Mdzs Oneshots

ink and tears

The winnings of vice,
May feel like a heist,
But always come with a price
Exhilarating as it may be
There will always be more than three
Stutter at the price,
Or whisper in high
It may be nothing more than ice
But by well, nigh
Nothing is to be fiddled cry

Some got addicted to drugs, some alcohol, and some words.

But Wei Ying got addicted to tattoos.

He loved the feeling of ink on his fingers. The smell of sweat and metal clinging to his hands like the vines of a tree. The way the words were etched into his skin, in delicate and brash strokes of onyx... The names that were buried beneath his skin, lurking under. The first time he'd done it, he'd felt giddy; the feel of a needle nipping through his skin, ripping part of it open slowly, staining his skin with ink, made him drowsy. Lavender eyes followed where the ink did, and he savoured the tiny tingles of pain that rushed through him, the way the needles carved out something he couldn't put into words, into action. The first tattoo Wei Wuxian ever got, was a tattoo of a lotus. A purple one, not for the Jiangs, but for his sister. He cradled it closely the first few days, loving the lilac and purple underlays on his skin, but it hurt so badly. The artist hadn't failed to notice the tiny golden crown on top of the flower, a fallen sword strewn to the side where the floor would have been.

He'd sobbed for ages afterwards. Because it throbbed. Knowing he'd never get to see her again, his sword was nothing but a mere ornament now. Nothing but brutal silver against sheathed leather, worn and crumbling, the same way he was falling apart. He'd cradled the tattoo for days afterwards, his eyes filled with visions of hazel eyes, of a gentle smile, loving hands that had hugged him, pinched him, fed him. The faint smell of lotus and jasmine that once clung to lavender and gold robes, a scent that had long since faded, but Wei Wuxian refused to forget.

Refused to forget the woman that was once his sister, once his sibling to love, to cherish, to protect.

And he'd failed her.

Failed her, in the worst way possible. He could feel her crumpling into his arms, as he stood there silently, numbly, in mute shock. His arms around her went limp, just as she did. The way she looked up to him, eyes filled with tears, unspoken words shrouding her eyes. "A- Xian.." she heaved, her voice ragged and faint, the same way Wei Wuxian imagined a doll would sound.

But Yanli wasn't a doll. Not at all. And it terrified Wei Ying to no end, unnerved him the same way the blood, her blood, sinking into his robes did. He hated the way crimson seemed to flow through her robes, seeping into his. How did things come to this? He wondered, but even then, his own thoughts seemed like an afterthought. Distantly, he could feel tears rolling down his face. He barely registered hazel eyes gazing at him, pleading with him. "别怪自己。 姐姐爱你。魏婴， 对不起。"

That would be the first death he saw, but it surely wouldn't be the last.

Eventually, he made it a habit to carve the names of those that meant something to him into his skin. He didn't care how long it took, how much it hurt or cost. All he held onto were the words, the names he carved into his skin. It was an addiction, Wen Qing chastised, a bad one at that. But Wei Wuxian didn't care, and Wen Qing got used to seeing Wei Wuxian coming back with a new wrapping, and then she knew.

The Lotus was simply Wei Wuxian's gateway to many firsts.

An oak tree and a blindfold for his first kiss, a lotus for the sister he'd loved and lost. The rest of the names were etched in a sprawling design on his back, forming the image of a yin-yang symbol. One carried a lotus, the other showed the sun, and for every person he lost, another dash of ink was added. And when the Wens was decimated, he made sure that every name was inked in colour. Red for Wen Qing, onyx for Wen Ning, Azure blue for A-Yuan, crimson for his parents. He made sure that both names were intertwined with one another. But for some reason, he couldn't bring himself to ink Jiang Fengmian and Yu Ziyuan's names on his back. The idea lay over his mind like a bad raincloud, and some part of him vehemently detested the idea.