeah, maybe you’re a bit of a challenge, too. But a good one.”

David’s a bit dumbstruck. He’s never had someone say those things to him in a way that wasn’t an admonishment before. It’s an unsteadying feeling.

“I’m glad to have made an impression,” he says quietly, quick to hide his face behind his wine glass and his feelings under another long sip that ends up draining his glass.

Patrick notices, because of course he does. He’s rather attentive.

“Want another glass?” he asks, and David’s thrown off again by Patrick’s open expression of hopefulness. But he’s going to head home. Another glass will lower inhibitions and the wall he’s constructed around his heart to stop himself from getting hurt by nice guys like this. Patrick won’t mean to hurt him when it happens, so it’s best to keep things professional.

“Thanks, but I’m good.” Standing quickly, he waits for Patrick to stand with him, but he doesn’t. He just sits there, his broad shoulder propped against the side of the porch rail, smiling up at him in that genuine way that he’s mastered. He holds out his hand and for a second David freezes, unsure as to what he’s doing, but thankfully, quickly registers he’s offering to take David’s wine glass. Their fingers brush a little and the tiny hairs on David’s neck prickle his skin, but he’ll just pretend that it's from the warm summer breeze that’s surrounded them like a blanket.

It’s gotten a tad bit too cozy on this porch.

David’s a few steps away when he hears Patrick call out to him.

“Goodnight David.”

Smiling softly, he wiggles his fingers in a small wave before turning back towards the motel.

“Night Patrick.”

….....

The scratch of Patrick’s calloused thumb against the side of his neck feels so good that he can feel his body leaning in closer, pressing Patrick’s back harder against the porch rail as his moan of appreciation vibrates against their joined lips. Patrick’s free hand anchored in David’s back pocket clenches and their kiss goes molten, both of them delving deeper as if their mouths are performing all the things their bodies want, but aren’t currently able. The porch light is out, casting them in blissful darkness, masking roaming hands and stubble chafed skin, but David’s more than a little desperate to find some real privacy.

“When’s Ray getting home?” he pants into Patrick’s mouth, not giving him a chance to respond as he captures his lips again for another breathless kiss. He tastes of beer and pretzels from their short excursion to The Wobbly Elm, excusing themselves after only twenty minutes to go back out to the Rose Family car and fog up the windows, a move they will both be teased about forever by Stevie and Alexis who found them an hour later half dressed and dazed.

“Soon,” Patrick manages to whimper, “very soon.”

David has half a mind to drag Patrick inside and up to his room, but they’re both too worked up and he can’t emotionally handle Ray walking in on them, which he’ll inevitably do. It’s happened already.

Twice.

So, he does the last thing he wants to do. Pulling his mouth free, he angles his head enough to let his forehead fall to meet Patrick’s, indulging himself for a moment in the exhilaration of hearing Patrick’s breath heaving just as hard as his own. God, it’s intoxicating being wanted.

“You wanna sit for a while?” Patrick eventually asks and David answers with a tiny nod, made a bit awkward with their foreheads still pressed together. The laugh they share helps release a bit of the adrenaline and electricity, but David feels it spark anew when Patrick drags his hand into his lap as soon as they’ve sat down on the step.

“Do you have plans Sunday night?”

“Who would I have plans with except you?”

“Stevie?”

“We don’t make plans.”

“Right,” Patrick says with a smile, “well, I do, so can you add an overnight date with me to your very busy schedule?”

David’s smile widens at Patrick’s ears going pink, his inability to hide his blush even when he’s being assertive one of his most adorable qualities.

“Okay, but I can’t do Stevie’s again. Now that I know that she’s still sleeping with Jake, it’s all a little too...complicated.”

“Agreed. Some neutral ground would be ideal. Maybe one of the nicer hotels in Elmdale?”

David likes how that sounds. Leaning in, he runs the tip of his nose against Patrick’s temple so he can whisper softly into his ear.

“Somewhere with room service.”

“And late checkout,” Patrick agrees as he turns his head, quickly capturing David’s lips in a sneaky kiss.

It’s only minutes later when Ray finds them, once again caught up, with David’s hand trapped behind Patrick’s head and the porch rail, mouths kiss bruised and fingers grazing skin beneath hems and collars. By some miracle, Ray’s on the phone and greets them with just a knowing smile and a wave, quickly disappearing inside, but leaving the inner door open and efficiently, and undoubtedly unintentionally, ending their private moment.

Since they’re so close, Patrick walks him back to the motel, kissing him again against the door before mumbling “Goodnight David” against his cheek.

David’s “Night Patrick” is texted to him moments later, prompting Patrick to look back at him from down the street and blow him an exaggerated kiss.

…....

The condensation from Patrick’s beer drips down onto David’s wrist and it makes him shiver, the cold water a welcome contrast to his overheated skin. It’s a hot night, still in the high eighties past 8 o’clock and humid, making his thin t-shirt stick to the sweat building at the small of his back and between his pecs.

Stevie’s laugh precedes her as she pushes out onto their back porch, one hand clasping an overfull glass of red and the other holding the door open for Twyla following behind her. Twyla’s cut her hair so the warm summer breeze catches the now shoulder length strands as she smiles and sits cross legged against the porch rail, her sunny disposition a perfect match to the warmth radiating deep in David’s chest.

“Is it almost ready?” Patrick asks, his words making his chest rumble and David’s body vibrate from how close they’re plastered together on their loveseat style lounger. As they’ve settled into their new home, they’ve created these little special places, like the oversized soaker tub and the breakfast nook that faces the morning sun. Knowing they didn’t need to make room for potential future kids allowed them to build their home around their family of two and it’s honestly more than David could have ever dreamed up.

“Needs another half hour or so,” Twyla responds, before launching into a long story about all the different models of ice cream maker she tried out before finding the perfect one to give David and Patrick as a wedding present. Of course, because she’s a millionaire, she chose the most expensive home model, which David has thanked her for countless times.

“It’s definitely our most used wedding present,” he reminds her, which makes her smile.

“What about mine?” Stevie asks, each syllable dripping with her signature mix of boredom and sarcasm.

“You didn’t get us anything,” Patrick responds before David even has a chance.

“Incorrect. Need I remind you that it was only due to my meddling that the two of you even got together? And it was my apartment where you, you know,” she lets her words trail off as she nods pointedly. “And it was me who talked sense into you, David, when you wanted to drag Patrick to New York and leave me all alone.”

“Ah, yes, how could we forget. Thank you, Stevie, for your completely selfless gift of...um…”

“Friendship, David, the word you are looking for is friendship,” Stevie supplies, entirely too amused with herself.

As she takes a few large gulps of her wine, David tries to think of a witty response. But Patrick turns his head in that moment and presses a soft kiss into David’s hair and his brain turns to absolute mush. So, Stevie wins this round, but he’s really okay with it.

They do, eventually, eat some of Twyla’s ice cream, a delicious concoction of chocolate, pistachio and marshmallow swirl. Considering her disastrous attempts at edible smoothie recipes, she’s surprisingly good with her ice cream flavors. As the night goes on, Stevie gets more than a little tipsy, but so does David, and he laughs at his own slurred speech after saying goodbye from his now permanent spot on the loveseat.

“It’s a good thing Twyla stayed sober,” Patrick says from the patio door, the sound of his flip flops hitting the wood making David smile as he knows that means he’s coming back to sit with him again. Leaning his head back against the cushion, he focuses on the string of edison bulbs they have framing the overhang, made brighter now that Patrick has turned off the porch light.

“We should tell them to get an Uber next time. Twyla is a really entertaining drunk.”

Patrick’s warm body joins David’s on their loveseat and David lets out a happy grumble.

“So are you.”

Patrick’s voice is soft and rumbly, his mouth hot against David’s temple as he slowly drops kisses on a path towards David’s mouth.

“I’m not drunk,” David protests, even though he knows he kind of is, but he also knows how much his husband loves it when he’s a little ornery.

“Mmhmm…”

Patrick’s response is mumbled against David’s mouth, his hands greedily dragging David towards him by the back of his neck. David’s more than a little tipsy and he goes with it, welcoming the heady rush of desire mixing with the languid pull of the alcohol, making everything feel hazy and oh so good.

He’s barely maneuvered himself onto Patrick’s lap before his sweaty shirt is being dragged over his head and all the privacy they finally have is taken full advantage of.

Later, skin still pink from their shared shower and eyes closing against his cool pillowcase, David searches for Patrick’s hand between them on the mattress. It’s only when he has those familiar fingers, calloused from his guitar string, wrapped tight in his does he let himself fully drift off to sleep.

“Goodnight David,” he faintly registers hearing Patrick whisper.

“Night Patrick” he replies, or at least he thinks he does, but it could all just be a really amazing dream.

#david x patrick #david rose #patrick brewer #schitt's creek #schitts creek #my sc fic #summer soft

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rosethornewrites · 4 years

Text

Fic: the thread may stretch or tangle but it will never break, ch. 7

Characters: Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī, Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn, Wēn Qíng, Wēn Níng | Wēn Qiónglín, Granny Wēn, Lán Yuàn | Lán Sīzhuī, Wēn Remnants, Wen Meilin, Fourth Uncle

Additional Tags: Pre-Slash, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Secrets, Crying, Masks, Soulmates, Truth, Self-Esteem Issues, Regret, It was supposed to be a one-shot, Fix-It, Eventual Relationships, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, wwx needs a hug, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Filial Piety, Handfasting, Phobias, Sleeping Together, Fear, Panic Attacks, Love Confessions, Getting Together, First Kiss, Kissing, Boys Kissing, Family, and they were married, Bathing/Washing, Hair Braiding, Hair Brushing, Feels, Sex Education

Summary: A little making out, and family time.

Notes: Soft chapter, but one that was difficult to write. Definitely look up the song Wei WuXian plays on the dizi. There’s a version on YouTube played with the xiao, and it’s lovely. Last week of summer semester, so it might be a bit before I update.

AO3 link

Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6

------------------

Though at first their teeth collide a few times, Lan WangJi discovers that kissing, as with anything else, is a skill one can improve with practice. He is startled a bit when Wei Ying opens his mouth to deepen the kiss, but he finds the sensation of his tongue against his own more than enjoyable.

He finds it even more enjoyable to be able to finally give attention to the mole under his lip that has taunted him all these years. Wei Ying seems to realize his focus because he laughs, joyous and breathless and beautiful.

Lan WangJi hooks his arm around Wei Ying to pull him closer, but he freezes at his pained hiss.

Of course; Wei Ying was injured by Wen Ning, and likely hurt himself last night falling to the hard cave floor in his haste to escape the dog spirit.

As much as he would prefer to continue this, Lan WangJi forces himself to stop. He can’t help but remember Wei Ying’s reminder that their union hasn’t been consummated, and that doesn’t make it easier. He has, after all, been waiting since he was fifteen.

“You are injured,” he says softly, sitting. “And malnourished.”

Wei Ying pouts, but doesn’t protest vocally or move to get up, which tells Lan WangJi he truly is in pain, and judging from the way his eyelids are drooping, absolutely in need of more sleep.

“I will meditate here, and we will have breakfast together when you wake. We should also discuss my brother’s impending visit.”

“Ah, I guess you want to tell him we’re married, then?” Wei Ying says with a sigh. “Can we at least ask him to keep quiet about it until after shijie’s wedding? She deserves better than to have her happy day overshadowed.”

Lan WangJi has not, in fact, thought yet of how he will tell his brother he married Wei Ying all those years ago and neglected to tell him. But he does agree that the news should not detract from the marriage of Jiang YanLi and Jin ZiXuan, though he disagrees with the idea that the their marriage could be a dark thing.

“Agreed, but…”

He pauses, considering how to say what comes next, how not to risk driving Wei Ying away again.

“Please consider telling my brother you no longer have a golden core, if not the circumstances,” Lan WangJi finally says.

He is relieved when Wei Ying doesn’t pull away, only grimaces, but his relief is short-lived.

“You think he’s more apt to help if he knows I’m broken,” he whispers.

Lan WangJi feels his jaw drop, horror rising as he realizes just how deeply Wei Ying’s self-loathing goes. He wishes he could assure him of his own worth, but he also knows it will take time to convince him. But this, he knows, is his fault. He did not help Wei Ying until he knew the truth, when he should have helped from the beginning, should have trusted him.

Does Wei Ying believe he pities him? The idea chafes.

“You are not broken,” he tells him, “and certainly not simply by virtue of being without a golden core.”

Wei Ying snorts derisively.

“Then what am I? A cultivator who can only cultivate on the crooked path?”

Lan WangJi gently pulls Wei Ying closer until he’s pillowed in his lap, until he can look at him directly, if upside down.

“Wei Ying is Wei Ying. You need be nothing more.”

His zhiji looks away, his eyes shining in the dim candlelight. Lan WangJi feels helpless in the face of his despondency, knows he is in part the cause.

“I haven’t even told Jiang Cheng. He’s going to be so angry.”

He understands; the secret involves his brother, and he has a duty to tell him first, regardless of how long it will be before he sees him next. Wei Ying’s public break with the Jiang clan makes that uncertain, and it is not the sort of revelation that would be appropriate in a letter. In fact, if it were known he sent a letter to Jiang Cheng at all, problems could arise.

Perhaps XiChen could send one on their behalf, though, asking Jiang Cheng to at least visit in secret.

“I will tell no one, Wei Ying. Not even xiongzhang, if you do not wish it. But… eventually you will no longer be able to hide it.”

Lan WangJi strokes Wei Ying’s cheek, hating to have to think about or reference the inevitability of his mortality. Hating that it is an inevitability.

“I ask only that you consider it, nothing more. I will honor whatever decision you make.”

Wei Ying doesn't reply, instead curls closer, shifts until his face is hidden against Lan WangJi’s side, his arms around his waist, his body further in his lap.

“You are not broken,” he repeats, running his hand through Wei Ying’s hair. “You are beautiful and honorable.”

He wishes the rest of the world could see Wei Ying as he does.

In the silence, he has little to focus on, noting the brittleness of his hair, how it seems as unhealthy as the rest of Wei Ying. But Lan WangJi has never had much opportunity to touch him this way—after XuanWu and when he fell after Wen RuoHan’s death notwithstanding.

Neither are pleasant memories, particularly the latter. The image of Wen RuoHan dangling Wei Ying by the throat over the steps of Nightless City still fills him with dread. He was certain then he was about to witness his zhiji’s death, to watch his neck snapped, to see him tossed aside like a broken doll.

Afterward, in the days he was unconscious, watching the bruises around his throat fade slowly, fearing he may never wake again as his spiritual energy did not seem to be recovering… It did not recover, but it was not, as he suspected then, due to demonic cultivation.

Lan WangJi wishes he realized sooner. He will always wish that he somehow was able to help Wei Ying more, will always feel the sting of having failed him for so long.

Wei Ying’s breathing evens slowly as he falls asleep, and Lan WangJi matches his breathing. Though he has never attempted meditation with someone in his lap, his zhiji’s presence is soothing, and he slips into the necessary trance easily.

He slips out of it just as easily a couple hours later when he hears footsteps approaching their chamber of the cave. From the sound, very short legs, the pace puttering against the stone and dirt of the cave.

Lan WangJi is unsurprised when a-Yuan enters. The child surveys them quietly for a moment.

“Xian-gege sad?” he finally asks.

Only then does Lan WangJi remember that Wei Ying is asleep in his lap, arms still twined around his waist.

“Mn,” he says with a nod.

Because despite Wei Ying’s happiness at his insistence that he indeed wanted to be married to him, his request regarding his brother upset him. And it had taken far too much convincing for his liking for Wei Ying to believe he was worthy of him.

“Hugs make me feel better when I’m sad,” the child says. “I can hug Xian-gege, too.”

Lan WangJi nods again, and a-Yuan toddles over and chooses the most expedient way to deliver a hug: flopping onto Wei Ying and then hugging him.

He resists the urge to scold the child when Wei Ying wakes with a pained grunt, and instead lifts a-Yuan off, settling him on one knee.

“Ah, a-Yuan, be careful,” Wei Ying murmurs, his voice a bit strained. “You’re getting big.”

“Xian-gege needed hugs. And gugu said you need to wake up for breakfast. And popo said you’re too skinny.”

“Popo always says that.”

Wei Ying winces when he sits up, which lets Lan WangJi know Wen Qing should examine him. He hopes he will not injure as easily once he’s in better health.

“She is not wrong, Wei Ying.”

He pulls a face in response, but can’t help but laugh when a-Yuan imitates him.

“All right, all right. Let’s go eat.”

Lan WangJi is relieved when Wei Ying doesn’t need help getting up, though he doubts very much he would ask if he did. He carries a-Yuan with them, and the boy seems content with being carried.

“I did not inquire yesterday about bathing facilities,” he comments as they make their way to the communal area.

Wei Ying laughs shortly.

“‘Bathing facilities.’ You’re so proper. We have a river, Lan Zhan. That and basins and rags. That’s about it right now.”

The river was practical, but not in the long term. Perhaps that was something to address with Wen Qing, then, whether tubs could be purchased. Before winter, when bathing in a river would be less than ideal.

“I know you’re used to better, but I’ll show you where later today,” Wei Ying says. “Honestly, I’m probably overdue for a wash myself.”

“Xian-gege stinky?”

Wei Ying drops back to tickle a-Yuan.

“Stinky, eh? You just wait, stinky radish. I’m sure your gugu will want us to give you a bath, too.”

“A-Yuan not stinky!” the boy squeals with a giggle.

Wei Ying darts in and makes a show of smelling him.

“Oh, my little radish is ripe. It’s almost time to pick him and cook him up for dinner!”

“No cook a-Yuan!” he shrieks, still giggling, as they enter the communal area.

“Oh? Should we sell the little radish at market instead?”

“Noooooo! Gugu, tell Xian-gege!”

Wen Qing scowls at Wei Ying, but it’s without heat, a sort of play-acting likely affected for a-Yuan’s amusement.

“I swear sometimes you’re a child yourself,” she mutters.

“Xianxian is three,” Wei Ying sings with a grin.

“Brat,” she says, rolling her eyes, her voice fond.

They’re a family here, Lan WangJi has come to see. The closeness of their relationships brings light to the darkness of the Burial Mounds. He is glad they have been there for his zhiji when he has not.

Wei Ying winces when he settles on one of the seats and Wen Qing’s sharp gaze catches it. She looks between them with an expression that looks far too amused, and despite the fact that her assumption is incorrect, Lan WangJi can feel his ears heat.

“Dog spirit,” he explains. “Wei Ying fell.”

Wen Qing’s expression shifts to concern. It’s clear she knows of Wei Ying’s phobia.

“The damn thing came back again?”

Lan WangJi glances at Wei Ying—he didn’t mention it had bothered him on previous occasions.

“Bad dog,” a-Yuan contributes.

“Lan Zhan eliminated it this time,” Wei Ying says, avoiding both their gazes.

Wen Qing shoots him a grateful look.

“Last time he knocked into the cave wall and almost broke his nose,” she tells him. “Hopefully all he’s got this time is a few bruises, but at least it won’t be back.”

She turns her attention back to Wei Ying.

“I’ll examine you after breakfast to be sure. Cooperate or I’ll make you.”

“Aiya, no needles, Qing-jie! No need to bully me.”

Wei Ying grabs a-Yuan from Lan WangJi’s lap to use as a shield. The boy just giggles, like this is a common occurrence. Knowing his propensity for dramatics, it probably is.

“A-Ning is giving you double portions today,” Wen Qing continues, ignoring his antics. “And I’ll trust Hanguang-Jun to make sure you’re not feeding it to a-Yuan. He’s getting plenty, too, and we have radishes ready to harvest in a few days so we’ll be fine with food for a little while at least.”

She glares at him when he looks like he might protest.

“You’re unhealthy and everyone is worried about you. Popo was encouraging me to use needles and find a way to shove it down your throat earlier. Don’t think I won’t resort to that.”

Wei Ying, thankfully, takes her seriously enough to behave throughout breakfast. He eats enough that even popo, who seats herself at their table and manages to look both sweet and intimidating throughout the meal, seems satisfied.

True to her threat, Wen Qing has popo take charge of a-Yuan and drags a lightly protesting Wei Ying back to the Demon Subduing Cave to be examined. Lan WangJi hesitates, but follows at his zhiji’s pleading look.

“Sit,” Wen Qing orders when they’ve reached the alcove “I want to make sure you didn’t break anything, at least. You have horrid luck. Where did you fall?”

“Shoulder and hip,” Wei Ying says with a resigned sigh. “But it’s really not—”

He goes silent at her glare, which Lan WangJi has to admit is formidable.

“Don’t even,” she huffs. “You always lie about your injuries. Strip.”

Wei Ying, to Lan WangJi’s surprise, actually blushes, glancing at him. Wen Qing takes notice, looking between them.

“Ah, you told him, then?”

She looks almost amused.

“Wait, you told her?”

Lan WangJi almost winces at the bit of hurt in his tone.

“That he’s besotted with you? Any fool could tell, except you,” Wen Qing snaps.

“I did not tell her,” Lan WangJi confirms.

He is a little concerned when a slightly gleeful look passed over Wei Ying’s face, replaced with one that is utterly fond.

“So I was the first one you told that you handfasted me when we were sixteen?”

Wen Qing makes a noise that sounds almost like a choke, looking at them uncertainly.

“I did not even tell xiongzhang,” he confirms. “I would tell no one without telling you first.”

Wei Ying’s expression turns to one of adoration, and Lan WangJi starts mentally reciting the Lan principles, as he is sorely tempted to revisit their morning activities.

Wen Qing is still staring at them, and Lan WangJi takes pity, explaining in brief what occurred in the Cold Spring cave, with Wei Ying contributing details. He finishes by explaining the meaning of the forehead ribbons in a wedding ceremony and the bow to Lan Yi as essentially an elopement.

“You’re married?” Wen Qing murmurs, her voice hoarse with shock. “Married.”

Her gaze turns shrewd.

“Has it been consummated?”

It’s Wei Ying’s turn to choke.

“Qing-jie!”

Lan WangJi doesn’t trust himself to answer verbally and simply shakes his head.

To his surprise, she starts pacing, hands clasped behind her back. He didn’t expect her to be someone who paces.

“And you want to be wed, correct?” she asks after a moment.

Wei Ying’s “definitely” and Lan WangJi’s “of course” are simultaneous.

“Good,” she says, her tone surprisingly emphatic, as she turns to them. “So you’ve had quite an extended engagement, and we can figure out what this idiot gave as courting gifts since you bought a-Yuan toys and provided the Burial Mounds with money. I hate to simplify what is obviously a love match to political terms, but you need to consummate before Zewu-Jun arrives, in anticipation of the question of its validity.”

Lan WangJi can feel his ears heating, and Wei Ying’s face blushes more fetchingly than before. Wen Qing looks between them, and her brief look of glee is ever more concerning than Wei Ying’s was.

“Well, since you’re both clearly virgins—”

She ignores the “hey!” from Wei Ying.

“—and I am familiar with all forms of sexual hygiene as a doctor, I’ll go ahead and explain exactly what you’ll need to do to make it a safe and enjoyable experience.”

Wei Ying’s jaw drops. Wen Qing gestures for Lan WangJi to sit, and he’s honestly grateful to as she starts talking. She brusquely yanks Wei Ying’s robes from his shoulder to check his injuries as she does, and Lan WangJi has to avert his gaze from his zhiji’s milky skin to avoid reacting to it.

He cannot deny he has thought quite a bit about what he wanted to do with Wei Ying very often almost since first meeting him. Wen Qing’s very detailed and blunt explanations make those imaginings far less fuzzy than they were before. She even includes a discussion of aftercare, advising they keep a basin of water and rags nearby for the “mess.” By the time she’s finished, Wei Ying’s very red face is buried in his hands, and Lan WangJi has to avert his gaze as she pulls his trousers away from his hip, revealing the curve of one bruised buttock.

“And I guess I’ll have to send Merlin-yi to market for the oil,” Wen Qing says as she wraps up both her lecture and her examination. “I’ll send a-Ning, too. Even if we can’t provide a proper banquet, a marriage deserves celebration. You’re family, Wei WuXian, and we’ll do our best.”

“Qing-jie,” Wei Ying whispers, sounding touched.

She offers him a smile and shoves his robes at him.

“If we could afford red silk, we’d throw a whole wedding. You don’t mind the others knowing, right? They’ll be very happy for you.”

Lan WangJi glances at Wei Ying, careful to keep his eyes on his face—he may be wearing trousers, but he might as well be naked and it’s terribly distracting. The look on his face assures him he doesn’t mind, so he nods affirmation to Wen Qing.

“It’s just some bruising, thankfully,” she assures them. “I’d put on salve, but I heard you discussing bathing at the river, so I’ll leave that for later. It’d be a waste to apply it twice.”

Wei Ying pulls his robes on, still red in the face.

“Right, a bath.”

His gaze is shy when he looks at Lan WangJi, who is trying to imagine how they’ll get through bathing together without engaging in some of the activities described by Wen Qing.

Some of that thought must have been apparent to Wei Ying, because his face flushed again.

Wen Qing snorts.

“Not so shameless after all, are you? We’ll be sure to give the river a wide berth.”

Wei Ying’s response is to hide his face in his hands again.

“We will bathe separately,” Lan WangJi states, pulling Wei Ying to his feet.

Wen Qing just laughs at them.

When they reach the river, which is a short trek from the settlement, Lan WangJi insists Wei Ying bathe first, pulling the fragrant soaps he uses for his body and hair from is qiankun pouch for him to use. He knows they are likely a luxury, and he is happy to share it with him.

He plays his guqin while his zhiji bathes, starting with “WangXian” and moving into “Cleansing,” infusing the latter with spiritual energy. He is pleased when the resentful energy in the area eases, and hopes it helps Wei Ying as well.

When Wei Ying returns, clad in fresh robes, he takes his own turn to bathe. The water is chilly, but not inordinately so in the summer heat. He is pleased when the notes of a dizi fill the air, playing “WangXian” as well. Though he composed the song with the guqin in mind, the rendition Wei Ying plays on ChenQing is lovely. Lan WangJi is glad it has brought him comfort.

The notes shift into what he recognizes as “Plum-Blossom in Three Movements,” a song he rather likes but didn’t know Wei Ying knew. Lan WangJi has heard xiongzhang play it on the xiao and can play it on the guqin, though it was originally composed for the dizi. But he shouldn’t be surprised; Wei Ying is a master of the six arts and has displayed such with references to literature and poetry even in his playful moments.

The plum blossom is an apt symbol for the resilience of life on the Burial Mounds and for Wei Ying, who always endured despite the hardships he faced. Perhaps the song is an expression of Wei Ying’s hope, his faith in Lan WangJi. He wants to give his zhiji hope, longs to ease his hardships.

When he has finished and dressed in fresh robes, he rejoins Wei Ying and asks if he may comb his hair.

He uses his own sandalwood scented oil, giving it the proper treatment.

Wei Ying is swaying slightly when he finishes, the pampering lulling him nearly to sleep. Lan WangJi longs to style his hair, to put it in the GusuLan style as though Wei Ying was marrying into his clan. But he is not, and so he refrains.

Instead he brushes the hair from the nape of his neck, leaning forward to brush his lips against the soft hair there.

Wei Ying shivers and turns to him, pulling him in for a proper kiss before taking the comb and hair oil from him to return the favor.

Lan WangJi didn’t expect the sensuality of his husband brushing his hair—husband. They’re married. Wei Ying’s deft fingers make short work of his tangles, gently spread oil to treat his hair, grazing his scalp in blossoms of sensation, love in every touch.

Wei Ying braids his hair, his fingers weaving the locks with care, and Lan WangJi lets him. He is not in Cloud Recesses, not required to wear his hair in GusuLan style. When it is finished he turns to see a flourish of red, Wei Ying having used his own ribbon to tie off the braid.

And so it is natural to braid his hair in return, to weave the sacred ribbon that usually rests on his forehead in his hair, leaving the cloud symbol at the top, adorning the top of the braid like a jewel.

“Your forehead ribbon?” Wei Ying asks, startled, when he catches sight of the very pale blue ribbon tying his hair off.

Lan WangJi cups his cheek in his hand, moving forward until their noses are almost touching.

“Airen, you may touch it.”

A soft smile blossoms on Wei Ying’s face, and he rests his forehead against Lan WangJi’s.

“Airen. I like that,” he breathes.

They stay like that for a while, basking in each other’s presence.

#my fanfiction #the untamed #untamed fanfiction #mo dao zu shi #mdzs #mdzs fanfic #mdzs fanfiction #chen qing ling #cql #cql fanfic #cql fanfiction #lan zhan #lan wangji #wei wuxian #wen qing #wei ying #lan yuan #wen yuan

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perspective-series · 5 years

Text

Lilliputian Perspective (6/10)

By: @arc852 and @hiddendreamer67

Warnings: Fear, threats, treating someone like a monster, manipulation, and mention of eating people and death

(Check the reblog for the links to any future chapters)

—————————————————————————————————-

When Logan finished cutting through the ropes he looked up, only now realizing the terrified sea staring back at him. Logan looked down at his knife, realizing how monstrous his simple tool must appear when the little blade was nearly half their size. Almost sheepishly Logan put the knife back in his pocket, not wanting to accidentally threaten the army further.

“Okay, this is...okay.” Virgil let out a long breath. “Everyone, start heading back!” It took several beats for everyone to start moving, everyone glancing behind them at the giant warily. Virgil looked up at him. “Um...when you’re ready,” Virgil said, motioning towards the cave entrance.

“Wait!” Patton shouted, running up to the prince. Virgil took a step back in surprise and immediately some guards were on either side of him, glaring down at the other. Patton cowered but stood his ground. “Please, don’t hurt him. He didn’t do anything wrong.” Patton pleaded.

Virgil searched his eyes, biting his lip. “I...as of right now, I don’t plan to.” Virgil said. “I, well, I know I let the two of you go, but will you still come with us? For questioning and whatnot?” Virgil asked. And maybe leverage or something. These two seemed pretty buddy with the giant anyhow, and Virgil didn’t want to lose that.

Patton nodded. “I’ll come.” Eyes turned to Roman. He let out a long, suffering sigh.

“I suppose I am already in too deep as is,” Roman spoke and he walked up next to Patton. “Fine. I’ll come.”

“Can I release my wrists as well?” Logan requested, holding up his arms for emphasis. “It’s a bit chafing.”

Virgil eyed him warily. “As long as you don’t...grab anyone.” Virgil hoped he didn’t regret giving this giant too much freedom.

“That doesn’t seem like a particularly good condition,” Logan observed, already pulling his knife back out. “I still had the ability to grab even with the restraints.”

Virgil felt a shiver go through him at that. “Just...please don’t,” Virgil said, taking another step back as the knife made a return.

“I will not grab without consent,” Logan assured him, cutting through the ropes on his wrists. It was a bit more of a difficult angle, but Logan managed. It wasn’t like anyone here was large enough to help him in his task. Fully free, Logan returned the knife to his pocket, rubbing at the tiny rope marks left on his skin.

“Good.” That would have to do for the moment. “Then we better get going. Um, please watch your step.” Virgil said, looking at the giant. As Virgil began to walk out of the cave, Patton turned and came closer to Logan.

“Patton, how about you come with me?” Logan offered, putting his palm down. It should certainly help raise public approval of him if Logan was able to demonstrate the care he took around handling his two Lilliputian friends.

Patton blinked at the offer. “O-Oh! Um, yeah! Okay!” He came closer towards the hand, looking at it a bit warily but he eventually got on, sending a smile up at Logan.

Virgil turned back and his eyes widened as the glasses-wearing lilliputian, Patton he remembered, was climbing onto the giant hand on his own free will. Virgil honestly couldn’t believe it.

As Patton settled on, he looked over at Roman. “Come on Roman!”

“Ugh,” Roman said, but walked over. He stared at the offered palm. “I guess it beats being grabbed.” He gave a pointed look towards Logan before climbing on as well.

“I would never grab without consent.” Logan gave Roman a stern look, knowing that wasn’t the case but wanting to keep up appearances for the army at their doorstep.

“Oh, of course!” Roman exclaimed before giving Logan a deadpan look. Patton gave a small glare towards Roman, softly bumping him. Roman huffed but got the message.

“I...I guess that’s...fine.” Virgil spoke. He couldn’t fathom anyone climbing into a hand that big.

Logan was extra cautious this time as he raised his hands, cupping both close to his chest for protection and standing to his full height.

Once again, Virgil found himself in terrified awe. He backed up and strained his neck as the giant stood to his full height. Virgil was reminded of how helpless they all really were in comparison. “Okay, um, cool. This is great.” He mumbled. He shook his head to get himself together. “Follow me!” He called up and exited the cave, getting on his horse and starting off toward the castle.

Logan followed carefully behind, keeping his steps small and soft. Thankfully on horseback, the Lilliputians were much faster, although there was an added danger of the horses becoming frightened. Logan kept a further distance back after one had nearly thrown its rider in haste to get away from the human.

It was strange, being able to stand at his full height and approach the little civilization. Despite the severity of the situation, Logan couldn’t help but marvel at the tiny kingdom. At the back, a glimmering white towering structure stood taller than Logan himself, surrounded by a large wall and towers that made it clear this was the castle.

Of course, the closer they got to town, the more apparent it became that Logan was not going to be able to make it to the actual castle from the front. There was a large amount of shrieking, Lilliputians torn between coming out and ogling at him or running for their lives.

Virgil halted, noting all the terrified screams of the people. “Okay, I think it might be best if we went around to the back.” Thankfully, there were no towns or people living behind the castle. Virgil announced this and they started on that way. It would take longer but it would be safer.

As they changed directions, Patton looked up at Logan. “Logan, are you really going to let them lock you up?”

“Yes,” Logan replied softly, taking care his voice didn’t carry. “Though it’s not exactly ideal, I understand the distrust.”

“But what if they keep you locked up?” Patton asked, eyes wide.

“That ‘making you into a weapon’ scenario sounds a lot more plausible now, doesn’t it?” Roman spoke up. Patton brought his hands to his mouth in a gasp as he remembered what Roman had said the other day.

“I won’t harm any Lilliputians,” Logan said firmly. “Or at least, not in an aggressive nature. Only in defense if it ever came down to such a scenario. No, all I can do now is remain compliant and peaceful and wait for the crown to see me as the two of you have done.”

“And I’m sure they will, cause you’re a good person!” Patton said but Roman didn’t share in Patton’s optimism.

“I don’t know...people will do a lot of things out of fear,” Roman spoke.

“Roman…” Patton whined.

“That’s why I must take caution not to frighten them,” Logan stated, knowing Roman was correct. “It would take time to get off this island, so resisting is illogical now that I’ve been discovered.”

Patton and Roman shared a look, knowing Logan was right. But neither could guess how things would go down.

Virgil led his army and the giant around the back of the castle and was glad to see that the metal restraints were ready. Well, one was anyway but that should be enough for now. They currently had to set it up out in the open field, chained to the castle wall, due to still having to finish the cave. He turned his horse around to face the giant. “If-If you could sit down so that we may put the chains on you.” Virgil more asked than commanded.

Logan did as was asked of him, sticking his leg out for good measure.

The army moved immediately, wanting to giant chained as soon as possible. The metal clasped around his ankle and everyone let out a small sigh of relief. Still, though, people were tense. And Virgil knew it would stay that way until the cave was completed and they could properly have the giant restrained. “...Thank you for your cooperation.” Virgil said to the giant.

Patton let out a slight whine as he saw the chain go on Logan. He didn’t like this, why was everyone so fast to judge? Well...he had too but he had quickly turned around. Couldn’t these people see Logan meant no harm?

Logan looked down at the chain around his ankle, giving it a gentle test tug. It held firm and dug into his skin. It was clear this material would take more than a pocket knife to break, and despite his relative size, Logan was not known for his strength.

Virgil hopped off his horse and looked towards the giant. “If you could release the two lilliputians, we have a few questions to ask them,” Virgil asked.

“Certainly.” Logan nodded, noticing a crowd was gathering. He set Patton and Roman down, knowing the eyes of the kingdom were on him.

Patton stepped forward and bowed towards the prince. Roman was close behind but he simply crossed his arms and looked indifferent to the prince. Virgil turned to his advisor. “Can you take them into the castle and into some guest chambers? As of right now, they are to be treated as guests.” Virgil said. Dee, his advisor, gave him a look at that but did as told, leading the two away.

Virgil then focused on all the people surrounding him and the giant. “Please, everyone, go back to your homes!” Virgil called out. It took a bit, but eventually, the people left. Once they were gone, Virgil told most of the army to leave too, only leaving a few guards near the outer area to watch the giant.

“What now?” Logan asked, watching the Lilliputians disperse. He had no idea what sort of government this kingdom had, and frankly, he was beginning to feel a bit uneasy about how his fate might be decided.

“Well...um, I guess I have a few questions for you first,” Virgil said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I guess the first one being...do you have a name?”

“Logan Gulliver,” Logan answered. He thought about sticking out his hand, but with the number of guards still floating about Logan thought it best he keeps his distance from the prince.

Virgil nodded, a little surprised he did have one. At the very least he hadn’t expected him to have a last name. “Virgil Storm, prince of the lilliputians. “He introduced.

“It’s an honor to meet you, your highness.” Logan put his hand to his chest in a sign of respect. “I just wish it was under better terms.”

“...Yes, I as well.” Virgil would like this so much better if Logan wasn’t a giant that they didn’t know the intentions of.

“Okay, first question...where did you come from?” Virgil asked and he really hoped the answer wasn’t somewhere close, cause the last thing they needed was more giants.

“Was my name not the first question?” Logan looked a bit puzzled. “Regardless, I’m from England.”

Virgil blushed, looking down. “O-Oh right, I, uh, guess it was.” Well, great, now he’s embarrassed himself. He had to press forward though. “England? I’ve...never heard of it.” He doesn't recall ever seeing it on any map.

“I didn’t expect you would.” Logan shrugged. “It’s part of the world where everything is to my scale. I doubt a ship your size could survive the waves out there long enough to reach land.”

Virgil’s eyes widened at that. “To...scale…?” The very thought about everything being as big as Logan sent a shiver down his spine. “So there are more giants?”

Logan nodded. “Several billion, in fact.”

And Virgil’s brain just shut down. No, there was no way. Logan must be lying in order to establish fear. Yeah, that must be it. Virgil pulled himself together and looked at the giant warily. He had to be lying. “Okay, next question,” Virgil said quickly to change the subject. “Why did you come here?”

“I did not intend to come here at all,” Logan assured him. “I was thrown overboard and washed up on your shores.”

Virgil hummed. Again, he wasn’t sure he believed this giant. “Right...and Roman was the first to find you? Right?” Why did that name sound familiar?

Logan nodded. “He discovered me while I was still passed out on the beach.”

Virgil nodded as well. “And...what about Patton?”

“He was fleeing from bandits and found me in the cave,” Logan explained.

“Right, okay…” Virgil hummed to himself. “I’m gonna take my leave now. I might have more questions for you later though.” Virgil turned to leave before he stopped. “Er...is there anything you cannot eat?”

Logan shook his head. “I have no allergies, and all the food Roman brought me has been edible.”

“Okay,” That was good, at least. Virgil sent one last glance back at Logan before leaving, heading back inside the castle to see how Dee was doing with the others.

When he entered the room, he only noticed Patton sitting there, who looked sad. “Uh, where’s Roman?” He asked. Dee turned towards him as he walked in and bowed to him.

“Your Highness! How should I put this...Roman is a thief. A rather infamous one in this kingdom. I’m sure you’ve heard of him.” Dee explained. Virgil blinked.

“Oh! Wait, really?” Virgil asked and Dee nodded.

“Yes, so I sent him to the dungeons. I know you wanted to question him but we can’t trust anything that thief says.” Dee growled and Virgil nodded.

“Oh...right.” Virgil walked over to Patton, who stood straighter before bowing to Virgil. “Patton, I have a few questions for you.” Virgil started but Dee stepped in.

“Actually, Sire, I took the liberty of asking a few questions myself, while you were conversing with the...beast,” Dee said and Virgil blinked.

“Oh, well, okay. What did he say?” Virgil looked to Patton, who was looking off to the side.

“Just that he trusts the beast, or at the very least thinks it won’t hurt any of us. I’m pretty sure he’s been brainwashed.”

“I haven’t!” Patton cried out, looking up at them. “Logan hasn’t done anything to deserve this! He’s a good person!”

“Is he?” Dee asked, raising a brow. “Or is he just lying? Biding his time to get us all to trust him and then when he has it, he strikes.” Dee got in close to Patton’s face as he said this, causing Patton to lean back and his eyes to widen in alarm.

“N-No, he wouldn’t-”

“You don’t know him.” Dee cut him off. “You just met. He’s only acting nice to get what he wants. And what he wants, is all of us to be his little servants. Maybe even his meals. Perhaps both.”

Virgil swallowed the lump that formed at the thought. “You...really think that’s his plan?” Dee turned to Virgil.

“Of course! He’s a giant. You’ve read the stories, the history. They only want trouble.” Dee paused and turned to Patton. “Don’t you see now?”

Patton was looking down, eyes wide. “I-I don’t…” Dee put a hand on his shoulder, causing him to jump.

“It’s a lot to take in. The fact that you were manipulated, I know. How about you go rest on it, hmm?” He turned to the nearby guard. “Please, take him to his room.” The guard nodded and took Patton, who looked confused and sad on his way out. Virgil couldn’t help but feel bad for him.

“Now that he is gone, I have a...matter, to discuss with you,” Dee announced and Virgil blinked, turning to him.

“What?” Virgil asked, looking at the advisor.

“It’s about Roman’s punishment.” He admitted, admiring his nails. “It’s obvious he needs to be executed but I say we turn this into a little test for our giant.”

Virgil blinked. For one, he didn’t think it was obvious Roman should die. “Uh...what?”

“This is my plan,” Dee said with a sly grin. “We don’t feed the beast all day. Let him get so hungry that his true nature shines through. And then? We feed Roman to it.”

“Wh-What?! Dee, I don’t think-” Virgil stuttered, but Dee cut him off.

“Please, Virgil, you are too soft. What would your father say?” Virgil shut his mouth at that, looking down. Only for Dee to lift his head up gently by the chin. “It’s alright. That’s why I’m here.” He grinned and dropped Virgil’s face.

“Isn’t...isn’t it a bad idea to give the giant a taste for our blood though?” Virgil asked and Dee paused in thought for a moment.

“Maybe...but it’s the price we need to pay to learn his true intentions,” Dee said and, slowly, Virgil nodded. Dee grinned.

“Of course, we can’t very well do anything with the giant until the king returns but until then, we will learn as much as we can, in order to inform your father when he is back.” Dee came closer, placing a hand on Virgil’s shoulder and giving it a light squeeze. “I’m sure your father will be proud of you for catching this giant.”

Virgil felt a mixture of pride and happiness swirl around him at that. “R-Really?”

“Of course! This shows how responsible you are and how well you can manage the throne. Just you wait, he’ll be very proud.” Virgil nodded, eyes wide and Dee grinned. He had the prince like putty in his hands. Perfect.

And pretty soon, he’d have the beast doing his bidding as well.

“Now, we wait until tonight without feeding the giant anything and then send Roman to him. Sound like a plan, your highness?” Dee asked.

Virgil nodded. “Y-Yeah...sounds like a plan.”

#gt #Giant/tiny #thomas sanders #sanders sides #infinitesimal!sides #au #lilliputians #human!logan #giant!logan #lilliputian!roman #lilliputian!patton #lillputian!virgil #lilliputian!dee #platonic #lilliputian perspective #part 6

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pangtasias-atelier · 5 years

Text

Big Enough to Share

Really in the mood for something super self indulgent. So here's a wg fic staring my two favorite heroes. If I could summoner support more than 1 person, Tibarn would definitely be my second option.

Might continue this with an explicit part 2, but I've never written anything graphic so that's always a maybe.

Contains forced weight gain.

___________

Kiran reviews a map; the geography that of morning's training location from the Training Tower. Sitting on his bed is Grima, the Fell Dragon vexed as he sulks. Tibarn peers over Kiran's shoulder.

Askr finally at peace, Kiran elected to stay. Alongside him were Grima and Tibarn, the two of them enamored with the summoner. Both of them were glad to continue staying with Kiran but their happiness soon turned into exasperation upon realizing the other stayed as well.

Coming to heads once more, they challenged each other to see who could defeat more enemies. The Training Tower as their battleground, the two had returned severely injured to a panicked Kiran.

Scrutinizing the map and the enemies Tibarn and Grima told him about, Kiran sighs.

"To begin with, the Training Tower is ideal for groups of four. For you two to go by yourself is plain stupid. Especially when I learned to heal specifically because of you two," Kiran chastises as Grima and Tibarn both scoff. "Plus Tibarn, you should have attacked some enemies before fleeing to lead them to Grima," Grima stands up from the praise. "Grima, you should've called for Tibarn's help, you're too slow on the battlefield to escape or chase enemies. Tibarn's much faster and can attack first while you have to let enemies attack you," Tibarn smirks at Grima who frowns at him. "Next time, have me come along," Kiran sighs as he stands up. "I'm going to get dinner started,"

With a non-committal sound from the both of them, they both stare at the slight limp in Kiran's left leg. During his position as Askr's summoner, a bow cavalry snuck up on Kiran despite Tibarn's and Grima's watchful eyes. An arrow lodged in his calf, Kiran was immobilized as pegasus knights swooped in. Before things could worsen, Tibarn arrived with Grima taking care of the stragglers. Since then, the two refused for Kiran to ever join them on the battlefield once Askr was at peace.

"We really screwed this up huh,"

"You ruined it," Grima accuses, staring up at Tibarn who scoffs.

"Anyways, right now it's my turn with Kiran," The reason for the morning's fight coming back up, Grima frowns.

With both of them staying with Kiran, neither of them particularly enjoyed sharing him. Grima moreso.

"I have a method to keep Kiran from joining us in the Training Tower," Grima blurts. "And to make him easier to share," Tibarn stops in his tracks upon hearing Grima.

"What is it?" Tibarn sighs, ashamed for even thinking of going along with Grima.

"He eats well; we can speed up the process," Not letting Tibarn speak up, Grima continues. "I've seen you pass glances when Kiran takes his shirt off or tugs it down,"

"Will it harm him in anyway? If-"

"It won't, and I can reverse it at anytime. Don't underestimate me pheasant,"

"Fine," Tibarn sighs, leaving the room before he changes his mind.

Tsking, Grima hurriedly casts his magic. Tibarn too prideful to lie, with both of them wanting this, it would mean both of them in trouble, Grima preferring to share the blame than to risk Kiran solely mad at him.

The spell finished, Grima heads out, not wanting to miss a moment. Kiran smiles down at him while Tibarn focuses on cutting the vegetables.

"You should sit, I'll take care of the rest,"

"Oh don't worry, I-"

"Sit" Grima finalizes. Kiran jolts at Grima's tone.

"He's in a rut from chastising him, let him make it up to you," Tibarn eggs on.

Slowly nodding, Kiran sits at the unset table. Letting out a burp, Kiran blushes as he apologizes.

Grima shares a knowing look with Tibarn's uncertain one, Kiran not seeing them.

"Is it hot in here?" Kiran complains. Fanning himself helps nothing, Kiran feeling immensely warm. No response from either of them, Kiran groans as he puts a hand on his rumbling tummy, having snacked quite a bit after the war. "I I," a whimper coming out of his mouth, Kiran shuts his eyes as it feels warmer.

"You said this wouldn't hurt," Tibarn angrily whispers, his hand on Grima's shirt.

"It isn't, now keep watching," Grima swats Tibarn's hand away, both of their eyes becoming transfixed on Kiran again.

Hands on his tummy, Kiran opens his eyes as he feels something pulling them. Wrong, he sees something pushing his hands. His stomach.

"Wh-" Kiran groans as he clutches his stomach, the sensation burning.

"I may have overdone it," Grima muses, a smile on his lips.

Tibarn glances at him before diverting his attention back to Kiran, the chair creaking.

Blossoming into a chubster, Kiran's thighs dig into his pants, the material encasing his legs like sausages. The fabric pinching him, Kiran tugs at them. Unable to remove them, Kiran continues struggling. His shirt scoots further up his growing stomach, inching its way closer to his budding breasts.

Rubbing his stomach, Kiran continues whimpering. A momentary relief washes over his stomach as his pants' button finally give, his stomach flowing out onto his thighs. Completely forgetting about Tibarn and Grima, Kiran startles at another pair of hands on his stomach. "Grima!"

Standing behind Kiran, Grima places a hand on Kiran's lips. "Shhhh. Soon, you'll be nice and soft," Grima rubs Kiran's stomach, the growing flesh now overtaking his thighs which are finally wider than his chair. "Relax," Grima whispers in Kiran's ears as he grabs his love handles.

Not relaxed, Kiran yells. "T-tibarn," He shouts, his shirt turned bra slowly tearing, his meaty breasts finally too much of a match for the fabric alongside his pants, Kiran too big for his britches.

Tibarn looks down at the ground, hand rubbing the back of his head. Initially wanting to stop it seeing Kiran's discomfort, the largening ex-summoner was too good to pass up. "Sorry Kiran,"

"Bu-" Kiran gasps as his shirt finally rips, the tatters resting on his moobs. Kicking his legs, Kiran struggles against Grima's grip on his shoulders.

"See," Grima drawls, savoring Kiran's fear in his eyes. "He wants this too; we both want it. Now, be a good little worm and sit still," Removing his hand, Grima tsks as Kiran stands up. Ready, Grima smiles at Kiran's failed attempt. Unused to the weight, Kiran jumped up; fat shaking and knees buckling, he came tumbling back down onto the chair. The once working chair, his fall spelled the doom of it. With a great crack, the chair gives out, Kiran hitting the floor with his great ass. Boxers now the only article of clothing still on him, those too give out, a tear straight down their middle their downfall.

"Okay, I broke the chair, that should be big enough," Kiran pleads, staring up at Grima's eyes.

"Yeah," Tibarn interjects, walking towards Kiran. "You're-" Grima dashes Kiran's hope.

"Not big enough. I agree Tibarn," Kneeling down, Grima smiles at Kiran as he plays with his moobs, squishing and pinching at them. Kiran tries to keep his moans down.

"Tibarn, please. You," Tibarn kneels down to Kiran's pink flushed face, his growing stomach pinning his kicking legs. A smile tossed Tibarn's way, Kiran shakes as Tibarn rubs and massages his thighs, the rolls of fat squishing under his arms.

"I'm sure we're both in agreement here,"

"Yeah," Tibarn sighs. Kiran whimpers as his arms slowly get pushed further upward, his growing breasts needing more space.

"Perfect. Now help me lift him up," The growing 700 pound Kiran is no trouble for Grima and Tibarn to move. Each taking a flabby arm, they lift him up.

"So tired," Kiran wheezes. Walking in tandem, they move him one fat filled thigh at a time. His thighs rubbing and chafing each other, Kiran's requests for breaks go denied. He feels his cheeks widen and fatten, his jaw further burdened.

"We have to get you in bed, Kiran," Tibarn soothes, gently rubbing Kiran's ass.

"Before you're too big to move; a perfect blob for the both of us," Grima taunts, grabbing and shaking every roll he can reach.

Huffing, Kiran purposefully leans his weight into Grima, squishing him into the wall. His stomach droops further, the cool temperature of the floor slightly closer. Tibarn's muscles and Grima's draconic strength despite his small vessel manage to upright Kiran anyways, leading him to their bedroom.

"He won't fit," Tibarn points out, their door not meant for an 800 pound man.

"We'll make him fit. The hard way," Grima growls. Walking through first, Grima pulls Kiran's arms while Tibarn pushes.

Stomach immediately stuck, Kiran trembles as they struggle. Door cracking, Kiran whimpers from his fat being squished and pressed up by the frame. Kiran gasps upon being freed. Crashing into the floor, his face rests on his breasts, his ass rising into the air. Checking the room, Kiran doesn't miss the fact that it's now completely barren, the only remaining furniture in it their lone matress, now placed in the center of the room.

"Hurry," Grima complains. Grabbing Kiran's legs, Tibarn grabs Kiran's arms. Groaning as they lift him, Grima lets go upon reaching the matress, Kiran's ass overtaking more than half the king sized matress and still growing. Walking around, Grima helps Tibarn, the two of them leaving Kiran in an upright position.

Desperately shaking his arms, Kiran tires himself out, breath coming out in ragged spurts. Whispers sounding behind his back, Kiran startles upon Tibarn placing his hands over his face. Hands removed, Kiran struggles to lift his hands. Unable to see from the blindfold over his face, Kiran jostles and shakes, still futilely attempting to move.

Both of them stare at the nearing half ton Kiran. Tibarn blushes as Grima stares, licking his lips.

"Now he'll never be able to join a battle," Grima quietly comments. Tibarn simply nods his head, his throat awfully dry.

Kiran's ass spreads further behind and beside him. His stomach gurgles, jutting out beyond his thighs. Kiran feels his cheeks press into his mouth. "Tibarn? Grima?" Kiran wheezes, moving his head in hopes of somehow spotting them past his blindfold.

Grima places a hand over Tibarn's mouth. Both of them keep quiet, Kiran struggling further.

"I'm sorry for yelling, I was just worried and I'm sorry," Kiran pants, his lungs desperate for more air. "I promise I won't complain, I," Kiran's body interrupts him, a burp escaping his lips as he groans. "Please," Kiran cries, tears escaping his blindfold as his ass finally encroaches the floor, the king sized matress now even too small for him.

Growth finally stopping for now, Tibarn flies up behind Kiran, removing the blindfold. Able to see his body once more, Kiran sniffles upon the sight. Blubbery cheeks occupying most of his sight, the majority of the rest is occupied by his gargantuan body, rolls upon rolls upon rolls overlapping and forming a blob of a human. Legs, arms, and all pinned by his ton of a body, Kiran struggles; the only thing accomplished is his mountainous body shaking, the struggle tiring him out completely.

Hands on his body, Kiran whimpers as he feels someone climbing him. Tibarn flies into his vision, legs crosses as he lies down in the air, hand behind his back. Grima climbs up, resting on Kiran's moobs.

"Now you won't get hurt in battle again," Grima consoles, pinching Kiran's cheek.

"That's not," Kiran huffs, tired already. "why you did it,"

"You're right," Tibarn sighs guilt getting to him. Grima grabbing his leg and bringing him down to Kiran is enough to remove said guilt, Tibarn squishing and prodding Kiran's car of a body. "We wanted to see you bigger,"

Kiran feels his tears prickling again as he feels two sets of hands rubbing him.

Both of them jump off of Kiran. A gasp escaping his lips, Kiran screams as he feels a push, falling backwards. Gravity taking over, Kiran groans as his back hits the mattress. Now laying down, Kiran can only see his globular cheeks and the ceiling, unable to lift or turn his head.

Hands grabbing him, Kiran simply continues to struggle, his feet wiggling in the air, no longer touching the ground. Kiran whimpers upon hearing the two people laying on his stomach.

"He's big enough, Grima,"

"For now," Grima smiles at Tibarn's lack of counter. "Now, let's have some, shall we?"

#fat emblem #male weight gain #male wg #feeder emblem #my writing #fat!kiran #fat!heroes #ssbhm #immobility #forced weight gain

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realityhelixcreates · 5 years

Text

Lasabrjotr Chapter 41: Armor Amore

Chapters: 41/? Fandom: Thor (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe Rating: Teen And Up Warnings: None Relationships: Loki x Reader (Someday) Characters: Loki (Marvel), Thor(Marvel), Brunnhilde/Valkyrie(Marvel) Additional Tags: Post-Endgame: Best Possible Ending (Canon-Divergent), TBH Who Among Us Doesn’t Find Armor To Be A Little Erotic, Thor And Brunnhilde Are Still Big Gossips, If You Couldn’t Tell I’m Still A Big ThorJane Shipper, I Don’t Care What Happens In Thor Four:More Thor, I Still Like It. Summary: Loki make plans for your future protection, while Thor and Brunnhilde Gossip Some More.

Loki sat at his desk idly sketching out his ideas. You needed protection. Ideally, he would be able to surround you with an impenetrable wall of soldiers, but he couldn't trust his soldiers. Not with you.

He would have to screen special bodyguards for you, and make sure his entire entourage was both unswerving in their loyalty to him, and fiercely protective of you.

Until then, the best he could do was to commission some proper armor for you. A bigger challenge that he had initially expected: your smaller form meant that he couldn't just find something in the armory and have it altered for you. Unless there was some practice armor for adolescents out there somewhere, he would have to order it made from scratch. The materials would have to be lightweight, no uru for certain. You were sturdy for a mortal, but you would simply never have anything akin to an Asgardian body.

He could have some leathers put together for you, something not unlike what he preferred to wear, though he would have to raid the armory again, and pull some scrap leathers to recycle their materials. The beasts of Alfheim that contributed their hides to Asgard's superior leather goods were no longer available, and the animals here, while serviceable, were simply inferior. He would not trust your precious self with inferior armor.

You would need more than one set. And since you could not yet call your clothing to your body, any armor would have to be easy to get into and out of, requiring only one, possibly two people.

The idea of helping you into-and out of-armor that he had designed for you rose unbidden to his mind. He sighed dreamily, pausing his sketching to flesh out the daydream.

Armor consisted of multiple layers; there was all the metal, of course, which went on top and served to look intimidating as well as protecting vital areas. You wouldn't wear much of that, only over the very vulnerable parts. Otherwise, it would get too heavy. He'd get you pieces of nornbein, if he could, since it was hard and strong, but also relatively lightweight for metal. Over your chest of course, and your back. There should be plates on the shoulders, the upper arms, the forearms. The parts most likely to be aimed for. These few, select pieces would be fastened on over the leathers, and each piece, he would teach you about while he put it on you...or took it off of you.

Then there were the leathers. There would be more of that; the material was more available, flexible, and lightweight. He'd have them closely tailored to you, for ease of movement and he would share his diagonal motif as well; it broke up the lines of the body, redirected and distracted the eyes, and also looked very good.

Depending on how it was put together, he could pull the leather pieces over your head, or wrap them around your body, and fasten them there. They would protect your flesh from the slashing of unjust blades, and they would look beautiful as well.

One had to wear a little padding underneath, to avoid chafing and pinching. Only the finest quilted Asgardain silk would grace your skin. He could just see it; how the quilting would round out and soften your form even more, how the soft, natural shimmer of the silk would make you shine like a polished gem. Silk was surprisingly tough, and resistant to piercing, even on this world. Tightly woven silk, with raw silk quilted between would offer you some protection from pointed weapons such as poisoned darts or hidden knives. It would also keep you nice and warm in the coming Icelandic winter. He didn't really feel the cold, but humans certainly did, and you weren't even someone who had lived here and gotten used to it. You would need all the warmth that could be provided: Thicker clothes, more blankets, his arms.

If you were amenable. He also had a fireplace, if you felt more comfortable there. And the bath, which he would still very much like to share with you, under better circumstances this time. Warm and steamy, with cleansing soaps and fragrant oils.

But first you had to recover, and he had to get you your armor.

He wished he could have stayed in the healing wing with you, but Bjarkhild had kicked him out, with orders to get food and rest in his own bed. But he missed you. He couldn't stop thinking about you, lying alone in the healing wing, your poor face bruised, and swollen, your poor head delicate, and healing so slowly. What if you woke up again, and he wasn't there?

A man had to be dependable, didn't he? If he was serious about a suit, he had to be. Loki didn't think he was unreliable exactly, but that he was selective about the people and subjects that he was reliable for. For you, he wanted to be someone you could depend on, for anything and everything.

He had no experience in this.

When he was much younger, he had thought to find a partner for himself, and to be the best possible partner available. He was a prince, he had the highest education, he could offer everything. This was long before he realized that he would never be a match for his brother in looks or popularity.

As he grew, his relationships had been few and infrequent, and always disappointing. He had a poets heart, but the only people who bothered to look at him were not really there for him. He became hard to approach.

Finally, he realized that, as the second son, he would be most useful in a political marriage, where love wasn't necessary, and that everything would be decided for him...so he had simply given up trying.

If not for his kingship and his continued mooning over his lost mortal lady, Thor would never have an empty bed. In fact, Thor had been sent crashing to Earth as a homeless, powerless, boorish drifter, and hadn't even spent an hour before he'd found someone willing to love him. Maybe he knew some things that could help Loki out. As long as those things didn't involved being born blessed and beautiful. There was nothing Loki was going to be able to do about that.

He began sketching again. You needed something for your head, a helmet of your own. Something that should be personalized just for you, so that any one who saw you would know who they were looking at. Something crown-like...

He was interrupted again, this time by Andsvarr entering the room, stiff as starched paper and carrying a bundle, wrapped in quality cloth.

Loki looked him over. “Well.” He said. “Out with it.”

“I bring a gift from the Garprlings. A blood-price for the lady.” Andsvarr announced, not looking Loki in the eye.

“...I took Alarr's sword hand.” Loki stated.

“And thus satisfied the insult done to yourself. This is specifically for the seidkona.”

Loki rose and took the bundle from Andsvarr. The cloth was a cloak, made of plush velvet, in a cool, minty green. It wrapped a partial set of armor, made primarily from nornbein and steel, sized for an adolescent.

“This is...fortuitous.” Loki said. “I see our thoughts are running along the same lines. Did this belong to you?”

“My second eldest brother.” Andsvarr said. “It was made for him upon his entry into guard training. It may need to be altered, but I think it is small enough.”

Loki set the pieces on his desk, next to his sketches. A steel and nornbein breastplate that would only cover the front, long, layered pauldrons in nornbein and good, Alfheim leather, that would reach nearly to your elbows, and a pair of nornbein bracers over worn leather half-gauntlets. All of those would likely need altering to fit you properly. There was a pair of steel greaves and poleyns for your knees, but both needed their leather backings and fastenings replaced. There was even a set of very flexible steel and leather tassets, that would not even require altering to fit you, they could just be tied around your waist like a belt.

“This is a very good start.” Loki said, blessing the stars that someone has seen fit to keep even a partial set of adolescent armor.

“No one argued when I took it. They know we owe her.”

“How have things been?” Loki asked casually, beginning a list of repairs and supplies for the new armor.

Andsvarr sighed and drew himself up. “Quiet. Our doors are closed. Mother has been turning away 'well-wishers' after the first few came with conspiracies and offers that would have caused more trouble. She is tired of all this. I am beyond tired of all this. These people seek only to use us, and it's been obvious from the start. But Father thought...I don't know. He thought something important would be lost, but I really don't understand his mind.”

“I know what it is that he fears.” Loki said. “And he is right to fear it, but wrong to believe that it will not come to pass. We will integrate. Our culture will change. There is no way around it. But the thing is, we need to change. We've needed it for a long time. My Father's prophesy is proof of that, I'm sure of it.”

“Father will never accept it I'm afraid.” Andsvarr said.

“That will not stop it from happening. All empires fall. No supremacy is truly eternal. The true measure of the people is how they persevere during the decline. As long as the people adapt and survive, they have a chance to rise again.” Loki gestured out his window. “You can see examples of this in high speed on this planet. Hundreds, perhaps thousands of nations and kingdoms have grown up and disappeared. Some survived through change, others suffered diaspora. Others crashed so hard that even their languages are lost. All on a planet of beings so brief that some of their greatest empires rose and fell within your lifetime, changing the landscape and culture around them, then retreating back to their homes. Their impact remains, and we should consider that, I think. What will our impact be? What do we want to leave behind, now that we are no longer the pinnacle of the realms? Is there anything we can do to remedy our mistakes?”

“Your Highness?”

“Just musing.” Loki patted the armor. “I made mistakes here. It cost lives. Maybe if I wasn't trying so hard to buck the Norns all the time, I might believe that she was brought to me by fate, so that I might make up for a fraction of what I did on this world.”

“Your Higness, I'm sorry. I should have realized something like this was coming, with the way he spoke of her.”

“You are absolved, Andsvarr. It was never your fight. Shouldn't have been hers, should have been mine alone. But she is part of my court now, and that exposes her. So we will cover her with armor. We are honored by your contribution.”

“Yes, your Highness.” Andsvarr said, taking his cue to leave.

*****

“Well,” Thor said gleefully. “He's admitted it!”

“What? No way, she's only almost died like, three times.” Brunnhilde said. “When did he tell you?”

“Yesterday. She hadn't woken up yet, and the head healer had kicked him out for awhile.”

“Damn. I really thought it would take a lot longer than that...”

“Well, it didn't, and you know what that means.” He held his hand out. “I win. Hand it over.”

Grumbling, Brunnhilde removed a flask from her belt and gave it to him. “I guess I'm glad for him. Little sorry for him too. This probably isn't gonna be easy.”

“There is nothing easy or simple about mortals. Speaking of, I am thinking about allowing Trollekaerhalla to observe Buridag with us. Perhaps in their own, fenced off area, so that they can't get into trouble in the city.”

“That's gonna require so many guards.” Brunnhilde pointed out. “Otherwise, it sounds like a good starting point for familiarizing them with us. Sharing holidays and such. How are you going to make sure the other camps don't sneak in?”

“I'm not.” Thor said. “If they want to come and learn more about us, they can. Everyone will be checked for weaponry at the gate, of course. No signs, no masks, just holiday merriment. We could share samples of Asgardian food, maybe little cups of drink-”

“They will die.” Brunnhilde stated.

“Okay, maybe just hot chocolate. And they will get the opportunity to be present at _____'s official seidkona declaration. An historic moment when our peoples will join.”

A sudden sadness washed over his features.

“I wish Jane could be there.”

Brunnhilde rolled her eyes. “Why don't you just invite her then?”

“I can't. She's so busy, and I'm so busy, and that was part of the reason...Why would she even want to come? Her last experience with Asgard was so terrible. And then there was all the trouble with the Restoration...she consented to see me one more time, and she had to deal with that damn Stone again! I'm sure she thought I was just using her. She just wants a normal life as the worlds greatest scientist, and anytime she comes near me, she ends up in terrible danger.”

“Uh-huh, and your massive fear of rejection has nothing to do with it.”

“Well, would you want your ex showing up?”

“Yeah, actually.” Brunnhilde said. “I'd actually love that more than anything.”

Thor hung his head. “Forgive me. I spoke like a fool.”

“You sure did, but you get it, so that's good.” Brunnhilde clapped his shoulder. “Give it a little thought though. We need all the allies we can get, and the world's greatest scientist sounds like a good one to have.”

“It's so much easier to focus on Loki's love life.” He groused.

“Why? Did little brother used to be some kind of womanizer?”

“No, very much the opposite. He's very honorable, and subsequently, has very little experience. And he knows nothing of mortal courtships.”

“So he's going to be a total disaster.” Brunnhilde said. “Well, that will be entertaining at least.”

“Heartless wench.” Thor snorted.

“You know it.” Brunnhilde joked, clapping him on the shoulder again. Thor winced.

#lasabrjotr #loki x reader #loki (marvel)#thor (marvel)#brunnhilde (marvel)#valkyrie (marvel)

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letmetellyouaboutmyfeels · 5 years

Note

hi what about a universe where they go on a mission without Lucy and they come back to find out that she's in charge of Rittenhouse and it's super angsty!

I have taken FAR too long to get to this, my apologies! Here you are, my lovely, have a ficlet!

Note: Details about Lucy’s indoctrination inspired by Starlight and Strange Magic by @qqueenofhades.

Flynn hates it when they go on missions without Lucy.

At least this time it’s not because she’s moaning helplessly with pain, glassy-eyed and burning up with fever. That was far too close of a call and he still shudders when he remembers how she clung to the edge of life for days.

But he still doesn’t like it.

Things are ever-changing on the warfront. Sometimes Emma isn’t sending Rittenhouse on missions that need a historian. She’s sending them on missions that need soldiers. Or Lucy’s history knowledge isn’t the knowledge that they need--Jiya knows plenty about Chinese history thanks to listening in on the lives and histories of her friends in Chinatown, and she’s more of an expert on the late 19th century than Lucy. Flynn knows more about European history, and Connor’s got more knowledge about the British Empire which, thanks colonialism, is pretty damn important.

Today, they needed Jiya and Mason--so they brought Wyatt and Flynn along for protection. Not that Jiya needs much of it. She can kick ass and knows how to handle both a knife and a gun, but it’s good to have a second person with her, and Connor is still... well. Connor. So Wyatt bodyguards him while Flynn pairs up with Jiya.

The whole time, Flynn feels like he’s missing a limb. Missing Lucy’s smile, her wit, her quick mind, her sharp eyes, her voice. All of her. Normally he’d be glad that she’s safe in the bunker, out of danger, but--there’s the ever-present fear that something has changed, will change, that he will come back to find her dead or gone.

They climb into the Lifeboat, Wyatt a little bruised and battered and Jiya’s dress torn but all of them otherwise unscathed, and they jump back to their present.

Flynn gets out first, and offers a hand to Wyatt, who winces as he comes down the steps. But then he turns... and it’s not Lucy who’s pushed the steps up to them.

It’s a girl that Flynn doesn’t recognize. Long dark blonde hair, big brown eyes, a long, angular face... about Jiya’s age, and pretty, but utterly foreign.

No, wait. Not quite.

Something in the shape of her face and her eyes... it’s familiar to him. But wrong. Why does he feel like there’s something of a ghost he knows lurking in the lines of her?

Next to him, Wyatt stops short, and stares. “Amy?” he croaks.

Flynn’s heart stops.

Amy. Amy Preston. Lucy’s sister, the one Flynn inadvertently caused to go missing.

Lucy got her sister back, she’ll be so happy, she’ll... “Where’s Lucy?”

Everyone stares. Amy gapes, actually gapes, mouth open, and then looks like she might cry. “Is this some kind of--of joke?” she demands, sounding betrayed.

“What joke?” Flynn says, a little more sharply than he means to. “There’s no joke, I’m asking where my... where Lucy is.”

They haven’t said what they are, the three of them, but every night Lucy presses herself against his chest like she won’t make it through the night if she’s not hearing his heartbeat, and Wyatt presses his nose into Flynn’s neck and tangles their legs and balls a handful of Flynn’s shirt in his hand.

And Flynn... Flynn holds onto both of them with all he has.

Amy really does start crying then, turning away quickly and pressing a hand over her mouth. Denise strides forward, staring at all of them. Flynn gets down from the steps so that Connor and Jiya can shove past, Jiya hurrying over to Rufus, who’s manning the Lifeboat computers, and clutching at him, whispering, making sure their relationship hasn’t changed, too.

“What’s happened?” Wyatt’s voice is high pitched, panicked, and he grasps at Flynn’s hand like he’s drowning. “Where’s Lucy, what’s happened?”

Flynn’s heart squeezes painfully in his chest and he can’t quite breathe, but he manages to stay standing, stay still, because if he collapses then Wyatt will too and he can’t do that to Wyatt.

Denise has her Mom Face on. “I don’t know what’s gone on in your timeline, but here, for us... Lucy Preston is the leader of Rittenhouse.”

“No.” Wyatt shakes his head. “No, no, Lucy wouldn’t--she’d never, she’d--no, she--no--”

“Mom raised her,” Amy says, turning and facing them, her face pale, hands shaking, “to believe that she was a princess. Rittenhouse’s princess. Told her all about Rittenhouse from a young age. I wanted to be a historian too, like them, but it was never the same, never... I wasn’t pureblood. I wasn’t Rittenhouse, not really, and so I could see--the cracks, the faults, the... how wrong it was, and Lucy--but she wanted to be special and she didn’t see it that way and we argued and then--then you stole a time machine.”

Amy looks at Flynn, and he’s taken aback by the affection he sees there. It’s not romantic, not at all--in fact it reminds him of how Iris would often look at him, and he nearly sinks to his knees because he realizes, without even a word being spoken, what he is to Amy in this timeline, what she must be to him.

How instead of finding another woman to fall in love with, he found another daughter.

He’s only just starting to understand how much he cares for Jiya in that way, only just starting to open himself up to the possibility of taking on that fatherly role again in a small capacity, and he can’t--how did he, in another timeline, come to accept that? How did he move on like that?

Then again, he could ask himself the same thing about romance, about Lucy and Wyatt. But especially Lucy, Lucy for whom he fell so very quickly.

“You stole the Mothership, and Lucy was called in, but I knew--I knew that Rittenhouse had to be stopped. Mom and Lucy planned it as her big sort of... proving moment, stopping you, and assuming control of Rittenhouse. So I, um, I got in contact with you, through Lucy, I met you and I started helping you as much as I could, and then Denise, I told her the truth about Lucy, about... all of it...” Amy looks at Wyatt. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, you were in love with her, and so--you said, Flynn you said that Lucy gave you the journal so I don’t know what changed or what the original timeline is but--it broke your hearts when I told you the truth, and then she--she stole the Mothership, and blew up Mason Industries, and she’s been in charge ever since, with Mom.”

“What about Emma?” Flynn asks.

“Emma Whitmore?” Denise’s voice is sharp, businesslike. “She’s their pilot, teaching Lucy how to do it, if our intelligence is correct.”

“And Jessica?” Wyatt asks. “My--my ex? Is she--is the baby--”

Denise presses her lips together, gives a small sigh. “Your wife died in 2012.”

So Jess never came back, then. Never got pregnant.

Wyatt makes a noise like someone’s punched him and Flynn grabs him, pulls him in, uncaring if the others are seeing. “What do we do?” he demands. “How do we get her back?”

Amy and Denise exchange looks. Rufus, though, is the one to pipe up. “You want to, what, literally convince the woman in charge of the elite Death Eater organization that she’s wrong and poor non-white people aren’t so bad?”

“Lucy’s bi,” Flynn says, struggling to keep is voice under control. “And she’s a woman in Rittenhouse, surrounded by white men, that has to chafe. She never--the Lucy we knew, she was compassionate, openminded, she never judged anyone.”

“That’s not your Lucy anymore, though,” Rufus says.

“And if it was Jiya you’d just give up?” Flynn snaps.

Wyatt’s clinging to him, shaking, but not crying, and Flynn rubs his back. He knows it’s not just Lucy, although that’s bad enough. It’s losing Jess all over again, and his child--the child Wyatt was looking forward to, the child he was ready to do anything to save from Rittenhouse. That future is gone.

Rufus glares, but looks a bit chastened.

“Lucy’s... she’s practically been brainwashed,” Amy says, her voice weary and small like she’s had to say this a thousand times. “Mom’s got a hold on her. If we could get her away from Mom, maybe, we could... she’s not a... a bad person but. But I mean, we have a word for the people who joined the Nazis because of mistaken ideals, or because they were ignorant, or reluctantly.”

“We call them Nazis,” Flynn finishes. “I know.” He swallows. Tightens his grip on Wyatt. “But there’s also... there’s also when you think you’re doing what’s right, and you realize you’ve lost you’re way, and you’re in darkness, and you find yourself doing things you never thought you would, and justifying it.”

Like shooting Lincoln. Or selling weapons to the Nazis. Or blowing up an airship. To name just a few things.

He knows that Wyatt knows what he means, because he feels a soft kiss pressed to just underneath his jaw--a reassurance, an acknowledgment, a silent I remember what you went through and I love you.

Denise folds her arms. “Flynn. If you’re suggesting...”

“...that we kidnap Lucy, the head of Rittenhouse, yes, that’s exactly what he’s suggesting,” Rufus says. “Because he’s Flynn.”

“I don’t like the idea of taking her somewhere, anywhere, against her will,” Flynn explains. “But if we can get her out of that toxic environment...”

“And capturing the head of Rittenhouse will be a blow,” Jiya adds quickly. “If she does turn out to be awful in this timeline then we can use her as blackmail or a bargaining chip or something.”

Denise is silent for a long while. Long enough that Flynn’s heart starts to sink.

“Oh, come off it, Christopher,” Connor says at last. “Let them be bloody romantics and see if true love can’t win the day, eh? It worked for Jiya and Rufus.”

Denise looks like she wants a stiff drink and gives Connor the stink eye, but then looks at Amy. “She’s your sister, Amy,” she says. “And you were the one who really brought this team together. It’s your call.”

Amy’s lip trembles for a moment. She looks at Flynn, and then straightens her shoulders, raises her chin, and nods at Denise.

“All right,” she says. “Let’s... let’s do it.”

Flynn nods at her gratefully, and squeezes Wyatt. “Spasit ćemo joj, moju ljubav. Spasit ćemo je.”

He failed the people he loved once.

Not again.

#mads answers things #mads writes stuff #timeless #timeless fanfic #garcyatt #garcyatt fanfic #li'l ficlet #the croatian translates to 'we'll save her my love we'll save her'#in case you were wondering #I know this ends on a cliffhanger #sorry not sorry #if my darling Trin or anyone else wants to prompt me to continue it I'd be happy to do a little prompt sequel #just no guarantees on when I'll get to it #it might be a while #just fyi #I hope this lives up to your expectations my dear!#maiasromanoff

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12freddofrogs · 5 years

Text

An episode of my ideal Batfamily TV Show

Over the past few weeks I’ve been writing about how I’d make a Batfamily show. It got somewhat longer than I expected. I’m still not entirely sure how I feel about the dotpoint writing style, but at this point I’ve invested far too much effort not to start posting.

This is an extract from Chapter/Season One, aka the ‘Dick is Robin’ era. Specifically the ‘Dick is seventeen and starting to chafe under Bruce’s leadership, beginning to plan a move to Bludhaven’ era. The formatting doesn’t quite translate to tumblr, but the full chapter is available on AO3. Please check it out - other episodes include the time Batgirl accidentally told the internet Batman’s breath smells like pepperoni, has to frantically make sure he never finds out; a full-length flashback episode that draws paralles between how Dick met Bruce and how growing up changed their dynamics; Dick trying to work out the best way to invite Babs to prom; and a glimpse into what the general perspective of Bats are when Gotham City puts on a play about them. Lots of Batfamily fluff, and in the coming weeks another five seasons/chapters will be added to play around with character dynamics for everyone.

Season One, Episode Thirteen - Birdcage

One episode revolves around Dick Grayson, the billionaire ward of Bruce Wayne, getting kidnapped.

Bruce is going frantic.

He can’t even leave because he has a dozen police with him at all times. It’s clearly killing him that Batman can’t go.

Batgirl on the case, though.

Bruce is trying to whisper tips about the detective work into his phone without letting Detective Montoya see him. Batgirl grumbles that she knows what she’s doing.

Dick, meanwhile, is very bored.

He’s tied up on a chair, trying to entertain himself by untangling the knots. Whenever the kidnappers glance at him, he goes still again, not letting them realise his hands are free.

He makes it into a game, waving and pulling faces whenever they look away.

They don’t catch him at this, but when moving him to a new location, they put a blindfold on.

Naturally, Dick takes this off as part of his game. Just slightly, only barely enough that he can peek.

It has the added bonus of letting him see the kidnapper’s faces once they remove their ski-masks.

Less of a bonus when one of them comes over and sees the hint of Dick’s iris peeking through a gap.

The one that finds it curses violently, and tries to pull it back to where it should be.

“Just take the whole thing off; it’s not worth it if he’s already seen our faces.”

The kidnappers call Bruce.

He’s sitting in the police precinct, waiting impatiently and frustrated that he can’t do anything.

When he realises who it is he waves over Gordon, putting it on speaker phone.

“I’m here. Where’s Dick — is he okay?” Bruce asks, an odd mix of frantic and controlled.

“He’s fine. Have you got our money?”

Gordon cuts in. “We want proof of life, first.”

“Alright, fine.”

Back in the warehouse, the phone is jammed to Dick’s ear. “Hi, Bruce.”

“Dick! Are you okay? Have they hurt you?”

“I’m fine.” Dick glares at the kidnappers.

“For the time being,” the lead kidnapper corrects, taking the phone back. “Have you got our money, Mr Wayne?”

“Yes, yes,” Bruce’s voice comes over the phone. “I’ll send it through now, just don’t hurt Dick.”

The kidnappers wait until their laptop announces that money has been paid into the account. The one sitting on the laptop nods at the one with the phone, while the third waits in the corner.

“Well, it looks like that’s all come through,” the lead kidnapper says. “Which means I’m actually really sorry about this, Mr. Wayne.”

Dick immediately stiffens. The boredom vanishes from his face.

“See, if all had gone according to the plan, we would have handed him over now. But unfortunately, someone put the blindfold on him wrong, and he saw our faces.”

Dick’s eyes widen as the man takes out a gun and hefts it at him. “Wait—”

“Please understand, this is just protocol.”

The scene switches back to the precinct as a gunshot echoes.

BANG!

“No!” Bruce jumps to his feet, so hard that he nearly overturns the table.

Gordon goes white, and the rest of the police listening in look alarmed.

The phone keeps playing, sound of something crashing, a fight going on off-screen.

Shot changes back to the warehouse.

A bullet is embedded in the wall.

Dick is standing in the middle of three unconscious men, breathing heavily. “Please understand, this was just protocol,” he mutters venomously.

He picks up the gun, unloading it before placing it safely on the table. Then he turns around to focus on the squawking phone.

“Richard, are you there?”

“Dick, Dick, talk to me!”

“What is happening?”

He almost takes it, before he pulls back, glances at the unconscious men around him.

Bruce at the precinct is still looking sick before a new voice hits the speakerphone.

“Batman, the phone’s still going.” The voice sounds muffled, as if whoever’s speaking is halfway across the room. “Could you maybe get it… nope, heaven forbid you ever talk to anyone. Fine, I’ll do it.” The voice clears up as the phone is picked up. “Heya, this is Robin. Yes, that Robin. Don’t worry, Grayson’s safe.”

Bruce lets out a long slow breath, and needs to clutch at the desk to remain standing. Colour begins to return to his face.

Gordon takes the phone. “Hi, Robin. Gordon here. Can we talk to Richard?”

Camera changes back to Dick, holding the phone.

“Heya, Commish!” ‘Robin’ says it cheerier than would be natural, his voice slightly higher than usual. “Sure thing, just give me a second. The kid’s, um, throwing up. But you know the first attempted murder’s always the hardest.”

“No rush,” Gordon says in the precinct, checking with his eyes to see if Bruce is okay with that. Bruce nods. “Can you tell me what happened?”

“Nothing special, really,” Robin says, grimacing despite his cheery tone. “Batman and I tracked down these guys, and right on time. Stepped in before it could get ugly. We’ll leave them tied up for you at the scene.”

He reaches for his belt, realises he’s not wearing it, and goes for the rope that had attached him to the chair.

“Okay. Where are you?” Gordon’s voice is mildly scratchy — the signal isn’t great.

The question makes Dick freeze. He glances at the window, and can only see that they’re several storeys above the ground.

The shot changes back to the station as ‘Robin’ stumbles for an answer. “We are… hold on, one second I’m talking … just a minute… okay, fine, here.” There’s a stumble of movement as if the phone was being passed from hand to hand, and then a new voice comes on.

“Bruce?” The ‘Dick Grayson’ voice is quieter than ‘Robin’, soft and very shaken and not as high pitched. “Are you there?”

“I’m here, Dickie,” Bruce says immediately. “Are you okay?”

“I’m — I’m fine. Robin and Batman got here just in time.” Dick’s voice hesitates. In the warehouse, he’s struggling to tie up one of the men who’s semi-conscious. “Robin was so cool when he broke in, he just took the guy out like that!”

In the precinct, Bruce can’t help but roll his eyes. But he’s smiling nonetheless.

Dick moves onto tying up next kidnapper, holding the phone at arm’s length. “You weren’t too bad yourself with that flip out of the way, kid,” he says as Robin. “Where did you learn to do that?”

Switches back to ‘Dick’. “The circus.’

‘Robin’: “Well, nothing beats Bat training, but that was pretty cool.”

Batgirl bursts in through the window.

She lands on the ground in a perfect spring, and then pauses to notice the unconscious men.

“Di—”

Dick shakes his head frantically, striking one hand across his throat. “Hey, Batgirl!” he says gleefully, his voice contrasting with his expression. “Sorry, I can’t talk right now. I’m on the phone with the Commish, talking about how me and Batman saved Grayson.”

“Right.” Batgirl nods once, relaxing against the wall. “Sorry I’m late.”

“No sweat. Batman and Robin are capable of doing this ourselves.” He winces when Batgirl raises an eyebrow. “Sorry Commish, gotta go, we’ll drop the Grayson kid off for you on the ground.”

He hangs up.

“ ‘Batman and Robin are capable of doing this ourselves’?”

“I know, I know, don’t mock me.” Dick rubs his hand over his forehead. “It was the first thing I thought of.”

They decide Batgirl should deliver Dick back to safety.

Batgirl takes the phone back, texts an address to the precinct, and hangs up.

They finish locking up the criminals, and then wait at the window until they see a patrol car approaching.

“Alright. Let’s go.” Batgirl opens the window and holds out her arms to Dick.

“What – what are you doing?”

“Well, you can’t exactly swing down yourself, Boy Wonder.”

“Oh. Right.”

Dick is awkward about pressing himself so close into Batgirl, wrapping his arms around her neck securely. “Is this okay? Am I hurting you?”

Batgirl doesn’t even answer, just wraps one arm around his back and then other to her grappling hook.

They swing out the window. Dick gasps and clutches tighter without entirely meaning to.

They land behind the police car.

“Wow, that is terrifying when it’s not your line,” Dick whispers in her ear.

“Go on.” Batgirl pushes him forward to the police rushing towards them.

Dick obligingly untangles himself from her and sprints towards them, collapsing theatrically to whimper when he reaches the patrol.

Bruce arrives later in Gordon’s car.

Dick is sitting in the patrol vehicle, a shock blanket draped around his shoulders when he sees his guardian.

He jumps up and runs forward, hugging Bruce.

Bruce hugs him back.

Later, they’re driving back home.

It’s the first time the two have been alone since Dick got kidnapped.

“In all honesty. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, sure. I’m fine,” Dick says dismissively. There’s no sign of the fact he’d been crying moments before he got into the seat.

“Good. I’m glad.” Bruce hesitates. “I was… worried, when I heard that gun go off.”

“Didn’t think I could handle it?” Dick challenges.

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

Dick’s jaw tenses, but he relaxes into the chair, finally safe. “Yeah. I know.”

Full Fic Available on AO3.

#Batman #Bruce Wayne #Dick Grayson #Barbara Gordon #Batfic #Batfam #Batfamily #DickBabs #just barely #DC #when I say this is episode 13 I'm pulling out random numbers I haven't done every episode of every season #the later chapters are actually better if i might say so myself? for some reason i'm better at robin-jason than robin-dick #12freddofrogs writes

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