note: thank for you all the love on my first post!! this came from a rq from one of my friends on tiktok and i wanted to share it here too :)) super hype since the new trailer!!!
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wanderer takes his tea as bitter as tar. he plants his cup out like a booby trap: the moment you/re spitting out the offensive substance, he scolds you to not touch his belongings
for one worn with the annals of centuries time, wanderer cares little to remember trivial names or titles. you're his mental archivist of all of your shared 'acquaintances' ("who was that again?" after a 20-minute exchange with the scribe)
wanderer's petulance is best utilized whenever he can detect your anxiousness in a social setting. his exit is deliberate as he complains all the way out the door about "such a bore", all so you can similarly slip away without a spotlight on yourself. a tantrum tailored for two?
when you're NOT accompanying him on his travels, wanderer always happens to make enough for an extra serving as if you're still with him. no slip-up frustrates him more when he's left with an extra helping of stew gone cold. how irritating!!!
wanderer mentally rehearses one-liners he could've said in your latest argument days later, practicing them on chirping dusk birds or clueless aranara
the one few instances wanderer surrenders control is whenever he lets you cut his slight outgrown hair; one fleeting trace of mortality woven into his existence. it's a wordless understanding neither one of you wish to disturb
in the very dead of the night, wanderer occasionally mimics the pulse of his vision to match the rising and falling of your shoulders. like a dance he was never meant to learn, he becomes part of your rhythm - just for a while
description: despite winter paying its dues to the wine tycoon—a vineyard of unmarketable produce until next season, a study of teetering paperwork calling his name—diluc still finds flickers of warmth in the offseason through your shared rituals
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the lull of snowfall drapes a quiet unease across the manor’s nights, echoing the whispering gales of snezhnaya he once knew too well. drawn by such memories, he oftentimes migrates his paperwork to your shared bedroom—or calls you with questions that could have waited an hour longer, just to occupy space together
…for that same reason, diluc subconsciously shadows your footsteps by a pace behind whenever the two of you transit to the city together. old habits die slow when it comes to ragnvindrs
he absolutely detests customers tracking melted snow across the tavern’s polished hardwood, yet he always slides your too-damp-for-his-liking boots near the hearth without your noticing
it goes without saying that diluc favors the scent of pine above all else. offseason, his own fragrance settles into unwavering cedar and ash, no matter how many cycles of washing to rid the tingling smell
diluc sourly muses that heavier snowfall means fewer knights on patrol—it’s his only way of justifying extra time on the streets. however… it’s hard to argue when he returns home with a nose as bright as his hair
offseason wildlife often gravitate toward the manor through this time of winter; more than once, you’ll find an entranced diluc standing at the window, a handful of deer frozen in his gaze. he can’t explain why they come back every morning
despite the evenings that drag longer by the solstice, there is always a light guiding you back to his refuge—whether it’s the glow of the living room’s fireplace or a head of hair as red as ember welcoming you home
the cold does not reach here: tartaglia/ajax x gn!reader
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an: this writing was from a draft about a year ago, but i think its made it’s rounds back around this season… didn’t wanna write a whole fic so i just added hcs at the end! he’s so easy and fun to write for i hope u guys like it & HAPPY HOLIDAYS
description: (~500 word drabble + headcanons at the end) your traveling partner, tartaglia, has finally sold you on an overdue visit to his homeland and his residency.
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The ghostly whistles of icy Snezhnayan gales are accompanied by the steady crunch of snow beneath weighted steps.
You trail sluggishly behind him, dragging one foot in front of the other through the swelling drifts. A sharp grimace sours your face as piercing numbness crawls up and gnaws at your legs, and you huff a breath of warmth into your cupped hands, watching it bloom and vanish in the nipping air.
It seems the only sight keeping you somewhat tethered is the man a pace or two ahead of you.
Your blurred vision follows the rise and fall of his frame, caught in a quiet awe of his contradiction. The gleam of the snow contrasts against Tartaglia’s blazing hair—a streak of sunlight cutting through an endless sea of clouds.
Despite how incongruous he appears against these boundless plains of frost, Snezhnayan winters seem made for a man like Tartaglia. His breaths come even and unhurried, his stride unbothered by the depth of the snow. It’s evident that the cold of his homeland is no novelty.
“You’re slacking,” a breath of laughter threading his chilled quip. “Snezhnaya swallows her first-timers, story goes.”
He’s turned to face you now as he paces backwards, cheeks and the tips of his ears dusted with a rosy flush, grinning as he playfully mocks your woeful stamina. Now slowing his pace, Tartaglia falls into a comfortable step beside you and gestures ahead — a humble cabin glowing warmly in the distance, its windows blazing like beacons… The glacial silence that once stretched between you softens, filled instead with your breath of relief and his laughter as you make way towards his sanctuary.
The door creaks open beneath his gloved hand, and warmth immediately spills out to greet you first.
Inside, the house bears the distinguishable mark of its homeland; thick stone walls reinforced with dark wooden beams, hardwood floors that groan under pressure… fur-lined rugs are strewn across the floor to trap heat, their edges softened by years of padding children around the house. A hearth, as you settle on last, crackles at the center of the residency, its fire casting an amber glow across shelves stacked with worn books and the odd trinkets gathered from familiar lands. The air smells faintly of cinder and something hearty simmering deeper within the house.
Tartaglia calls out to his siblings as he steps inside, few names you recognize from his longing spouts overseas. He insists on helping you first, carefully unraveling the scarf from your neck and hanging your heavy coat beside his own — both damp with melted snow.
In that beat of a moment standing less a foot apart, his expression was unrecognizable. A contradiction he became under that household, you read; with a face battered and worn of war, his eyes read nothing short of warmth.
Before you can fully take in your surroundings, three sets of hurried footsteps echo down the hall.
His younger siblings come barreling toward him, the corners of the rugs peeling under shoves and slips (unsurprisingly). They latch onto his legs with shrieks of joy and call him a name — not a title, nor some foreign alias — you’ve only ever seen on letters from home. It felt forbidden to hear.
Bubbling with intoxicating laughter, Ajax scoops them up one by one, albeit the set of twins (from your deduction) requiring some extra strain even from a Harbinger. When the fire-haired trio finally stills, he turns to you without hesitation, introducing you with unmistakable pride.
A glimmer of recognition contradicts the now-knitted glare on Ajax’s face towards the three children. What was that expression? One of admonishment?
The three make sure not to shorten you on their warm welcome. Tonia, the young girl which you deducted from Ajax’s earlier warmhearted greetings, seems to reserve her questions away from her older brother’s testing gaze.
The two boys, however, care not to relent: The single familiar face being Teucer serves as Anthon’s tour guide, tugging excitedly at your satchel for hidden gifts and trinkets for uncovering.
Anthon narrows in on you like a vulture, testingly inspecting your vision and shooting accusations at you narrowingly. “You don’t look all that scary,” eyes bright with an unconfined excitement. “You defeated my brother? How’d you do it? Did he let you win?”
“I told you two to behave,” Ajax shakes his head through a resigned laugh, swatting off Teucer’s prying hands. His words only seem to amplify their curiosity towards the foreign visitor.
There’s a quiet, unreadable softness in Ajax’s’ expression as he watches each of them find their way to you in their own time-teasing pride, his face giving way to something… steadier.
As for you? You could read that it would potentially take days to satisfy the admiration burning in their eyes, each requiring their own satiation of stories and tales.
For once, it feels as though you have all the time in the world.
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Ajax is the bane of every punchline during your stay. Between hearty dinners or afternoon chores, his siblings constantly rat out the boy for ‘never stacking the firewood’ or ‘never sharing his food’. Oh, he hates it.
The miserable conditions outside won’t dare to dampen the agenda Ajax set out for your visit, whether it’s a forced round of snowball-fighting with the kids or a late-night walk (or trudge, for you) into the nearby town. He was lucky enough to get you here in the first place— he doubts you’ll find time again to come again soon.
Ajax serves as the translator for most of his family’s dialect. As he’s come to learn during your visit, however, Schneznayan sayings don’t seem to translate over as well as he anticipated. “You’ll catch on,” he fails to reason. You won’t.
Anthon doesn’t believe a word you put in his head. Defeating archons? Overthrowing governments? Conquering Celestia? If it doesn’t have a scar to the story, he’s sputtering and kicking his legs in a giddy disbelief. He still insists to sit next to you at dinner, despite his dramatics.
Teucer assumes you’re staying for the long run. Ajax lended you his own room during your stay, but Teucer muses that you could move into one of their older siblings’ rooms for the time being.
Despite her usual quiet observation, Tonia has a beautiful attentiveness once you get her to warm up. She already knows plenty of you from her brother’s letters home, but she’s infatuated to learn how you fit into his world. She, of course, is the slowest to fatigue with any story.
It’s rare you get a moment alone with his mother. She thanks you for salvaging a piece of her son despite all that may change within him.
He talks a little faster, laughs a little louder with an unfamiliar warmth in his tone you’ve never heard of — The cold of the outside’s demands doesn’t reach Ajax here.
note: this is my first ever post on here!!! i may re-upload some of my posts from tt onto here just to share the fun. i have some old drafts on here i may revise and publish as well :) i look forward to posting more on here!!!!
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• diluc secretly undergoes solo quests to find your missing items around the house after the first time you two scavenged the place with no success. when you find it awaiting your gaze on the dresser, diluc dryly brushes it off with a "must've not looked hard enough"
• diluc will often leave a burning candle on the sill his office's window to steer you home after your late night working
• despite his banal usage of musky cologne, diluc cannot avoid the scent of firewood on his clothing at each night's retirement. he claims the smoky pillowcases are simply from the fireplace
• despite how deep the two of you may be in conversation, diluc always cares to refill your water or tea without any question. call it a bartender's habit?
• rather than fervors of passion, diluc relishes in small breaths and passings of touch. he often keeps a thumb on your wrist as silent solitude, whatever case it may be
• diluc took a while to get out of the habit of eating dinner in silence unless prompted. your disruption in his hardened routine, once seen as an irritation to him, serves a balm to his weakening heart
the ocean herself will hold her breath (kokomi x gn!reader)
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a/n: i had just seen kokomi’s anecdote for the first time yesterday and it only refueled my love for her. she STILL be mogging everyone & they mama in genshin…props to tha chef
description: kokomi’s s/o had been deployed to combat the efforts of the vision hunt decree. inspired by the archon quest/her world map anecdotes, these are journal entries narrated from her perspective
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Today, I shadowed over the younger cadet’s training on the westernmost shore. Energy +3.
When I smiled at a soldier, they happened to smile back at me. It’s little moments like these to relish a breath longer in.
The tactic council’s meet extended until midnight. Energy -2.
We rescheduled our meetings for every other second day instead of each fortnight. You had always hated those meetings—always silent until the shrine had run empty, only to put your thoughts in long past their departures. I haven’t forgotten your silence yet.
We have refuged a vessel-worth of getaways from the city. Energy +2.
Each small victory comes with a small loss, but stability is viable. That is what we strive for.
I have received your letter. Energy +5.
I had read it three times before I finally returned to my breach of directives… was it I that smeared the ink?
You told me that you were safe, that the Shogunate’s grip could never batter your fight, and you reassured me to rest my thoughts. I could near hear it in your voice.
I will continue to review my directives. Between the lines, I will think of you and you alone.
The Decree tightens and spreads its plague across even outlying lands, and each one of our victories runs thinner than the last. Energy -3.
I must appear unshaken. Diplomacy is served with a side of theatrics, I have best learned—I will only gain their trust if I, the performer, puts on her greatest act.
Sleep must elude me this evening, even when you plea of me to follow fit.
Your pillow still retains your scent. Only then is it not so bad to be awake. Energy +1.
Reports rumor that captured soldiers of the island have been forced into silence, and I’m afraid it won’t be long until I lose my own. Energy -3.
Our last day together is etched into my very being. When I go to sleep, I see your heavy eyes and how you asked of me to wait for your return. The promise becomes heavier every evening without you.
I wrote to you again. Do my messages no longer reach your tides? Energy -4.
It spoke none of strategy or commands, but rather words only for us to know. Such thoughts have become too heavy for me to hold alone.
I had miscalculated a tactical move in my latest report. It has been years since that last happened. Energy -3.
I have been scratching for answers as to what to credit such a mistake to, may it be exhaustion or distraction. I fear it is the latter.
My ancestors forewarned me how love may bleed into diplomacy. Now, it’s the only thing keeping me sane.
Energy -1.
I review my old entries, mourning the loss of who I once was.
I used to write only of hope for the island. Now I can only write of you.
I must bury myself deeper into duty.
The end of the Decree is nigh; the ocean herself is holding her breath tonight. Energy +2.
It has been months since I have been out to our shore. The fishing routes had long been halted due to naval hazards, and all is quiet across the water. Has the island lost it’s sound, or is it myself that hasn’t been listening all this time?
If She is as merciful as She commands, She will return you safely to me.
The coral will guide you home, my sanctuary. Until then, I will keep watch of the horizon.
I love you. Energy +10.
I love you. You’re here, and you’re smiling, and I thought I could never love you any more.
After the liberation of the Decree, life pulses once more in our island of Watatsumi. The streets are lined with flags of our freedom, and the dining halls groan with food only fit for Celestia. It is short of what they truly deserve.
I was sure the ocean lost her breath once more the moment we were reunited. Your belongings had nearly fallen off the pier when we booked and collapsed for one another’s arms.
While several of your men drained kegs like water until the coral lost it’s nightly glow, I watched you celebrate as if the weight of the war had no strain on your shoulders. I love you.
I am the Divine Priestess of this free island. Tonight, however, I will not care for directives or tactical reports.
Tonight, you will rest soundlessly beside me, albeit drunkenly.
some of you may have found my page through TikTok, whether it be before or after the potential ban. welcome to my page!
i am currently working on uploading some of my old TikTok posts onto here. if you have any further questions or requests for fics, shoot me a message and i’ll be sure to answer!
