( Wei Wuxian brings his bound hand up, letting his lips come to rest against the ribbon, the bracing sensation of his knuckles beneath. Refusals, and he can think of none of them, studying his husband from the corner of one questing eye. It simmers, the suspicion of it, and Lethe presses gentle inquiry and then a sense of scoffing disregard, projecting contentment as Lan Zhan obliges her seeking with the deft cleverness of his calloused fingers.
To think for any moment he could hold brief, passing jealousy of a dragon, and the dead, sets Wei Wuxian into startled inhalation, and the long, low laughing exhalation after. To be silly, by all means.
To feel there's a sense of allowance in it, if only for himself. )
She claims herself. If she wishes, then I would. If she seeks rest, then I will do as I can.
( A lifetime of divide between the young man who'd bound spirits to yin iron and forged from it a means to survive and control and demand what revenge had asked for, then what a war had cried after, what had been the reason for jealousy and fear from all those who looked upon him and his gifts covetously. His downfall, in each step taken alone, error of his ways the self-sacrificing foolishness of heroes, worlds over.
That man had lost everything, watched it slip between his fingers, and slipped himself through his soulmate's at the hope he'd spare him, spare his broken brother, having to choose. Wrong in that, too.
Wrong to hold what doesn't want to be held, and he'd known that, resurrected out of the abyss into the jest of another man's life, wearing his own face. Being his own self, in spite of the costs. )
A man can demand as he likes, and it doesn't make him right. He can ask, and he can assist. Or command for cessation, when a life hangs in balance.
( His demand in the temple, his cutting through resentments to save his nephew, to prevent Wen Ning's possession from leading to something total, impossible to return from.
That he pauses, one step out of alignment, then looks to his husband with furrowed brow of genuine surprise, is a different sort of discord. )
Wait, don't you claim me?
( Sadly, he remains unaware that Lethe is any particular sex. Completely... unaware. All hail ta. )
no subject
To think for any moment he could hold brief, passing jealousy of a dragon, and the dead, sets Wei Wuxian into startled inhalation, and the long, low laughing exhalation after. To be silly, by all means.
To feel there's a sense of allowance in it, if only for himself. )
She claims herself. If she wishes, then I would. If she seeks rest, then I will do as I can.
( A lifetime of divide between the young man who'd bound spirits to yin iron and forged from it a means to survive and control and demand what revenge had asked for, then what a war had cried after, what had been the reason for jealousy and fear from all those who looked upon him and his gifts covetously. His downfall, in each step taken alone, error of his ways the self-sacrificing foolishness of heroes, worlds over.
That man had lost everything, watched it slip between his fingers, and slipped himself through his soulmate's at the hope he'd spare him, spare his broken brother, having to choose. Wrong in that, too.
Wrong to hold what doesn't want to be held, and he'd known that, resurrected out of the abyss into the jest of another man's life, wearing his own face. Being his own self, in spite of the costs. )
A man can demand as he likes, and it doesn't make him right. He can ask, and he can assist. Or command for cessation, when a life hangs in balance.
( His demand in the temple, his cutting through resentments to save his nephew, to prevent Wen Ning's possession from leading to something total, impossible to return from.
That he pauses, one step out of alignment, then looks to his husband with furrowed brow of genuine surprise, is a different sort of discord. )
Wait, don't you claim me?
( Sadly, he remains unaware that Lethe is any particular sex. Completely... unaware. All hail ta. )