#♰ ─── fanfictionmasterlist

[tsuukirana]

𝟎𝟏 | 𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐋 𝐓𝐎 𝐋𝐈𝐘𝐔𝐄

Teyvat was a weary place, battered and beaten by the history of war, mortals continue to feast upon dreams. Though only a few make it out to be heroes, many come and go as quietly as the wind. One woman stands against the story of time, destined to walk on the ground with nothing more but an outstretched hand. Darkness reaches her neck yet never did it quell her light. Her followers wish to be beside her as she veers to the land of defeated gods.

The Tsaritsa's right hand is a lonesome soul who wanders the snow-covered grounds of Snezhnaya. Those serving beneath her swear their loyalty, guided truthfully by the sound of her gentle voice. And though her youthful appearance shields years of pain, she chooses to continue forth her journey in overseeing the land's future, hoping that change will be brought upon her people.

Return to 𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐈𝐏𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐑𝐘 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐃𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍.

Inspired by Aponia, the Third Flame-Chaser by Honkai Impact 3rd.

Pressing your thumbs together, you closed your eyes, letting yourself feel the gentle breeze of the wind guide your mind to a peaceful resolution. You leaned slightly against the carriage walls, the smell of pinewood traveling through the air. When you bring yourself to stare at the dark-tinted window, you see the lush, green forests that graze past the vehicle. Grasses dance alongside the soft winds, blowing ever so peacefully like there was no tomorrow. And while you may have preoccupied yourself with the sound of rustling leaves, your navy-haired companion only sighed underneath his breath, finding the prosaic task of researching a foreign object to be too mundane for the likes of him. He would have liked it if he were given missions that involved things other than simple debt and research collecting. But at last, he was left on a journey of a lifetime. What was more exciting than learning about a couple of rocks? He asked himself, his sarcasm dripping ever so poisonously. He scoffed, leaning into his open palm as he raised one leg over the other. Nevertheless, when he peers to look at your (e/c) eyes, he is reminded of why he accepted such a mediocre job. 

Your face was as young as the freshly blossomed flowers of spring, the color of your eyes bringing him back to the days in which he enriched himself in the beauty of Inazuman gardens. While dull and muddy, they hold a glimmer of light from deep within, something that he swore he could only bear witness to. Black sleeves contrast your battered skin, scars so jagged that it was violent. When he lowers his gaze, he notices your small, transparent wrinkle that glides across your hand, an elaborate constellation that functions as a map to your heart. And while you hide your glory behind a thin, white veil, you bear thorns so sharp that he fears being swallowed up by them. Flowers that grow upon your shoulders and collarbone reveal to him how difficult it must be to pluck them. They bloom alongside your snowy veil, dancing around the bottom and edges of your neck. 

You bring your hand to caress the gem that rests upon your collarbone, letting the cold, steel prick the thin layer of skin. For you, my child, You still remember the day the Tsaritsa gifted you such an elegant trinket, While the world shades itself in darkness, may your light never see to extinguish. The feeling of her frigid hands grazing the side of your cheek before pinning a colorful gem on your clothes, the loving gaze that she shared for you alone. You think that sort of service was. . . fleeting. You wonder if she was doing these favors out of the kindness of her heart, or if it was merely an obligation, a promise that she wanted to uphold. Shades of blue and purple intertwine with each other, mixing to create what you could only describe being an aurora. Anyone could get lost looking into the crystal, and at times you find yourself to be admirably beautiful in the mirror.

Let us celebrate the coming of a new nation, one birthed from the future itself! Members of the earliest Fatui gawked at such an extravagant gift, their hands unable to stop themselves from clapping in glee for your accomplishment. May her guidance lead us to succession! When you turn to look at them, smiling at them, you are reminded that they were your most loyal subordinates. If loyalty was built upon years of cooperation or existence remained a mystery. Though to you, you find either or sufficient enough, you suppose. Being loved felt. . . nice. To be supported and loved by so many people despite the blood that covers your hands. Was it because you established what could have been the fiercest of warriors, or was it out of care for you? Regardless, you choose to accept their love willingly, knowing well that human life was nothing more than passing time.

The navy-haired man nibbles slightly on the tip of his nail, watching as your fingers interlace with each other, a short and fragile barrier that keeps you at a distance from others. Your presence was so close yet so far from him, the gentle scent of vanilla only reminding him how short his relationship is with you. It was not common for any Harbinger to attend tasks with you, especially when it’s as simple as researching fallen meteorites in the city of Liyue. The Tsaritsa had always made you go on missions alone, and they were oftentimes too secretive for any of the others to know about. He presumes it involves your extraordinary vision, though such thoughts lead him to press his lips tightly together. It is a shame that between the two of you, neither shared enough words for him to feel remotely satisfied by your connection. Your distance keeps your associates away from you, and he is in no position to say whether or not you had to, however, the idea of you sitting along in the golden palace creates a sense of uneasiness inside. He thinks that it’s because he doesn’t like the idea of you not doing any work, but that might just be a lie.

He wonders if his poisonous tongue is what keeps you at bay. It wasn’t unusual to hear him mistreat his soldiers, so he felt as if you could have been weak-hearted to his attempts to rile you. Was he blaming you for being fragile, or was he bringing attention to his poor behavior when comparing his words to yours? You had always spoken with a voice so tender and loving that he swears that you were attempting to place a spell on him with how hypnotic you curved your vowels. Were you the icy witch that allures her victims with the promise of glory, or just a simple woman who carried herself with wisdom and humble nature? What sort of violence did you inflict on your soldiers to make them so obedient and keen? Did you even use any in the first place? Biting the side of his cheek, he hopes to himself that you were merely being cautious of your surroundings. 

He swears to his empty heart that he likes no one in the Fatui, he knows this to be true; so why does he feel deprived when you are not around? To him, being stuck in a palace so grand and empty with only the worst of humans made him sick to the stomach, and yet it changes when you are there. Your presence somehow makes it all the more bearable. It was a bittersweet emotion, he said to himself, biting the tip of his nail. This yearning feeling that he has brought forth into the world was something he loathed. He hates to admit that you were an extraordinary being whose heart holds no bounds, and he could have commended you for such a feat, though he feels sour at the way you drag your feet to the sound of somber drums. It leads him to think that you bore chains that were far too heavy to carry. Guilt was something no Harbinger expresses, so why must you hold it so freely in front of others? 

You and he were one and the same, he likes to believe. Two lonesome beings whose tears fall much too easily in the dead of night, hands too fragile and scared to create mistakes, blood too sacred to spill amongst the ground. Was it a curse for us to be restless? A burdensome existence is no life that one dares to live. Chains so heavy that you could feel your body break underneath the slightest pressure. It’s too easy for everyone to give everything in the search for something easier. The other side must have some sort of otherworldly spell to bring others to their knees. He tilts his head. You lived as a wandering question that has yet to be answered, a being lost in the space of time, unable to break through the guilt you’ve created for yourself. He calls you pitiful as he rests his hand against the side of the carriage, a small frown resting on his porcelain face. How pitiful, he repeated.

Though he resents the idea of being found like a stray, he still remembers the day your loving hand grazed his cheek. Where are you from, boy? Thin nails resting themselves upon his bones as gently as the wind. Do you need a place to stay? You, an unknown diplomat of the Fatui, had found him at the edges of Snezhnaya, beaten and bruised but well enough to say his name. He didn’t know who you were, yet the look in your eyes made him feel as if he had met you once before. Could it be that he found comfort in your presence, or was he simply appealing to your kindness so that you would keep him around?

One day, you will regain your strength, to claim what was lost, you said, pouring him a warm bowl. Perhaps then, you will find what you have been truly looking for. As he brings the wooden dish to his lips, he glances up to see you. The snow rested peacefully against your skin, melting ever so slowly as you stirred the rest of the food. He notices the look of tranquility on your face, and questions if there was something that you cherished so deeply within these woods. The cold may snuff your flame, but it may never tame it. He thinks of this as a lesson he keeps only for himself.

Your hands were as warm as the campfire that had been carved into the land, his skin growing warm as you led him through the dense forest. You were the first to offer him a smile, those pearly whites of yours shining underneath the glistening moonlight. The first that he sought after was the day of his coronation, with your hands full of what he could only describe being a gift for him. You will catch flies if you keep your mouth open, you laugh, And while we may not see each other as much, I wish you the best of luck in your journey. If he could, he would wish to be reborn at the very moment you pinned the Electro-plate on his chest. The piece weighs heavy on his chest. When he asks you about its origin, you only describe to him your harrowing journey of Inazuma, exploring the lands for the finest blacksmith that could carve the symbol of his power on tablets of gold. What a beautiful nation, it is fitting for someone like you. He calls you silly for going as far as to give him something so expensive. Yet when you called him Balladeer, he forgot all about it, unable to keep himself at ease when you brush your fingers against his shoulders. 

He would have chalked you to be a fool for your overwhelming kindness and love, but as he raises his hand to touch the golden plate on his chest, brushing his slender fingers across the smooth surface, he could only feel the way his heart beats a little quicker. What could this feeling be? Was it respect for you as a fellow Harbinger, or something more? What was it that made him feel this way? What could this feeling be and what would you call it? He finds it to be bitter and sweet that it hurts him. It hurts to say that he would swear his successes to you and no one else. It becomes difficult to breathe when his illustration of eternity is one he could share with you, the Tsaritsa’s hand. You will always have him trailing behind you as long as you allow it. The cold may snuff your flame, he says, but it will never tame it. You may experience a hundred years of grief, though he knows that you will always rise above it. And so will he. 

“. . . La Strega,” The Balladeer says, daring not to call you by your translated title as your service is more than just providing what he seems to be destructive. It is an insult to you to address you as a monster when your presence is far from the truth. And while he may be a hypocrite to some, he would be as truthful as he could with you. He will misuse the names of his other associates, but he knows when to hold his tongue when faced with your presence. You were not to be compared with the other Harbingers. At the call of your name, you respond to him with a faint hum.

“I ask why you have chosen to attend to such mundane tasks. It would have been easier to have left the job to someone else, especially if it's about the recent meteor strikes. Perhaps it could have been left with,” Tartaglia, “another Fatui member stationed in Liyue.” He chooses to leave the man’s name out of his mouth. He scrunches up his face as proof of his thoughts but does not let the image of him rile him. The idea of you bringing along that bastard man produced a sour taste in his mouth. He was sure that if you were to bring along the russet-haired man on your journey through Liyue, he would only cause you trouble. What could that man possibly do other than getting into mischief? He sighs under his breath, feeling exhausted at the mere thought of him. 

He finds working with him unbearable, so what could he possibly make with the two of you being together? He would most likely drag you all around the city of Liyue for something as simple as sightseeing when the two of you had nothing more than work. The man of battle was nothing more but a starving child who wanted to enjoy the fruits of life, so naive and foul, the Balladeer describes. He dismisses his thoughts as nothing more but a precaution or warning to you as a fellow Harbinger, though the stinging sensation that pricks his chest wants to tell him otherwise. “I believe that we could use our troops better by having them search the area for any samples. Having us dispatched to Liyue would only attract attention.”

You turn your head towards him, (e/c) eyes taking glances at him before you smile. He feels his hands grow clammy at the sight but he focuses on the way your lips slowly part themselves. “I think it is. . . a nice change of pace. Exploring the nation of Liyue with. . . such a noticeable guide would be difficult. He is too close to the Geo Archon.” 

“Nonetheless, Teyvat’s Traveler may also be researching the same meteorites as the Fatui. . . it would be wise for the two of us to scout them.” Squeezing your hands, you hold your breath for a moment, “I’ve already seen Tartaglia’s reports. . . he already formed a relationship with them. It would be unwise of us to have him involved in something so personal. We must disguise ourselves if we wish to blend in.” 

“As a vagrant of Inazuma and Snezhnayan Church goer?” The Balladeer raises his eyebrow in response, “Our attire would be a dead giveaway that we are associated with the Fatui. Inazuma does not have any Church system. Our reason for being with each other has to be vague enough for them to believe in it.” He huffs, leaning back against his seat, “We look too different to even work together. How could we possibly explain to them our reason for being in Liyue? What kind of business would a foreigner from Inazuma have with a Snezhnayan native?” 

“I suppose you have a point there. . .” You hummed, pressing your lips tightly together.

He was right in the sense that it would be indeed strange for you to mask as a Church follower in the city of Liyue. Having the Balladeer by your side would only draw even more suspicion. You brought your hand to touch the bottom of your chin, staring intensely into space. Inazuma has little to no access to any other religion aside from its own, so how could you possibly formulate a reasonable story for the Traveler? Peering up to glance at the man’s attire, you notice the Inazuman qualities in his facial structure. How troublesome it was, you say to yourself. You already predicted that the Traveler and their companion would identify the two of you as natives from different nations, therefore, your reasoning for being together must be stronger than ever. Before you could sigh, you hear the Balladeer clear his throat. 

“Would you like to say that we’ve recently engaged and that we were merely exploring Liyue to plan our wedding?” You bring your head up to look at the man, his lips curving into a prideful grin. He had no problem disguising himself as your husband if it means that you would be able to investigate the meteorite in peace. And if the Traveler were to ask you about your reasoning for investigating such strange rocks, the Balladeer would smoothly answer that you had found their glow to be beautiful. 

“This would be the most effective plan. This can easily explain our relationship with each other, and we can freely look around the city with less struggle for a place to stay. If we were to run into the Traveler, we could say that we were looking for a place for our wedding ceremony. They wouldn’t bat an eye to a married couple.” Waving his hand he gestures for you to reply, “What do you say, La Strega?”

“My. . . is this your way of proposing to me?” You chuckle, “Perhaps we can play along with that charade. It would be favorable if we can keep the Traveler from suspecting anything from us. . . at least. . . for a while that is.” You notice a bit of a pout growing on his lip, causing your laughter to fill the empty carriage. “You don’t need to act so poutily around me when you already know I trust your word, Balladeer.”

He shares with you an offhand comment, saying that his idea was merely out of convenience and not of favor. So when you turn your head away from him to gaze at the window, the navy-haired man presses a hand t his crimson cheeks, finding your words much too innocent and carefree for his liking. He was not used to such light-heartedness. Though he brushes it off, in favor of questioning how oblivious you must be to his advancements. Too naive to see the way his finger grazes past yours during meetings or the faint smile he offers to you when he is alone in your office. It was strange, he says, for a woman trained in seeing the future, you hadn’t once brought up the idea that he may have favored you a bit more than the other Harbingers.

At last, he finds himself thinking about what sort of future you might be brooding about. After knowing you for several hundred years, he has yet to understand the intent of your plan. Your reason for joining the Tsaritsa, the purpose you share with her, and the likes of her people. He bites down on his lip. For what reason did you assemble the Harbingers? And for what purpose may they serve to you? What did you see in the future, that you had found so deeply disturbing as to formulate an army of the strongest warriors? What could you possibly be defending if not for the Tsaritsa? Pressing his hand against the side of his head, leaning his weight against the carriage, he also looks to the open skies. Every Harbinger has a certain agenda to follow and while yours involves preserving the future, he questions whether or not your current path is something you truly wanted to devote your life to. And though he is in no position to question your line of work, he is left to wonder if you were already aware of his plans to deviate from the crowd.

Your journey with him will eventually come to an end, whether he or you liked it. But he cannot settle the uncomfortable, bubbling feeling of nervousness that he gets when he looks into your (e/c) eyes. It was not the usual warmth that he had grown slightly accustomed to, but a sense of frigid coldness that stops him from wanting to look any further than he should. He is unsure if he wants to look at his future through your eyes, especially not when he knows you will follow any sort of action it took to see it come true. And although he wishes that you could chase after him, declaring your desire to have him stay by your side, he knew that you wouldn’t. No amount of praying or dreams could make such a thing happen. It was you, after all. 

“It looks like we arrived.” 

He flinched slightly, forcefully dragged out of his thoughts as he looked up at you, seeing that you were already standing up to leave the carriage. Your long dress trails alongside your legs, a gentle smile still resting on your face as you look out to the grand view of Liyue. The Balladeer presses his lips tightly together as he decides to abandon his thoughts. Taking his hat from the other seat, he drops down to the floor with a slight ‘thump’ before placing it on top of his head, shielding his vision and skin away from the heat of Liyue. His bells jingle alongside his footsteps behind you, his hand never too close yet too far from yours. A tinge of misery follows him, his lips tightly held together as he peers up at your much taller form. 

He feels remorse pooling over the emptiness of his heart, but he chooses to dismiss such feelings in favor of seeing how far your kindness travels. Though he knows that his journey alongside you was nothing more but a fleeting, passing of time, he wishes that perhaps you’ll meet again in later life.

[tsuukirana]

𝐗𝐗 | 𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐈𝐏𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐑𝐘 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐃𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍

Teyvat was a weary place, battered and beaten by the history of war, mortals continue to feast upon dreams. Though only a few make it out to be heroes, many come and go as quietly as the wind. One woman stands against the story of time, destined to walk on the ground with nothing more but an outstretched hand. Darkness reaches her neck yet never did it quell her light. Her followers wish to be beside her as she veers to the land of defeated gods.

The Tsaritsa's right hand is a lonesome soul who wanders the snow-covered grounds of Snezhnaya. Those serving beneath her swear their loyalty, guided truthfully by the sound of her gentle voice. And though her youthful appearance shields years of pain, she chooses to continue forth her journey in overseeing the land's future, hoping that change will be brought upon her people.

Back to 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄 & 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐃𝐔𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒?

Explore 𝐎𝐍𝐄-𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐓 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓?

Inspired by Aponia, the Third Flame-Chaser by Honkai Impact 3rd.

𝟎𝟎 | 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄; Discipline will help you overcome fears, and raise your willpower to survive. Guiding the younger woman in front of you, your hand stayed hovering over her figure. She grits her teeth in a brutal struggle against her relenting legs, her fingers tightening the handlebars as tightly as she could. She trembled, her breaths becoming heavy alongside your heartbeat. . . 

𝟎𝟏 | 𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐋 𝐓𝐎 𝐋𝐈𝐘𝐔𝐄; Pressing your thumbs together, you closed your eyes, letting yourself feel the gentle breeze of the wind guide your mind to a peaceful resolution. You leaned slightly against the carriage walls, the smell of pinewood traveling through the air. When you bring yourself to stare at the dark-tinted window, you see the lush, green forests that graze past the vehicle. Grasses dance alongside the soft winds, blowing ever so peacefully like there was no tomorrow. . . 

𝟎𝟐 | 𝐆𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐄𝐍 𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐑; As your eyes gaze at the vast windows and cream-colored walls for a while longer, you are reminded of the thousand-year-old tales that have lingered within you, a memory that never leaves you. Rooms that once held life faded with age, fingerprints left upon the edges of furniture, tables in the open lobby that had been bustling with excitement and cheer. . . 

𝟎𝟑 | 𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐈𝐅𝐔𝐋 𝐒𝐈𝐌𝐏𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐓𝐘; The Balladeer stares quietly as you slowly prop yourself into a sitting position, your eyes staring off into the open balcony. A silence that had once filled the air breaks as birds sing of your awakening, their chirps and tunes lingering amongst the town. You exhaled softly, letting your lungs fill with the fresh scent of lavender. . .

𝟎𝟒 | 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐋𝐈𝐄𝐒; Raising your frail fingers to the sky, you could feel the winds brush against your (s/c) skin softly, nipping and chewing at the ends of your nails as you let out a small smile. The air is fresh and clean, nowhere as heavy as those from Snezhnaya regardless, you find it rather pleasing and familiar. . .

[tsuukirana]

𝟐 | 𝐆𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐄𝐍 𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐑

Teyvat was a weary place, battered and beaten by the history of war, mortals continue to feast upon dreams. Though only a few make it out to be heroes, many come and go as quietly as the wind. One woman stands against the story of time, destined to walk on the ground with nothing more but an outstretched hand. Darkness reaches her neck yet never did it quell her light. Her followers wish to be beside her as she veers to the land of defeated gods.

The Tsaritsa's right hand is a lonesome soul who wanders the snow-covered grounds of Snezhnaya. Those serving beneath her swear their loyalty, guided truthfully by the sound of her gentle voice. And though her youthful appearance shields years of pain, she chooses to continue forth her journey in overseeing the land's future, hoping that change will be brought upon her people.

Return to 𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐈𝐏𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐑𝐘 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐃𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍.

As your eyes gaze at the vast windows and cream-colored walls for a while longer, you are reminded of the thousand-year-old tales that have lingered within you, a memory that never leaves you. Rooms that once held life faded with age, fingerprints left upon the edges of furniture, tables in the open lobby that had been bustling with excitement and cheer. Alcohol pooling at the tops of their cups, brash and sensual music echoing through the halls, and dancing accompanying the voice of a singing audience. How awfully strange it was to be here and reminisce on the past. It was unfamiliar yet understandable. As your shoes glide across the smooth floors, you are reminded of the idea that this was a place of memories. One that you had no part in, you say to yourself, brushing your fingers against the sheets of dust that rest upon old wood. You press your lips tightly together as the sound of your shoes clicking against the empty halls. Oh, how long must it be since you’ve rested in an inn and not a campsite far off into the woods? You toy with the steel keys that rest against your fingers. How long must it have been since you heard the starving wolves howl? You find that the ice has not been too kind to you for you to appreciate such luxuries. The cool metal rests comfortably on your skin. Though these halls were slightly barren due to the meteorite incident that plagues the town, you can hear the faint sounds of groans and chatter.

You’ve heard countless stories about the city of Liyue. Whether or not it was of its Archon was little to no concern to you. You know that it is home to hundreds of contracts, hands shaken in agreement as crooked smiles paint themselves on faces, it was a place for all travelers to make their pass. Though your memory may have been lost underneath the weight of age, when you brush your fingers alongside the wooden doorknob, twisting it to reveal a grand room, you are reminded that you were not only living in the present but reliving part of the past. The inn had not changed, you presume, based on the dust that piled itself alongside the cabinets. Though you find yourself at peace, humming in the process. Those who have come and gone, people who once rested their heads against these pillows, stargazing on the open balcony with their hands intertwined, all of them had a life and a story to tell. Being able to sleep so comfortably at night with nothing more than the sound of whistling lovers and families was something many took for granted. Placing your bag down against the wooden dresser, you suck in a deep breath as you admire the view.

The room was relatively plain with not many paintings adorning the ivory walls. While the headboard had unique carvings alongside its edges, it was still rather simple in style. Your shoulders drooped slightly as your breaths became steady and soft, so undoubtedly quiet that not even the Balladeer could hear the sound. The man only brushed beside you, with little care for his surroundings, much too busy with the task of emptying his suitcase. He finds the act of research as boring as ever, and the aching dislike towards unpacking his belongings only further boils his blood. At the moment, he would have wished that he had one of his soldiers do all the monotonous chores. Though he finds that perhaps you’d mock him for being too pampered and that the months of staying in Schneznaya hadn’t hardened him into the warrior you thought he was. Besides, with how clumsy they act, he wouldn’t be surprised if they were to disgrace your honor in front of him. And so he remains to sigh under his breath, cursing to himself. You smile at his groans, finding amusement in his reaction. You turn your head away from him, letting your eyes feast on the grand scenery of the bright, golden-colored trees that were spread across the city. Green and yellow mix harmoniously with each other, and the presence of what you can call tranquility fills the empty air with life.

Something far from the present brings itself back to you. A reminder that when you were underneath the command of the Snezhnayan Church, you vaguely recall stories of Liyue travelers. Though their hands were beaten by the harsh colds of the countryside, you couldn’t forget the look in their eyes as they dreamt of their homeland. A place that was so warm and loved that they wished to bask in its glory one last time. You still see their brilliant eyes as their hands reached up to the empty ceiling, their sights glowing brightly as their smiles matched the radiance of the spring sun. Many travelers who came to the land of snow had always told you that getting through the icy gates was difficult, though it was a task that they wished to see to its end, a contract that they couldn’t break with themselves. It was a deal that locked them in the eternal longing for freedom, but what does that truly mean when they are commanded by belief? You think that their contract was another way of saying that they were committed to their dreams, though you remain unsure of their true intentions, and whether or not you wished to dive deeper. Things were left to be simple, you say to yourself. Having too little to dream of leads you to being unfulfilled, while being too ambitious leads you to one being unsatisfied. A perfect balance is what is needed, and what you see in the future would do just that. You placed your hand against the balcony, resting your weight against the balls of your feet. You note the scent of glaze lilies as the wind toys with the ends of your veil, slithering its way against your neck.

Raising your hand to touch the scarred skin, you hold your breath as leaves glide across your vision, their golden coats washing over with snow. Visions of the past overwrite your reality, lands that were once a lush, green color turning dark as your eyes look towards the open view. No longer in the land of contracts, you stare down at your tiny, nimble hands that hold onto the shell of an onion, the smell of smoke and wood rising to the tip of your nose. A woman no older than thirty glancing upon your curious nature with eyes so loving that you could feel the air grow warm. Her smile curves in ways that could only express thoughts of happiness and contentment. She brings her hand to your cheek, wiping away at the loose ends of hair that had stuck to your skin. When you bring yours to rest upon her, you notice the way her (e/c) orbs soften, the feeling of her calloused knuckles brushing against the palm of your hand. You once asked her if she was a warrior in her past life, and she’d reply to you that she would fight a thousand battles to see the sun. She chooses not to tell you about the red liquid that dribbled on her lips, or the ones that were splattered across her hands, but she will tell you how it all ended. You think of her to be like the warriors that had their destinies written into the stars. All heroes hold some sort of secret. And you would like to think that you knew hers.

Her words were laced in a sickly sweetness, love that would overfill pots of warm stew, a voice so delicate that you swore could let the tides of the ocean rest along the sandy shores. Her kindness was that of weakness. One that had plagued her for generations to come. Though she loves the people of ice, their love for her was rather thin and fleeting. In a world so unloving, love comes at a price. And so she lives on with the heartache and heartbreaks, an illness that you could only describe to be yearning and desperation.

She would stay outside on late nights, waiting on the open porch, knitting away at a sweater that was much too big. She would save a smile for a man that she loved. Love so true she could feel her heart flutter like the birds in early spring, their calls luring her into a deep sleep. While her hands may be tender and loving with you, you could feel the frostbite nipping at her fingertips, her sorrows eating away at her from the inside. She was a painting left abandoned. One that was once a finished masterpiece, is now left to rot alongside artifacts of the time. Her body sometimes leans forward as if waiting for a warm embrace. Wet tears drip down her cheeks like melted snow. She calls out to the man you call father, arms outstretched to the sky as if waiting for him to fall into her. She hopes that one day he will arrive at your doorstep, heavy breaths trailing his lips as he grinned from cheek to cheek. A light that could never dim even during the night’s darkest times. Though his hands may be rough from cutting wood, they were careful enough to grip at her hips, pulling her up to the sky as they would share a loving gaze. His lips would press against her cheek as she giggled, the howling wolves becoming nothing more but a fading echo. Yet as lonely days passed, all that was left was a fragment of her former self, a shell of a woman who had lost everything to the darkness. No longer comforted by the presence of your father, she chooses to lay beside you, holding your hand close to her chest so that you can feel the gentle beating of her heart.

You wipe your eyes to clear your vision. Your mother pulls her gaze away from you to stir a mixture of meat as you step forward onto a dark, wooden stool, your chin touching the counter. She laughs in the same soft tone that you remember so vividly, a smile that is never lost within the darkness of your mind. Since you are done with all your chores, do you want to help me make pelmenis? They were your father’s favorite after all. Her giggle was as infectious as it was lovely. It was no wonder that a man such as your father would cave so easily to the culling of her voice. As you nod, she leans over, letting her hands guide yours with ease, her stare becoming as tender as the freshly cut meat that had settled into a colorful bowl. You pressed your lips together to draw together a bright, excited smile. You can help me fold the pelmenis, it shouldn’t be too hard, just follow my lead.

And so you settle yourself next to her, lazily pulling the sides of dough to wrap around the ball of minced lamb. Your small fingers pinched at each side, keeping it nice and tight so that the filling doesn’t spill. While there were a few spots that you had missed, your mother was right by your side, supporting you through the process. You would like to think that this was how your father had fallen in love. Perhaps they overestimated the time of their hunt, which led to them being trapped in a snowstorm so heavy that the air grew cold enough to freeze one’s lungs. Your father must have chopped up some trees as quickly as he could to light the fireplace within an abandoned cabin, his back leaning against the wooden walls as he sighed in exhaustion. Too tired to even sit in one of the empty chairs, he chose to sit on the ground as a humble man.

After a whole day of hunting, in their hands was nothing more but a small deer that they had found in the deep, northern parts of Snezhnaya. Though his stomach growled as if he wanted to eat a bear. Your father was a polite gentleman, your mother would say, so he covered his roaring stomach with a sheepish expression, asking her for forgiveness for his rude stomach. He must have felt embarrassed, you chuckled. And as kind of a woman she was, she must have used whatever was left within the house to make him what had become his favorite dish of all time. Whether or not it was his favorite because of his childhood memories, or because it reminded him of the first time he fell in love, was a matter that could only be known to him. As she worked her magic in the kitchen, your father leaned against her, peering over sheepishly with a curious expression. His hands grazed against her fingers for a fraction of a second. Noticing the lack of a ring, he could feel heat pooling on his cheeks as he coughed into his fist. Your mother looked at him with a raised eyebrow, unsure of his strange gaze was one of interest. Nevertheless, her work continued, her lips parting themselves slightly to sing a soft tune to herself. Now calm and collected, (e/c) eyes glistened and shimmered, ears perked up to listen to the sound of a beautiful songbird. A breath caught lodged his throat he grinned. Feeling a bit confident in his actions, he chose to press his body against hers, sharing the warmth of his mortal body with hers. A smile crept up on their lips, a familiar thought bringing them closer.

Blinking the tears away from your eyes, you return to the present. The sounds of your mother’s humming becoming as distant and faded as the sun’s embrace, the wind blowing ever so stronger as to call upon the night. You could no longer feel the gentle touches of dough that had left your fingertips dusted in flour. The feeling of warmth left you as quickly as it came. Letting go of a breath that you had mistakenly held, you let it flutter through the skies as orange hues paint the sky. For you to get lost within your thoughts. . . you wonder if that was your weakness. One that would plague you as it did your mother, a kindness that never leaves you.

Perhaps that is why the Balladeer stood quietly as he did, staring at the way your hair dances to Barbato’s waltz. Hands outstretched and empty as if yearning for the comfort of yours in between his fingers. A cold breeze glided across his open palms. He who was attracted by your kindness has never once left your side, even if his eyes wandered only for a fraction of a second, he would swear on his pride that you were someone worthy of his attention and devotion, and he would always come back to you. He shames other mortals for such trivial weaknesses yet when it comes to you, it was different. Things were different. All logic was twisted when you entered the picture. You were a beautiful enigma that left even the best of scholars left fumbling for words. When you stood on the balcony, watching over the people of Liyue with a fond expression, he found that the world around him would shine ever so brighter like the chandeliers that lit old palace walls. A glimmer that he could only see in the night stars brightened as to be by your side. It was your kindness that brought upon what he could only describe as the golden hour.

[tsuukirana]

𝟎𝟎 | 𝐅𝐀𝐍𝐅𝐈𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

The ultimate list of fanfictions which spans several chapters and is an ongoing series that is being updated. They will have their title page and information listed, alongside the genre and the nature of the book. 

Story updates will be sporadic and inconsistent, but stories that are being rerun or rewritten will follow a schedule that has them being automatically updated once a week.

Back to 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄 & 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐃𝐔𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒?

Explore 𝐎𝐍𝐄-𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐓 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓?

𝐈 | 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐑 「𝐕𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐒 𝐍𝐎 𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄」

You awaken after a thousand-year coma by a man named "Vanitas." Trying to understand the newly formed world, you've come to learn more about yourself and the unknown Beast you've created during your years of solitude.

𝐃𝐄𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐋𝐒:

Status: Ongoing

Published: June 23, 2021

Word Count: 58,000+

𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐒: 

Mature • Rated 16+ • Redemption • Atonement

𝐈𝐌𝐏𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐓 𝐑𝐄𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐏𝐒:

(Y/n) & Vanitas 「Romantic」

(Y/n)  & Jeanne 「Romantic」

(Y/n) & Noé Archiviste 「Platonic」

(Y/n) & Aurélien 「Familial」

𝐈𝐈 | 𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐈𝐏𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐑𝐘 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐃𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 「 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐍 𝐈𝐌𝐏𝐀𝐂𝐓 」

Teyvat was a weary place, battered and beaten by the history of war, mortals continue to feast upon dreams. Though only a few make it out to be heroes, many come and go as quietly as the wind. One woman stands against the story of time, destined to walk amongst the land with nothing more but an outstretched hand. Darkness reaches her neck but never did it quell her light. Her followers wish to be beside her as she veers to the land of defeated gods.

The Tsaritsa's right hand is a lonesome soul who wanders the snow-covered grounds of Snezhnaya. Those serving beneath her swear their loyalty, guided truthfully by the sound of her gentle voice. And though her youthful appearance shields years of pain, she chooses to continue forth her journey in overseeing the land's future, hoping that change will be brought amongst her people.

𝐃𝐄𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐋𝐒:

Status: Ongoing

Published: June 18, 2022

Word Count: ???

𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐒:

Mature • Rated 16+ • Sins • Atonement • Violence & Beauty

𝐈𝐌𝐏𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐓 𝐑𝐄𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐏𝐒:

(Y/n) & Fatui Harbingers 「Romantic」

(Y/n) & Traveler 「Platonic」