✨ Get to know your mutuals!! When you get this, it means someone wants to know more about you, so list 5 things about yourself you want your followers to know. They can be as simple as your age or as complex as your deepest fear, as long as it’s something you’re comfortable with sharing. when you’re done, send this to 10 people if you want to get to know them better!! 🌼💕
Well um sorry, I dont know ten people soooo
@thodimusprime @iamthelosingdog @musiksbrainrot
1. I am a percussionist
2. I have always had a very unhealthy sleep schedule since I was little
3. I was in the Undertale fandom from 2015-2019, not my best moment, haha
4. My birthday is August 7th
5. My favorite type of candy bar is Hershey’s Cookies and Cream
ahh thanks for the tag! tagging whoever that wants to do it :>
i snack so much... i just bought like biscuits & chips yesterday and honestly it should be a little unhealthy at this point... but i justify it with the fact that i exercise somewhat regularly 😭😭
as above, i love cake and ice cream and sweet stuff so so so much!! whipped cream and the texture of soft cake and fruit and and and chocolate!!!!!!!
i have us sized 8.5 feet
i generally drink a lot of water... at least 2 litres a day? i think? it used to be more when i was in sec school
this is a little random but i was going through my archive and saw all the lovely asks that people actually sent me over suits. i guess back then (2020 oct) i was narrow minded and just wanted to get as many notes as i could? it was childish of me to leave this blog (though not wrong, nonetheless) but 8 months on and i wld like to apologise for leaving? if that makes sense
my writing is independent of notes. its ability to attract a reader or whether it is quality material are both clauses that can coexist and are factors that contribute to a total note count. effort do not equal notes (unfortunately) and notes do not equal self-worth.
thats not to say that writing for notes is completely wrong. its fine if you know what is reality and what isnt, and what your esteem is built upon.
but yeah, suits wasnt great. im thankful for the people who supported me back then and im sorry i didnt respond in an appropriate and more mature manner.
congrats vannah!!! your lists were amazing and it seems like so much effort, im so proud of you! could i please get aizawa and white please? thank you!
Hey! Thank you so much for requesting for the event, and I’m sorry it took so long! Medical school was very tough for me, so I ended up putting requests on the backburner for a very long time… But finally, it’s here! White symbolizes hospitals, death, and sadness, so… I’m sorry to inflict this upon you, but here’s Aizawa in the wake of the war with the Paranormal Liberation Front. Spoilers for the recent manga chapters!
Drinks on Me
“Hey, this weekend, let’s all go out and get drinks on me!” Nemuri smiled prettily, her long legs crossed as she swiveled back and forth in her chair across from Shota. “It’s been so long since we’ve all been out together. You never know, it could be our last chance!” she grinned while sticking out her tongue and winking playfully. She always said things like that, portents of doom and gloom hidden behind a winning smile, to rope Shota into joining her and Hizashi at clubs and bars.
He should have regarded those for what they really were— omens.
Shota jerked awake, snorting as his muscles spasmed. He laid there for a moment as he clumsily acclimated to the waking world, staring blearily at the ceiling fan spinning slowly above his head. When he finally realized that he was in bed, he exhaled deeply and reached up to rub his eyes with the heels of his palms. In the midst of his fitful sleep, he’d kicked the sheets off himself; the layer of nervous sweat on his skin absorbed the cold wind pushed down by the fan, coating him in a chill. Too exhausted to even bother pulling the covers back over himself, he flopped his arm back down to stare listlessly at the ceiling.
The stump where his leg used to be throbbed painfully, almost as if it were aware he was awake now. He still hadn’t accustomed to the loss of his limb, nor the phantom pains plaguing his nervous system. Even now, he found himself groping for his calf, trying to ease the ache; but he couldn’t massage empty air, so it continued to burn dully, seeping down all the way into his sawed bone.
Groaning, he pulled himself up into a sitting position, grasping the headboard as he hauled himself up. The rest of his body had endured a beating as well, making pain thrum through his nerves to shoot to his spine. He winced and grasped his shoulder, massaging the inflamed flesh until it quieted. He felt like an old man, much older than he ought to— tired, achy, defeated. He inhaled deeply, gathering the will to put on his prosthetic leg. His muscles tweaked in protest as he did, but as he gradually woke up his body and fastened the prosthetic to the stump below his knee, the pain faded into the background.
He limped across his room to his closet, stumbling a little and using the dresser to catch himself. He hadn’t mastered navigating with his new leg, either. He took a moment to catch his breath, sweat already blooming on his clammy forehead, before tottering his way to the closet. He couldn’t tolerate dressing normally— not that he had impeccable fashion sense anyway— so he eased himself into a pair of black sweats and a gray tee and some sneakers. He tied his hair in a loose bun before shambling out the door.
The dorm was alive with activity, but not the normal kind that Shota had become accustomed to. The air hummed with nervous energy as the students— and their parents, who were moving in to keep them safe— flitted about. Most of his pupils still sported injuries from the massive battle several days ago, bandages peeking out from beneath their clothes. But the worst injuries were the ones you couldn’t see, the ones on their hearts still oozing blood and bursting through the stitches at the slightest insult. They would be scars someday, an afterthought until the phantom pains struck when they least expected it.
Theirs would, but not Shota’s. No, Shota’s inner wounds never really healed— and this newest one definitely would bleed for the rest of his life.
A few of them greeted Shota quietly as he limped down the hall heading for the front door. Momo came up to him, asking if she could help him with anything— she had always been such a considerate girl, that one. He smiled and ruffled her poofy black hair, telling her that he was quite all right but thanks anyway. Shota could sure use some help, but there was no aid that any of his students could provide for him. He could feel Momo’s watery eyes boring into his back as he toddled out of the building.
There were so many things that people took for granted every day. The ability to walk down steps without falling flat on your ass was one of them. Shota grimaced as he inched down the steps of the dorm, holding out one arm to seek purchase though there was nothing to grip onto. Somehow, he made it down to the sidewalk without eating shit, but the effort still left sweat beading in the crease lines of his forehead. He blew an irritated breath through his lips and raked his hand over his wavy black hair, taking a moment to let the pain pass before moving on.
Though this region of the city had been spared the carnage of the war with the Paranormal Liberation Front, its effects reached even the city around U.A. There weren’t nearly as many people on the street; Shota was alone most of his commute to the business district, save for the occasional person rushing down the street with suspicious eyes and fearful breaths. Shota could feel eyes on him everywhere, though; nervous onlookers peering out their curtains and blinds, suspicious of everyone in sight. They were all waiting for the inevitable pin to drop, for the next piece in this godawful chess game to move and tell them their next poor fortune. Things would get worse before they got better; everyone knew it, the hapless civilians most of all. Their hope in heroes was teetering on the edge of a knife; if they strayed but a little, everything would fall into ruin.
Many small business owners had closed up shop to skip town, but the liquor store was still open. A pleasant bell chimed as Shota opened the door. The cashier apparently still wasn’t getting much business, as he leaned back in a chair with his feet propped up on the counter, reading the newspaper. As Shota began to walk through the aisles searching for a particular brand of rum, the cashier decided that apparently the news was too dismal to read because he crumpled it up and tossed it in the trash bin.
“Warmongers, the lot of them journalists,” he spat at Shota, who raised his eyebrows at him over the top of the rum bottles he was surveying. “All they’re doin’ is makin’ things worse.”
“Do you have faith in heroes?” Shota asked and looked back down, fingers skimming over the glass bottles emblazoned with coconut trees and beach zines. He smirked when the old cashier snorted derisively.
“Sonny, I been around a long time. This ain’t the first time some upstart has whipped everyone up in a frenzy. The heroes always come out on top because that’s what they do.”
“That’s some unshakable faith you have there,” Shota remarked while plucking his chosen bottle from the rack. He rounded the rack while the cashier hopped up from his chair so he could check Shota out.
“Eh, it comes with age. Nothing rattles ya anymore,” he shrugged, grabbing the bottle to scan it. He put it in a brown paper bag and punched a few of the keys into the cash register. “O’course, a little liquid courage always helps, eh?” he added with a wink. Shota smirked at that, sliding over his credit card. He took the bottle by the neck, crinkling the paper around it.
“Thanks for the advice. Do I need to pay you for that too?” Shota joked.
“Nah, it’s on me this time,” the man responded with a chortle, sliding Shota’s card back. Shota took it and slid it back into his wallet, then bid him a good night. When he walked out, the sun had risen into the sky and was blessing the earth with its warm rays. Yet they didn’t kiss Shota’s skin; a lingering chill wafted around him, blocking out all the warmth to leave him cold. Eventually, he’d feel the sun again, he knew that— but he had a while to go.
It was a short walk to the graveyard. The iron was hot under his fingers as he pushed the unlocked gate open, and it creaked loudly as if to protest. The small gravel marking the winding, meandering path through the various headstones crunched under his feet as he made his way down, counting the rows. At row seven, he turned and walked down until he found a clean headstone above a freshly-turned patch of dirt, a rectangle the size of a person.
Sighing, Shota eased himself down onto his knees, his prosthetic leg stretching out beside him— it was easier on his hip that way. He pulled the brown paper bag off the bottle of rum and then broke the faux gold foil seal. He stared down at it a second, just stared, and then exhaled quietly.
“Hey, Nem,” he murmured. He reached up with his free hand to stroke the top of the stone, which was warmed by the bright spring sun. He fell silent again, throat bobbing as the emotions he’d been surprising for days welled up inside of him. The tears bubbled up and spilled over his eyes, carving through the layer of nightsweat and grime coating his unwashed face to bead in his beard. “I miss you, Nem,” he said finally, voice cracking. “So much.”
His hand shook as it continued to run over the unblemished stone, down over the carved letters reading Kayama Nemuri. He leaned forward to press his forehead against the rock, closing his eyes and squeezing out more of the salty tears. “I never did take you up on that offer for drinks,” he said with a wan smile despite the despair tearing his heart apart. “So I brought you your favorite, on me.” He leaned back, then lifted the bottle to spill the alcohol over the gravestone. The light gray rock darkened as the clear liquid gushed over it, spilling over the smooth surface in rivers. It streamed down to soak into the grass at its base, soaking up the earth down, down, down to Nemuri’s casket six feet under. Shota didn’t drink a drop of the rum; he poured every bit of it over her gravemarker for her to enjoy.
He sat there for a while, even after the hot sun had begun to evaporate the alcohol absorbed by the porous stone. Somehow, sitting there watching the color fade back to normal was cathartic. Like Nemuri was there, enjoying that rum. He could see the smile playing over her lips as she stirred a straw around a piña colada— and that’s when Shota felt the kiss of the sun, warming up his skin. He looked up to squint at the bubbling circle in the sky, then back down at the gravestone. Smirking, he patted the slightly damp rock before using it as leverage to push himself up.
“Thanks, Nem. I’ll be back sometime, with drinks on me, of course,” he chuckled. He couldn’t linger here all day; he had work to do. Some upstart was out there whipping everyone up in a frenzy, and it was up to the heroes to bring him to justice. When they did, Shota would be sure to bring Nemuri a whole liquor store’s worth of rum— on him, of course.
Enjoy this oneshot? Feel free to peruse my Table of Contents!
i don’t normally do this but it’s come to my attention that i’m now in dire need of help and it has failed me anywhere else, and tonight, it has reached another scary conclusion.
all i ask is that you lend me an ear, just for one moment. i won’t take up much of your time.
hi, i go by the nickname ghostie, and i am 19. i live in an abusive household with my mother. my father does not live with us, and nor do i want him to as my relationship with him is strained at best due to his past gaslighting, emotional abuse, and neglect. i do not talk to my father unless it is needed and even then, it always ends with me in tears and another piece of trauma, so i try to stay away. i have tried to search and find a home for myself where i could, but the system has failed me when i needed it most, and my mother has prevented me, throughout my life, from doing things that might’ve gotten me out sooner.
if any of you have genuinely enjoyed my works and are willing, or are able, i do have a ko-fi, and a paypal and for any amount of you donate, since i am half a writing and half a music blog, i can try to write something for you or make you a playlist in return, and we can work out the details here through private messages. please understand, might take a while as i am currently walking on eggshells shells so i do not have harm come to me or any of the items i need in my daily life.
it’s not by any means an obligation for you to donate, it’s only if you can and are willing, but every amount helps, any amount brings me closer to escaping and finding a place where i do not have to sleep with my pocket knife under my pillow for my protection, my taser hidden in my shoes as a last option, or recite self defense practices in my head with every step in my own home.
if you cannot donate, all i ask is that you reblog or share however you can, as that will get this seen and i can possibly, hopefully, see a light at the end of my tunnel.
thank you for reading, for your time, and your kindness.
the god of geo makes a noise of content as he nuzzles into the crook of your neck. his arms are draped over your waist and you place a hand over his affectionately.
“your horns are digging into me.”
morax pulls away and his warmth leaves your skin briefly. you turn around in bed so that you now lay on your other shoulder. from this angle you can see how the moonlight slips through the windows, and morax’s amber eyes glitter in the dim room.
you raise a hand to stroke his cheek and he presses himself into your touch, his eyes fluttering shut. the horns that sit atop his head curl back over the top his head and peak at the very end. they are the colour of cor lapis, the same as his eyes. geometrical patterns in golden ink run down the expanse of his skin. they glow and pulse as you trace your fingers over them
“aren’t you tired?” you ask.
morax lets out a quiet grunt. he pulls you into his chest and you lay your cheek against his skin, comfortably snuggled into his side. the tips of his fingers are sharp like claws, and parts of morax’s skin harden like scales when the weather gets cold.
not that you love him less because of this. qilin and their children walk the plains and mountains of liyue like any other human being, thus you assume that morax must be one of them. with less skill in human speech and more so in snapping your best porcelain chopsticks in half like sticks, morax has never raised a claw to harm you before.
you press a kiss to his jaw. beneath his supple skin, you hear a heart that beats a little quicker once you’ve done so. morax squirms as you giggle and kiss his jaw once more. his cheeks grow red, pursed lips letting out whines of protest.
he lays a rough palm on the small of your back and only then do you stop, gazing up at him. his jem-like eyes meet yours and he blinks in question.
“no, nothing, morax. don’t worry,” you reply.
he lets out another hum from his chest. you close your eyes once more that night, and let yourself melt into his touch.
𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 (𝐢) - there is an author’s notes (ii) at the end of the fic to explain some things, so don’t worry if it’s confusing! before you go ahead and read this fic, here are some things to take note of. sorry it’s a bit long! otherwise, i hope you enjoy this!
the only description of the reader is their eyes, which is based on aether/lumine. gender is not explicitly stated, nor are pronouns used. xiao refers to the baby as ‘it’ for a while because he’s emotionally constipated. reader’s name is a pun on ‘育婴’, which means to take care of a child. the actual characters used are ‘玉莹’. 玉 for ‘jade’ and 莹 for ‘firefly’ (from lumine’s name). the name ‘xiao ying’ is like a nickname, something affectionate to call a younger person by. it has no connotation to xiao’s name.
𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐚 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 - @myelocin muacks
𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 - blood, injury, mild body horror near the end (?), food, minor spoilers on xiao’s story, death
𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 - xiao’s name binds him to many things: his contract with morax, protecting humans and vanquishing evil. yet, when a mortal calls on him to take care of her dying child, xiao finds himself as your new parent. he makes a promise to protect you for the rest of you life — but can he keep it?
𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 - 4880
𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 | 𝐤𝐨-𝐟𝐢
the battlefield weeps with blood, its body aching with the cries of mortals that have lost their loved ones. xiao stands amidst the carnage and surveys the ground. blood, death, darkness. his grip on his spear intensifies as his jaw sets. if only he had been here a second earlier; perhaps the damage could have been lessened greatly.
a burden lays atop of burdens, crushing his chest under the weight of a million lost souls.
“mmm- wah! baa!”
a cry rings out in the darkness. xiao swivels his head, stiffening in response. another spirit? he readies himself to throw his spear, but all he sees is a baby wrapped in blood stained linen and held in the arms of its dying mother.
“xiao... adeptus xiao…” a voice croaks.
xiao freezes. the utterance of his name is no lowly thing. it reels him in like a baited fish, and he finds himself kneeling before the human.
“take-” blood sputters from her lips. “care of… for me.”
her breath stills in her lungs, and her eyes gloss over. xiao’s heart thumps as the baby coos, sticking out a chubby fist and trying to grab at the ends of his hair.
his contract is bound by his name, in which he has no say to its terms. killing a spirit; protecting one from hilichurls — that is nothing difficult for him. death is his speciality, after all. but life?
xiao swallows dryly. fatigue from the battle wearies his bones as his bloodstained hands pluck the child from limp arms.
“ooo... fufu!” you giggle, eyes wide and shimmering like cor lapis in the moonlight.
the first thing that xiao learns about human babies is that they are extremely noisy.
he’s woken up in the middle of the night by your crying, groggily grabbing his spear at the very thought that perhaps a spirit had broken into the inn.
not really — you’re just hungry. in fact, even verr goldet rushes up to xiao’s room in her nightgown.
“xiao?” she asks timidly, knocking on his door. the crying intensifies. “is everything okay?”
there are some guttural grunts from behind the door.
“i’m going to come in, xiao.”
more grunts.
verr pushes the door open gently, only to see xiao holding up a naked baby in the middle of his room. you kick your legs and pump your fists, demanding for food. you’re cold, so cold in fact, that the only way to keep yourself alive and warm is to scream at the top of your lungs.
xiao makes eye contact with verr. he hands you over to her, along with the crimson-tainted swaddle cloth you had come in.
“can you take care of… it for a while?” he asks.
verr is too stunned to say no. the door is closed in her face and she holds you in her arms, battling for life.
she doesn’t get much sleep for the rest of the night. she begins by waking a very grumpy smiley yanxiao to prepare some rice porridge for you, and wraps you up in a spare woolen scarf left behind by a guest.
after that, you’re all cute babbles and sleepy smiles as your tummy is full and warm. verr holds you against her chest, burping you. the sun begins to rise over the horizon and its rays shine through the misty clouds that hang over mount qingce.
“let’s name you yuying. yu for your eyes, and ying for fireflies.”
you burp in agreement.
xiao doesn’t appear till the night after. verr has you strapped to her back the entire time she’s working, though most of the time you fall asleep with your chubby cheeks squished against her shoulder. huai’an learns of the circumstances and even offers to babysit you for a while. he’s denied the pleasure by his wife, who shoos him away to attend to the inn’s guests.
“verr.”
xiao’s voice makes her jump, and she turns to face him. it’s not often that he sees him face to face, much less with a child.
“ah, xiao, you’re back! we named the baby yuying. what do you think? we had dinner already, there’s some leftovers in the kitchen if you want.”
you’re still quietly asleep on her back. verr turns around to show xiao how you’re strapped to her (which had been done with the help of a embarrassed yanxiao — he swore he only knew how to do it because he had to take care of his little sisters last time).
xiao stares at you. you’re vulnerable, nothing more than a mass of human flesh with no way to defend yourself. he looks back at verr.
“i’ll take care of yuying from now on.”
xiao spends the next week in a crash course of parenthood. verr, huai’an and yanxiao help more than they should — perhaps because xiao forgets that babies excrete waste, need someone to play with, and actually have to wear proper clothing so that they don’t fall sick.
it’s tough on you, too. you find yourself hot and then cold, hungry and then too full as xiao shovels almond tofu down your little mouth, and then crying all over again because of a rash on your bum.
xiao finds that no, he cannot go and fight a band of hilichurls with you strapped to his back, despite how he thinks that it would be good exposure.
“exposure to what!” verr gasped. “fighting and blood?”
yes, fighting and blood. someone so helpless like you must learn how to protect yourself as soon as you’re able. instead, verr snatches you back from a sulky xiao and has you crawl around the reception room, playing with richie.
though, not everything that xiao does is against conventional parenting. he hurries back to wangshu inn after each battle, quick to check if you have been fed. his heart of stone begins to soften. not enough to love just yet, but enough to care. he strokes your soft cheek with the tip of his finger as you fall asleep, cuddling a stuffed cat that huai’an had bought from a merchant for you.
“yuying,” he says softly.
you stir in your sleep. moonlight leaks through the windowpanes and floods xiao’s room.
“if you call out my name, i will be there.”
you make a quiet noise and turn onto your side, curling up into the warmth of xiao’s body. he stiffens. then he relaxes, watching over you vigilantly till the sun rises the next morning.
it’s a peaceful weekday morning when you say your first word. after promising verr that yes, he isn’t going to go and kill some abyss mages, he straps you to his back and teleports to jueyun karst. he sits on a cliff (which is probably as dangerous as fighting a mitachurl) and holds you on his lap.
you use your chubby fingers and pluck qingxin flowers from around you. the waxy white petals are soft against your skin as you sniff them curiously, even going to the extent of chomping down on one of them.
the sun hangs heavily in the sky. xiao squints at its golden light, watching as it sinks beneath the horizon. years of seeing nature change with each season never grows old. he feels tension ebb away from his chest and xiao lets his eyes fall shut for a second.
it’s as if the swirling pool of karmic debt had never been there.
“mmm... yum! mam!” you smack your lips together, raising your hand and hitting xiao in the chin.
he flinches as the qingxin tickles his cheeks. it’s lightly fragrant and he brushes it aside gently.
“yes, xiao yu?” he asks monotonously.
your face is screwed up, tiny eyebrows nearly meeting in the centre of your forehead. xiao uses his thumb to brush some drool away from the side of your mouth. he wonders when he has become so tender; where hands that have killed being after being suddenly become the same hands that cradle you to sleep.
“sh... sh…” you mumble.
xiao stares at you, unimpressed.
“sh... shiao! shiao!” you giggle, bumping him with the flower once more.
“shiao?” he sounds confused.
“shiao! shiao! shiao buu?” you tilt your head adorably and prod the flower in his face once more.
xiao takes the flower from your hand. he bites down on it, chewing and swallowing back the cracks that appear in his jaded heart.
"in the fables of another world, the name xiao is that of a spirit who encountered great suffering and hardship. he endured much suffering, as you have. use this name from now on."
“xiao yu,” he quietly says.
you peer up at him attentively.
“you mustn't eat so many qingxin, okay?”
you grin toothily at him.
“mm!”
sometimes xiao wonders if it’s a bad thing for him to have arrived at the battlefield too late. your mother wouldn’t have died, nor would you have to come under his care. but without you- xiao takes a deep breath.
he can’t imagine life without you.
you grow up too fast for xiao’s liking. from a babbling baby, you turned into an infant stumbling over their first steps, then a toddler splashing through the shallow waters of luhua pool. your calligraphy skills grow from bushy, rough lines to smooth strokes and you began to glide down the banisters of wangshu inn instead of stumbling over each step (much to huai’an’s horror).
there are numerous concerns that xiao has. will you cry when you go away to the local school, terrified by new teachers and friends? (in fact, he had perched in a tree by your school as you attended your lessons — until verr found out and strictly forbade him from doing so).
he found that he cared for you, in spite of himself. he supposed that a demon like him would never be allowed to find joy in life. be it a delicious meal or a good night’s rest, even xiao was unable to experience that. after all, someone who was tainted in blood deserved nothing but pain and anguish.
it was only until zhongli paid him a visit did he then realise, perhaps you had something to do with the softening of his heart.
“yuying?” zhongli had laughed when he first heard your name.
you were still an infant then, playing with the little drum that the past geo archon had brought along for you.
“zhong! zhong!” you giggled as you waved the instrument about.
he picked you up with a gentle smile, balancing you on his knee. you immediately grabbed his hand and began to suckle on it.
“yuying,” xiao said monotonously. “don’t do that.”
he reached forward to grab your chubby fist and was only met with teary eyes. you latched even more onto zhongli’s hand.
“it’s alright, xiao,” he assured.
only then did the yaksha ease back into his seat. still, he kept a watchful eye on you as he poured zhongli a cup of tea. they were seated on the uppermost balcony of wangshu inn, overlooking guili plains.
“why did you take care of this child, xiao?” zhongli asked.
the male in question remained silent, only the whistling of wind and the steady stream of tea audible. xiao placed the teapot back on the table before taking a sip from his cup.
“i was asked to by… yuying’s mother.”
“xiao,” zhongli continued. “why are you still raising this child?”
your drool began to dribble down zhongli’s hand. he removed a silk handkerchief from his pocket and wiped it aside gently, his gaze softening when he saw your sparkling eyes staring up at him.
xiao said nothing as he looked out at the clouds ahead. mountains, trees, rivers — for hundreds of years they exist, silently watching after the earth and bearing its pain. earthquakes, fires, floods. yet, even they receive relief at the end of their lives with crumbling forms and uprooted stumps.
when will xiao’s burden be lifted from his shoulders?
“it is my duty. there is nothing more to it,” he murmured.
zhongli sighed quietly. you looked over at xiao curiously, finally removing your toothless gums from zhongli’s hand.
“shiao! baobao!” you insisted, shaking the drum at him.
xiao looked at you, your cheeks puffed up into a cute pout. his eyes softened.
“go on, xiao. yuying is asking for you,” zhongli said softly.
he reached out and your tiny hand gripped the material of his shirt.
“shiao!” you called out again.
“i’m right here, xiao ying.”
and he swore that he would be, for as long as you lived.
years pass, and soon you inherit the title of boss of wangshu inn. you occasionally travel between liyue harbour and the inn to contact the qixing and purchase merchandise or expand your business. verr and huai’an are relieved that they have someone to pass the inn to and you’re more than glad to give back to the same people who raised you.
“xiao!” your voice rings through the corridors of wangshu inn. “i’m back!”
“ah, yuying!” you pause when huai’an calls out your name. “glad to see that you returned safely. how was the trip?”
you abandon climbing the stairs to rush over and envelope him in a tight hug.
“great! i brought back some snacks, too. where’s xiao?”
“ah ah, that boy. i told him you were coming back today but he still insisted on heading out. he never learns, does he?”
you reply with a soft laugh. “he never does.”
huai’an, now wrinkly and walking with a limp in his step, has grown aged. he no longer fixes the broken steps in the inn, nor pacess about listlessly before the reception desk. verr is no different. her eyebrows knit together when it rains and requires a reminder every morning to take her arthritis medicine. not that you would have it any other way — you’re still their precious little yuying regardless of age.
“yuying! i cooked up a feast for your return! come and eat while the food’s still warm!” yanxiao shouts from the kitchen.
“i’ll be there soon, uncle! thank you!”
uncle yanxiao still insists that he can wield his cleaver with as much power as when he was in his ‘prime’. his toothless grin is reserved only for you; never for the apprentices that never seem to get his renowned black perch soup recipe just right.
“too salty! again! you call this food? i’d choke and die if i ate another spoonful!” he’d crow, waving his cleaver at them.
it’s kind of funny, really, how you had three ‘fathers’ and one mother. you weren’t the least bored while growing up, but the kids in school were always amazed when they came over to play.
you finally take a break from everyone that’s welcoming you back. strange, isn’t it? a place where travelers and merchants stay only temporarily has become your home. you return to your room and take some time to relax before yanxiao yells for you once more to come and have dinner.
verr is delighted when you give her a brooch purchased from liyue harbour. everyone gathers around the table as the sun begins to set, though xiao has not yet returned.
“aiya, where is he?” huai’an sighs.
“maybe he’ll be out late again. you know the boy, he’s unpredictable,” verr smiles. “why don’t we all dig in first? i’ll set some food aside for him.”
yanxiao agrees, repeating that food tastes better when it’s warm. you shovel bite after bite of chicken mushroom skewers and vegetarian abalone into your mouth, exchanging tales of your travels: how xingqiu was having a book signing event, and hutao had tried to reason for a ‘funeral-inn’ package with you (to which huai’an lets out a loud ‘harrumph!’, and yanxiao asks if he’ll get a discount on his funeral. verr shoots him a glare).
by the time you all finish dinner, xiao still isn’t back. the rest tell you not to worry — how he’s started staying out late ever since you started leaving the inn for your travels. verr teases xiao about how he’s lonely without you, but he neither agrees nor denies her claim.
you cast a weary glance off of the inn’s balcony, where a full moon hangs heavily in the sky. you can make out the figure of a rabbit if you squint hard enough and a smile rises to your lips unknowingly as you recall the tale of the full moon festival xiao used to tell you when you were a child.
“do you want mooncake, xiao?”
your chubby cheeks are full of the delicious treat, even as you clutch another tiny lotus paste mooncake that huai’an gifted to you. xiao silently accepts the portion of mooncake that you offer to him and helps you onto his lap.
wangshu inn is always terribly busy around this time of the year, when a slight chill begins to seep through one’s bones in the early morning. around the inn, lanterns are lit for the festival all the way back over the mountains.
“do you know the story of the full moon festival, yuying?” xiao asks gently.
you hear yanxiao shout out an order for bamboo shoot soup all the way upstairs. you jolt in shock and xiao places a rough hand over yours.
“no, tell story, xiao! tell!” you insist, and take a big bite of your mooncake.
and so, xiao begins to tell the story. when illuminated beasts stalked through liyue, and the earth shook with morax’s power…
a gentle wind tousles your hair. his name sits on the tip of your tongue, but you would rather not suffer a cold shoulder from the yaksha himself if you invoke his name in vain. you peek over the banisters of the inn. the door to verr and huai’an’s room is closed, and the fire in the kitchen has become mere embers. you decide to wrap your cloak over your shoulders and squeeze out of the inn in search of xiao.
the cold wind bites at any inch of exposed skin. you struggle to take step after step through the moonlit night, keeping an eye out for any trails xiao might have left behind (either his anemo powers, or destruction. usually it’s the latter). few guests wander the veranda of the inn.
ahead in the darkness, you spot a flash of lightning as a roar of a beast makes you clamp your hands over your ears immediately.
“help!” someone cries out. “help me!”
the vague outline of a primo geovishap is illuminated by the lightning that sparks and crackles off of its rock-hard skin. your eyes widen and for a second, your feet remain frozen to the ground. what was a primo geovishap doing so close to the inn?
“help me!” the voice screams once more.
your feet move before you can think, and you find yourself sprinting over the bridge that leads to guili plains. the primo geovishap lets out another might roar, making your head spin. you cringe and press on.
you spot a traveller wearing a green uniform standing on wobbly feet. he holds a shortsword in both hands, though you doubt he’ll be able to put it to good use with how terrified he is. you suspect that he’s an adventurer from mondstat given how he’s dressed — and adventurers from mondstat don’t know how dangerous geovishap hatchlings are, much more a primo geovishap.
“get back!” you yell. “it’ll kill you!”
the primo geovishap throws its head back. purple streaks of lightning begin to gather at its mouth, and your hair stands on end from the static electricity that the geovishap exudes. the adventurer lets out another shrill shriek, dropping his sword and running towards you. his eyes are wide with fear as he nearly trips over his own feet.
“help me!”
“get over here!”
you grab his arm and yank him towards you, immediately turning and running back towards wangshu inn. adrenaline fills your blood and your body moves in a blind haze, valuing survival over coherent thought.
“wait, no! don’t leave me!”
the adventurer, unable to keep up with your pace, drags you back towards him. you fall on your back with a yelp and squint as lightning fills the sky, a brief flash of white before your heart skips a beat. tingles run through your body till the very tips of your fingers and toes and it smells like a mixture of burnt grass and singed hair around you. you struggle to move.
“ah! ah! don’t eat me!” the adventurer scrambles back onto his feet and leaves you on the ground, lying there helpless.
your limbs don’t respond. you try moving your leaden arms. nothing. you try to wiggle your feet, wishing that somehow, you’d get back on your feet and run back to the inn. you have to ring the warning bell; get everyone indoors and then call the qixing for backup. you have to find xiao, find-
you barely have a second to collect your thoughts as the geovishap swipes at you with its paw. you let out a choked gasp as you fly through the air like a flung ragdoll and your ribs make an ominous cracking noise as you land heavily on your side and pain bleeds through your body.
blood pours through your throat and chokes you, making you gag and cough up crimson on the ground. the ground trembles with each step that the primo geovishap makes. you won’t survive another blow. the moon in the sky waxes and wanes in your fading vision and your lungs scream for help as your broken bones pierce them. something in your leg hurts, hurts, hurts.
you hope the inn is okay. hope that huai’an and verr don’t forget about the laundry you left on the balcony just now. hope that yanxiao doesn’t forget that you like your eggs soft-boiled for breakfast — simmer for exactly seven minutes, then crack them open and pour a generous amount of soy sauce and pepper on top.
the geovishap thunders towards you. your eyelids begin to fall shut.
is this where you die? trying to save some mondstat adventurer who left you fall behind? you didn’t even get to see xiao one last time, damn it, and you even brought back that medicine from zhongli and a souvenir for him. xiao, xiao, xiao-
“xiao,” you whisper, breath barely leaving your lips.
a blur of green darts before you and the ground shakes. you cough, wincing at the pain that shoots through your chest. a deafening howl of pain leaves the primo geovishap. another blur of green brings a cold hand to your cheek.
“yuying?”
his voice; as gentle and clear as the wind, rings through your ears.
“xiao,” you murmur.
his hands quiver when your half-lidded eyes meet his golden ones. your eyes, that had been as clear as cor lapis in the moonlight, now become as dull as a dead fish’s.
“xiao, the inn-”
“don’t speak. i’ve got it from here.”
the primo geovishap hurtles towards you once more, its roar filled with pain and anger from xiao’s attack.
“disappear!” xiao’s voice runs hoarse as he shouts, throwing his polearm at the beast and pinning it down through its chest.
it lets out another cry of anguish. still, xiao refuses to leave your side. he kneels back down as a hand cradles your face, a thumb brushing gently over your cheekbone.
“xiao?”
“yes, yuying?”
“thank you, for taking care of me.”
something begins to crack in xiao’s chest. his heart aches as his grip on you tightens, as if trying to hold whatever life that remains in you back together. he should have come home earlier; come home to you — then none of this would have happened. it’s all his fault, all of his.
“xiao?”
“yes, xiao ying?”
“thank you, for loving me.”
your lips remain parted as they fall still, and your chest fails to rise and fall one more time. xiao’s breath ragged as he lifts your hand to his face as his shoulders shake. with anger, with agony that coils its roots around his soft, beating heart. when had you torn down all of his walls?
“yuying!” he wails, an aura of darkness cloaking his body.
as thunder flashes through the night, xiao’s heart begins to harden like stone. under pressure, more and more and more until there’s nothing left, nothing left but numbness. he lets out a guttural groan and falls onto his knees.
searing pain burns his entire body as his back arches, and dark feathers sprout from his skin. his fingers turn into claws as the earth quakes under his power. misery stored for eternity spills forth from his sullied blood as the tattoo on his arm goes up in flames.
xiao opens his mouth and lets out an ear-piercing shriek. more feathers begin to fill out his body and wings pierce through his back as they emerge like a butterfly from a cocoon. they flap a few times, sweeping blood over the ground.
“yuying,” xiao groans. “yuying!”
the earth had never quaked in fear and resounding anger as much as it did that very hour; even morax’s fight with osial stood on equal ground with xiao’s rage.
“darker than darkness, purify that which is evil,” he seethes.
the primo geovishap crumbles to the ground in dust as xiao stretches out his hand towards it. in its wake, grass and trees fall as ashes. flames consume the air, licking up every bit of humanity that had been instilled in xiao.
his mind runs blank as he lets his emotions overtake his rationality. all of the killing, all those years spent suffering under karmic debt, all for nothing. if it ever meant that you could have lived for a single day more with him, xiao would have gladly let that darkness consume him. but now; there is no one to snicker when he wakes up with a bedhead, or making qingxin flower crowns with him atop jueyun karst.
“shiao!” you giggled. “shiao!”
“xiao,” another voice calls out, clear as the moonlight. “xiao.”
he raises his half-morphed head, shrinking in shame. blood stains his feathers and his claws do not let him stand on stable ground. zhongli stretches out a hand towards him.
“death cannot be overcome. do not let your anger consume you, young one.”
“it hurts,” he chokes.
“i know it does. let me help you again.”
xiao’s heart cries out in torment from the emotions that cloud his sense of clarity. he must resist, unless he wishes to turn the whole of liyue into a land of desolation. xiao digs his claws into the ground and his breath runs ragged as he tries to control himself. the feathers recede and the flames dwindle.
but the sight of your fragile and broken body thrusts him over the edge.
those who break a promise must suffer its consequences. if he hadn’t been able to protect you, then xiao must pay the price. his name is his bond; to which he has no say in its terms.
“shiao!”
who had let you call on his name so many times? had you ever been aware of the suffering that it had caused and endured millennium after millennium? yet you, a mortal human, had dared to utter it as your first word. from birth to death, xiao was the one who was to protect your life — a simple promise he had failed to keep.
feathers burst forth from hungry flames as xiao raises his head to the sky and lets a silent scream. blood pours from his wounds and does nothing to extinguish the fire that burns his body. he lets out another moan of pain, heart thumping like a drum in his chest, the frenzied beat never slowing down. his blood boils in his very veins.
“xiao!”
“i can’t- can’t!”
xiao’s wings fill the sky like clouds as he leaps into the air, cutting through mist as he shoulders the darkness above. like a ball of flames he barrels through the sky, letting out blood curdling shrieks. flaming feathers cover every inch of his skin and zhongli can only watch helplessly, his cries of pain chilling all of liyue to the very soul.
once more, the light of day disappears over the the horizon. it will continue to do so, carrying the weight of regret and immortal despair until the earth itself comes to a standstill. xiao’s burden will never be relieved, nor will he be laid to rest — for that is his cruel fate.
“...and that is the story of how the sun rises and sets every day,” alatus sighs.
your sparkling eyes stare up at him, clutching the edge of your blanket to your chest.
“alat’?” you mumble and reach out for him.
his warm hand envelops yours.
“yes, yuying?”
“alat’ no cry? no pain?”
alatus lets out a quiet laugh. his dark, teal hair tickles your cheek when he leans forward to press a kiss on your forehead.
“no, no pain, yuying. because you’re here.”
you hum in satisfaction and let go of alatus’ hand to cuddle your stuffed cat.
“okay, g’nite, alat’!”
“goodnight, yuying.”
𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 (𝐢𝐢) - thank you so much for reaching the end of this fic!! i hope you enjoyed it :> now on to some explanations!
for the ending, i depicted an ‘alternate universe’, where xiao (yaksha name ‘alatus’) recounts the story to another yuying where xiao’s story has become folklore
xiao’s form at the end is his ‘adeptus’ form (based on the tattoo on his arm, i assumed he would be one of the greater 6 chinese mythical beasts and made him a peng/vermillion bird). some lines are taken/inspired from the peng’s wikipedia page
sfdjasdkl thank you for the tag ghostie!!!! this made me.... feel things.... i wish this was irl too... anyways thanks for coming to my ted talk, im tagging whoever wants to do this <3
HI HI!!! Kinda cliche emoji for him, but 🌊 + Tartaglia please? I can't wait to see what you come up with! - @reddriot
𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 - thank you for the ask z eheh! i hope you like it~ <3 my inbox is still open if anyone has any requests etc :> likes, comments and rbs help me loads!
𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 - reader is a merperson, minor spoilers for childe’s background story
𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐚 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 - mrs tartaglia herself @forgetou
𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 - 565
𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 | 𝐤𝐨-𝐟𝐢
Waves crash against the barnacle-crusted pier. Splish, splash. Splish, splash. The rhythm of it is comforting, almost. Enough to make the rotting wooden beams sway, enough to make Tartaglia’s heart jump with adrenaline each time they shudder.
The end of his fishing rod is cast into the sea. Not that there’s much fish near the shallow parts of the beach — but as he holds the rod in scarred and calloused hands, Tartaglia feels tension ease from his shoulders and melt away as easily as ice in warm water.
It’s not often that he has time by himself, away from the responsibilities that comes with being a Harbinger. Of course there are minor issues like injured underlings or more important burdens like sending updates back to Tsarista. Tartaglia enjoys his work, of course, but balancing it out with free time is always important.
The air is cool against his skin and he watches you swim beneath the sea’s glassy surface. Your webbed hands cut through the water, powerful tail arcing your body against the currents. You tug on Tartaglia’s fishing hook.
“Come on, don’t tease me like that. You’re scaring away all the fish!” he laughs, but sits still anyways. He does not move his rod in fear of hurting you with the hook.
As if such a flimsy piece of metal could scratch your scales. You tug on it again, before playfully swimming a distance away, far enough to use your tail and splash some seawater up at Tartaglia. He covers his face with an arm, though it does nothing to prevent his clothes from getting wet.
“Ajax,” you whisper.
You have not yet grown used to human speech, nor do your gills allow for much time above water. The ocean is cold and unforgiving, clinging to you like wolfberries to the clothes of adventurers.
“Ajax,” you whisper, again.
“I’m coming, I’m coming!” His chuckle rings out from atop the pier.
Tartaglia carefully reels in his line, before discarding the fishing pole on the pier. There is a rustle of clothes as he takes off his jacket before diving into the ocean. You shake your face when his entry causes water to splash everywhere, and your secondary eyelids blink the sunlight away.
“Ajax.”
Your cold hands tug on his wrist even as Tartaglia begins to tread water. He gives you the gentlest smile, letting you pull him in the direction of the coral reefs that you never fail to show him. Does he know that you’ve taken care of them, cultivated them, scared fishermen away just so that they would grow so beautifully for him?
Tartaglia knows the ocean is rough, its waves climbing higher than he could ever imagine on stormy nights. He wonders, when he’s away in Mondstat on business travel, if you’re safe in its bottomless depths?
You’re probably the last person he needs to worry about, though. You’ve grown enough from the sputtering and hissy merchild he found to someone who’s able to hold their own against territorial merpeople who dare disrupt your peace.
The scars on your tail and neck are evidence of such fights, and sometimes Tartaglia wonders if you’re the one who causes the tsunamis that crash onto shore, washing away people and homes with your anger.
He takes a deep breath as he always has, and dives beneath the ocean’s shimmery surface with you; for you.
dailybridgerton
romaincrisis
2087
dededos
