Edith Redwood

@EdmontonAlbertaCan upcoming, I hope- (written with that intention, but we shall see how that progresses first, hehe)

It unsettles Wei Wuxian. Once the words are out of his hands, he can't get back to them anymore. There's no way of scrounging them up and putting them back into his heart, carving them back into his brain, no other way of letting the words creep back and meld back into the beat of his unfettered heart, no way to let them take hold of his mind, letting him loose control again. There's no way to escape, and all that sits before him is a long, unending tunnel, the sneer of a blank cage coming back to greet him. 
          "There's a new master now," the words seem to sneer, darting just out of his reach, hiding in the crevices of his mind. But all Wei Wuxian hears is 4 words. 
          You. Are. Not. Needed. 
          And it terrified him, more than it should. Because in the thousands of today, and the thousands of tomorrow, Wei Wuxian has only ever clung on to one hope. 
          The words need him. The words need him to live. 
          Now, though- it appears the tides have changed. 
          
          

"you've written so many love stories," Lan Zhan breathes, finally looking up at the boy sitting across him, draped across the table. Lan Wangji might never confess it, but he's read all of the illustrious Yiling Laozu's novels, from the moment the first one came out. "So why, why, can't you love yourself? Believe there's something in yourself worthy of love?" 
          
          The laugh that escapes the writer's lips is painted, a sharp rasp. "There's a difference between being in love with someone else and being in love with yourself. You can love someone without loving yourself, even though it shouldn't happen." 
          
          "It's hard to be in love with oneself, which makes writing an even more brilliant escape, don't you think? You can write a thousand beginnings, a thousand endings, of people falling in love with one another over and over again without once having to be in love yourself." 

All things fall apart eventually. 
          It's a universal truth, one that Wei Wuxian has never quite experienced yet, not until now. Staring at the papers in front of him, marked with a harsh grade, he sees the same few numbers over and over again. 32. 34. 36. 37. 38. All of these are out of a 100, and Wei Ying is failing all of his classes as of now, and the national exams are just a month away. He can feel the dread crawl up his throat before he even remembers to breathe, and for the first time in a long while, he feels the urge to cry. 
          But he can't. There's a room filled with people that surround him, caging him in as his mind begins to descend, his heartbeat turning erratic, a sick, wet feeling in his chest beginning to pool. 32. 34. 36. 37. 38. 
          The numbers haunt him as he looks at them through bleary eyes, his lips chapped and dry as the professor drones on and on about whatever he does, and this time, it feels like his life is on the line.

I love you something tender,
          I love you something sweet, 
          until the roots of my gums can no longer hold my teeth. 
          
          I love you something bitter, 
          I love you something brash,
          Until the quiet pump of my lungs exhale their last shaky breath

A continuation if the mizisua× Wangxian au 
          
          "He wanted you to live, Wangji. To live for yourself, and if you can't, live for him." The words made their way to Wangji’s heart, carving out a hollow space next to the chasm that Wei Ying had forged.  In his mind’s eyes, Wei Ying was still there, back in the sanctuary they'd built, a sanctuary that Lan Zhan knew he would never be able to return to, not after. He could feel the younger boy's arms around him, like they never left. But Wei Wuxian wasn't there, and he never would be again. The thought of it sent another wave of visceral sobs through Wangji, an ache he knew he would never be able to heal. And in grief, he reaches out for something, anything to keep him tethered. Even if it was self-blame.
          
          "Maybe I just wasn't as desperate for love as he was," Lan Zhan whispers, face buried in the crook of his brother's shoulder as Lan Xichen pets his back softly, like he'd done when they were still kids. "Maybe my love just wasn't strong enough. But what I had, it was love too," 
          
          "I know," Lan Xichen whispered back, trying to soothe his brother, "I know, Didi. I know," Lan Wangji didn't know if he wanted to laugh or to cry, but for a moment, he wished it was him that was gone, instead of Wei Ying.

@FoxWithAGingkoLeaf  *hugs, if you're okay with that* Ahh, I'm not sure if I'll continue this one, but if I do, it'll get better for him- thank you so much for your comments, they really made my day!

There's a moment where everything falls apart. It's a gentle beginning, the kind that speaks of whispered goodbyes, and longer silences, the kind that speaks of hours without a reply. As the hours stretch into days and the days stretch into months, Wei Wuxian can't help but wonder - where did it all go wrong? He's no stranger to the oddities of modern dating, but he's tired of waiting, tired of this. It isn't even dating at this point, it's the way that every relationship he's ever had seems to go poof, and at some point he begins to wonder if he is the problem - is he too much, maybe, or is he too little? Every conversation seems to start and end the same, and though everything comes in waves, Wei Wuxian is tired of chasing people- tired of sending the first text, taking the first initiative, trying to know people when all they do eventually is leave.  
          
          They leave in unspoken texts, ignoring his presence, moving further and further away as Wei Wuxian tries, to hang onto something, anything, really, to keep himself afloat - he feels like a ghost trapped in his own body, where everything and nothing is real, and every once in a while Yu Ziyuan's voice creeps up behind him and whispers "you are not enough,"
          He pushes the words away as quickly as they come, but the words haunt him, like traces of a burning fire, a reminder of his first heartbreak: " You will never be loved as you are, no matter what you do - the love you seek will never find you." 
          And Wei Wuxian is tired of searching, tired of seeking when nothing feels real. He can't tell anymore, when everyone feels fake, a fleeting illusion- there's nothing but smiles on their faces, but even then, it feels too scripted, too planned, for it to be true, no matter how desperately he wants to believe that it's possible to be happy. Instead, he sees the cracks behind the screen, like a glass wall waiting to shatter,  waiting for something to break- in a world of masquerade, he walks without a mask. 
          

WARNING: Mild gore 
          
          "We write to bleed," Wei Ying answered, turning away from Lan Zhan as he returned back to his work, putting his pen to paper. The words flowed out easily, the way they always did, the way they shouldn't. And as Wei Wuxian's hand continued gliding across the page, something insidious happened - little welts began carving themselves into his skin, drawing blood from his left arm, leaving tiny beads of crimson in the surface of his skin. Wangji looked on with awed horror, before realising the welts got deeper as the Writer continued, blood dripping off his left arm in trickles, rather than drops. 
          "Stop," Wangji exclaimed, reaching out to grab Wei Wuxian's arm. "Stop writing like this, you could bleed out," 
          The other boy simply looked at him blankly, as if he were in a dreamlike trance. Somehow, it had never occurred to him that could happen. Under Yu Ziyuan's household, he'd been ordered to write until he passed out, because whatever he'd written would be worth a fortune no matter how he did it. It was a gift, Jie Jie had whispered, as she tended to him after every session, applying salve and wrapping up his arms in gauze and pouring him pork-rub and lotus soup to replenish his energy- but it was also a curse. Most writers died young, and Wei Ying wondered how long he had left to live, especially with the way he'd been writing- like he was running out of time. 
          And no one had ever fully questioned it, not until now.
          So why did a stranger care as much as he did? 

Updated TXT Vignettes! It's a post-mission spy×family crossover this time! 
          https://www.wattpad.com/1569293139?utm_source=android&utm_medium=link&utm_content=share_published&wp_page=create_on_publish&wp_uname=edith343redwood