HEYYOO! Hope Your Doing Well! I Really Enjoyed Your Platonic Yandere Scaramouche Post ! I Can't Get It

INSULT TO INJURY — Platonic Arlecchino & reader

i. SUMMARY: What is Arlecchino to do, when her child comes home injured? ii. CWS & NOTES: Injuries, mild descriptions of blood, mentions of violence, nothing particularly graphic. PLATONIC arlecchino & gn!reader. house of the hearth!reader. hurt/comfort. they/them pronouns used. 0.9k words. iii. A/N: HI THIS WAS FINISHED IN MY DRAFTS AND I DID NOT NOTICE... this was a suggestion from @romaritimeharbor!!

Arlecchino was by no means a traditional parent, but she did share common qualities with those who were. She kissed her children’s hair when they were sick, wiping the sweat off their forehead and tucking their sheets extra tight. When they sought comfort, she would hold them close to her chest, even if her affection was rare and only offered away from all other eyes. They appeared in her thoughts constantly, even in the most mundane situations; occasionally she would find herself wondering if Lynette would enjoy a particular brand of tea, or if Freminet’s diving skills had improved in the past months.

Those outside of the House of the Hearth could never imagine a soft side to a cutthroat woman like Arlecchino, not after witnessing her ruthless ways. All they saw was the terrifying Harbinger that cut through hoards with her scythe, taking down each and every one who stands in the way of the Fatui. They would be mistaken to dismiss her as soft-hearted, but even more so to proclaim her heartless. It is simply that her heart beats for the Hearth, and nothing more. 

When she settled into the role of Father, she vowed that even if the Fatui wouldn’t treat her children with love, she would. However strict she appeared, her love for the House of the Hearth was poured through every drop of blood shed in the name of the security of the Fatui. The Fatui were the foundation holding up the orphanage, and so long as it remained strong, so would their home. 

It was one of her most notable traits, and one that many parents held; she would do anything to protect her children. 

So when [Name] turned up at her office, bruises peeking out between the rips in their shirt and bright splatters of blood dotting their arms, she didn’t scold them for walking in without knocking. She stood, moving mechanically over to where they lingered in the doorway. She swept her gaze down their body, taking note of each and every injury. And as they looked up at her, eyes glazed over with unshed tears, she brushed her hand across their face to rid the hair sticking to the blood across their forehead and hissed, “Who did this to you?”

“I–” Whatever rasping words were almost spoken broke off in a fit of coughing. A low cry of pain spilled out, and their hand clutched their side. “Sorry, I’m sorry.”

Arlecchino looked out through the hallway, spotting a child half-hidden behind the corner, unsubtly trying to spy on the situation. They squeaked, as she caught their eye and barked out an order. “You! Go to the medical wing and bring back a first aid kit, and several ice-packs. Now.”

They scurried off, the sound of tiny footsteps growing quieter every second. Once they were inaudible, she looked back at her other child, whose eyes were drifting shut slowly. A quick touch on their shoulder sent them flinching backwards, eyes flying open. 

“What happened?” She asked, ignoring the way they shrunk into themself at the question.

“I failed. I was ambushed, and they–” They shuddered, once again gripping their side. Arlecchino took note of the way they winced each time they moved too sharply; bruised ribs, if not broken. “I’m sorry, I just came to report on what happened.”

“You’re injured, [Name].” Arlecchino stressed.

“I know,” They said quietly. They didn’t even seem to have enough energy to fight the tears that have begun dripping down their cheeks. “It won’t happen again. I’ll be better.”

I don’t want you to be better, her mind screamed. I want you to be okay. Arlecchino bit her tongue hard to stop the words from pouring out. It would be unbecoming of the Director to show such earnestness in front of one of her children, especially one who had clearly suffered a failure. She may love them, as she does all of her orphans, but she was raised in the Fatui as well. She knew the cost of failure all too well.

“You will be.” Arlecchino stood back, letting them lean against the door frame again to stop themself falling over. “I’m sure you understand that there will be consequences to this.”

“I do.” 

“Excellent. You will be dismissed from all missions for the next six weeks.” Six weeks, that was just long enough for injured ribs to heal, if she recalled correctly. “You will be required to remain in the House for that time, and any outings must be approved by me before you leave.”

They stared at her, eyes wide.

“Am I understood?”

“Yes, Father.” They said quickly.

She didn’t ask any more of the person who had left them in such a state, but they did cross her mind as she wrapped bandages around their arms. She could almost see them now, celebrating their victory over the Fatui. How proud they must be, to have sent one of the Knave’s own agents fleeing. 

A barely noticeable grimace tore her attention away, and she forced her hands to loosen the bandages around their arm. In her quiet fury, she had begun to wrap them tighter than a tourniquet, much to their discomfort. 

For that moment, she dismissed the assailant to the back of her mind, and turned all of her attention to her child.

They would come later, and then, they would learn the true meaning of fear. 

reblogs and comments are appreciated! ♡

hihi i requested that scara and little sibling reader a little while ago and i loved it sm!! so here i am Requesting Again…. could you do something with scara/wanderer and a child little sibling kinda like the rly cute kaveh fic you reblogged where they ask him to do their hair? except he’s like uuuugggghhhhhhh 🙄🙄 fiiiine 😒😒 but while he’s doing it he’s actually super gentle and sweet about it despite trying not show it ^^

hairstyling.

summary. scaramouche and the wanderer style their sibling's hair.

trigger & content warnings. none applicable.

tropes, pairings, fic length, & other notes. fluff. scaramouche & child!reader, wanderer & child!reader. 0.5k words. they/them pronouns for reader. this post is vaguely connected to what's with this sassy, lost child? but can be read as a standalone. author's thoughts. hello anon!! its lovely to see you again, please do feel free to request anytime <3 also you're so right that kaveh fic is so cute it deserves so many reblogs (me when i promote my mutual's work.... /lh).

scaramouche and the wanderer style [name]'s hair. how does it go?

scaramouche.

the balladeer seems annoyed when they meekly ask him to do their hair, his brow twitching. he's a busy man, you know? he doesn't have the time to spare for such simple tasks that they should easily be able to do on their own. it's their hair; why should he have to do it? they're big enough to know how to brush and style their hair, surely.

nevertheless, he scoffs, beckoning them over seemingly begrudgingly, as if this is the most demanding and inconveniencing thing they've ever asked of him.

he seems so aggravated, and yet...

it's with gentle, tender, patient fingers that he works apart the tangles in their hair. he never pulls hard, never gets angry and never just tears their knots apart with no regard to how such roughness would damage both them and their hair.

he's patient... but only to an extent.

he's patient when he begins slowly dragging the brush through their locks, soft when they whine about it hurting as his patience inevitably begins to run thin causing him to brush a little harder (though he doesn't outwardly apologize, he does get noticeably slower). despite his best efforts, the balladeer is impatient by nature. he can't maintain such a state forever.

their scalp would certainly be sore by the end, but their hair is prettily styled.

their big brother is not perfect, but he tries.

the wanderer.

the wanderer is gentler than the balladeer.

he's still rough around the edges, offering a scoff and some half-hearted complaint about how they can't do anything by themselves, but his faux irritation fades quickly into warmth as they settle down in front of him. he makes sure that they're comfortable before he begins.

he still works apart the tangles just as gently as before, but now...

the wanderer is somehow different than the balladeer. he's healing. he's recovering. slowly, he's coming back in touch with kunikuzushi, the innocent, doe-eyed, curious and kind side of himself, even if he still doesn't like to admit it. even if he still refuses to acknowledge that he was once like that. even if the rest of teyvat except the traveller, paimon, [name], and nahida has forgotten...

he's patient, genuinely patient.

the world is cruel, far too cruel for his sibling to handle, far too cruel for kunikuzushi to handle. he'd be damned if he displayed any of that cruelness towards them, even when doing something as simple as brushing their hair.

cruelty ruined him. it won't ruin them.

he offers short breaks when their scalp begins to get a bit too sensitive and sore to his motions, sharing a zaytun peach with them and asking how they want their hair styled. he takes note of their response and commits it to memory, ensuring that he doesn't get too focused and forgets their desires as a consequence.

his kindness is for their eyes to witness and their eyes only (and nahida's, he guesses...).

by the end, their scalp is pain-free and their hair is styled prettily.

the wanderer is not perfect, but he is at his best when it involves his baby sibling.

please consider reblogging, it helps me out quite a lot!

Do Puppets Dream of Electric Sheep?

Yan Scaramouche x F Reader.

Warnings: Yandere themes, unhealthy relationships, mild not SFW implications. Word count: 2.1k.

“What am I to you?” 

He stills. Your voice is as gentle as a mother crooning a lullaby to her newborn. Sweet, mild. Not intending to startle the sensitive creature who is unaccustomed to this world. It regurgitates memories of his progenitor. He can never clearly recall her countenance or the exact pitch of her voice, there are only formless blurs and warbled words that sounded far away. 

It is a small mercy that he never made out the specifics of her face. For it allows him to envision her in whatever manner suits him best. She can be the scheming Niwa Hisahide who sought to manipulate him, the sickly child who left him behind, or the mendacious kitsune whose promises for aid went unkept. His mother is the locus of his rage that branches out and bears rotten fruit.

You cease your previous task of combing his hair from behind. Artificial heat burns his cheeks when your chest presses against his back, your arms coiling around his slender shoulders like tendrils. The hold is tight enough to almost hurt. 

“Say, are you listening?” Your lips brush against his ear. He shivers. “Well, puppet?” 

Furniture clatters in a cacophony of noise. 

He stares at you, incredulous, his lips parting only to close again. He cycles through emotions and is unable to settle on one. 

How do…? You shouldn’t know that!

You pay him no mind. You fix the victims of his outburst, setting the stool upright and straightening the vanity’s various implements. Then you sit where he sat, smoothing the wrinkles in your skirt as you do so. You face him instead of the mirror, which has cracked into three disjointed fragments. 

The scene before him arouses confusion, then suspicion. His eyes eventually find their way to the mirror behind you. He barks a laugh at what he sees. The sound reverberates in the tiny room. Electro concentrates in his hands, crackling and ready to stain his surroundings crimson. He gives a malicious grin. 

It reflects in the cracked mirror, whereas your form does not. 

“A cheap parlor trick,” he muses. “I should’ve figured.” 

You aren’t her, he thinks. And how grateful he is to realize it. 

“I’m not?” You challenge, raising an eyebrow. What is this being capable of hearing his thoughts? The curve of your smile epitomizes everything you’ve never been: cruel and provocative. This ignis fatuus who dares to assume your form makes no attempt to flee from the attack writhing in his palms. “Well, I suppose there’s some truth to that. What you’re looking at now is what I am to become, not my present, corporeal self.” 

He studies “you” carefully. The pigmentation of your eyes, your intonation, and your body language; it lines up uncannily well, but your word choice is peculiar. There’s a callousness begotten to those burdened by esoteric knowledge, an experience he’s intimately familiar with. This can’t be a poorly executed emulation devised by that medical charlatan excommunicated by his peers, or an experience that aligns with the continuity of Teyvat’s laws. 

Is his conscious being tampered with by the gods? 

“I’m afraid not. We both know that panopticon has no interest in you. No, discarded prototype, think back to your creation. When was it determined you’d be of no use to Beelzebul?” 

He grits his teeth. That intrusive introspection is coming into play again. It’s as if his innermost sentiments have been printed out in large lettering for you to scrutinize. 

“So you’ve finally realized, although you’re hesitant to think it. I can’t blame you, nothing good ever comes from your dreams. Since you don’t require sleep, you were able to avoid this for some time… in trying to play human with me in reality, you’ll be judged by me in the one state where you are utterly powerless.” 

The energy gathering in his hand dissipates without him willing it. He tries in vain to summon it again, but the element no longer heeds his command. Clicking his tongue, he sits on the edge of the bed, then crosses his arms over his chest. He chastises himself for not noticing sooner. This room may appear to be an exact replica of the one you share, but the slightest details in its geometry betray the realm of possibility. Certain angles bend in inconceivable ways, the ceiling itself is drooping down like a viscous gel, the descent so slow, it’s near imperceptible. 

Dreams, pesky as they may be, are always destined to end. He need only wait for this torment to run its course. 

“If that’s the stance you’ve decided to take, why not answer my question?” 

He feigns ignorance for a beat, despite knowing full well the inquiry you’re referring to. You allow him his temporary repose. 

“What you are to me is a nuisance. A meaningless manifestation that I’ll forget about as soon as I wake,” he replies. How strange it is, taking this baleful tone toward an image of you. You are the sole individual he doesn’t regard with pure loathing, and as such, he treats you with a tenderness he thought himself previously incapable of. He can’t recall a time when contempt felt unnatural, like the first time he mimicked human breathing. 

This veneer of nonchalance is forced and he knows it. The mirage taking on your comely likeness is seeping under his synthetic skin, spreading malaise and decay. 

“Oh? That’s an awfully bold statement, but, nevertheless, let’s entertain it a while longer.” 

You clap twice and the surroundings shift. 

His limbs are dragged upward by an unrelenting force — red strings as formidable as piano wire. He struggles out of instinct. This futile act only serves to tighten the binds. Upon realizing this, he goes limp, noting that your presence is no longer visible. 

He has an unobstructed view of the cracked mirror, its jagged edges displaying three different images. 

To the left, he sees himself wearing the outfit he first awoke with, the golden feather dangling from his neck. The middlemost portion is accurate in its portrayal, unlike the others. It shows the glint of the mitsudomoe symbol upon his chest which he considers his birthright. The right fragment is nearly indiscernible, aside from hues of teal that swirl as if spurred on by the wind. 

The mirror shatters.

Light footsteps circle around him. He wrenches his head in the direction of the ambient sounds, identifying no clear source. 

“Even if you forget about me now, according to your designs, we’ll meet again. This “me” that’s been tainted and corrupted by your selfish intent. In trying to preserve me, you’ll be my ruin. You already know that though, don’t you? That your desperate clinging will drag us both down to unfathomable depths. It’s true, that by never letting me die, you’ll have an eternity with me…” 

You materialize in front of him, standing with your hands behind your back. The casual stance is at odds with the venom you spew forth. Just as before, everything about your physical appearance is correct, save for a single, damning detail. Your eyes glow a luminescent violet — that of Inazuma’s reclusive deity, whose gnosis he intends to commandeer, even if he must tear it from her himself. 

“But is that the eternity you truly wish for?” 

It isn’t. Of course it isn’t. 

What else was he to do? 

Watch helplessly as your biological clock ticks on while the hands on his remain frozen in place? Witness your final until you breathe your last breath, then allow your husk to be buried in the cold, unfeeling ground? His is a life of apprehension. That by some cruel twist of fate, you’ll fall victim to the many pitfalls mortals are vulnerable to. Illness, injury, violence, the list goes on and on. His overactive imagination serves as a personal purgatory that churns out images of your downfall every moment he is not by your side. 

Upon returning to your quaint little cottage on the outskirts of civilization, trepidation eats at him like maggots upon a corpse. If he can’t find you tending to your garden, baking in your kitchen, or lounging on the swing hanging from the old oak tree in your front yard, madness slithers at his heels, ready to pierce him with its fangs. 

You may never forgive him, but he couldn’t forgive himself if he let the one thing he cherishes in this joke of a world leave him behind. 

“I won't look at you the way I once did. The me who speaks your true name, spends days wondering when you’ll return from your traveling ‘job’, gladly welcomes you into her bed, granting you access to her most sacred body and soul; you will never see her again. She will exist in your memory alone.”  

Your pointer finger hovers over his trembling lower lip, then descends, over his Adam’s apple and in between his collarbones. 

“Having savored these pleasures once freely given, you’ll have no choice but to take them by force. You’ll defile me and insist it’s worship. Bitterness might whet your palate, but you’ll never have your fill. Can you call that love, poor puppet? Or will you rightfully refer to it as ownership?” 

All verbal exchanges cease. 

In this nightmare blurring the lines of what if, where he is but a spectator rather than an active participant, he laughs. It echoes in his hollow chest cavity where no fleshly heart beats. Your physiognomy goes blank in the face of such blatant malignity. He hangs here, a tossed-aside marionette, consumed by a paroxysm of emotion he once swore to wipe clean from his chest. 

“If this is an attempt to appeal to my conscience, it won’t work,” his grin nearly splits his face in two. “Harass me every night, for all I care. I’ll accept it. I’ll accept anything. Every form of you… every possible iteration, no matter how unsightly, beautiful, indifferent, or anything in between, I want it. There isn’t a version of you that can deter me. The real you offered herself to me for a lifetime — who am I to turn down such an alluring offer?” 

You pull away from him. 

The absence of your touch is worse than any physical torture you could inflict. He’ll take your loving caresses, your hand ripping into his chest, so long as he can familiarize himself with your genuine warmth. Such is the resolve of a puppet who has endured the biting blizzard of loneliness. Destroy him and he’d rebuild. Ignore him and he’ll pry the words from your mouth. Attempt to leave him and he’ll ensnare you in a trap that neither of you can escape from. 

This advocate for your future is washed away in a sea of ink, black as night, untouchable and ever-present as a shadow. The cascading wave swallows you whole. 

You depart with a final threnody.

“Until we meet again, then.” 

…

…

…

Something brushes over his cheek. 

“... Kuni? Kunikuzushi? Ah, what do I do, you aren’t waking up…! Insults? Do I try insults? Uh, you’re of less than average height—”

“Quiet down, woman, you’re loud,” Scaramouche complains with a groan.

You’re hovering above him. It’s a heavenly sight — if he were a believer in such things — the upturning of your eyebrows, the flow of your hair tousled by interrupted sleep, and the temptation of your soft, parted lips. Warmth emanates from your body. He delights in it. Swears a silent oath to himself that he’ll never be without it. 

“The insult worked,” you whisper, content with your quick thinking. Then, remembering the situation, you’re back to fussing over him. “Are you okay? You must’ve been having an awful nightmare.” 

His lips form a thin line. “... Something like that.” 

“What was it about?” 

“You,” he forces an unperturbed tone. Although he’s still hazy from sleep, he’s used to bending the truth. Or in this case, covering the parts he doesn’t want you to see. “I have to deal with you in the realm of conscious and unconscious now. Terrifying, right?” 

The sarcasm successfully draws your attention elsewhere. 

“Absolutely. So terrifying, in fact, I better sleep elsewhere so as not to frighten my— oof!” 

“Oh no you don’t,” he pulls you against his chest, preemptively ending your getaway, “You’re not going anywhere.” 

You willingly collapse into his hold, laughing softly. Though you’re no longer trying to wriggle away, his grip is ironclad, his arms trembling. He interweaves himself into you with a tangle of limbs. Once he’s content, he presses his face against the thrumming pulse in your neck. This stream that maintains your life is temporary — a subpar placeholder until you’re imbued with immortality. Still, he cherishes it, this special rhythm that has sustained you long enough for your paths to interconnect. 

He gives your pulse a chaste, reverent kiss. 

Your paths are bound to never diverge, even if damnation is where they'll lead.

Hi! I love your blog!

Can I request an older brother scaramouche comforting a teen!reader who cries a lot? Probably from loud noises or frequent bouts of anxiety

the art of being gentle.

summary. the balladeer does not need to be gentle to show that he cares.

trigger & content warnings. anxiety, scara's a bit mean but he does mean well, etc.

tropes, pairings, fic length, & other notes. comfort. scaramouche & younger sibling!reader. 0.6k words. they/them pronouns for reader.

author's thoughts. hello lovely! thank you sm. a random thought, but a lot of people seem to quite like platonic scara content? i don't mind writing for him at all, since most people on my blog seem to be fond of my rendition of him, but i just thought it was interesting hehe

scaramouche is an easily agitated man.

his workload is difficult enough to manage as it is. being a harbinger, contrary to what the lower ranked members of the fatui seem to think, does not simply mean being out on the field constantly. it doesn't simply mean fulfilling the tsaritsa's international desires, such as snatching gnoses from their godly owners. it doesn't simply mean bloodshed. there is far more to it than that.

there's paperwork.

there's a fuck ton of paperwork.

scaramouche very much loathes that part of his job. he sometimes thinks of hiring someone else (more like threatening someone else) to do it, but then again... any error could be held against him in the end. he always ends up doing the mountains of work himself. as such, the balladeer does not take kindly to interruptions.

the knock on his office door, meek and quiet, makes his head snap up. the grip on his pen tightens slightly. with irritation evident in his voice, he sneers, "what?"

a wave of what he thinks is guilt or regret washes over him when his sibling—his cherished baby sibling, the most important person to him—steps into his office and shuts the door behind them with trembling hands. fuck... he feels impossibly bad, though he shoves those feelings down into the depths of his mind to the best of his ability with a slight grimace. a weight settles on his chest almost immediately he pinches the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger. his expression then softens slightly.

no, the sixth is not gentle. he is not. he hasn't been gentle for a very long time.

even so, he'll do his best. he hates seeing them cry, and based on the shimmery gloss over their eyes... they are about to, his tone doing nothing to help their emotional state.

he tries to think of something to say—are you okay? what's on your mind? who made you feel this way? the words, however, do not come out. his throat tightens. it's as if the simple thought alone of expressing concern for another being made him uncomfortable. it was unfamiliar territory, in his defense. scaramouche has not had to worry about another's wellbeing for... centuries, maybe. he can't recall the last time he verbally consoled someone.

"sit down."

it comes out harsher than he intends, and he winces slightly at the sound of his own voice. he fidgets with the pen in his hands. suddenly, the paperwork on his desk—expense reports for the regrator, mission reports for the jester—seems far less relevant.

he still doesn't say anything. he only observes silently as his sibling settles in the chair in front of his desk.

"um," they begin, swallowing back some of their anxiety as they fidget with the edge of their sleeves. "i know you're busy. i'm sorry."

"the hell are you apologizing for?"

"just... um, just for being bothersome, since i know you have work to do and—"

"the other harbingers can fucking wait," he mutters, rolling his eyes. "you come before those heartless bastards, always. spit it out. what happened?"

no, the balladeer is not known for being gentle, but he cares.

maybe it's hard for others to comprehend, but when he always ends up holding them tightly in his arms as he finishes up the last of his work with one hand, the other's calloused fingertips drawing random shapes on their upper arm, it's obvious to the one person who matters.

being gentle is an art that scaramouche may very well never master, but in the end...

he doesn't have to be gentle to show that he cares.

please consider reblogging, it helps me out quite a lot!

Homewrecker, husband-stealer villainess!

Idia is not going anywhere, you hear me?! You might be happy being the other woman, but I'm not happy with the pair of horns!

NOTE: I only write for female Reader, but everyone is welcome to read!

Inspired by @adrianasunderworld in this funny as hell post.

"To give someone a pair of horns" is to cheat on them. Also, Rook gets involved because he'd absolutely adore to be part of the drama.

— (⁠╬⁠☉⁠д⁠⊙⁠)⁠⊰⁠⊹ฺ

Idia knows he's not frozen like the others, but honestly, he feels like it. He feels like even his lungs, even his heart has stopped. All because of this cute-faced npc who forced her way into a romance route with him. If he could think about it, he'd think about that horror game with the same story, but right now his mind is blank.

He has reached the point of no return. Actually dying would just reinforce his fate.

Or, at least, is what he thought. Almost as if answering to his thoughts, there's a loud noise coming from the other side of the doors, followed by footsteps.

Then the doors are thrown open by none other than (Y/N), the Ramshackle Housewarden that the school affectionately tends to call "Prefect".

She's dressed to the nines in a breathtaking wedding gown, the skirt pooling around her like God-Tier CGI, the blue accents contrasting beautifully with the pearly white of the dress, the blue roses decorating her head in a crown making her look like Persephone herself. She'd look perfect, if it weren't for the tear streaks her make-up left behind.

Wait. Tear streaks?

The silence breaks with the Prefects loud, shrill screech, a sound no one has ever thought she, the usually soft spoken and gentle Prefect, would be capable of.

"HOMEWRECKER!"

Without stopping to breath, she walks forwards, looking angrier and angrier each step taken.

"How dare you, you conniving bitch?! How dare you steal my groom! ON OUR WEDDING DAY?!" she screams at Eliza, stopping in the middle of the way to point at... at Idia himself?! "And you! You good-for-nothing two-timer! How dare you leave me waiting at the altar?!"

"Young man, I am terribly disappointed!" Professor Crewel chides from behind her, and Idia finally notices the group that actually came in with her. "I did not give you permission to marry my daughter, my first and only daughter, for you to break her heart on her happiest day!"

"Big brother! How could you! Think of your child!" Ortho chimes in, and if Idia hadn't built tear tracks on the boy himself, he would believe firmly in his tears. "Little Meg would be so sad if her daddy just left for another woman!"

"Idia, what is the meaning of this?!" it's Eliza's turn to screech, turning to him with fury in her eyes. Idia stutters a few random letters, trying to form words, just as confused as she is.

Until it clicks.

Right. Fake relationship. How could he forget one of the most cliche tropes in romance's history?

"I... I... t-this isn't what it looks like!" he finally manages to say, trying to look as desperate as he can, which is not hard considering what his fate is in case this plan fails. "I can explain!"

"Is it because of my past with Rook?! "

"Young man, you're still hung up on that, despite being the only man I've ever approved for my daughter?"

"What?!" someone yells in the crowd, but the man in question promptly enters the play as if he was born for this moment alone.

"Monsieur, I have told you this already, but I shall say it again! My dear dove's happiness is the most important to me! If she has chosen you, then my heart shall settle!" What the fuck, why is Rook so good at improv?

"I-I know!" calm down, Idia, think of this as a rhythm game and keep the beat going! "I don't... I don't want this, but this villainess wouldn't listen!"

"Wait, so this woman is telling the truth?!"

"This woman?! THIS WOMAN?! You mean his true bride?!" (Y/N) steps closer, fat crocodile tears rolling down her cheeks, smudging her make-up even more. "You- you- you husband-stealer! Know your place! You come into my house, you steal my groom and the father of my daughter-"

"I see no child-"

"Do you think I'd bring my child to see my husband's mistress?!"

"Big sister, calm down, think of the baby! Your stress levels are dangerously high!"

"WHAT BABY?!"

"Monsieur Shroud, if you do not fix this situation, I shall be taking my belle back! Do not worry, the children will not grow without a father!"

I really love your post, can I request Sunday and Aventurine with Diona reader?

For Aventurine, I think he will be your close customer in the casino (I don’t know if casino have bar but…meh;) )

For Sunday, I think he will tease you the most, pat head, scratch chin and treat you like a cat… dispite you hiss to stop. (in a tsundere way)

ꜱᴜɴᴅᴀʏ ᴀɴᴅ ᴀᴠᴇɴᴛᴜʀɪɴᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀ ᴅɪᴏɴᴀ! ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

pairings - sunday & diona! reader / aventurine & diona! reader

content - reader is gender-neutral/ diona! reader/ platonic relationships/ familial relationships/ angst and some fluff

warnings - SPOILERS FOR 2.1 / angst / some characters might be ooc

⋘ ʟᴏᴀᴅɪɴɢ... ⋙

prelude - You are a young bartender working at one of Penacony’s grandest casinos, a bustling place with customers from all corners of the universe. The skills you have when you’re on the other side of the counter are ones you both love and hate. Love, because you took pride in serving customers drinks that are known as the best throughout Penacony, and hate, because alcohol was something your father never ceased to get enough of… 

You built your reputation up from the ground, eventually getting employed as a bartender at the casino where you now work. Despite your age, your skills had convinced the higher-ups and thus you were plunged in front of the crowd of drunken customers, brewing and making concoctions that were outlandish and exotic. The cat ears and tail you had also drew some attention from customers who were enamored with how adorable you were, treating you like some kid (which you were).

After a roll of your eyes and a scolding, you always rolled up your sleeves and got to work. 

↻ Sunday was not a regular at the bar, but he would pop in here and there to check how business was doing

↻ When word had gotten around that a kid with cat ears and a tail had started working there, his interest got the best of him which led him to a seat at the counter

↻ The mahogany bar counter complimented the lavish environment, filling the atmosphere with a comforting warmth that lured a variety of customers in 

↻ When you had popped up to serve Sunday, he was intrigued at your professionalism and friendliness, finding it easy to engage in a conversation with you as you made him his drink

↺ Sunday rarely intended to get drunk, so he asked for something light and refreshing which you happily obliged to

↻ It didn’t take Sunday long to become somewhat of a regular there, the two of you got along quite well despite his ceaseless teasing 

↺ At first, he’d give you a light pat on the head and buy you things that cats normally like (it was an accident at first but after seeing your distaste for some of the things he got, he started getting them as a joke), then when the two of you were like siblings, he’d scratch under your chin, place a toy mice on the counter before he’d leave the bar, and use a laser to get your attention

↺ He’d chuckle at your fuming self that wiped even harder at a stain on a glass, but he’d know when to stop if it got too far

↻ You know how I mentioned that he’d get you things cats normally liked? Well you’d probably be happy with some of the stuff he got you, like the fish plushies or cat grass which you added to some of the dishes you made

↻ Eventually, Sunday would learn of your father’s alcoholism and how you swore to tear down the alcohol industry, comforting you when your eyes started to water at the thought of your dad

↺ Although Sunday could never understand your exact experiences, he’d do his best to provide you comfort and support whenever you felt down

↺ He wouldn’t meddle in your family’s business or issues, but he’d pray to Xipe for the best of you and your father

↻ Whenever you are upset, Sunday would like to help you come up with new concoctions as he finds the process interesting to watch (it serves as a distraction from whatever is bothering you as you are now focused on potential hits) 

↺ Admittedly, he’d find some of the ingredients you use disgusting, but it wouldn’t hurt to try something new now, would it? (Sunday is utterly surprise at the pleasant taste, feeding into your pride) 

↻ Sunday would support your work, promoting the place to new guests who wanted to try something that seemed like it could only be made in dreams

↻ If Sunday were to ever mistakenly get drunk, you’d happily (and worriedly) take him to Robin or someone he trusted 

-----

“Ugh, Sunday! You drank a little too much this time!” 

“..Sorry… I didn’t realize this- *hic* drink would be so.. strong.” 

The scent of alcohol that wafted off Sunday made your ear twitch in annoyance, putting away the glass that you were previously cleaning. “Geez, I didn’t realize that you were such a lightweight.” You huffed, wiping the counter with a damp rag. Sunday gave a breathy chuckle, head leaning on his arms as he closed his eyes. 

Sunday didn’t seem like he was going to sober up anytime soon. 

Sighing, you grabbed the glass that you had put away and filled it with some water before sliding it over to him. You watched him blink open his eyes which stared at the water droplets that dribbled down the side. Slowly, he carefully brought the beverage up to his lips and took a sip, humming in satisfaction at the refreshing taste. 

“...Thank you,” Sunday muttered, slightly more awake than before. 

You nodded at him, starting to dial a phone number that you became familiar with. 

“I’m going to call Robin to come get you, okay?”

“Mmm.. okay.” 

-----

↻ Ooh boy… you would definitely not get along with Aventurine that easily…

↻ As soon as he walked into the bar you were working at you immediately felt a bad vibe coming from him, and you were right

↺ He was suspiciously friendly when he first started talking to you, your ears lowering in caution (your ears are a dead giveaway to how you are feeling so Aventurine caught on easily)

↻ Despite the initial suspicion and threat Aventurine posed in the beginning, he soon became one of your regulars at the bar, his order already memorized for when he came in

↻ Aventurine was surprised by how a young bartender such as yourself landed a job here, curious as to what your backstory was like (and the fact you had cat ears and a tail)

↺ Of course, it took time to build up to a more detailed answer from you, but when you told him he could understand your ambitions

↻ As the sibling-like relationship progressed between the two of you, the both of you were able to show a more vulnerable side to the other when the bar was close to closing and was devoid of customers

↺ You’d be wiping down a glass as he droned on about something, drunk out of his mind while you nodded along in understanding

↺ Aventurine took into consideration that you were still a kid, despite working in a bar part of a renowned casino, trying to avoid dumping his sad backstory onto you 

↻ You knew of the reputation Aventurine upheld, seeing him walk around as people scathed at his very existence (Whether it’s due to them losing a gamble or something else, you aren’t sure)

↺ Part of you understood other’s anger, but another part of you felt bad for Aventurine as you didn’t know how he was able to walk around with eyes glaring at you from every angle (He shrugged off your concern and said it was no big deal, but you saw the empty look in his eyes)

↻ Aventurine enjoys petting your head, finding the fur of your ears so soft and well-taken care of, he only pets you when it seems that you’re upset and need some sort of comfort 

↺ Because your ears and tail are a dead giveaway to your emotions, he’s able to pick up on them quickly

↻ When you tell Aventurine of your plans to make a new drink, he accompanies you and brings you potential ingredients you could use in your mixture (He’s perplexed and worried for his health when you add the most heinous stuff into a cup and call it a drink) (Surprisingly and fortunately, the drink tastes pretty good with a hint of bitterness, but he’s just thankful he didn’t get food poisoning)

↻ You’re very grateful to Aventurine when he gets you all sorts of ingredients from other planets, and when he tells you of his journeys, you always eagerly listen with your cat ears perked up when mixing a drink

 ↺ He shows you photos that he took while visiting the places he traveled to for business, the vast differences between each place filled you with child-like curiosity

↻ Aventurine, on certain days, can drink more than he can and ends up getting drunk, laying his head on the counter as he mumbles about all sorts of things (You gaze at him pitifully from behind the counter lol)

↺ When he’s too drunk to get back to his hotel room, you can either dial up someone he knows or have to take care of him until he’s sobered up enough (You can’t carry his ass up to his room lol)

-----

So far, it had been an ordinary day at the bar you worked at, constantly serving the rowdy and drunk customers who came in for different occasions. When the sun had finally started to dim and the streets were encased in a blanket of darkness, lamps turning on to light the darkened streets, you had started closing up the bar. There were only a handful of customers left, seated at the counter with half-empty glasses. Despite the calming atmosphere that surrounded the bar, you felt as if something was missing. 

That’s right, where was Aventurine? He had promised you he’d stop by tonight to get his usual order but he had not shown up at all. This made you feel a little upset, ears drooping down as you gazed at the bar’s door. When suddenly, the wide doors had been pulled out with that familiar bell chime which alerted that there was a customer. Ears perking back up in excitement, you happily made your way back to the front counter.

Yet.. it wasn’t Aventurine, but a person who had gray hair and wore an almost monotone attire. You had never seen this person before, so you curiously watched as they approached where you were after looking around confused. 

“Hello, are you.. _____?” They asked, taking a seat at the counter. You nodded in response. 

“That’s me! Is there something that you’d like to order? Here’s our menu that contains all the different kinds of drinks we serve!” You smiled, sliding a pamphlet over for them to view. 

…But they didn’t pick it up, yellow eyes flickering back up to meet yours. Your mood seemed to dampen, sensing a feeling of dread as your fur and skin prickled up. 

“Ah.. no, I’m not here for any drinks.” The person cleared their throat, seemingly trying to figure out what to say. “I’m just here to give you this.” 

An envelope that was adorned with a familiar stamp design of a chip was placed into your hands, carefully flipping it to look it over. When you looked back up to the person who delivered this to you, they were gone, the door never alerting you of their departure. So with an uneasy sigh, you opened the letter to view its contents, a sense of comfort filling you as you knew who this was from.

‘ Dear _____,

I wanted to take this final opportunity to say ‘goodbye’ as I won’t be visiting any time soon. I am sorry that I had to leave you on a cliffhanger, but with this letter, I hope you can forgive me, I do not have much time before the grand finale happens here in Penacony. 

Meeting you was a fortuitous encounter and I am glad we became friends, I rarely come across those these days. Thank you for the comfort and safe haven you have provided during my stay here, I am greatly indebted to you. I sincerely hope that you succeed in your ambitions and that despite any hardships you come across, you pull through with an impenetrable determination. 

As I don’t have a lot of time before my departure, I wanted to keep this letter brief and simple. I am not sure when I will be back, but I am hoping that this bar with your presence will serve as a safe harbor for me to return to. 

I bid my final adieu to you, my friend. 

Your dearest friend, Kakavasha ‘

When you had finished reading the letter, you had quickly raced outside to find whoever had delivered this letter to you. But as you ran up and down the streets of Golden Hour, you could find no one in sight, the only company being the occasional passing vehicle. 

With a sob, you plopped down on a bench, not bothering to care about your job at the moment. Where had he gone? What did he mean by ‘grand finale’? These questions endlessly swarmed your thoughts as you tried to wipe away the tears that continuously fell from your eyes. There was no doubt about it, that in some way Aventurine or Kakavasha had departed from this world. This realization had overwhelmed you with emotions of both anger and sadness, balling yourself up with your tail wrapping around you as you cried.

Yet through the tears and grief you felt in the moment, you felt an unrelenting drive to do your best at the bar. You will wait for your friend to come back and when he does, he’ll have a lot of explaining to do. 

-----

⋘ ᴄᴏᴍᴘʟᴇᴛᴇ! ⋙

wrapped around the finger of a kid? losers (/j)

warnings: yandere, NOT romantic

character(s): vil s., rook h.

a small child brought onto campus, that’s what you were. small, weak, helpless, without magic to even protect yourself with; considering the mirror sent you, many thought of it as an offense. yet you were precious, and you could plan clever little tricks, charm other students — and one day, in the future, you will realize that your charm perhaps did more bad than good.

you were oblivious, and held no clue about the dangers ahead of you…

or the dangerous people to avoid, really.

vil:

at first, he scoffed at having to host you in pomefiore, (first impressions weren’t great, you had tracked in a lot of dirt, and was a little roughed up as well) but he had warmed up to you.

oh, yes, he warmed up alright.. you enjoyed the company of the other students, but then ‘big brother vil’ always sweeps you away. you’d question why, but he’d always distract you.

“little potato, come here for a moment”, “let me fix your hair”, and “no need to talk to them” were some of the most common things you’d hear from the blonde, as he waited for your arrival everyday.

at one point, his bedroom permanently became yours as well, and when he had to go, you could play by yourself. alone, that is. he’s so attached, why would he ever let you go? just stay in his room, it has everything you need, so don’t question why the door’s locked.

he’ll keep you forever, because you’re just so adorable. he’ll spoil you, give you the world, end the world for you. and you… won’t disobey him, will you?

💗

“come on, now,” a pomefiore student said, words like sugary syrup. he said your name, handing you a little candy. “i’m not sure why you’re kept away from all of us, but i wanna play with you too!”

you finally were brought to a party, and you stuck to vil’s side like glue. he was all you’ve known now, so it should have been expected.

however, he had left to get something (clearly agitated on having to leave you, his sweet little potato) and you had wandered off, giving into childish curiosity.

when you got lost in the crowd of people, you started to cry, realizing you couldn’t see vil anywhere — realizing you now had no one to help you… that was when a student encountered you.

“p.. play?” you asked, gingerly holding onto the candy.

he nodded, smiling. “yep! i have a little sibling at home, just like you, so i th…”

as the stranger held his hand out, you sniffled, before feeling a strange prick at the back of your neck. it hurt for only a second, before you blacked out, ears ringing the entire time.

💗

you woke up on a plush, and familiar mattress, a satin pillow beneath your head. groggily blinking, your head felt so.. fuzzy, and off. even your body ached all over.

a large hand rested on your forehead, perhaps to check your temperature.

“v.. vil..?” your eyes closed, unused to the light. where was vil? was he here?

“yes, little potato?” hearing his voice brought you comfort, as you relaxed into the cushions.

“wha’ happened..?”

“you managed to get sick, somehow… but it’s okay, in my care, you’ll recover quite fast. so don’t worry,” was his response.

you… got sick? is that it?

suddenly, you feel more tired. you can’t remember anything, so it’s best to trust vil, right..?

yeah, yeah.. should just sleep it off.

actually, vil kind of smelt like.. pennies?

oh, no — like metal.

💗💗💗

rook:

a child summoned by the dark mirror? oh, and handed off to pomefiore as well?

he’s the first one to greet you, mostly because he had scared you outside, having jumped out of a tree. he found your reaction delightful, especially when you got over the shock and was in awe of how sneaky he was..

and therefore he stuck around you more, becoming your own guide as he and you ‘adventured’ around campus. the moment you warmed up and accidentally called him ‘brother’, he had dramatically shed a few tears, theatrically spouting out words you didn’t know.

you found it funny, and gladly always tried to find rook whenever you were bored. (he was over the moon about it, you really chose him?) sometimes, though, you forget he expects you to be with him.. but that’s fine!

it’s not like he isn’t watching your every move, after all. he’ll give himself away with small ‘mishaps’, like rustling in a bush or clearing his throat a little too loud; only because your reactions were like pure gold to him, and it only made it better how those reactions.. were at him. only him.

💗

you cheered as a savanaclaw student swung you around, filled with joy as he held on tight, giving into your childish whims. the student was actually quite friendly, accepting your requests of wanting to play.

after all, you were just a little kid, and you liked fun just as much as anyone else.

“again, again!” you cried, giggling as you went up and down, enjoying the thrill.

“alright, but this should be the last time..— i do have to study,” the student sighed. he almost wanted to tell you he could sense somebody nearby, alarmed and concerned for your safety, but he held back his tongue.

“aww..” you pouted, before brightening up as he swung you around once more.

you could barely feel the eyes on your back, unknowingly used to the feeling, thinking it was normal.

as the student let you down, you squealed as an arrow flied past you, stabbing into the dirt right beside his foot.

mumbling a curse, you winced as your arm was roughly grabbed, getting dragged along as the student — far more athletic than you were — ran.

but… you could only furrow your eyebrows in confusion.

weren’t the arrows.. normal?

they always came when you accidentally stuck around someone for too long, at least getting shot once, ‘n then rook usually always comes in and steals you away! so.. it should be fine, right?

so why does the nice stranger look so cautious? rook just doesn’t like when playtime gets too long.

💗

the next day, you couldn’t help but stare in awe as rook stood in front of you, wiping something off with a cloth.

it was a little bit dirty, most likely from how much it’s been used.

as you mindlessly rambled to him on what your day was like, (he always listened, with his signature smile — even if most of the day was spent with him) you couldn’t help but wonder if you were gonna see that nice stranger again.

i mean… the arrow felt different from usual.

maybe he got mad?

..hm, no. rook was always so nice to you, and he was the best, and..— so there’s no way he got angry at all.

brain too puny to think abt french, it’s also 3 am (no dialogue from mr hunt today) AND ALSO BC OF THE TIME I’M SORRY IF THIS SEEMS A LIL IFFY (anyways)

ahoy, twst fandom

my first piece of writing for idv was yandere so i thought i’d make it a tradition n do it for twst too

Bleeding Pastels (Kabukimono x Reader)

The puppet's life is colourful; while tainted and stained with a dark smudge in the middle- originating from his creation- at least it won't discolour the world he lives in...

right?

Yandere!Scaramouche x Reader

Kabukimono era

Canon-divergent. Some abuse briefly described later on. Symbolism-heavy. Read between the rainbow to find the shadows that the light casts.

-------------------------

I. Pink

The day that the boy first saw you, he almost mistook you for a god.

You sat alone underneath wispy sunlight that broke through the gaps in the bright pink petals above you. Gently fluttering down around you, picking up with the occasional spring breeze; sakura petals adorned your atmosphere and lay like a bed around your form.

The shade of pink that dusted the boy's cheeks was only somewhat darker then the beautiful pale pink of the sakura and it's flowers.

The boy could only stare in awe, lost in his own world of reverence and admiration- that was until a beautiful, soft voice pulled him out of his head.

"And who might you be?"

The puppet blinks. Your bright, vivid irises held him captive among the falling blossoms; his pale pink lips open and close without a sound- the boy unable to find a response.

You laugh. Gods, that sound makes something within him stir. It steals his artificial breath and replaces it with something so soft and light that he does not dare to look too deep into.

"Well? There's room for both of us here, if you want." You say with a smile, palm patting the soft grass beside you.

It takes a moment for the puppet to register your words, but as soon as he does it's like a string has been pulled taut- and he longs to loosen the tension that has formed. He makes his way over to you, his knees folded underneath him as he merely stares at you silently.

"You're that boy that guy brought with him a couple days ago, right? What's your name?"

For once, the puppet speaks.

"I... Don't know." His voice is soft, light, and almost somewhat childish. He sounds so innocent and boyish.

Your eyes wander down his face and trail down his arms. He doesn't say anything, but he can see you stop and stare at the joints in the middle of his arms; the ones attached with a ball and some hinges.

"Hey, you're not human, are you?" You say with curiosity in your tone, as you pull yourself onto your knees to take a closer look. Your hands are soft as they take ahold of his wrist and hand, pulling it out to a stretch as you stare in wonder at his unblemished skin and the way his arm connects to the rest of his body.

The puppet watches as a bright pink petal flutters down against the untainted sky and lands delicately in your hair.

"I hope you forgive me for oogling you; I've just never met someone like you before..."

Your eyes flicker up to meet his wide-eyed stare; and you offer him a smile as bright as the sunlight above.

"Your skin is so soft, and the way your elbows are designed is so cool! Are your knees like this too?"

The puppet doesn't say anything; instead unable to find an appropriate response as all he can do is nod his head.

"Really? That's so cool!" You say with wonder to match his own.

"I'm (Y/N). I-"

Your mouth hangs open, but no words escape you as you watch the puppet's hand slowly move atop your head. Delicate fingers pluck what his eyes are so intensely trained on from your hair, before bringing it down infront of the both of you to see.

"This... was on you."

You blank at the pink petal between his fingers, and for a moment the puppet's mind whirs to life with questions of whether he had done something wrong, but you soon snap out of your trance with a laugh. The boy sits still, confused about your reaction.

"Thank you. You don't have to show it to me though." You say before snatching the soft object from him and swiftly placing it atop his own head.

You laugh at the expression on his face from your actions, and the puppet finds the wonderful sound brings a smile to his face. He doesn't quite understand why you did that, or why you're laughing, but he finds your joy infectious all the same.

II. Purple

Over time, the people of Tatarasuna as well as the puppet himself learned how he differed and how he was similar to the humans around him.

He felt pain and bled just like they did. Yet, he didn't seem to have a heart. He didn't need to eat or drink either, but he claimed that he could and that he wanted to do so to 'become more human'.

The puppet- now called Kabukimono by his peers- also didn't quite understand social ques and what was wrong or right. After finding out that humans would often disrobe and bathe when they became dirty, the puppet had tried to do the same in the nearby stream of village. That little event had a few people swiftly ushering him to put his clothes back on while laughing awkwardly; as if he was a child who didn't truly know what he was doing.

Which, in all honestly, was pretty much what he was. A child who knew nothing about the world or people around him. But he was learning.

The pastel purple clothing that he was so often seen in flowed freely in the breeze; the smell of lavender was picked up by the summer wind off his freshly washed robes and filled his nostrils with the calming scent. It was the smell that adorned him whenever you were the one responsible for washing his clothes (as you often took turns among the other villagers to look after him).

He had grown to love that scent.

"Just... like... this." You said as you dragged the teeth of the comb through his wet hair; letting the Kabukimono watch your actions through the mirror.

"Think you got it?" He nods at your question, and you hand him the comb.

His hand is steady as he mimics your previous movements; dragging the teeth of the light purple comb through the strands of dark indigo atop his head. After a few strokes, he pulls the comb away; a deep violet staining the teeth as if to remind him that he wasn't like you.

You smile at him. "Perfect! Just like that. Now you're all set to wash yourself next time you need to."

The Kabukimono stares down at the comb in his hands; staring down at the violet that taints the pastel shade. You had gotten him this comb, it was one of the first objects he had ever owned. And now, because of him, it was stained a dark purple from the dye that was used for his colour- that still coated his hair.

And yet, the same dark stain that now marred his gift from you had dyed your palms a similar shade to that of the comb- a bright, pastel purple. Originally, he had panicked and apologized profusely for staining you, for tainting you, but you merely had laughed and said you didn't mind. That it would go away eventually.

And while others wore gloves when taking care of him and his hair, you didn't. You let your fingertips run through the dark locks and dance across the top of his forehead; you let him feel the warmth and softness of your touch as you scrubbed the dirt and dust that had accumulated in his hair. You let his colour stain you; and somehow, you managed to make the dark purple such a bright and beautiful shade of lavender once it touched your skin.

"My... arms hurt. Can you do this for me?" He says quietly, turning towards you and holding the comb back up to you with a pleading look in his eyes. You smile, the corners of your eyes crinkling in adoration at the Kabukimono's barely-concealed lie.

You had done a lot to take care of him and teach him about various things; he knew that lying was 'bad' and that he shouldn't do it. But even so, on rare occasion- like right now- he would say something small that didn't match what you already knew. And it would always end up with you taking a little extra care of him then you otherwise would have.

You knew you shouldn't let him keeping lying, but he was so bad at telling them, and it was adorable how he yearned for attention... so you couldn't make yourself scold him for his behaviour. You let this lie slide like all the others.

"Alright, alright. Come on then, turn around."

You can see the corners of his mouth tip upward in a smile, however subtle, as he did as he was told and let you run both the comb and your fingers through his hair.

The Kabukimono couldn't help but watch your hands. To seek glimpses of the bright purple staining on your palms that could only have been from him. He always loved when the other humans would point out your coloured hands and comment on how you practically took sole care of him with how often your hands took on the familiar shade.

Even when he wasn't by your side like a loyal puppy, it was like a part of him was still with you. Even if at first he saw the colour as a stain upon your otherwise perfect skin, you had assured him that it was harmless, told him you liked the colour, even.

You had taught him that being 'selfish' is one of the 'bad' things, and he shouldn't be 'selfish'. But if it was so 'bad', then why did it feel good? Why did it feel good to leave a piece of him with you, as if to claim you as his own human?

The teeth of the comb grew ever darker as they sorted through his indigo hair.

III. Yellow

For a being that was supposedly crafted by the hands of the god of thunder, the Kabukimono couldn't help but jump at each loud roar of lightning that dared to light up the dark night.

"Oh, Kabuki..."

The puppet was shaking; his arms wrapped around his knees as he sat staring at the floor, trying to ignore each jolt of thunder only to be hyper aware of every crash of it outside the window.

The pity in your voice somehow comforted the puppet, even more so when you kneeled beside him to pull him into a hug.

"It's ok, you're not in any danger. The Electro Archon would never hurt us."

The Kabukimono still shook. Sure, she may never hurt you, but to him- every bolt that struck the earth was searching for him; the fruit of the anger and hatred he knew his mother held for him.

Each flash of lightning lit the inside of your warm home a bright yellow. A stark contrast to the usual deep purple of the electro element he knew so well.

Your hand smoothed over his back, the other wrapped around his shoulders as you held him close. Another flash had him jump once again; burying his face into your shoulder as if to try to hide from the storm.

"Oh, hey, hey... It's ok..." You tried to soothe him, your voice gentle and low as his arms wrapped around you to hold tightly to your clothes.

Your arms wrapped around him were warm, firm, secure, as if you were the one shielding him from the tumultuous rain and deafening thunder.

"Ok, c'mon, lets go to bed."

The boy in your arms sniffled as you pushed him away from you, guiding him towards your plush bed.

"B-But... My bed..." He mumbled out, his eyes falling onto a small mat off to the side that you had done your best to make comfortable. And as shabby as it was, the Kabukimono loved it. You had made it for him, after all.

"You won't be able to sleep if you're over there, will you? This storm doesn't look like it's going to stop anytime soon, so... Why don't you stay with me? That way, I can protect you."

The deep purples of his eyes were wide and glossy with tears at your proposal; but he swiftly nodded and climbed onto the bed with you following suit.

The two of you got settled underneath the blankets, and the Kabukimono couldn't tell if your bed was just more comfortable then his, or if he really liked being beside you that much more then being alone. He watched as you shifted around; moving the pillow you normally slept on to rest underneath his head as you lay flat on the mattress next to him.

You smiled at him, a smile that made his chest tighten and something within his artificial body malfunction. His breath caught in his throat at the feeling of your fingers brushing along the side of his face, pushing his bangs out of the way of his eyes.

"Do you think you'll be able to sleep? I'll be right here if you need me."

The rain was loud on the old glass of your home; a flash of lightning bringing attention to the lack of purple that the Kabukimono had so loved to see on your hands.

But the fear of the thunder triumphed over his sadness that his hair no longer stained your palms; and he couldn't help but jump at the noise that shook him to his core once again.

Trembling hands grabbed your soft, steady one and brought it up to his cheek. The Kabukimono rested your palm against his flesh, nuzzling into it even as he shook in fear. You couldn't help but pity him, the pad of your thumb brushing over his cheekbone as you indulged him.

"You won't leave me, right?" He says quietly, warily, as if he's afraid the storm will hear his weakness and aim straight for his non existent heart.

The smile you give him almost looks sad. But it remains as sweet as it always does nonetheless.

"Never."

"You promise?"

Another crash of thunder has him jump once again, but with your hand against his cheek, he's quick to recover.

"I promise."

He peers at you and sees no trace of malice; no trace of annoyance or deception or betrayal. All he sees is you; your beautiful smile and crinkled eyes, glistening even in the darkest of nights.

The next flash of yellow lightning that illuminates the two of you only proves to show that even against the Electro Archon herself; your light is so much brighter then anything the god could conjure to harm him.

He doesn't jump at the sudden thunder. Instead, he lets out a shaky breath and pulls you forward- bringing your head onto the pillow that you had given him before he buries his head right underneath your chin; pushing himself into your body as if he wished to become one with you.

You can't help but smile at his unintended affection. Your hands move to embrace him; to smooth over his back and run your fingers through his hair.

"It's... bad to break a promise." He mumbled into your chest. "You won't break your promise, right?"

You let out a soft chuckle, tightening your embrace as you let the boy cling to you for life.

"Of course I won't. I love you too much to hurt you like that."

Your words were accentuated with another jolt of thunder. Another flash of yellow. And then a second bolt of lightning- this time, right through the cavity where his heart would have been.

I love you.

The words repeated in his head like a prayer; and he nestled himself deeper into your embrace in an attempt to muffle his thoughts and hide the pink on his cheeks.

The innocent, pure little Kabukimono had heard the words before. Humans who were close, who kissed and slept in beds together would say it to one another. Humans who were bound for life by little bands of metal on their fingers would whisper it to eachother whenever they pleased.

His tongue burned- yearned to repeat the words back to you, but something inside of him refused. Rejected the idea of feeling the intimacy of human love... of the idea that he could be with you just like all the other humans who loved eachother.

That night, when the puppet and his human had fallen asleep, the Kabukimono found himself without a single dream.

IV. Blue

Even when the Kabukimono wasn't under your care for that day, he still hovered near to where you were.

The old woman who was tasked to care for him that day was a vile creature. One who refused to acknowledge the puppet as anything close to human; instead treating him as merely an object, a plaything, something that could do whatever she wanted of him without complaint.

Because the poor Kabukimono didn't know how.

The puppet watched from where he sat by a large bucket. His hands were filthy; red and sore from scrubbing away at the clothing that he was forced to wash by his current caretaker.

He watched as you bid farewell to your fellow villagers; a basket hung off your arm as you walked into the nearby woods.

Oh, how he longed to follow you. To see where you were off to, to accompany you and watch every move you made.

He looked down at the water in the bucket, browned with dirt and dust. Surely, the water flowing through the stream in the forest would be nice and clean, right?

He's quick to set everything aside; emptying the water into the nearby crops like he was instructed, and then following you into the forest.

It was like your presence had merely teased him; he stumbled blindly through the brush hoping that you would be found in this direction. That he could, at the very least, be able to lay his gaze upon you once more and lighten this heavy feeling in his chest.

What the Kabukimono hadn't thought about, though, was just what you may be doing out here in the forest. And what he saw when he finally approached the familiar babbling brook stole his artificial breath away- the feeling all to familiar to that time had first laid eyes upon you.

The water was a beautiful crystal blue; your clothing lay next to the stream, a telltale sign of what he had stumbled across.

You looked divine. Beautiful. The way the water ran by your bare form and dripped so deliciously from your skin had the puppet star-struck. Pink was quick to dust his pale cheeks.

Then, like an all-too-familiar flash of sickeningly-yellow thunder, a thought occurred to him.

He shouldn't be seeing this.

Sudden panic washed over him, a fear he had felt so many times before now baring it's fangs at him once more.

If you caught him, you would leave him too.

He bolted.

The trees rushed by him in a blur of green; sticks cracking beneath his feet as he retraced his path out of the forest. Birds flew and squirrels panicked as he went by them like the roaring wind; and finally he reemerged from the trees to the sight of the village before him.

He felt warm. He couldn't get the image of you out of his head. The picture of you bathing in such beautiful blue waters was ethereal. He felt his chest tighten even further at the memory.

"You damn puppet! Where have you been!?"

The Kabukimono's face paled instantly at the shrill sound.

"You thought you could just go for a stroll through the forest, huh?! You didn't even finish your chores!! And where's my water pail!?"

The voice boomed. It's origin angrily stomping up to him before grabbing his wrist so harshly, he was sure it would have bruised if he were human.

If he were human.

"You damned-... Can't you do anything right!?" The old woman shouted, dragging the shrinking boy along behind her and towards her old, decrepit house.

"I'm sorry-" He tried to speak, tried to make himself heard over the pounding in his ears.

The woman was like a constant flash of thunder; waiting for the perfect moment to strike the puppet where he stood. And this time, it looked like he was all alone in this storm.

The woman tossed open her front door before dragging the Kabukimono inside, harshly slamming the door shut before she turned to him with a wild look in her eye. The puppet looked absolutely pathetic as tears welled in the corners of his violet eyes.

She shouted at him. Cursed at him. Pushed, pulled, hit him in whatever way she felt fit to.

The Kabukimono shut his eyes, and recalled the divine scene he had stumbled across just a little while prior. He pictured you, standing within the crystal blue water of the stream, and he pictured himself standing infront of you. The sky such a rich, pale blue above the two of you as you found comfort in one another's embrace.

"Are you listening to me!?"

The puppet opened his eyes, and all he saw was blue. The world was blue, he was blue, the old woman was blue, and the constant patter of liquid splashing onto wood from his cheek was blue as well.

A sad, soulless, cold blue. The blue of loneliness and pain.

He remembered how beautiful you looked underneath the cherry blossoms that day he first met you. The shade of pale pink that so beautifully complimented the darker pink on his cheeks that day.

He remembered how tightly you held him under the flashes of yellow that threatened to consume him whole. How you told him you loved him- how you promised you would never leave him.

And he remembered the blue of the water running by your hips. The blue of the sky above, the blue of the cotton of your clothing.

The pounding in his ears was overwhelmingly loud.

A blue hand raised itself before him.

Before it could hit it's target, the pounding stopped.

Everything stopped.

V. Red

The world's colours had returned. But they were so much darker then before. As if drenched in thick shadows that clung even to the most well-lit areas.

And it was like the Kabukimono was just seeing the real world for the first time.

The green of the foliage outside had turned from a beautiful bright shade to a deep, forest colour. And even darker still were the greens inside; where moss and mildew grew along the corners of the old house, and the various stains from archons-know-what seemingly having appeared from nowhere now dotting the surroundings with the deepest shade of black.

The puppet had seen black before. But this was different. Darker. And it was like the entire world had been tainted by those stains of black.

Even the deep brown of the rotting wood below almost seemingly started turning black as a dark red seeped into it's pores.

Such a deep shade of red it was. The colour akin to the same that flowed freely from his cheek; although his was so much brighter then the vile woman who stained the floorboards.

No- if he wasn't a human, then she wasn't either. She was merely a creature, a worm- that now lie pathetically limp at his feet.

Her words, despite his attempt to drown them out, had seeped into his head regardless.

You will never be human.

You will never be wanted.

You will never be needed.

Perhaps she had been correct.

After all, she had only been repeating what he had been telling himself already.

But, if she was correct, then what did that make of the words that the other villagers had said? What, pray tell, did that make the humans themselves?

Liars. All of them. Filthy, red-stained liars.

They had never once truly cared about him. Merely tossing him scraps, at best; demanding that he do things for them and barely leaving him to fend for himself.

Barely giving him space in their village, barely caring to try and be 'polite' with him- even when they demanded that he be polite around everyone he interacted with.

At first, he just accepted it. Of course he did. The world was bright, colourful, beautiful- but now, he's seen it for what it truly is. He's seen the suffering, the pain, the lies; the shadows etched into every crevice of this forsaken world.

He knows that they had lied to him when they said they considered him a fellow human.

And you had taught him, the saint that you are, that liars are bad.

Oh, you... how beautiful you are. How wonderful and amazing and kind you are. Out of everyone in this damned, pathetic village, you had been the one to treat him like an equal. To treat him like a human.

To love him like a human.

His chest tightened at the memory of your voice above his head that night; "I love you" falling so effortlessly from your lips as you held him close.

Archons, you loved him. You promised him you would never leave him. And you had never broken your promises before.

You loved him.

Deep purple eyes fell to the human shaped insect on the floor. And a laugh bubbled up from within him.

He did something bad. Terrible. He had made the woman who hurt him stop moving.

But it felt good.

And if it felt so good, then... why stop?

He was already stained a deep, dark black. He could never go back to being as pure as you had seen him. Perhaps, he had always been this way- perhaps that's why his so called 'mother' and her fox-pet had decided to seal away what was rightfully his. The power that she had inlaid within him.

The power that now pounded so freely through him. And it seemed like the only way to silence it was to let it go.

As the puppet exited the house, a trail of red followed behind him. Electro crackled at his fingertips as he walked towards the center of the village, and he revelled in the hushed and desperate whispers of the humans he passed by.

The pounding in his ears- in his head- only grew stronger with each passing second. The crackling electro a disgusting shade of darkened, tainted yellow as it emanated from him.

And like a bolt of thunder that once had scared him so; flashes of yellow now flew through the open air and showed no mercy to the humans he was surrounded by.

Screams filled the air, filled his ears- and all he could do was laugh. Such pathetic insects, all scrambling to seek shelter from his divine wrath. It was chaotic, beautiful, as red stained the ground and painted the houses in it's corruption.

A gentle breeze kissed the cheek that had rapidly healed it's wound. With it, it brought delicate pale pink petals from the sakura trees that were so abundant in this land.

The village fell still. Nothing but the blossoms that danced on the wind dared to move; to catch the eye of the puppet-murderer.

"K-Kabuki...?"

A voice so small called out to him, stirring him from his thoughtless-thoughts.

He turned to you, and it was like your very presence made the surrounding area brighten to how it was before. Suddenly the world was perfect again; bright and happy and welcoming and loving.

Your eyes, so beautiful and vibrant, were wide and tinged with fear. Your hair was still wet- evidence of your bath, but all it served was to remind the puppet of what he had seen. Of the divinity he had been so blessed to witness.

You didn't move as he walked up to you. You couldn't. Shock had it's tight grasp on your body and mind, and you were unable to even speak at the bloody scene around you.

The puppet smiled so sweetly at you. And despite being the same smile as he had always given you, it no longer looked so innocent.

"I love you." He said, voice proud and unwavering.

Your eyes darted to meet his. He looked so...

dark.

"What...?" You couldn't even process what he said.

"You said you loved me that night, and I never said it back. I love you, (Y/N)."

"What-... what did you do..?" Your voice trailed off into a pathetic whisper, and it made the puppet smirk as his hand moved up to cup your cheek- much like how yours had once done for him.

"They were... bad. All of them. They could have hurt you, like they did to me..." The pad of his thumb spread a deep red over your skin as it rubbed your cheek. "But you love me. You promised you would never leave me. And I know you would never hurt me like they did..."

It was like his eyes had become gateways to the abyss itself; dark, devoid of life- of the boy you had once loved. Black stained his beautiful purple irises; tainted the beautiful colour with darkness and something sinister. Just like the blood that now stained your cheek.

The puppet-murderer intently watched your face drain of colour; intently watched as your pupils shrunk into pinpricks- and made note of your body starting to tremble.

He knew the signs of fear- he himself had expressed the same many times before. He knew you were scared. His chest felt like it tightened around a non-existent heart... he didn't want to see you scared. Not of him.

"...They were going to hurt you. I-I heard them. T-They were waiting for you to come back, a-and they would have... I-I couldn't let them do that. I couldn't let them be bad. I-I wanted to protect you..."

You still continued to tremble. It was like you had barely heard the lie he had told- but you didn't push him away when he pulled you into a cold, blood-stained embrace. And that was enough for him.

"I will... protect you. Stay with you. I will... be good for you."

...another lie. He was no longer good- he could never be good again. His soul- his hands- were now permanently stained red... a red that would be drained of colour as soon as you left his side- and he refused to be seen with that vile black ick. He refused to let you go.

It was almost sickening how swiftly he was able to return to how he was just hours ago... innocent, sweet, gentle. Even as the vibrant crimson stained his once-white flesh. Tainted him. Changed him.

As you gazed at him with a slacked-jaw expression, you could see the surrounding area- the massacred village- devoid of colour... of life. As if the puppet-murderer had drained the pinks and purples and blues and reds and it all congregated into a swirling black in the center of his beautiful indigo irises.

Was your beautiful, sweet little puppet-boy always so... heartless?

The way he pressed his lips to yours was robotic. Stiff and almost forced- but you knew that this was just his way of doing things, until he got used to it.

Until he got used to kissing you. Loving you. Tainting you.

A colourless tear cascaded down your cheek, your eyes closed as the puppet continued to kiss you as sweetly and gently as he could.

When he pulled away, he gently took your hands into his own, and looked down to see you trembling in his grasp. He noticed just how pretty your hands were covered in red.

And his violet eyes flicked up to your face, your hair- his red-stained fingers reaching up to pluck a crimson petal from your hair.

The pretty pink looked good on you, he once thought.

But he thinks you look so much better covered in red.

Weak

Platonic!Yandere!Tartaglia x Child!Fem!Sister!Reader

The first time Ajax realized that he could lose you was when he accidentally overheard a conversation between his parents. The father comforted the mother, because that day they learned that their unborn child could die before giving birth. He was shocked and devastated, just as much as his parents. That night he cried almost until the morning, praying for your life and the life of his mother. Fortunately, everything went well, you were born weak, but alive and that was enough for him, now everything will be fine. At least, that's what he thought.

The second time you were three years old, when you were particularly ill. Of course, you were often get sick throughout your infancy, but he will never forget that terrible illness. He remembers how his parents fussed around your crib in a panic, on the first night of your illness. Then father ran away from home to get a doctor, and mother ran to the kitchen for something. At that moment Ajax came to your crib, he didn't fully understand the turmoil of adults, you didn't scream. However, when he saw your blue skin, and instead of the expected loud screams, he heard quiet heart-rending wheezes, everything fell into place. Even if his mother pushed him away almost as soon as he saw his younger sister, that picture and those wheezes were etched into his memory forever.

Now you were sick with another cold. Lying on the bed and covering yourself with a warm blanket, you prayed to all the archons that you would have time to get over the illness by the arrival of your older brother. After all, being sick next to Ajax is backbreaking work. He reacted to each of your illnesses as if you were dying, and took each of your sneezes as a confession of your imminent death. And this is not an exaggeration. When you got sick, he hardly left your bed, even at night Ajax just sat next to you. Sometimes, you gave slack, allowing him to lie next to you, at such moments he resembled a contented red cat.

"Y/n! Ajax is back!"

Teucer happily told you when he looked into the room, but as soon as he saw you lying in bed, he immediately stopped and guiltily lowered his head.

"I'm sorry if I woke you up..."

"No, it's okay, I didn't sleep. In fact, I'm already better and I've already recovered."

"Wow! Less than a day has passed, and you have already recovered! It's so cool!"

Looks like one of your brothers believed your clumsy lies. Maybe Ajax will believe it too? When you went downstairs with the Teucer, you saw your brother standing in the corridor, he had not yet had time to take off his warm coat when the Teucer hung on him.

"Teucer! My little rascal! I already thought there was no one at home..."

"Parents with Tonya and Anton went to the market. They didn't know you were coming back today, but I saw you from the window."

"Haha, I wanted to make a surprise, but it looks like my big-eyed brother caught me. But, Teucer, why didn't you go with the others?"

"I wanted to look after Y/n! She wasn't feeling very well this morning..."

Damn, Teucer! And how could you ever forget that he tells his older brother absolutely everything.

"...But she's better now."

"I see. But she is in bed now, ri...?"

And then his gaze clings to you, the atmosphere around him changes. With a heavy sigh, he lets go of Teucer, and taking off his glove, begins to feel your forehead with the back of his hand.

"Your forehead is hot, it looks like you have a fever... So, go get into bed, I'll be there soon."

"It's not my forehead that's hot, but your hands are cold..."

"Y/n, please don't try to seem strong and healthy, you are very weak and fragile. It's a pity that you still don't understand it yourself."

G E N S H I N

— rules and navigation

— ♡ fluff | ☂ angst | ✗ suggestive/spicy | ✘ smut | ✎ ongoing

— © 2020 hanniejji | please do not copy, repost, translate or claim my works as yours in any platforms.

— last updated: 01 06 2023

M U L T I P L E

HAVING A LITTLE SISTER ( diluc, kaeya) — hcs + platonic | ♡

LITTLE KNIGHTS (diluc, kaeya | ft. crepus) — scenario + platonic | ♡ | w/c: 739 CAT!

KAZUHA AND CAT!XIAO (ft. xiao, kazuha) — hcs | ♡

CHILD!MC (xiao, kazuha, diluc, scaramouche, venti) — brainrot + platonic | ☂ ♡

A E T H E R + L U M I N E

FAMILY ADDITION — scenario + platonic | ♡ | w/c: 619

D I L U C

SAVING A CHILD FROM A BAD PAST — hcs + platonic | ♡

LITTLE KING (ft. kaeya) — scenario + platonic | ♡ | w/c: 707

CENTURIES SLEEP (ft. venti) — scenario | ♡ ☂ | w/c: 3182

FAMILY BUSINESS — scenario | ♡ | w/c: 473︎

SINGE DAD DILUC SERIES

︎ ︎ ︎ ︎︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎︎↳ SINGLE DAD!DILUC (ft. kaeya) — hcs/brainrot + platonic | ☂ | w/c: 2,022

︎ ︎ ︎ ︎︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ↳ RAGNVINDR FAMILY BUSINESS — scenario + platonic | ♡ | w/c: 1195

︎ ︎ ︎ ︎︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎︎↳︎ ︎BORN FROM THE ASHES OF ANOTHER — scenario + platonic | ☂ ♡ | w/c: 7449

︎ ︎ ︎ ︎︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎︎↳ #phoenix.ask — tag dedicated for dad diluc and his lil baby, you can see all of my posts and answers to asks regarding this au ehe :> the list here are asks that i wrote smol blurbs for!

overachiever phoenix — platonic | ☂

phoenix and maple meeting — platonic | ♡

fatui adopting phoenix — platonic | ♡

V E N T I

IT'S RAINING STARS — blurb | ♡

WIND SPIRIT MC SERIES

︎ ︎ ︎ ︎︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎︎↳ #wispy.ask — tag dedicated for venti and his accidental wind spirit creation, you can see all of my posts and answers to asks regarding this au ehe :> the list here are asks that i wrote smol blurbs for!

A L B E D O

A MOMENT IN TIME — scenario + platonic | ♡ | w/c: 540

BOOKS AND LIBRARY SHENANIGANS — scenario + modern au | ♡ | w/c: 956

R A Z O R

A PUPPY TO BE RECKON WITH — blurb + platonic | ♡

B E N N E T T

LITTLE FIREFLY — scenario + platonic | ♡ | w/c: 633

Z H O N G L I

FLOWERS FOR YOU, MY DEAR — blurb | ♡

FOOTPRINTS — scenario + platonic | ♡ | w/c: 601

LITTLE ADEPTI MC SERIES

︎ ︎ ︎ ︎︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎︎↳ AN ADEPTI'S WISDOM (ft. xiao) — scenario + platonic | ♡ | w/c: 546

X I A O

GAMES AND KISSES — blurb + modern au | ♡

LITTLE ADEPTI MC SERIES

︎ ︎ ︎ ︎︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎︎ ↳ LITTLE DEVIL (ft. zhongli) — scenario + platonic | ♡ | w/c: 425 ︎ ︎

︎ ︎ ︎ ︎︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎︎↳ MONO (ft. zhongli) —scenario + platonic | ♡ | w/c: 1622

︎ ︎ ︎ ︎︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎︎↳ LULLABIES IN THE WIND — blurb + platonic | ♡

︎ ︎ ︎ ︎︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎︎↳ #devil.ask | tag dedicated for little sibling!reader, you can see all of my posts and answers to asks regarding this au ehe :>

ALATUS!READER AND HUMAN!XIAO

︎ ︎ ︎ ︎︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎︎↳ LITTLE DANCER IN THE NIGHT — scenario + platonic | ♡ | w/c: 2276

OLDER YAKSHA!READER AND YOUNG YAKSHA XIAO

︎ ︎ ︎ ︎︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎︎↳ YOUNG YAKSHA!XIAO WITH OLDER YAKSHA!READER — hcs + platonic | ♡

C H O N G Y U N

I FOUND WARMTH IN COLD HANDS — blurb + platonic | ♡

K A Z U H A

GO REST, DAMN IT — scenario | ♡ | w/c: 573

IRODORI!KAZUHA — short brainrot + modern au | ♡

CHILDHOOD BESTFRIEND!KAZUHA — hcs + modern au | ☂

DATE ME, PLEASE. OH, WE'RE ALREADY DATING? — scenario | ♡ | w/c: 928

PROM DATE KAZUHA — short brainrot + modern au | ♡

GOLDEN HOURS — blurb + modern au | ♡

OLDER BROTHER KAZUHA SERIES

︎ ︎ ︎ ︎︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎︎↳ BRAVE THE STORM — scenario + platonic | ♡ | w/c: 1198

︎ ︎ ︎ ︎︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎︎↳ SCARLET EMBER — scenario + platonic | ♡ | w/c: 1637

︎ ︎ ︎ ︎︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎︎↳ WHITE BLOOMS AND SMILES — scenario + platonic | ♡ | w/c: 821

︎ ︎ ︎ ︎︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎︎↳ I AM KAEDEHARA KAZUHA! — scenario + platonic | ♡ | w/c: 1123

︎ ︎ ︎ ︎︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎︎↳ #maple.ask | tag dedicated for little sibling!reader, you can see all of my posts and answers to asks regarding this au ehe :> the list here are asks that i wrote smol blurbs for!

irodori brainrots — platonic | ♡

maple and their strength brainrots #1 — platonic | ♡

maple and their strength brainrots #2 — platonic | ♡

streamer/big brother kazuha — platonic | ♡

official age range between kazuha and maple — platonic | ♡

alternative bad ending — platonic | ☂

4nemo au — platonic | ♡

alternative ending happy ending? — platonic | ☂ ♡

maple getting hurt — platonic | ☂ ♡

big brother tomo — platonic | ♡

angry kazuha — platonic | ♡

phoenix and maple meeting — platonic | ♡

maple doesn't remember their parents — platonic | ☂

kazuha plays dead — platonic + modern au | ♡

H E I Z O U

HOW TO PIERCE YOUR EARS AT HOME 101 (birthday fic) — scenario + modern au | ♡ | w/c: 1292

S C A R A M O U C H E

GO ON AND KISS THE GIRL — scenario + modern au | ♡ | w/c: 1032

LITTLE GREMLIN READER AU

︎ ︎ ︎ ︎︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎︎↳ WILD BUNNY — scenario + platonic | ♡ | w/c: 972

︎ ︎ ︎ ︎︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎︎↳ PROMISE — scenario + platonic | ♡ ☂ | w/c: 1054

OKAMI MC (kunikuzushi!scaramouche)

︎ ︎ ︎ ︎︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎︎↳ DOLL — scenario + platonic | ?? | w/c: 1131︎

︎ ︎ ︎ ︎︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎︎↳ SILENCE — scenario + platonic | ?? | w/c: 2933

︎ ︎ ︎ ︎︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎︎↳ #okami.ask | tag dedicated for okami mc and kuni!scarouche, you can see all of my posts and answers to asks regarding this au ehe :>

T I G H N A R I

CURIOUS LITTLE VIXEN — scenario + platonic | ♡ | w/c: 844

R E J E C T

— i don't write for the following characters:

nps, most of the harbingers (except childe and scaramouche; complex personalities are hard to write ok), baizhu (no hate, i just really find it hard to write for him ueue), abyss lectors