Yan Genshin Boys / Regretful Mornings.

Hi there! So excited your requests are open <3 What do you think Scaramouche would be like with a darling that has panic attacks? I've only had them when I'm seriously distressed, upset, or stressed, which I think a darling of his would be quite.. often. I feel AWFUL during and after them, just ill. I can't see him being nice (only sorta kind of you'd have to look under a microscope quasi-nice if something REALLY bad happened) or forgiving if this happened in company (my worst nightmare).

Title: Cracked [Yandere Scaramouche x Reader]

Synopsis: You have a panic attack at the worst possible time.

Word count: 1221

notes: yandere, forced marriage, panic attacks

By the time that you’re hauled out of the room, by the time that Scaramouche’s unrelenting grip on your arm bruises your skin as he pulls you into your bedroom, it’s too late to salvage the evening. The guests were not doubt chattering and alarmed, if they hadn’t already been shooed out of the estate by the guards and servants. They must be shaking as much as you were.

But you can’t think about them, or the guests, or even the way that you messed up tonight. You can’t even think about the pain in your arm, or the way that bruises are surely blossoming under his fingertips at this very moment.

You can’t think at all. It’s all too much. You can feel the cold sweat trickling down your back, budding at your hairline like morning dew, though it was nowhere near as charming. Your heart skitters along, and you wonder if you might die; and that wondering only makes it beat faster, only makes you lose your balance, stumbling on shaking legs.

You don’t go far, because his grip is so tight.

You can only just make out the words that he spits at you.

“Are you daft? What’s wrong with you?”

You see his mouth move. You hear the words. But you can’t answer. You can only breathe, deep, heaving breaths that don’t make you feel any less anxious. You want him to let go. You want him to leave you alone.  You want everyone to leave you alone.

That’s how it started--with everyone and everything. Too many people, too many things. Tapestries and flower vases arranged just-so. Your clothing, thick and layered, cumbersome and still foreign on you, though he’d be dressing you up for months now.

You, a perfect doll surrounded by perfect things and watched endlessly by guests, your oppressive husband at your side. Prepare the tea and pour the tea and smile and converse and say the right words and do everything pitch-perfect every time and tilt your head just the right way so that the flickering light from the lanterns reflects off your face to show off your modest yet elegant beauty--do all of these things perfectly because your husband was a Harbringer and if word got out that his wife was an ill-mannered disobedient little thing, he wouldn’t be pleased.

Normally, you were good at this. You had to be. He expected it, and he trained you for it, and all those hours of practicing your poise and your smile and just the right type of conversation that would please your husband without inciting his jealousy would be for nothing if you weren’t a perfect hostess.

But even perfect porcelain can crack. And you tonight, you cracked. Oh, did you ever.

Now, here you were, breaking on the inside and maybe the outside too. Sweating and cold and dizzy and scared and the clothes on your back are too heavy and the smells of the food wafting through the corridor are too rich and your husband’s words, coming at you in irritation and the slightest tinge of concern, are making it worse. You want him to be quiet. You want everything to disappear. You’re smothered, too smothered, and it just won’t stop.

You gulp in great, big heaving breaths as he finally lets go of your arm. You walk backwards and half-fall onto the bed. You dimly register his movements--he’s walking towards the table on the side of the bed, but you can’t fathom what for, and it doesn’t matter when you start feeling like your throat is closing. Is this how you die? Is this--

And then there’s a feeling of cold and wet on your face, a cold shock, and your throat feels like it opens as you sputter.

It’s still in you, that tight oppressive feeling, but now there’s indignation and surprise that begins to overtake it.

Then he’s there, kneeling in front of you--and that imagery might be shocking, if you could think about it more clearly. His hand grips your thighs and your mind hones in on the sensation of his nails digging into your skin.

“Look at me,” he says.

You do. Your lips quiver. Your chest heaves in and out, no longer frantic, but still unsettling.

“Calm yourself.” His voice is firm, and you try to grab onto his words and the sound of his surety. Your mind hooks into it, hooks into the dull pain from his nails, grasping for something to hold onto.

And you do take hold, breathing slower, deeper, and gradually the chilliness ebbs away from your limbs and you become aware of yourself again. Aware that your clothing is not suffocating you, aware that the presence of other people and hand-picked flowers in golden vases is not a portent of doom.

When you breathe normally, when you feel like yourself again, his fingers release from your thighs and he slowly pulls you up--his grip not harsh like before, but firm, steady as his voice had been.

You finally have the nerve to look at him, and the awareness to think about what just happened and what he just did and what it all might mean. His lips are thin and pressed together, and he’s not happy, clearly--but he’s not yelling at you, and you don’t feel the too-familiar sensation of electric crackling in the air as you might have expected.

He almost looks relieved. And that scares you, because it makes you feel relieved, too.

After a few moments, he speaks.

“That was unseemly,” he says. His voice is low.

“I…” you begin, but you have no idea where to take your words. It’s not the first time you’ve felt that creeping, overwhelming anxiety--but it is the first time it happened in front of others, in front of Scaramouche himself. Do you make an excuse? Do you try to explain it? Would he even care, if you did? The thought of opening yourself up even the tiniest bit to your husband and being rejected scares you more than the thought of his wrath, so you decide against it.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, lowering your head. The default words you turn to again and again, whenever you make a mistake.

He scoffs, but says nothing further. Instead, he turns and begins walking away, perhaps to see if the guests had remained behind or to give steely orders to the servants, no doubt waiting and worried about the mood he might be in after such an incident.

You begin to follow, dutiful though not eager, but he waves you off as he begins walking through the open doorway.

 “Stay here. I’ll make your excuses, as flimsy as they might be. That is, if my guests weren’t scared away by your little stunt.”

It should hurt. It should sting, to be dismissed like this. But there’s no real force behind the words.

You watch him go. And--not for the first time since he arranged your relationship--you get the uncanny sense that his words are hollow and meaningless. As if he’s heard others say them and he merely repeats them, as if he does what he’s expected, just as you do what you’re expected.

Sometimes you think, and you think it now, that Scaramouche is an actor reciting lines in a play. Rehearsed and nothing more.

๑・GENSHIN SIBLING VOICELINES 2

── you being their sibling and their voicelines about you (gn reader)

── featuring : zhongli , raiden shogun , scaramouche , signora

# ZHONGLI

" hm..? ah yes, you must be speaking of (name).. they are my sibling. "

# RAIDEN SHOGUN

" yes, i know what to d- huh? (name)? why are you here? "

# SCARAMOUCHE

" of course their my sibling! are you blind? "

# SIGNORA

" yes yes, old (name) is my sibling. nothing special.. "

🌴 © celestiac 2022 ♡ do not translate, plagiarize, or steal

"where are you going?"

yandere aventurine's words sends chills down your spine as you got up from the seat. the both of you were having dinner for the night that he prepared.

"and why?"

you knew of his behavior towards you. his possessive, obsessive, freak-like nature that terrified you sometimes. but, you loved him in every way possible. he developed this behavior the moment the two of you got into a relationship.

but sometimes, he scared you. yet, you knew how to comfort him. his anxiety of you leaving him.

"i'm just headed towards the bathroom. here, you can have my phone in case you're worried i'll be in there forever."

you smiled, handing the gambler your phone.

"i just needed to go really bad. i have been drinking alot of water." you reassured him, which he in return, relaxed.

"alright."

that's when you gave aventurine a kiss, before working your way towards the bathroom. you did your thing, and left.

you returned to aventurine scrolling through your phone, which you didn't really mind. you had nothing to hide, and everything to show was for him to see.

"you've been texting someone." he said, eyeing at you carefully. "why are you texting dan heng? and why." his voice deepened, nearly into a threatening tone. jealousy hinted in his voice.

"ah!" you perked up, beaming. "i was just asking him questions about the data bank. i got curious about something. you can read the messages." you smiled, returning to your food.

aventurine took a moment to scroll through the messages, seeing that there was no interest of romance between both parties. a sigh of relief, and he returns your phone.

"i see. well, don't text him too much. you know how i feel."

you nodded, before poking one of the pieces of your plate with your fork, hovering it towards your boyfriend's lips. "okay, i won't. i'm sorry, i just wanted to ask some questions about the data bank." aventurine opened his mouth, accepting the food.

you won't admit it to his face, but you've been trying not to text anyone for the sake of their safety. you were well aware of aventurine's possessive nature towards you, and sometimes it scared you. sometimes it turned toxic. but you understood at the end of the day, because you loved him.

... or was it your stockholm syndrome? or was it because he manipulated you? or was it because you got too scared, you knew your way around things?

at the end of the day, nothing could stop aventurine from attaching that already-apparent tracking device on your ankle.

Sing for me, little Nightingale (Yan! Scaramouche x Reader)

Ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/56024689

Felines are deserving of their accolades. Merit embodies their nimble spines and ductile limbs; bodies like pliable sand, threading their way through knots, twists, cavities and labyrinths. The prince of the hunt flexes and swipes his talons and his prey are swift to falter, their necks wringed and their spines contorted in ways that are unnatural to their physicality.

“I’ve got you now.”

At times, though, even a cat doesn't remain undefeated.

“How stupid are you to think that a cheap disguise would work against me?” He almost sounds amused, his words an arctic hiss against your ear. Reaching up, Scaramouche claws at the thick cloak that veils your face and tears it to your shoulders. Your hair is quick to mime the departed elements, hanging in disarray across your face. A mantilla of unkempt tresses, veiling whatever thoughts sketch your visage.

The Balladeer regards the sight of your person with a sort of contemptuous delight. Forcefully knelt at his feet with your wrists bound behind you and your head drooped in defeat—or in pensiveness. It's a shame Zapolyarny is so devoid of windows. What light finds it's way into these all-too familiar stone chambers is too sparse to see what expression you're making.

“Well? Say something. Or have I rendered you incapable of speech?”

Tentatively—begrudgingly—you tip your head back, back, back until your irises lock with the hypnotic indigo tinctures belonging to the predator who leers dauntingly above you. Locks of such a hue that only you could wear part like the red sea, revealing a thin, perhaps solemn, ambiguous smile—the last expression the harbinger could anticipate. Or desire.

“Thwarted again, hm?” You chuckle and it sounds like frost, “and I even took extensive measures to conceal my tracks. No good?”

“Failures are bound to repeat themselves.” Scaramouche doesn't nuisance himself with that syrupy facade he wears to rope his targets right between his molars. Malice is a noisome stench in the air as he adds, “This is the seventh time I’ve had to retrieve you. I'd figure you’d have learned your lesson by now, but time after time you insist on making yourself a burden to fetch.”

“There's no harm in trying, is there?” You maintain that strange curve on your plush lips. It’s difficult to tell what you're thinking, or feeling.

“‘No harm’, yet you delude yourself into believing that a time would come when you could successfully evade me. I wonder how long it’ll take until those dreams of yours crumble and die.”

“You know, there’s a word for what you are,” you state after a thoughtful pause. “I think it’s called: overbearing.”

What a strange girl with a strange smile. Normally, Scaramouche would meet such defiance by smiting his poor victim to dust within the blink of an eye. In your displays of resolve, though, the invincible harbinger finds himself crouching to your level, trailing a slender hand against your windpipe. How easily he could squeeze the life from your throat until you begs for reprieve; choke you of your indignation. Instead, he allows it to linger there without purpose, applying no pressure, grasping nothing.

“And there’s a word for what you are.” He nearly whispers. Difficult. Stubborn. Irrevocably his. “Irrational, when I only want what’s best for you. And what’s best for you, is to offer me your complete submission.”

“Even though I’d sooner offer my life than yield to you?” A new tone makes itself heard in your cadence. Such words, such simple, few words, reveal what lingers beneath your otherwise indifferent facade.

Sagacious. Provocative. Challenging.

Of course, you're testing the boundaries of Scaramouche's resolve, as he does with yours. Suddenly, the atmosphere is taut and palpable with tension for what may become of the future.

Sly, sly little songbird.

Something most unanticipated happens, and you reveal your hands, which you freed from their binds. Maybe it shouldn’t surprise Scaramouche, what with your prowess in the art of escape, but regardless your smile stretches in the presence of the astonishment that lifts his eyebrows and makes his eyes flash white, if only briefly. You take your time observing such a paltry display of rare, raw, emotion, how it shapes the contours of his features at the command of your actions. And gently, you take his hand that graces your throat and tenderly place it on your cheek.

"Ah... You've always been this way, haven't you, Kunikuzushi? Since the very day fate first connected your eyes to mine? " You slant your head into his cold hand with all the fragility of a shedding lotus petal descending into a reservoir, resting your cheek against his cold, liquid touch. Although, the action is far from affectionate. Rather, it's reminiscent of a sort of obstinacy, wearing the facade of love.

"You pine for my heart like you're starved for my flesh.” You take his hand and pass it through your cloak, poising it on your chest, right above your pumping heart.

"But... Perhaps I have no heart to offer you. What then? What will you do when you realize, there is no flesh to pick from my bones? No heart beneath my ribs?"

Scaramouche trudges through your words, running them across his mind. No plausible answer makes itself seen. He relinquishes his hand from your chest.

A cat may not have wings, but it is unrelenting.

“If you have no heart…” He murmurs, before smiling a bitter smile, “Then I’ll make you learn how to love.” how to love him. “I’ll create a heart in the shape of my love, and then I’ll take it. By force if I must.”

"You're willing to create something, just to seize and destroy it..." His words taste like blood upon your tongue. Strange. Carrying pleasantry and uncanniness in a sordid congruence. your lips falter from their smile.

"What a rotten soul you have... When will you realize that your avarice will be your demise?"

A wry, perhaps relenting chuckle emerges from your throat. Then you sigh.

"Perhaps we were made for each other." “

Then why do you run from me? Why do you fight, when you’re meant to be mine?” He asks, vehement, pertinacious.

"But that is where you're mistaken, Scaramouche. You see—” You direct your pointer finger to his chest, resting it in the junction between his collarbones.

“—You're tenacious in pursuing me. But I'm," You points at herself, "Tenacious in avoiding you. We are made for each other like the same ends of two magnets. The same, yet destined to be apart."

There it is, another one of your challenging remarks. The chirping nightingale wriggles free and unfurls it's wings, just as the cat thinks the bird is trapped beneath its paws. And oh, how infuriating, how exhilarating you are. Hatred is a simmering tempest that ignites the harbinger's temper. He despises how affixed he is to you, to the thought of trapping you beneath his claws, only for you to fly free and rejoice your liberation in song. It's petty. It's pathetic. It's irresistible. The Balladeer scoffs.

“Is this all just a game of push and pull to you? Just how long are you willing to avoid me?”

 “How long are you willing to pursue me?”

“Until you submit to me.”

“Then, until you set me free.”

Scaramouche can only watch as you put on your hideous, inhuman, anomalistic smile. Fine, then. If nothing else, he’ll build you a gilded cage to lure you into a golden prison disguised as a paradise. He’ll rip your wings from your body, flesh and bone marrow hanging in loose tendrils, so to erase all notions of flying free from your unreadable mind that he tends to make his possession, until you’re bleeding so sweetly beneath his claws. His beautiful songbird, who sings in the shape of his love.

Because you were made for him. He, the heartless one, who wishes for a heart. For your heart, which you are't willing to offer. Which you wish you never had.

You’re the only one to believe he still has a soul. That he ever had one, rotten as it may be.

Scaramouche cannot let that go. Regardless of how many times you flee from his talons, he will find you and chase you to the very ends of this earth.

Fly away, little singing nightingale.

for scara "am i bothering you, my lord? i just felt really lonely..." 🙏

notes: yandere, afab reader, forced marriage, stockholm syndrome

There’s a hand on your head before you know it. A firm presence that strokes, calming and possessive. You don’t have to look up from your position on the floor, carefully kneeling on a cushion next to his seat, to know what expression is is on his face. Possessive and pleased. A smile, though not exactly a nice one, even on his better days. 

You lean into his touch and shift on the cushion, hoping to get more comfortable. If he hasn’t kicked you out already, it means he’s in a good enough mood. You might be able to coax him into a walk in the gardens later, if you play your cards right. 

And you do so want to play your cards right with your husband. 

You don’t know when exactly everything began to shift. When you stopped feeling like your stomach was constantly empty, being twisted and pulled in every direction. When your everyday activities morphed from anxiety-inducing expectations into simple habits. 

When you stopped feeling like a captive and started feeling like a wife. 

Was it when you felt ill, and he deigned to stay by you through the worst of it? Spooning broth into your mouth and wiping your face with cool, damp rags? A soft, affectionate move that had caught you by surprise. The gestures had seemed foreign on his face, and you wondered for ages whether or not one of your ladies or perhaps a servant had suggested it to him.

Was it when he offhandedly confessed that the thought of entertaining a particular traveling noble made him want to electrify his own eyes out, and the pair of you conspired to get the man drunk--and thus, off to bed and out of his hair--as quickly as possible? It was childish, silly even. You poured cup after cup and Scaramouche said nothing as his guest became absolutely sloshed. That night you even laughed about it together, snickering, warm under the covers of your shared bed.

Little moments, bit by bit, that paved over the reality of your situation and gave it something more palatable in your mind. Something you could work with and live with, possibly even enjoy. 

And if you no longer shy away from his hands, if you call him husband without a bitter taste on your lips, if you do your best to keep him pleased and reap the results... can you be blamed? 

You know it’s wrong. Deep down. You’re not stupid. 

If you think about your situation for too long, you know what you’ll find. Underneath the layers of crafted moments, the shiny veneer that you’ve painted onto your heart. 

You’ll find a different you that wants to positively scream and fight at every turn. A different you that wants to throw up at the thought of being around Scaramouche willingly, one that would never initiate affection... much less crave it from his hands. A different you that bore his punishments, his stings and shocks, grinding your teeth to avoid giving him the satisfaction of audible pain. 

But you can’t live like that forever. You tried. You tried for as long as you could, rebelling against him, rebelling against the life he’d forced you into. You were tired of being pushed down, mentally and physically. Tired of being sad. Tired of feeling like you’d never escape.

So now? You don’t want to escape. 

Now you want him to touch you, to praise you. To shower you with gifts, though he still holds them over your head if he finds you’re being too needy. What do you need to see your family for, when he’s just gifted you an expansion to the gardens or a much-coveted visit to a local festival? 

Now you want to peel back the layers of Scaramouche, taking them off like marital robes, until you reach the Kunikuzushi underneath. Imperfect and clay-like. Unfinished. You want to see what makes him work and makes him stall and fill the gaps in him with something of yourself.

“My wife is lonely,” he murmurs, and his fingers still in your hair. “I’ll have to rectify that, won’t I?” 

You look up, finally, and your stomach doesn’t twist at the sight of his lidded eyes gazing down at you. Instead, your heart feels lighter and you reach up with your own fingers to intertwine them in his.

“But you already have.” 

*ೃ༄ 𝐒𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐌𝐎𝐔𝐂𝐇𝐄 𝐱 𝐠𝐧!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 [platonic]

warnings; scaramouche and reader are siblings, scaramouche kinda a PLATONIC yandere, lil bit of blood not descriptive, spoilers for inazuma archon quest and raiden ei and yae mikos voice lines, canon-typical violence.

sypnosis; doing your daily chores as a shrine maiden, you never expected to run into a stranger along the desolate path.

You never truly liked your mother.

She had her favourites, and you and your brother were most definitely not it. No, it was your glorious younger sister who was.

Your mother was busy, too busy to say hello and goodnight. Too busy to care. Too busy to simply let you be a child. To let you cry and smile and laugh, to let you run in muddy puddles and draw on the walls - no, no such intolerance would be allowed. The second you showed anything, you would so lucky not to end up like your brother: cast out, left abandoned and treated like dirt on the bottom of your mother's shoe. So, you shut down, only doing what told off you and otherwise acting invisible, it became a habit after while.

Your brother is gone, one day he and mother went out for a walk and only she returned. She refused to talk apon the subject. She seemed sour at the mere mention of his name, turning to conceal what she truly thought. You never saw your brother again, but he saw you.

Your younger sister held a similiar fate to your brother, she too disappeared on the night the sky itself got confined in it's stormy shackles. You missed her dearly, despite how she reminded you of your mother, at least your sister was there for you.

Your mother was gone now, and all that was left was thing you were meant to call your mother. Your sister.

The moment your aunt took you see her one day, you had been excited but when you laid eyes up in that husk of your sibling, you cried. And the husk watched without an ounce of sympathy - too much like your mother, too far from your sister - and your aunt had to hush you.

You had to live with this husk for 500 years. It was odd, originally you refused to be in the same room as it, but when the thing that took over the body of your sister disappeared, you would be granted with her smiles all over again. She became tolerable, until your aunt whisked you away by command of the Shogun.

Now you lived with your aunt.

It wasn't so bad here. The shrine was sacred grounds to people of Inazuma, yet you could not feel the same about it. Your aunt often caught you staring at the Sakura Tree, and you could see from your peripheral vision as her eyes would soften and then she would avoid you for a few hours. You never did much - that was what you were raised to do - and that's why you guessed your aunt often looked so miserable when she gazed at you.

You never visited the city again, not that you couldn't, you merely refused to. Your brother was taken from you, your sister - could you even be call her that anymore? - was gone and your mother had abandoned you. All you had was your aunt and these damn redwood yumemiru walls.

"Oh [name], dearest. Can you please inform the shrine maidens at the base of mountain that their shift is almost over? Thank you. "

End of discussion, without a word you left with a polite bow and gracious steps. It was like almost every day. Now, your aunt was too busy. You feared it would be the same repetitive cycle all over again as you walked down the crooked steps of the mountain. The sun had nearly set, the fortune slips that had been hung glistening in the suns glow as you walked past them. You loved the orange and yellow hues of sky, it so deeply opposed your mother's hair you couldn't help but let a smile come across your features as you looked at it.

As you reached the base of the mountain nearby to Chinju Forest, the suns warmth seemed to vanish as if it had been repelled by some invisible force. The Forest was silent as you wandered near the old shrine location, desolate of all life. Not even a Tanuki made itself known, but you supposed, maybe they had tired-out from hiding all day.

The shrine maidens weren't at their posts.

You thought for a moment, maybe they knew that the sun setting meant they could go home, but alas, they always waited for you. Maybe, they were called to the village to help with offerings. Or maybe you had pasted them on your way down the path and didn't notice.

You frowned gently before you felt a presence behind you. You were about you turn around and greet the shrine maiden, only for goosebumps to rake your arms, and this clawing darkness to hang over your head, consuming you with bone-racking fear. You could feel the eyes of the forest, or was it this mystery thing behind you, watching every twitch of your finger.

Put on a smile, said your training as you turned around. Just politely excuse yourself then vow to never set foot out of the main shrines land. Something inside of you yearned for it to be nothing, but you were never so lucky.

The other person made eye contact with you before you did and before you knew it, you were locked in this tense staring match between each other.

Purple eyes peered into your soul, despite this mans small stature, he towered over you as you averted your eyes first.

"Are you lost, sir?" You asked, if auntie heard you left someone alone without offering assistance you would never hear the end of it.

Waiting for his response you observed him, he was still staring at you. He looked so... Blank, like a fresh canvas ready to be painted only something told you that the canvas' freedom of possibilities had been smeared with a corroding soul-taking black. But, this is your paranoia over talking to a new person, for all you know he is the sweetest, most kindest man-

"No, I know this place like the back of my hand."

He did not sound happy. His face showed nothing but his clothes showed off his riches in royal purple and red robes dragged across his body which ended in shorts near his knees. Maybe.. He was a merchant wanting good luck from the shrine?

You nodded to him, you talked to him and tried to help therefore auntie wouldnt be too mad right? (Like asking one simple question is enough) You set off toward the crooked steps once again with your head low in respect as you walked past the old shrine.

"Can I help you?"

You knew he walking beside you. You could feel him without having the look at him. You couldn't even hear his foot-falls, it was as if he was dead as he took striding steps next to you. His presence was overbearing, familiar and yet so unfamiliar at the same time.

"Suppose you could help me, would you?"

Could he not get the point? It was night-time and he was asking such crytic questions, but you continued on towards the path as you answered with a fake smile, "Of course I would. It's my duty as a Shrine Maiden." - you would have continued onwards with the mantra of 'and as a follower of the Electro Archon' but you couldn't bring yourself to even acknowledge her.

"I hate liars." Rang his cocky voice throughout the slumbering trees with such low rumbling anger that you froze on the spot. But he continued on walking up the incline, almost as if oblivious to your condition as he lumbered forwards before turning around and facing you again. "Come on, [name], haven't I always told you that. "

"I.. I wasn't lying. And how did you know my name!-" you demanded, this boy was starting to annoy you, now only was he now in the way of your way home but also continued on with charade of an innocent man. Did he know you from the shrine? Maybe you had talked to him before on a busy day and forgotten-

"Whatever do you mean, you told me when you first introduced yourself."

A boy in a white robe gazed curiosily up at you, your hand clasped with your mother's as she spoke, "meet your younger sibling kunikuzushi."

You both stared at each other for a moment in awkward silence before mother squeezed your hand, too tight for your comfort. Oh, wait that's right, your supposed to- "Hello, my name is [name]. Please look after me." -introduce yourself.

Your mother let go of your hand, seemingly pleased with herself as she left the room with a small schlik sliding of the wooden door panel. You made no move to acknowledge the throbbing of your now red hand, but the boy had different ideas as he grasped it in his own to take a closer look at it.

His long purple hair rippled down his back as he turn your hand over to see the other side it. He looked so pretty but the gentle furrow of his brows upset you, it didn't suit him at all.

"It doesn't hurt, I am fine." You spoke with disdain as you snatched your hand out his gentle grasp, or tried to, as he held firmly to your wrist. He finally meet your gaze, and his gleaming eyes spoke volumes as if he was trying to decipher everything at once.

"Don't lie to me." He said with a smile as he let go your hand. A smile looked better on his face than a frown, yet you found it weird to see one. Was everyone meant to smile?

He didn't say another word to you until your mother came back.

Only now that the mysterious man that followed you could you make out any detail about his appearance. How the red of his robes seemed more and more like blood rather than paint or robes as he got closer and closer, the scent of copper hitting your nose like a truck. How his eyes glowed and his sharp features stared at you again, only different, with something you couldnt quite place within his eyes.

You stumbled back as if hit by a force, your hand launching to cradle your sore head, the another seeking something to try and stabilize your self on, when you couldn't, you tripped on the skirt of your long shrine maiden robes, landing on your bum with a thud. You hazingly blinked around, no longer seeing the young boy in a dark room but a moon-luminanted forest, what was that right now?..

You had no time to ponder as the light seemed to be taken away, so you looked see what had caused it.

That was why he was so familiar, as it clicked in your head you mumbled out his name, "Kunikuzushi... "

He clicked his tongue as he crouched before you, the moons glow still swallowed by his frame, "Took you long enough, huh. That's no good... And here I thought you were the smart one. Seems although I will just have to look after you, won't I?"

Maybe you should had listened to your gut before and not been deceived by looks of an innocent boy and be laboured by your training from your aunt. Maybe you should have plead ignorance to his arrival, or maybe you should have payed more attention to your surrondings. For if you had, surely you would have noticed the torn bloody piece of white cloth blowing in the wind attached to the fortune slip stand, left to guard the nightmare of the Balladeer.

Platonic yandere fatui(plus the tsaritsa) thoughts? Doesn't matter if reader is young, teenager or adult lol

Once again going purely off vibes bc we don’t know much about most of them!

Just gonna write small excerpts for each of them but feel free to request more in-depth hcs for any of them! Scaramouche already has a full set here! 💕💕

Pierro is the strict father figure. What he says goes and will be obeyed without question. If he tells you to stay with one of the harbingers for the day then that’s where he expects to find you. When he gets to spend time with you himself though, he’s a lot softer and happy to do whatever activities you would like to

Capitano is like a second shadow. He doesn’t really interact with you face to face, preferring to stand nearby and watch over you like a guardian. The type of friend that scares off people who make you uncomfortable except 10x scarier

Columbina is the clingy best friend. She’s practically attached to your hip at all times and loves to drape herself over you at every opportunity. She gets super pouty when you pay more attention to others in her presence

Arlecchino is the doting older sister. She brushes your hair for you, she makes you breakfast, she escorts you if you’re going out anywhere. But she also likes to keep you on a strict routine and doesn’t take nicely to transgressions. It’s for your safety after all

Dottore is the scary cousin. The one you dread to spend time with because he’s always up to something and insists you help with his schemes. Sometimes he makes you sit and watch whilst he does autopsies on the recently deceased, and you could swear some of them look eerily familiar

Signora is the pampered friend. She likes to show you off by walking side by side with you. But not before she’s picked out what you’re wearing, and done your hair and makeup. She wants to be seen with you, but you have to match her standard. You have to show everyone why she’s the only one fit to stand at your side as your dearest friend

Pantalone is like your rich best friend that buys you whatever you desire. If you look at anything even a fraction of a second too long, Pantalone will have his wallet out before you can blink. He’s also definitely not above bribing people to stay away from you if he doesn’t like them hanging around

Sandrone is the smothering mum friend. She pampers you and loves to dress you up and just sit around with you. Doesn’t let you do anything yourself in fear of hurting yourself and insists on leaving everything to her puppets

Tartaglia is like the fun older brother. He already has experience looking after his younger siblings so you’ll be joining them. He likes to take you to fights to show off but won’t let you try incase you hurt yourself. He is fiercely over protective as well, anyone who dares to even look at you wrong can expect to be on the wrong end of his bow

The Tsaritsa is like an overprotective mother. She fears for your safety out in the big scary world, so she keeps you safe in the expanses of Snezhnaya where she and her trusted harbingers can watch over you

TWST HC #1

Who has two thumbs and has the same birthday as a pair of sociopathic eels?

Depending on who you ask, sharing your birth date with the Leech brothers is either a blessing, a curse, or some amalgamation of the two.

Somehow, some way, they will find out your birthday. Did you mention it to a classmate in passing? That’s great! They can tell Floyd all about it. You got an alert from Magicam? You also get a like from Jade! Really the only way to be sure they don’t know is to make sure no one knows. But then where’s the fun in that?

If and when these two find out you have the same birthday, look forward to having at least one of them glued to you every waking second. You’re sandwiched between the two of them during meals, walking to classes, and studying in the library. For any joint classes you have with the upperclassmen, expect Jade to immediately take the spot right next to you. Some of the students mention that he’s not even taking this class, but don’t worry. He’s memorized the coursework and is more than happy to help you in exchange for keeping him company. As for the rest of the school day, well… Deuce was more than a little confused when he came into class and saw Floyd in his seat, practically draped over you like an overly affectionate blanket.

Speaking of your classmates, any friendly chats and hangout time is going to be severely cut down for the day. Riddle had planned to gift you with some Trey-made sweets and a Happy Birthday, only to immediately retreat the second he saw Floyd playing with your hair - he’ll just leave the box on your doorstep with a card. Before Rook could emerge from his hiding spot and perform the poem he’d written for you, Jade all but pulled him out of hiding. Some of them put up a good fight, trying to wrestle you away from the twins, but it’s not long before Floyd’s pulling at your sleeve and asking for attention while Jade kindly sees them off.

Azul and the rest of Octavinelle prepared a huge birthday party for Floyd and Jade, and you’re coming too. To be fair, they were already planning to invite you, but now it’s mandatory. Floyd made it mandatory. They’ve put together an assortment of sweets, snacks, and drinks, all of which includes some of your favorites. How and why there’s such a comprehensive list of your favorites is something you’ll worry about another day. Hm, you want to bring your friends, too? That’s fine, but if they cause any trouble it’ll be at your expense, so pick your guests carefully.

Birthday gifts are a double-edged sword. Figuratively speaking; no one’s managed to acquire a literal one yet and thank the Seven for that. By the end of the day, you’ll have a present from each of the brothers. To no one’s surprise, Jade buys you that one thing you’ve been saving up week’s worth of money to buy. Depending on Floyd’s mood, he’ll either recall something you mentioned in passing and springboard off that for ideas, or he’ll re-gift you something he bought because it looked cute. So, what did you prepare for them?

FSHHHH~

CRACK

BOOM!

Colors and light ignited the sky for a split second before slowly fading into the dark of the night. You’d had a feeling Floyd was going to enjoy the idea of setting off fireworks, but Jade’s enthusiasm was an unexpected if not welcome revelation. At least you assume he’s enjoying the display, if the way his eyes remained trained on the sky is anything to go by.

“And you said this is part of a holiday where you come from?”

“Kind of,” you shrug, pausing to watch Floyd set off another and send it skyward, “It’s not something known worldwide, and even fewer people celebrate it. But some folks still do things like have bonfires and light fireworks.”

Another burst of sparks pepper the sky, leaving trails of embers as they go. Willows, if memory serves you correctly.

“In that case, would this not be considered a celebration of the holiday rather than our birthday.”

Maybe it’s because you’ve been around Jade for the whole day, but you can’t help but laugh.

“Are you saying you’re unhappy with my gift? And after all the trouble I went through to get these fireworks…”

Against your better judgment, you lean against him. Just a little. Enough to feel him move as he laughs.

“My apologies. I should know better than to turn down such a compassionate gift.”

“Hey, Jade! Koebi-chan!” you both look up just in time to see Floyd running up the steps to Ramshackle, “Did you see how big that last one was? Man, my ears are still ringing.”

He grins and grabs your arm, nearly pulling you off the ground as he starts walking back to the field.

“C’mon, there’s still a couple more left. Let’s set them off together.”

He doesn’t even wait for a response before dragging you off. Behind you, you can hear Jade laugh to himself, followed by the soft crunch of footsteps against hard dirt.

“So did you enjoy your present?”

“Yep!” Floyd nods his head, playfully swinging the hand holding you as he leads you to a single rocket stuck to the ground, with a wick trailing a foot behind, “The party was nice and all, but this is more exciting!”

With a quick flick, a small flame erupts from his pen, and hands the wick to you.

“Go ahead, Koebi-chan. Light the candle and make a wish.”

“I don’t think that’s how birthday wishes work,” you chuckle before holding the wick above the flame.

You barely have time to register the faint hiss and wisps of smoke before being swept off your feet and carried away from the blast zone.

Hopefully Azul won’t be too upset if his henchmen come back a little… crispier than when they left.

wild bunny

[ scaramouche x child!reader ]

summary: whenever scaramouche looks at the young child that always stood idly beside him, he is reminded of a certain fledgling that he once lost.

notes: had a sudden burst of writing juice because of the scara cutscene that broke my heart, tis my usual platonic shit agenda lesgo | m.list

words: 972 | warnings: a lil rushed because i typed this while at work LHASHAHAHAHA also mentions of dead pipol lmao

"what the fuck."

scaramouche stares in disbelief, jaw slacked and furrowed eyes pointed at the small cocoon of blanket on the couch in his office. your fluff of hair is disheveled, eyes unusually puffy and teary rather than dull. the small trail of sheen on your cheeks confirms his suspicion.

the unfeeling stray he picked out from the wilderness of inazuma is crying.

he had not seen you express a single emotion other than conflict, anger and bloodlust before, so for you to be crying—alone—it's safe to say that the balladeer is undeniably bamboozled.

"what are you wasting tears for, brat?"

maybe he should have been a little softer when approaching children in their… vulnerable state. but honestly speaking, scaramouche doesn't exactly know if that applies to you. children under the wing of the fatui aren't exactly normal—especially, children who can wipe out a whole team of fatus. nonetheless, you are still a young fledgling, exposed to the truth of this world where the gods are cruel and being weak does not equal to survival.

you remind him so much of kunikuzushi.

he grimace at the reflection, a parallel that coaxed him into taking your battered form under his wing—an unbelievable truth, as much as he denies it.

"i lost the bunny."

"the what?"

he crouches in front of the couch, forearms on his knees with an exasperated look on his face, though his feelings are far from the expression plastered on display. he has an inkling about what's upsetting you, now that he looks over you once more.

you and that thing are practically inseparable.

"i lost the bunny you gave me."

and by bunny, you meant the stuffed bunny he gave you a few months after he plucked you from the wild.

the one scaramouche gave because the first time he saw you was when you were blankly staring at the lifeless bunny on the ground. it died from the aftermath of a wild goose chase. a few weeks before he found you, fatuis and random nobushis would turn up dead in the wilderness of inazuma. it infuriated scaramouche. camps upon camps of fatus would be thrown into disarray and their rations are emptied. when he sent his underlings after the perpetrator, they'd fail to come back with good news. worse, they won't come back at all. he'd come upon them sprawled on the dirty ground somewhere else, dead.

so he went after the menace himself.

that's when he found you in the middle of a fatui camp, his underlings basically useless at this point, slumped on the ground and the poor innocent bunny in front of you. it's later then after he apprehended you that he found out that you were protecting the tiny mammal.

you were just a kid trying to survive in a world filled with monsters, strong enough to protect yourself but helpless and clueless when it comes to the life of others.

when his eye caught sight of a ragged stuffed bunny in an abandoned village, he grabbed it on impulse, faltering only when he was about to hand the now clean stuffed bunny that he stitched up himself. despite being confused as fuck, he casually tossed the thing at you, telling you that it's of no use to him and that you should act like a kid more because your indifference is creeping him out.

he prefers you over any kid by the way. don't tell him i told you.

"i'm sorry," his eye twitched, irritated at how you seemed to be so bothered. it's just a random stuffed bunny, nothing great about it. but he supposes that for someone at your age and comprehension, it must've meant something special for you.

and it does, a lot.

"it's just a toy."

"you gave me that bunny."

he sighed audibly, rolling his eyes before pushing himself to full height, arms crossed.

"it's not the only stuffed bunny in the world, idiot."

"it's the one you gave me. i don't want just any stuffed bunny."

now this, caught him off guard.

you seemed to be genuinely sad about losing the bunny, an expression he only saw on the day you first met. the same look on your face when you failed to protect something you deemed precious. if you're directing such sentimentality towards the stuffed bunny, then you must've really loved it.

more so because it came from him.

scaramouche is brought back to centuries past, an image of a different child flashing before his eyes.

he feels his chest tighten, but he dares not linger at the thought.

"look, you little gremlin," scaramouche grumbled, masking this unfamiliar feeling with exasperation and irritation—he dares not display such thing. "we can just get you a new one and it would still come from me. who the hell do you think provides for you, huh? me, no one else."

he sees your eyes brightened in the slightest, now facing him. he can literally imagine an invisible tail wagging with how you seemed to perked up. another unfamiliar sight, but not unwelcomed. if anything, it's going to be what he thinks of for the next few weeks, unbeknownst to him.

"but how about the one i lost?"

"forget it, it's ragged anyway," he gestures you to follow. "move your little feet, we have places to be and things to do."

the sound of your feet trailing behind him is something he would come to love listening to. that and the slight tug on his sleeves where your little hand naturally clutches around.

a week passes, you found a pristine white bunny in your quarters. it looks different from the one you used to have, but the stitches are familiar and the small electro symbol on its torso is one that you will not mistake for a different person's handiwork.

Playing Favorites. Yan Scaramouche x Reader

Warnings: Yandere themes, unhealthy relationships, major power imbalances, having to deal with Scaramouche because that honestly entitles you to financial compensation.  Word count: 1.5k. 

(Thank you to @bye-bye-sunbird​ for making the beautiful header <333)

This is a part of the AU where the Reader/Darling is shared by all of the Harbingers. 

“I’ve been practicing my calligraphy lately.”

“Mhm.”

“You make it look so easy… I can’t say I’ve made a lot of progress, but I’d like to show you my work when you get the chance. I have some drying now, actually.”

“Ah.”

“The characters for your name have been especially tricky. I can do the part that looks like a square, it’s just filling in the rest of it where I tend to mess up. You know, smudging the lines on accident and all that. I still manage to get ink on my clothes even if I roll up my sleeves… aha… how does that happen, I wonder?”  

“Mm.”

This is nothing short of drawn-out torture.

Keep reading