- Aqua -

19 - ISFJ - She/Her - AR55 (Asia) - Scaramouche Kinnie and Lover - SFW Writer

[aqualesha]

The Balladeer's Regret - Scaramouche x GN! Reader

character : Scaramouche

prompts : 19. “i can’t do this anymore” & 24. “just leave me alone”

summary : loving Scaramouche is hard, and you were aware of it. yet you never stopped loving him. his harsh words may sting, but you know deep down that he was a gentle soul and he never meant those things he said. you fell in love with Kunikuzushi, so gentle and fragile. if only he had noticed earlier how badly he had hurt you. he wanted to turn back time. but he knew that he couldn’t. he had lost everything because of his own foolishness.

- spoilers for Sumeru Archon Quest Act 2 & 3, pure angst/no-comfort, cursing, arguments, scara spitting harsh words, scara’s real name spoiler, scara’s past, not proofread

- word count : 1.8k

~ my entry for @versadies angstober writing collab - farewell, love

“Don’t leave me…”

“Please stay…”

“I didn’t mean all those things…"

These were the words that have been echoing inside his mind now. His mind was begging for him to drop his ego and call out to you, to stop you. He didn’t want you to leave him like the others. Not when he didn’t have anyone else but you.

How ironic of him, to feel distraught when you turned on your heels to walk out the door of your shared home. He recalled the poisonous words that spilled from his mouth, that were directed towards you. The look of hurt in your eyes and the way your expression faltered when he pushed you away and raised his tone at you. He didn’t mean anything that he said.

He swore that he could feel his non-existent heart shattering at the sight of your glistening tears cascading down your cheeks and your hushed whisper of “I’m sorry..” while you backed away from him. He could never forget how your voice trembled when you uttered the words that had Scaramouche breaking down right after.

“I still love you.”

He had taken your kindness for granted. You had always been with him even before he was known as Scaramouche. You had been with him since he was nothing but a broken puppet, Kunikuzushi. You accompanied him and lent your shoulder for him to cry on when you found him cornered by the darkness of Shakkei Pavilion. You saved him from his greatest suffering, which was loneliness and betrayal.

But the greatest pain was being betrayed by his own creator, his mother. The mother who was supposed to take care of her child with care. He never got to feel a mother’s love, for his mother replaced him with another puppet after taking notice that Kunikuzushi was too weak. He cried in his dreams, which showed his vulnerability and his fragility. A puppet that has emotions simply couldn’t be called a puppet, now can it?

Kunikuzushi had always been a gentle being, far from what his creator was expecting for a divine being, a god’s replacement. Yet, he couldn’t do anything as he was created with these human emotions. He swore to lock away all remaining emotions he had in himself so that he could grow stronger. He wanted to show his creator that he is not weak.

That was until he met you. Your existence in his life changed his objective and purpose. Even so, he still desired to claim the godhood he should’ve obtained if not for his stupid emotions getting in the way hundreds of years ago.

You had always loved him, no matter the circumstances. But you couldn’t fully agree with him when he decided to seek help from Il Dottore to achieve godhood. You knew how crazy it sounded and how far Dottore could go to achieve anything he desired. He was the 2nd Harbinger for Archon’s sake.

You weren’t against the idea of Scaramouche reaching divinity, but you were worried about his safety too. But you knew better than to interrupt their plans. You could get your head blown if you try to mess with Dottore, even when you two were quite well acquainted a few years ago when you were still in the Fatui. But that was long ago.

Ever since you both started living in Sumeru, you rarely ever see Scaramouche coming home. He’d either stay in his office or not come home at all for a few days. It was starting to make you worry. A puppet doesn’t need sleep, but he wasn’t completely a synthetic puppet. You had the right to make sure that he’d taken care of himself too.

The clock in your shared bedroom was ticking ever-so-slowly, making you sigh for the umpteenth time. “This can’t keep going on..” That was when you decided to have a talk with him once he really comes back.

You didn’t know how it turned out like this. It was supposed to be a simple talk regarding his absence and his goal to achieve divinity. That’s all. How naive of you to think that he’d apologize just like he always did. You really thought that you could simply convince him when you were talking about the only goal he tried so hard to achieve?

He was starting to think that you were doubting him and his capabilities. He was created to become a god, so why were you against it now? Didn’t you promise him to always be with him until he has fulfilled his goal to become a god? Are you betraying his trust now? How pathetic.

He was losing his temper. He knew that he couldn’t control his anger that well. The way you worded it made him realize that all humans are the same. They can’t be trusted. “Kuni, I’m just saying that what you’re planning with Dottore is quite.. dangerous.” Dangerous, you say? He was a divine being, created with the power that equals those of gods. Don’t you dare spit out those stupid nonsense in front of him.

“Are you underestimating me and my capabilities? Come on, you knew better than that.” The way he glared at you made you feel small under his gaze. It made you feel terrified of the sudden change in his aura. It has become unsettling and dark. You fucked up and there was nowhere you could hide.

"It wasn’t that.. But- You’re going to hurt the people in Sumeru.. Besides, this nation already has its own god, so why bother taking her place?“ You were careful with your words, trying to not worsen the situation you’re in. The atmosphere was getting tenser each passing time that you could barely breathe through your lungs.

“That small kid? She couldn’t even do anything. She’s weak and useless at this point. I’m just doing a favor for her people. I can be a better deity than her.” His tone was no longer the gentle tone that Kunikuzushi always used. It was Balladeer taking over the conversation. His voice was full of venom, and he stared at you with a look that feared you.

A look of disapproval was written on his face. He must’ve hated you now. How stupid you were, to bring up about his purpose of life when he trusted you to always be with him.

It had to be said even though it was going to hurt both you and him. You really didn’t want him to get hurt. It was the least you could do. “How do you know that Lesser Lord Kusanali wasn’t able to look after her people? As far as I know, she’s the gentlest and the kindest Archon.. Please have faith in her. You don’t have to do all this just because of your goal to achieve godhood. Ei had acknowledged your strength so please…”

You almost ran out of breath after holding it in for far too long. You shifted your gaze towards Scaramouche and you were stunned. He was taking quick steps towards you before holding you by the hair. Disappointment and hatred could be seen in his eyes as he made you face him directly.

"What is it that’s so fucking hard for you to understand. I was born as a divine being and this is how I’d get what I deserved. Your opinions don’t matter to me. You’re just a weak mortal who just happened to have some pity for me, hmm? You never cared, didn’t you? I should’ve known better than to trust a mortal.“ He looked at you with pure loathe. You couldn’t bear to see him looking at you as if you’ve been nothing but a burden and a hindrance.

You ignored the aching sensation on your scalp as he was still holding a fistful of your hair in his hand. The sharp pain in your heart hurt more than anything you’ve ever felt. You tried to grab him by the shoulder to make him halt his movements. It hurts so much… “Don’t touch me…” He let go of your hair and took a step away. You dropped onto your knees, hissing from the searing pain as you held your scalp with your hand. It took a lot of strength in you to hold the tears in. This truly wasn’t what you had expected.

You called out his name in a small voice. “Scara-” “Don’t you dare say anything else!” You still continued even though it was clear that he didn’t want to hear anything from you. “I can’t do this anymore..” You uttered while leaning against the wall to steady yourself. He then laughed mockingly at you, showing that he had expected this from the start.

"Are you now? Have you finally realized that you were simply useless? Look at you, pathetically crying over small insults. Humans are weak, they are too vulnerable and worthless compared to a divine being. You were just a pawn in my plan, after all. You meant nothing to me. Your pathetic emotions will only distract me from achieving my goal.“ He was too harsh, but he could care less. These stupid emotions will only drag him down.

“Oh and one more thing,” He continued while taking a few steps toward where you were weakly standing on your feet. His eyes settled on you as he gave you a deadly glare that almost had you shedding more tears. “Just leave me the fuck alone, and never show yourself in front of me again, you traitor."

It dawned on him like crashing waves. He had lost you, the only person who stayed long enough and sacrificed their whole life to be with him. He knew he fucked up. But his ego was too big for him to chase after you and apologize, even though his mind was practically screaming at him.

He never knew warmth and love anymore. His artificial heart was beating frantically in his chest. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry… He could never take those harsh words back. You probably loathe him now.

He deserved it. He was the one who had wished for this. He wanted you to leave him alone, so you obliged by getting out of his life completely. He lashed out at you and put the blame on you. He broke your heart. Your gentle and fragile heart that he once swore to protect. Five words were all it took to completely lose everything. He had lost you, his other half. You, who had given him your heart to feel the warmth of love and care.

Now, he felt nothing but numbness and emptiness. You must’ve felt lonely too when he wasn’t home for a long time. The deafening silence in every corner of your home was driving him insane. The atmosphere in your shared room had never felt this cold. The mattress felt hard under his weight. The duvet felt uncomfortable. Something was wrong. No, everything felt wrong. It lacked warmth and love. Something that he could never gain again. All because of his foolishness.

He was foolish to have pushed you away for his own selfishness. He was even more foolish to even think that he deserved a happy ending despite all the horrible things he had done. Especially towards you.

[alalalalalalalalalalalalalalaska]

It’s a Really Bad Idea if the Entirety of Sumeru Collectively Says So

Wanderer x Wife!Reader | Relationship Headcanons

Tags: Established relationship, Wanderer being an asshole.

Author’s Note: I wrote this when I was half-asleep and bored because I simply refuse to study for my exams until the last minute. Hope you enjoy it either way ^^

Proofread: Lightly. Grammatical errors may be there.

Summary: He wasn’t the kind of person that would have a wife. And yet, he did. And it was so messy and chaotic…

Word Count: 660 words

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☾ He never thought he’d ever get married. Yet, here we are. Two certified menaces living together. The moment people found out that Hat Guy was married? They assumed it was someone as snarky, as chaotic, and as sarcastic as him. They weren’t wrong. You matched him insult for insult. Which… never really ended well.

☾ Your arguments were actually so petty, they were completely unserious and downright hilarious at times. They weren’t even that serious. He’d forget to do the dishes, and somehow? It turned into low blows– you calling him a midget (despite being shorter than him), and him calling you an “insufferable human”. Nahida was always the mediator, and the poor Dendro archon was exhausted.

☾ One argument ended with you locking him outside the house. Why? Because he pulled a stupid prank on you– put salt instead of sugar in your tea. Intentionally. Of course, you were furious. In revenge, you hid his hat. Needless to say, he wanted revenge. 

☾ For someone who insisted humans were troublesome, he spent an awful lot of time taking care of you. If you were sick, he’d cook for you. He would make sure that the blankets were tucked around you properly, he’d make sure that you were drinking enough water, having your medicines on time, and resting enough. Of course, he did all of that while mumbling “weak human”, “tch, so annoying” under his breath. 

☾ If you asked him if he loved you? He’d click his tongue and say, “Tch. What kind of question is that? Why else would I have married you? Idiot.” 

☾ He would sooner throw himself off the Sanctuary of Surasthana than admit it, but he had dolls of the two of you. He’d keep them on him at all times. If he wasn’t carrying them? He’d hide them somewhere you couldn’t find them. Because… It was extremely embarrassing for him– a former Fatui Harbinger carrying around dolls of him and his beloved? Laughable. And if you found out? He knew he’d never live it down.

☾ He'd grumble the entire time while brushing your hair after you'd washed it because you always complained your arms got tired. Every single time he insisted he wasn't doing it because he cared. And yet? Every single time he ended up finishing anyway.

☾ It didn’t prevent him from being an absolute douchebag at times. He once pushed you into a lake when you were strolling in the rainforest...only to fish you back out a few seconds later while pretending he wasn't laughing. What kind of husband even does that? Turns out, it was payback for locking him outside the house for an entire day. 

☾ You two were the kind of couple who argued in the middle of the Grand Bazaar over the cost of spices or how “you were spending mora on unnecessary things”. They weren’t unnecessary! Well… okay, maybe they were. You really didn’t need another scarf, but.. It was so pretty! (He bought it for you anyway.)

☾ The people of Sumeru thought the two of you being together was a bad idea because chaos always ensued whenever you were together. So much so that Lesser Lord Kusanali had to force the two of you to apologize to each other like disobedient children. 

☾ Sometimes, when you caught him staring at you for too long, he'd immediately look away and scoff. You'd tease him for "admiring your beauty." In reality, he was simply memorizing your face.

☾ Late into the night, long after you were asleep, he’d sit on the roof and think. He was scared, worried. He was immortal, you weren’t. You were just a human, after all. He'd spent centuries convincing himself he didn't need anyone. Then you happened. And now? The thought of losing you terrified him far more than another century of solitude ever had. He had survived loneliness before. He wasn’t sure he’d survive it again.

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Written by @alalalalalalalalalalalalalalaska . Please do not repost or use my work without permission.

[awhkaiy]

— THE WEIGHT IN HIS PALMS

# a.n: hands, HANds, HANDS!!! *summoning scara/wanderer nation*. we love wanderer’s hands here. no i didn’t stutter. sfw short fic. gn!reader. contains spoilers for his lore.

# w.c: 1.3k

Wanderer’s hands really did carry every version of him, like layers of lacquer on an antique doll. You’d know that if he were to find himself close to you, enough to reveal the shape of his soul to you.

Hands originally carved to be a vessel for divine power, left empty in a quiet pavilion when Ei deemed him too soft. Hands that hammered iron in Tatarasuna, held a dying child’s cold fingers, and tried—and failed—to keep human fragility from slipping through them. Hands that gripped an Electro Gnosis with absolute, arrogant reverence, wielded the lines of fate, and fought Dottore’s grueling, bloody experiments.

And now? Hands that dip feather quills into black ink, scroll through dry Academia papyrus, cut vegetables for students who get too engrossed in their studies to eat, and wield Anemo Vision with precise, effortless grace.

Puppets don’t generate their own body heat the way living things do. His skin is smooth, unblemished, and perpetually cool to the touch like polished marble or chilled glass. When his fingers accidentally graze a human’s wrist or hand while handing over a book, a scroll, or a bowl of food, there’s that micro-second delay. A subtle, instinctual stalling. His mind registers the pulse, the quick jump of blood beneath skin, the radiant, living warmth. If called out on it, he’d snap something sharp about “human inefficiency” or “carelessness.” But the truth is, to a creation that was abandoned for being “too fragile,” he is secretly fascinated by how soft, warm, and resilient human life actually is.

He acts like he despises weakness, but when he considers something fragile—a delicate flower in Sumeru, parchment, an exhausted student—his gentleness is much clearer. He knows his own strength. He knows he was built to hold divine weight. So when he touches something mortal, his knuckles lock into absolute, hyper-controlled carefulness—as if he’s afraid the mere pressure of his mechanical joints might shatter them.

The first time you noticed the contrast between your skins—of porcelain and pulse:

The ink on the margin of the thesis was still wet.

​Wanderer moved with a quiet, lethal efficiency that belonged on a battlefield, yet here he was, sliding a fresh stack of references across the wooden desk without making a sound. His fingers—slender, immaculate, unblemished by the scars that should have come with four centuries of violence rested on the edge of the paper.

​As you reached to take the document, your knuckles brushed against his. You didn’t pull away immediately, and neither did he.

His skin was cool, smooth as sea-smoothed glass, lacking the soft give of human flesh. But against his fingers, your skin was a sudden, violent contrast—radiating a steady, quiet heat. Beneath your skin, he could feel the faint, rhythmic thrum of a heartbeat. Thump. Thump. Thump. So fast. So fragile.

​For two beats of that fleeting pulse, Wanderer didn’t move. His thumb twitched, a barely perceptible micro-movement, leaning into the warmth just enough to feel it sink into his artificial joints.

​Then, like a line cut on a kite, he drew his hand back, pulling it into the deep sleeve of his robes. “You’re distracting yourself,” he muttered, his voice flat, though his indigo-blue eyes remained locked on the spot where your hands had met. He turned his head away, crossing his arms over his chest to trap the fading heat against his skin.

“Finish the third section before the oil in the lamp burns out. I won’t rewrite it for you when you make a mess of the conclusion.”

But that night, you’d noticed that touch. You’d noticed that curiosity and longing in his gaze. Maybe that’s why the second time his hands caught your attention, you held on tight.

—of human fragility and mechanical discomfort:

The brass kettle had a faulty latch, something he’d noted three days ago and meant to fix, if only the student housing maintenance wasn’t so utterly incompetent. A sudden, violent burst of steam sputtered from the spout, followed by a harsh splash of scalded tea water cascading off the lip of the desk.

​Before the first drop could hit your skin, he was already there.

​His movement wasn’t human, it lacked the slight recoil of panic or shock. His hand shot out, palm flat, cutting through the spray like a blade to block the worst of it from splashing over your face and chest. The near-boiling liquid pooled across the back of his knuckles, dripping onto the floorboards in heavy, dark spots.

“Careless,” Wanderer snapped instantly, his voice sharp, cold, and tight with a sudden, disproportionate tension.

​He didn’t even look at his own hand. His indigo eyes were pinned entirely on you, scanning your face, your throat, the front of your collarbones—checking for red marks, for blisters, for the telltale signs of human pain. “You sit there staring at parchment until your mind turns to soup. Did any of it hit you? Answer me.”

​”I’m fine,” you breathed, blinking at the sheer speed of him. There was no hiding how startled you were. “Wanderer, I’m fine. It missed me.”

​Only when he was entirely satisfied that you weren’t burned did the rigid line of his shoulders drop half an inch. He made a low, irritated sound in his throat and reached for a dry cloth to wipe the desk.

“Look at your hand,” you said, reaching out to catch his wrist before he could pull away.

​He froze at the touch. Steam was still rising off his skin. The water had been hot enough to redden a human palm, to cause sharp, agonizing pain. But his hand was... unchanged. Smooth, pale, and entirely unaffected.

“It’s fine,” Wanderer muttered, trying to pull his arm back with a dismissive flick of his wrist. “Don’t be dramatic.”

“No, it’s not that,” you said softly, your fingers tightening gently around the cool curve of his wrist. You turned his hand over, tracing the back of his knuckles where the hot tea had pooled. “Your hands... they don’t hold heat. The water was scalding, but you’re still cold.”

​The sentence hung in the air, deceptively simple, but it hit the quiet room like glass shattering on stone. Wanderer went dead still. He stared down at where your warm, living fingers were cradling his. To him, the contrast was blinding. You were skin and blood, prone to burning, prone to bruising, carrying a pulse that beat like a trapped bird. And he was a vessel built of synthetic joints and everlasting silver wood—impervious to the sting of hot tea, but forever barred from generating the warmth you gave off so effortlessly.

​For a long dangerous second, the sharp comeback died in his throat. He looked at his own hand—the hand that had held a Gnosis, that had drawn blood in the abyss, that had just shielded a mortal from a minor household accident—and felt the quiet, hollow truth of what he was.

“They were made not to feel it,” he said, his voice dropping into a register so quiet, so stripped of his usual venom, that it sounded almost alien. He didn’t pull away this time. Instead, his fingers twitched against your palm, a slow, hesitant curl of his hand—not closing into a fist, but resting heavy and quiet in your grasp, absorbing the heat he couldn’t make on his own.

“It makes no difference,” he added, turning his face toward the window, though his hand remained stubbornly, silently anchored in yours. “So stop fussing over it.”

Wanderer is a weapon made of wood and ancient Khaenri’ahn technology, trying to navigate a world made of flesh, blood, and mortality. Yet, when he felt you lean in, brushing his fingers gently against your cheek, and pressing soft kisses to the knuckles—he thinks maybe he can start loving his puppet-self the way you do.

interactions, reblogs and likes are appreciated! this post belongs to © awhkaiy. do not repost or translate or feed my work to ai.

join the taglist : @pjselee + @ily-phainon + @wanprincess + @xiaonon + @kokoikui + @aka-rea

[kashuuw]

HAIII i hope you’re well! ive been binge watching all your works all week 🥹👀 what are some stuff you’re working on rn!

also hehehe would you be so kind to indulge us with lohen as a papa… PAPA LOHEN 🥹

- 🧸

⋆｡˚ 𝐋𝐎𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐀𝐒 𝐀 𝐅𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 .ᐟ.ᐟ lohen

⊹˚. 𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 : Lohen. [x reader]

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 : In which Lohen learns that being a father is far more challenging than any battle he's ever faced, especially when your endlessly energetic child seems determined to test his patience every single day.

ⓘ : 𝐒𝐅𝐖. marriage, parenting, mischieveous / annoying child, just lohen trying to be a good dad as best as he can! LOTS OF FLUFFF!!

𝐀/𝐍. 🧸 ANONNN <33 I’ve been doing very well, I hope you’ve been having a lovely day and doing well too!! So sorry for making this quite late but I absolutely enjoyed making this so I hope you enjoy it just as much and that it’s to your liking!! (..◜ᴗ◝..)

If someone had told Lohen years ago that he’d one day become a husband and a father, he probably would’ve laughed it off as the most unrealistic prediction imaginable. He wasn’t naturally good with children, nor did he particularly understand them. 

In fact, during the first few months after your child was born, he’d constantly second-guess himself, quietly asking whether he was holding the baby correctly, whether they were crying because he had done something wrong, or whether they simply preferred you over him. Yet, what Lohen lacked in instinct, he made up for in unwavering dedication.

Fatherhood became something he studied with the same determination he approached every mission, observing every little habit your child developed until he gradually learned what each cry meant, how they liked to be carried, and which stories somehow managed to lull them to sleep. 

As your child grew older however, so did their seemingly limitless talent for causing trouble. They inherited an adventurous streak that constantly tested his patience, climbing trees they had no business climbing, sneaking out the back door to chase stray animals, and somehow returning home covered in mud despite having left wearing clean clothes barely an hour earlier.

Lohen would spend half his afternoons searching for the little menace before finally finding them exactly where he expected, doing the one thing they’d explicitly been told not to do. Every lecture usually began with a long, exhausted sigh and a firm, “What did I tell you this morning?” only for your child to answer with complete confidence, “I forgot.”

Despite claiming on countless occasions that your child possessed an almost supernatural ability to exhaust him, he’d never once leave them unsupervised for long, instinctively stepping between them and danger before they even realized they were in it.

Discipline would come when necessary, but never through anger. He’d instead explain why something was dangerous (and only he could do those dangerous stuff), making sure they understood rather than simply obeyed.

Although he often insisted he wasn’t particularly suited for raising children, everyone around him would notice the quiet irony, your child rarely wandered very far from him, always reaching for his hand without thinking, climbing onto his shoulders whenever they grew tired, or proudly running to him first whenever they accomplished even the smallest achievement.

The evenings became his favorite part of the day. After the house finally grew quiet, he’d often find the two of you in the living room, your child insisting they weren’t sleepy while barely managing to keep their eyes open. More often than not, they’d end up sprawled across his lap halfway through one of his stories, interrupting every other sentence with endless questions.

“Then what happened?” “Why?” “Did the monster win?” “Can monsters have pets?” Lohen would answer each one with remarkable seriousness despite the growing amusement when you watched the whole event, even commenting “I don’t remember it being like that” and Lohen would stare at you, “shhh no no it is like that! maybe you just don’t remember.” Occasionally inventing entire adventures simply because your child refused to let the story end.

Some nights they’d suddenly announce they wanted to become ‘as strong as Dad!’, immediately grabbing a wooden stick and challenging him to a duel in the middle of the living room. He’d always accept with exaggerated solemnity, dropping to one knee to make the match ‘fair’, only to dramatically lose after an overly theatrical defeat that earned the loudest and proudest laughter imaginable.

Watching from the other room, you’d shake your head as your child triumphantly declared themselves the strongest warrior in Teyvat while Lohen lay on the floor claiming he’d been soundly defeated. He’d catch your eyes with a sheepish smile before quietly mouthing, don’t laugh.

Later that night, after finally carrying your sleeping child to bed, he’d linger beside the doorway for a moment, watching them sleep with the same quiet attentiveness he reserved for the people he loved most. Slipping both arms comfortably around your waist from behind, resting his face on the crook of your neck. He’d led out a tired but contented breath. 

“You know…” he murmured with a small smile, “...I still don’t think I’m any good with kids.” Then the sound of your child sleepily calling for him could be heard. “Dad… I want water…” echoing from the bedroom before either of you had taken three steps. Lohen closed his eyes for a brief moment, sighed in defeat, then turned back toward the room without a single complaint.

“I’m starting to think they’re doing this on purpose.”

[aqualesha]

AAAAAAAAAAAAA DAD LOHEN HAS MY HEART 😭😭😭💖

[skelyz]

I’m genuinely begging you all, don’t give up. It’s only been a week, we can keep going longer, the channels were removed, coming soon was removed, that doesn’t mean we don’t stop fighting.

Don’t give up even if it’s hard. Please. Let’s keep fighting, wait until there’s an official announcement or something. We can just quit now, we’ve come so so far, we can’t let it stop us. We made our hopes high for some news on the 9th, yes we were let down when the channel was gone… but we still have to fight.

Are we SERIOUSLY going to give up after only a week of fighting? Thats how long it took the antis, why don’t we go longer and stronger? Dont lose hope. KEEP FIGHTING NO MATTER WHAT. Do it for Valko, do it for all the LI’s. Don’t let a big company win. It’s not over just yet!

[certifiedmocha]

what it's like dating lohen

ok.

so.

the thing we first need to get straight about lohen is that man has absolutely no sense of self preservation when it actually matters (probably pre story quest)

he'll walk into monster-infested ruins. Alone. Smiling. Gets stabbed. "...Huh." Pulls the spear out. Keeps fighting.

Medics: "CAN YOU STOP DOING THAT."

"Doing what?"

the 5th company was WORRIED for you when you started dating. because the lohen that THEY know once walked into a morning briefing like

Lohen: "Good news."

Entire company: "...No."

Lohen: "Today's exercise involves surprise attacks."

Entire company: "Please no."

Lohen: "Excellent enthusiasm."

you fell in love with the man who voluntarily exposed himself to concentrated dandelion pollen so he'd stop being allergic and now misses the side effects.

the confession was.. weird.

he tried to give you poisoned flowers and you never knew it was from him

eventually he had to outright say "i'm trying to court you"

When he asked you out, it was somehow even less romantic.

"You make surviving the day more enjoyable."

"...Is that your version of 'I like you?'"

"...Yes."

"...I'll take it."

bro is literally a golden retriever trapped inside a battlefield gremlin

The Knights expected him to become softer after dating. They were... technically correct. Around you. Everyone else? Still a menace.

Five minutes after lovingly holding your hand... He's hiding in a tree waiting to ambush Varka with a net.

Emotional range: 😊 You. 😈 Varka.

he's surprisingly clingy. not dramatically. just.. always touching you somehow. Holds your hand absentmindedly. Hooks a finger through your belt loop if you're walking through crowded streets. Rests his forehead against yours while thinking. Wraps an arm around your shoulders without realizing he's done it. If you're sitting beside him… Congratulations. You're now an armrest.

his love language is "i kept you alive. now kiss me"

brings you food because you forgot to eat.

repairs things before you notice they're broken.

walks on the side closest to traffic.

quietly checks exits every time you enter a building.

memorizes your routine.

Not because he doesn't trust you.

Because he wants to know where to find you if something goes wrong.

If you're injured?

He appears.

Nobody knows where he came from.

You barely finish saying:

"I think I scraped my—"

He's already wrapping the bandage.

his version of romance is "i found a really dangerous cave.... wanna go together?"

He genuinely thinks this is an excellent date.

Other ideas include:

hunting a lawachurl.

climbing Dragonspine.

investigating suspicious ruins

monster tracking.

"walking" (ends up covering twenty kilometers).

Candlelit dinner? Sure. As long as there's a monster nest afterward.

absolutely SHAMELESS eye contact. his sense of humor never improves either.

He already studies everyone.

His partner?

Even more.

You look up.

He's looking at you.

"...What?"

"Nothing."

"...Then why are you staring?"

"You smiled."

"..."

"...I wanted to see it again."

He says things like this with complete sincerity. Then goes back to casually sharpening a spear.

he's weirdly domestic. he loves helping with chores and claims it's "efficient"

Ends up making everything into a competition.

"Whoever folds laundry slower washes dishes."

"...Why?"

"Motivation."

Cooking together?

He follows recipes...

Exactly once.

Then starts experimenting.

"...Lohen."

"What?"

"...Why is there Jueyun Chilis from Liyue in the pancakes?"

"...Curiosity."

He trusts you.

Completely.

If you say: "I've got this."

He believes you.

Doesn't jump in unless you actually need help.

But if someone genuinely threatens you?

The smile disappears.

Immediately.

Even the other Knights suddenly become interested in something else.

He doesn't realize half the things he does are romantic.

Casually tucks your hair behind your ear while talking.

Brings you flowers because "they reminded me of your eyes."

Falls asleep with his hand still holding yours.

Remembers every tiny thing you casually mention.

Then acts confused when everyone calls him smooth.

"I just... paid attention."

his gifts alternate between a pretty flower, a rare ore, monster claws, handmade crossbow, expensive tea, incredibly toxic poison.

you eventually learn how ot be immune to his chaos

Everyone else: "WHERE DID LOHEN GO?!"

You: "...Ceiling."

Everyone: "..."

Lohen, upside down in the rafters: "...How'd you know?"

You: "You always hide there."

Lohen: "that's hot."

the 5th comany ships it so hard

his gifts are concerningly thoughtful

Normal people buy jewelry.

Lohen buys:

reinforced gloves

custom daggers

emergency medical kits

waterproof cloaks

specialized camping equipment

Then one day...

He quietly hands you a tiny carved wooden animal.

"...You made this?"

"Mhm."

"...When?"

"Couldn't sleep."

It's a perfect little carving.

You treasure it forever.

He pretends not to notice.

his pain tolerance is offensive. you asked him to rate his pain. he says 3. his arm is currently broken btw.

lohen usually sleeps like someone who's spent years in the field.

Very lightly.

One weird noise?

Eyes open immediately.

But if you're sleeping against him...

He relaxes.

More deeply than anyone has ever seen.

The Fifth Company notices he actually looks rested now.

One knight whispers:

"...They're good for him."

Another whispers back:

"...Don't tell him that."

varka's favorite hobby is watching you two be accidentally romantic in public.

lohen doesn't always say "i love you constantly". he says it. just differently.

"Tell me when you get back."

"Eat before you leave."

"I've already sharpened your weapon."

"Walk behind me here."

"Take my coat."

"You're tired."

And, perhaps his favorite:

"I've got you."

Matter-of-fact.

Completely unquestionable.

Because if Lohen says he's got you...

Then as far as he's concerned, the whole world would have to get through him first.

--

pls help me i'm falling down such a big rabbit hole for this man HAHAH GET IT GET IT RABBIT BECAUSE HIS CONSTELLATION IS

ok nvm.

[gojo-catoru00]

I hope all of Valko's VAs, designers and developers see how hard we are fighting to get him back and that he is wanted and loved 🥺 WE WANT HIM SO BAD

[dark-night-hero]

The bedroom was painfully quiet. Not because there wasn't any sound. There was, The soft zip of a duffel bag. The rustle of neatly folded clothes. The faint clink of metal as chargers, keys, and other necessities disappeared one by one into carefully packed luggages. But because the silence between the two of you was deafening.

You sat quietly on the edge of the bed, your hands folded tightly in your lap. Your eyes never left Valko. His back faced you as he moved around the room. His bright red hair caught the afternoon light pouring through the curtains, glowing almost warmly despite how cold everything felt.  Every now and then, he'd hum under his breath, a habit of his whenever he was concentrating. It was the same absentminded tune he'd hum while cooking, while working, while clinging to you from behind because he decided personal space was a nonexistent. And normally, it would've made you smile.

But today only made your chest ache as you watched him fold another shirt, then another. Every item he packed felt like another reminder that he was leaving.

Your vision blurred and you blinked rapidly. No. Don't cry. Not yet. He still hadn't turned around. So you bit your lip so hard it almost hurt. A tear slipped down anyway. Then another. You hurriedly wiped them away with the sleeve of your sweater before more could follow, lowering your head so he wouldn't notice.

He kept packing. Completely unaware. "...Love?" His voice was gentle. "So sorry, could you hand me the things on the counter?" You inhaled sharply. "Okay." Your voice came out embarrassingly small. You stood up anyway, quickly dragging the heels of your palms beneath your eyes before walking toward the counter. His watch. Wallet. His glasses. You gathered everything carefully. Another shaky breath. Don't cry. Please don't cry.

You walked back over, stopping just behind him. He still hadn't turned around. "...Here." You held the items out. He reached back without looking then his fingers brushed yours. And instead of taking the things. His hand wrapped around your wrist. Your breath caught and before you could react, he tugged. A soft yelp escaped you as your body stumbled forward. Straight into him. The items nearly slipped from your hands. His arms were already around you, strong, warm, secure.

He buried his face against your shoulder, holding you so tightly it almost hurt. "...I know." Two words. That was all it took and something inside you shattered. A broken sob ripped from your throat before you could stop it. Your hands flew to the front of his shirt, fists clutching the fabric desperately as tears poured freely down your cheeks.

"No." Another sob. "No..." You hit his chest, not hard but just enough to vent the overwhelming ache threatening to suffocate you. "I don't want you to go!" Another punch. "I don't want you to leave!" Your fists kept landing weakly against him. Again, and again and again. "I hate this!" Thump. "You're leaving me!" Thump. "I don't want you to go..." Your voice cracked so badly the words dissolved into sobs. "You promised to stay forever!" You buried your face against him, clutching his shirt so tightly your knuckles turned white. "Please..." Another broken sob. "Please don't go..."

Valko didn't move away. Didn't stop you. Didn't let go. He simply held you tighter. One hand slid up to cradle the back of your head while the other rubbed slow circles against your trembling back. "I'm sorry..." His own voice sounded quieter now. "I'm so, so sorry." He pressed his forehead against your hair. "I know." A kiss landed gently on top of your head. "I know, sweetheart." Another trembling apology. "I'm sorry."

Your fists had weakened into desperate grips, fingers twisting helplessly into the front of his shirt. "You don't have to go..." You could barely get the words out between sobs. "You don't..." His embrace tightened. "If I could stay..." He swallowed. "I would." You shook your head violently. Then his voice cracked just enough for you to hear it. "But I can't." You cried harder. He whispered it against your hair. "I love you." Another kiss. "I love you so much." Your fingers only clenched tighter. "I'm sorry."

His hand continued stroking your back, slow and comforting despite the way your body shook uncontrollably against him. "I'm sorry I have to leave." Another broken sob escaped you. "I don't want to let go..." "You don't have to." He answered immediately. "So don't." His chin rested gently atop your head. "We'll stay like this for a little longer." He closed his eyes, holding you as though committing the feeling to memory. "I've got you." Another soft kiss. "I'm sorry."

And all you could do was cry into the arms of the man you loved, wishing that if you held him tightly enough. Maybe the world would stop asking him to leave.

[ⓒdark-night-hero] 2026°

: i made this and uploaded this before caleb fiance 3 (its almost done but i couldn't stop crying and crashing out so i couldn't just focus on it and need to lock in aka. Vent out my feelings) I AM SO FUCKIBG SAD AHHHHH

[aqualesha]

this is making me cry more THEY BETTER BRING VALKO BACK 😭🫂

[oceanbloomz]

CN LADS players, are we okay in the head?

how ungrateful do you have to be to ruin part of a game for literally a million other people? valko was for sure not a character for everyone, but that’s the entire point of a love interest game. everyone has different tastes.

i’m sure infold wasn’t pushing off the story line. y’all just had to be patient and wait. why is that such a problem

protesting and causing public disturbances is actually so disgusting. what has humanity come to if y’all are getting so butt hurt over a game?

i hope everyone who has taken part in these protests that led to valko’s PERMANENT REMOVAL learn that the world does not revolve around them—SO many other people, including myself, were looking forward to valko.

please a) use #bringbackvalko, and b) consider signing the following petitions:

Sign the Petition

Bring back Valko as a meaningful love interest

Restore Valko as a Love Interest in Love and Deepspace

Fans urge Infold and PaperGames to restore Valko as a love interest in Love and Deepspace to honor the original vision for the game. Add you

and, i will continue to write for valko as if he were added in the game, cuz in my heart he absolutely is.

[shy-ent]

Rip valko, i hope we can find you a totem of undying or sum shit😕

[minoots]

Hello everyone!

Since Infold has cancelled the launch of the new LI Valko, there’s a petition here as well which you can sign:

Bring Valko Back

Bring Valko back as LI:

Restore Valko as a Love Interest in Love and Deepspace

Fans urge Infold and PaperGames to restore Valko as a love interest in Love and Deepspace to honor the original vision for the game. Add you

[eepylohen]

an inappropriate time for a marriage proposal

lohen x gn!reader

summary: lohen is bleeding out in your arms while you desperately try to heal him, but blood loss makes him just a little too honest.

tags: lohen is down bad, comedy, fluff, tension, lightkeeper!reader, they're not together (yet)... but they're obviously in love, delirious confessions, drabble

i know i have, like, ten other things i should be writing, but i could not stop thinking about that meme with lohen... ahdkjashd... i really want to write that divorced!au, but man, i don't have enough ideas to turn it into a full fic!!!!

...also, can y'all tell me if my lohen is... uh, too obsessed? i love yearning men, but i think my lohen might be... too much of a yearner. 😭 please tell me if y'all fw him... because maybe i should tone him down if he feels too ooc...

Maybe it was for the best that Lohen had never had many friends. Not because he was an exceptionally insufferable asshole who loved getting under people's skin, but because if there had been more people in his life who genuinely cared about him...

They'd probably be having heart attacks right about now.

Which, unfortunately, was nothing new where Lohen was concerned. He always fought as though he had nine lives tucked away in reserve. Honestly, you wished he actually did.

"Lohen!" You dropped to your knees beside him, catching him in your arms. Your hands lit up with the power of your vision, its energy bringing comfort as you pressed them against his bleeding wound. "Lohen, can you hear me?!"

"Loud and clear, nightingale," he murmured, somehow still managing to flash you that infuriatingly cocky grin. If one of your hands hadn't been busy keeping pressure on his wound, you would've happily wiped that expression right off his face. "Don't you look beautiful with all that fear in your pretty eyes?"

Lohen lifted a hand and cupped your cheek. Your eyes widened.

He still had the strength — and the audacity — to tease you.

His fingertips stroked your skin with surprising tenderness, but they were slick with blood, smearing crimson across your cheek. You barely noticed. You were too focused on stabilizing him. By now, you'd grown used to the fact that even a dying Lohen could still be a monumental pain in the ass.

"It'd be wonderful if you'd stop squirming, Lohen. I'm trying to keep pressure on your wound," you snapped, irritation creeping into your voice. The second you'd gotten word that he was hurt, you'd run here like a mad person. And instead of showing even the slightest bit of gratitude for the fact that you were saving his life, he was making your job even harder.

Lohen was, without a doubt, your favorite patient.

Yeah, right.

He chuckled, utterly unbothered.

"It's not my fault you're so pretty I can't keep my hands off you," he mumbled, his voice noticeably weaker. You frowned. "Oh I want to marry you so badly, nightingale."

"What?"

Lohen looked you straight in the eyes as he said it. Shamelessly. His smile was fading, but the spark in his eyes refused to die.

What an idiot.

"I can't wait to come home and find you waiting in the doorway with a knife in your hand, furious that I'm late again and covered in blood. You can even stab me if you want. I won't mind. I just want to see that beautiful, angry face of yours before I kiss you and beg your forgiveness," he murmured, sounding almost wistful. "But I promise I'll be a good husband to you, nightingale."

As absurd as the whole situation was, you could feel your cheeks burning. Lohen was delirious.

Damn it. He'd lost enough blood that he was rambling now, completely unaware of the nonsense spilling from his mouth.

Which was why his eyes—

Why were his eyes so full of love...?

"Lohen, please. Don't push yourself. I'm almost done—"

"I think I might be in love with you," Lohen said with complete seriousness, looking straight in your soul, utterly devoted. You went pale. The marriage jokes could still be explained away somehow, but a confession? Oh, Archons. "Will you marry me someday, nightingale?"

Still shocked, you were just about to answer when his hand suddenly went limp, slipping from your cheek as his eyes slowly drifted shut.

"Is he dead?" Varka asked, sounding far more amused than concerned.

You bit your lip and looked up at him, mortified.

"No. He just passed out," you replied. "He lost a lot of blood. But I've stabilized him, so..."

Varka burst into laughter. You let out a miserable groan.

He kept talking — probably making fun of Lohen — but you barely heard a word. Your eyes remained fixed on Lohen's face, peaceful and relaxed at last. Even if it was covered in blood. That was beside the point.

Something tightened painfully in your chest at the thought that Lohen felt safe enough to fall asleep in your arms. Safe enough to let himself be completely vulnerable with you.

… No.

It wasn't because of you. Varka was here too. That had to be it.

Besides, Lohen had been delirious. People said all kinds of ridiculous things after losing that much blood. And yet...

You would never admit it out loud, but the idea of marrying Lohen didn't seem all that terrible. 

After all, as his spouse, you'd have every right to stab him whenever he pulled something like this again. That was the appeal. The freedom to punish him. Nothing more. Surely.

Really.

You brushed a stray lock of hair away from his forehead, your fingers lingering as you gently stroked his hair. Lohen visibly relaxed beneath your touch. You couldn't help but smile.

He was adorable.

As long as he wasn't talking nonsense.

[aqualesha]

I'M EATING THIS YEARNER LOHEN UP YASSSSSSSSSSS

[koenigami]

how yall will soon catch me going on walks around the block

[whatagrump]

Apparently a lot of people get dialogue punctuation wrong despite having an otherwise solid grasp of grammar, possibly because they’re used to writing essays rather than prose. I don’t wanna be the asshole who complains about writing errors and then doesn’t offer to help, so here are the basics summarized as simply as I could manage on my phone (“dialogue tag” just refers to phrases like “he said,” “she whispered,” “they asked”):

“For most dialogue, use a comma after the sentence and don’t capitalize the next word after the quotation mark,” she said.

“But what if you’re using a question mark rather than a period?” they asked.

“When using a dialogue tag, you never capitalize the word after the quotation mark unless it’s a proper noun!” she snapped.

“When breaking up a single sentence with a dialogue tag,” she said, “use commas.”

“This is a single sentence,” she said. “Now, this is a second stand-alone sentence, so there’s no comma after ‘she said.’”

“There’s no dialogue tag after this sentence, so end it with a period rather than a comma.” She frowned, suddenly concerned that the entire post was as unasked for as it was sanctimonious.

[thewritinggrindstone]

And!

“If you’re breaking dialogue up with an action tag”—she waves her hands back and forth—”the dashes go outside the quotation marks.”

[writing-is-a-martial-art]

Reblog to save a writer’s life.

[jaydove-writes]

Thank you

[localcanadiancryptid22]

Oh my god thank you. No wonder grammarly keeps complaining about my punctuation when I boot my writing up into word counter

[ahmadwaleedfamily]

My father might not survive without urgent help.

He was admitted to the hospital today, and his condition is critical. We are terrified and running out of time. We cannot afford the treatment and medication he needs every day. Without it, his life is in real danger. I’m begging you please, don’t ignore this. Help us in any way you can.

Even a small contribution or sharing this post could save his life.

Please… we truly need you right now. 🙏💔 :::

📌 Fundraiser vetted (#167 by el-shab-hussein & nabulsi), But we created a new GoFundMe page because GoFundMe suspended the beneficiary’s account on the platform, which put us in a very difficult situation.

[ahmadwaleedfamily]

Guys, my father is in the hospital and his life is in real danger without treatment.

Please don’t scroll past this your support or even sharing could save him 🙏💔

[c4tifangs]

once more, i have lost found my heart.

[acideathr]

⚭ constant variable

𝗟𝗢𝗚 𝟬𝟭𝟬. 𝗨𝗡𝗗𝗘𝗥 𝗢𝗕𝗦𝗘𝗥𝗩𝗔𝗧𝗜𝗢𝗡

synopsis; request by anon: you get sick and dottore takes care of you REQUESTS OPEN FOR THIS SERIES | chapter logs taglist: @nambii, @sweetcrunchygrapes, @bodilyautonomy, @51kim-dokjas-wife49, @zenzeanie, @mei-simp, @sweetagaves, @166c74, @yekaterina4848, @esthelily, @cemirre, @darling-5yndrome, @def-not-daria, @taibami, @lunia-likes-pomegranet, @squ4respace, @pneumousia, @lazygirl966, @minandras

you wake to the sound of glass, the soft clink of vials being set down with deliberate precision. the air smells faintly medicinal, layered over something warmer you can’t quite place.

your head throbs.

your body feels heavy, like gravity has doubled overnight.

you try to sit up.

“don’t.”

the word is immediate. 

your eyes crack open. dottore is there, sitting beside the bed you vaguely recognize as not yours, but close enough. 

he’s already gloved. of course he is.

“you’re febrile,” he says, eyes scanning a monitor just out of your sight. “and stubborn.”

you swallow. your throat burns. “is that a diagnosis?”

“it is.”

you manage a weak huff of laughter that dissolves into a cough. immediately, he’s leaning forward, one hand steadying your shoulder, the other lifting a cool cloth to your forehead.

“careful,” he murmurs. “you’ll exacerbate it.”

you squint at him. “you sound annoyed.”

“i am,” he replies. then, more quietly, “with the pathogen.”

you close your eyes again, too tired to argue. the cloth is replaced the moment it warms, swapped with another that smells faintly of antiseptic and something floral you don’t recognize.

“did i… miss something?” you ask, voice hoarse.

“you collapsed in the corridor,” he says. “you insisted you were ‘fine’.”

“…i was busy.”

“yes. and now you’re sick.” there’s a pause. “this is why i monitor you.”

you shift slightly, frowning. “you… what?”

“later,” he says smoothly, already lifting a vial. “drink.”

you eye the concoction suspiciously. “is this medicine or an experiment?”

“both,” he answers without missing a beat. at your look, he adds, “it is safe.”

“that’s not comforting.”

“it’s effective.”

you drink anyway. it tastes bitter and metallic, but the burn in your throat eases almost immediately.

“…that is effective,” you admit.

“i know.”

he checks your pulse next, fingers cool against your wrist.

“you should have told me sooner,” he says.

“i didn’t think it was serious.”

“you were shivering,” he counters. “your baseline temperature dropped.”

you grimace. “you keep track of that too?”

“yes.”

“of course you do.”

he reaches for another blanket, layering it over you with meticulous care, tucking the edges in so there’s no draft. you vaguely register that he’s adjusted the vents again, warmth spreading in controlled waves.

“you’re hovering,” you mumble.

“i am supervising.”

“you don’t supervise patients like this.”

“you are not a patient.”

your eyes flutter open. “then what am i?”

his hand pauses, resting on the blanket over your chest. 

“you are mine,” he says finally. “and therefore my responsibility.”

you smile weakly. “that’s one way to say it.”

you drift in and out after that.

each time you wake, he’s still there. recording symptoms. replacing compresses. holding a cup to your lips when your hands shake too much to manage it yourself.

at one point, you wake to the sound of his voice, low and irritated, speaking to someone else.

“no, you will not enter.”

“…because i said so.”

“…yes. i am aware of the risk. that is why i am handling it.”

when you stir, the room goes quiet.

“you’re… scolding people,” you murmur.

“i am enforcing quarantine,” he replies, already turning back to you. “sleep.”

you obey.

later, you wake properly. the fever has broken. your head still aches, but the crushing weight is gone.

you find him slumped slightly in the chair beside you, mask discarded, eyes closed. one glove has been removed. his bare hand rests on the edge of the bed, fingers curled like he fell asleep mid-thought.

you reach out weakly, brushing your thumb against his knuckles.

his eyes snap open instantly.

“you’re awake,” he says.

“mm,” you reply. “you stayed.”

“yes.”

“you didn’t have to.”

“i did.”

you squeeze his hand faintly. “you’re terrible at resting.”

“i am functional.”

you hum. “you look worried.”

he stiffens. “i was not.”

“liar.”

a beat.

“…your immune response was inefficient,” he says instead. “i have corrected it.”

you smile. “thank you, doctor.”

his thumb brushes over your knuckles, slow, grounding.

“do not get sick like that again,” he says quietly.

“i can’t promise that.”

his grip tightens just a fraction. “then promise you will tell me.”

you meet his gaze. “i promise.”

he exhales, tension bleeding away.

“good,” he says. “now rest. you are still under observation.”

you settle back into the pillows, warmth surrounding you, carefully calibrated and meticulously maintained.

for all his sharp edges and dangerous brilliance, dottore watches over you with the focus of someone who has already decided that losing you is not an outcome he will ever accept.

[zeka-maki]

ʚɞ And whispered sweet nothings in my ear ʚɞ

Pairings: Kyryll Chudomirovich Flins x Reader

Summary: People sigh in disbelief when the topic of the Ratnik's spouse is brought up. They think you're imaginary, a figment of Flins' thoughts but little do they know, his spouse is very much real. As a traveler, you're rarely seen with your husband but tonight you decide to pay him a visit.

Tags: Fluff, established relationship, traveler!Reader, domesticity, gossiping spirits, lovey-dovey stuff

A/N: ong this was a fire idea, don't ask me what happened with the delivery 😓

Your marriage to Flins had always been the sort of union that drew quiet awe and whispered disbelief. A human and a fae, bound together in a way that few could ever understand. You traveled often, venturing beyond Nod-Krai for business and errands, while Flins remained behind, tending to the deceased and keeping watch over the Final Night Cemetery. You had asked him to accompany you on your journeys, promising wonders far beyond the borders of the island, yet he declined, his duties anchoring him. And still, his heart belonged to you.

Every night, your letters arrived. Neat, precise, yet filled with affection. In them, he confessed things he rarely admitted aloud: Aino’s exasperation at his constant mentions of you, Illuga’s silent nodding, his own exhaustion from the endless reports, and the quiet comfort your letters brought him. Sometimes, his words made you laugh so hard you had to sit down; other times, they sharpened the ache of absence into a sweet, lingering pull in your chest.

Tonight, you had finally decided to visit him. The spirits of Nod-Krai were restless, whispering your name even before your boat brushed the shore. The Lightkeeper heard them as he always did, his brow furrowing slightly, lips twitching in an involuntary smile. You’re coming. The ghosts speculated endlessly, convinced he had gone mad for loving an invisible spouse, for no one had seen you, and yet his attention, his every action, betrayed him.

Flins moved faster than usual through his duties, finishing reports with unusual swiftness, fishing twice the usual catch, fussing over his hair with meticulous care. He lingered at the edges of the island, scanning the horizon as if he could sense your arrival before it occurred. The spirits argued among themselves about his sanity, muttering and whispering, but Flins only smiled faintly, humming under his breath.

When you finally reached the shore, the cemetery seemed to quiver in anticipation. And then, with a surge of blue flame, Flins emerged from his lantern, hovering silently behind you. As your hand brushed the lantern, flames flared briefly before his arms wrapped around you—solid, warm, unyielding. “My love,” he murmured, voice low and trembling with a quiet delight, pressing a gentle kiss to the back of your hand. “You’ve finally come.”

You laughed softly, brushing your fingers over his chest. “I told you I would. Did you miss me that much?”

He pressed his forehead to yours, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Do you think a man like me can survive months without seeing you? Foolish question, my dear. I’ve been counting the days, imagining every moment until your return.”

You smiled, reaching for the satchel of offerings in your hand. “Well, I brought things for you. Fishes, some dishes from the regions I’ve visited… and a few gemstones I thought you might like.”

His eyes softened as he took them, fingertips brushing yours in that lingering, tender way he always did. “You spoil me,” he murmured, holding your hand against his chest, guiding you gently by the small of your back. “But I will not deny it… I have missed you more than words can say.”

Later, you found yourselves at the quiet corner of the island where Flins kept his workbench. Silver wires, delicate tools, and gemstones were laid out meticulously. “I thought I might make something for you,” he said, voice soft, a faint quirk of mischief in his smile. “Perhaps a pair of earrings, or… something to remind you that you are mine, even when you travel so far.”

You leaned over the bench, watching him work, the lantern casting dancing blue shadows over his hands. “I like it already,” you murmured, smiling. “But only if I get to wear them as soon as you’re done.”

He chuckled, lips brushing the back of your hand again. “Always my love. Always.” He worked in silence for a while, humming faintly, pausing occasionally to glance at your face. His touch was constant—fingers brushing your wrist, resting on the small of your back, tucking stray strands of hair behind your ear. “You make even this lonely place feel alive,” he murmured. “Even the ghosts notice, I think… and they talk endlessly about you. They think you’re imaginary.”

You laughed softly. “So you’ve been pretending to be sane all this time?”

He smirked faintly, tilting his head to study you. “Pretending? Never. I am fully, utterly, irrevocably… myself when you are near. Perhaps they are the fools.”

Hours passed in quiet intimacy, filled with laughter, whispers, and the gentle clinking of tools and gemstones. At last, he led you to the lighthouse. The wind was bone-chilling, but the blue flames merged with his body surrounded you in warmth, and you felt safe in his arms. The two of you lay on his tattered bed after a seemingly endless conversation. Exhaustion finally claimed you, and you drifted to sleep on his chest.

Kyryll watched you, heart fluttering with a delicate, exquisite ache. Nights upon nights, he had imagined this: your head resting against him, your hands loosely holding his, your soft breathing mixing with the whispers of Nod-Krai’s spirits. Now, it was real. His spouse had returned, alive and warm, in his arms. He pressed a gentle kiss to your temple, murmuring, “My dear… you’re home.”

The lighthouse was silent, save for the sighing of the wind and the soft crackle of blue flame. Flins settled back, holding you closer, his long fingers tracing the line of your back. Even the chill of Nod-Krai could not reach you; you were enveloped in him. His heart thrummed with quiet, perfect joy. And as sleep claimed him too, he held you as if he would never let go, as if the world outside could wait—because for the first time in months, everything was exactly as it should be.

Does this even make sense? 🚶