#also her tail can unfurl to become a bit longer

[starteas]

I wanna talk about my OCs so bad but i never know what to say about them

[theotheroccassionalfanficwriter]

Amidst the Snow Covered Mountains

Summary: You had always believed that after the death of your lover, you would forever wear your red robes as penance for a promise you failed to keep. Your heart had died with him and your time would forever remain frozen. And then Tartaglia arrived in your life, like a sun that melted the snow.

Rating: G

A/N: Heavily inspired by Mo Dao Zu Shi and Tian Guan Ci Fu.

The cold air of Snezhnaya was colder than the air atop the mountain peaks in Jueyun Karst. But the years you’ve spent in service of the Fatui made you acclimated to the cold air that nipped at your nose. Your clothes, a fusion of Snezhnaya and Liyue fashion, were magically enhanced to keep your body in perfect temperature regardless of climate. The fox fur that lined the hems of your sleeves and robes added a regal air to your already noble nature. It made you more aloof and unapproachable compared to the other Harbingers, adding upon your age that was closer to the Tsaritsa’s, not even most of your fellow Harbingers dared to speak informally with you.

Of course, you weren’t spared from the scheming and backstabbing but they were more likely to do it politely or without any crassness. The exception to all of this was Tartaglia, the newly inducted 12th Harbinger. He was a human born to be a warrior, the battlefield was his home and you made no secret of your admiration for his skills.

It was perhaps the reason why he often followed you around like a tail, not that you cared, the human was talkative and yet he was undeniably a genius in fighting. He was also frustratingly obsessed with fighting you despite never winning in any spar, though you appreciated his offers, he brought no challenge to you.

“...Tartaglia, don’t you have to drill your men?” You asked him, your robes immaculate while his were dirtied from the ground and your pyro vision.

Your forehead ribbon fluttered in the cold wind as you remained standing in front of Tartaglia’s collapsed body.

“Columbina,” He panted “at this point you should be offering to help me stand up!”

You couldn’t help the small smile on your lips at hearing him whine. 

“Wait! Did you just smile?”

You ignored his question in favor of walking away, “Stand up, It’s dinner time.”

“Wait for me! Archons, why are you so keen on keeping a regular schedule!” Tartaglia whined as he got up and ran after you, arms slung on your shoulder as both of you walked through Snezhnaya’s eternal winter.

Snezhnaya was colder than the place you used to call home but it with Tartaglia beside you, chattering senselessly in your ear, warmed you better than Fú Shě’s presence.

--

Your existence as an Adeptus, a former Yaksha, was never a secret among the Fatui. It was merely something that no one mentioned to your face, it was acknowledged but never talked about. It meant that Tartaglia asking you about it had thrown you off guard. Strong enough that your usual impassive face had shown emotion.

“Do they discriminate against you for being a Yaksha?!” Tartaglia asked, indignant over an imagined slight.

Something warmth unfurls in your chest but you are quick to dismiss it in favor of grabbing Tartaglia’s collar and stopping him from marching out of your home and into the Palace.

“No. I was just surprised that you’d ask about my past” You replied, voice deceptively calm.

Once Tartaglia returned to his seat, you did the same and took a sip from your honey lemon tea. It had been years since you last thought of your past, the home you left behind and the everything you once held dear. The steam of the tea curls around in the air, the soft muffled sounds of the city filling the silent room of your living area.

You take another sip and began telling your story, “ I used to be part of a Yaksha clan, we were contracted to Rex Lapis for the purpose of quelling the lingering hatred of Liyue’s fallen gods…”

“I was the younger sibling of one of the Foremost Yaksha, thus there were expectations of me rising up to his prestige,” You smiled fondly at the memories, unaware of the sadness that lingered in your eyes “Despite that neither I nor my brother felt any bitterness towards each other. Though I am in his shadows, I know my own worth. My talent lies not in slaughter but in helping them gain peace.”

“As a Yaksha, I travelled around Liyue, village to village, quelling grudges upon grudges. There were times I would cross paths with other Yakshas, sometimes we fought together, sometimes each other. But all of it was for fulfilling our duty,” You took another sip of tea, exhaling as your mind easily drew up the memories you’ve hidden.

You told him, skirting around some details, about your past and how it led you to Snezhnaya. You talked and talked, offering him bits and pieces of a past that left a festering wound in your heart. It was an odd feeling, for someone like you who preferred to be silent, to be talking for so long.

But it was hard not to, not when Tartaglia looked at you with eyes that brightened at your tales, from your battles to your previous mundane life. Eventually the conversation drifted away from your past and to Liyue’s culture and traditions, you answered every question Tartaglia had. From the serious ones to the silly ones, letting him see the Liyue from your memories.

“One of your clan’s specialty was music cultivation,” You revealed to him as your hand absentmindedly fed him cookies, a muscle memory from the past “My brother played the dizi though he preferred to use a sword to fight.”

“And you?”

“A guqin.”

Tartaglia hums, voice soft and inquisitive. You wait for his question.

“Columbina, if I learn to play a dizi, would you play with me?” He asked, almost shy and it makes your heart feel something between pain and comfort.

“Mn.”

Tartaglia’s presence in your life becomes more apparent after that day. And annoyingly, it takes Pulcinella pointing it out for you to notice.

“Tartaglia hasn’t been bothering you, has he?” Pulcinella asked, voice deceptively uncaring.

You blinked at him, the only evidence of your confusion at his question. You knew that for all of Pulcinella’s claims to have no lingering affection for Tartaglia, it was a well-hidden lie. He had after all raised that child, even if it was across the battlefield.

“No.” 

You left, pace unhurried and face emotionless. The weight of Pulcinella’s stare on your back is heavy but you didn’t care for it. You had a scheduled spar with Tartaglia, and you knew he was more bearable if he got beaten up. 

Your arrival in the sparring grounds designated for you and Tartaglia is marked with the sudden silence and loss of familiarity among the lower ranks. It was amusing seeing him momentarily at loss until he turns around and smiles at you, bright and welcoming that it almost makes you falter in your steps. It has been a long time since your presence has been greeted like that.

“Have you warmed up?” You asked as your loyal left hand comes over and takes away your outer robe and gently drapes it over her arms.

Your forehead ribbon flutters in the cold wind, your sword steady in your hand as you stood a few paces away from Tartaglia. It was a clear declaration of challenge, one you would not have done if you had remained within the confines of your clan, if your brother had not left you alone.

But Tartaglia inspires change, he is a breath of fresh air, and when he smiled at you, sharp and just as excited, it makes your blood rush. Reminiscent of the bright summer days in Liyue that you spent with your clan and fellow Yakshas. Bold and carefree.

Tartaglia was an excellent fighter, one that would only grow stronger as time goes by and though he poses no challenge to you right now. He is still a force to be reckoned with, his moves does not allow you to loosen your guard. To fight in the same ease as you would when faced with other Harbingers or the monsters that littered Teyvat. Tartaglia fights with everything that he has, gives his all in every battle he finds himself in.

He is born to be a warrior and you respect that. So you do the same, you treat every spar as if you were up against old gods, curses given to life. You fight seriously and with everything you have because Tartaglia was worth it. He deserves nothing less.

In the end, it ends as it always does. Tartaglia on the ground, your sword at his throat. Your forehead ribbon, immaculate, and your robes free of dirt and yet you could tell that he had gotten stronger, from the slow and unnoticeable labored breathing of your body.

“Yield.”

Tartaglia smiles and in a split second you dodge a hydro aimed at your throat, eyes widening at his new attack that you don’t notice how the hydro dagger had loosened your forehead ribbon until it falls right before your eyes.

‘Your forehead ribbon,’ Your father explains, voice soft and firm but no less loving, ‘can only be removed by your spouse.’

What falls to the ground isn’t the familiar white of your clan’s clothes. It had been thousand of years since you last wore the white robes of your clan. 

‘You wear white all year round! There’s nothing to mourn and yet you act like there is!’ His voice, playful and whining, ‘When we get married are you going to wear white as well?’

The memories come unbidden to your mind. Unpleasant and painful. You could only stare in horror as the red ribbon dropped to the ground, it was the highest quality of silk, golden threads forming the shape of qingxin where clouds used to be. 

“Columbina?”

You leave in a flutter of red robes, forehead ribbon tightly gripped in your hand as you try to escape from the memories you’ve buried deep. You are no longer part of your clan, in name and genealogy, but still you follow its rules and tradition. It was deeply ingrained in you, down to your marrow, that to do so felt odd.Though you have gone lax as the years go by, there were still some rules you strictly adhered to. The forehead ribbon would always be one of them. Though the meaning had changed it was in essence still the same.

‘The forehead ribbons symbolizes our restraint. It is the symbol of our commitment to be free from worldly desires’ Your father explained as he tied your forehead ribbon, ‘It means that though we have forsaken all, it is them we chose not to.’

You stand, a top of Snezhnaya’s frozen mountain, inside a cave you’ve built for seclusion. There are no paths leading to it, only accessible to those like you or the Cryo Archon you worked for. You meditate on the floor, hand still tightly gripping the forehead ribbon.

You think of him, the gentle blue of his robes and his eyes that yearned for strong opponents. You think of the silent promise you made when you left your clan, struck out your name from the genealogy and bowed before Rex Lapis in acknowledgement of your actions.

White for mourning.

Red for a promise left unfulfilled.

You meditate and think of your past actions, refusing to call them wrongs, because you had only ever sought to follow your clan’s principles to the best of your heart. And to stay true to your beloved, to stand on their side, and protect them was no wrong.

--

“It’s been a long time since I heard you play your zither” she greets as she steps into your cave, easily by passing your seals, and stopping right in front of you.

You don’t stop playing the ever familiar notes of Inquiry, absent of any spiritual energy. She sat herself on the stool by the side, listening and waiting for you to finish your song. 

“Has it?” You asked as you put away your guqin, carefully setting it aside on a table specifically made for it.

“Yes. It’s been years since you last played a song on Sīzhuī.”

You tried to recollect your memories, giving her thoughts the consideration it deserved and you found that she was right. It had been years since you last played Inquiry, your last memory of playing it was the night before Tartaglia’s arrival in the Palace, under Pulcinella’s tutelage.

“It seems so” You finally answered, before moving away from your instrument and opting to serve her tea. If only to calm your shaken heart.

“Tartaglia was worried” she spoke as if recounting a normal tale, “enough that he had personally asked me for your whereabouts.”

You say nothing as you wait for the water to boil.

“He looked like he was about to cryー”

You level her a look that clearly states your disbelief and she laughs, continues her words, “or maybe terrorize the local wildlife of Snezhnaya’s mountains to find you.”

That you can agree with. Tartaglia had always been the sort to figure things out before letting his emotions run through him. You appreciated that part of him, and can rely on him when your understanding of people falls short.

“Why?”

“He found out the meaning of your forehead ribbon, and from what I’ve heard you were positively stricken with grief when it came undone.”

It wasn’t a lie but still you felt uneasy at the way she said. As if she knew the exact memory that filled your mind when you saw it come undone and yet her words felt like it had underlying meanings.

“Come out of seclusion and pacify him. He’s stalking down my hallways and I like my palace calm and quiet.” 

You looked at her, “If you truly did, you would have not accepted Tartaglia.”

She smiled at you and said nothing. A silent acknowledgement of a shared fondness for a Harbinger that wrought chaos in his wake. She leaves your cave after securing a promise of coming down after a few more days of meditation.

You watch her leave and think of how despite no longer loving her people, she still cared for them deep within the festering wounds of her heart.

--

Your return is marked with a bright day absent of the usual snowfall. Your red robes are immaculate, forehead ribbon tied perfectly tight on your head, your sword in hand. You walk the familiar halls of Zapolyarny Palace with your held high and back straight. 

Your ribbon flutters in the air as you walk, your long hair swaying in tandem. Your feet takes you to Tartaglia’s wing, to his office where you knew he would be at this time of the day. Dealing with paperwork he loathes but still does because he was a responsible leader for all of the chaos he wreaks.

You knock thrice, and step back on hearing the crash and dash of feet heading towards the door. The thought of your knock being distinct to him makes your chest feel warm.

“You’re back!” Tartaglia cries out as he throws away decorum to hug you in the middle of the hallway. Uncaring of who might hear him or see his action.

You offer no response beyond hugging him. Your hand on his back, patting his much taller form and simply letting him seek whatever it was that he found in you.

“I’m sorry” Tartaglia says, voice soft, in the privacy of his office. 

Years ago you would not have forgiven anyone who dared to do what he had done. Years ago you would have been struck with anger and grief but the years spent away from Liyue had healed your wounded heart, time had lessened the pain you felt from his departure and Tartaglia had softened you in ways you were only beginning to realize.

“No need” You told him, as he laid his head on your lap, face curled up on your stomach.

Years ago, you would not have dared to act so close to anyone in this way. Years ago, the only person who could make you show your heart easily had left. Now, it was easy to allow yourself a simple show of affection towards Tartaglia. A delicate dance of things unsaid and actions speaking louder.

The sight of Tartaglia’s hair against the red of your robes was an image that you wouldn’t forget so easily. You think of the Tsaritsa’s words, of Tartaglia almost crying and you can believe it, in the way he curls his hand on your robes like a child hating to part ways.

You gently card your fingers through his hair, thinking deeply, of what all of this meant. His head on your lap, your hand in his hair, this intimacy that settles well in your bones, the unspoken trust he held for you from the first day he arrived in the palace. The change from that battle-crazy teen to the young man that was a finely honed weapon of war that stood as your equal.

“I was afraid you know,” Tartaglia looked at you through his long lashes “that you’d end up hating me or leaving forever.”

You said nothing.

“There were records─of you and your past─nothing substantial but enough if one knew the ins and outs of the story” Tartaglia’s hand curled tightly on your robes, crinkling it in his tight grasp, “I didn’t know.”

“No one did” You replied.

And it was the truth. No one knew how much you cared for that bright eyed human who feared no one. Not even you knew the lengths you would have gone for him, not until you’ve slaughtered your way towards him in a vain attempt to save him.

No one until Tartaglia had been able to piece the missing pieces. To learn the truth behind the red of your robes and the deep scars on your back. It felt like a weight off your shoulders. To be known without speaking the painful truths, putting into words what had transpired that day in Nantianmen. 

“I’ll be more careful when sparring with you.”

“No need.”

You looked into his eyes, “You’re most beautiful when untamed.”

The red that bloomed in his face was your favorite shade of red.

--

From that moment onwards, it was rare to see you without Tartaglia right next to your side. It meant that the two of you were always sent out together across the seven nations with the exception of Liyue. Tartaglia left stories in his wake, about his battle prowess, and adding more to his myths in Snezhnaya.

With him by your side, few people paid attention to you. As it should, Tartaglia was meant to shine brightly, eclipsing the entire room with his presence. Despite that, you made your way into his tales, stories speculating, judging, your relationship with him.

“Lovers” the bards from Mondstadt claim.

“Sworn brothers” the story tellers from Liyue insist.

“Soulmates” the poets from Fontaine declared.

“Aibou” the rakugo masters from Inazuma tell.

“Taw'am roHi” the scholars from Sumeru assert.

“Iyakiciyuha” Natlan’s storytellers announce.

“Rodstvennuyu dushu” Snezhnayan minstrels whisper.

The speculations didn’t bother you as much as what it could do to your relationship with Tartaglia. You cared for him, considered him as a friend and a reliable ally. You wouldn’t want this fragile sort of intimacy between the two of you to be tarnished by 

For all of your supposed aloofness, you cared deeply for him and in extension everything related to him. It meant that his opinion mattered.

“Does it bother you?” Tartaglia had asked, eyes uncharacteristically serious, as he sat on your bed.

You paused and then replied, “It would if it affected us the way we are right now.”

“I see.”

And that was the end of it. Nothing changed, Tartaglia stuck to you like glue and you remained at his side, partnering with him to minimize the fall out of his chaos, fighting with him side by side until both of you could effortlessly fight together in battle like one mind in two bodies.

Tartaglia spent more time in your room during missions until it was more sensible to room together during work trips if only to avoid wasting money for a room that was mostly unused. Then it bled to your private life where Tartaglia opted to spend his time in your home on short holidays rather than travel back to Morepesok.

Which led to meeting some of his siblings, the youngest three had taken a shine to you. It was odd and fascinating to see three young look-alikes of Tartaglia, calling him Ajax. It was even more fascinating seeing him blunder about, desperately trying to hide his real job from his siblings and his former name from you.

You drive their attention away by mentioning your gifts and Tartaglia offers you a grateful smile. The siblings spent time in your home, making a mess out of it and you laugh Tartaglia’s worries away.

“It makes this place look lived in” You told him just as Anton abandons Sīzhuī in favor of your drums.

Tartaglia said nothing to that, only staring at you in a way that you can’t quite understand. But as quickly as you caught his look, it disappeared just as well with Teucer barreling to your legs.

The rest of his siblings visit descend into mayhem, a welcome one, there are demands for toys and adventures, and you grant all of it. You have been in service of the Tsaritsa for a long time and barely had any worldly desires to be able to make a dent on your savings. You are arguably the richest Harbinger alive. Spending your dusty money for a child’s happiness was worth it.

Tartaglia’s grateful smile was worth it.

The warm feeling in your heart that takes days to dissipate after their departure was worth it.

Tartaglia permanently living with you was worth it. 

--

“Our clan loves deeply,” Your father once said, voice somber and looking at a painting of a mother you’ve never met “almost like a curse.”

You didn’t understand until the day came when you changed your white robes for red ones.

--

Tartaglia was a complex character. A human who keeps you on your toes and leaves you wanting more and more until it becomes impossible to keep yourself away from worldly desires. Five thousand nine hundred and eighty six years of cultivation practice that abstains from worldly desires went down the drain when you met him.

You didn’t even know.

Tolerance gave way to fondness.

Fondness to love.

You didn’t know when your time started moving forward again, when remembering no longer brought pain and sorrow. By the time you noticed it, it was too late.

You could no longer escape from it, no path of retreat left, not when his touch brings you warmth. Not when he looks at you so softly, so fond with his bright blue eyes that it feels too much. Not when his absence feels like a loss of limb, not when necessity dictates a separation.

There is no other word for this.

And so, you play Sīzhuī in the night and meditate.

Love is a curse and Tartaglia only deserves the blessings of the world.

--

Tartaglia, Ajax as he was called back then, remembers growing up hearing the stories about an Adeptus in Snezhnaya, it was the talk of the town and every adult knew the story that was passed down.

The adeptus, male, with red robes that was too thin for Snezhnaya’s climate showed up with the Tsaritsa. His hair was inky black and flowed like silk, his eyes were gold if it was melted, his skin was perfect. Tartaglia remembered the stories that his father told him about you, your fights that left a mark in Snezhnaya’s history, strategies that had every scholar from Sumeru debating endlessly on its merits and demerits, but what remained deeply etched in his heart and memory was a story only known to their family.

You had saved his father, once in his youth as an adventurer, there was an avalanche and his father had resigned himself to death. Only to be saved at the last minute by you. You had came in, standing on your sword, red robes fluttering in the wind as you scooped his father up and away from the path of the avalanche and into safety.

No words were exchanged.

You left just as quickly as you came. Back straight and hair fluttering in the wind, very much like the noble heroes depicted in Liyue’s literature.

And Ajax had wanted that, had dreamt of fighting with you side by side as an equal, and then dreamt of you. His fall to the abyss did nothing to dampen that desire, it only served to fuel him further, his ambition becoming a tangled mess of wanting adventures, getting stronger and at the heart of it all you.

He’s thrown into the Fatui and then he meets you. 

Every story told about you describes you in the same way, a handsome adeptus who wore red clothes and a forehead ribbon with golden qingxin embroidered in it. The thing is no one mentioned the weight of your stare, to have molten gold eyes to look at you from above and make you feel as if you were lowly.

It was what Ajax felt when he had arrived in the Palace, what Tartaglia felt when he became a Harbinger.

It doesn’t curb down his desire though. It only spurred him on, made him want to have myths and legends created about him, to match the ones you’ve left in the annals of history, until his name, his title becomes synonymous with yours.

The thing is nothing was as good as the real deal. Everyone told him about your golden words, how you rarely speak unless absolutely necessary, how you were cold and aloof and the thing is they are so so wrong.

There is nothing aloof or cold about you.

Your words are golden but Tartaglia can hear your unspoken words from the curve of your lips to the small frown of your face and even the glint of your eyes.

And it thrills him.

To know you in such a way that no one ever would. The entire world can have your myths and legends but Tartaglia? He would have you, the realest version of you that has preferences and quirks and gets drunk so easily that it leaves his heart gasping and insides twisting from the sheer amount of fondness you evoke from him.

He loves you, from the start, he thinks.

And then the forehead ribbon happened and for the first time Tartaglia was at loss, hurt and fearful and definitely bloodthirsty. The grief and shock in your eyes, the visible pain when you saw your ribbon at the ground had him panicking.

The win felt bitter in his tongue, as he watched your red robes flutter away with each quick step you took away from him. He stared dumbly at your retreating back and regrets. Your disappearance feels like years when in reality it was months but still Tartaglia wreaks enough chaos and havoc in his wake that had the Tsaritsa calling him back and then receives the story.

It wasn’t a complete one but it was enough.

It takes several trips to Snezhnaya’s mountains and a couple of manmade avalanches before the Tsaritsa takes one look at him and orders him to stay in his office until your return. And Tartaglia does his best to not look like a child sent to be grounded but it was hard, even his dedication to his duty could not stand to his desire to fly to your side and remain there but he relents.

And only when Pulcinella had revealed that no human would be able to access your cave because it was on top of Snezhnaya’s tallest mountain.

So he resigned himself to waiting. He resigned himself to whatever it was you would do once you returned, resigned himself to lose you because Tartaglia is many things but he was never one to hurt his loved ones.

And then as always you overturn his expectations, you welcome him, you forgive him and then you make him fall for you all over again and Tartaglia resents you a little bit for it.

(It was a lie, he could never bring himself to resent you.)

The change started from there, he tests the waters, gauging how much you can take before you drew a line before him. He stands too close to you, hands on your waist or any other body part, sleeps in your room during away missions more often than not until the two of you begin sharing a room then a bed. You don’t care about the rumors, the speculations, you love his siblings and Tartaglia could see a future with you.

And then Liyue happens.

-- 

It goes like this, you are assigned to oversee the operation in Liyue and Tartaglia is to take the Gnosis. He reports his findings to you and you give him leads.

He follows and eventually befriends the funeral parlor consultant. Then he learns about you. Snippets of a history written in blood and separation of lovers, and between father and son. Just as you’ve left your traces in Snezhnaya’s history, you’ve left your touch in Liyue’s tea houses.

And it leaves a bitter taste of jealousy in Tartaglia’s mouth.

He thinks of your guqin, named Sīzhuī, meaning to remember. 

He thinks of your new red robes sans the fur, your red forehead ribbon. 

“The adeptus had loved the mortal man enough to slaughter his way through 100 clan elders to save a single mortal who walked away from the path of righteousness.” 

He thinks of everything you gave up for one man and Tartaglia wants that for himself.

And yet he does nothing about it. Instead he devotes himself to the mission, enjoys the time between preparing for his next move and doing his day job at the bank with spending it with either you or Zhongli. He doesn’t ask you about the little details in your life during your tenure as an Adeptus.

He doesn’t ask the questions he wants.

Because above all, Tartaglia had always respected you so he waits until you can tell him everything. In the end, it takes a fight between the two of you before it happens.

--

“I don’t want to involve the weak.” 

“...I’ll draft up another plan then.”

--

Any other person would have been hurt by the lies, the deception, and the manipulation. Tartaglia isn’t any other person.

He is rational and meticulous when it comes to his job as a Harbinger, and he recognizes this event as part of it. It chafes at him but ultimately he can carry on with this blight in his reputation. And that was the thing, it was supposed to be blight in his, not yours.

Not the romanticized hero Liyue made you out to be, not the upright and honorable Harbinger you are.

Tartaglia can take it. He can afford being used as a scapegoat, can weather out his role as a villain in Liyue’s history. He cannot, will not, however allow your reputation to be tarnished.

He rages, he schemes, he makes a scene but all of it is for nothing. Not when it's your scheme he is up against, not when you were so determined to make yourself a villain in this story. And for the first time, Tartaglia saw how big the gap between the two of you were. He thinks three steps ahead and you think ten.

He is no match at all and it burns him. Enough so that Zhongli had noticed and commented on it,

“Is it not better this way for you?”

“Xiansheng,” Tartaglia bites out “I’d rather not have them suffer at all.”

And it was the truth. Tartaglia would rather have his name drag through the mud than let you experience the scorn of the people you once sought to protect. 

Zhongli gives him a considering look and Tartaglia does his best to settle his agitation, to be calm as you once instructed him. Eventually Zhongli speaks,

“It is their good fortune to have met you in this lifetime” He takes a sip of his tea, staring into the cup, “Have you considered the reason behind their action?”

Tartaglia thinks of the stories of the romance between you and your former almost husband. The 100 lashes that left a deep scar on your back, your eventual departure from your clan and the service of Rex Lapis. He thinks of the shape of your love and it leaves him reeling.

He leaves a mora pouch on the table and makes his way to you, to your side and he wants to beg for forgiveness, to demand you to stop because Tartaglia does not require your sacrifice.

He just wants you.

--

Years ago, you resigned yourself to never step foot in this place. Accepted that perhaps Liyue would never be your home from the moment everything you held dear slipped through your fingers.

But Fate was a funny thing.

Here you stood in the ancestral hall, sitting before your Father and Mother’s stone tablet. Staring blankly at the curling smoke of the incense with a heavy heart filled with regrets.

Your cousin sits beside you, the clan leader after your departure and Fú Shě’s eventual ascension.

“Uncle regretted it.”

“Mn.”

“The night before he died, he called me in his room. I wasn’t born yet when you left or when tang ge disappeared but I grew up hearing stories of you.”

You gave her a sad smile.

She laughs it off, a rare personality among your reticent clansmen, it was a welcome one, “You were somewhere between a cautionary tale and someone to look up to. The clan elders said that your love was the perfect example of what it means to love deeply and what it means to suffer for it.”

You watch her twiddle her thumbs, exhale and continue on, “Uncle told me that if one day you returned, he wanted you to be written back to the clan genealogy. He regretted punishing you for what you did. That he made it seem like you had to leave with nothing on you except your savings.”

“We are cultivators, I would have survived nonetheless with my meager savings.”

“You shouldn’t have” She insists, and their is righteousness in her eyes, in her conduct, in her bones, that empathizes with the people “I can’t condone you for killing 100 of our clan elders but I can understand why you did what you have to do.”

You smiled at her, feeling the knot in your heart disappear. Because this was what you had wanted back then, when faced with the option to uphold your duty or abandon your beloved. You just wanted to be understood for your actions, to not be painted in any other light beyond loving someone deeply. There was no righteousness or depravity.

There was only you seeing your beloved suffering persecution and wanting to save them.

“Thank you.”

She smiles at you and just like that years of grievances are put to rest. There is no father, no mother, or brother to return to but your heart is at ease and free of suffering. You look at your cousin, the clan leader, and asked her,

“What should I call you?”

She smiled and answered, “Birth name Xīnjiān, courtesy name Zhīyuàn.”

“Xīnjiān to have a strong heart, and Zhīyuàn to know peace” You showed your appreciation for her name, praising it, “This clearly shows your parents' wishes for you. To have a heart that never wavers and to always be at peace.”

You look up to your parents' stone tablet, at your brother’s mini statue and silently bid them farewell and an apology. To your cousin you say, “The clan is in good hands, with you at the helm even the disappearance of Rex Lapis would not hinder the clan's future.”

This time you leave your clan home, not with a barely healed back, a broken heart and grim determination. Instead you step out of the gate with your back straight and head held high, your robes are still red, your forehead ribbon still bearing the golden qingxin.

You are welcome to return but you knew deep in your heart that your home lies elsewhere. There was no need to have your tarnished reputation to blacken your clan’s doors.

You slowly walk your way down, the golden gingko leaves falling as the winds rustle the branches. You think of your past, the choices you made and the choices you will make. Despite the uncertainty of what the future holds your footsteps are light as you walk down the thousand steps of your former home.

“Our clan loves deeply,” Your father once said, voice somber and looking at a painting of a mother you’ve never met “almost like a curse.”

And then he turned to you with a smile, equal parts sad and happy, “but with the right person it is a blessing.”

“Bàbà, what do you mean?”

“It means that with the right person our love would not cause suffering either to us or to our spouse.”

Tartaglia stood at the bottom of the stairs looking up to you, and then he ran up the stairs meeting you halfway and closing the gap between the two of you.

You understood then what your father had meant, that day in his study.

--

At the end of it all, Tartaglia asks the one question he had always feared,

“Do you still love him?”

You clutch his hand tight and answered, “Always. But it doesn’t mean I don’t love you either.”

Tartaglia doesn’t speak.

“I’ll always love him, but it isn’t the same way as it was then. I used to think that I’d never be able to love again, that my time had stopped when they died,” You’re too afraid to look at Tartaglia so you settle your sights on the scenery in front of you “and then I met you. Without realizing it, my time started moving forward and this heart of mine started beating again.”

You smiled and intertwined his fingers with yours, hands tightly clasped together as if fearing separation.

“To have met you, in the lowest point of my life, is my greatest fortune.” 

And it was the truth. You didn’t know what you would have done if Tartaglia hadn’t appeared in your life that day. If he hadn’t pestered you.

He pulls you back to him and you let yourself be pulled, crashing into his chest.

“I love you” He declares “I want to spend everyday with you, crossing swords with you, I want to be the first thing you see in the morning and the last thing you see at night.”

He lifts your face, hand gently holding it and stares deep into your golden eyes and bares his heart out for you, “I don’t need you to sacrifice yourself for me, I just want you.”

You looked at him with astonishment, your face burning bright red from his admission.

“Columbina, back then I’ve always wanted to sleep with you!”

The two of you stood at the other end of the terrace occupied by Zhongli and the Traveler. You could bear to look at him, not when your head felt light and your heart felt like it could fly up any moment. Not when it felt like you can ascend right now from the sheer happiness of Tartaglia loving you back.

“I’ve never been in love before. I-I know that I can’t compare to him but for me it has only ever been you! I love you, I fancy you, I cherish you! I want you more than I want to dominate the world! I can’t live without you!”

“...”

Tartaglia took your hand and placed it on his chest, above his heart, “You told me once, if I can’t tell by the face then listen to the heart. Then listen to mine. I want to do it with you every day. This isn’t just me joking or a momentary fancy. I just love you so much that I want to sleep with you, I can’t feel this way towards anyone else but you!”

Through his warm chest, and rough fabric of his uniform, you felt the rapid beating of his heart.

“Columbina, I want to do everything with you, you can do anything to me and I’d accept it as long as you’re willing!”

“...willing…” You mumbled, head bent and hair covering the sides of your face.

“That’s right! I’m willing to accept anything you do to me!”

You stepped closer to him, curling up in his arms and Tartaglia saw the red tip of your ears and slowly, ever so slowly it dawned on him as you spoke clearly with a slight tremble in your voice,

“I am willing.” 

You smiled, soft and small that one would almost think they were seeing things but they weren’t. Even as an adeptus you had rarely smiled, few people over the course of your life had seen you smile. They could even be counted on one hand.

But today, Tartaglia saw you smile like a glaze lily that was unfurling its petals at night.

Zhongli, the Traveler, Paimon, and countless others who were looking your way were stunned into silence. No one expected to see you smile after Osial’s release, and the Qixing’s announcement.

【Folklore】

There is a famous statue of lovers in Liyue and Snezhnaya, two immortals facing each other, one holding a forehead ribbon on his hand and the other holding the other immortal’s hand on his.

The two statues depicted Tartaglia the Warrior, and Hǎiān Xuězhù Zhēnjūn. It is said that worshiping one statue alone would bring misfortune. Don’t believe it? Then rub the forehead ribbon on Tartaglia’s hand, kowtow three times to Hǎiān Xuězhù Zhēnjūn and then propose to your lover only to get turned down.

Or buy a lottery ticket, rub Tartaglia’s hand and then wait for the results only to miss out on the jackpot. Therefore, if one wasn’t particular in worshipping the two it was better to stay away from them and just show your respects from afar.

However, if you were to worship them both together, offer them a cup of nuptial wine then a miracle would happen. The two would expel each other’s misfortune and bring forth twice the fortune.

Legends say that the reason for this was that the two immortals had loved each other deeply, Hǎiān Xuězhù Zhēnjūn was said to be willingly sacrifice himself for Tartaglia, and Tartaglia was said to be unwilling in letting his beloved suffer. Therefore, to worship one over the other was to deny their deep love for the other, conversely to worship both together was to acknowledge their deep love for each other.

Therefore regardless of station in life, many would come to worship Hǎiān Xuězhù Zhēnjūn and Tartaglia together, but most common among them were lovers and people who were heartbroken. This was because it was well-known, most especially in Snezhnaya and Liyue, that the two were fated to each other.

It was the reason why the common depiction of the two was facing each other, ten fingers clasped together with Hǎiān Xuězhù Zhēnjūn red forehead ribbon intertwined in between their fingers.

[forcebewitht]

Maybe The True Poor Unfortunate Soul...Was Me Before I Had You (Aftermath Overblot!Azul Ashengrotto X Reader) 

It all happened too fast. One moment, Azul was going on a rampage and stealing the prized possessions of other students with his Unique Magic, and the next, he was Overblotting- and then kissing you? It was all rather sudden, to say the least. Azul's tentacles remained rather possessively wrapped around your waist after his lips had floated off yours. His eyes were wide and wild, a mad grin now tugging at his lips as he gazed at your expression. Some grunts from your previously unconscious friends were soon heard as they began to stir awake once more. Your friends were now rising back to their feet and glaring at Azul, preparing their magic pens for another assault. Azul soon locked eyes with Jade and Floyd after briefly tearing his piercing gaze from yours. He began to reach out with a hand to his childhood friends, his grin only extending further. "Let's make a deal, my friends...come on….make a deal with me…" Floyd was the first to speak up, now taking a step closer to Azul. "Ummmmm, normally, I'd be tttoootttaaaallllyyyy okay with a deal. But right now? Not a chance!" Jade gave an affirmative nod, now stepping up beside his twin. "I agree!" Leona glanced over to a nearby barnacle attached to a rock. The gazes of the lion prince and Ruggie met, the pair now beginning to gather them into a pile. The Savanaclaw duo began to smirk, Leona sharply whistling to gain Azul's attention. "Oy, calamari. Put the dumb Herbivore down, okay?" Without waiting for a reply, Leona and Ruggie began to pelt Azul with the barnacles. You had to shield your head with a hand, one of Azul's tentacles assisting. However, one soon made bare contact with the male's forehead. He grunts out in pain and utter shock, now allowing his tentacles to unfurl from your form. 

You soon drifted back down to the ground, now making your way over to your group. Ruggie and Leona shared a chuckle and a high-five. "Shishishishi~.....that'll show him!" With Azul distracted from the barnacles and your retreat, Floyd and Jade move in with their own attacks in an attempt to calm Azul down. Azul's tentacles lashed out in an attempt to subdue the gang again, to no avail this time. Given how effective it seemed to be, Ruggie and Leona went right back to chucking barnacles at Azul once more and mocking him all the while. You couldn't help but to shake your head a bit at the antics. It didn't take too long for Azul to be overwhelmed. Now, the male allowed a hand to trail to his chest, gripping it tightly. He heaved out a breath, his eyes looking deeply pained. Already, you could see those odd sparkles emanating from the very heart of the octopus as you had with Riddle and Leona prior. "Whyyy….why….why does everyone bully me…? Because I'm just a stupid….clumsy octopus? I….just wanted to be strong and show them all that they're wrong…I-i...I just..." Your eyes widened as you glanced behind you. Leona was the only one who fully met your gaze. An encouraging nod from the prince was all you needed. You swam over to Azul, now slightly bending your knees to get to Azul's now rather shrunken level upon the ocean floor. Azul had tears streaming down his cheeks, a few light sniffs being heard. You extend your hand to the male, casting a shadow over Azul. The octopus allowed his head to tilt up, a light from up above lighting up your features. You looked beautiful…like a stunning little mermaid-like angel…Although it took Azul a moment, he soon wiped away a tear with a tentacle. His hand lightly shook as it reached out and soon interlocked with your own. You lower yourself down to the male's level, now bringing your arms around him in a hug. Azul's body shook as he gripped you tightly, the tears now flowing as his sobs increased. A bright light began to shine over the both of you, your friends having to shield their eyes from the massive glare. And just like with Leona and Riddle before, your vision soon began to turn as white as the light around you and Azul…

Your vision slowly began to return as you found yourself being surrounded by memories of a younger Azul. You could soon hear Azul's voice echoing around you as scenes from his past played out. "I was only ever meant to be inside an octopus pot." You turned your head to a memory directly in front of you. Some mer-children seemed to be teasing Azul and calling him names for being an 'ink barfer'....you also couldn't help but notice that Azul was the only non-mer-child in the room...your lips thinned into a line at the names. You couldn't stop your heart from clenching at one of the children mentioning Azul's 'creepy legs'. It clenched even further once you saw the baby version of Azul, rather tiny and a bit chubby, crying at the remarks. "Unlike other merfolk, I had legs covered in suction cups. I was an introverted child who could never speak his mind…no good at school or sports, I was left all alone." You turned your head to stare at Azul, who was now standing directly beside you and watching right along. His gaze was pained yet cold and relaxed as he went on. "...A dumb...clumsy octopus." Your head turned back to bear witness to even more accounts of Azul being bullied. Azul had placed his hands upon his hips at the mention of him being 'lame' for not being able to play tag as easily as the others. His eyebrows furrowed at the sight, his tone taking on a slight growl. "...Ohh, really? Then why don't you just leave me be and go run around playing your pointless games!" Azul seemed to take a moment to inhale, then went on once more. "...I lack the tail to swim quickly. But, instead, I have 10 arms and legs that I can move at will. That means that I have five times the ability to write than those two armed fools. I can spit out the ink needed to write spells at any time." Azul's voice began to increase in volume as his rage flared. "Just you wait. Someday, I'll put you insolent mers in YOUR PLACE!" Your head soon whipped back to watch as you heard a familiar yet slightly higher pitched pair of voices. It was the Tweels. Just from seeing his friends appear, Azul seemed to relax a little more beside you. Floyd swam up to Azul first, Jade following. Their paired gazes were curious, and maybe even a little concerned. "Heeeyyyyy, little octo~ why are you holed up in there?" The child Azul seemed to curl up into a little ball even further, yet partially turned his head to the twins. "Go away….shut up and leave me alone…" Jade swam a bit closer, now glancing around in wonder at what Azul was surrounded with. "Wow...amazing! All those shells are covered in spells and curses. Magic to shapeshift, magic to steal someone's voice...Have you been using those 8 legs to write all these this whole time?" Though the child version of Azul's gaze seemed to soften lightly at Jade's words, he soon curled up protectively once more. "Don't touch them! You wanna get inked?! I'm gonna keep studying and become just as powerful as the Sea Witch! So don't get in my way! Just- go away!" Azul was allowing his tentacles to curl around his lower body in a self-hug, his eyes flared with a great passion as he turned back away from the Tweels. Floyd elbowed Jade, motioning to Azul. "Jaaaddeeeeee...that octopus kid is pretty funny!" Jade turned his head to Floyd and nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Yes, Floyd. He is very interesting." You felt your heart melt a little bit at the warm smiles Floyd and Jade had when staring at the back of Azul. 

"I kept studying like that until several years later…" The scene began to shift to Junior High. Floyd was the first to begin to speak in this memory. "I heard that a kid in another class got sssuuuupppeerrrrr skinny and even got a girlfriend!" Jade nodded at his twin's statement. "And in exchange, his beautiful tenor tone has gone completely silent. In another class, someone with frizzy, unruly hair suddenly became a silky blonde." Floyd nodded, now chatting away in his own bit of curious excitement. "In exchange, she lost her tail that swam so fassssttt~" The Junior High version of Azul glanced up every now and then, the faintest of smirks tugging at his lips. "Mmm...you don't say?" Floyd and Jade shared a look, Jade arching a brow at Azul. "And, Azul...isn't this all your doing? I can't imagine any of those airheaded fish being able to pull off such impressive spells, after all." Floyd nodded again, now leaning a bit towards Azul. "Yeeaaaahhhh, and you've been studying magic fooorreeeevvveeerrrrr!" Unable to hold back his own mischief any longer, Azul covered his mouth lightly as he erupted into snickers. "Hehehehehe...ahahahahahaha! Is that so? Aaahhhh, I can't believe I've been found out already. You two are correct, nonetheless. I finally perfected it! All I need is for someone to sign this magic contract...then I can take whatever ability I so desire from them...I call it- It's A Deal! With this, I can make them all kneel before me...everything you've ever taken pride in..its now mine!" The Azul in the memory erupted into cackles as the scene began to fade out, Jade and Floyd both smirking at each other and Azul's triumph. The Azul standing with you took a moment to adjust his glasses, his gaze lightly trailing over to meet yours. "...I haven't forgotten what happened for even a moment. Those who made fun of me. The faces of those who bullied me. I bid my time, closely observing them from a distance. Their weaknesses, their desires….I know it all! Press on their weak points and I can take their little fast tail. If I know what's bothering them, I can take their beautiful singing voice." Azul soon fully turned to face you, his eyes growing rather crazed once more. "With those golden contracts, I am unbeatable! I am no longer the dumb, clumsy octopus left all alone!" A sense of calming seemed to wash over Azul as his eyes flickered up and down your form in silence. "...Everything is under my control with this power. All those who ever made fun of me...will now kneel before me." A rather warm, sweet smile graced your lips. You calmly stepped towards Azul, whose eyes lightly widened at the sight of you growing nearer. You soon brought your arms around him once again, removing the fedora from his head to pat him soothingly. Azul allowed his eyes to flutter shut at the sensations, and both of your visions soon faded to black as you remained in each other's arms…

"Aaaazzzzzuuuuulllll, Shrimmmmmmmpppppyyyyyyy~" You soon heard Floyd's voice directly above you as Azul startled awake beside you. Your eyes flutter open as both you and Azul sit up, now sparing a glance down to your still interlocked hands. A swift blush seemed to overtake Azul's features at the gesture, already gently removing his hand from yours. Jade and Floyd both began to smile at Azul and tell him just how happy they were that he was okay. Your own friends, along with Ruggie and Leona, checked you over. Floyd began to tease Azul as to what he had said and done, to which Azul seemed rather worn out and confused. You and Jack soon began to tell Azul just how intelligent he was for his notes. After a few more remarks from the others, a geek out from Azul over his old elementary photo, and Grim devouring another odd black stone that had appeared after Azul's Overblot, you and your group soon went your separate ways. 

A few days later, you all met back up again to head back to the museum to see the sights and return the photo you had stolen for the deal. Floyd and Jade began to rattle on about dinglehoppers amongst other things. Azul took the photo in his hands, now turning the corner to return it. You soon follow, allowing your hands to tuck behind your back. The octopus soon stopped, turning his head to face you. "Ah….[Y/n]. First of all, may I formally apologize for my….rather odd outburst. And secondly, there is no need to doubt me….I will properly return it." Azul placed the photo back onto the wall. He placed a finger onto the section where he had used to be on it, now letting said finger slowly drag down the painting. "....I thought that if I could erase all of the photos from my past...my time spent being bullied as a 'dumb, clumsy octopus' would fade along with them. The Sea Witch never hid her dark past but faced it and worked to overwrite her reputation. I kept saying that I wanted to be like her, but...in the end, I couldn't even accept who I was and tried to act like it never happened." Soon, you smiled, tilting your head to the side at Azul. You gently took one of his hands in yours, now gazing into his eyes. "You have a strength greater than any magic. I honestly think you're pretty great without having to steal from others! We cannot change the past, Azul. We cannot change the harsh words that those children pelted you with in your youth. But...we learn to keep our heads and move on. And look at you! You do it in spades! You're intelligent, savvy, have a literal business that you're running within the school...you don't have to steal anything to be a great person. You just keep being who you are." Azul seemed taken aback by your sweet words. His eyes began to water, a swallow being seen that the male took in. A soft, relieved smile soon graced the lips of the octopus as he held your gaze. It was the most genuine you had seen him yet. "...There is no need for you to flatter me, dear. I...only wanted to get back at those who had made fun of me for so long." You tilted your head to the side as an eyebrow perked up. "Can no one say anything without you thinking it's some sort of trick? Hmmm. Anyways, I thought you were pretty cute in that form, anyways." Azul choked, his eyes widening. A blush had taken over his face again, to which he raised his hand and mockingly adjusted his glasses in the hopes of hiding it. "C-c-cute?" 

You couldn't help but giggle at Azul's reaction. Azul's lightly coughed into his arm. "Right. I….must admit, [Y/n]. You are certainly more sly than I took you for originally. Though I am not pleased with the result, that plan with Leona and Ruggie was a work of raw genius. I am almost a bit peeved that I did not come up with it myself." Your eyes roll as you meet Azul's gaze once more. "Yeah, and I didn't need to steal anyone's Unique Magic to do it. Just grab some pots and pans and start banging them while he's trying to sleep- and you're set." You and Azul began to laugh in unison at the image, Azul nodding his head. "Mmmm...mental note, swiftly close doors when you spot [Y/n] with a pot or some pans." You jokingly raise your free hand and begin to swish it in the water to illustrate your point. That got Azul cracking up all over again. "Mmm Mmm Mmm. Keep that up, [Y/n], and I may have to kiss you for such underhanded methods." "You already did." Azul chuckled and hummed, allowing a finger to tap at his chin. His free hand seized you by the waist, now pulling you towards him. His gaze was locked onto you below him with a devilish smirk now tugging at his lips. "Mind if I jog my memory for a moment, Angelfish~" Your lips met, Azul sweeping his opposite hand that held you over your hair to brush it out of the way. Some baby seahorses suddenly swam into the museum and swam in a circular motion around the two of you, sweeping both your hair and clothes up around you. Azul's lips soon floated off yours as he met your gaze once more. Right as he was about to speak, a wolf whistle was heard from behind the two of you. "OOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHH SNNNAAAAAPPPPP, AHAHAHAHAHA! AZUL AND SHRIMMMPPPPYYYY SWWWIIIIMMMIIINNNGGG INNN THE SEEEAAAAA~" Azul's face erupted into a blush as he released a startled grunt at Floyd, who was now making hearts with his hands. Jade soon chuckled and swam up beside him to finish the line. "K-I-S-S-I-N-G. Heheheh~" Azul was quick to facepalm and now regrab his fedora, placing it upon his head to cover his blush. He released you and set you upright, clearing his throat. He muttered under his breath. "...They will never let me live that down." You giggled once more. Soon, you were called over by Ace and Grim, who were now all marveling at some sort of sea dragon. As you swam off, Azul puffed out a breath and watched you swim off, a warm smile gracing his lips. "...Maybe I was the true, poor unfortunate soul all along...before I met you." 

((Hey Hey Hey, everybody! The second part to the Overblot!Azul x Reader is now here! I hope you all enjoyed! Next up is the part two for Leona, so stay tuned and stay awesome~ 💖🌹

[occasionaltouhou]

[ran voice] it’s not illegal if they don’t catch you

Yakumo Yukari had shown up that morning unannounced and declared that she would be staying over for a few days.

It was hardly unusual for her to do that; and at this point, Hakugyokurou had a guest bedroom permanently reserved for her, so it was simply a matter of Youmu clearing out the dust and moving all her bags into the room. More than once, Youmu had wondered why Yukari didn’t simply use her abilities to immediately tailor the room to her liking, but she assumed that it would be a needless waste of energy when Youmu was right there.

Still, it was mid-afternoon when she returned to the main room to announce that her work was done.

Yakumo Ran, the gap youkai’s shikigami, was dutifully pouring tea for Yukari and Yuyuko. Youmu wondered if Ran had the same kinds of thoughts that she did about Yukari’s abilities, then decided against it; even ignoring the shikigami’s programming, she was far too diligent to have any such thoughts about her master.

As she made her announcement, Yukari grinned one of her catlike smiles, the kind that you could never be sure what they really meant, and remarked, cheerfully, “Finishing that early means you might be able to take Youmu on the shopping trip with you, Ran.”

Ran glanced at her, but said nothing, so Yukari continued.

“We’ll need a lot of food this time. I’m planning on staying for at least a week, if not longer. And we might have some events, too~! Not that it isn’t lovely to just spend time in your company, Yuyuko dearest, but it’s important to keep things interesting, isn’t it~?”

“Of course, of course,” replied Yuyuko, drinking her tea and smiling to herself. “Maybe we could invite the Prismrivers over… get an exclusive performance from them.”

“Those ghosts with their music to sway the listeners’ hearts, hmm~? Oh, that would be very interesting to see…”

Youmu, seemingly forgotten after her entrance, began to turn around, but Yukari’s voice interrupted her mid-step.

“So, Ran, you should take Youmu now, hmm? After all, we might even be able to get them tonight, and we wouldn’t want to be short on food.”

“Of course not, Lady Yukari. I’ll head out immediately.”

“Make sure to get everything on the list, Ran~ I won’t take any excuses this time.”

“Of course, Lady Yukari.”

Ran sighed, almost imperceptibly; the kind of sigh that only the long-suffering servant could identify. Youmu would have glanced at her in surprise, but she was still barely keeping up with the conversation as it was; any conversation between Yuyuko and Yukari tended to give her a headache.

So instead she followed Ran outside, still dressed in her somewhat dusty outfit, and watched as the kitsune stood in Hakugyokurou’s courtyard and began to make gestures in the air, gestures that left orange trails of flame that began to take on their own shape, a writhing, blazing golden symbol floating in the air.

“Wh-where are we going?” asked Youmu.

Ran glanced down at her, but didn’t cease in her casting. “Outside.” Then, she sighed again. “Lady Yukari always overdoes it when she comes here, even taking into account Lady Yuyuko’s appetite… and there’s only one place to get all the food we need.”

Youmu supposed that was true; every time that Yukari came over, they inevitably threw a party that involved dozens of dishes she’d never seen before. She considered herself lucky that it was Ran, rather than her, who’d had to manage the kitchen in preparing them.

Then the actual response to her question caught up with her thoughts.

“Outside?” repeated Youmu. “Like… Outside outside?”

Ran nodded, and made a final gesture. The seal began to spin, and as it spun, the world around them was swept away, and another one took its place; a world of cold white lighting and tiled floors, and seemingly endless metal rows filled with food.

Ran had changed in appearance, too; her indigo tabard had become an indigo jacket, whilst her white dress had become a white shirt and ankle-length white pants. Her ears and tails, too, had vanished… and yet, there was still the illusory impression of a pale golden haze around her; that something was there, and it simply wasn’t visible.

But before she could think any longer, Ran was already walking off quickly, taking a list from a pocket she hadn’t had a moment ago and grabbing something that resembled a wheelbarrow made of thin pieces of metal. By the time Youmu had begun to collect herself, the kitsune had already begun to remove things from the shelves and put them into the odd wheelbarrow.

As she went, Ran meticulously ticked each item off the list, but even as she did, she seemed to be putting things in without ticking them off. And normally, Youmu would have asked, but this strange, bright world was overwhelming her with other things to pay attention to. As she walked next to Ran, she took a small metal can off one of the shelves and looked at it. Its labelling was written in a language she didn’t recognise, but there were pictures of tomatoes on it, so she supposed it must be full of tomatoes. Still holding the can of tomatoes, she followed after Ran once more.

“Where are we?” she asked, as they turned into another corridor lined with cans.

Ran hesitated for a moment. “It’s… somewhere in America,” she replied. “It’s just a supermarket. Lady Yukari likes Western food, and they have a lot of it here, so it saves me multiple trips.”

Youmu nodded, then was silent for a moment. “What’s a supermarket?”

“It’s like a market, but bigger.”

Youmu nodded again. “And they have lots of these in America?”

“Quite a lot, yes.”

Ran went back to silently filling the wheelbarrow, and then another thought occurred to Youmu.

“Am I allowed to be out here?”

Ran glanced down at her, and smiled. “Allowed?” she repeated. “There’s no rule preventing youkai from leaving Gensokyo, it’s merely risky. In Gensokyo, our existences are secure; outside of it, we’re at the mercy of human belief. That’s why I placed us under an enchantment, even though there’s no-one around.”

“Are there normally more people…?”

“Of course. But it’s early in the morning over here, and the workers who should be filling the shelves have all decided to take a break.” Ran smiled to herself, and something in her smile was more Yukari-like than one would expect; a clever, sharp kind of smile, almost bordering on cruel. “The cameras won’t see us, and even if someone does happen across us, they’ll just think we’re meant to be here. Humans are so easy to manipulate… they only want to see what they expect to see, so if you give to them, they’ll give you no trouble at all~”

“M-miss Ran…?”

Ran glanced back down at her in surprise. “My apologies. I usually do these trips on my own, so I’m used to talking to myself… And you’re half-human, yourself, of course. Although, you aren’t so vulnerable to illusions as these ones are.”

“Mhmm…” There was another silence, and then, “Miss Ran, why do you serve Lady Yukari?”

“Why I chose to become her shikigami, you mean?”

Youmu nodded, and for the first time, Ran stopped moving the now-overstuffed wheelbarrow.

And then she grinned, and this time it truly was a sharp grin, with sharp teeth, and glittering golden eyes.

“When a kitsune has nine tails, she’s become truly powerful -- but she’s also reached the limits of her ability. Lady Yukari offered me to go beyond those limits, and I accepted, without hesitating. Now, let me ask you -- why do you serve your Lady Yuyuko?”

Youmu opened her mouth to reply, and then frowned to herself. Ran took up the handles of the shopping wheelbarrow and resumed walking.

She supposed it had been a rude question to ask, Youmu thought, and she should have expected that kind of answer, but she’d never really thought about it before. Serving Yuyuko was simply what the Konpaku family did; she’d never had to think of a reason for it.

For the last few minutes of the journey there was silence, until they returned to the slightly-more-open space where they had initially appeared, and Ran began to cast a blazing symbol in the air once more.

“Lady Ran?”

“Yes?”

“Is it alright… if I don’t have an answer?”

Ran raised an eyebrow. “I think you do have an answer, though. You just might not recognise it for what it is.”

Youmu looked blank for a moment, and Ran smiled; not her fierce smile from earlier, but a calmer, gentler one. “I confess… I lied a little bit, earlier. That’s why I chose to become Lady Yukari’s shikigami, certainly, but that’s not why I stayed. And the truth is, she’s a difficult employer… she leaves me with a lot of work, and is rarely ever grateful. Even with the power she offers, I could simply refuse to take it, and leave…”

The mark was almost complete once more.

“But the truth is, it’s interesting to follow her. And it’s fun, in its own way. And what about you, Youmu? Do you have fun doing what you do?”

Youmu thought for a moment about the work she put in around Lady Yuyuko’s home, work which was rarely acknowledged beyond an offhand comment. Then she thought about the parties and events she accompanied her to, and invariably had to clean up after, and often had to put up with teasing during.

And yet--

Whilst she was having them, she was certainly having fun, right? Fun she wouldn’t have been able to have, with people she wouldn’t have been able to meet, in places she wouldn’t have been able to go, if she weren’t Lady Yuyuko’s attendant.

Indeed, why had she even hesitated?

“Of course I do!”

Ran grinned again, a smile that was washed away with the rest of the world as that stark white world was replaced with the cool shades of the Netherworld’s evening.

The wheelbarrow had somehow become an immense sack which Ran held over her shoulder effortlessly as she strolled back into Hakugyokurou; then, she unfurled it, and Yukari immediately began to critically examine the pile of food.

After a moment, she nodded. “This should be satisfactory. As usual, excellent service, Ran.”

“Of course, Lady Yukari. And Miss Youmu’s assistance was greatly appreciated.”

“I’m sure it was~” replied Yukari in a singsong voice.

“Of course it was, Yukari,” said Yuyuko, nudging her with her shoulder and smiling brightly. “Youmu’s extremely capable, so I’m sure she did a fantastic job, as always!”

And somehow that made all of it worth it.

[spyvstailor]

Need 70 More

Sorry to do this, guys, but even though I thought I placed a one time stop payment on a bill that was coming out, it came out anyways, so my bank account is now overdrawn. I need just 70 more to get to a comfortable spot in my friggin life. However! Good news is you all reached my original goal! So life is doing good things for me!

HUGE THANKS AND SHOUT OUT TO EVERYONE WHO DONATED AND REBLOGGED! SOME OF YOU GAVE LIKE WAY TOO GENEROUS FOR MY SHITTY WRITING AND IT DID NOT GO UNAPPRECIATED OR UNNOTICED! GOOD THINGS WILL COME TO YOU IN LIFE FOR YOUR GENEROSITY. I LOVE YOU GUYS!

Donate to my Paypal. Also I now have a Ko-Fi at the suggestion of someone dear to me, so here’s the link to that. It’s kind of barren right now, I’m working on it to offer people things they might like in order to earn my keep.

But as promised, here is my give so I may take. Chapter Two of Graveyard Dirt & Salt!

Chapter Two

The bell tower was covered in bird shit and looked like it was going to give him some kind of disease, but the view from it was worth the filth.

If he stood, with his back to the trees that grew in thick to the South of the convent, the back end as he'd come to call it, he could see straight down the cattle trail that lead from the convent gate, almost all the way down to the highway beyond the woods. To his right, to his left, to his hindquarters, was nothing but trees. Thick woods to give them cover.

They were both a blessing and a curse.

In his mind, if anyone took beef with them, the trees would be perfect cover for lurking invaders. But on the other hand, the trees kept their little convent a secret from the rest of the world.

Kicking some of the larger detritus out from his new nest, he unfurled his bedroll and began to make himself at home. If he stayed longer than a week, if he lasted longer than a week, he would give it a good, solid scrub down, but for now it was a place to sleep without worrying about having his ass snacked on.

Besides, he was pointedly warned against trying to settle into the cloister itself, the dorms where the nuns seemed to sleep. So he had to make his bed someplace other than the infirmary.

The clacking on the wooden ladder up to his perch alerted him to the fact someone was about to visit and he settled on his haunches, wanting to appear non-threatening to the woman who was about to appear.

A blonde head popped up into view, followed by a blue jumper dress.

The young nun carried with her a plate with bread smeared with what looked like honey and she smiled sweetly at him.

“Mother Mena wanted me to bring you some food, she said you'd be hungry.” The woman said.

“That's very sweet of you, thank you.”

Setting the plate in his lap, the woman turned to leave.

“So...tell me about you nuns here, what's your deal?” He called out to her, mostly desperate for some conversation after months of solitude.

The woman turned. “Oh...uh...well, what do you...um. I'm sorry, I'm Mary Elizabeth, I'm a novitiate, which means I haven't taken my vows yet. We're a Cisterian order, which means we value stability and simplicity.”

“And you don't ever...do anything beyond pray?”

“Well, we garden and take care of our chickens and hives, mostly we supply...well, we used to supply vegetables and peaches from our trees and eggs and honey and bees wax to the local farmer's market to support our convent. Most of our funds go to charity in the church, people starving in other countries, disaster relief. And we reflect, on God, on man, on everything in between.”

Splitting the bread slice in half, he handed her the larger piece and bit into his.

Mary Elizabeth took the offered piece with a shy grin and squatted down like a lady to join him, knees together, skirt covering anything inappropriate, one hand on her knees to ensure this.

“Is it really bad out there?” She asked as they chewed in silence. “Some of our order went to the market nearly half a year ago and never came back.”

He nodded. “I can't give you any hope, they're probably gone. Swept away with the dead.”

The woman's pretty little face puckered in dislike of that idea, but she soldiered on bravely.

“It's like Revelations. The dead rising. Scares the dickens out of me, if I'm honest.”

The woman was so sincere in her fear, as she rightly should be, but it troubled him to think of her now knowing the full extent of what was going on outside the convent walls. The Lieutenant had been forged by war overseas, by rigorous training and by all he had seen and done in his forty-three years and he couldn't imagine being in the dark while the whole world fell to pieces around you. Then again, he was always the one running into the danger, as others fled.

This slip of a girl, barely old enough to vote, it seemed, was scared of the rotting corpses that walked across the land and he understood how she could be. It was bigger than them, out of control, there was nothing left but the dead and the vultures who picked at the corpses of society. The wildfire had spread, the towns and holy places had fallen.

Downing the last morsel of his bread and honey, the Lieutenant stood up and pointed at her. “Well, either you're closing your eyes to a situation you do not wish to acknowledge or you are not aware of the calibre of disaster indicated by the presence of a pool table in your community.”

The woman clutched her hands together and beamed happily. “Oh! I love The Music Man!”

“Ya got trouble, my friend, right here, I say, trouble right here in River City,” he went on playfully.

Mary Elizabeth blushed shyly. “Mother Mena says you're the trouble around here.”

“She's getting a hunter and protector out of this deal. Missy should watch her tongue.” He returned, easing his ass against the railing and folding his arms.

“I'd better get going, I have to do the washing tonight and I wasn't really supposed to talk to you.”

“It was nice to talk with you regardless, Lizzie. But don't get yourself into trouble on my behalf.”

The woman giggled. “You too, Lieutenant. And I won't. I think it's uncharitable to pretend you don't exist. Seems a little cruel. Not that I judge Mother Mena! She's kind, she's just...scared, I think.”

“We're all scared. That's the human condition. Fear of being the prey to a greater predator and for the longest time man was at the top of the foodchain. Mind yourself going down now,” he cautioned, moving to offer her a hand down the ladder, before remembering that he wasn't to touch any of the nuns, so he drew his hand back quickly.

Mary Elizabeth beamed at him. “Thanks for the offer though. I like a gentleman.”

For days the Lieutenant hunted for the nuns, but he was like a ghost at the convent. The nuns saw him, the spoke of him in hushed whispers, but no one dared approach him.

He'd bring them an animal sacrifice and they'd send someone up to his tower with a plate for his share of the meal, but he was still awful lonely.

It had taken an entire week before another nun spoke to him.

“That is a household worth of baggage, Lieutenant.” She said.

He had just returned to the convent with a successful bounty, two ducks and a goose for dinner, when Sister Mary Agnes approached him. He had met her the other day when she was the one to bring him some food. He liked her matronly look.

“I got lucky,” he returned, preparing to clean the kills.

“I meant that pack on your back,” she said, kneeling beside him. “Doesn't it ever get awful heavy after all that walking?”

Glancing at his pack, the one he went everywhere with, he grinned. “It's my apartment. Everything I own is in that bag.”

“How on earth can a man travel with so much on his back? Don't you ever get tired?” She demanded.

“Mais, when you don't have a home, Sister, you make do. My apartment is on my back, ready at a moment's digging.”

The woman stopped them both, her dark eyes grave. “What's it like out there, Lieutenant? Really?”

“Hell on earth,” he admitted. “If it's not full of the dead, it's lonesome and abandoned. Torn apart like the aftermath of a child's temper tantrum. It's like walking through a bad dream.”

“Sounds like things are bad.”

“Worse. Whatever you're thinking, it's worse.”

Mary Agnes frowned. “I sometimes wonder why, when everything has turned to dust, we're left here holding the bag, as it were.”

“We're the survivors,” he explained. “It takes a lot of hard work to become the survivors. A lot of loss and a lot of pain, but we're here.”

“I suppose that makes sense. They always said the broken ones triumph.” She nudged him kindly. “So what broke you?”

For a second he was thrown, gunshots echoed in his memory. Shouting and verbal abuse, memories of his mother, of everything that had shaped him came flooding to the forefront of his mind, before he managed to recover himself.

“Why, sister,” he teased. “We are all broken children under God's eyes. Doesn't take much more than a dead dog or a bully in our childhoods.”

“I pried,” she returned simply. “I'm sorry. But humour will only deflect for so long, Lieutenant.”

“Mais,” he sighed. “It lasts long enough though.”

He was on the wall later that evening, watching an uggie as it shambled from out of the woods towards the wall he was on.

Poor little lady in her bathrobe, one slipper still on, the other long gone.

“Didn't expect to be caught in your jammies, huh?” He asked the thing.

It grunted and made a mad dive for the wall just under him, hands clawing at the stones.

“Never actually thought people even wore bathrobes,” he went on calmly. “Maybe I should start wearing one. Look like one of those old Hollywood actors. Cary Grant, yeah?”

“What on earth on you doing up there?” Missy asked from the ground behind him.

“Bird watching,” he returned casually. “Wanna come up?”

“And fall off that wall and break my tail in this habit? I think I'll pass on the offer. Being up there in jeans is one thing, but this habit is a wind catcher for sure.”

Turning around he held out his hand to her. “Come on. I won't let you fall.”

Hitching her robes to her, she moved to a spot where she must have propped an old ladder in order to climb up.

He moved to help her onto the wall, once more forgetting that he couldn't touch the nuns.

She held out her hand as he moved to grasp her elbow and stood on the wall, peering down at the uggie in her jammies.

“Do you suppose they're in pain?” She asked.

“I don't think so, think they're running on instinct and nothing else.” He said, running his hand over the butt of his rifle a little nervously, ready to steady Missy at a moment should she prove correct and the wind grab her. “Reminds me of this fact I heard about octopi and how if you put their corpse by salt their little tentacles react, but they're dead as rocks. Like that, I suppose. Them folks in Japan eating them basically raw, and their little tentacles grab at them chopsticks. Little undead squiggles putting up a fight.”

“This is a person,” she murmured. “She had things to do, goals and dreams.”

“We're all born astride the grave.” He stated.

Handing her his rifle, he pulled out his knife and jumping off the wall, over the thing, he came up behind her and knocked the uggie against the stones, holding her there so he could drive his knife into the base of her skull. It sunk heavily to the ground and he eased the poor woman back into a dignified laying position. Kneeling by the corpse, he wiped his knife blade on her bathrobe, before looking up to find the nun peering down at him quietly.

“Do you want a hand with her?” She asked.

He moved to help her down, his large hand sliding around her waist so that she could hop against him to break her fall somewhat, the other day she had precariously climbed down and nearly fell, today she was wearing her full habit, she offered him a hard look as he set her on her feet.

“That had better been my only option of dismount,” she warned him.

“Unless you want to break your neck today, then yes, ma'am.”

Kneeling over the corpse, Missy pushed the woman's hair out of her face and peered upon the rotted visage.

“Last rites?” He joked.

“I can't give those,” she said. “I just wanted to look at the poor woman. I killed so many of these the past few weeks, I never had a chance to pause and give thought to them. I honestly thought it was for the best to put them out of their misery. They are abominations after all, but they were once God's children.”

Kneeling with her, the Lieutenant nodded. “Bet she was someone's mama. She looks like a mama.”

“I hope her babies are alright, but from what you tell me, I don't imagine they are.” She was quiet for the longest time, before adding, “you'll keep my girls safe, won't you?”

“If you want me to,” he replied. “I haven't got anywhere to be.”

She looked at him for the longest time, those pretty blue eyes of hers shining and hard, despite being the bluest things he had ever seen. Set against her white chocolate skin and framed by luscious dark lashes, she was hell in a habit. If he had to gauge an age on her, he would wager she was around the same age as him, maybe a little younger. She certainly aged well if she were any older, and maybe she had, she was in charge of her convent, after all, and it took a while to advance in any profession.

“Then if you advise me on how to keep them safe, I will listen, but I will not compromise our faith for anything. The bell will stay silent, and we will do a patrol of the wall, but I will not expect any of my girls to harm anyone or anything without knowing for certain that it won't damn them. Some of my nuns still have their faith and I want them to keep it strong.”

“Fair enough,” the returned with a grin, holding out a hand to shake.

She considered it for a moment.

“Nobody went to hell for shaking a Cajun's hand,” he teased.

“Yet,” she murmured with a very, very small shine in her eyes.

Reconsidering his dirty hand, the Lieutenant wiped it on the front of his shirt, before offering it again.

This time she took it, shaking gently.

“You know this reminds me of this story my mamere used to tell me,” he explained, grunting as he scooped up the dead woman. “About this--”

“Sorry, your 'mamere'?” Missy interrupted.

“My granny.” He said, moving the corpse onto the muddy cattle trail of a road leading up to the convent gate where a fire would burn better without starting the woods ablaze. If they were going to keep collecting bodies, he would have to begin burning them. That pile in the woods would soon be doing nobody no good. “She used to tell me about this old man named Gilliam, used to beat the hell out of his old hound. Never deserved the poor thing, so one night, my...uh...granddaddy, he goes over, dead of night, dark as Hades--”

“I don't mean to cut your tale off at the root, I'm certain it's a wonderful parable, Mister Lieutenant, but we are about to burn a body here? Perhaps some wise words or none at all?” Missy suggested.

The Lieutenant was quiet, settling the corpse up in the middle of the muddy trail, before reaching for his lighter. He set the woman ablaze, burning her clothing, knowing full well the parchment paper flesh that remained on her corpse would go up in smoke easily.

Standing back, he glanced around cautiously, knowing that uggies liked to pop up when least expected.

Finding them alone, he turned his attention back to the burning body.

“Uh, dearly beloveds we are gathered here today to, uh, burn this--”

“Are you marrying the corpse or laying her to rest, Lieutenant?” The woman demanded with another very small twinkle in her eye.

“Mais, girl, go easy on me. I ain't a priest.”

“Honey, even the heathens had idols they worshipped before the Christian God,” she pointed out.

“So I'm lesser than a heathen and yet greater then a toad, yeah?” He winked at her.

As the smoke began to choke them with the scent of burning flesh, the nun turned on her heel and headed back to the wall, hiking her hem up as she went tiptoeing through the mud.

“You're certainly bigger than a toad,” she said. “Now use that might and give me a hand up and over, please?”

She squealed an undignified and rather girlish noise as the Lieutenant came up behind her and scooped her up and at the wall with his hands.

“Mind your hands,” she warned coolly as soon as she recovered her dignity.

“Sorry,” he said easily, shifting his left hand from where it cupped her inner thigh, “there's so much skirt to you that I wasn't sure where the safest place to stick my hand was at. I guess I aimed wrong.”

“I nearly had to abandon my vows for you to make an honest woman of me,” she declared, hoisting herself up onto the wall.

Beaming up at her, the Lieutenant said, “hey, now, Missy. Mind your tongue before the devil cuts it off.”

As soon as she was safely on the wall, he said, “now hand me that rifle you got.”

“Aren't you coming up?”

“Well, I promised you some venison now didn't I?”

“This late? Lieutenant, it's almost dark.”

“Best time of day to hunt for deer, yeah?” He winked at her and held out his hand for the gun.

That night the Lieutenant stood in his bell tower watching over the land.

He had to admit, at night like this, with only the cicadas chittering, the ruined world was beautiful still.

As much as he loved people, he enjoyed his solitude as well and with the stars in the sky and the land absolutely still, he was able to just think his thoughts.

“If it keeps on rainin', levees gonna break,” he sung to himself, wandering around the small perimeter of the bell tower, watching all sides for anything moving in the shadows below. Raising the rifle he peered down the scope at something that shifted, it appeared to be shrubs and the wind. “If it keeps on rainin', levees gonna break.”

In the woods he knew they were there, lurking, shuffling, ambling, tripping up and falling. Maws open to devour whatever they fell upon, hands clenched into death claws at their sides, the muscles having retracted and dried up in death.

“And the water gonna come and we'll have no place to stay,” he lowered the rifle as an uggie emerged from the woods.

It was just a shadow really, shuffling from the darkness, finding the wall with its chest, bouncing back and staggering to regain its footing. For a moment, the thing stood dumbly, head bent down, before it seemed to lift its chin and sniff the air.

It wasn't worth it for him to shoot the thing, his gun wasn't much use at times like this, the sound only drawing more to his location, but he liked to use the scope to watch as the dumb thing sort of collapsed against the wall.

From his perspective, he could only see the top of its head, but the manic bobbing told him it had caught their scent and was trying to find a hole in the wall to get at dinner.

Tomorrow he would have to reinforce the wall properly, a few sharp sticks, some hole traps, anything to give them an edge on the dead. He'd head into the nearby town to find something that still drove that he could back against the wrought iron gate.

He wasn't sure about that one, most of the time the vehicles didn't turn over at all. Having never pondered it, he supposed that maybe the gasoline had gone south. He knew it could stale, had tried to drive old lawnmowers enough times to know you had to drain the gas out from the tank if you weren't planning on using them for a good, long while.

Maybe he'd find one though. He only needed her to limp to the convent, it didn't need to win no races.

“Good morning, Lieutenant.”

He had emerged from the church the next morning to Sisters Dymphna, Felicity Perpetua and Mary Claire standing around the steps in the cool shade of the north side.

“Good morning, ladies,” he returned. “Aren't y'all not supposed to talk to me?”

“Only when Mother Mena's not around,” Dymphna replied, her brown eyes sparkling. “Are you heading out?”

“I was planning on doing a little work on the wall today. Did you need me to head out for something?” He asked, coming to stand in the little clutch with them. So far he had found the younger nuns more receptive to his presence than the older ones.

Except for Sisters Gertrude and Boniface, he adored Gertrude and her cats and Sister Boniface was a Quebecois French woman, so he felt a sort of kindred spirit in her.

“Maybe we wanted to do something for you for once,” Sister Mary Claire said with a smile that could brighten a stormy day.

“Something for me?”

Sister Felicity Perpetua, who had been standing with her hands behind her back, produced a child's lunch kit and held it out to him proudly. “We made you a lunch if you're planning on leaving.”

“You have to stay strong,” Sister Mary Claire added. “An army marches on its stomach.”

“Plus, you know, we appreciate you being here for us.” Dymphna added.

There was something sincere in their eyes, something which made the Lieutenant give a slight, unsure pause, before he accepted the lunch kit.

“Thank you,” he said. “I'm going to be just outside the wall working on it today, but maybe at some point I might hike it into the nearby town, see if I can find a big enough truck or some kind of van maybe.”

“What for?” Felicity Perpetua asked.

He motioned for the nuns to follow him towards the gate. They all stopped before it and he motioned with the hand holding his lunch at the rusty gate. “She's solid enough, but old and if enough of those things out there pushed against her at once she could go. I'm going to back a heavy girl up against her and reinforce it.”

The nuns were quiet for a bit, before Dymphna said, “I'm going with you.”

“Nope,” he declared firmly.

“Yes,” she insisted. “You can't go into the town alone with those things out there.”

“I lived this long on my own, I'll be fine.” He stated. “You nuns don't go anywhere outside these walls without me. My job is to keep you safe, your job is to make my job easier by staying here and being your cute little selves.”

“What if something happened to you?” Felicity Perpetua whispered. “My soul would know no peace.”

“Don't you have chores?” Someone asked from behind them, causing a couple of the nuns to jump.

Sister Thomas Aquinas, a stern faced woman of about seventy stood behind them, her arms full of blankets.

The three nuns all ducked out quickly, but not before Dymphna grasped his forearm with a strong, small brown hand.

Looking at him with a hard, glittering stare, the older nun seemed to be sizing him up for a moment, before handing him the blankets.

“Here,” she said. “We found some of these to spare. I thought you might like to keep yourself warmer up in that bell tower.”

“Thank you.”

“You're welcome,” she said tersely, before turning and walking off, muttering to herself about a 'fox in the hen house'.

He missed the days when he could go out into the woods and just sit and enjoy the peace.

Now, whenever he was in the woods, he was vulnerable and on edge. Always prepared for something to stagger out of the underbrush.

There was a time, when he was a boy, he'd duck into the woods by his rural home near Eunice, what wasn't swampy bayou, was pretty little woods filled mostly with cypress and oak trees, the forest floor was always good and moist, carpeted with the soft needles that the bald cypress trees shed.

The smell of the forest was always the way he found peace. That scent of good, clean country air, with a little harmless stank from the bayou, coupled with the scent of the damp earth. It was home sure enough and he missed it.

Georgia had it's own smell. Less bayou, more fresh water on the air. Rivers and streams and creeks. Nothing like the stagnant scent of the swamp.

He supposed, it was perhaps a little more fresher air, though it just wasn't home and that made all the difference.

Georgia was True Love Ways compared to Louisiana's Oh Boy, if Buddy Holly songs could be used to compare the two. Both good songs, though one was a little more melodic and slow-paced, the other had a bit more get-up-and-go.

“Boy, what are you doing to my wall?”

The voice came from above him on the wall and he looked up to find a furious nun standing there, swaying a little unsteadily in her habit and the mild wind.

“Just reinforcing it, Missy,” he said.

Philomena sighed. “We look like an ancient castle with these sharp sticks poking out.”

Stepping back, he admired his work and nodded. “Yeah, palisades, that's where I got the idea. Figured if it kept them old Celt tribes out, it'd work for us.”

“It doesn't look very inviting,” she muttered.

“It's not supposed to be a welcome mat,” he replied.

“Well, I suppose that's fine, just please don't hoist yourself on your own petard,” she said after a moment of thought.

He wiped his hands off and dug through his pack for the lunch the nuns had packed him. “You up there for a reason?”

“Sister Mary Claire says some of the younger nuns expressed interest in helping you outside these walls.”

“And you want to slap my wrist for tempting them?” He used the gate to climb onto the wall and sat beside her to eat his lunch.

“Not entirely,” she admitted, easing down a little clumsily beside him. “I think...well maybe you could be permitted to teach those of us interested in a few ways to defend ourselves from the abominations.”

Plucking a half a carrot out of his mouth, he crunched on the other half for a good long while. It was so delicious. He had forgotten what fresh veggies tasted like.

“Really?” He finally asked.

She stared off down the cattle trail before them, and he followed her gaze. The path was hung over with oak branches and Spanish moss, pretty for the late summer, but it was tainted by the dead. Always and forever tainted now. Somewhere out there in those pretty trees and green shrubs they ambled and shuffled and staggered and crawled, gnashing and drooling for their next meal. And somehow it worried him more to think about them in the broad daylight, then at night where all the boogins and monsters belonged.

He supposed those uggies all had hopes and dreams and plans set aside now for one thing and one thing only. Same as him, same as the woman sitting beside him, same as all the nuns in the convent behind them.

“Our wills and fates do so contrary run,” he began with a sigh, reminded by something she had said earlier.

Beside him Missy was quiet still, eyes on the world beyond her walls. “You're well read, for a soldier.”

“I'm sure you had to read Hamlet in high school too,” he teased. “A lot of it just stuck with me, I suppose. Don't be fooled,” he went on with a grin, “I'm just a simple country boy from the bayou.”

“I grew up in Savannah,” she said. “Have you ever been?”

“No,” he admitted. “Didn't get a chance before all this and I damned well won't go now. It'll be overrun.”

“We've been so secluded here,” she admitted gently. “I thought though, that someday I would be transferred out to a school or a...missionary, but I suppose this is my life now.” She hurried to add, “not that I'm complaining. I will bear this with grace, only that I miss the outside world, God's real world out there. Art and books, beauty created by the hands of His creatures, so much lost now.”

The Lieutenant stared at the woman as she continued to gaze wistfully out at the trees. He was so struck by how easy she made being beautiful look. “Has anyone ever told you that you that you look like Vivian Leigh?” He asked.

For a moment, the woman's face read irritated, then puzzled, before she finally smiled sweetly and looked down. “Tell me, Mister Lieutenant, is it nature or force that compels you to flirt with every woman you meet?”

“Sometimes it's not just women,” he teased.

“Oh!” She offered him a scolding look, though her face was still mostly smiles and amusement.

He beamed.

[ohmytheon]

Two Souls (bnha daemon au, 5/7)

title: two souls

summary: There is nothing more special than the bond between a person and their daemon, but some people are inexplicably drawn to other daemons as well. Ochako wants to prove to the world that she and her daemon are capable of becoming heroes while Katsuki and his daemon are ready to take it on. What neither of them counts on is that same world pulling them together, creating a bond stronger than anything thought possible.

notes: This might be my favorite entry of the whole week. At first, I didn't know what to do, but then it hit me and I loved writing it.

Notes on daemons Katsuki Bakugou: Eurasian Wolf - Mako Ochako Uraraka: Asian Golden Cat - Hayato

Day Four: Supernova

There was so much fire, but there was even more smoke, making it difficult to move. Ochako's helmet did little to filter it out and was making it harder to see where she was going. In a fit that she knew a few of her friends would scold her for, she pulled up the visor of her helmet and then held a hand over her nose and mouth. With her face exposed, smoke attacked her senses, but she was at least able to see better.

With that in mind, Ochako continued her search on the floor. So far she'd managed to get twenty-two people with their daemons and six pets out of the burning building. Of course she couldn't touch any of their daemons - it was a taboo even in situations like this - but she'd found out that she could cancel out a daemon's gravity as long as their person was touching them. She didn't know why and didn't question it. All she knew was that she could save people and she had to save more.

By the time she finished her sweep of the top floor, she was coughing. There was no one up here. She was terrified that she had missed someone, but she couldn't waste any more time in here. It would collapse at any minute and she couldn't take the smoke any longer. Before she could find a window though, she heard something burst from the stairwell door down the hallway. When she turned to look in that direction, she was stunned to see Mako shaking off soot and pieces of wood.

"What are you doing?" Ochako demanded as she rushed over to the wolf daemon. "Is Bakugou in there?"

Mako shook her head and grimaced. "No, he's down below. He had to save a few people from the floor below us." Meaning that he hadn't been able to take her down with him. It wasn't an impossible distance for their soul bond, but it was bound to be painful. She was handling it with strength and dignity though. Ochako knew that some daemons would be crying and writhing in pain, not to mention how Bakugou felt. It was hard to use your quirk with your soul so far. "Where's Hayato?"

"Not in the building," Ochako said. "I didn't want to bring him in here."

It stretched their bond to the limit, but she handled it better than most. The distance they could manage with their bond had always been a little longer than normal, but once she had started using her quirk on herself more, they'd had to learn to push it even further.

Despite giving her an incredulous look, Mako didn't comment on it. Instead she turned back from the door that she had burst through. "There's a woman in the stairwell. She won't leave without her suitcase full of photo albums and that thing is damn heavy. Her squirrel daemon freaked out the moment she saw me and won't listen. Idiots."

That had to be the last person in here. Ochako didn't think she could manage anyone else, not with the way she was hacking. She stepped into the stairwell and spotted the woman leaning against a large suitcase and close to falling unconscious from smoke inhalation. Instead of wasting time arguing with her, Ochako used her quirk to lighten the woman and the suitcase and then dragged them to the nearest window. She released them from the quirk and then activated it again so that only a little bit of their weight remained. It had taken her three years to figure that out. With that done, she was able to push them out the window and watched as they slowly floated to the ground.

"Okay, I think that's it." Ochako turned to face Mako. "We can go down the-"

There was a loud crash that forced Ochako to duck and shield her face as the ceiling in front of them crashed. Embers splashed her arms, burning through the thin material of her costume. It stung, but she grit her teeth and dealt with the pain. When she lowered her arms, she could only gape as she saw that the route to the stairs was completely blocked off by burning debris. The way to the stairs was cut off, which meant that there was only one way down.

"You have to get out of here!" Mako exclaimed through coughs. "I'll find another way!"

Ochako turned to Bakugou's daemon, who was crouched low, as if she could somehow get closer to Bakugou. No doubt he was suffering down there as well, but he probably didn't know where his daemon was. This was too far for them. The strain was too much. She could see Mako struggling with the smoke as well. If she was having difficulties, then Bakugou was surely feeling the effects. If something were to happen to her…

There was only one thing to do.

Taking a shallow breath, Ochako lowered herself down onto her knees in front of Mako. "There is another way, but…" The wolf's eyes were bright, glowing through the smoke as the fire around them reflected in it. She wasn't afraid of Mako, not like she had been in the beginning, and maybe she sometimes got closer than normal, but never like this. Their eyes were locked on one another's and while bits of determination and fear could be seen in her eyes, there was also trust. "I won't do it if you don't want me to though."

Mako huffed out air through her nostrils. "No, it's…the best way. I understand. I just thought it would be…different."

"I know - it's not fair - but it's my turn to protect you two." A nervous chuckle slipped out of Ochako and she smiled weakly. "Bakugou is going to be furious with me."

Somehow, despite being a wolf, Mako's face softened. She was more expressive than any daemon she had ever seen. "Trust me, he really won't."

Even though the wolf was comforting her, Ochako still felt nervous as she stood up straight on shaky legs, a scared feeling bubbling in her gut. Despite the fire and smoke surrounding her that screamed at her to hurry, she hesitated when she stretched out a hand and closed her eyes. It couldn't be helped. She was about to do something that she'd never done before - that Mako had never done before - and all of it without Bakugou's permission and away from Hayato. It was unheard of. It was wrong on every level.

It was the only way to save them.

Hold on, Ochako sent along her bond to Hayato.

What are you doing?

In the end, Mako made the decision for them all as she pressed her head into Ochako's hand. An explosion of heat hotter than any fire burst inside of Ochako, so strong that it nearly sent her reeling and she had to put a free hand on the edge of the window in order to keep standing. It wasn't painful though, as much as she'd feared. It was warm and powerful and so overwhelming that she wanted to bask in it forever. It was like standing in the sun after being in the cold for so long. She could feel his confidence, his insecurities, his pride, his fear, his strength…

With Bakugou's soul in her hand, Ochako could feel all the things that made him burn so bright and it made her want to burn with him.

And then, digging her fingers further into Mako's fur - into Bakugou's soul - Ochako jumped out the window and they fell together.

Katsuki had barely managed to carry the two kids out of the burning building before the exit exploded behind him. The children screamed in his arms, clinging to him as he bent down and huddled over them taking the brunt of the heat and explosion for them. Luckily it didn't hit him directly, but it sure as hell wasn't fun, especially when his shoulders and back were peppered with burnt debris. After waiting to see if there was another one, he unfurled his body and set the kids down so they could run to their parents.

When he turned around to assess the damage, his stomach twisted. The way in was gone. He could launch himself back up and get in through a window, but then he'd have to find Mako in time before the building collapsed. Their soul bond would allow them to seek each other out. Whether or not the building would stay standing for long enough was another thing. He could do it. He had to do it.

If something happened to Mako, he would die.

When he took a step forward towards the building though, a frantic voice cut in demanding, "What are you doing, Bakugou?"

Sweeping his head back around, he found Hayato glaring up at him. "What does it look like I'm doing?" Katsuki searched the area, but didn't see Uraraka anywhere. What was her daemon doing without her? Then again, what was he doing without his? They'd been forced to split up and test the full limit of their bond. It was eating away at him, making him think that she was on the top floor. How far had Uraraka parted from Hayato? He knew that she had a longer bond than most. "Where's Uraraka?"

"Still inside searching for civilians," Hayato told him. His voice was confident, but he couldn't hide the way his tail flicked or his whiskers twitched. He was anxious and for good reason. Uraraka was up there and he couldn't get to her. It would've been a lot more convenient had he settled as some sort of bird, but no, she had to have a cat for a soul. "Where's Mako?"

"Doing the same," Katsuki responded gruffly. "That's why I've gotta-"

The overwhelming urge to cough came over him, forcing him to double over with his hands on his knees as he seemingly tried to hack a lung out. By the time he stopped, Hayato was right in front of him, far closer than he'd ever been before. Uraraka was so friendly and warm, but her daemon preferred to keep his distance from even her closest friends, making sure to stay out of reach. Here, at the base of a building on fire, he was close enough for Katsuki to touch without even stretching his arm out.

Katsuki thought to make a sharp comment about it, but a painful tug in his gut sent him down on one knee and a gasp of, "Mako," was ripped out of him.

"You're at your limit," Hayato surmised worriedly. "Stay still."

"I can't," Katsuki ground out. "I have to-"

He could feel her emotions through their bond, as strained as it was. Earlier she'd felt frustrated - at having been forced to separate and maybe from searching for a way out or dealing with a stubborn civilian. Now, despite being trapped in a burning building without him, she wasn't terrified. There was a hint of fear in her, humming like a guitar string being plucked, but mostly there was confidence, trust, and excitement. It was how she felt when they were about to win a hard fight. The exhilaration for something more. He couldn't figure out why she was feeling that now. It didn't make sense for the situation.

What are you doing? Katsuki demanded of her, hoping she could hear him despite their strain on their bond.

Hold on, was all she said.

And then his whole world exploded in a supernova and he had to press both hands to the ground to keep from falling on his face.

Even though his eyes were closed, all he could see was light until it felt as if he'd drowned in it. When he was finally able to come up for air, gasping as he barely held himself up, he felt… Fuck, he felt lighter than air, like he could fly without using his quirk, like he was soaring with no fear of falling. A chill ran down his spine, making him shiver and his fingers dig against the concrete, but it was wholly pleasant. Warmth soon followed, cascading over him, until all he could feel was a sense of comfort. The only way he could describe it was like being pulled into the warmest hug, being promised that he would be protected, and believing it.

When Katsuki managed to glance up, he connected eyes with Hayato, who had frozen in place. There was an indescribable emotion in them. His legs were locked in place, his hair standing on end, and his tail sticking straight up. It was only a few seconds, but looking at Uraraka's daemon now, he felt the strangest sensation to touch him and, even stranger, he actually thought that Hayato wouldn't say no.

"Look!"

Katsuki couldn't have said who had shouted, but he knew where to look as the tight string between him and Mako began to loosen. He raised his eyes and let out a shaky breath the second he spotted her - and Uraraka. The two of them were floating gently back to the ground, Uraraka with her legs raised behind her. But what really caught his eye was the point of contact between the two of them. Uraraka was holding Mako's back with two hands, her fingers dug into the wolf's fur. Just seeing her touch Mako like that made him shiver again. Both his and Hayato's eyes were locked on them until they were touching the ground and Uraraka released them from her quirk.

Uraraka gasped as she pulled her hands away from Mako, as if she hadn't been breathing the whole time, and stumbled backward. She would've fallen on the ground had Katsuki not managed to rush to his feet and catch her by the arms. Her cheeks were redder than normal, but it could've been from being surrounded by fire. She nodded her head, letting him know that she was okay, and he let go of her, albeit reluctantly. After feeling him touch and use her quirk on his soul, he felt compelled to stay close to her.

However, the desire to wrap his arms around Mako and never let go was stronger, and so he did, He staggered over to her and fell to his knees so that he could slide his arms around her neck and bury his face in her fur. She laid her head on his shoulder and pressed it against the side of his neck and face. He didn't cry, despite the fact that every emotion in the universe was crashing over them and through their bond.

You're safe, you're safe, you're safe.

Katsuki honestly couldn't tell which one of them was saying the words, but it didn't matter.

Feeling like they were one again, Katsuki unraveled his arms and leaned back so that he could hold her face and look her in the eyes. There was something strange in them, something bright that he'd never seen before, and he knew right then. He glanced back at Uraraka, who was on the ground, hugging Hayato and close to tears. Nothing would ever be the same.

And he didn't want it to be. Neither of them did.

[theradiointukyshead]

Nostomania (if pairing is needed: bobbifitz)

Mutual Affinities of Organic Beings

Summary: The evolution of a friendship, from a beat-up couch in the Playground to a 7-Eleven in Singapore (or: Nostomania - intense homesickness; an irresistible compulsion to return home).

[excerpt]

Bobbi sneaks the occasion chip from him as she tells him stories.There’s that time she and Hunter hitch-hiked across The Great Plains to shake atail and ended up in Mexico with no passports, that time they accidentallyjoined a cult in exchange for protection, and that time Hunter got into a barfight with an Irish gang so she had to drag him away kicking and screaming.“Jemma would have loved to see that,” she remarks before snatching the lastchip with a grin, and it swells and swells until it fills up the empty airport.

He wants to tell her stories too, Stories-with-a-capital-S,the kinds that don’t include ancient monsters or dead friends or killer robots,but he can’t, so he holds his tongue.

[read more on ao3 or below the cut]

i.

The stranger is on the couch again, her feet propped on thecoffee table. She’s leafing through a trashy magazine, and only notices him whenhe trips over his own feet trying to leave the room. His tea sloshes,uncomfortably hot on his wrinkled shirt. He reaches his bad hand up to smoothit out.

“Can’t get away from me fast enough, huh?”

There’s mirth in her voice, but also a bit of hurt. His earsburn. He motions to the Xbox, bounces on his heels as if to shake loose the nervousness.“I – uh – I was gonna play, but thought it might – uh – disturb you.”

She tosses the magazine aside and looks at him, a softening,unfurling sort of curiosity. “You’ll have to be Player Two,” she says, resolute.Turns on the console, hands him the spare controller. And that’s that.

ii.

The stranger doesn’t come into his life by sneaking up onhim. Rather, she barrels into him, and it’s a blinding flash of sunlight hairand sunlight smile, her presence suffusing like crisp summer. Two in themorning and she drags him, half asleep on a workbench, out of the garage andinto bed. Three in the afternoon and they are on the floor in the common area,hunched over a game of Operation, his left hand tracing the motions until thebuzzer no longer buzzes. The stranger becomes Agent Morse becomes Bobbi, whichbecomes Barbara when he’s in a particularly playful mood. He’s still Fitz toher though, the syllable somehow familiar and easy on the tip of her tongue.

One evening she pokes him with the corner of a folder. “Sayshere you never passed your field assessment. Something about abysmalhand-to-hand combat.”

That is how he finds himself being thrown repeatedly ontothe padded floor.

“Again,” he demands, but the effect is somewhat lacklusterwith his face squished between her forearm and the sweaty training mat.

She backs off, extends a hand toward him. He takes it andclambers to his feet. He holds her gaze. “You were holding back on me. Don’t.”

So she doesn’t. It wouldn’t be the only time she hurts him.

Then comes the real S.H.I.E.L.D. Then comes strange facescrawling all over the base, some new, some old, but they might as well be new.She’s standing in front of him and he can’t see past the betrayal that cloudsthe space between them. A childhood wound begins to ache, somewhere deep in hismarrow. This time, at least, he gets to be the one who walks away.

“We’re not the only ones after Coulson’s toolbox.” She patshis shoulder. “Be careful out there, Fitz.”

For a brief second he melts into her touch, seeking thereprieve from reality it offers. In the end, though, he shrugs her hand off.“Goodbye, Agent Morse.”

iii.

The next time he’s alone with her, she’s in a hospital bed,tangled in a million tubes, bruises red and raging on her skin. His anger suddenlydissipated, he sinks into the seat next to her. They exchange a smile that istwo parts water.

“I lost half a lung,” she begins, already out of breath. “Ilaid there in my own blood, wheezing, and I thought of you.”

The fluorescent light hums quietly. He brushes a thumb acrossthe back of her hand. “We’ll all learn to breathe again eventually.”

“You did. But what if I won’t?”

“Hey,” he says, and thinks of something golden, something light,“I had a little help, didn’t I?”

iv.

She’s on crutches and he’s on his last legs chasing anotherdead end. He catches a red-eye back from Yucatan, arriving at the base justbefore dawn. In the gym, she is doing simple stretches before her morning PTsession. He knows to go to her before she even asks.

His duffle bag hits the floor with a dull thud, and then he’scrying, gracelessly, the kind of crying that’s more half-choked sobs thantears. Every fiber of his being needs Jemma back, but every fiber of his beingis tired and lost and he just wantsto stop existing awhile. The process of getting through time is agony.

Rubber-clad metal thumps against the floor. Bobbi limpstoward him and leans on her crutches, shifting her weight away from her bad leg.She doesn’t say anything; she just stands there beside him while he clutcheshis heart and bones and other things that break.

Minutes – or maybe hours – pass before he looks up to meether eyes.

“I asked Coulson for a transfer,” she tells him. “Startingnext week, I’ll be working in the lab.”

And it sounds so much like moving on that for a moment heselfishly resents her for it. But then she bends down to adjust her knee bracewith a grunt, her crutches awkwardly in the way, and it occurs to him thatthey’re both stuck in the same hole, trying to claw their way out to find theirpurpose again.

It’s easier when they do it together.

He wipes away the last of his tears. “We have some timebefore your PT. Want to go to the lab and help me set up your new work station?”

He hears the clank of metallic crutches as they fall, andbefore he knows it her arms are around him, a hand stroking his back in slow,circular motions. She feels like the view outside his childhood window, hethinks idly, steadying her so that they lean onto each other.

“We’ll find her, okay?” she murmurs against his hair, voice asubdued kind of glow. “We’ll find her.”

v.

February is meant for restless sleepers. Especially thosecloudy evenings, when night falls in dim and icy veils, the sky awash with arolling, tainted black.

He wakes covered in cold sweats. The bedside alarm reads3:58 AM. His nightmares are always blue lately, but the tail end is a fieryred, punctuated by the sizzling sound of a burning corpse. It’s been burningfor months.

The couch in the common area is not empty. He flops downnext to its sole occupant, grateful for her presence but a bit sad too. No onedeserves to be awake alone in the long hours before dawn breaks.

Bobbi pushes a half-finished mug in front of him. “Here,drink this,” she offers. Black tea with too much milk and too much sugar. Justthe way he likes it. He wonders if she made it for him, if she’s been waitingfor him this whole time.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” she laughs, a response to hisquizzical expression. “My knee and the cold don’t get along. I couldn’t sleep.Figured you couldn’t too.”

“How long have you been up?”

She simply shrugs. He nods, a mutual understanding for theintricacy of silences, and hands her back the tea. They pass it back and forthuntil there’s barely anything left, the residue leaving a lonely smudge at thebottom. Then he turns on the Xbox and they content themselves with somemindless FIFA matches.

(All the first-person shooter games have been thrown away.No one ever questions why.)

When they head back to the living quarters, the sun is juststarting to rise. Sleepy light drifts in through the window as they walk pass,slanting on her face in bars of gold. There’s this unbidden fondness for herthat overwhelms him, and he bumps her shoulder to whisper a soft thank you. Sheanswers by nodding toward the sunrise. A clean slate. February is meant forrestless sleepers who are trying to forgive themselves.

“Good morning, Fitz,” she says.

Neither of them knows that it’s the last private moment theyhave together.

vi.

After Russia, he stops doing shots. It’s not a consciouschoice, not really. In Bucharest, he gets a tequila shot and just picks at thelime for a while, the dull ache like a phantom limb that he knows is there butcan’t quite touch. Then he gives up and orders one of those garish florescentcocktails instead.

In the afterglow of it all, tangled between the sheets, helistens as Jemma tells him about an undead monster who looks like Grant Ward whoacts like Will. “It’s awful, Fitz,” she concludes in a hushed tone, hershuddering breath ghosting his skin. “I’m just glad at least Bobbi and Hunterare not caught up in this mess.”

He hums in agreement.

“Do you think they’re doing okay?” she asks, the sheetsslipping off her shoulders as she sits up to meet his gaze. She’s holding her immenseheart in her hands like a little bird, and god,maybe the universe is forever expanding and maybe we’re all dying as we live,but she’s the only one who makes it less devastating.

Overwhelmed, he surges up to kiss her. They’re both smiling,he can feel it against his lips, contentment unfurling in a haze. When theypull apart, he answers in earnest, “I don’t know, Jemma, but I hope they’rehappy too.”

vii.

Eventually, they all carry on living. He does shots againand they re-stock the fridge with Bendeery. It’s not a form of forgetting; theyjust learn to re-shape their lives around the dull ache, which is only noticeablewhen they choose to remember.

This evening, however, he’s acutely aware of the ache in theempty.

After Radcliffe, he and Jemma decide to leave for a while.Just make a run for it, like if they’re fast enough maybe they can leave thehurt behind. In the blur of it all, the headwind stinging their eyes, they findthemselves with an overnight layover in Changi. Except for a bored cashier in a7-Eleven down the walkway, they’re alone in the terminal.

Jemma’s dozing off, a backpack wedged between her head andthe floor, but he can’t sleep, so he decides to wander for a while. It’sstrange, this dreamlike atmosphere of an airport after midnight. He feelssuspended between places, out of sorts. Usually he appreciates the chance toslip into a state of not-being, clear his mind and all that, but now the liminalityjust makes him sad. He likes belonging. He likes it when their team felt likehome.

He goes to 7-Eleven for a bag of chips. Outside, night fallsmore heavily on the tarmac, a vague yet persistent melancholy. He takes his timein the aisles just to keep the cashier company. That way, the loneliness iseasier to bear. They don’t make small talk over the counter, choosing to sharea smile instead, but when he reaches for his wallet, he hears a voice behindhim.

“On me,” it says, languid and syrupy and gold. “I still owe you a shot.”

viii.

It’s Bobbi, of course. He shouldn’t be that surprised. Here,in a country not even visible on the maps, where sharp skyscrapers are builtupon mottled history, people are bound to run into the ones they lost.

They sit by a giant glass panel that overlooks a vacanttaxiway. It has begun to drizzle, and raindrops trap the terminal light withinas they trickle down the glass like liquid diamonds.

Bobbi sneaks the occasion chip from him as she tells him stories.There’s that time she and Hunter hitch-hiked across The Great Plains to shake atail and ended up in Mexico with no passports, that time they accidentallyjoined a cult in exchange for protection, and that time Hunter got into a barfight with an Irish gang so she had to drag him away kicking and screaming.“Jemma would have loved to see that,” she remarks before snatching the lastchip with a grin, and it swells and swells until it fills up the empty airport.

He wants to tell her stories too, Stories-with-a-capital-S,the kinds that don’t include ancient monsters or dead friends or killer robots,but he can’t, so he holds his tongue.

They watch the rain in silence. He glances at her from timeto time, and is struck by how far away she looks against the backdrop of sultrytropical rain, spilling over the foreign skyline that’s stirring at thetail-end of its dream.

After a while, she nudges him gently. “Hey,” she says. “Whatare you thinking?”

You, actually, hethinks. You hogging the Xbox. You makingdreadful tea. You steadying me when my hands are not steady. You dying on ahospital bed and you hobbling around the lab learning to walk again, battle-scarredand heavy, heavy hearted. You believing in me believing in you. When I think ofyou I think of broken and persistent light, and it makes me want to scream tosilence the absence of you between my ribs. It’s not the same without you. Thisteam doesn’t feel like home because the roof caved in after you left. Lay downyour load, take your heart home. Goddamn it, just take it home.

He inhales sharply. “Nothing.” He shrugs. “I was just wonderingif you are happy.”

Past the jut of her shoulder, he catches a glimpse of a few bleary-eyedpassengers shuffling into the terminal to catch an early flight. Down the walkwaytwo duty-free clerks fumble with their keys to unlock the store. Just likethat, the liminal inertia is gone, and slowly but surely everything movesforward again.

“Yeah,” she answers after a beat. “In a way, yeah, I am.”

[smartgirlsaremean]

The Camping Trip - Chapter 3

Fandom: OUAT

Relationships: Rumple & Neal, Rumple & Henry, Neal & Henry

Rating: T

Summary: Neal is determined to take Henry on a camping trip, and Rumplestiltskin is along for the ride. Neal just wants them to have a nice, normal, male-bonding-in-the-woods experience, but normal isn't exactly coded into the Stiltskin gene pool...

AO3

Chapter 3

Rumplestiltskin didn’t know why he didn’t expect these things to happen to him, honestly. He, a dark sorcerer, was on a camping trip with his magically-unaged son and his cursebreaker grandson, and there was no reason for this camping trip to be anything approaching normal. Still, when he left the campsite to walk about the woods and be absolutely certain there were no dangerous creatures waiting to pounce, he had fully expected to be able to make the circuit and return to his boys.

No such luck.

The gigantic gray wolf in his path growled, its teeth glistening in the moonlight, its ears flat against its head, its hackles raised. Rumplestiltskin held his hands up in surrender and carefully backed up a step, but the wolf snarled and took a step forward.

“Foolish human.”

Rumplestiltskin blinked and looked around before realizing that the guttural voice was coming from the wolf. He sighed. Of course it was a magical wolf. What else?

“Why do you hunt alone? Why do you leave your pack?”

“I’m not hunting,” Rumple insisted. “I’m merely...patrolling. My...pack is nearby; I wanted to be sure we were safe.”

The wolf growled again. “Never safe to hunt alone.”

“I’m not hunting.”

“You have a weapon.”

Rumple thought of the dagger sheathed and concealed in his boot and winced. “It’s not for hunting, it’s for protection. I never let it out of my sight.”

“You do not kill with this knife?”

“I never touch it if I can help it,” he snapped, and the wolf growled a warning.

“Mind your tone, human. I punish the foolish.”

“Papa? Papa!”

Rumplestiltskin whipped around to see Neal charging into the clearing, his crossbow at the ready. His eyes bugged at the sight of the wolf and he raised the bow higher, preparing to fire.

“No, Bae,” Rumplestiltskin said, raising one hand. “I’m alright.”

“Wolves?” Neal was incredulous. “There are rabbits and wolves in these woods and nothing else?”

“Amaroq is no ordinary wolf.”

The wolf’s stance relaxed a little, its ears pricking and its hackles lowering a little. “You know my name.”

More crashing footsteps and then, “Whoa! Did that wolf just talk?”

Neal huffed but didn’t take his eyes off the wolf. “Henry, I told you to stay at the camp.”

Amaroq shifted his eyes from the men to the boy. “You are teaching your young to hunt.”

“I...yeah. Yeah, that’s it exactly.” Neal lowered the bow an inch or so.

Meeting Rumplestiltskin’s eyes, Amaroq relaxed entirely. “You are truly not alone.”

Rumplestiltskin took a deep breath, rocked by sudden strong emotion. Neal stood by his side ready to protect him. Belle waited in Storybrooke to welcome him home. Henry was willing to spend time with him. “No,” he rasped. “No, I’m not alone.”

“Very well.” With a flick of his tail, Amaroq turned and dashed back into the woods, his enormous paws making almost no sound even in the dry undergrowth.

Neal let out his breath in a whoosh and lowered his bow all the way. “Holy crap, that was terrifying.”

With a small smile, Rumplestiltskin turned to his son. “This from the man who survived Neverland?”

“Neverland was filled with teenage boys. I know how they think. Giant wolves? No idea.”

“Amaroq is an Inuit creature that stalks and kills those who hunt alone at night.”

“Never heard of it.”

Rumplestiltskin shrugged. “Once he discovered I wasn’t alone, I was no longer in danger.”

“Right.” Neal glanced around uneasily. “All the same, we should probably get back to camp. What if there’s a giant porcupine out here that preys on groups of three?”

Henry laughed, and they headed back through the woods.

“Are you sure that pole goes there?”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

“‘Cause it looks a little weird.”

“It’s not weird, it’s fine.”

“But it’s kind of sticking up in the middle and…”

“We’ve got this, don’t worry.”

“But what if…”

With a twang the tent pole, which he’d bent to create the proper dome shape, sprang free and caught Rumplestiltskin square in the eye. Letting loose with a string of Dwarvish curses, he stumbled away from the tent and sat on one of the logs, his hands pressed over his face.

“That sounded awesome!” Henry exclaimed. “Can you teach me…”

“Not on your life,” Neal muttered. He knelt next to his father and pulled at his hand. “Let me see, Papa.”

“‘m fine.”

“Will you let me look?”

“I said I’m fine. Finish pitching the tent.”

Neal rolled his eyes and tugged hard, finally prying Rumplestiltskin’s hand away and revealing a blooming yellow bruise. “Can you open your eye?”

His father complied, though he looked like he was in pain.

“Is anything blurry? Can you move it around?”

Rumplestiltskin looked from side to side, wincing, and Neal leaned in closely.

“I don’t see any scratches or anything. I think it missed actually hitting your eye.” He backed away a bit and grinned. “You’re gonna have one helluva shiner, though.”

“Fantastic,” his father muttered.

“We can tell ‘em all you were fighting off that huge wolf thing.”

“And what, the wolf punched me in the eye?” Rumplestiltskin scoffed.

“Like that’s the weirdest thing these people have ever heard. Flying monkeys, anyone?”

Neal regretted his flippant remark when his father’s face shuttered. “Yes, that was quite fantastical, wasn’t it. Now are you going to finish with the tent, or shall I…?”

“Yeah, I’ve got it.” Neal rose and hurried back to the tent, guilt making his heart thump. For all he’d suffered sharing his father’s mind and body, he at least had not been the object of Zelena’s twisted desires. The things she’d done to Rumplestiltskin - the things she’d made him do - Neal still suffered nightmares, and he knew his father’s must be immeasurably worse. At least he’d been persuaded to see Archie now and again, sometimes alone, sometimes with Belle or Neal, and his eyes had that haunted, hunted look in them less often.

Until some idiot would make some stupid remark.

Henry helped him hammer the tent pegs into the earth, and they stood and surveyed their handiwork. Considering that he’d mostly lived in a cave in Neverland, he hadn’t done too bad a job pitching the tent. Sure, it leaned a little to one side and didn’t quite sit level on the ground, but it would keep them sheltered through the night. He helped Henry unfurl the sleeping bags inside the tent and turned to look at his father, who was staring into the flames.

Cautiously Henry walked over and sat next to his grandfather on the log, picking up a stick and poking at the fire. He kept glancing up at the sorcerer as if trying to read his mood. “So what now?” he asked after a while.

“It’s dark,” Neal said. “Shouldn’t we go to sleep?”

“I guess.” Henry shrugged. “I guess I thought there would be more to this than eating half-cold hot dogs and sleeping on the ground.”

“Your father taught you something about the stars on the way back from New York, didn’t he?” Rumplestiltskin asked quietly.

“Yeah, he said you had to navigate by them.”

“Did he tell you any of the stories associated with them?”

Neal smiled and sat on Henry’s other side. “No, I didn’t. We were pretty focused on getting you back here as fast as we could.”

“I know some of the constellations, but I didn’t know they were stories,” Henry said excitedly.

“Pick one.”

Henry tilted his head back and squinted up at the sky. “Orion.”

“Orion the hunter.” Rumplestiltskin took a stick and traced the shape of the constellation in the dirt. “The son of Neptune, god of the sea, and Euryale, queen of the Amazons.” He turned to grin at Henry. “Met her once. Charming woman, if I ignored the blade held to my throat.” Henry laughed, and his grandfather returned to his drawing. “He was the greatest hunter that ever lived. He had his mother’s strength and cunning, swift and silent and keen-eyed, able to fit an arrow into his bow and fire it into the heart of a creature before the beast even knew he was there.

“Unfortunately, he’d also taken after his father, and Neptune was never known for his self-restraint or his good humor. The more renowned Orion became, the more renown he sought, until he boasted that he could best any creature in the world. You know what they say about pride, of course, Henry.”

“Uh...it’s not good?”

“Pride goeth before a fall,” Neal said. His father smiled at him.

“Exactly. I suppose the animal world heard and resented his boast, because one day as he hunted a particularly large bear, a scorpion crept out of the grass and stung his foot. He died instantly.”

“How did he end up in the stars?” Henry asked.

“Some legends say he was Diana’s betrothed, and when he died she was so grieved that she placed him in the stars so that she could look upon him always.��

They were all silent for a moment, staring up at the heavens.

“My turn,” Neal said. “Tell him about Chiron.”

“Which one is Chiron?”

“The centaur,” Rumplestiltskin explained. “You know it better as Sagittarius.”

“That’s one of the astrology signs, isn’t it?”

“Indeed. Chiron was a centaur, but he was also a teacher and healer and musician, the gentlest and kindest of the half-horse beasts, adored by all who knew him. His death was a tragic accident.” Rumplestiltskin tossed his stick onto the fire. “Hercules had slain the Hydra, chopping off the dominant head and thus completing one of his tasks, and he carried arrows dipped in the monster’s poison. Hercules visited the centaurs on another task, to obtain a bottle of Dionysus’ wine, highly prized by the centaurs, who tried to take it. There was a fight and, by accident, an arrow lodged in Chiron’s breast. As an immortal,” and Rumplestiltskin winced, “Chiron could not die, but he was in terrible agony. He wished to become mortal so that he could put himself out of his misery, but even in his quest for mortality Chiron proved his compassion and heroism. Prometheus, who had stolen fire from the gods to give to the mortals, was chained to a rock with an eagle feasting on his liver - the liver would grow back every day, and every day the eagle would return to eat it. Chiron begged to take Prometheus’ place - to become mortal, to be chained to the rock and allowed to die, to release Prometheus from what Chiron deemed a most unjust sentence. Jupiter, astounded by this half-human who had displayed more genuine goodness than many purely human mortals, honored his sacrifice by placing him among the stars.”

“Chiron was always my favorite,” Neal said softly into the silence that followed Rumplestiltskin’s tale.

“Why’s that?”

“Because he was a hero, but not the kind of hero most people think of. He wasn’t loud or bold, he didn’t run into danger and wave swords around. He just - did what he thought was right. Sometimes it’s harder to be that kind of hero.”

Henry tried to hide his yawn behind his hand, but Neal noticed.

“Okay, kiddo, time for bed.”

“But…”

“There’ll be more camping fun tomorrow. Go on in, we’ll be in soon.”

“Okay,” Henry sighed. “Night, Dad. Grandpa.”

When Henry was safely zipped into his sleeping bag, Neal sat on the ground, leaned against the log behind him, and looked at his father, whose bruise was now beginning to turn purple and red.

“If I had known you were in Neverland, none of this would have been necessary.” Rumplestiltskin’s voice was so quiet Neal barely heard it.

“What wouldn’t have?”

“The curse. Teaching Regina dark magic. Sending Emma here.”

“There was no way you could have known.”

“I would’ve come for you in an instant. You know that, don’t you?” Neal was silent, his heart beating wildly. “Don’t you, Bae?” his father pleaded.

“Why did you let me go? Just tell me that. All these years, it’s the only thing I’ve ever wanted to know. I knew you couldn’t get to me. I knew you couldn’t find me. I never wondered why you didn’t come after me. I wondered why you let me go in the first place.”

Rumplestiltskin was silent for several moments. At last he said softly, “I didn’t want to. You’ve been in my head, now. You’ve heard the voices.”

He had. wretchedspinner,useless,worthless,patheticslaveofawitch,soiled,filthy,killyourself,bedone Or worse: yesyesyes,killthewench,killtheboy, freeyourself,loveisweakness,sickness,death,killthemkillthemall

“They told you to let me go.”

“Screamed it until I could scarcely hear my own thoughts. It’s not an excuse, I know that. I’m a coward and always have been, and I was scared not to listen, terrified of what would happen if I went through, of being without the power to protect you.”

“I didn’t need protecting.”

“I didn’t see it that way.” His father sighed. “You would do anything for Henry, and you’ve only known him a month or so. I had fourteen years of holding you, caring for you, keeping you safe. It was all I knew.” He ran a hand down his face. “I will never ask your forgiveness for that. I’ll never deserve it. But you wanted to know why, and the simple answer is that I was afraid.”

Neal sat silently for a few more minutes, staring up at the stars and remembering nights like this one, sat by the dim light of a fire and listening to his father weave tales of heroes and monsters and gods, somehow always featuring a brave little boy with curly hair and dark eyes. He remembered other nights, huddled in a cave and wishing with all his might on the brightest star he could see, but no fairies ever answered his call.

And through it all his father had been working, plotting, scheming, tearing apart worlds to get to the son he’d let go in a fit of fear and weakness. He’d never given up, even after hundreds of years when he had every reason to think Baelfire was dead and gone forever, even when his plans almost failed and he was trapped and in danger of losing his memories as well as his magic.

It mattered. Maybe it shouldn’t, but Rumplestiltskin’s sorrow and regret and desperation mattered . And while it was not okay, it would never, never be okay, Neal felt that in time he could stop being angry and hurt and begin to heal. Hell, maybe he could do with some one-on-one sessions with Archie himself.

He stood and, after a bit of hesitation, reached out and squeezed his father’s shoulder. “I’m gonna turn in. You coming?”

“In a minute. I’ll put the fire out.” He glanced up at his son and smiled very faintly. “Without magic.”

[underlavenderwings]

Arcene Valentine •Age: 15 • Date of Birth: 10/28/20XX •Appearance: ~ Short Platinum blond hair ~ Pale Skin ~ Deep violet eyes ~ 5'0" •Outfit: ~ Greyish Green scarf with white, Blue, and purple accent designs on bottom. Scarf was originally her father's but she kept it as a reminder. ~ Dark Cobalt Sleeveless Sweater ~ Deep Blue skin tight midarm gloves with brown carpenter gloves ~ Azure colored rolled up pants ~ Ultramarine Knee high socks ~ Faded Earth Brown shoes ( similar to boots but not higher than ankle length ) ~ Underneath her scarf is the Miraculous, which is a Forest Green Neck ( Thick Cuff like ) Choker with Very Light Yellow Green Fang ( almost white ) like Accents ~ Multiple Brown belts ( call her belt crazy ) •Personality: ~ Introvert ~ often antisocial unless with decent aquatints and Friends ~ Doesn't say much but Is usually direct in response, causing her speech to sound more professional than informal ( doesn't get the concept of sugar coating ) ~ Very pensive and perceptive. ~ A Music student ~ Bookworm, often resulting in her being in the library most the time. ~ Secretly a Perfectionist, which also gives her a biased negative opinion on the odd numbers. ~ Is an easy victim under Chloe's bullying, but she often answers with direct responses, verbally fighting back. ~ Rare chances that she gets easily flustered with words, especially when either embarrassed or shy ( doesn't happen that much though ) •Backstory: ~ Born in Venice, Italy. Moved to Paris at the age of 4 ~ Father is Hernandez Montoya Valentine ( Spaniard ) ( deceased due to a heart attack ) ~ Mother is Feliciana Terra Valentine ( Italian ) ( Active ) ~ Mother is a musician genius and Father was an author ( hence the origin of her love towards music and literature ) ~ Wasn't usually introvert at the time. She loved to be with her father and read his stories while also learning how to play music with her mother. ~ Her dream was to become a musician like her mother but also write as a hobby. She abandoned the writing dream when her father died. ~ Due to stress, her father had gained an illness that later cured but affected him internally. With the stress of writers block, he had a severe heart attack. Died a day later in the hospital when Arcene was 8 years old. ~ Due to trauma, she refused to pick up a book or read anything else until the age of 12. But after that she was obsessed. She won't tell why she is like this and neither does her mother even know why. ~ Her Mother presented her to a Private Music School in which she learned her typical subjects as well as a deep focus on music. Later moved to a public school due to her Mother's worry on her not gaining contact with anyone else. ~ On Father's Day and Bring Your Dad to School day, she goes to the Principal office to hide from public negativity and hide from her sadness on not having a father. ~ When Jacob first found her, she was shy and reserved but after being friends with them, she soon later opened herself more, causing her to speak only a bit but just enough to introduce herself more to others. ~ Due to that first friendship with Jacob, she secretly gained a crush on him but is afraid to present it. • Miraculous Form: A Viper ~ Hair is less organized and loose. A symbol of self freedom. ~ An intense darker Fern Green Mask with different shades of green speckles. Little Green accessories on the sides of the mask. ~ a Chinese styled Fern/Mint green dress, with a precise cuts on the back side of the dress ( similar to tail coat design ) ~ Bandage Wraps on her waist. ~ Forest Green Scales below her bandage waist with Small Amber beads attached ( as well as the hem of her dress ) ~ Deep Forest Green/ Pine Green under layer ( her sleeves and her legs ) with shimmers of Emerald Green. ~~ Miraculous Weapon: Her Bandage Sleeves ( called Naag ( Hindi word for Viper )) act as whips and can traps her enemy with them, causing them immobility ( offense attack ).They can also counter and block attacks when necessary ( Defense attack ). ~~ Miraculous Ability: Realm of the Dúshé. ~~ This attack unleashes a powerful paralysis, much like a viper strike, completely trapping the victim in a paralysis state, immobilizing them from movement. She can also move around with the Void to attack easier. It lasts only once until it starts the disability count down, so she must be precise. •Kwamis: Vipers of the Void: Fídi and Angius ~two headed viper ~ Forest Green scales, yellow under belly ~olive green eyes with bony crests on brow that unfurl into Cobra like flaps ~long tail with a rattle on the end •Personalities: ~Fídi is the rowdier of the two, being the more energetic and impulsive while Angius is more reasonable and more of the brains of the two ~they usually end up arguing with each other and end up getting themselves tangled ~Favorite food: black licorice, they're absolutely crazy for it YAY the last character ref sheet is done! I'm sorry for all the delays but now we're back on schedule! Now that all the characters are up we'll start posting chapters for the story. AHHH SO EXCITED! So please stay tuned for this amazing journey to begin! Arcene is from a friend who is no longer on deviantart, stellunaria, she's not part of deviantart anymore but will still be working behind the scenes on our story! And if you have any questions don't be afraid to ask us! Thank you! - dragonsketch1999