#genshin -

[chusuuke]

genshin boys overhear you talking to yourself

premise. sometimes, talking to yourself feels safer than facing the guy you can’t stop thinking about…until he walks in on you mid-spiral. from awkward blushes to unexpected confessions, here’s what happens when your most embarrassing moments become the genshin boys' favorite memories

features. kazuha, diluc, childe, wanderer, alhaitham, xiao, ayato, cyno, itto, kaeya, baizhu, dainsleif, tighnari, thoma, heizou, bennett, kaveh, zhongli

kazuha

You're crouched beside a broken cart wheel, half-hidden in tall grass, muttering furiously to yourself as you examine the splintered wood.

“Of course it had to break here, in the middle of nowhere. No signal flare left, and I let the boat crew leave without me. Brilliant. Great job, really stellar planning—”

“You’re being rather harsh on yourself.”

You startle so hard you nearly fall backward. Kazuha stands a few paces behind, hands tucked calmly into his sleeves, his eyes full of quiet amusement and concern.

“You were gone longer than expected,” he explains, seeing your confusion. “Beidou sent me to check if you’d lost your way—or started arguing with local wildlife.”

You flush. “No, I’m just…talking to myself. Thinking through how to fix it.”

He steps closer and knelt beside you, examining the wheel. “Hm. The axle’s intact. A proper wedge might hold long enough to get you back to the road.”

You blink. “Oh. You’re not going to tease me about earlier?”

“I speak to the wind as if it listens,” he says lightly. “Why would I judge you for speaking to yourself?”

You glance at him. “And does the wind ever answer?”

He smiles faintly. “Only when I’m quiet enough to hear it.”

And then, just like that, he gets to work, gathering branches, finding rope in your satchel, never once asking why you chose to be alone in the first place but just staying until the cart moves again. Maybe the wind hadn’t answered, but he had.

diluc

He walks into the tavern early in the morning, expecting silence. Instead, he hears your voice in a low, frantic whisper as you await his arrival: “Okay, you’ve got this. He’s just a man. A tall, brooding, red-haired, intimidatingly handsome man—Archons above, why am I like this?”

He freezes mid-step, but the tap of his boot on the tile is loud enough to betray him. You whirl around, mortified, and lock eyes with him like a deer caught in emotionally compromising headlights.

He blinks once. Slowly.

“…I assume that was about me,” he says, voice neutral, but his ears are visibly pink.

“I—No—I mean—kind of?” you squeak, visibly crumbling under the weight of your own existence.

He clears his throat and looks away, reaching for a mug that absolutely does not need his attention.

“Understood,” he mutters.

For the rest of the day, he’s overly polite, painfully formal, and avoids eye contact like it’s flammable. Later that evening, you find a cup of your favorite tea left out for you—steaming, perfectly steeped, and completely unsupervised. The mug has a folded note under it, consisting of just three words: “You’ve got this.”

childe

He’s passing by your room when he hears your voice, quiet but distinct, and increasingly unhinged: “Okay. Plan A: cry. Plan B: threaten to cry. Plan C: run away and never return.”

He pauses mid-step, then leans against the doorway with a lopsided grin. “Wow, those are some elite-level crisis strategies. You sure you’re not Fatui?”

You shriek in embarrassment. “How long have you been standing there?!”

“Long enough to know you’ve got potential,” he laughs, pushing off the doorframe and stepping inside.

You groan and hide your face. “I was joking. mostly.”

“Nah, I kinda like it,” he teases. “Plan A’s got emotional flair. Plan B? Classic drama. However, Plan C?” his voice softens just a bit. “If you ran, I’d just find you. You know that, right?”

You look up and find his smile stripped of mischief. It’s quiet and gentle in a way that makes your heart trip over itself.

“But…if you do need tissues, I’ve got plenty.”

Somehow, this ends with him dragging you to sit on the couch, arms slung around you, both of you buried under a blanket neither of you remembers pulling over your laps.

“New plan,” he says, voice muffled against your shoulder. “Plan D: stay right here.”

wanderer

He wasn’t trying to eavesdrop. He'd simply been on his way when he found you pacing the courtyard, completely unaware of his presence.

“He probably doesn’t even notice when I smile at him. Or maybe he does. Maybe he’s just ignoring me. Ugh. I should just throw a rock at him.”

He replies instantly. “Try it. I’ll throw one back.”

You flinch so hard you nearly drop your bag. He’s already leaning against a pillar, arms crossed, unreadable as ever. His gaze flicks to you, sharp but dissolving into something strangely unguarded. You open your mouth, but he speaks first.

“I notice,” he tells you, quieter now. almost like it costs him something to admit. “More than you think.”

Then he’s gone, vanishing down the corridor before you can speak, like he never meant to say anything at all. But later, you find a small, perfectly smooth stone placed outside your windowsill. No note. No explanation. Just one rock, light enough to throw.

alhaitham

He’s walking past the study when he hears you, your voice sounding low, frantic, and clearly not meant for anyone else.

“Okay, if I just put the books back exactly the way he had them, maybe he won’t know I was here. Unless…he cataloged them by page wear. Oh archons—what if he did? Why does he have to be attractive and terrifying?”

His deadpan voice sounds right behind you. “For the record, I do catalog them by page wear.”

You jump, dropping the book you’re holding, but instead of hitting the floor, it lands effortlessly in his palm.

“Also, you’ve been muttering to yourself for three full minutes. You’re not exactly subtle.”

You open your mouth to explain, apologize, evaporate, anything, but he just walks past and plucks a book from your stack.

“You misaligned this one by 0.6 centimeters,” he remarks, tone neutral. “But I’ll let it slide.”

You’re still frozen, blinking at him.

Without looking at you, he adds almost offhandedly, “Next time you wish to come by, just ask. I’d rather see you here than not.”

And then he starts reorganizing beside you. He’s silent, efficient, and just close enough that your shoulders nearly touch.

xiao

You’re sitting alone on the quiet terrace just outside Wangshu Inn, knees pulled up to your chest as you mutter into the dusk. “Why did I say ‘sweet dreams’? Who says that to Xiao? He’s the vigilant yaksha, not some character from a bedtime story. He probably thinks I’m a sentimental weirdo—”

“I don’t.”

You whip around. He’s suddenly there, silent as ever, standing just behind you in the fading light.

“I don’t think you’re weird,” he repeats, voice soft and steady, though there’s the faintest crease in his brow like he’s wondering if he’s said too much.

You scramble to stand, completely flustered. “Wait, how long were you—?”

“I heard my name,” he says plainly, as if that explains everything.

The air feels charged with embarrassment. Yours. Maybe his, too. After a pause, he glances away toward the treetops. His voice is quieter now.

“No one’s said that to me before.”

You blink. “Said what?”

He doesn’t meet your eyes. “Sweet dreams.”

There’s something almost reverent in the way he says it, like the words feel too fragile in his mouth.

“I didn’t think those were something I could have.”

The breeze carries the scent of silk flowers, and for a long moment, neither of you says anything.

Then, without looking at you, he adds, “But I liked hearing it. From you.”

Your heart flips once, hard.

And before you can spiral all over again, he turns to go, but stops just long enough to murmur, “Goodnight. I hope…yours are sweet, too.”

ayato

He’s strolling through the estate gardens when he catches the faint tones of your voice, muffled but unmistakably dramatic. Curious, he peeks around a hedge and discovers you monologuing to a cluster of blue hydrangeas with passionate gestures.

“Lord Ayato, my dearest nemesis. Why must you smile like that? Why must your tea taste like heartbreak and fine politics?”

His brows lift in faint surprise. 

“And why did I tell him it was ‘transcendent’? That’s not normal person behavior. That’s the kind of thing a swooning diplomat says before fainting into their fan.”

Ayato brings a hand to his mouth, stifling the laugh that bubbles up. He knows he should announce himself—knows it's indecent to linger—but curiosity roots him in place. It’s rare to see you so unguarded, and rarer still to be the subject of such poetic vitriol.

You pace a few steps, oblivious. “He probably thinks I was flirting. Which I wasn’t. I think. Ugh.”

He waits just a second longer, watching as you sigh and press your fingertips to your forehead like a tragic heroine from a stage play, before stepping forward, his fan snapping closed with a soft click.

“I didn’t realize I’d been cast as the villain in your private soliloquy.”

You freeze. There is no mistaking his voice, nor the silk-smooth amusement threading through it. Slowly, you turn.

“I must say, your critique was…vivid,” he continues. His expression is polite, but his eyes betray him, bright with barely contained laughter. “And rather unfair to the tea, which I assure you is not culpable for your emotional distress.”

Your mouth opens. Nothing comes out. He tilts his head, as if considering something seriously.

“Though I do wonder what heartbreak tastes like to you.”

You groan and bury your face in your hands.

He inclines his head slightly, a teasing smile playing on his lips. “Next time, speak your grievances aloud to me instead. I assure you, I respond far better than flowers.”

cyno

He walks in on you muttering and pacing in circles.

“Okay, okay. Don’t laugh if he tells another joke. But also don’t not laugh, because then he’ll think you hate him. Ugh, why is this so complicated?”

He appears behind you with a perfectly straight face and says, “What do you call a fake noodle? an impasta.”

You shriek and nearly trip over a chair. He waits. You groan.

“That was…better than usual,” you admit.

He pauses as he appraises you. His lips twitch. “So. You’ve been rehearsing responses to my jokes?”

You blink, caught. “No. Definitely not.”

He steps closer, arms folded, head tilting in mock-serious thought. “Interesting. That implies you anticipated more. Which means…you’re expecting me.”

“…to keep telling them?”

He nods solemnly. “Correct. And now that I know you’re preparing, I’ll have to escalate.”

You groan again, this time into your hands, and he finally cracks a smile. Later, he’ll tell you a compliment disguised as a riddle. You’ll pretend not to swoon. He’ll pretend not to notice. Neither of you is very convincing.

itto

You’re standing in front of a mirror, hyping yourself up. “You’re brave. You’re bold. You can flirt with Itto today. Probably. Maybe. Okay, no, don’t flirt, just survive eye contact.”

A voice behind you booms, “Well hey, I think you’re already killin’ it!”

You scream and spin around so fast you almost knock over a stool. Itto’s standing in the doorway, grinning like a kid who just found candy and a beetle.

“Also, flirting’s totally encouraged. Ten outta ten, would recommend.”

You clutch your chest. “How long have you been standing there?!”

“Since the part where you said you were bold and brave or whatever. Sounded super cool, so I figured I’d stay for the ending.”

You groan. He’s still grinning.

“But hey,” he adds, rubbing the back of his neck with a sheepish laugh, “you don’t gotta overthink it. Just talk to me like normal! Or, y’know, you could flirt if that’s easier.”

You entertain the idea of feigning amnesia, knowing he’d probably fall for it. Instead, you mutter, “...I liked your hair today.”

He lights up like the sun. “See? You’re killin’ it!”

Somehow, this ends with him offering to coach you through flirting with him. The audacity.

kaeya

You were only meant to drop off a report. Nothing more. Just a quick visit to the Knights’ headquarters, a few signatures, and out. And yet here you are, lingering in an empty hallway, your forehead pressed lightly against a stone pillar as you mutter to yourself.

“Genius. Absolutely genius. ‘Nice weather, Kaeya.’ That’s what I went with. Might as well have added, ‘Hi, I’ve been harboring a wildly inconvenient crush on you since Stormterror was still a problem. Want to date and/or be the reason I start writing terrible poetry again?’”

A breath of laughter—not your own—cuts through the silence.

“I’d be open to both,” a familiar voice replies.

You freeze.

He’s there, lounging against the window alcove like he’s been there all along, elbow propped casually on the sill, head tilted with interest. His smile says he heard every word. His eyes say he enjoyed it.

Kaeya pushes off the ledge and strolls toward you, every step perfectly unhurried. “Next time you plan to deliver a monologue about me, perhaps wait until I’ve left the building. Unless,” he adds, voice dropping with playful weight, “you were hoping I’d hear it.”

You can feel the heat rise to your face like a sunrise.

“I was just thinking out loud,” you manage.

“So I gathered. And for the record”—he passes close enough that his cloak brushes your sleeve—“I find it flattering.”

You briefly consider flinging yourself out the nearest window.

At the end of the corridor, he glances back over his shoulder, smile curling just shy of sincere.

“If the weather stays this nice, do let me know if that wildly inconvenient crush turns into something more actionable.”

And then he’s gone.

A junior knight passing by gives you a puzzled look. “You, uh…look like you saw a ghost.”

You exhale, voice thin. “Worse.”

baizhu

You’re by yourself in the back room of Bubu Pharmacy, sorting herbs and muttering under your breath. It’s been a long day, and unfortunately, your brain has chosen to perseverate.

“If I faint in front of him again, I’m just going to say it was low blood sugar. Not the fact that he tucked my hair behind my ear like it was nothing.”

“Hmm. I’ll make a note to check your glucose levels...and perhaps develop a tincture for sudden-onset romantic distress?”

You whip around so fast that a handful of Qingxin spills onto the table. Baizhu stands in the doorway, serene as ever, holding a tray of tea like he didn’t just obliterate your self-esteem.

“It’s a surprisingly common condition,” he adds, eyes twinkling behind his glasses. “Often triggered by gentle gestures and poor coping mechanisms.”

Changsheng pokes her head out from behind his collar and lets out a tiny, delighted laugh. “Lovesick. Very contagious,” she stage-whispers.

You bury your face in your hands.

Baizhu sets the tea down beside you with quiet care. “I could prepare a cure, but I fear the malady is mutual—and, strangely, quite welcome.”

dainsleif

You think you’re alone, sitting quietly in a dim corner of the library and murmuring your frustrations to yourself. Dainsleif, combing the shelves for a particular volume, pauses when he hears the soft thread of your voice carry through the candlelight: “I bet he doesn’t even remember my name. I’m probably just a temporary footnote to him anyway. Someone who fades like shadows at dusk.”

His low voice answers from just beyond the glow of your lantern. “You are not a footnote.”

You nearly jump out of your skin as Dainsleif steps into view. The candlelight flickers across the lines of his face, which remains composed and unreadable but not unfeeling. He doesn’t speak gently, not exactly, but there’s a steadiness to his tone that seems to lessen the musty air.

“Names are more than words,” he says. “They are memory. History. Presence.”

He kneels slightly and locks eyes with you, his gaze piercing.

“I remember your name,” he continues. “Not only the shape of it. I remember the weight it carries when you speak it. I remember the careful way you said goodnight two nights ago, as if you weren’t sure I’d hear it, or hold it.”

You can’t breathe. You can’t look away.

“Don’t assume I forget the things that matter,” he says, rising to his full height again. His expression doesn’t shift, but something in his posture softens. And then, without waiting for a reply, he turns and disappears into the stacks. For a long moment, all you can hear is the echo of his footsteps and the pulse of your own heart—louder now, and somehow less alone.

tighnari

You’re elbow-deep in soil, half-focused on coaxing the withered pardisah into a new pot, when your frustration finally boils over.

“Okay, next time, just say thank you and walk away. Easy. Normal. Not, ‘Wow, your ears are so expressive today,’ like some feral maniac.” You groan and press your forehead to your palm. “He probably thinks I’m studying him like a botanical specimen. What is wrong with me?”

“To be fair,” a dry voice answers behind you, “most people don’t notice ear movement unless they’re watching very closely.”

You nearly send the pot flying as you whip around. Tighnari is leaning beside your bag of soil, arms folded, one brow arched in faint incredulity.

“You were there…the whole time,” you croak.

“Roughly since the ‘feral maniac’ part,” he amends, tail flicking with suspicious amusement. “You were a bit harsh on yourself, but entertaining.”

You cover your face. “I swear I didn’t mean to make it weird.”

“You didn’t,” he says gently, and then—surprisingly—smiles. “I didn’t mind the compliment. It was…oddly specific, but sincere. And clearly the result of long observation.”

He steps past you, crouching to inspect the flower you nearly murdered in your panic.

“Next time,” he adds, not looking up, “less spiraling, more speaking.”

His tone is neutral, but his ears betray him with the smallest, involuntary flick.

And then he mutters to himself, “They’re only expressive when you’re around, anyway.”

You pretend not to hear. For now.

thoma

You’re alone in the kitchen—or so you believe—flipping gyozas with intense concentration and muttering under your breath. “Okay, Thoma likes them crispy. Not burnt. Crispy, like his smile. No, wait, what? Focus!”

“Crispy like my smile, huh?”

You flinch. The spatula slips from your fingers and clatters to the stovetop. Thoma is casually leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed and grinning like he definitely heard more than he should have.

“I’m flattered,” he says, stepping closer. “But now I’ve got questions. What, exactly, does a crispy smile look like?”

“I—I meant the gyoza, not your— Wait, no, I meant both—I mean—”

The oil hisses sharply, like even the pan can’t take it anymore. Smoke streams upward.

“No, the gyozas!”

Thoma is already by your side, grabbing the pan with practiced ease and sliding it off the stove.

“You know,” he says, grinning as he surveys the damage, “you didn’t have to set them on fire just to impress me.”

“I didn’t—!”

“Hey, I’m not complaining. Means I get to help.” He tosses you a wink. “Teamwork, right?”

Somehow, you end up shoulder to shoulder, sleeves rolled up, hands floured, trying again as he gives teasing tips on “optimal gyoza symmetry.”

Later, as the final batch sizzles golden and perfect, he leans just close enough to murmur, “Still not sure what a crispy smile is, but if we’re talking about yours…I think I get it now.”

heizou

You march down the corridor, shoulders tense, voice pitched low but laced with despair.

“No, Heizou, I don’t need your help picking up the papers I dropped. I just need a convenient hole to bury the cadaver my dignity in, thank you very much—”

A hand suddenly lands on your shoulder.

“AAHH—” you scream mid-sentence, spinning on instinct and swinging your bag in self-defense.

Heizou barely ducks in time, a laugh tumbling out as he stumbles back, half-shielding himself. “Whoa, violent thoughts and airborne satchels? I should’ve brought a warrant first.”

You freeze, mortified. He’s already dusting off his sleeves like it’s just another day at the precinct.

“Really now, that’s the welcome I get?” he continues, far too amused for someone who was nearly concussed.

“You snuck up on me mid-spiral,” you retort, torn between embarrassment and residual adrenaline. “That’s reckless behavior, even for you.”

He raises a brow, utterly unbothered. “I prefer to think of it as instinct. I happen to have an uncanny sense for when people are saying my name behind my back. Or in this case, aloud. To themselves.”

Your eyes widen just enough to give you away. Heizou smiles like he’s just cracked another case.

“You know,” he adds, stepping just close enough for his voice to drop a tone, “talking to oneself is a perfectly natural response to emotional distress. Especially when that distress has, say…a face and a name?”

You groan and press a hand to your forehead. “You’re insufferable.”

He tilts his head. “And yet, I’m the one you keep muttering about.”

You try to come up with a retort. You fail.

“Don’t worry,” he continues smoothly, already turning on his heel, “your secrets are safe with me.”

“You are the secret,” you call after him.

“And still,” he says without looking back, “you can’t seem to stop confessing to it.”

bennett

“Okay, just be normal. If I trip, I’ll just play dead. He won’t even notice. He’s used to disasters,” you tell yourself as you pace in tight little circles outside the Adventurers’ Guild.

“Wait, was that about me?”

You nearly leap into the decorative flower box beside the stairs.

Bennett stands behind you, blinking wide-eyed, equal parts confused and concerned.

“No—I mean—kind of?” you stammer.

He scratches the back of his neck, flustered. “I mean, yeah, stuff does kinda explode around me sometimes, but…hey, you’re not gonna trip.”

He pauses, then adds quickly, “But if you do, I’ll totally catch you! Probably! I mean, I’ve got decent reflexes! Usually!”

He’s turning red now, voice rising an octave as he tries to dig himself out.

“Not that you’ll fall, or need catching! It’s just—If you did fall, hypothetically, I’d be there. Probably. Hopefully. Unless something explodes first.”

You both stare at each other in silence for a beat and then burst out laughing.

“So,” you say, grinning, “wanna grab lunch before something does explode?”

“Yes! Wait, are you asking me out?”

You hesitate. “…Would it make you trip if I said yes?”

“Most likely.”

“Then, I’ll give you ‘probably’ as my answer.”

“Perfect.”

kaveh

He hears your muffled voice through the wall.

“If I see his ridiculously pretty face one more time, I’m going to cry. Or combust. Or both. There is no middle ground anymore.”

A suspicious creak of the floorboard makes your soul exit your body. The door swings open slowly. Kaveh stands there with a tea tray and the most theatrical expression known to man.

“Well,” he says, in full dramatic cadence, “had I known my face was wreaking such havoc on your emotional equilibrium, I would’ve brewed peppermint for the nerves.”

You groan and throw a pillow at him.

“Ah! betrayed by the very person moved to tears by my beauty. So you’ve chosen emotional combustion. Noted.”

You peek between your fingers. “Kaveh, please go.”

He places the tea tray down very deliberately. “I’ll leave,” he says, moving toward the door, “but only after I point out that I’m flattered, deeply and profoundly.”

He stops in the doorway, looks back with a grin just slightly too genuine.

“By the way,” he adds, not quite looking at you, “it’s mutual. The whole…emotional-overload-in-each-other’s-presence thing.”

And with that, he leaves. The tea cools quickly. You do not.

zhongli

You’re standing outside Wánmín Restaurant, lost in a whirlwind of thoughts and muttered self-advice as you wait for a certain funeral consultant to join you for lunch.

“You can’t just stare at him every time he talks. He’s not poetry. He’s a man. A terrifyingly wise, elegant man made of tea and regret.”

You pause, frowning at the phrase.

“Tea and regret?”

You jolt and whirl around. Zhongli is standing just behind you, his expression unreadable, as if weighing your words with the patience of centuries.

After a moment’s pause, a faint smile graces his lips. “I believe that’s a new metaphor.”

Then, with a quiet elegance, he gestures in the space between you.

“You may continue your soliloquy. I find it…endearing.”

You feel your composure unravel, cheeks flushing crimson as you try to meet his calm, knowing gaze. For a moment, the world narrows to the soft sound of your breathing and the quiet dignity of a man who understands more than he lets on, and you silently wonder if maybe, just maybe, he is poetry after all.

[witchyravenarts]

YEAHHHHHHH OLD CITLALI DESIGN!!

'citlali redesign'

[scarameownya]

genshin animals thingy👍

[su-rodriguez]

nod krai bros

[ottiepops]

My genshin account got deleted bc of inactivity lol. Thank god I never have to look at this man ever again

[assaliaa]

Flins is so fine I can't

FLINS ❖ moonlit ballad of the night

[yzl-kk]

a stroll through vanarana 💚

[aestherin]

I CAN SEE YOU

track 12: new neighbor

One, two, three… ten — no, twelve boxes.

Scaramouche winced at the amount he just counted — of boxes flooding the hallway across the door of his unit. What’s worse, it does not seem to end at just twelve.

His eyes follow the seemingly never-ending flow of boxes continuing on beyond an opened door, the number plate on it displaying ‘1603.’

‘It’s her unit,’ he thought.

The young man skillfully passes through the array of boxes along the way. These must’ve been delivered by different people, looking at how they were placed in such a messy way. He made a mental note to remind you to add specific notes to your deliveries next time.

As he gets nearer, he catches a glimpse of your silhouette pacing around your bare unit while tapping quite speedily on your phone.

Scaramouche crossed his arms and leaned against your door frame. He watched for at least half a minute, waiting for you to notice the presence of someone at your door, but to no avail. He sighs, before finally lifting his right arm from its earlier position to give three gentle sideway knocks at your door.

Your steps come to a halt, and you finally look his way.

His lips curve a little as your eyes brighten in recognition.

“Scara!” You exclaim as you make your way towards him — towards the man who, for some reason, looks so unexplainably attractive despite merely leaning against your door frame. Who looks so damn good for a man whose hair is still somewhat disheveled and is wearing just a plain loose dark gray sweater and black pants.

You’re starting to think that even without this artist’s godly vocals and insane writing skills, he probably would still be popular. 

His looks alone deserve their own fandom.

“Seems like my new neighbor is a hoarder.” He says as he starts lifting a few boxes to carry inside after you invited him in. “You were just staying at a hotel with your bare essentials and art materials just a few days ago, and now you have this much?”

You glance at all the boxes he just finished bringing in. Wow, he moves fast. All the boxes are already inside.

“Well… Maybe I did get a little too excited.”

He just scoffs before resting his hands on his hips. “So what is all this anyway?”

“Furniture and appliances!” You respond with noticeable enthusiasm. “I stayed up all night the other day contemplating on which one to get, I didn’t know there were so many variations and things to consider!”

Scaramouche frowns as he witnesses you struggle to unpack the boxes with your bare hands. “You don’t have scissors or a cutter? Or at least a knife?”

“Well, technically, I do, but…”

He raises a brow.

“They’re inside the boxes.”

You hear a groan. And then a defeated sigh.

“Stop doing that, you’re going to hurt yourself.” He stands up from where he’s sitting on your floor. “Stay put, keep your pretty eyes open, and wait for me here.”

You don’t reply. You just follow his departing figure with your eyes.

‘What the heck?’

‘Did he just say my eyes are pretty?’

He gives you no time to think when he comes back, not even a minute later. He sits back down on the floor, across from where you are, the both of you still surrounded by boxes. He opens a toolbox and at a glance, you can already see scissors, a cutter, screwdrivers, most of the basic stuff. Scaramouche picks up the scissors and hands them over to you before unpacking some of the boxes himself using a cutter.

If someone else were to see the both of you, they would probably think that you two are newly-weds who just moved in, starting a new chapter of their lives.

But in reality, it’s a sheltered daughter who moved out for the first time, and her neighbor who is her acquaintance for work purposes but also turns out to be her favorite singer.

After several minutes of just unpacking everything, Scaramouche gets up and stretches, before letting his eyes roam around. “An oven, a grill, a food processor, a stand mixer, and so much more kitchen stuff. Do you like cooking?”

“...I like to watch cooking videos.”

“But can you cook?”

“I haven’t tried…”

He gives you a skeptical look, which you answer with a defensive stare.

Scaramouche later on just lets out a sigh, the one that you noticed he always lets out when he decides to give up on proving a point. Instead of probing on your still non-existent cooking skills, your neighbor just heads over to the unassembled furniture, already gripping a screwdriver on one hand.

“Which one do you prefer we build first?”

—

In the past, you probably never thought that your favorite artist being sprawled out on your couch is possible.

But now that you are seeing Scaramouche exactly like that, with his hair tousled against the off-white fabric and his arms enveloping one of your throw pillows, you become certain that it is indeed possible.

“I’ll treat you to dinner as thanks for your help,” you declare, looking down at the spent man. “And I won’t allow rejections.”

He groans, hovering the pillow over his face. “I’m too exhausted to go out.”

“Oh, don’t worry. I was thinking we could order takeout.”

The food arrives after a while, and you share your first meal in your unit with your next-door neighbor, on the dining table that he helped you assemble.

Only that it was the other way around actually.

He did almost all the work.

I CAN SEE YOU — scara x reader smau

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[lyneysnumber1glazer]

What Made Them Fall In Love With You?

Characters: DILUC, ITTO, KAEYA, LYNEY, HEIZOU Prompt: What either made them fall in love with you or made them realize they loved you? Warnings: none!

~~~

DILUC

Your patience. After the death of his father and the fight between him and Kaeya, he has been very hesitant in letting people into his life. You would need to be patient with him and give him time to accept you into his life and to heal from the past. Being patient with smaller things as well is key, such as waiting for him to finish work before the two of you go out or even being patient with others. Both bigger and smaller things wouldn't go unnoticed by him, and your patience with him would ultimately make him fall for you.

ITTO

When you stick up for others no matter what. To others Itto just seems loud and annoying, but he is also known to have a strong sense of equality and sticking up for others being bullied. So when he sees you do the same and stick up for people who are being harassed, he strongly admires you for it and would tell you repeatedly how cool you were for sticking up for them. Eventually this admiration would grow into love, and he wouldn't hesitate in confessing to you. (bonus points of you match his energy)

KAEYA

For loving him despite his past, and seeing through his charm. Kaeya is not the type of person to wear his emotions or thoughts on his sleeve. At first he will keep secrets about himself and expertly avoid topics about his past. However inevitably his secrets get revealed. And when you don't view him negatively for it, it's safe to say he is taken aback. He may avoid you for a while but as long and you reach out to him and remind him you don't view him any differently, eventually he will return with his new feelings for you. Just be sure to not pressure him into talking about his past before he's ready and to give him space when he needs it.

LYNEY

Loving him for his true self, not just the mystery. Similarly to Kaeya, he puts on a charismatic act to get closer to others. He wouldn't show you his true self in worry that you would feel sorry for him. However as time passes and the two of you grow closer, he would start to open up more and more to you. And when he notices that you accept and love him for his true self is when he would fall for you. (Additionally you would have to treat his family well)

HEIZOU

When you would help him with cracking cases. There is no doubt that Heizou is a great detective. However that doesn't mean he is perfect, he does get stuck sometimes. When you look at a case in one way for so long it's difficult to view it at a different angle. So when you actually help him instead of giving him the response of "You're smart I'm sure you can figure it out" when he asks for help, he realizes that you don't view him the same way as everyone else. You don't view him as this detective incapable of being stumped or making a mistake, but as a human capable of such. This would plant the seed in his head that would grow and blossom into his love for you.

~~~

I hope you liked these! I really like how this turned out. Feel free to drop a suggestion in my askbox and have a lovely day/night

[sneakysnekoden]

late

[rei-plswork]

“Do you ink?” Was the funniest shit I’ve read today 😭😭

Dark Sea Fins (Art only)

Abyss duo (Skirk + Childe) and Octo!Reader

A/N: Heavy focus on Childe x Reader because this was my selfship art and i just redraw reader

---

Reader wear beanie to resemble octopus head.

[bonzirella]

FATAL TROUBLE, IT'S GETTING BLURRY ft. zhongli

Summary: It's been thousands of years since you've died, yet Zhongli finds himself clinging onto the memories he has of you

Includes: Zhongli x gn!reader, angst no comfort

a/n: I like Enhypen

Zhongli had lived over 6,000 years, witnessing the rise and fall of countless civilizations, and countless lives. He’d seen death more times than he could count— companions, comrades, even gods. Yet none had hurt the way yours did. You were bound to die, of course. You were only mortal, and every day Zhongli is reminded of the delicate string that holds mortal lives together. One wrong move and it tears apart, leaving nothing but those who must carry on despite the grief. Maybe it’s because he’s been working at the funeral parlor, but he seems to see more of you these days. You appear in his dreams, and sometimes he can hear your voice. Each time, he closes his eyes softly and lets it pass by him like a gentle caress, like you’re in his arms again, like you’ll be there, against his chest when he opens them. But Zhongli knows better than to let delusion taint his heart. 

Time dulled the sting, as it always did. He thought he had made peace with the aching hollowness you left behind, for thousands of years he thought that he’d be fine never thinking, or even forgetting about you. Perhaps it’s seeing the mortals come to peace with the death of their loved ones that’s helped him move on, he supposed. Until one busy afternoon, wandering through the ever-changing streets of Liyue, a memory tugged at him. It was you and him, standing on a mountain that overlooks the port, your voice bright and hopeful, speaking of a glorious future the nation would one day hold. He stopped against a building, closing his eyes to cherish the sweet memory. It’s faded at the edges, and some details aren’t as fine as they used to be, but your face… wait...your face..! His smile drops and the warmth drains from his face, his eyes flying open, and his breathing picking up. 

He couldn’t recall your face. 

Panic surged. He stumbled through the sea of people, the currents ever changing. He bumped into more than he apologized for, his mind becoming locked with a single thought, “I have forgotten them.” He hurried to Bubu Pharmacy, unable to explain himself besides a few, short, panicked sentences. Baizhu sighed softly, gently pushing his glasses up as he forced Changsheng to be silent. He spoke carefully, as if any random word would break Zhongli’s mind, “It’s normal to forget. It’s been thousands of years, after all.” He murmurs, patting Zhongli’s shoulder. 

Normal. But Zhongli can’t– no, he won’t accept that. He returned home, tearing through oak drawers for the crude sketches he’d drawn of you over the millenia. Clumsy, wobbly lines, warped expressions, the proportions aren’t right, the sketches doesn’t catch the same glint in your eyes as he remembers, but it’s all he has left. The only trace that you were once alive and breathing. Not just a figment of his imagination. 

He sinks onto the floor of the room, curling himself up as he slowly rocks himself, looking through all the photos, tracing the lines so much they start to smear, as if he could feel the texture of your skin, the line of your jaw, the highs of your cheekbones, of your nose, your soft lips, your beautiful eyes… and slowly, after hours, the image of your face begins to return. Barely. Just barely. It might not even be entirely you, an amalgamation from his faded memories and the images he’s been laying with. But it’s something. Something is better than nothing. He slowly starts to stand, but grief overtakes him and he falls onto his knees. 

Tears slip from his eyes, then followed by hollow, choked sobs. “My love..” he whispers hoarsely, “oh, my sweet darling.. my angel, my everything, my—” another sob leaves this throat. He looks up at the ceiling, then to the drawings as if you were listening to him. His eyebrows furrow further and a fresh batch of tears spill from his eyes as his throat dries and another desperate, pathetic, choked sob leaves his lips.

“It pains me to tell you.. no, it truly does. I-I can't fathom.. a future without any trace of you.. yet that's.. what it seems like.." he takes a ragged breath, gripping onto the edge of the desk he's kneeling in front of, "I'm forgetting you! Your memory... it’s falling apart!” He sobs loudly, a soft wail leaving his lips. Zhongli can't remember the last time he cried this hard. It's been millennia, perhaps the day you died.

His nails continue to dig the desk, causing indents, and the taste of blood is bitter on his tongue. Zhongli knows more than anyone how merciless time’s passage can be to the living, but he cannot bear to lose you. So even if he has to stare at his rudimentary drawings for hours, he will cling to them without hesitation. Because some memories are worth holding onto, even as they fade, and some love refuses to be forgotten, no matter how long the shadows grow. And even if this is just a shell of what it once was—fragile, imperfect, and slipping further away with each moment, he clings to it, knowing that letting go means losing you forever, and that is a void that Zhongli cannot fill.

[lilyroserainbow]

Transmasc Scara canon

genshin be like trans kid with mommy issues gets a new mommy

[stawberrykeki]

𝙸 𝚆𝙸𝙻𝙻 𝙵𝙰𝙻𝙻 𝙸𝙽 𝙻𝙾𝚅𝙴 𝚆𝙸𝚃𝙷 𝚈𝙾𝚄, 𝙾𝚅𝙴𝚁 𝙰𝙽𝙳 𝙾𝚅𝙴𝚁 𝙰𝙶𝙰𝙸𝙽

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 SYNOPSIS - Alone for four years and never once did you stop loving him

ᝰ.ᐟ WORD COUNT - 1,074

⭑.ᐟ PAIRING - Diluc Ragnvindr

☁︎ WARNINGS - tooth-rotting wholesome

ᯓ★ N/A - Epic the musical. I could eat this song up fr

　　IT WAS AFTER MIDNIGHT. You were in the living room reading a book Lisa had recommended to you. 

　　Running the Angel Share tavern and managing the winery was no easy task. Early mornings and late nights were a common occurrence. Getting up early to set out meetings, making sure crops are in the right condition and keeping up with staff. Opening the tavern around noon and not returning home until midnight. 

　　You would be up between midnight and three in the morning to just unwind from the day. Have some time to yourself before the next busy day. 

　　Adelinde had, not only lit the fire for you, set down a tray of tea and biscuits before her departure. Bidding you a goodnight before leaving the winery. 

　　That’s why, when you heard the winery doors open, you believed it was Adelinde once again. She must have left something behind, was your train of thought. So, you didn’t bother to look up from your book. 

　　Even as you read the book you couldn't help but notice the steps getting closer to the sofa until they came to a halt. You paid it no real attention. Perhaps Adelinda had come back after remembering something important she forgot to tell you. 

　　”[Name]. . . “ The voice that spoke was not Adelinda. It wasn’t a voice that belonged to a female, but to a male. A male you hadn’t seen nor heard of for four years. 

　　The book you held was resting on the sofa as you stood, turned to look at the man you married at seventeen. A marriage planned by both your parents and his father. A marriage that turned from arrangement to pure. 

　　You were in disbelief. Anyone would be. The man you had believed to abandon you stood right in front of you, the sofa acting as a barrier between the two of you. Almost like a symbol of distance. “Is it really you?” You spoke up. Circling around the sofa until you stood in front of him, no object barricading you. “Has Barbatos answered my prays” 

　　You slowly lost hope after a month of no contact from him. No letters. No visits. No nothing. Every night, before heading to bed, you would pray to Barbatos to bring him home to you. To give you a sign he is well and alive. Some nights you cried to him. 

　　Extending a hand out, your palm rested on his cheek. A fear grew in your stomach that you were having one of those dreams again. A recurring dream where you would find him in the winery or Angel Share, or even out in Mondstadt town. 

　　But he was real.

　　He was here.

　　The stubble on his cheek was enough for you to believe it wasn’t a dream. That you were in reality. He always avoided growing out a beard. You knew he wouldn’t be able to handle the stares people would give him. Unable to look at himself in the mirror. Being a carbon copy of his deceased father. 

　　Scarlet eyes were snuffed from any light. Bags formed under his eyes. Heavy and dark. Countless sleepless nights. His skin looked sickly pale, as if he had been hiding from the sunlight. Like food had been absent for more than days. “You look. . .different” You whispered. 

　　He avoided your gaze. His eyes were focused on the floor. Like looking at you was something he was not permitted to do. He was ashamed of something. Looking at you would bring up guilt he had buried down deep. “I am not the man you once loved” defeated. Defeated, like it was a fact he had come to learn. 

　　”Once loved”

　　That rang through your head. An image he must have lived with these past four years. Believing you would never see him the same way. That wasn’t true. You could never hate him. No matter what he had done during those years. Deep down, he is still the man you love. 

　　You went to speak, your lips parted with words of reassurance following suit. However, you were stopped. Words swallowing in the back of your throat as he finally looked up at you. Soft, weak, defeated. 

　　Numb. 

　　”A trail of blood follows behind me. My hands are forever stained with the lives I have taken” He said. “I am not worthy of your love. Not after I left without a word” He had come to terms with this. 

　　You didn’t settle for this. 

　　He was the man you had fallen for since day one. 

　　He will always be the man you fell for in the garden. Escaping the party where they were arranged to meet. Talking for hours, sitting on his jacket he laid out on the grass to avoid your dress from being stained. Being so vulnerable on the first day. Telling you of the adventures he wishes to go on. The nations he desired to see. 

　　”I am not worthy of your love” You repeated, catching him by surprise. 

　　”The night we met. You spoke those same words. Claimed you were not worthy of my love” Back then, he believed he wasn’t the one who you should marry because of his personality. The responsibilities he would be taking on once he was titled Lord. The lack of time he would have for you. 

　　He believed you would live a life of loneliness if you married him. 

　　But he was wrong.

　　During the first year of marriage, you had never felt more loved. Quality Time became your love language. You would accompany him on trips. Sit in his office as he did tavern and winery paper-work you could not understand. 

　　You made it work. “You are my husband. In this life and many more.” You whispered. 

　　”I will fall in love with you, over and over again” No matter what he said, saw nor did over those four years. None of them would ever change the growing feelings you have for him.

　　He was yours and you were his. 

　　”I care not for what you have done, nor said. You will always be the man I have fallen for, Diluc Ragnvindr” Placing your other hand on his cheek, you pulled the red-head in for a kiss. Your lips softly blending into his. A perfect match. 

　　Pulling back, you looked him in the eyes. Your thumbs caressing his cheek bones. “I’ve been waiting for you”

04.08.2025 ┃©StawberryKeki

[impatiently]

CHIC BEACH BABE! — A TROPICAL THEMED PSD! A VERY BEACHY COLORING, that is also DarkSkin Friendly… #AWESOME! Brings out muted Dark Blues, Yellows, Oranges & Reds. RB2USE—Credits not required, okay?

WARNING: Some skin tones may turn blue. Sorry… Is OK on most skintones.