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— ru | she/her | infj | senior hs student 𓏲𑁘

I mainly write about genshin impact and honkai star rail — slow updates.. (∩´͈ ᴖ `͈∩ ྀི)

status: The Muse I Couldn't Hold | Faded Promises ୨୧ latest updates: Entry 006 ☽ Library | Faded promises — chapter 1

Now playing ༄ About you — The 1975 ♪

— follows come from @rainlolzz

— masterlist

starz-anise

𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘤𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘦𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘴: 𝘑𝘐𝘕𝘎 𝘠𝘜𝘈𝘕!

hello!! jing yuan has been one of my favourite hsr characters since the start of the game, he's the reason i started playing and was my first 5 star! i refuse to take him out of my team even now HAHA. this list of head canons have been brewing since way long ago. soooome of these might sound a little familiar if you know me as 🌟 anon on a certain other author's blog, but i digress! 1. his sleeping/napping habits i feel like most people tend to characterise him as a generally sleepy dude and kinda leave it at that —outlining how he tends to sleep in and refuses to let s/o leave the bed, "5 more minutes" kinda thing. but after some deeper thinking i actually think it's an instance of characterisation that's so hidden in plain sight that no one really chooses to look further into it?

what i mean is, napping/sleeping that much and still being tired is absolutely not normal. one must wonder how that would absolutely wreck his circadian rhythm, i mean... if you're sleeping so much in the day, how could you sleep at night? and so, that's my head canon! jing yuan is unable to sleep for long periods of time in the night uninterrupted because of his over-napping. the quality of his sleep is so poor, which is why he feels so sleepy and tired all the time.

to go the angsty route, i think this is a habit he recognises is destructive to his health but continues to do so anyway. it could just be that he's so bored with his everyday life that the only escapes from his day he can find are in those brief naps. it could also be that he genuinely avoids deeper sleep for drifting into dreams of the past. but at the end of the day, the general's true thoughts are only ever known to himself (which i'm sure is the biggest burden one could bear.)

which is why i think that having a significant other would actually "force" him to regulate his sleeping a little? with his schedule being so busy, i can imagine that the only time he gets to spend with them would be the lazy mornings, shared lunches and afternoon tea escapes, but most importantly winding down and sleeping. rest becomes all the more precious. he'd still wake in the middle of the night at random intervals, but just the sight of someone he cares about sleeping peacefully next to him is enough to coax him into falling back asleep and joining them in dreamland. 2. the titles of the general actually this is something i think about a lot regarding him, the fact that everyone close to him (even yanqing, who's basically his adopted son) calls him "general." everyone still in his life knows him title-first, and it's baked into how they perceive and interact with him. there's likely a lot of grief about it, and inversely he secretly enjoys whatever unserious nicknames people come up with —like "dozing general". it takes away from his image, discredits him from being The General™️, while also personalising what would otherwise just be a cold title. i've also always found it interesting that becoming a general was never his aspiration and i wonder if that adds more to the impostor syndrome? not to say that he feels like he doesn't deserve it or hasn't proved himself to be capable of the role, i mean the disconnect of "jing yuan" from "the general". to everyone else, "jing yuan" stopped existing after the high cloud quintet fell apart and he took up the mantle. his sense of self is bound to be distorted by everyone's expectations of him to at least some degree. if he had a significant other, i think it's absolutely important that they make an effort to get to know "jing yuan", because that process would also prompt some introspection on his part that i'm sure he would've otherwise just chosen to push aside amongst all his other priorities. "who do i become when i'm in love with this person?" "which parts of me do they see?" once his s/o gets to know him, their presence in his life becomes all the more important because they're his reminder of who "jing yuan" is. additionally, i think if his significant other ever called him "general"—even as a joke, but especially in an argument— that would STING. i'd imagine it'd be brought up in a situation where he's keeping certain thoughts to himself (maybe sensitive to the high cloud quintet and the stellaron crisis?) and it's driving his s/o up the wall that he's insisting on bearing the burden alone. and then it slips.

"fine then, general. i suppose even your feelings are classified." yeouch... hearing his s/o use that title like that would be the rudest wake-up call, but i also feel like he would wallow in that shame a little before reaching out to make amends. the shame of how "general" came at the price of losing all those close to him in the past, and continues to haunt him even in the present. a slap in the face he feels like he deserves. don't worry, he'll come to talk to them eventually, but please be patient... this is probably the first relationship he's had that he actually has the chance to make amends. i'm sure he's absolutely terrified of losing anyone again —a terribly human fear that even the almighty general has. 3. jing yuan's hair his beautiful long luscious hair is something that definitely takes careful maintenance, and i feel like that's one of the things he consciously implements as a routine to ground him. it's his form of silent meditation —the length of the hair also serving as a physical representation of his experiences. third base is him telling his s/o about how he takes care of his hair and letting them take part in it. as a fluffy aside (hah, fluffy like his hair) i feel like his hair covering his right eye is soo absolutely unfair. first, i think s/o would get so used to just seeing his one eye that when they finally get the chance to see the other one it would automatically fluster them. seeing how he looks at them with all the adoration in the world... in TWO EYES?? crazy. s/o is short-circuiting for sure. plus, i feel like he'd totally be the kind of guy to default to forehead kisses since he's so freaking tall. and it's genuinely unfair that his own forehead is hard to get to because it's hidden behind all that hair!! ugh!!!! hair accessories-wise, that red ribbon has become such an iconic part of his look, seeing him without it is also one of those things that i think would fluster his s/o. fluffy untamed white hair... imagine his bedhead omg. also, i think that jing yuan's hair ribbon was at first a cute thing to imitate jingliu out of admiration or maybe even a gift from the rest of the quintet members. since he wears it everyday and it's become part of his morning and evening routines, it then becomes a reminder of all who came before him and adds to the sense of duty he feels. additionally, when he's stressed he forgets to take it off and it (wordplay absolutely intended) really gets to his head. s/o, please sneak up behind him and gently remove it, thank you! ᯓ★ thank you for reading! likes and reblogs appreciated, please do not reupload to other platforms!

oh my lord, it's been a while since you posted, you're alive!!

hii and yes! i'm surprised i'm alive too, i think I will disappear again (∩´͈ ᴖ `͈∩ ྀི) but i'll come back somewhere mid june.. i hope you're doing well, anon! take care hehe ♡

༄ Faded Promises

┋ In a quiet 1800s village wrapped in war rumors, two childhood friends make a promise beneath fading sunlight—to meet again when the world stops burning. He remembers every detail of her voice, every goodbye. Time moves forward. Letters stop. But the promise remains, waiting where they once stood together.

includes: childhood friends, bad writing. yes. i'm warning you. bit of teasing hehe, phainon being a dramatic cutie, 1800s vibes.. i hope it gives off that vibe, i think i suck at writing synopsis, might be ooc (sorry..), divider credits to @/kodaswrld, art credits to whoever made it.. i seriously can't find the person who drew it :< found this art on pinterest.

word count: 3.99k (almost 4k)

pairings: phainon x fem!reader

୨୧ chapters — one | two | three | soon..

The air in the countryside is thick with the scent of blooming jasmine and damp earth. You stand by the weathered stone bridge, the hem of your dress brushing against the tall, swaying grass. To the west, the sun begins its slow descent, painting the sky in streaks of bruised purple and burning orange.

Phainon tilts his head, his cyan eyes scanning your face with a spark of genuine warmth. He looks like he's fighting a hidden weight, but his voice is light, almost teasing.

"You actually came," he says. He lets out a short, breathy laugh. "I half expected you to decide I was too much of a nuisance to keep a date with."

He steps closer, the grass crunching beneath his boots. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small, pressed flower, holding it out to you with a slight, hesitant tremor in his fingers.

"A peace offering," he says. "For all the trouble I've caused you this month."

You reach out, your fingers brushing against his as you take the pressed flower. The petals are fragile, a pale yellow that mirrors the fading light of the horizon. You've known him since you were both children, back when your biggest worries were climbing the apple trees behind the village or hiding from the elders. That familiarity lingers in the way you look at him—knowing the exact way his smile hides a sigh.

Phainon watches you, his gaze softening. He shifts his weight, the leather of his boots creaking.

"[Name]," he says softly. The way he speaks your name carries a weight that wasn't there a few years ago. He looks away for a moment, toward the distant smoke of the village chimneys. "I keep thinking about how quiet this bridge is. It's almost too quiet, isn't it?"

He lets out a small, dry chuckle and steps a bit closer, the scent of old wool and rain clinging to his coat.

"Tell me something," he says, turning back to you with a sudden, mischievous glint in his cyan eyes. "Did you actually miss me while I was away, or were you just enjoying the peace and quiet for once?"

You let out a soft huff, rolling your eyes as you tuck the pressed flower carefully into the folds of your dress. The fabric of your skirts rustles against the grass, a sharp contrast to the heavy stillness of the evening.

"The peace and quiet was the best part," you tease, glancing up at him.

Phainon grins, the expression reaching his eyes this time. He leans his shoulder against the rough stone of the bridge, looking out over the water. The river below is a dark, shimmering ribbon, reflecting the first few stars appearing in the east. He looks relaxed, but there's a tension in his jaw, a subtle tightness that speaks of things he's not mentioning.

"Liar," he says. He turns his head to look at you, his gaze lingering. "You probably spent half your time wondering if I'd actually make it back in one piece."

He reaches up to adjust the leather choker at his neck, his fingers lingering on the strap. The wind picks up, blowing a strand of his white hair across his face.

"I can tell by that look on your face," he adds, becoming softer, more intimate. "You're worried, aren't you?"

You shift your gaze toward the river, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a confession. You keep your voice steady, though your heart hammers against your ribs.

"I was mostly worried about who would have to put up with your nonsense if you disappeared," you reply.

Phainon lets out a genuine laugh, the sound echoing softly under the bridge. He pushes off from the stone wall and takes a half—step toward you. The teasing light in his eyes flickers, replaced by something heavier and more honest. He looks at you as if he's trying to memorize every detail of your face.

"You always did have a way of making me feel like a nuisance," he says.

He reaches out, his hand hovering near your shoulder before he decides against the touch.

He pulls his hand back, shoving it deep into his coat pocket. The wind whistles through the grass, bringing with it the distant, metallic chime of a village bell.

"They're calling the men to the square," he says. His voice has lost its playful edge. It's flat now, grounded in a reality neither of you wants to acknowledge.

He looks back at the path leading toward the village, then back to you.

"If I have to go... if this lasts a long time..." He pauses, searching for the words. "I don't want the last thing we did to be arguing about whether you like me or not."

You reach out and take his hand.

His skin is cool, and his palm is calloused from years of reckless climbing and tinkering.

He freezes for a heartbeat, his fingers stiff in your grip. Then, he slowly closes his hand around yours, squeezing tight. His grip is almost desperate, as if you're the only thing keeping him anchored to the ground.

"[Name]," he whispers.

The distance between you vanishes. He steps closer, his chest nearly brushing against your shoulder. The scent of wool and rain is stronger now, mixed with a faint, metallic tang. He looks down at your joined hands, his thumb tracing a slow, trembling line across your knuckles.

"Promise me something," he says. He looks up, his cyan eyes wide and shimmering with a sudden, sharp vulnerability. "Promise me that no matter how long this takes, you'll still be here when I get back."

The village bell tolls again, louder this time. The sound is a harsh reminder of the clock ticking down. Phainon's expression flickers, the mask of the joker slipping entirely to reveal the terrified young man beneath.

"Pick a place," he urges, his voice dropping to a low, urgent plea. "And a time. Somewhere we can meet. Give me something to hold onto when everything else is just... noise and smoke."

“We still have a few days, right?" you ask, your voice barely a whisper. "Let's spend it with each other till the day you go. And I'll tell you which place to meet."

Phainon stares at you. His grip on your hand tightens for a second before he lets out a long, shaky breath. The tension in his shoulders drops, and for a moment, the weight of the war seems to lift, replaced by a desperate, fragile hope.

"A few days," he repeats. He looks at the village, then back to you, a small, genuine smile returning to his lips. "I think I can manage that. I'm quite an expert at avoiding my responsibilities, after all."

He swings your joined hands between you, a ghost of his usual playful energy returning.

"So," he says, his cyan eyes searching yours.

"What's the plan, [Name]? Are we going to sneak into the orchards for some stolen apples? Or maybe we find a spot where the elders can't find us to talk about things we're too stubborn to say out loud?"

He lets out a soft laugh and pulls you slightly closer, his shoulder brushing yours.

"I'm all yours until the bells ring for the final time."

"The orchards. I know a tree with the sweetest apples," you say, a small smile playing on your lips.

Phainon's eyes light up. He gives your hand a playful tug, pulling you away from the bridge and back toward the rolling hills of the countryside.

"A challenge! I've always suspected you were hoarding the best spots for yourself, [Name]," he teases.

The walk is slow. The grass is tall and damp, clinging to the hem of your dress. Phainon stays close, his shoulder bumping yours every few steps. He talks about the most ridiculous things—a stray cat he once tried to train to fetch his boots, or the time he accidentally dyed his hair a strange shade of orange during a failed alchemy experiment in his youth.

The air grows cooler as you enter the shade of the orchard. Rows of gnarled, ancient trees stretch out around you, their branches heavy with deep red fruit. You lead him deeper into the grove, past the well-trodden paths where the village workers usually gather.

You stop before a tree that stands slightly apart from the rest, its limbs twisting toward the sky like frozen lightning.

"This is the one," you tell him.

Phainon looks up at the high branches, then back at you. He lets out a low whistle.

"Those are high. I hope you're planning on being my ladder, because I'm far too dignified to climb that without a proper cheering section."

"Dignified? Since when?" you ask, a playful glint in your eyes.

Phainon stops. He puts a hand over his heart in a mock gesture of offense, his expression shifting into one of exaggerated tragedy.

"I'm wounded, [Name]. Truly. After all the poise and grace I've exhibited in your presence these past few years, you cast me as a common hooligan."

He lets out a sharp, barking laugh and steps closer, his presence filling your space. He reaches up and tugs at the leather choker on his neck, a nervous habit that surfaces whenever he's trying too hard to be funny.

"Fine. You've caught me. I'm a disaster," he admits.

His voice softens. He leans in, his breath warm against your cheek. The scent of the orchard—sweet, ripening fruit and crushed grass—wraps around you both. He stays there for a second, his gaze dropping to your lips before he catches himself and pulls back just an inch.

"But I'm your favorite disaster, right?"

He glances back up at the high branches of the apple tree. A single, perfect red apple hangs from the topmost limb, glowing like a jewel in the filtered sunlight.

"I bet you ten credits that apple tastes like heaven," he says, his voice returning to its usual light tone. "And I bet you'll help me get it if I promise to let you have the first bite.”

"I'm not betting against you, Phainon. You're too lucky," you say.

Phainon stops. He looks at you, his expression shifting from playful to something quieter. He lets out a soft, thoughtful hum and rubs the back of his neck, his white hair messy against his fingers.

"Luck," he says. He looks up at the apple again. "Most people call it luck. I call it a habit of falling the right way."

He steps closer, the heat from his body radiating through the fabric of his coat. He doesn't move to climb the tree just yet. Instead, he looks at you with an intensity that makes the air feel thick.

"If I'm that lucky, [Name], maybe it's because I had you as a childhood friend to keep me from walking off a cliff."

He reaches out, his fingers grazing your cheek, a touch so light it's almost a question. His cyan eyes are searching yours, the mischievous glint replaced by a raw, honest longing.

"I mean it," he whispers. "Being around you is the only time I feel like the world actually makes sense."

He lingers there for a moment, his thumb brushing your skin. Then, as if remembering the bet, he blinks and jumps back a step, the mask of the gremlin snapping back into place.

"Right! About that apple!" He points a finger at you. "Since you've admitted my superior luck, you're officially my assistant. Now, give me a boost before I decide to just shake the whole tree down on top of us."

"Find your own way up, you disaster!" you exclaim, crossing your arms over your chest with a smug look.

Phainon gasps, his hand flying to his chest as he stumbles backward in a dramatic display of betrayal. He looks at you with wide, wounded eyes, though the corners of his mouth twitch.

"Cruel. Absolutely heartless," he declares, his voice loud enough to startle a few birds from the nearby branches. "I offer you my heart, my soul, and the promise of a heavenly apple, and you leave me to fend for myself against a tree?"

He lets out a huff and turns toward the gnarled trunk. He circles it once, squinting at the low—hanging limbs with a focused, almost intensity. He reaches out and taps a sturdy branch, testing its strength.

"Fine. I'll do it the hard way. Just don't cry when I get the best one and eat it right in front of you."

With a sudden, athletic burst of energy, he leaps. He catches a lower branch, the wood groaning under his weight, and swings himself upward with surprising agility. His movements are fluid, a remnants of those childhood days spent scaling every wall in the village.

He climbs higher, his boots scraping against the bark. He pauses halfway up, looking down at you with a triumphant, toothy grin.

"See? Pure grace."

As he reaches for the topmost branch, the limb gives a sharp, warning crack. Phainon's eyes widen, his balance shifting precariously as the branch dips low.

"Phainon! Get down from there!" you shout, your voice sharp with a sudden spike of panic.

The warning comes a second too late. The branch snaps with a loud, splintering crack. Phainon lets out a startled yelp, his fingers slipping from the bark as the limb gives way entirely. For a heartbeat, he hangs in the air, arms flailing, before gravity takes hold.

He crashes through a lower set of leaves with a chaotic rustle of greenery and a series of muffled thuds. He hits the ground with a heavy thwump, landing flat on his back in a heap of crushed grass and fallen twigs.

Silence falls over the orchard for a moment, save for the sound of a few apples bouncing away from the impact zone.

Phainon remains still, staring up at the canopy of the tree with a dazed expression. His white hair is now a nest of leaves and small sticks. One of his boots has come partially undone, and a streak of dirt smudges his cheek.

Slowly, he blinks. He raises one hand, opening his fingers to reveal a single, slightly bruised red apple clutched firmly in his palm.

He lets out a breathless, shaky laugh and looks over at you, his cyan eyes sparkling with stubborn pride.

"Told you," he wheezes, his voice strained but triumphant. "Pure... grace."

"You're an idiot! Are you hurt?" you shout, rushing to his side.

You drop to your knees beside him, your skirts bunching up in the dirt. Your eyes scan him quickly, checking for blood or anything obviously broken.

Phainon lets out a long, dramatic groan. He closes his eyes and lets his head thud back into the grass.

"I'm dying, [Name]. This is the end. Tell the village I died as a hero of the apple harvest," he says. He keeps his eyes shut, but the corners of his mouth are twitching.

He opens one eye, glancing at you. The dirt smudge on his cheek makes him look even more like a stray cat than usual. He slowly lifts the bruised apple, holding it out toward you like a sacred relic.

"But look. I got it."

He winces slightly as he tries to sit up, his movements stiff. He clears his throat, his voice losing the theatrical edge. He looks at you, the playful mask slipping just enough to show the exhaustion underneath.

"I'm fine. Just a bit... rattled."

He reaches up with his free hand, brushing a stray leaf out of his hair, though he misses a few that remain stuck in the white locks. He looks at the apple, then at you, his gaze softening.

"Your turn," he whispers. "The first bite. As promised."

"It's bruised. You failed," you say, leaning back on your heels.

Phainon freezes. He looks at the apple, then looks at you, his eyes wide with a look of sheer betrayal. He lets out a gasp that sounds like he's just been stabbed in the heart.

"Bruised? Bruised!" he exclaims. He holds the fruit up to the light, squinting at the small brown spot on its side. "This is a battle scar, [Name]! A mark of valor! I fought a tree and won, and you're critiquing the aesthetics of the prize?"

He flops back onto the grass with a heavy sigh, the apple resting on his chest. He stares up at the leaves, a small, fond smile touching his lips despite his protests.

"I can't believe this. I literally fall from the heavens for you, and I get a performance review."

He turns his head to look at you, the dirt on his cheek smudging further as he rubs his face.

"Fine. If it's so imperfect, I guess I'll just have to eat the whole thing myself. I'll suffer through the bruise in silence, as a martyr for your high standards."

He brings the apple toward his mouth, but he pauses, his gaze lingering on you.

"You're just saying that because you still want a bite, aren't you?"

You lean over him, reaching down to brush the leaves and twigs from his white hair.

Your fingers move slowly, plucking a jagged piece of bark from a stray lock. Phainon goes completely still. He stops talking, stops joking, and simply looks up at you. The apple remains resting on his chest, forgotten for the moment.

The sunlight filters through the canopy, casting dappled gold patterns across his face. Up close, you can see the fine tremor in his eyelashes. He looks vulnerable, stripped of the bravado he usually wears like armor.

"You're actually being nice to me," he whispers.

His voice is low, stripped of its teasing edge. He closes his eyes, leaning his head slightly into your touch. A small, contented sigh escapes him, and for a few seconds, the only sound is the distant chime of the village bell and the rustle of the wind in the orchard.

He opens his eyes again, his cyan gaze locking onto yours. The distance between your faces is small. He looks like he wants to say something—something heavy and honest-but he catches himself.

He lets out a soft, shaky breath and gives you a small, lopsided smile.

"If you keep this up, I might actually start believing you like me, [Name]."

"Don't get ahead of yourself," you reply, though you keep your hand lingering in his hair for a second longer than necessary.

Phainon lets out a soft, theatrical groan and sinks further into the grass. He closes his eyes, a small, knowing smirk playing on his lips.

"Heartless. Truly heartless. I fall from a great height, risk life and limb for a bruised piece of fruit, and I'm met with such coldness," he says.

He opens one eye, glancing up at you. The playfulness is there, but it's layered over a quiet, shimmering intensity. He reaches up and grabs your wrist, not to pull you away, but just to hold you there. His grip is gentle, his skin warm against your pulse.

"I'm serious, though," he whispers.

He looks at the apple resting on his chest, then back at you.

"Since we've only got a few days, let's make them count. No more hiding behind the usual banter. I want to know... what you're actually thinking about. The things you only say to the river or the trees when I'm not around."

The wind stirs the orchard, sending a shower of red apples tumbling from the branches around you. One rolls close to your knee, a perfect, unbruised sphere.

Phainon watches you, his expression open and hopeful.

"Will you tell me?"

"I.. I'm tired of this. Let's go back to the village," you say, pulling your wrist gently from his grasp.

Phainon blinks. He stays flat on his back for a moment, staring up at the canopy. The hope that had been shimmering in his eyes dims, replaced by a quiet, familiar resignation. He doesn't fight it. He simply lets out a long, slow breath and closes his eyes.

"Fair enough," he says. "Too much honesty for one afternoon. It's dangerous."

He rolls onto his side and pushes himself up with a grunt. He winces, rubbing his lower back, and shakes the remaining leaves from his coat. He picks up the bruised apple and tosses it into the air, catching it with a small, practiced snap of his wrist.

The walk back is quieter. The golden hour has passed, leaving the world in a deep, cooling twilight. You walk side by side, your shoulders occasionally brushing, but the intimate tension from the orchard has shifted into something more bittersweet.

As the first lanterns of the village flicker into view, Phainon stops. He looks at the distant lights of the town square where the soldiers are gathering. He looks at you, his expression steady, though his fingers tighten around the apple.

"We still have those few days," he says softly. "I'll find you tomorrow. Same time, same bridge?"

He offers a small, tentative smile. It's the look of a man who knows the clock is ticking, but is desperate to ignore the sound of the gears.

"I'll be there," you tell him.

Phainon's expression softens. He gives a sharp, single nod, his white hair shifting as he looks away toward the village lights. The tentative smile remains, though it looks fragile, like glass that might shatter if the wind blows too hard.

"Good," he whispers. "I'll hold you to that, [Name]."

He steps back, creating a small gap between you. He raises the bruised apple one last time, a playful glint returning to his cyan eyes.

"I'm keeping this as evidence of my victory, by the way. I'll bring it tomorrow. We can share the 'battle scars' together."

He turns and begins to walk toward the square, his heavy brown coat swaying with each step. He stops after a few paces and looks back over his shoulder, his silhouette stark against the deepening indigo of the sky.

"Get some sleep," he calls out, his voice carrying across the quiet path. "I want you wide awake tomorrow so you can witness more of my grace."

He waves a hand dismissively and disappears into the glow of the village lanterns, leaving you alone in the cooling evening air. The scent of crushed grass and bruised apples lingers around you, a quiet reminder of a moment that feels far too temporary.

You stop and look back one last time.

Phainon has almost reached the glow of the village lanterns. He pauses, his silhouette momentarily still against the backdrop of the indigo sky. He turns his head, catching your gaze across the distance.

Even from here, you can see the slight tilt of his head, the same way he looked at you by the bridge. He raises his hand, waving a slow, quiet goodbye. The gesture lacks his usual flamboyant energy; it's small, almost fragile.

As he finally turns the corner and vanishes from sight, the silence of the path settles around you. The orchard behind you is a wall of dark shadows, and the road ahead leads back to a home that feels like it's already beginning to change.

You stand there for a long minute, the cool evening air biting at your skin, staring at the empty space where he just stood.

— thank you so much for reading! i hope you enjoyed it ♡ i really hope i finish this fanfic and not put it on hold like how i did for the other previous phainon fic.. trust guys ahahaha.

— i haven't created a taglist but if you would like to be added to it, comment/ask <3

— reblogs are appreciated :)

harmonysanreads

First love is like eating that one perfect mango. The taste of which you'll never find again in another but you'll keep on chasing it regardless, while telling yourself that you need to move on. It's something that'll haunt you forever.

To clarify, I have never been in love in that way, but I have eaten some really good mangoes.

I'm going to study one whole chemistry chapter, watch me guys! ૮(˶ᵔᵕᵔ˶)ა

(Test is literally in 1.5 hours goodbye)

#ru's heartbroken life

The Muse I Couldn't Hold — Entry 006 ☽ Library

︴Word Count — 290 ࿐

Midterms are around the corner. The kind of disaster that makes people spiral or disappear. But I finally did it—l asked you if you wanted to study together.

And you smiled. Smiled. Like I offered you something precious instead of a desperate excuse to spend more time with you.

We went to the library, found a corner tucked away from the world. We didn't talk much—there wasn't any need. You were focused, eyes scanning the pages like they were telling you secrets. glanced up at one point and saw you pouting slightly at a particularly annoying paragraph, your lips forming that soft curve.

And I smiled.

Oh how I couldn't help it. You looked unreal. And so real at the same time.

The library was quiet. Not even a whisper from the walls. But somehow, you were still the loudest thing in the room. You always are. You're the noise in my heart, the hum in the silence, the static I can't turn off—and don't want to.

It's been six months since we got close. Half a year of texts, walks, café visits, and glances that said more than our words ever did. And I don't know how I made it this far without blurting it out, but here it is—written down where only I will see it.

l love you.

I don't know when it happened, or maybe it's been happening slowly since that first photography class, but I do. I love the way you see the world. I love the way you talk, and how you listen. I love that you always wear that outfit, and how you hate that one subject but try anyway.

I love that you're you. And I hope, with everything in me, that someday—you'll see me too.

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SYNOPSIS — A quiet journal traces a year of almosts—shared classes, rain-soaked laughter, study sessions, and the ache of noticing too much. Through photos, sketches, and unsent words, a boy learns how love can grow in silence, become art, and fade without ever being named.

TAGLIST — @meisverycool @knifeswirl @paupauww @kithewanderingme @m1ikqn @shadsmidnightthoughts @payayay @kabumeow @miholio @yasimm @justag00ber @angeliccakeycloud

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The Muse I Couldn't Hold — Entry 005 ☽ Sunset

︴Word Count — 351 ࿐

You asked me if I wanted to check out that new café that opened nearby. Of course I said yes. How could I not? It felt like the universe was holding the door open, whispering, this is your chance—go. I was nervous, maybe too much. But then I saw you.

And everything else blurred.

You wore that outfit—the one that made my brain short-circuit a little. I don't know why, but it comforts me now, like a signature. Like something familiar in a world that keeps changing. I think it might be your favorite. Or maybe it's mine now.

You ordered your drink, and when you said you liked it, your eyes did that sparkle thing I always try to catch with my camera but never quite can. Mentally noted: your drink of choice. I'll bring it next time. And the time after. Because if I get to keep seeing you, I want to remember the little things. The small, golden details that make you you.

We talked for hours about goals, dreams, futures that didn't seem so far away when you were speaking them. Turns out, our ideas weren't so different. And it felt strange how easy it was, how natural, like we'd had these conversations before in a dream I forgot I had. You laughed, listened. I shared, you leaned in. And all the while, the sun began to fall behind the horizon like it was giving us one final moment wrapped in gold.

You said you loved sunsets. But all I could think was I love you. Not in a dramatic way, I suppose. Not yet.. But in another way, the kind that plants itself gently in your chest and grows every time they smile. I took a photo of you when you weren't looking. A quick one.

The light hit your hair just right. I know I'll look at it a thousand times. We said goodbye when the sky turned lavender. And I walked home with something soft blooming in me.. something hopeful?

I hope there are more days like this. I think they might be my favorite kind.

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TAGLIST — @meisverycool @knifeswirl @paupauww @kithewanderingme @m1ikqn @shadsmidnightthoughts @payayay @kabumeow @miholio @yasimm @angeliccakeycloud

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The Muse I Couldn't Hold — Entry 004 ☽ Text

︴Word Count — 171 ࿐

We've been texting every day now. It's funny how something as simple as a message from you has become my new routine. Morning classes, coffee, and you. Honestly, you've somehow become the highlight of my day—no, screw that. You are my day.

God, that sounds cringe. Whatever. I'm letting it stay.

Feels right.

Your texts? They're like little pieces of you I get to hold. Every emoji, every typo, every "lol" that probably wasn't even a real laugh but still made me smile like an idiot. And those emotions you use—simple, sweet, weirdly specific.. they remind me of you.

They carry your voice, your expressions, your little pauses when you think I'm being dumb (which is probably often.) It's like even when you're not here, you kind of are.

I don't know where this is going, but I want to see it through. Whatever it is. However it unfolds. That's all for today, I guess. I wanted to capture this feeling before it slips away.

I hope tomorrow holds more of you.

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TAGLIST — @meisverycool @knifeswirl @paupauww @kithewanderingme @m1ikqn @shadsmidnightthoughts @payayay @kabumeow @angeliccakeycloud

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The Muse I Couldn't Hold — Entry 003 ☽ Photo

︴Word Count — 266 ࿐

It's been two months. Funny, I didn't even notice how long it's been since I wrote. Maybe because I've been busy—no, not busy.. just caught up. In you.

Back to writing, I guess. We've grown closer since that assignment. It still surprises me, honestly. How a random pairing could feel like fate. We got an A+, no shock there.

Your photos were magic—you are magic. The way you captured light, shadows, movement.. I was watching something blessed unfold. But today was something else entirely. We hung out after class. You appeared angelic. No other word for it.

There's this one photo I took—unplanned, like the moment asked to be preserved. You weren't facing me, not fully. You wore that outfit again.. the one you had on the very first day I saw you. But this time, your smile slipped through, barely.

That soothing, secret kind of smile like the world had whispered a joke only you understood. And bubbles floated into the frame. Real ones. Some kid nearby, I think. But they didn't matter. The trees blurred into the background like obedient extras. In that photo, you were the only story that mattered.

I think I fell. I mean, I already was, but this was something..?

The kind of falling that doesn't make noise but leaves cracks.

What's happening to me? It's late. I should sleep. But I can't stop thinking about that moment. About you.

I hope I get to make more memories like that. I hope this isn't just a phase in a journal.

I hope you're reading this one day, beside me.

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a/n: Sorry for disappearing ꒰ ᐢ ◞‸◟ᐢ꒱ but life has been so busy and hectic. So I barely get to post anymore aghh.. i'm going to try but i think i will flop HAHAHAHA.. Anyways, thank you so much for reading and i hope you enjoyed it ᥫ᭡

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TAGLIST — @meisverycool @knifeswirl @paupauww @kithewanderingme @m1ikqn @shadsmidnightthoughts @payayay @kabumeow @angeliccakeycloud

TAGS:

Phainon's fic will be on hold 💔 I will continue when I fix some gap.. For now, I'll be finishing Scaramouche's fanfic :,> I don't know if I will update as much since this year is really important haha. I hope I can finish soon.

#ru's heartbroken life #phainonfic

The Muse I Couldn't Hold — Entry 002 ☽ Assignment

︴Word Count — 208 ࿐

There was an assignment today. Group work. I wasn't expecting anything—just the usual mindless pairing with someone who barely makes eye contact. But then they called your name and mine. And for a second, I actually thought I misheard.

But no. It was you and me. Together. I think the universe is finally throwing me a bone, or maybe having a moment of mercy. We talked.

Not much, not deep but enough. About the project. About the deadline. Where to meet. When. But in between those words were all the little moments that nearly undid me.

The way you tucked your hair behind your ear while thinking. The sound of your voice when you laughed at something dumb I said. You looked beautiful. You are beautiful. But it's not only your face though, God knows, that's enough to stop traffic—it's everything.

The way you speak like you mean it. How your presence makes a room feel like it's holding its breath just to hear you. And then somehow, impossibly you gave me your number. It's real. I checked it three times, like some idiot afraid he dreamed the whole thing.

Maybe I've got a shot now.

Maybe this isn't some one-sided story anymore.

Maybe, I will find out what "us" could mean.

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a/n: sorry for the slow updates.. life has been really busy lately. thank you so much for reading and i hope you enjoyed 🩷 sorry for any grammar error or whatsoever..

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TAGLIST — @meisverycool @knifeswirl @paupauww @kithewanderingme @m1ikqn @shadsmidnightthoughts @payayay @angeliccakeycloud

TAGS:

going to update soon.. life has been busy lately 😭😭

#ru's heartbroken life #this pmo

QUICKFIRE:

favourite colour:

favourite genshin character (one fem one male):

off of the top of your head a genshin food you would eat:

what nation your country is in (don't have to answer this one if you don't want):

and which nation you'd want to live in:

HEHE HII

1. I have 3 favorite colors but if I have to choose then its violet

2. Male - Ayato & Female - Ganyu

3. Sakura tempura.. I'm so curious how it taste like.

4. Hmm I'm not sure if my country is included but sumeru (⸝⸝ᵕᴗᵕ⸝⸝)

5. Inazuma!!

#Ru's ask ◡̈

RAIN'S DEAREST LOVER — 05 — PRESENTATION

[Not proofread] Word Count — 800+ ࿐

The day begins like every other—too early, too bright, and too loud. Students swarm the hallways, coffee in one hand, anxiety in the other. Your group arrives at the seminar room with your laptops, notes, and neatly highlighted slides, all of it meticulously prepared… mostly by the two of you.

Phainon walks in beside you, calm and collected, as though nothing could possibly rattle him. He’s wearing a blazer over a simple shirt, sleeves neatly rolled, hair just enough out of place to look effortless. That “I woke up like this” perfection that is infuriating and somehow magnetic at the same time.

“Ready?” he asks, glancing at your slides on the shared laptop. His tone is light, playful—but there’s an undercurrent of seriousness, that subtle edge you’ve come to recognize.

“As I’ll ever be,” you reply, biting the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling.

He smirks. “That’s reassuring.”

Walking into the seminar room feels like stepping onto a stage you’ve both been rehearsing for in private. The professor nods at you from the front, then gestures for the presentation to begin. Groups file forward. Each one presents, murmurs of applause punctuating well-executed arguments.

Finally, it’s your turn. You set up the laptop, plug in the projector, and take a deep breath.

Phainon stands beside you, hands lightly resting on the edge of the table, notebook in hand, ready—but not intrusive. You notice the way his gaze briefly flicks toward you before scanning the room. That quiet, precise awareness that says, I see everything you do.

“Let’s begin,” you say, and he nods, voice calm and confident.

You start presenting the first section, your words smooth, controlled. You feel his presence like a counterbalance, steadying without overshadowing. When you reach the portion where the argument gets trickier, he picks up seamlessly, refining the point with his soft-but-sharp precision.

“While the initial claim holds under constrained circumstances,” he says, voice clear, “it risks oversimplifying when applied broadly. Consider the ethical implications if variables change mid-process.”

You glance at him, raising an eyebrow. “He’s clearly been practicing his rhetorical flourishes,” you whisper under your breath, smirk teasing.

Phainon glances at you, a corner of his mouth twitching, but he doesn’t miss a beat. “I’ve noticed your habit of underestimating small contradictions,” he whispers back, eyes sparkling. “Try not to make it a habit in the conclusion.”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t suppress a laugh. Your classmates glance at you both with faint amusement, but neither of you breaks character for the rest of the presentation.

The professor interrupts only once, gently probing a point. You glance at Phainon for backup, and he responds immediately, supporting your argument while subtly emphasizing his own contribution. Not in a competitive way—yet sharp enough to highlight the refinement he’s added.

When the slides end, you step back slightly, letting him finish the last few points with fluidity. Your group receives polite applause. You glance at him, and he smirks—a small, satisfied curve of his lips.

“Not bad,” he murmurs quietly as you pack up.

“Not bad?” you echo, teasing. “I think we killed it.”

He chuckles, soft and sharp all at once. “We did. But you said ‘we’—I’d argue I did most of the heavy lifting.”

You scoff. “You’re cute when you think that.”

His eyes narrow playfully. “Cute? I’ll take it as a compliment, but I’m not sure you understand the full implications of your words.”

“Implications?” You lean closer just a fraction. “Are we still talking academically?”

“Partially,” he replies smoothly. Then softer, “Mostly socially.”

Your friends corner you after the presentation. They grin like they’ve been waiting for this moment all day.

“You two are insufferable,” Hyacine says, laughing. “The way you banter the entire time—it’s like watching a tennis match where the ball’s secretly on fire.”

“You watched?” you snap, feigning indignation.

“Of course we did,” your friend replies. “You can’t hide how much you notice him. And he notices you, too. It’s painfully obvious.”

You roll your eyes, but your chest feels warm.

Phainon leans close under the guise of helping adjust the projector cord. “I noticed you rolling your eyes,” he says softly, sharpness undercut by playfulness. “Careful. It betrays your enthusiasm.”

“Excuse me?” you murmur, glancing up at him.

He grins. “I’m just saying. You’re bad at hiding things.”

“You’re worse,” you reply, letting the words slip out before you can think.

“Touché,” he murmurs.

Walking back to your dorm, the conversation continues. Not just the project—but playful arguments about interpretation, strategy, and phrasing. He challenges every point you make, but never harshly—only sharp enough to provoke, enough to make your brain light up with both irritation and fascination.

“Honestly,” you say, “you’re insufferable.”

“Insufferable?” he repeats, eyebrows raised. “And yet, here you are, engaging me hours after the presentation.”

“I could say the same about you,” you counter.

He smirks, a small victory. “Perhaps,” he concedes, voice soft but sharp. “Perhaps.”

Later that night, lying in bed, you replay the presentation. His words, the way he noticed your small habits, the subtle teasing during the slides.

And a thought sneaks in that you can’t quite push away: he’s sweet… but he’s getting under your skin in ways you don’t want to admit.

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a/n: i genuinely forget this story is supposed to be a slow burn.. ◡̈ but trust, they will mwa mwa in around 8-9 chapters?? i think.

thank you so much for reading and i hope you enjoyed :)

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SYNOPSIS — Where you and Phainon are in academic competition. He enjoys competing as much as you do. Will it stay that way, develop into something more where you two become closer every day, or cause heartache?

Taglist — @clooumelon @lyambdaa @writtenforphainon @violetisreadinghush

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The Muse I Couldn't Hold — Entry 001 ☽ Cats

︴Word Count — 264 ࿐

I saw you feeding the cats outside campus today. You crouched down, murmuring to them like they were old friends who'd been waiting for you. And maybe they had. Maybe we all have. You had your hair down, like always, but for some reason it felt different today—so soft, so unguarded. Or maybe it wasn't your hair. Maybe it was the way you looked at the smallest one, the runt with the torn ear. Like they mattered. Like they were enough.

Oh how I wanted to be that cat.

You seemed so gentle. Like the kind of gentleness that could ruin a person if they got used to it. The sun hit you in this unfair way, golden and reverent, and all I could think was this is it. This is the moment I should say something. A "hi." or your name. Anything.

But I didn't. I stood there like an idiot, hiding behind a vending machine, pretending to read a flyer about the drama club I'll never join.

I wish you'd gaze at me the way you look at those cats—with softness, with warmth, like I was someone who mattered. But to you, I don't even register. I'm the extra in the background of your life, blurry and forgettable. I keep telling myself I'll do it next time.

That I'll speak. That I'll step into your orbit instead of admiring it from light—years away. But every time the moment comes. I break.

Still, I really hope I get another chance.

Because I think you're the only person who's ever made the world feel quiet.

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a/n: thank you so much for reading and i hope you enjoyed <3 sorry for the slow updates :( life has been busy, take care everyoneee 💗

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TAGLIST — @meisverycool @knifeswirl @paupauww @kithewanderingme @m1ikqn @shadsmidnightthoughts @angeliccakeycloud

TAGS:

writers block is getting to me :< ikdhsjsj ok i'm going to try finishing chapter 5 of phainon's fanfic and entry 001 of scaramouche's fanfic aghh

#ru's heartbroken life #life be like that #this pmo #writer block

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