What use is my reputation if I cannot be arrogant when it matters?
[ Wei Ying is the string of a guqin in his arms, pulled taught, a bolt of lightning hot against his chest. There is still so much of Yiling's venom in him, poisoning him into a feral animal ready to strike even at an ally. Lan Zhan would let him. Just as Wei Ying had once wished for Bichen to be the one to strike him down, so would the illustrious Hanguang-jun beg Master Wei to be the one to finish him. If he cannot win his love, if he cannot tempt his fate, let him die at its hands.
His heart sings with the answer, but the final note of the chord hovers in the air as is expecting a twist, a turn. Wei Ying does not sound happy, and so Lan Zhan hesitates. Meat on the bone. Another joke, a sign that this isn't as serious to Wei Ying as it is to Lan Zhan. This he had anticipated, and though he has his answer, some of the wind escapes his wings and brings him back down to the ground. He should have asked if Wei Ying could ever return his feelings, that perhaps the song in his heart could become a duet. Lan Zhan, for all his knowledge of books and textbook-perfect speech, has failed to find the right words when it matters most. ]
I do not wish to keep you. [ He thinks of his father's masquerade at love, a child's definition that possession could earn him happiness. His mother, sequestered to the Jingshi, an object on a shelf, a trophy of ill-bred love. Lan Zhan doesn't want that for Wei Ying. He wants a companion, a partner, a willing lover. What use is a bond if the one bound spends all of their energy and focus on gnawing at the ties, wrists bloodied in a bid for freedom? ] I do not need time to consider it. I want you willing. Happy. Free.
no subject
[ Wei Ying is the string of a guqin in his arms, pulled taught, a bolt of lightning hot against his chest. There is still so much of Yiling's venom in him, poisoning him into a feral animal ready to strike even at an ally. Lan Zhan would let him. Just as Wei Ying had once wished for Bichen to be the one to strike him down, so would the illustrious Hanguang-jun beg Master Wei to be the one to finish him. If he cannot win his love, if he cannot tempt his fate, let him die at its hands.
His heart sings with the answer, but the final note of the chord hovers in the air as is expecting a twist, a turn. Wei Ying does not sound happy, and so Lan Zhan hesitates. Meat on the bone. Another joke, a sign that this isn't as serious to Wei Ying as it is to Lan Zhan. This he had anticipated, and though he has his answer, some of the wind escapes his wings and brings him back down to the ground. He should have asked if Wei Ying could ever return his feelings, that perhaps the song in his heart could become a duet. Lan Zhan, for all his knowledge of books and textbook-perfect speech, has failed to find the right words when it matters most. ]
I do not wish to keep you. [ He thinks of his father's masquerade at love, a child's definition that possession could earn him happiness. His mother, sequestered to the Jingshi, an object on a shelf, a trophy of ill-bred love. Lan Zhan doesn't want that for Wei Ying. He wants a companion, a partner, a willing lover. What use is a bond if the one bound spends all of their energy and focus on gnawing at the ties, wrists bloodied in a bid for freedom? ] I do not need time to consider it. I want you willing. Happy. Free.