( How many times, caught in the crossfire of arrogance between powerful or would be powerful men? It's hardly that women cannot do the same, they know that well, but the consistent tendency of men to see little beyond what they wish the world to be hints at a failing they've needed to work through.
He is not, however, a mentor, a teacher, a master to anyone here. He never took disciples, and doesn't know that he ever will, for all he'd genuinely enjoyed teaching and training the youths of Yunmeng once, before the wars.
Lan Zhan speaks with such simple directness, this man used to power and position and having learned the frailty in that pride when surrounded by those who cannot, will not, know anything of those circumstances. He turns toward him, smiling, pressing a hand over his heart. Slipping into his own robes. Touching, after a moment, the specific talisman he'd prepared on poorly slept nights before their arrival even to the monastery. )
Close your eyes for a breath or three and don't let go.
( Because he activates that array without fanfare, the fog that seems to fill the room quickly spilling out of it, leaving voices raised as guards move only to be caught in the confusion of directions he's designed. There's no additional layers but that is which confuses and leads astray: he's buying time, not prisons.
Stepping in to press up against his husband, lauded jade of a world they've not seen for years, he says as simply in turn: )
Fly us to their rooftops, then away?
( Nothing here controls the skies but archers, and they won't know to look for what a core formed cultivator can do.
The fog surrounds and muffles sound beyond them and their breathing hearts, their breathing lungs. Wei Wuxian tilts his head back, indicating a direction where rafters gave indication of higher windows, paper and light wood, entry points improbable for most to reach. Simple for them even without flight, but to be away from where they've delivered solution, however unpalatable, sword flight is seamless, smooth.
Missed, at times, but he knows he's the luxury of clinging to Lan Zhan now which is not similar in skill or meaning, but is similarly pleasing.
It's as they go that he leaves his parking gifts: the confusion array on a rafter, ready to wind down after half a day, and his own beautiful barrier breaking spell: multitudes of sparkling butterflies flitting like fireflies through the fog.
And laughter, soft and muffled, weighed down by the resignation of acknowledgement that people are too often willingly blind, into his soulmate's shoulder. )
no subject
( How many times, caught in the crossfire of arrogance between powerful or would be powerful men? It's hardly that women cannot do the same, they know that well, but the consistent tendency of men to see little beyond what they wish the world to be hints at a failing they've needed to work through.
He is not, however, a mentor, a teacher, a master to anyone here. He never took disciples, and doesn't know that he ever will, for all he'd genuinely enjoyed teaching and training the youths of Yunmeng once, before the wars.
Lan Zhan speaks with such simple directness, this man used to power and position and having learned the frailty in that pride when surrounded by those who cannot, will not, know anything of those circumstances. He turns toward him, smiling, pressing a hand over his heart. Slipping into his own robes. Touching, after a moment, the specific talisman he'd prepared on poorly slept nights before their arrival even to the monastery. )
Close your eyes for a breath or three and don't let go.
( Because he activates that array without fanfare, the fog that seems to fill the room quickly spilling out of it, leaving voices raised as guards move only to be caught in the confusion of directions he's designed. There's no additional layers but that is which confuses and leads astray: he's buying time, not prisons.
Stepping in to press up against his husband, lauded jade of a world they've not seen for years, he says as simply in turn: )
Fly us to their rooftops, then away?
( Nothing here controls the skies but archers, and they won't know to look for what a core formed cultivator can do.
The fog surrounds and muffles sound beyond them and their breathing hearts, their breathing lungs. Wei Wuxian tilts his head back, indicating a direction where rafters gave indication of higher windows, paper and light wood, entry points improbable for most to reach. Simple for them even without flight, but to be away from where they've delivered solution, however unpalatable, sword flight is seamless, smooth.
Missed, at times, but he knows he's the luxury of clinging to Lan Zhan now which is not similar in skill or meaning, but is similarly pleasing.
It's as they go that he leaves his parking gifts: the confusion array on a rafter, ready to wind down after half a day, and his own beautiful barrier breaking spell: multitudes of sparkling butterflies flitting like fireflies through the fog.
And laughter, soft and muffled, weighed down by the resignation of acknowledgement that people are too often willingly blind, into his soulmate's shoulder. )