6)Scaramouche

❥ 𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐀𝐋𝐏𝐇𝐀𝐁𝐄𝐓 — 𝐒𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐌𝐎𝐔𝐂𝐇𝐄. ˚⊹꒷

📓୧・꒰summary—wc꒱ affection, regret, and zenith. 1503.

🎸୧・꒰warnings꒱ yandere character ꒰forced/unhealthy relationship, manipulative behavior, mentions of abduction꒱, reader is not traveler, lightly edited.

💿୧・꒰adi moment꒱ sorry for the scara/wanderer posting, may or may not end up happening again! i've got mixed feelings on how this turned out, but yandere scaramouche owns my heart atm and i had to write something for him. hope you enjoy! ૮꒰..◜ᴗ◝..꒱ა ♡

as a disclaimer, i don't support yandere behavior in real life! please don’t interpret this post as justification for any of scaramouche's actions.

જ⁀➴ affection: how do they show their love and affection? ˚⊹꒷

Being openly affectionate is a rather difficult task for Scaramouche… though it isn’t exactly hard to understand why. Betrayal after betrayal combined with years of working beneath the Tsaritsa certainly don’t encourage emotional vulnerability, any tenderness he’d once possessed being forsaken for the sadistic persona he now proudly flaunts.

He’d used that very façade of his to attempt to push you away, back when he’d still had yet to realize just how desperately he needed you in his life. Affection from Scaramouche would remain a rarity between the both of you for quite some time, even after he’d taken you into his ꒰albeit forceful꒱ care. It was safer for him, that way. You weren’t exactly subtle with your discontentment, and the sting of abandonment wouldn’t hurt as badly if he kept you at a distance.

But when he asks—no, demands a hug from you—you’ve really got no choice but to oblige. 

At first, he’s hesitant in the embrace, hands shakily grasping and pulling at the fabric on the back of your shirt as you hold him. Although without the need for air, the stiffness of his body made it seem as though his breath had gotten stuck in his throat, mechanical grasp erratically tightening and loosening as he attempted to adjust. Once he finally does, he absolutely refuses to allow you to pull away, keeping you still in his grip for well over a minute before he finally relents. His eyes are wet as you glance at him, a tear-stained blotch on your clothing as he hurriedly barks for you to turn away.

Despite his initial reaction, these commands for physical affection only become more and more frequent afterwards—much to your distress. Beginning with those awkward hugs and culminating in full blown cuddle sessions ꒰one-sided as they usually are꒱, Scaramouche gradually allows himself to become more and more acquainted with the softness of your touch.

Gift-giving is also a rather common habit of his. As strange as it is for him to be jealous, considering that you aren’t even allowed to sit in the manor’s garden unattended, he just can’t help but worry about you. Seeing you decorated in clothing and accessories of his choosing alleviates his worries, reminding him that you’re still his, even when he might be far away on one of the Tsaritsa’s missions.

It starts out small. A gold necklace. An intricate bracelet, the design of which mimicking the traditional Inazuman motifs found on his clothing.

But it’s not long until he has you fitted for the garments themselves, tailors indebted to the Fatui hauled over from the solitary nation to create an entirely new wardrobe. Scaramouche, of course, oversees the entire process. Not a single detail is overlooked, with him comparing different samples of designs and forcing them to start over whenever he’s displeased with one of their creations. Any attempts to get him to loosen up are met with harsh glares—the same reasoning repeated to you every time. 

“Their debts will be paid by their labor,” he’ll justify, “A mercy considering the Fatui’s usual methodology.” Unless they want to find a permanent residence amongst the cadavers in Dottore’s lab, incompetence simply isn’t something he’ll tolerate.

And, sure, the expense is one that causes a fair share of annoyance from the other Harbingers—especially Pantalone, who was made to fund the operation—though it’s hard to pay any attention to his vexed murmurs when you look so good in the finished pieces.

જ⁀➴ regret: would they ever feel guilty about abducting their darling? ˚⊹꒷

Scaramouche? Feel bad? When he’s doing you such a gracious favor? Archons, now that might just be the funniest thing he’s heard in a while. In his eyes, it should really be you that feels bad. You should be sobbing at his feet, begging him to forgive you for your oh so constant insolence—your endless whining and complaining.

After all, how could he possibly ever expect to feel pity for the circumstances you’ve found yourself in? You, who’s currently ‘trapped’ within a mansion more luxurious than you could’ve previously imagined. You, who he makes sure is both well fed and dressed—who has countless Fatui guards at your every beck and call. You, who he specifically keeps safe from the many dangers of the world you so stupidly wish to explore. You, who he endures some of Dottore’s more gruesome experiments for—just so your DNA can be preserved in case of tragedy. 

In actuality, the thought that he’d regret ‘taking you’ from your ‘home’... it’s just pathetic to him.

You’re innocent. Naïve. Foolish, to be totally honest. How could you possibly hope to survive out there without his protection? Teyvat is not nearly as safe as you wish to believe, the gods that you find reprieve in oftentimes uncaring to the suffering of their believers. He knows that from experience, and yet you still refuse to believe him. Everything that he’s done is for your sake, ungrateful as you are—it’s a miracle that he hasn’t exposed you to the true nature of the world in order to stop your incessant nagging. 

Scaramouche doesn’t even think he asks much of you, either. All that he expects you to do is sit still. Remain by his side, allow him to shower you with love and ꒰more importantly꒱ keep you safe. Not… sulking around in the room he’d prepared specifically for you, not wildly declaring that ‘you’d never asked him for his protection!’—no, not at all!

So, no, he doesn’t feel any sort of remorse for his actions. What he's done is simply for your own good, and you’re simply foolish to not appreciate that. If he didn’t love you as much as he did, you would’ve been disposed of a long time ago. At the very least… be grateful for that.

જ⁀➴ zenith: would they ever break their darling? ˚⊹꒷

In a way, it’s simply an inevitability with him. Entanglement with the Fatui has rarely ever spelt out positive outcomes for those involved, something you’ll learn because of Scaramouche’s attempts to protect you. Living within his carefully constructed dollhouse doesn’t do much to dim the memories of your old life, nor does it do anything to quell the urge for freedom burning deep within your bones. Awareness of the world you’d once known and fear at the very notion of being struck beneath his control for the rest of your life… None of it bodes well for your mental health, either.

Lacing it with the violence made common from the Fatui, or the punishments inflicted on you in hopes of finally destroying your will to escape ꒰whether they be physical or mental꒱—it’s really no surprise to see the ambitious spark within your eyes eventually being snuffed out.

Isolation alone is already enough to drive the average person insane. With all that you’ve been dealing with on top of that, it’s honestly quite commendable that it doesn’t happen sooner.

At first, Scaramouche doesn’t take this new development of yours well. Your lack of response, lack of reaction to even the cruelest insults of his being hurled at you—to even his mere presence—it freaks him out, slipping beneath his guard and making him feel as though you’ve already abandoned him. Really, how dare you not pay attention to him? Are you mad? Or is this just your latest attempt at escape? Aren’t you just trying to fool him? To make him believe that you’d learned your place just to turn around and sneak away? 

It must be.

He doesn’t leave your side unless necessary, having his soldiers keep watch on you whenever something pulls him away. Whatever new game you’re playing at, he’s determined in his attempts to stop you before you can take a single step outside. Days turn into weeks. Weeks into months. His patience wears thin, the realization you still haven’t done anything hovering over him and sending him into frenzies. But coupled with your newfound compliance to his commands, the way that you numbly follow along with any plans he makes for the both of you—well, he’s eventually forced to realize that you don’t even intend to try running.

As much as he finds himself enjoying your obedience, a part of him simply can’t help but miss your spark. The delicious fear that glazed over your eyes when you were caught doing something suspicious, the fits of passion that led you to stupidly defy his orders… They’d been aspects of you—aspects of the version of you Scaramouche initially fell in love with, the version of you that stubbornly persisted when you still had the opportunity to back away from him.

But this version of you doesn’t move away whenever he pulls you into his arms, doesn’t recoil from the touch of his fingers as if he’d somehow burnt you. This version of you doesn’t cry and beg him to go outside, doesn’t fight against him when he goes on tangents confessing his love to you—occasionally grants him the chance to hear an ‘I love you, too.’ slipping past your lips.

Ultimately… that’s good enough for him.

i have a taglist, which you can sign up for here!

did you see the arlecchino animation and teaser??? a;fasjl;f

they make me so sad :(( also, the teaser was hot af tho, had me so downbad. arlecchino's lore is just so 😭

~EL anon

would you like new toys?

i simped so hard during the animation and teaser i decided to write a mini series fic about arlecchino. i have a lot of thoughts about it and now i'm regretting not taking up your offer lmao

forethoughts: my love language is writing someone an entire fic about them (not really, but i will write you an entire letter).

notes: fem!reader in mind, but gn!. NOT AN x READER!! READER IS A CHILD IN THIS!

In every cluster of children, there was always one that had trouble making friends. 

That title was unfortunately bestowed upon you.

Always excluded in activities and games, left to play in the corner with the leftover, worn out toys while everyone chose the newest and best toys in the box. It had always been that way; you didn’t see it changing any time.

Father was always more lenient and caring with you. She made sure you were the first in line to get breakfast, lunch and dinner. While everyone had a curfew, you were allowed to wander the halls freely and exit your room. That of course didn’t make it any easier for you to make friends. 

Like a robot given the same set of codes and no changes, days blurred into weeks, and weeks blurred into months while you lived your solitary life. 

~

You sat crossed leg, facing the corner of the playroom, hands empty. You ran out of luck; all the toys were already gone by the time you got to the box. Letting out a sigh, boredom finally consumed you, prompting you to stand up, brush the dust off your shorts as you exited the playroom. No one batted an eye or even glanced at your direction; to them you were invisible. To everyone you were invisible.

Wandering the halls of the House of Hearth at night gave you a pretty good scope on the architecture of the building. If someone asked you where the infirmary was or the bathroom, you could accurately pinpoint the location for them. You looked at the colorful glass panes on the sides of the halls, raising a hand to block the sunlight from hitting your face. They called you a dreamer, delusional for your ideas and thoughts. Said your hopes were far too high. Father always disagreed. Father always disagreed with whatever the others called you.

A sudden shriek was ripped out of your throat as your body went sideways, shoulder hitting an even stone ground. You winced, forcing yourself to sit as you examined your body. You could barely make out what was your leg and arm with the lighting. Standing up, you decided to explore the uncharted territory in your little mind map. The walls were lined with sharp blades that glimmered under the narrow light source opposite to the swords. You looked behind you, to your sides, in front of you, as you allowed curiosity to take hold of your mind. With two hands, you lifted one of the blades from its holding place, letting it fall onto the ground. You dragged the blade along the stone to the center of the room, ignoring the shriek of protest the sword was making. Letting out a deep breath, you gripped your hands around the hilt of the sword, lifting it as high as you could. When you’d finally lift it over your head, a triumphant cheer exited your mouth, eyes admiring the shine and sharpness of the blade like a bee eyeing a flower. 

“Children like you should not be wielding such dangerous objects.” Your muscles went limp, bones turning into uncooked noodles as your head spun to the direction of the voice. Father. Fear wasn’t just done with taking hold of your body. Fear was transmitted into the blade itself. Before you knew it, a sharp pain emitted through your forehead, a rush of warmness surging towards the area. The sword fell on your side, next to your collapsed body.

“Y/N!” Father was instantly by your side. Through that cold and emotionless facade, you could see a flash of worry and fear in her eyes. Fear. Father felt fear. Your head was placed in Father’s arms, knees hooked onto her other arm as you were rushed out of the dark room.

You sat on Father’s table in silence, fiddling with the sleeve of your shirt as you stared at your dirt covered, bruised hands. Father reciprocated the silence, as she stood in front of you, using a cotton ball to dab up the blood. You winced at the serum that was infused with the cotton against your fresh wound, knuckles turning white. Father didn’t let out any remark at your wince, rather you could feel her actions becoming more gentle and tender. 

“This might hurt.” Father muttered, picking up something from her tray of material, the object having a thin string tail behind. You could barely stifle a shriek as the needle penetrates your skin, the lithe object dancing from one side to another, piercing hole after hole in your skin. You gripped onto your sleeve for life until your hand was ghost white, as Father stitched up your wound before you could blink. Father let out a sigh, snipping any remaining string as she set the needle on the tray. Her eyes shifted downwards, her lips pursed as you felt her gaze burning into your skull.

“...I’m sorry.” You murmured quietly, the words regurgitating out of your mouth, unable to squeeze anything out under her gaze.

“I thought I told you that recklessness always leads to failure. What were you doing out of the playroom?”

“...” You could feel the corners of your eyes starting to burn up, your mouth quivering. Father noticed. Of course she did. 

“Look at me.” Father sighed. 

Reluctantly, you lifted your head, meeting Father’s eyes. Instead of scorn and disappointment, you were met with understanding and warmth, her pursed lips turning into a thin smile. Thin. Just like the ice you were on. Father could smile all she wanted, but you knew you were as good as dead.

Father’s hand went for your head, sharp fingers combing through your hair. “What type of toy do you like, Y/N? I am planning to get more for the toybox; it appears we have a shortage of toys. Of course, I would like to get the best and newest toys for all. I was wondering what you would like to see and play with.”

Your heart moved an inch higher from your stomach, still threatening to fall and combust into millions of pieces. “U-Uhm… I d-don’t know…”

“Speak up, my child.”

“I-I don’t know… what toys I like, Father…” 

Father let out a chuckle. “Of course. How could you choose your favorite in an empty box?”

You looked down at her words. Of course Father knew.

“Y/N.”

You looked back up at her, meeting her playful eyes, a look you knew she only gave you and you only. 

“How about I introduce you to some… new toys not any of the other children have seen? Would you like some new toys?”

“Toys… the others haven’t seen?” You tilt your head at that statement.

“Yes. Toys the others have not seen. Are you interested? I will personally teach you how to… play with these toys.”

You nodded your head, a small hesitant smile on your face. Father never offered the other children new toys. Father never offered how to play with toys. Father never played with the others.

The corners of Father’s thin lips tugged upwards slightly, as her finger hovered over your wound. She helped you off the desk, hand holding yours as she led you out of her office. “It is almost time for lunch. But I would rather you get some rest after what happened. Rest assured I will bring food to your room.”

“Y-Yes, Father.” You mumbled.

Father led you to your room upstairs, setting you on the plush mattress as the blanket was draped over your body. She ran her fingers through your hair again, petting your head before strolling out of the room. “Rest well, my child.”

~

Arlecchino closed the door, letting out a sigh. She made her way back downstairs to join the other children. “Rest assured, my child, no one will ever dare to lay a finger on you anymore. No harm shall ever come your way.”

౨ৎ˚ Bandaged Hearts ‧₊˚

synopsis: Mikan tsumiki reader x Twst

A/N: its literally the synopsis, this aint gonna be too long and i hope you remember who mikan is cuz... omg she is so cute!

c/w: GN reader, POC friendly reader, clumsy reader, possibly ooc characters, romantic relationships, self injury, attention deprived reader, menhera?, bully mentions, rook and the tweels being menaces., not proofread cuz i need sleep

more under the cut...

Riddle doesn't want you near the tea sets and anything that can possibly hurt you or anything else around you. despite your shaky hands, you patching bruises or cuts with ease always makes him surprised no matter how many times you do it. you caring for him makes him feel really warm inside, all the care he couldn't get as a child is getting healed whenever he is with you. does explode when you hug him tightly when you two sleep together...

He doesn't want you near him while he is holding something hot. Trey knows you just want to help but sometimes (most of the time) you spill and squash cakes that were supposed to be for the unbirthday party, he hopes you understand. usually does catch you when you fall but he can't be with you 24/7 so he just tries his best to remind you to watch your step.

Cater thinks you are very adorable! but very accident prone that you tripped once and it broke his phone stand. and that was fun... you apologized and cried profusely for many minutes until your throat dried. He knows you haven't had a easy life and seeking for attention is very understandable but he will try to heal your broken heart as you heal injuries. just dont trip for his attention, cutie~

My boy Deuce is SUPER worried about you. you stir up a lot of fights even if you didn't mean to. tripping as you wail and apologize to the bad tempered student infront of you. which they end up making threats to you and which ends up deuce punching them in the face and you healing his bruised knuckles. you beg him to let you bandage his hands because you feel like it was your fault. blushes when you shakily kiss his knuckles.. blushy mess, the both of you.

YOU FELL?? LMFAOOOO - Ace probably. although he finds it hilarious that you trip on air and suddenly your knee gave out, he is worried that you hurt yourself a lot of times. ace tries to be nice to you even if he thinks you are a little empty in the head. does actually worry but never admits it, whenever he sprains an ankle or his finger is bended in a weird way, he comes rushing to your room or nurse's office were you work and acts like a kicked puppy while you patch him up. he does appreciate you more than you know.

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Ugh what a bother, is what Leona thinks when you stumble into his life. before he started dating you, he thought.. man.. you are really clumsy and probably and idiot. but after he dates you, he finds you like a little mouse, scurrying away whenever anger approaches. he just wants to bite you and hear you squeak. but but but. he does find you cute (never admits it out loud) and useful whenever you try to do his laundry or dressing his wounds after spelldrive.

Ruggie is dumfounded when you mixed up the colored laundry and the white laundry and scolds you for it. which makes you blubber and cling onto him while he apologizes for getting mad over a mistake and pets you while you sniffle. you can't lie though, you getting attention when you mess up is like a reward... he giggles when you worry about him becauz you are the definition of clumsy. pets you on the head in reward of you not injuring yourself on purpose.

Jack feels the need to protect you no matter what. always catches you with little to no effort. kind of knows when you're gonna trip. he always goes "yup, there they go again" and you 'plop' on the floor as always. acts like you are annoying him but in reality he is just a worried little guy, tries to train your leg muscles more so you don't kiss the ground everytime. but when he finds out most of your stunts are on purpose he gets a little sad, his ears go down and hugs you and pulls you into bed so he can cuddle and you two can talk about your problems and pasts.

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Azul is conflicted, cuz in one hand he can understand the feel of not being used to your legs but on the other hand? UR LITERALLY A HUMAN?? kinda finds out quickly your doing it cuz your attention deprived. it was more of a process of elimination. as much as he loves you, he can't keep an eye off of you for even an hour. sympathizes that you were severely bullied, and you two find comfort in each other. promises that bad things won't come your way anymore.

Jade knows immediately, are you surprised? but lets things go your way for his amusement. tripping for his attention? he'll grab you by the waist and help you back on your feet. about to drop a plate of food? he'll clean up your mistakes, catching the falling plates. and pressing a kiss on your cut. oh that blush is so very charming. he'll play along until your music box stops and you stop turning.

This boy right here... Floyd i love you but. he would make your life a nightmare. Like you trip? hes the one who tripped you, probably blames the broken dishes on you becuz hes a bich. but when he finds out that you just want his attention. he finds it a little more boring but he quickly finds out how much more fun it is, unlike jade, he doesn't give you the attention that you want, once you start to blubber away he comes running. Keep being entertaining as usual little shrimpy~ don't let him get bored.

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Kalim actually doesn't mind but at the same time, around you the people are worried. imagine him being happy as always and so are you! but the thing is that, you two are very likely to get snatched up by the wrong people. that one time kalim scraped his knee and while patching him up you look up to see his curious and warm eyes. you looked away flushing. you feel his hand cupping your cheek and turns you back to him, you squeal and try to turn away but damn.. he is quite strong with his grip..

Jamil is pushing you away from the kitchen, he doesn't need a walking disaster. ey kidding. he is wayy to anxious to be letting you hold a knife but at the same time you can wield a needle? wayy more fragile than a knife will ever be. one time jamil had a really high fever and you stayed with him, a mask on your face. hugging him while he was shivering from the cold as your tried your best to help him. cuddling with eachother while you warm him up.

----- ☾⋆｡𖦹 °✩⋆

Vil is very.. conflicted? like yes he is very grateful you are here to help him in his times of need, but you are literally a bruise waiting to happen. you guys have a very symbiote relationship. if you are going on a important event or have a very hush hush relationship from the public he would help with makeup. and when he gets a small or medium sized injury you would help with band aids and stitches. always a "thank you dear" or embraces. if you promise him to not hurt yourself anymore, you'll get more than that.

Rook knows the outbursts you can have if you feel like everything in the world is targeting you. but he loves your imperfections if you can even call it that. discovers the pain you have and how it affects the way you act today. he knows the secrets to make you tweak. like not in a good way, he starts to talk to other girls/guys and make small touches just enough for you to notice them and he acts dumb when you crash out. but don't worry, he'll hold you in his arms while you cry and wipe your tears away.

being someone who is clumsy but also being your significant other, with Epel who has a bad habit of snapping is a very good duo! totally! But he does have his moments of keeping his cool and apologizing on his knees for being angry at your honest mistake. his mother would beat his ass for snapping at you. if he gets into fist fights he comes to you, his natural accent slipping out as you calmly put the bandage on his cheek, the warm ambient light spilling into the nurses office.

----- ☾⋆｡𖦹 °✩⋆

Idia is like "yes! i scored a boyfriend/girlfriend/S/O", but you guys are similar in a way that he didn't expect. no one you can make a first move to romance eachother. hell, how you even got together is a mystery in the first place. but honestly you two have the most like "no, you can have it" battles a lot. you usually stay hugging him whille he plays, and when you're sleeping his hair becomes very pink! but you don't see it cuz ur asleep.

----- ☾⋆｡𖦹 °✩⋆

Malleus finds you very squishy and soft looking(?) your breakdowns don't really bother him, he just finds it a way for you to relieve your emotions. he will hold you when you need him to. He doesn't really need you for physical pain, but if you research on more dragons and their health and such. he'll really appreciate you. catches you with his magic whenever you trip. his heart breaks into pieces when you tell him about your past. you try pushing it off as a joke but he doesn't like that, just trust him..

Lilia finds you super cute, always petting you on the head or hugging you, while you let out shy giggles. always praises you, he has raised kids and knows you lack attention. also another one who never really needs your healing. he is a big tough man he says, is more like a parent more than a s/o sometimes. catches the plates before you crack them, catches you dramatically when you trip "my little attention-seeker~" he coos while sliding his fangs on your neck.

Silver tries to be awake when you trip and fall. sometimes his drowsiness gets slapped awake when you crash and possibly in a suggestive position, but he helps you up quickly. only sleeps soundly when you are in his arms tho. Does love it when you guys have cute little moments in your room or when you bandage his back or massage his cramps. does really feel fuzzy inside when you do it.

Sebek yells a lot, what do you expect? you apologizing while sobbing and his ears has fumes coming outta them. lilia smacks him upright the head and he apologizes on his hands and knees, his forehead touching the floor while he yells his apology. you try to touch him on the head while saying abt some "its okay!" and "no, im sorry" now he comes to you while having a broken arm or leg, fractured bone and happily runs to you so you can give him some special care!

i was gonna do rollo but im too sleepy for ts

do you have any hcs of what the yan genshin boys would b like when darlings on her period?

i'm gonna rank them from best to worst when it comes to dealing with this . let's see how they do.

best

zhongli is on top of his game. it's like he was born for the sole purpose of pampering you when you're under the weather. he'll insist on you taking it easy, drinking soothing teas, eating nutritious meals, and taking medication for whichever symptoms are the most prominent. if he seems oddly content, it's because he is. he won't state it outright, but he wants to leave the impression that him being in the position to care for you like this is worth the sacrifice of some... freedom. he knows of herbs and remedies to help make the experience as painless as possible.

kazuha already dotes on you as if you were royalty. while he leads a rather transient lifestyle, he puts your travels on pause to ensure you're properly cared for. he's sweet to a degree that'd be condescending from anyone else, but because it's kazuha and it's completely genuine, you can't call him out on it. he'll lay your head down on his lap and softly recite poetry until you doze off. he might not know much about periods specifically, but he treats it as if you were injured and need to be nursed back to health. he makes you your favorite meals from ingredients foraged locally. considers it a privilege on his part to be able to care for you. warmth blossoms in his chest whenever you have no choice but to ask him for something, your pride temporarily discarded.

albedo knows when your period is about to start before it even crosses your mind. he calculates every phase of your cycle and writes the important dates down in a calendar. he's all about preemptive care, he'll give you some concoctions of his own making the night before your period is due to start so you don't even have to worry about cramp pain. if you've been particularly troublesome lately, he might withhold this miracle elixir until you butter him up. he doesn't come outright and tell you this either, you have to do some trial and error to discern the specifics. as an alchemist, anything to do with the functions necessary to create life greatly fascinate him.

childe has sisters, so he's roughly familiar with how unpleasant periods are. he'll grin and reassure you that a little blood has never frightened him. thinks you're the cutest thing ever when you have to rely on him more. he's happy to oblige and is surprisingly intuitive about requests you never state verbally. he makes the tastiest soups, the kind that warm you from head to toe with every bite. there's no use trying to pretend you don't like it because he knows. he calms down on his tendency to tease you, since in his view, it's never his intent to actively make you feel distraught (unless you've acted out in a way that puts you in danger).

cyno means well (probably) but can come off as a little overbearing. he's literally breathing down your neck and constantly reminding you that if you need anything, just say the word. he's carrying you around, bringing you meals in bed, running all over town to get that one snack he knows you love; he's nothing if not dedicated. the thought of you being uncomfortable, much less in pain, is unbearable. when you do fall asleep, he's peeking into the room every five or ten minutes. every time you get your period, should any blood get on the sheets, he'll look you dead in the eye and ask if you've gotten in a fight lately. when you don't laugh, he starts explaining the joke, so it's better to force a chuckle.

diluc is just awkward about it. he refers to it as 'your time of the month' but even choking those words out is a struggle. he considers it to be a very private occurrence and thinks it'd be polite to tiptoe around the subject, as if it were taboo. the staff at dawn winery make further accommodations for you — everything you could ever want is a ring away. he's normally skeptical about you going outside, but since you're under the weather, he'll grant your request. if you're observant, you'll notice he's more inclined to give into your whims during this time. just don't get too carried away or he'll say he knows what you're doing at pointblank.

scaramouche is mostly annoyed that you're going to be more cranky for a while. your attention is essentially his lifeblood, but when you don't feel well, you're focusing on that instead of him. kind of inconsiderate tbh. once asked dottore if there's a way to prevent this, but dropped the idea when the harbinger said 'it only requires a few organs to be removed.' scaramouche would prefer your organs remain as is. he'll sigh and huff about how lucky you are to have him while spoon-feeding you, despite the fact he secretly enjoys it. his words are a whopping 10% nicer until you start to feel better, something he is frequently reminding you of. when your period is finished, he keeps staring in your general direction, fully expecting you to trip over yourself to thank him for his benevolence. if being delusional is a game, then he's winning.

when it comes to xiao, he's not awful per se, but this is likely his first encounter with menstruation, so you have to explain everything about it. he gets a bit freaked out the first time you wake up to bloody sheets, although you wouldn't be able to tell unless you closely observe his body language. he's somewhat at a loss when you explain what you need during your period and probably doesn't grab all the right things. he makes you eat these awfully bitter herbs that are supposed to help with pain. also makes some watery tea but gives you such a hopeful look, you don't have the heart to complain about the taste.

worst

I like writing Yandere Scaramouche as someone with a lot of rules because I like to think about how he enforced said rules.

Getting you to call him "my lord" instead of any other name you'd referred to him by was his first course of action. Scaramouche was already a man wound tight like a string about to snap, he believed that he only had to tell you once to get something done. Anything after that would result in a punishment of some form.

But Scaramouche has a soft spot in his heart for you. He does want you around after all. So when he comes to you that first day, when your big eyes are looking around your bedroom scared and shaking, but somehow still managing to shoot a glare at him, he smirks. You're like a little dog, you could bite any second, but you'd look so cute while doing it. Therefore, he decides to train you like a dog.

"Outside of this bedroom, you will only refer to me as 'my lord.' Understood?" this was your one and only time being told, and despite the fact that you scoffed and begged to go home instead of listening to what he said, he knew you'd think on his words eventually.

The next day you were free to roam his manor. You were mostly looking for your escape, testing doors and windows to see if maybe there was a way out, but your arrival was planned for many months before, even if he had less time to prepare the house for you, there wouldn't be an escape.

With his arms crossed, he watched as you tried to open the door to the back garden, locked of course. Even if you did manage to get out, eight armed guards were placed all through out the area, with orders of capture not kill in regards to you. You'd be dragged back before you even had a taste of freedom. But he didn't tell you that.

"You didn't eat today," he stated plainly. Your first meal in his home and you didn't even take a single bite of it. Even he, who did not need food to survive, didn't enjoy watching such a lavish dish go to the trash.

"You must think I'm stupid, Scaramouche-" your little huff of rude words was stopped in its track by his fingers hitting your lips. Your attitude was another issue he'd need to work on, but he wanted to fix one problem at a time.

It didn't hurt, the way the back of his hand met your mouth. Didn't even sting a little. It just felt demeaning. Like you were an animal being scolded and not a person. He did this every time you opened your mouth to call him anything, but his preferred title, and when you spewed profanities at him, he tap your lips a bit harder.

With a huff, you finally decided to call him, "My lord" after many disrespectful taps against your lips spanning over many days. Annoyance finally made you to decide to allow him to win this one, much to your dismay and his pleasure. Your reward for doing as you were told was a gift of sweets and confections, a treat you weren't given because of his vocal distate for such things.

You are them with your arms crossed and your eyebrows knitted, glaring at him as he watched you eat. That little attitude of yours was going to be the next to go.

(yandere! ex x gn! reader) (thought of this in the shower and thought it would be funny)

it had been five long dreadful days since you last talked to him.

five.

full.

days.

your ex boyfriend thought that it was finally time to break the silence and embrace your presence again. unfortunately, you had blocked him on all platforms and even got a restraining order on him. like, you've blocked him before but not a restraining order!

you even got all dramatic and said you wanted to break up!

...again.

he honestly thought it was a little cute. like aw... you wanted a break again! okay, because he loves you so much he'll give you another one! like you obviously meant break up as in separate for a bit then go back! like as always!

so... why haven't you contacted him at all?

he's itching and clawing at his walls just waiting for you to text him. but no, nothing. zero. absolute silence.

all the blocking and restraining orders weren't just to get his attention?

...

but he doesn't care haha! why should he care? you're just being a little dramatic again. this is how it's always been. he knows you just feel neglected, so of course you're just doing this for attention!

oh! he knows what to do!

that's right! he should show up with gifts and coddle you in kisses! like always!

that's why, he's patiently waiting for you to return back home... with tons of jewellery and cash laid on the ground. how did he get in, you ask? well obviously he has a spare key to your home! yeah yeah, he knows you haven't actually given him a new key and that you changed your lock two days ago but it was so painfully easy to just copy your key!

he couldn't just not make a copy, could he? you know he has to have access to you at all times! he gets antsy when he doesn't!

ah, your door is opening!

he grins happily, giggling excitedly as he sits by your couch, looking at the door in excitement.

"darling! i missed you!"

he moans, cheeks flushed as he stares at your stunned figure. however, his happiness gets replaced by worry as you slip on the money he laid down your hallway. oops... maybe he shouldn't have flooded your house in cash?

"darling! oh no... sre you alright?"

he pouts, immediately rushing to your side as he brushes the money away from your body. ah look at you! your face is all terrified... you must've been so so scared without him, weren't you?

"i promise I won't leave you again... just look at you!"

he mumbles, shaking his head disapprovingly as he picks you up and expertly maneuvers his way through your cash flooded apartment.

"what would you do without me?"

he sighs, cradling you to his chest as he sits on your couch and begins wiping away his faux tears with a wad of cash. that's right! what would you do without him? you were just so fragile and helpless! you'd suffer without his protection! he swears never to leave you alone again!

meanwhile, you were just silently smashing your head against the wall. god, your escape attempt failed again! maybe you should just escape to a foreign country next time. hm, maybe you should change your name to josh and alter your appearance too.

A Linnet on a Bough [Yandere Scaramouche x Reader]

Title: A Linnet on a Bough [Yandere Scaramouche x Reader]

Synopsis: Isolation takes its toll, and you begin to sleepwalk out of the gilded manor Scaramouche has procured for you. Commissioned piece.

Word count: 3300ish

notes: yandere, married reader, sleepwalking, isolation, unhealthy/controlling behavior 

Being the spouse of a Harbringer is no simple matter, and you are no simple spouse. 

If you had married someone from  your village, your life would be simple. You would do what your parents had done, and their parents had done, and their parents had done. Cooking and mending and minding the children, and living out your days without ever venturing very far, except on rare occasions that would be something you would treasure forever.

You would grow old within the confines of the village and die surrounded by your children, who would bury you near your own parents and go on to live out their lives much as you had done.

But you didn’t marry someone from your village, and your life is not so simple. Instead, you were wed to Scaramouche. Sometimes it doesn’t seem real, even now, and you pinch yourself to make sure you’re not nursing some long standing fever-dream. 

Who would have thought? Certainly not you. Sometimes you wonder if even he expected to ever make such a match. But he told you that he intended to marry you, and let the words hang in the air, to be caught or cut down with your decision.

You said yes. Really, you couldn’t say no… but part of you wanted it. Yes, you can admit that much. It was flattering, and isn’t it nice to be flattered? Especially when you were nobody. Just someone who trudged to the town well to fetch water for your elderly parents, someone who helped a stranger (Scaramouche, it turns out, was not the helpless waif you’d assumed) and got a husband for their troubles. 

So, no, life is not simple. Both in the figurative and literal meaning of the word. 

And now, wife of a Harbringer as you are, you have grown acquainted with--and acquainted is the only term for it, for you could never say you were accustomed to any of it--certain luxuries. Food, to your liking, whenever you would like it. Sometimes it is even brought to you out of season, the greatest luxury of all. Clothing made with rich materials; ribbons, jewels, the softest of slippers to adorn your feet. Servants and pampering the likes of which you had only heard about in your old life. 

But there is one luxury that you are routinely denied, no matter how much you pout your lips, no matter how prettily you ask, no matter how many tears blur your vision and wet your eyelashes: the outside world.

You’re not meant to go outside, Scaramouche had told you, the first time it became clear that you were not going to waltz out of the stately manor he’d brought you to for the wedding in order to take in the scenery. 

And so… you don’t go outside anymore. Not in the traditional sense. You rest in covered litters with the windows tacked shut and he’s not above smacking your hand if you try to lift up the corners to catch a glimpse of whatever (or whoever) waits outside. Of course, when he’s not accompanying you, your pitiful looks sometimes convince one of the guards to let you keep one flap untouched so that you can take a peek.

But seeing flashes of the world you used to live in are not the same as truly being within it. The ghost of a breeze against your half-hidden face is not the same as basking in the sunshine. Hearing the sounds of life from a village as you’re carried through it is not the same as stopping at a market stall to buy a treat, asking someone how their day is going, and absorbing the hustle and bustle of everyone around you.

There is no substitute for living out in the world. 

You just don’t know how to convince Scaramouche of that fact.

--

There is a fine line between gratitude and ingratitude, between obedience and surliness, and Scaramouche finds that you walk it all too well. 

It doesn’t matter how much he takes away; how much he removes the temptation by tacking up screens or keeping you within interior apartments, free from all the noise and sights and smells of the outside. You still want to go outside. Something about it calls to you, pulling on your sleeves, no matter what he does.

He loves to hear your voice, nightingale that you are, but sometimes he is so gravely tempted to press a finger to your lips and tell you to hush. 

No matter how much he tries to occupy your mind with something different. Better. Himself, most often (for you should be grateful for that) but things that no one else could say he gave them. Gifts. Trinkets. Things that suited your interests, which he knew very well, because he hangs onto every word that comes from your mouth.

Even the ones that drive him mad. 

At least until you learn to stop saying things that grate his ears and the space where his heart should be. 

The pleadings that come so softly and sweetly--but if that was all, he could manage. It’s the way that you weave your thoughts into every conversation like a pattern in a tapestry--remarking on the weather conditions in regions that the two of you might be traveling in, asking if the retinue had encountered certain flora or animals during the journey. You want to know about the world; you want to be in the world. 

Little things, little threads, connecting you to a world that isn’t exclusively him… why has nothing successfully cut them from your grasping fingers? 

--

“They only blossom under certain conditions, you know.” Your voice is soft and lilting, carrying on the one-sided conversation over a shared table of delicate foods. You take bites in between your verbal fascination with the local flora, a subject you’re all too keen to share with him. “The flowers are said to be so lovely that people have wept at the sight of them. And the fragrance…” You sigh a little, and pick a piece of fruit to nibble on. “There’s nothing like it. Or so I’m told.” 

A pause. You glance at him, eyelashes practically fluttering, then look back at your dishes. 

“And… I’ve never seen one in person,” you add as you reach for another helping of fruit. “I wonder what they’re like.” 

Do you think he doesn’t know what you’re trying to do? Looking at him so sweetly, asking how he finds the food, interspersing dinner with notions of flowers blooming right outside the borrowed manor the two of you have been living in for this current assignment.

But he won’t give in. He won’t be manipulated, not even by you. 

Still… that doesn’t mean he can’t try to fulfill this hunger of yours. Much like filling a better, a taste should be enough to keep you from grumbling. 

Within the week, he has some unlucky Fatui tasked with the mission of cutting a fresh bouquet of the very flowers that you were waxing on about so prettily. And you wake up one morning to find them on the nightstand next to your bed, set in a clear vase.

He thinks that you’ll smile, and thank him, and if all goes well, he won’t have to hear any more not-so-subtle hints about your desire to go outside.

But you don’t smile and fling yourself at his feet, thanking him for such a thoughtful, fine gift. You don’t tell him that this is all you need--the flowers he gifts you, the clothes he has painstakingly crafted to suit our form and above all, him. 

Instead your hand goes to your mouth, covering the smallest of gasps. 

And, well, he thinks--you’re surprised. That’s all. That’s to be expected., if anything. You did often complain about the monotony of your days, so a little surprise was bound to get a reaction from you. 

But instead of breaking into a grin and thanking him, your hand reaches out to touch the delicate blossoms. Like they’re going to break. More than that--like there’s something wrong. 

“How much prettier they would be in nature…” Your lips curve downward, a soft frown that feels aimed right at him. “I’m sorry that you cut them…”

“What is it?” And if there is a snap in his voice,  you surely couldn’t blame him.  You are so difficult to please, and hiding the fact that he wants to please you at all is a tiring chore all on its own. You exhaust him as much as you fill him.

Sometimes, you make him want to scream.

He’ll take out his pent-up irritation on someone else. Irritation that is not at you, but with you. Yet not with you as well. It’s all a jumbled mess that he doesn’t want to untangle, and he won’t. He’ll shove it down deep into some cavernous hole, perhaps the one that exists inside of him no matter how hard he tries, and move on with his day.

If only you would stop looking at those flowers like they were broken glass.

--

You’re gone. The space that you occupy (the left half of the shared bed, all wrapped in blankets and often clutching a pillow instead of him, a trait he does not find endearing but does not wish to push on) is empty, bereft of anything but cool rumpled sheets.

There’s fear, at first. Fear that something has happened. Someone has taken you. Perhaps it was Her… perhaps She, of all the unholy things, has slithered past his defenses and snatched you up just to snap another piece from his broken patchwork body. 

It doesn’t have to be Her, though. He has many enemies. And enemies will target your weakest point, and you, you, you. You are exactly that to him. 

So there is fear, yes, that you have been snatched away and perhaps you are already dead, and they took you not for blackmail but for some kind of revenge. To see him wither. 

But then he retrieves the lantern from the dresser and lights it, the warm glow illuminating the silent, heavy room. He can feel his breath quickening, his chest tightening, and he doesn’t know why or what to do with any of it.

It only gets worse when he realizes that there is no sign of forced entry. No broken door-locks, no sprinkles of glass on the rugs, no drops of blood on the windowsill to mark where you might have been dragged through.

The fear ebbs away, replaced by a sour, sickly feeling of betrayal. 

You’ve left him. After all he’s given you. All he’s done for you. 

Yes, he’s taken away your freedom, but you didn’t have the capacity to understand why that was not something to begrudge him for. Freedom was not for delicate things that needed to be kept alive, protected, harbored from the rest of the world. 

He clutches the lantern in one hand and storms out of the room, still wearing his night-clothes. The hallways are dim, barely light by small windows that let in a trickle of moonlight. He listens. 

You couldn’t have gone far, and you’d better hope he catches you himself before morning, because if he has to engage a search party on  your behalf, no one (least of all the Fatui stationed with him) will be enjoying it.

He dismisses one of the guards who spots him. He doesn’t want them involved, not yet. He pushes out one of the side doors and begins to walk the perimeter of the grounds. You might have gone off into the forest, or perhaps you went down the paved path, hoping to find a traveler who might help you.

He is about to decide which option to take when he hears something from behind him, near a half-broken brick enclosure that had seen better days. Were you hiding in there? Trying to trick him? He couldn’t put it past you. 

He braces himself, feeling something thrum through him that made him want to turn away and rush forward all at once, and walks through the open gate of the enclosure. 

And… you’re there.

Sitting in the midst of a garden, some untended thing that was left here by the previous tenants, before it was abandoned and absorbed into the network of buildings useful to the Fatui. And to him, for keeping you in one secure location for months on end.

It was wild and overgrown, and some of the rocks creating the garden path were moss-covered. It’s a wonder you didn’t slip on them, he thinks, and there’s a flash of fear mingled with his irritation. How could you do something as stupid as sneak outside at night, in the dark, and walk into some unknown, overgrown eyesore? 

You haven’t heard his footsteps, evidently, because you go on standing. You’re swaying a little, and your hands brush the flowers. He can hear you talking to yourself, something low and sweet. He can’t see your face but it’s easy enough to imagine that you’re smiling. 

“What are you doing?” There was an attempt, in his mind, to keep his voice level. But it quakes anyway, with fury and irritation and that still-sour worry that you betrayed him in the night.

He waits. You don’t turn around. He thought that, when you heard his voice, you were going to jump like a scared little animal and apologize and try to smooth things over with your teary lashes and pouting lips.

But you don’t turn around. And when you answer him, it’s not a word, really. It’s mumbling. Low. Almost a groan.

He’s had enough. He walks forward until he can grip your upper arm, and moves to turn you around. But you don’t pout or jerk away or tell him that you just wanted to go outside. You’re looking straight at him but he can tell right away that you don’t truly see him at all.

You’re… asleep. 

Standing up, eyes blinking rapidly as if in the throes of some waking dream, in the middle of a garden.

But asleep, all the same. 

He presses his lips together. You were a nuisance. Truly. He should leave you here, let you wake up in the morning cold and shivering and covered in slick green moss.

Instead, he lifts you up. You flail a little, arms jerking this way and that, but it’s easy enough to grip you close and carry you bridal-style back down the hallway (the Fatui stationed in the hall is wise enough to say absolutely nothing as he sees him returning) and continues until he can lay you gently down onto your side of the bed.

You gasp, then, perhaps half-waking. But it’s eased enough when your hands instinctively grab your pillow and curl up with it. 

Before heading back into bed, he grabs a fire poker and slides it through the handles of your bedroom doorway. You wouldn’t be getting out, not in your sleep, anyway.

His dreams that night are fitful.

--

The first thing you realize upon awakening is that you’d really rather go back to sleep, because your dream was lovely. You were in a garden, fragrant and lovely. There was cool fresh air on your face and grass under your toes and sounds, real sounds. Birds and insects buzzing and everything that is forever kept on the other side of walls and windows now.

Over breakfast, you smile, and serve your husband his dishes before you tuck into your own. And is it wrong that you want to tell him about your dream? Is it wrong that you hope it will make him finally let you go outside, even just for a little while?

“I had a lovely dream last night,” you say, smiling with what you hope is sweetness and not desperation. “I was in a garden…”

You don’t see the goosebumps that run up his arms at your words.

--

You sleepwalk the next night. And the next. And the next. He doesn’t know how you manage to get the bar off the door every time, how you evade the guards, how you don’t wake him up… but you do. 

Always going to the same place, the damned garden, with its stubborn flowers and broken paths.

Well. If one vase of flowers is not enough to keep you satisfied (and more importantly, inside) perhaps he needs to take it a few steps further. 

He gifts you more flowers. Bundles of them, baskets of them, stuffed into vases and pots and cracked pans his underlings found in the kitchen storage room. 

And while the rooms of the manor are soon a garden, filled with cloying blossoms and greenery that brings its fair share of insects lurking about, it doesn’t make you stop talking about the world that you’re supposedly “missing” out there. 

Not just the flowers, but the animals. The people. The markets. 

The life, teeming with every little thing, good and bad, that makes up this world. 

Most disturbingly of all: The sleepwalking continues.

What more can he give you without giving you the freedom that would break him apart?

--

It’s not that the sound of a bird in the morning is unusual. It’s just that they are normally muffled, as there are no trees near the window of the bedroom.

But the chirping that you hear now is so close that it might as well be in your ear. Groggy, rubbing away the dust of sleep in your eyes, you sit up…

And find that there is a silver bird cage sitting on top of your dresser, next to a wilting vase of flowers from a few days before. 

It’s a pretty thing. Small and  yellow. A pretty thing in a pretty cage. Another gift from your husband, after the mountains of flowers, the wreaths of blooming vines, the meals, the clothes, the comfort…

--

He can never get used to waking up without you beside him. No matter how many times he easily finds you and brings you back, mumbling and bleary, there is always those terrible, agonizing moments of panic when he thinks: you’ve left him.

But you’re not alone in the garden. 

You’re holding the cage, clutching it to your chest. He wonders what will happen if your sleeping muscles dream of something else; will you drop the cage and let it clatter to the ground? Will the delicate bird inside be jostled so terribly that it dies? And what would he do, then, to ensure that this doesn’t make you even less satisfied with your isolated life?

But you don’t drop it. One thing he has learned from watching you sleepwalk is that you are surprisingly nimble about it. 

He watches, lips pressed into a frown, as you slowly lower the cage to one of the formerly ornate pedestal tables in the garden. It must have been pretty once. Now, it’s mossy and gray and damp. 

It doesn’t surprise him, what you do next. Your fingers, shaking but surprisingly deft, undo the latch on the door and swing it open. The bird inside hops around for a few moments, tilting its head to and fro, before it launches itself into the air and flies away.

You mumble something, sweet and slurry. A farewell, perhaps. Who knows what really goes on in your pretty head when you sleep? 

And it’s his cue to take you back inside. You still fight, just a little, when he picks you up. Flail your arms and legs, until he’s held you tight enough that your muscles seem to accept the hold and relax.

He looks down at your bleary, half-awake face. Your eyes tend to close when he carries you. Perhaps your body knows that it’s okay to let them rest, now that someone else is carrying you. Holding you. Protecting you.

A pity that your mind couldn’t understand that fact. 

Sometimes he considers chaining you up at night. It would be the most practical solution. It might even ease his fears every time he wakes to find you gone, and he’s forced to track you down to this nighttime garden that no one else would bother entering.

But there’s something in him, hard and sick, that wonders. If he chains you up, he might just free you in his sleep, like you’ve freed the bird in the cage. 

It’s easier to pretend you aren’t his prisoner when your chains are invisible, after all. 

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!

Hiii! I've never done this before but... What if Scara and reader had a fight... Like a fight fight... and reader was seriously injured due to him being blinded be emotions... What do you think would the aftermath of this...?

A/n: Yet again, another ask that i was originally gonna js give a short thought to, turned into something longer *sigh* (I need to stop doing this).

Summary: [Angst/Comfort]He could never say sorry, even in the moments it mattered.

Warnings: Harm to reader, Scars, Unrealistic Writing of getting hit with lightning,

———

This was kinda hard to come up with, just because my personal interpretation of him is that he would never ever hurt reader, cause they’re really all he has left buut, if I put that aside the aftermath would be something along the lines of an awkward confrontation??

During his time in the fatui, no one exactly had the galls of stopping his rampages. The balladeer is quite famed for his regular intervals of anger, you’re no stranger to it yourself, you’ve seen him mad. it’s just…

Hes never been angry towards you.

You’d get the occasionally scoff every now and then if you uttered something he found foolish, but never has he lashed out at you to such a degree. Not to this level. He’s painfully reminded by his ignorance as soon as his hand crafted eyes lay sight upon your bare form, a body, a human body, covered in scars from lightning. Lightning he inherited, lightning he engaged, lightning he struck you with.

There’s no doubt, the silence is defecating while you sit with him in the empty room, waiting for one of the medical professionals in the fatui to check on you.

He’s silent. It’s rare. He’s never been quiet for more than 5 minutes with you. He’s either complaining or attempting to make small talk a vast majority of the time, typically the former. But he doesn’t, he doesn’t even stare at you like he always does. You’re about to break the silence before the harbinger breaks it for you.

“You don’t look okay.” He doesn’t look at you, his vision trained on the white tile at his feet.

“Yeah. you struck me with lightning.”

…

“oh.”

It doesn’t hit you until he releases a quiet ‘oh’ from his mouth. Something you probably know better than anyone else that has been on teyvat within his 500 year lifespan.

This man can not say sorry.

“oh? Oh? Kunikuzushi put your pride away for one second.” you don’t try to hide the frustration in your voice. You truly did not mind the eccentricities the puppet in front of you holds, you never did, not even when you first met him.

He still doesn’t answer but you can see the way his face winces and widens in the same moment. Seems he got way too accustomed to ‘Kuni’ and ‘Scara’ to remember that you do in fact remember his given name.

“What else should I say to you? I’ll strike harder next time?” He isn’t getting mad, he was only infuriated earlier, but not now. You can see his demeanor start changing. Whether it be in the direction you want it to go, you’re not sure yet.

“Maybe a sorry? An apology? A “oh forgive me [Name] I love you so much?” He doesn’t answer you, he only scoffs and fall back onto the back of his chair. You don’t miss the way his fingers dig into the cloth of his clothing, probably using it as a replacement for human skin.

The man can’t breathe, but you can hear him inhale and exhale before his next words.

“i don’t know what happened. I didn’t mean to- well not at you.” It comes out softer than the other words hes said to you the entire period of time in the room. His eyes are finally off the floor, trying their best to maintain contact with your own.

Once again, all thats left between the space of you two, is silence. You look away from him for a moment, fiddling with the blanket draped over your legs. You’d like to assume that’s the closest you’ll get to an ‘I’m sorry from him’, but you can’t accept that, so you don’t reply. Ever since waking up, you never were able to see the scars on your body, only the ones on your arms. You wonder if they look hideous.

Your hand reaches behind you to your back, your fingers grazing whatever part you assume suffers scarring.

“Are you worried about how it looks?”

“No, not at all, fighting is commonplace in the fatui.”

“Lying isn’t good, you told me that yourself didn’t you?” Damn him and his pristine memory. You can never remember where you leave your keys yet he can remember things you’ve said to him years ago?

…

“No matter how scarred and beaten you are you’re still [Name] are you not?” With the way he’s looking at you, you’re sure this is another thing he’d want to keep out of the publics knowledge. “Even without your face i’d strike someone down for you in an instant.”

“Oh like you did to me?”

“…” Seems the sweet moment was ruined. You don’t mind though, it’s funny to you.

———

The weeks that followed still held some tension. You’d refused to see him for awhile. When asked by some trembling lower subordinate, one in which the harbinger had personally sent, why you weren’t seeing him, your reply made the soldier fear for his own downfall.

“He’s insufferable right now. I’ll talk to him when he shows me he’s not a man child who can’t admit his faults.” You’ve always been able to put up with his outbursts, but right now, you realize maybe you should turn up your attitude with him.

After that unfortunate event, not unfortunate for you, for the fatuss, your days have seemingly been more dull. You’ve forgotten just how eccentric the balladeer is. Waking up never seemed so boring, the puppet would either be by your side in the early mornings, or knocking on the door ready to whisk you away.

Seems that routine is coming back.

“Oh? Have you finally swallowed your ego-“

“I’m sorry.”

Seems he couldn’t go any longer without you, how sweet.

———

Tagging this, I was super confused if this could be characterized as angst w/ comfort or fluff. I just did both though.

"kunikuzushi, if I asked you to kill someone for me, would you do it?"

warnings: offscreen murder, light gore, yandere ish but not really imo, reader is implied to be a kitsune (reader is gender neutral)

@edenialucas, @huboi, @nejibot, @lovediluc, @yumixxn, @teallapril, @midnxght-sweet-time, @barbatosfavouritenun

“What?”

“You’ve ended lives for my sake before,” you say, not lifting your head up, hands focused on stitching the garment on your lap. “would you do it for me again?”

The balladeer puts his quill aside, a smirk on his lips as indigo eyes centre on you. “For my stoic fox to go so far as to demand for this person gone, they must have committed a major transgression against you.”

You made a sound akin to an aggrieved hum, pulling particularly hard on the thread before stabbing it into the fabric. It’s true; one of the things you share with Kunikuzushi is your hatred for humanity. Unlike the harbinger who pours all of his hatred to his lackeys, forcing them to endure the brunt of his cruelty, you’ve always preferred to keep yourself hidden from others. The lesser you have to interact with those phoney people, the better it is for your wellbeing.

There are times when you have no choice in the matter, and you’re reminded of why you despise being around others so much. Normally, you’ll silently wish for them to disappear, praying to nobody for the second you’re able to return to your room. But in this instance, they’ve accidentally ignited your ire: cold and seething and you’re unsatisfied with anything less than hearing news of that person’s dead body strewn atop a bloody icicle on a cliff somewhere deep within the Snezhnayan mountains.

“Won’t you tell me what this person did to offend you?”

“What if I said no?”

“Then I won’t press.”

“...I’m done.” You cut the thread before lifting the shirt up to inspect for any more loose seams or tears. “I’ll hang it up for you to wear tomorrow.”

You fold the shirt on your lap, standing up before pausing. “Kuni, would you do it for me again? For my sake?”

The balladeer regards you with an unrecognisable expression on his face. “How would you like it to be done?”

“Painful and slow,” you say without missing a beat. “I don’t want to witness it. You can tell me how it went.”

Kunikuzushi could only laugh at such a macabre response, nearly to tears before he recollects himself. “I need a name, you know.”

Your steps echoes throughout his office as you walk towards him, bending down to whisper in his ear before leaving a quick peck on his lips.

“I’ll see you tonight.”

—

“(Name), come here.” 

You sit on his lap, snaking your arms around his neck as you nuzzle against him. The harbinger’s voice is gentle as he hums an Inazuman lullaby; one that he usually catches you singing to yourself when you’re alone. He finishes his tune, smiling to himself as he smoothes his palm up and down your back.

“He’s dead.”

You nod. Ah, now that you think about it, that iron scent is especially pungent today.

“I handed him to Dottore. Or whatever was left of him. I don’t even know if his brain is still intact after what I did to him.”

You mutter something intelligible before planting a string of kisses from his collarbone to his jaw. As he strokes your tails — swishing slowly from side to side — he hears a whispered “thank you” and an “I love you” next to his ear, coupled with a quiet purring noise, and he knows that you’ll be sleeping well tonight.