[ In the wake of world war peasant-hillside, Lan Zhan feels... adrift, sat on the cusp between flight in the night and letting Wei Wuxian's chin, stubbornly planted on (in) his shoulder, anchor him to the ground.
It becomes apparent, instantly, that this is... Lan Zhan content with his victory, and Wei Wuxian, who doesn't exactly live to be difficult, but also finds scant incentive in ignoring that instinct, makes a note to plot out an elaborate revenge scheme later. Disaster can strike Wei Wuxian's remaining talismans, until only Lan Zhan's snow-driven white can banish the ink stains from their unfolded corners. The crown can chip and dent. Wei Wuxian can (and will) look Lan Zhan in the eye and assert dominance over dinner by sticking his chopstick in the last piece of gloomy tofu. He'll choke on it, but his authority will be known.
...then, Lan Zhan's mouth tickles down the troubled line of his neck, and he stills, like every hare who hopes the wolf will glance at her supine body in tall grass and shun her, for fear she's too long a corpse now, and her taste has soured. Lan Zhan has no such frivolous hesitations. A note of surprise dilates into a moan, half for the stirrings of fondness flushing the root of Wei Wuxian's nape, half to punish Lan Zhan for waking him.
Fine. He's... alert. Mind addled, eyes blinking open and accustoming to dim starlight, falling a step back and in line beside Lan Zhan again — only to gaze at the offer of the hand with understandable, age-old suspicion, before a grin gives the go, and he strokes the inside of Lan Zhan's palm with two fingers again.
If at first you don't succeed, try and try until Lan Zhan bores and pretends to give up (again). ]
Hey. Watch it. I'm apparently a spoken-for man.
[ By the same person who inflicts himself brazenly on the last vestiges of Wei Wuxian's untouched territory, but it's the principle of misplaced chastity that counts. Ask Lan Qiren, on a day when his death as a revered veteran of the elderly generation is as desired as it is impending.
Later. Now, there's the trifle of his talisman,and — the slope? His mouth hangs a wide gasp, somewhere between horror and amusement. ]
...did I? Nooooooooooo. Did I really? [ As if... this is something even the dullest cultivator, inheritor of sect Lan or otherwise, can be bored enough to invent. ] That's terrible. I'm getting negligent in my old age. I have a pair for it, you know. To revive wells? That's for droughts. They have too many in Lanling. You wouldn't think it, they're so up north, but they're at least twenty days each summer season...
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It becomes apparent, instantly, that this is... Lan Zhan content with his victory, and Wei Wuxian, who doesn't exactly live to be difficult, but also finds scant incentive in ignoring that instinct, makes a note to plot out an elaborate revenge scheme later. Disaster can strike Wei Wuxian's remaining talismans, until only Lan Zhan's snow-driven white can banish the ink stains from their unfolded corners. The crown can chip and dent. Wei Wuxian can (and will) look Lan Zhan in the eye and assert dominance over dinner by sticking his chopstick in the last piece of gloomy tofu. He'll choke on it, but his authority will be known.
...then, Lan Zhan's mouth tickles down the troubled line of his neck, and he stills, like every hare who hopes the wolf will glance at her supine body in tall grass and shun her, for fear she's too long a corpse now, and her taste has soured. Lan Zhan has no such frivolous hesitations. A note of surprise dilates into a moan, half for the stirrings of fondness flushing the root of Wei Wuxian's nape, half to punish Lan Zhan for waking him.
Fine. He's... alert. Mind addled, eyes blinking open and accustoming to dim starlight, falling a step back and in line beside Lan Zhan again — only to gaze at the offer of the hand with understandable, age-old suspicion, before a grin gives the go, and he strokes the inside of Lan Zhan's palm with two fingers again.
If at first you don't succeed, try and try until Lan Zhan bores and pretends to give up (again). ]
Hey. Watch it. I'm apparently a spoken-for man.
[ By the same person who inflicts himself brazenly on the last vestiges of Wei Wuxian's untouched territory, but it's the principle of misplaced chastity that counts. Ask Lan Qiren, on a day when his death as a revered veteran of the elderly generation is as desired as it is impending.
Later. Now, there's the trifle of his talisman,and — the slope? His mouth hangs a wide gasp, somewhere between horror and amusement. ]
...did I? Nooooooooooo. Did I really? [ As if... this is something even the dullest cultivator, inheritor of sect Lan or otherwise, can be bored enough to invent. ] That's terrible. I'm getting negligent in my old age. I have a pair for it, you know. To revive wells? That's for droughts. They have too many in Lanling. You wouldn't think it, they're so up north, but they're at least twenty days each summer season...