#like i appreciated seeing the discriminating father in i feel you linger in the air

[waitmyturtles]

Your post about your upcoming Bad Buddy meta got me thinking about Bad Buddy (again), and I remembered one particular thing that had an impact. Apologies if this is long and rather incoherent, I wrote this past midnight.

In the final episode, the part where we see Ming and Dissaya turn a blind eye to Pat Pran's shenanigans really struck a chord with me.

[I'm an Indian, born and raised, and queer, but it's well worth mentioning that my experiences are not universal- in fact, they may be the exception rather than the rule; I'm not quite sure.]

What it reminded me of was, that asian parents tend to come around eventually- in particular mothers. We've seen time and time again in series' that deal with difficult/not accepting family members; Bad Buddy, GAP, Wedding Plan, maybe even Double Savage (haven't watched this one but I believe the dad feels bad in the end?), that even if the parental figure(s) doesn't agree with their children's choices, they learn to compromise. Because the difference in opinions isn't worth losing their children over. Obviously, for every parental figure that comes around there's one that the children cut ties with (Wedding Plan remains a good example), but I think it's something worth seeing.

It made me think of how I was never scared of coming out to my mother, because I knew that, despite the difference in views, and her prejudice, she'd accept me, no matter whether she thought it was a phase or not.

Do I know what the point of this ask is? Not really, I was rather nervous sending this ask, especially not on anon, but I'd love to know what you think of this, since I've come to really enjoy reading the thoughts you have on these shows.

Ohhhh, wow. @starryalpacasstuff, come 'ere for a big mom hug! HUGE HUGS!

I'm gonna unwind a little randomly; I hope this is coherent. A ton of what I write about on my blog vis à vis Asian dramas are the unique characteristics of Asian families and an Asian upbringing. Parental conditional love, competitiveness, our unique experiences with intergenerational trauma. I write a lot about how Asians, in our cultural expectations of life, accept pain and suffering as an assumed part of our existences. The reason why I watch Asian dramas exclusively is that, as I'm Asian-American, I just connect far more easily to the Asian cultural experience of growing from a child into an Asian adult, than I do the experience of white Western folks growing into their adulthood. I grew up intimately with Asian cultural practices and expectations; but I also grew up with racism in my external American world, and came to my adulthood in a society that still values white Americans above all other demographics.

But one thing I'm cognizant of, that I don't think I write about enough, is that many of these characteristics of the Asian cultural scopes of life are indeed similar to those that a fully American person (for example) might experience. It's not like intergenerational trauma doesn't exist in the West. It's not like homophobia in families against a child doesn't exist in the West.

However. As an Asian-American, one thing I note about many (not all, of course) Western families and family systems is that very often: Western adults will give up their agency to be loyal to what I might call a "higher power" -- a philosophy, a political preference, a religion. If a queer person wants to come out in a conservative American family, that queer person may very well be risking cutting permanent ties with their family.

That, of course, also happens in our Asian family systems. But I think you're onto something, @starryalpacasstuff. While divorce rates are sky-high in the West -- there is also a paradigm of family systems being and looking different in the West than they do in Asia. Asian family systems still don't accommodate for divorce and blended or chosen families as they do in the West.

The Asian family systems and paradigms that you and I grew up with as Indians absolutely still value a heterosexual two-parent household -- and I'd posit that our past generations, our grandparents and great-grandparents, put HUGE, HUGE pressure on our parents to keep the two-parent family systems together and whole. And to keep the children close. It's a huge value in our Asian cultures to have whole and complete families. The West has become far more accommodating, culturally, on this issue.

And, so. I totally agree with you, @starryalpacasstuff. I think we do see the beginning of a coming-around on the parts of Ming and Dissaya. And that coming-around is certainly something we can relate to. Our parents will likely accept us for our differences. I fucked a lot of shit up with my folks when I decided to live independently of their desires -- and I don't think things really healed (and I still carry tremendous traumatic baggage) until after I had my own kids, and expanded all of our families. Because in the end, the value in our Asian cultures is that keeping the family complete and close still matters more than any one's individual biases or desires.

Ming and Dissaya are remarkably traumatized people. Ming was traumatized by the expectations of his father. He screwed Dissaya over, and literally handed his trauma to Pat on a silver platter, for Pat to embody for most of his life. And Pat flipped that platter over in his father's face and ran away. Ming, at the end of the series, is passive-aggressive with Pat, despite Pat's efforts to try to work with him. And yet -- Ming still sips Pran's scotch.

To your point -- does time heal everything? I'm not so sure in the West, with the Western predilection for Christian/Puritanical/conservative values to supersede reasonable family resolutions. But I think, because of the value that Asian systems put on having complete families, that you are right -- that there may be more room in Asian family systems for eventual acceptance of a child's "differences," despite us living in collectivist societies. This is definitely not an absolute. There are environments in which it's still dangerous to come out. But the value that Asians put on family does indeed give us a tiny bit of comfort that our cultures can move the needle on acceptance in different ways over time.

[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.