... Working Under The Balladeer's Orders As One Of The Members Of The Fatui.

Hey dear!

For your selected character request I'd like to read some Scaramouche 🖤

I'm more into how things develop rather than how things currently are with the yandere so how would he be like before they start "dating"? Let's say darling is also a Fatui member, nothing out of the ordinary.

What made him so interested in them in the first place and how would he approach her? Would he play the powerful position card or try to sneak into her heart more? I'd love to understand how he'd approach the new situation. He's obsessed from the start that's new and doesn't sit right with him but he can't help but be curious, right?

As far as I'm informed he left the Fatui with the gnosis so I'm assuming he'd plan on kidnapping them from the start.

If you could write a small scenario with him trying to get closer to the reader that would be awesome. He's extremely twisted and I love love love your writing so much. You capture him so well. Do you think he'd whisk them away instantly? I'm dying to know!

If you don't feel inspired and don't want to write this that's okay of course.

Take care!!!🖤

Title: Best Made Plans [Yandere Scaramouche x Reader]

Synopsis: Scaramouche is getting out. But what should he do with you?

Word Count: 1774

notes: yandere

Scaramouche is not one to be intrigued by things, especially human things. Mortal, flimsy, inconsequential things. Things that bear no importance in his grander world.  

He is certainly not one to care about those who serve under him; he cares only for how they can serve him, how he can push and pull and twist them into meeting his needs. Fatui, not Fatui… doesn’t matter, at least not beyond the surface that he presents to the world. Harbringer, indeed.

He doesn’t normally bother to learn the names of those who take his orders, unless it’s to find out which of the Fatui agents bowing beneath him has fucked up enough to deserve his rebuke. 

He certainly doesn’t learn their faces or histories, doesn’t care to hear about their families and friends and hopes and dreams and all those little tiny details that makes humans… human.

But then you came along and changed everything. A storm that blew in with no warning, leaving electrical charge in your wake.  

You. You intrigue him. You inspire feelings of curiosity, and interest, and--warmth--in him. It’s the warmth, he thinks, that draws him closer to you again and again, seeking a fire that he thought long since extinguished. If it ever truly existed in him in the first place.

With you, he doesn’t feel the primal urge to immediately recoil when the masked agents at his command feel the bizarre (and utterly human) need to make themselves distinct to him with introductions or personal details.

Though it is only the new ones who do so, those who weren’t warned in time by the veteran Fatui that spread the well-minded notice whenever someone new comes under his command: Lord Scaramouche is not to be bothered--at least, if you value your life.  

Were you given this warning? It’s something he often wonders. If you were, you ignored it. The thought that you did so only makes you more fascinating.

He can still remember the first offhand comment you made in his direction, a joke about the rain. Instead of admonishing you for speaking out of turn, for daring to even look in his direction unnecessarily, he found himself unable to speak for a moment. And then he snorted and turned his head towards you, almost a nod. And you smiled.

It was insubordinate. It was infuriating. It was… intoxicating.

He’s found over time that something inside him--but what could be inside his hollow body, except emptiness?--wants to know you. That thing inside, whatever it is, it makes him want to pull out those little details in you that he finds so useless in others. He wants to keep them pasted in a book, keep them, keep you, secure in whatever amounts to his heart.

And what’s stranger is that you freely give those details to him, casually, easily. Sometimes with a smile. Why? Why do you gravitate towards him, when so many others have fled?

There’s an image that comes to his mind during your increasingly long conversations together, something he saw once long ago. A calm spring afternoon and some carefree girl dropping flower petals on a shrine in the country--sweet, natural offerings given without expectation.

The petals you leave him are not fragrant blossoms, but he treasures them as much as any Archon. He accepts them as readily, too, even if he knows that realistically you aren’t leaving them at his feet in reverence.

You offhandedly mention that you grew up with little siblings. He keeps this in mind when he watches you interact with other Fatui. You almost herd the other members in your troop, nagging at them, keeping them in line with a tone that teeters between the border of commanding and camaraderie.

He’s spotted you reading books in your off-time, and you sheepishly held up the title when he asked you what you were reading. Romance novels. Drivel, of course, and yet… he couldn’t bring himself to snipe at you as he might have, if he caught someone else reading the same useless junk.

Instead he flushed. He walked away before you could see the pink tinge to his cheeks, but he felt the heat of that moment for hours later. He felt it again when he ordered a servant to acquire a copy for him--keeping the title a secret under penalty of execution.

All these little details that mean nothing to him in others mean so much in you. Some nights he’ll dream about you, dream about the two of you, alone, without the constant interference of servants and agents and the nagging responsibilities of this life. In his dreams, you’ll smile at him without reserve and shyly tuck your hair behind your ear and then you’ll reach for him and--

What the hell are you doing to him? And why does he want you to keep doing it?

And now… now that he is about to abandon this uselessness, the Fatui, for something bigger, he can’t help but think: what is he going to do with you?

 It was easy to keep you at his side before. He gave the order that you stay in his personal service, and you obeyed it. That was that. You didn’t seem to mind the easier work, nor did you complain when he ordered you to be his personal guard at times, watching him while he worked. Silent, at first, and then gradually speaking more and more.

Anyone else would have been struck on the spot the moment that they dared to speak familiarly with him. But he lets you talk. He lets you ask him questions. He answers them, sometimes truthfully, when it’s not impractical for you to know these things. And you, in your naviety, let him ask all about you. Your life. Your history. Everything that combines together to create the unique and tolerable being that is yourself.

He should be able to leave you behind. Leave you here like he’s left so many others, so many places, now just vague memories and impressions. Perhaps he’ll recall the way you made his cheeks flush one night, or snort at the memory of sitting in at his imposing desk, reading some sentimental novel about people falling in love.

He should be able to leave you, yes. But he can’t. He can’t be content with only impressions of you. Impressions are ghosting and fleeting and they hurt, in the end. You, on the other hand, do not hurt. You fill him with something. He doesn't know what it is, but the urge to find out is enough to keep him bound to you.

How exactly to keep you with him is something else entirely.

You’re on time, at least. He’s been waiting in place for some time, waiting for you to walk by on your rounds. When you do, he calls your name. You freeze for just a moment before turning on your heel.

“Yes, Lord Scaramouche?”

He beckons with one hand, and you come closer. You don’t stumble over your feet like the others would, anxious and afraid that they’ve upset the volatile Scaramouche. You walk to him as if you’re walking lightly to meet a friend. And are you?

You don’t even ask him before sitting down on a nearby rock, stretching out your legs. Your eyes are alert but unafraid behind your mask, awaiting whatever it is he wanted.

He’s had the question prepared all morning. It’s just one question. Yet the answer you give will help him decide what to do with you, how to keep you with him, despite the whirlwind of changes that lie ahead.

“Why did you join the Fatui?”

The way your posture strengthened is fake and rehearsed and he feels a tickle of annoyance in his throat. This rehearsed behavior looks horrible on you. It’s too formal and unbecoming. He wants you as he’s seen you, carefree and even a bit wild. You came from a country village, you said, and it showed.

“To serve the--” you begin, like you’re saying a line from a play, but he waves his hand immediately.

“No,” he says, a touch of irritation in his tone. “Why did you join?”

You don’t answer right away. Your eyes flick one way and another behind the mask, finally landing on his face. You’re searching for something. Feeling him out. Seeing what he wants, and if he truly wants your real answer. He feels like he can see every conversation the pair of the two of you have had, every almost-touch, every glance, in your eyes.

No, he can’t tell you what he wants--you’ll run, he’s not stupid--but he does truly want your real answer.

You must decide it’s safe to trust him, because you wet your lips with your tongue and then stare straight ahead, relaxing your posture back to its formal familiarity.  Something about this makes him feel a little dizzy; your trust in him is what has bound him to you, but it will also be your downfall.

“I… wanted to get out.” Your lips twist into a smirking sort of smile, the kind you make when you’re talking about something bitter.

And then you do something that sucks the air from his lungs.

You lift your mask and set it down on the rock. Your eyes glance at his, and there’s an almost worried expression in them, despite your congenial history together.

He says nothing. He can’t, the air has been practically pulled from his lungs. Not that you need to know that. If only you knew that he could never reprimand you for showing him your bare face. A face that he could look at forever, far past your minuscule human lifespan. This thought makes him want to shiver, and he tucks it into his memory for later consideration.

“I wanted to get out of that little village and go somewhere bigger,” you continue, voice taking on the bittersweetness in  your expression.

You must be thinking of that little village, and all the details he’s learned from your lips come to mind. Small town, small people, small ideas. No ambition but becoming yet another mother, yet another cog in the wheel of life.

“I wanted to be a part of something...” You look at him again, and this time you hold his gaze. “Be a part of something so much bigger than myself. You know?”

He does.

And now he knows what he will do with you.

He nods, and offers up a thin smile.

“Something bigger than yourself, huh…”

He has a lot to tell you. And if you don’t accept, well. There’s always another way to do things.

aww what if scara’s darling copied his red eye makeup, whether to catch him off guard or because of boredom

at first, scara's narrowing his eyes because hm. there's something different about you. he sees you everyday, he could accurately describe you from memory for any artist commissioned to paint your likeness. this familiarity has even the slightest change in your appearance sticking out like a sore thumb. seriously, you could change lip balms and he'd notice. he's weird like that.

with this in mind, you assumed he'd immediately point out the rouge pigment painted around your eyes. instead, he marched up to you, taking your chin in his unnaturally cold hand for an impromptu examination. after observing you from every possible angle, it hits him. the color, the shape, the placement—

—he blushes and sputters some incoherent spiel about 'ulterior motives' and 'shamelessness.' don't take the insults personally, the poor puppet is malfunctioning. for you to have replicated it this well, you must've studied him at length. did you find him handsome? had you noticed he changed his conditioner, giving his hair a glossier finish?

these thoughts run rampant in his overclocked brain.

good luck trying to convince him you did this out of boredom. he's convinced this is a subconscious sign of attraction, any evidence supporting the contrary goes in one ear and out the other. the power of delusion is unmatched.

thundersoother

(when lightning strikes, nothing can stop it.)

word count: 4,999

trigger warning: none

note: afab character, platonic scaramouche / wanderer, can be interpreted as reader or oc

oh lordy, this is going to take more than three parts.

part one - part three (tba) (send me an ask to be tagged!)

He floated in the void that is absent of any light or sound.

Time has been frozen since the moment the puppet decided to forego the sight of the pavilion and closed his eyes. Whether the amount of times the sun and moon have changed places, or the changing color of the leaves on trees, he has no way of telling. The world continued to move forward without him, as he was stuck in a state of stasis.

Sometimes, however, he would hear. Be it soft air gently blowing, or the faraway pitter-patter of the rain, or the silence of the mansion that is ever-loud. Though all of them would sound muffled. Sometimes, he would feel. His fine garment resting against his skin, the feather resting atop his chest. Despite this, he was still in slumber.

Even as he heard a distant echoing groan, like something heavy was moved, he could do nothing. His eyes remained closed and his body stayed still, like that of a corpse. A silly thought flashed by in his mind; could his mother be back for him?

So the puppet waited. Strange rhythmic thuds were heard throughout, this sound never before heard, and he realized that it’s footsteps. Soft and light. It would fade away, then become louder, and fade away again. It became a repeating occurrence for an amount of time he could not discern.

At some point the footsteps became louder without receding in the slightest. Followed by the sound of wood sliding against wood, he realized only then, that someone had entered his room. Thud, thud, thud, the footsteps continued until he heard it stopping at his side.

In the silence that ensued, the cavity in his chest seemed to overflow with something he couldn't put a finger on. Anticipation, excitement, all of it? It overwhelmed him. Still, he remained just as he was - eyes closed, body unmoving.

The puppet would soon come to regret and loathe the fact. Because, whether it was short or long, moments later he would soon hear the footsteps moving away, briefly interrupted by the sliding of a wooden door, continuing with gradually-receding footsteps.

Questions go unanswered. The fullness in his chest drained away and was replaced with something different. Heavier, bringing him down to drown in something inexplicable, more painful, more sorrowful.

Don't leave, the puppet wanted to scream, don't leave me alone, alas his lips did not move.

There was only warmth that went down his temples. Again and again in an uncontrollable stream. The tears that caused him to be outcasted are now coming out of his eyes once more. No matter how much he willed it to stop, no matter how much he wished for those accursed tears to disappear, it didn't, and he could only lament in silence for moments that stretched almost endlessly.

When he heard the door opening once more, those tears only dripped faster. An invisible hand gripped his body whole as if trying to crush him under the pressure. The footsteps that never changed in rhythm and speed again stopped at his side.

The fact that he could not tell just who it was in the room with him– is it his mother? Is it someone else that had somehow found this mansion? No matter, it does not change the fact that he wished for no one to see this state of him.

How comedic. When before the puppet wanted them to stay, now he wants nothing more than for them to leave. Selfishly, at least, until it stops.

Then, any and all thoughts he had dissolved to nothingness as a coolness touched his temple. The left side, then the right side, over and over as his tears have yet to stop. Something soft soon replaced the cool touch to wipe his tears away. Though the touch itself was brief, he came to the conclusion that whoever this is, it could not be his mother.

For his mother still retained warmth as a being with flesh and blood. A bodily warmth yet void of any affection, thus making her cold. But whoever this might be, even if they are cold, their movements and touch reflected a warmth that he never had the chance to experience. Until the tears had dried, and only then did they also stop.

Like a core belief has grown within him, that perhaps… they will stay regardless. 

When the footsteps sounded again, he expected to hear the door opening, but there was nothing following it. Maybe it’s just his imagination, but the room felt just slightly warmer. The presence of someone else inside the vast mansion with him warranted ease to his mind and lightweightedness in his chest.

And so the puppet found himself to be a part of a routine. Still drifting in the sea of black, he could only listen and feel. Monotony broken by a new monotony. The unfamiliarity became a source of comfort for him.

Though indeed, he is still unsatisfied with this state of his. His curiosity would not be quelled like this. The questions he had were unanswered, and they would remain so for what he thought would be eternity, until fate would prove him wrong.

It was sudden. First he heard a muffled voice, soft yet stern that faintly sounded familiar to his mother, but with a difference he could not put his finger on. Then he felt his body being moved. Having no control, he could only sway while he was lifted with the same cold hands he hadn’t felt since the first time. The frontside of his body pressed against something stiff and as cold as those hands, his head turned to the side and nodded in the same pace as the footsteps he had memorized overtime.

The puppet had to wonder then, who is taking him and where? What prompted this change? And what will happen moving forward? He thinks, and while he does, in comes another voice that belonged to a man. He and the woman talked to each other. Their words are muddled together and hard to discern, but if he focuses on it…

"...you two… …sealed… …guarding him?"

"...only purpose…"

"...to talk to… ...lonely?"

"...at all."

Vibrant red and soft brown bled with black until it was completely replaced. Panels of wood below him was a sight he hadn’t seen for a long while. Such is the same for the walls, and the maple leafs that fluttered into the hall, an abstract decoration to the mansion.

Ah, these were the sights he never thought he would ever see again. Though disoriented and blurry after having his eyes closed for so long, he could still discern everything he saw. Nothing changed, not that he thought anything would, thus he was only proven wrong.

The voices compelled him to finally wake. As his head shifted stiffly, he came to an abrupt stop.

"Give us a moment."

His chest vibrated with a voice not of his own. It's one that is familiar to his mother - the voice of the woman who was carrying him on her back. As he was lowered down carefully, there were hurried footsteps that led away from him, probably belonging to the man he heard, though he hadn't seen him.

The floor was cold. The wall was cold. The yellow light shining onto his eyes was bright despite being obstructed by someone. He couldn’t see through the blur. When he could, what he saw was a living mirror. Clad in light purple clothes and face near split-image to the one who created him, lacking only a beauty mark below her purple eyes. Violet hair framed her face. With all of these facts in front of him, and a sense of hollowness in his chest that weighed him down, he spoke;

"...you're not her."

"No. But I am like you."

She remained unfazed by his words, while he was struck by her's.

Another puppet. Another discarded puppet.

That’s what she is, and that’s why she was in the mansion in the first place. The place that already housed one useless puppet, what would the presence of another one do to its empty space? They wouldn’t even leave a trace.

“A human came in and said that there had been a landslide,” she spoke as if not noticing the shock in his face. “I dare not take the chance to see if the place would collapse or not, so I planned to carry you out and leave. I hadn’t expected you to wake up.”

“I heard voices.” He said. “I always heard noises… footsteps, and doors. But never voices. That’s why I woke up.”

“Apologies. I suppose it was quite a startling experience for you.”

Startling… yes, indeed. A stasis broke out of his control, and he was at the center of the storm. Perhaps there was a sense of self-preservation within him that prompted him to wake out of his slumber. And maybe, just maybe, this is fate’s way of telling him to grasp his own life.

“Now that you’re awake, do you wish to stay–”

“--I want to leave.”

“Very well. Here, you can climb onto my back.”

He watched her turn on her knees and leaned her body forward, waiting for him. He could only stare, caught off-guard by her frankness and composure. It’s as if nothing could faze her. Such strong front, then he remembered that she was most likely the one who wiped his tears away. That memory is enough to confuse him.

“I can walk.” He said, not letting his thoughts linger. “I… I want to walk on my own.”

“As you wish.”

Though he said so, it took a considerable amount of effort for him to be able to stand on his two legs. The utility of his being as a puppet means that he has no muscle strength that would deteriorate with the lack of use, but after so long, the feeling of wooden floor beneath his feet needed to get used to.

All the while, she stayed an arm’s distance away and watched him vigilantly. Not once did she offer help nor did she say anything. Even once he was able to stand straight, she merely placed down a pair of geta near his feet and beckoned him to follow her afterwards. Her silence is unnerving.

The human down the hall seemed to be nervous while his gaze wandered everywhere it could see. Despite that, he perked up and approached them with fast steps, eyes never leaving his form, yet he appears to be most gladdened.

“You’re awake! How are you feeling? Your sister said that you’ve been sleeping for a long time. If you’re tired, don’t force yourself, and I can carry you instead.”

The puppet turned his head to the other one beside him. She who is taller than him, whose face bears too much resemblance to the one who discarded him, who kept vigilant. The only thing shared between them is the nature of their existence, but does that constitute them to be brother and sister? …a question to be answered another time.

As they headed to leave, the human introduced himself as Katsuragi - a yoriki of Tatarasuna. He told them of the smelting facility at the center of the island, the main source of supply of jade steel for the Shogunate army, and also told them of how he came to discover the mansion.

“Why don’t you come with me to Tatarasuna? I’m sure the others will welcome you!” Katsuragi was enthusiastic in his suggestion. He was quick to consider his offer more, however, upon landing his gaze on the golden feather. “Although… I’m guessing it would be harder to explain all of this to them…”

The puppet grasped the feather in his hand silently.

“Well, here, we don’t have to tell them about this place. I can just say that I found you two in a cave. How does that sound?” He suggested.

“If we are to come with you, then the proposal is agreeable.” Said the other puppet.

“‘If’?”

“I will go wherever my brother goes.”

His gaze met her's silently.

The puppet recalled the pavilion showered in red leaves and peeking warm sunlight. No matter how long he would sit on the en, time never seemed to go forward. The leaves would remain red, and the sun was never replaced by the moon. Indeed the mansion was exquisitely built, but stasis does not maintain its beauty. Not for those that have been trapped within it.

“We’ll go.” He said finally. Voice meek in volume, but his will resolute. “Can we stay there?”

“If you’re looking for a permanent stay, well… it’s not up to me. You’ll have to convince Niwa to let you stay. Oh, but don't worry! I will do everything I can to help you.”

How kind, he thought of the human. With the ease brought into his mind, his steps to ever-nearing freedom felt lighter.

It felt as if he was reborn anew.

He'd forgotten the true sun's warmth. The smell of salt permeating in the air. The breeze against his skin as if it was greeting him. Welcoming him.

The puppet was overfilled with joy, but he did nothing but to stand there, clasping the feather harder than he ever did. Admiring the world before him with wide eyes as if it would disappear should he blink. Ingraining the image deep into his head, every little detail, every little feeling, holding it precious.

He could say nothing. His lips may move and he may let out his voice, but there is nothing he could say. Try as he may to voice his thoughts, to let his feelings out, there are simply no words that would even be enough for it. Perhaps his silence itself could convey the myriads of feelings he's experiencing.

If he had the power, this would be the moment he wants to spend in eternity.

Dreams must come to an end sooner than later, however, but just at this moment he is satisfied. There will be many more chances to bask in nature. For now, his spirits lifted and steps light, the puppet turned to the two figures waiting for him at the distance.

Katsuragi had a pleasant and gladdened expression while he stood by the other puppet, impassive as she had been. Her hands in front of her thighs, holding–

The puppet reached his hand to his head, feeling the silky soft tuft of his hair instead of his veil. At that same moment, the other puppet leaned her weapon on the rock wall and moved towards him, his purple veil in hand.

“I didn’t even notice when it fell off…” he mumbled, sheepish and embarrassed.

“The wind blew it off.”

He’s not sure if that was supposed to make him feel better or not.

She affixed the veil back on his head and even went so far to ensure that they are evenly parted. Only when she was sure it wouldn't fall off again did she step away. All the while, he trailed behind her, his fingers pinching the purple veil securely. Katsuragi watched them with a hesitant smile.

“You said that you two have been sealed there for a long time…” he began nervously, “but it doesn’t look like it’s affected you the same way as your brother.”

“I do not concern myself with these matters.” She answered easily, but without a hint of condescension. “I am only here for my brother.”

Whether out of their creator’s order, or if she, for one reason or another, decided to do it herself, he does not know. One thing he is sure of, however, is that he could always ask her later and she will answer.

This assuredness of his is strange. For he only spoke to her only a few moments ago. The time spent listening to all of her footsteps never clued him anything about her. She is silent, always, and little of her can be discerned. Yet he found himself trusting her so easily… Be it his own naivety or hidden instinct, he is not limited by time to ponder about this.

Afterwards, Katsuragi led them deeper into the island. He spoke of the workers of Tatarasuna and the small community that lives on the island with much fondness. He is constantly assuring them - or rather, him - that the people there will welcome them with open arms. Though the sentiment is much appreciated, they will only know once they arrive.

With every step taken deeper into the terrain, the land seems to slowly swallow them. Rock walls surround them, so tall it makes the sky look like it’s farther than it already is, yet wooden houses are built on its walls. Gaps are covered by hanging bridges, and at the center of the opening, a big device hung afloat, radiating with heat.

The breeze no longer blew, but the air was much warmer. Sound of the ocean crashing against the cliffs and lapping at the beach drowned out by clanging metal against metal, wood against wood, and the crackling of fire. It’s as if they had entered a completely different world.

Judging from appearance alone, this does not seem like a suitable place for mass processed-ore production. Yet all the people they passed by looked unbothered by the seemingly ill-suited environment for such heavy jobs.

And just as he watched them curiously, they, too, seem to reciprocate his sentiment.

The Puppet ducked his head, his legs bringing himself closer to the other Puppet. She paced in front of him, but upon his approach, slowed down to instead walk by his side. She pulled on the top of his veil slightly, just barely hanging over his face. If he peeked over the veil and up to her face, he would see her keeping her chin up and gaze straight ahead.

Katsuragi led them through busy workers, up an elevator, to one of the many houses built on the walls. He made them stay there while he went and called for the two figures of authorities known as Niwa and Nagamasa. The Puppet wondered if he ever got tired running up and down such inconveniently placed buildings.

“We should prepare ourselves,” the other Puppet said suddenly, “they are bound to ask us questions. We must have our story as straight as possible.”

“Do we really have to lie to them?” He mumbled. “If they take us in, and they find out… wouldn’t that be bad?”

“Our current circumstances are too intricate to explain, and our identity can be held against us if we flaunt it. Let us observe for now, and when the time is right, perhaps we can tell them the truth.”

It feels wrong. Should these people grant them a place to stay, share their resources, and accept them just as Katsuragi said, would it not be treacherous of them to hide the truth? And what does she mean, their identity held against them? The way she spoke is as if she is wary of humans, which could imply her experience - or lack thereof - with them.

“Do not worry,” she puts her hand on her chest, “I will do the talking, so any lies told, will only be told by me. If the worst comes, I will shoulder it myself, and ensure that you are safe.”

So he nodded with a sealed lips. He returned to pinching his veil, thinking deeply of what went down in the past hour. So many things happened already, bringing forth change that he never thought would come to his life.

A blessing. This must be what it is, right?

The passage of time goes uncounted. Katsuragi eventually returned, following in tow behind him is a young man with a red streak in his hair, and an older man with a stern expression. The empty space in his chest felt as if it churned.

Katsuragi introduced them; the young man with a kind smile is the Armory Officer of Tatarasuna, Niwa Hisahide. The puppet thought of how he seemed to not fit the description of a smithy when compared to the older man, Mikoshi Nagamasa. Katsuragi was sent away afterwards while the two puppets were brought into the room.

“Have a seat, please. Make yourselves at home.” Niwa spoke kindly, before he disappeared into another room. The other puppet bowed forward slightly, then went to sit on a mat. He followed her move albeit more clumsy and less refined.

“Katsuragi said that he found you two sealed in by a landslide.” Nagamasa, who was silent this whole time, spoke suddenly. “And that neither of you remember anything."

“I remember that I am his sister." She corrected. Lied.

"Do you remember your names?"

"I remember that we never had a name to own."

The Puppet was given no name by his creator, that much is true. He only had a feather to his being. When he looked at the other puppet, she seemed to have nothing on her. Her outfit is adorned with patterns of flowers, and her hair band has nothing of note. Was she never left with anything in the first place?

"And what about you, boy?" 

Not expecting to be talked to, the Puppet shied away from the human's gaze.

"I don't remember anything."

"Not even your sister?"

"...no."

She remained as she was before. Unchanging. It's hard for the Puppet to conclude whether or not what he said was the correct thing to say.

"Well, you two look like each other, at least. There is no doubt that you are related." Niwa returned with a tray in his hands, two cups of piping hot tea balanced on it. He placed each cup in front of them, still with a kind smile. "Katsuragi mentioned that you wanted to stay here. Although that is fine, are you sure you don't want to find out your origin? We can try looking into your background and see if we can get you home. With your style of clothing, it shouldn't be too hard."

"...my sister said that we are nameless in the first place. If that's true, I suppose we never had a home to begin with."

Home. Is it the majestic pavilion where time is frozen, or is it the palace of the nation's ruling Archon? Were they his home, or were they just places he used to be at? If coldness and emptiness are what constitutes a home, then he doesn't want to go back.

A touch landed gently on his shoulder. Impassive as always, the other Puppet's hand on him only serves as a positive affirmation for his words. But Niwa had a smile - a different smile when compared to the one he wore when he first greeted them. It's smaller. It doesn't look quite as happy now.

"Then you can make your home here." He told them. “Though we hope that you can contribute to our community as well.”

“Thank you for your generosity. We will surely repay the favor in full.” Her hand came down from his shoulder to his own, folded on his lap. She bowed her head and once more, he followed in suit. “I can start working right away. Please let my brother rest.”

“No! N-no, I can work too!” The Puppet’s sudden outburst was surprising not just to those in the room but to himself as well. The other Puppet raised her head and squeezed his hand with just the slightest amount of pressure.

“You just woke up, brother. You need rest.” She rebuked him gently.

“I think I’ve rested more than enough. Far too long, even!”

“Now, now, you two,” Niwa cuts in between them, calm, “none of you will be working right now. Since you'll be staying here, how about you familiarize yourself with the place and everyone else first?"

The consideration is taken with fluster by the Puppet. But even so, his lips quivered with restrained joy. As he glanced at the other Puppet, still impassive as ever, he found that he could honestly care less about what it is she thinks right now. All that he needed to know, as he squeezed her hand in his grip, is that she will be there with him in his new life.

Night fell before he even realized it. They were taken around the area and introduced to the people, and were even invited to their community dinner. They were recluse and sat somewhat separated from the others, but the lively atmosphere captivated the puppet.

Afterwards, Katsuragi took them to his home, as he offered to house the two puppets. It’s a humble abode, its size could not compare to the mansion that previously housed them, but… the little trinkets around the house, the fireplace, the signs of life… it made it feel much more.

“I still have some things to take care of, so please make yourself comfortable.” Katsuragi spoke from the door, apologetic and shy.

“Apologies for intruding, Master Katsuragi.” The other puppet bowed her head.

“No, no, you’re not intruding at all!” He waved his hands quickly. “I’ll be on my way now. I’ll have someone send you two spare futons shortly.”

The door slid to a close. The sound of footsteps becomes quieter and quieter, muted by the gentle waves of the sea. Its sound covers the silence and envelops them in a dreamlike state, almost like the time when he slumbered. Everything felt isolated and faraway.

“How are you feeling?”

Her stare hides nothing behind it, her voice shows no emotion. He couldn’t figure it out. Why she appears so nonchalant and distant and yet every action she has made thus far seems to constitute to his wellbeing.

“I’m alright.” He answered after a moment of hesitation, and with a few more, spoke, “how about you?”

The other puppet tilted her head. “There is no need to worry about me. I am fine.”

He didn’t want to assume. But she was the one who stayed with him in the mansion, the one who carried him on her back as they left, the one who promised to lie in his stead to keep him safe. Undeterred by everything, why would she ever be affected? The puppet bristled in shame.

“Right. I’m sorry.”

“There is no need to apologize either. I should be the one to do that.”

In the room lit dimly by the mixture of an oil lamp and ocean-reflected moonlight that bled through the window, the other puppet sat down where she stood. He sat across her, hands fisted on top of his thighs. She is too uncanny. Too much like their mother. He hated it - the fact that she looks like her.

A strange silence stretched between them before the other puppet finally spoke.

“When Master Katsuragi first found us, I told him that you are my brother. You were unconscious at the time so I could not discuss it with you beforehand. I thought that the term might have brought you some discomfort, considering that you never knew who I am.”

“I would like to apologize for that. But also for asking you to continue the act, just for when we are around other people.”

There is an unexplainable split in the hollow of his chest. His frown came before he even realized it, uselessly hiding it away with a turn of his head. When she is right in front of her, there is simply nothing he could do to hide.

“...it’s alright. I understand.”

"You seem troubled by it."

It’s strange. He knew her as a presence that hovered and lingered around him while he was in the void, more so than a person with an actual relationship with him, up until only a few hours ago. Even now he barely knows anything about her. But still–

“That’s not it, I…” At the last second, he bit the top of his tongue, stopping himself from continuing.

But her coaxing was gentle, “it is alright. You can tell me,” and he relented.

“...I don’t want it to be an act. I want to be your brother, and I want you to be my sister. Because… because we are, right?”

Maybe it was the dim light’s illusion, but he could’ve sworn that surprise briefly flashed across the other puppet’s face. She was silent for a few moments more. Thinking and pondering deeply. Her silence made him nervous.

“I am not quite familiar with the details of a relationship between siblings.” She told him finally. “But if that is what you want, then I will do as you wish. I shall do my best to be a good and proper sister for you."

It's a start. It's definitely a good start. The puppet's lips bloomed to a smile, though it soon shrank to be one of awkwardness and shame.

"You know… I'm technically your older brother, right? But why… it feels like our roles have been reversed…"

"What do you mean by that?"

"Well, you've been very protective this whole time for my sake, but shouldn't it be the other way around? Shouldn't I be the one to protect you? Isn't that how it usually goes?"

"I do not see the point of conforming to traditional roles. If we can protect each other, then that is all that matters."

But how will he be able to do that? Meek, curious, and maybe a little bit hesitant, all that he has done so far is following his sister's words. The lies she's told are clear acts of her protectiveness of him, as if her previous actions weren't obvious enough.

He must learn. He must grow. So that he could also protect her, just as she has done. It will take a long time, he thought to himself, as he maintained his gaze with her sister.

But he believes–

"Then I will do my best to protect you too, sister."

–that day will arrive.

part one - part three (tba)

she-on, 07:58 AM, 2/28/2023

BLEED. — in which the Knave attends to her wounded little sibling.

— trigger & content warnings. depictions of injuries & blood, descriptions of violence, implied murder. 1.4k words.

— pairings & notes. hurt/comfort. arlecchino & younger sibling!reader. reader is a member of the fatui. reader is gender neutral (they/them pronouns). arlecchino is referred to using her real name.

— author's notes. arle <3

       "Oh, you— you came."

       Their surprise was evident, written all over their features as they stared up at the Harbinger. The eerie, echoing click of her heels cut through the silence that, upon her entry, had befallen the Fatui's medics. The microexpressions on her face—brows furrowed inwards, gaze focused on nothing else but them, and lips pointed vaguely downwards—promised a fate far worse than death for anyone who dared to interrupt her.

       Arlecchino was a calm, even-tempered woman...

       ...That is, she was a calm and even-tempered woman when her beloved little sibling was both safe and well. However, the blood soaking through the bandages wrapped around the lower half of their torso made it clear that they were not well. Safe, yes, but well? That, they most certainly were not.

       Her tall stance cast a shadow over their body. Perhaps if they were anyone else, they would currently be fearing for their life... but as they gazed up at her with a meek smile, it occured to them that they were definitely concerned (though undoubtedly in a far more lighthearted way than any other person would be).

       "You look so scary like this," they giggled timidly, snapping their gaze away and looking anywhere but at her. Subconsciously, their fingers fidgeted with the blanket draped over their legs. "Don't be mad... I messed up a bit. You know. Things— things happen..."

       Arlecchino sighed, cutting them off: "Are you wounded anywhere else, [Name]?"

       "No. Just there."

       "I see," she muttered thoughtfully, rolling up her sleeves. The inky darkness of her curse pulsed and spread, crawling further up her arms than it usually did—they couldn't help but frown slightly. Nonetheless, they said nothing of it. She would surely brush them off and tell them to worry more about themselves if they did.

       Arlecchino turned to the nervous agents in the room; the second they did, everyone immediately tried to appear busy, whipping their bodies away from the direction of the Knave and her baby sibling with such speed that it surely gave a few of them whiplash. "You all are dismissed."

       'Get out. Now.'

       With polite acknowledgments to her unspoken command, heads bowing to the Fourth, the Fatui's medics were quick to leave, urgency evident in their speedy steps. Anything they had been working on was long forgotten and left behind; certainly, the soldiers were unconcerned with their work. If anything, the only thing they were concerned with was getting away from Arlecchino. It wasn't very difficult to understand why.

       No agent wanted to so much as imagine what might happen if they were to somehow invoke her fury, especially now of all times.

       Once the final agent had left, and the heavy double doors shut—shockingly without any echo; perhaps the medics were afraid that even closing the door forcibly enough would agitate the Harbinger—their eyes shifted upwards.

       "Peruere..." they murmured softly, straightening their spine somewhat and removing the blanket from their legs so that they could gingerly swing them over the side of the bed. They wished not to agitate their wound further—it still throbbed and ached, so they knew that one incorrect move would render them doubled over in pain. Their elder sister took notice of their enhanced caution.

       "Did they give you any medication yet?" Arlecchino—Peruere, rather, inquired. She turned away from them briefly, speedily shuffling through the medical supplies on a nearby table. Scissors, gauze, antibacterial ointment...

       "They tried, but nothing worked... well enough, that is. My fever has gone down since I arrived and it hurts slightly less, but it just hurts far too much for any of their weaker painkillers to be effective. This base isn't well-equipped to handle wounds like this."

       Even breathing was a chore, really; each time their chest rose and fell, painful sparks clawed through their skin, originating at the gash in their side.

       "Hm." Her face twisted and soured somewhat. "...I suppose I have no choice but to speak to the Doctor once we return to the Motherland, then."

       Peruere then began thoroughly scrubbing her hands with special attention to the underside of her nails in one of the medical sinks, as to ensure that she did not cause any kind of infection to fester in their wound.

       Their breath hitched, and they immediately went on to frantically ask, "Aren't you busy? You don't have to come with me. I can return by myself, it really isn't a big deal... even if that means talking to him—"

       "No." Her eyes shifted to their direction (and for a moment, she couldn't help but think that they looked a little bit like a kicked puppy—dejected and pouty, as if they had somehow upset her). The Knave's tone softened slightly. "No. I do not trust the Doctor around you, nor do I trust these agents to ensure your safety. You are injured. I am the only one who can ensure no harm will befall you."

       "I can defend myself," they asserted. "I'm your sibling, you know."

       "I have no doubt that you can," she softly assured, drying her hands with a clean towel. "However, at the moment, you are in no condition to fight."

       With that, she collected the necessary items and walked back towards their bed. Setting all but the scissors aside, she kneeled down, and began cutting away at the gauze.

       "Did they clean your wound?"

       "Yes."

       She hummed in ackowledgement.

       Peruere's gaze softened somewhat at the sight of their wound—still wet with blood, the perimeter of the wound lined in matte crimson. She observed the way their stomach heaved with each breath.

       Scorching flames burned in her veins. Had she not known any better, she would resolve to deliver a fate far worse than death to whoever did this, to personally escort them straight to the lowest circle of hell and splatter their guts across the floor.

       (She awaited and anticipated the day that the Doctor somehow, in some way, brought harm to her sibling. Should that day ever arrive, she would finally have a reason, an excuse, to reunite him and the previous Knave.

       Peruere was patient. She could wait.)

       ...She did know better, however, and her sibling was just about as much of a force as she was.

       Whoever did this was certainly already well-acquainted with the devil.

       After squeezing some of the antibacterial ointment onto her fingertips, she gingerly spread it across the area of their wound.

       They grimaced somewhat, body instinctively snapping away from her hands. Peruere's freehand shot out to grab their hip with enough pressure to keep them in place but not enough to hurt them any further.

       "Shh. Be still."

       "But it stings," they whined, shooting her an accusatory glance; there was a glimmer of mischief in their glazed eyes, however, and she immediately understood that whatever they were going to accuse her of was unserious in its nature. "You're making it hurt on purpose."

       At that, the Harbinger rolled her eyes. It was clear that there was no true agitation behind the gesture.

       "No, it doesn't, and no, I assure you that I am not," she replied calmly, continuing to spread the ointment to ensure that every part of the injury was adequately lathered. "I put nothing on it that would make it hurt. Don't be dramatic."

       "Ahh... you're so mean, Per..." they sighed dramatically. "So terribly mean to your beloved, wounded baby sibling~"

       She chose not to feed into their mischief. Instead, she began winding the gauze around their body. Once she felt that it was properly wrapped—covered with enough layers to keep dirt and debris out of their flesh and blood—she pulled. "Is this too tight?"

       A soft hum rose from their throat as they inhaled as to ensure that it really wasn't too tight, even when they breathed deeply. "No. The pressure helps with the pain, actually."

       The Harbinger nodded, securing the end of the gauze. She then rose—though not fully, and rather bent at the waist somewhat to meet them at eye-level. The hand that was void of any residue from the cream softly carressed their face.

       Her pupils bore into theirs, thumb rubbing back and forth across their cheekbone. She was mindful as to avoid scratching them with her nail. Though she often told others not to gaze into her eyes for too long—'What you see may not be very pleasant,' she would say—they seemed to be an exception.

       In her eyes, as most do, they saw destruction, death, and madness. In them, it did not induce fear. It made them feel safe.

       And perhaps that made them no less mad then their elder sister was.

       That fate, however, was one that they were content with.

       The Knave withdrew, though not before placing a tender kiss on the crown of their head.

       "Rest now. We will depart for Snezhnaya when you awaken again."

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

warnings: yandere, NOT romantic

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

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

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

or the dangerous people to avoid, really.

vil:

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

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

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

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

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

💗

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

💗

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

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

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

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

“wha’ happened..?”

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

you… got sick? is that it?

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

yeah, yeah.. should just sleep it off.

actually, vil kind of smelt like.. pennies?

oh, no — like metal.

💗💗💗

rook:

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

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

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

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

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

💗

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

but… you could only furrow your eyebrows in confusion.

weren’t the arrows.. normal?

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

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

💗

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

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

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

i mean… the arrow felt different from usual.

maybe he got mad?

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

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

ahoy, twst fandom

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

Like the old times — Scaramouche .

📏 really light angst , big brother!Scaramouche + little sibling!reader ; platonic

Notes ; reader is 12 while Scaramouche is 15 in here.

⎙﹒Rules | masterlist

Scaramouche felt a piece of crumbled paper got thrown to him — it had been like this for a good one minute and it's starting to annoy him so he decided to pick on of the papers and read it.

‘is your sibling alright? I heard they're in the hospital. -Heizou’ Scaramouche reads the paper and he scoffed when he finally finished reading.He doesn't like it when someone asks about his family.He quickly wrote back for Heizou.

‘Mind your own business.They're definitely alright at the hospital.’ in reality,he isn't even sure if his sibling is really okay or not.But that letter will definitely convinced Heizou they're alright.

The bell soon rings loudly throughout the school and the students immediately pack out their stuffs.Scaramouche on the other hand were also packing his stuffs quickly to visit his sibling — he didn't want to make them wait for too long.

━━━

Scaramouche knocked on the door softly before he opened the door to see his sibling,(name) peacefully sleeping on the hospital bed.The monitor is luckily still beeping normally.He sat on one of the chairs that's provided for visitors and he kept on staring at (name)'s unconscious body.

If only he wasn't that careless and ignorant,things like this will definitely not going to happen — it hurts him to know that he's the reason why (name) is laying on the hospital bed when they should've went to school to study and make more friends.

He's the one who had been treating them so badly to the point where they wanted to run away from him.Now,this shit happened and he couldn't do anything to reverse this incident.

He missed the old times where both of them would always play and study together."Please recover soon..." He whispered with a sad look on his face.He truly do miss his sibling.

Kinda changed the way I designed my posts idk if I'll keep this or change it.Also,I know it's short but I'm not going to stare at my phone screen just to try and figure out what to write lolol

Do you think yan Scaramouche would ever actually be nice to his darling? or if there's any situation in which he'd be nice?

I think he has a very twisted view on what is "being nice" to reader. In his mind, it's nice of him to give you this lavish lifestyle (that you don't want and were forced into, in some way); it's nice of him to spend time training you on the expectations for how to behave, raising you above your station; it's nice of him not to threaten you or hit you for the smallest disobedience, something he doesn't mind doing to others, and yes if you go too far or you're in a pattern of unruliness he will physically "discipline you" as he sees fit--but the fact that you get away with any cheek towards him is enough to be deemed kindness in his eyes.

But. Nice...

So I've been tossing an idea around in my head for a while, thanks to some pregnancy reaction headcanons from @ddarker-dreams

tw: pregnancy, miscarriage

I feel like if you had a miscarriage, he would react...

Not kindly, not in the way that some others might. He won't swoop in and hold you and hold you and hold you, comforting you and stroking your back and crying with you, lamenting what has happened.

But he will force himself to be... sensitive. Aware of how what he might say or do could impact you.

Because you're already in a weak medical and emotional state, aren't you? Pregnancy has its perils, and miscarriages as well. And he can't have you getting stress-induced fainting fits or infections or anything like that. He needs to keep you strong enough to stay under his thumb.

So after bringing in a physician to check on you, he will tend to you primarily by himself. He'll wash you without a word, perhaps only to instruct you to lift your arms or move your leg.

I could see a scenario where that same day, perhaps hours later, right before bed, he sits on the end of the bed, and you're exhausted and wracked and sad and deep deep down agonizingly conflicted about everything (do you regret the loss of your child--or perhaps you don't, perhaps you're thinking about what kind of life would that child have had, under Scaramouche) and he just sort of looks at you and then

takes your hand and squeezes.

And in that squeeze there's so much said and unsaid. His own confliction regarding having a child, his own confliction about the loss of the opportunity, the feelings stirred upon seeing you so distressed from an unforeseen incident like this.

He won't say any of it, and maybe you won't even pick up on it. But the gesture itself is pointed and poignant on its own.

Then he gets up and orders a servant to bring you something, a restorative drink, with a snack he knows you like on the tray.

But don't ever say anything about his behavior to him, because it makes him uncomfortable to acknowledge.

And his unusual sensitivity would not last forever. When you're feeling better, when he deems you less fragile, his extra leniency will began to wane. After all, these things happen, don't they--to him, you should be expected to pick up your pieces and continue on.

Ajax’s children are scared of him, Diluc’s daughter loves him, what about Scaramouche? You did write a scenario where his darling had a miscarriage, if it’s in the same universe what type of a father would he be if his child was born? He did seem excited about the baby so I’m curious how he would treat the baby if it was alive.

Quite honestly, I touched on it, but Scaramouche is definitely the hardest father to write for!! But girl dad Scaramouche is what we're going for!

Yandere! Scaramouche x Fem! Reader

Forced Marriage AU

TW: mentions of forced pregnancy

Purple. The color of his hair. The color of his clothes. And apparently, her favorite color as well. She never wanted the yellow spring kimono or the girlish pink one, but always a deep purple. She'd twirl in the mirror in awe of herself, watching intently as you put the many pins and ornaments in her hair.

She inherited his face. You hated Scaramouche more than you could ever express, but you didn't mind the fact that little Momo got his face, even down to his expressions. Her large eyes were sharp, and if it weren't for her wide smile she always had, people would think she was angry. When she was lost in thought, she looked the same way he did when he pondered in silence. And when she ate, she held her chopsticks the exact same way as well. A little mimic of him, only cuter and sweeter, with rounder cheeks and a bigger heart. 

“Will you wear the same color as me today, mommy?” Momo tilted her head back to look up at you, her beaming smile still on her lips.

You nodded. You couldn't say no to her. Not while she was being so sweet and asking as politely as she could. You had a soft spot on your heart for her. More than a soft spot. You loved her more than you could ever imagine, especially something that came from Scaramouche himself. Partially because of the guilt. The disgust you felt with her in your stomach. You remembered wanting to ride your body of her. 

You can't remember what changed in you. Maybe it was that maternal instinct finally kicking in, or maybe it was the loneliness. Laying beside Scaramouche at night still left you with a crippling, crushing feeling of isolation. Until you felt her little foot kicking inside your belly. You'd rest your hand on your tummy and she'd kick again, almost as if telling you that she was with you.

“And father will be wearing the same as well?” She smiled in the mirror as she spoke. So innocent. So naive. In her eyes, you, her and Scaramouche were the perfect family. He was a loving father and husband and you were a doting wife and mother, just like the books she read or the puppet plays she'd watched. There was no way you could bring yourself to tell her otherwise. Not when she herself was too sweet to understand the truth.

“Of course. He loves to match with us,” you'd say with a gleeful smile. And love it he did. He loves anything that meant being closer to you and closer to her as well.

Almost as if he knew he was being spoken of, he entered the room. His face, which would be frightening to anyone else with a deep snarl and furrowed eyebrows, was comforting to little Momo. She beamed up at him, practically bouncing and down and she twirled to show him her kimono with her long flowing sleeves and the many pins in her hair.

“Well aren't you lovely,” he said, kneeling to gently pet her head in the way she loved. His eyes then turned to you, also dressed in that same rich purple, less ornaments adorned your hair, but many bracelets decorated your wrists instead, “And you are breathtaking.” 

Mentally you grimaced at the compliment from him, but physically, you smiled.  He knew how to push your buttons, Momo was his daughter after all and despite her young age, she was rather perceptive. She'd notice immediately if you didn't act like a character in her books, like the loving mother and the caring father. 

With his signature smirk, Scaramouche pressed a kiss against your lips, his other hand on your waist. Just like the characters in Momo’s stories, a romantic kiss between lovers, and for Momo's sake alone, you'd allow it. 

Bonjour

I'm back mootie🗣️🗣️

Could I request something w Scaramouche (in his Harbinger era) with an adopted kid (somewhere around 5 or 6 years old if possible)

I'm gonna be specific, so the ask could get a bit long, sorry😔

So he adopted the kid when he hadn't joined the Fatui yet (maybe before the betrayals? But could be after too) and he noticed the kid never aged, they were just stuck as a little child, both physically and mentally

But the kid could die if they got seriously hurt, so he never lets them wander off because he doesn't want them to run into danger and get crushed by a ruin guard or something like that

But one day he had to leave the kid alone, so they were left unsupervised in whatever place the Fatui stay in

And while they explored the place (since they never got to explore much) a random Fatui agent found them

Let's say that agent is a really bad person, the agent decides to hurt the kid because he assumed they were trespassing

Then the agent tosses the kid outside whatever place the Fatui stay in and leaves them there

The kid was too hurt to actually get up and get help (I don't think little kids would do well in these situations anyway) so they just accepted it and waited for something to happen

Cue Scaramouche finding the kid after searching (I think he'd find them quickly) and he's both worried and pissed (worried cuz his kid got hurt and pissed cuz someone did that to them)

The kid is too scared to say who hurt them so Scaramouche takes matter into his own hands

He finds out who hurt his kid and kills the dude (or does something else you can decide what)

And then everything goes back to normal (but Scaramouche is even more reluctant to let the kid wander alone after that incident)

If this is too much you don't have to write it!!

Take your time and take care of yourself too mootie‼️

Au revoir

Puppets

pairing: Platonic!Scaramouche x child!GNReader – wc: 2,1k – tw: bruises, child abuse (?) – a/n: HI MOOTIE!! It's been a bit of time since you sent me this ask sorry for the late reply 😞. I hope you can enjoy this <3 – reblogs and comments are appreciated!! – @gayestsillybilly

Dreams; small figments of consciousness existing inside one's unconscious state. A puppet wasn't supposed to sleep, let alone have dreams. However, when Scaramouche closes his eyes, it's as if the entire weight of his existence is lifted from his shoulders. For him, this is just further proof of his most unfortunate flaw.

There were few nights in which he would actually fall asleep; the vast majority of his dreams consisted of little memories of his time in Tatarasuna, scattered like little pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. And while Scaramouche was in the realm of dreams, a little one kept an eye on him.

His sleep was soon interrupted by hands that touched his face, poking his cheek and wiping away a small tear that had unconsciously fallen. Hands that resembled wood, but with a sort of human softness that disguised their artificial nature.

Underneath the fearful gaze, was a secret The Balladeer kept from the rest of the Fatui: the existence of a little puppet that followed him around like a baby duck following its mommy. A puppet whose intellect never evolved beyond the knowledge of a six-year-old, thus making them more of a conscious doll. And that doll was no one but [Name] themselves.

And so Scaramouche decided to get up and make some hot cocoa, like he used to prepare for them every time he was in Snezhnaya with them. It was a simple drink, yet their favorite one in this unforgiving cold.

“What are your dreams about?”

With a small sigh, he tried to look away so as to not answer [Name]’s questions. Curiosity once killed the cat, and he was damn sure that the same would happen to them one day.

“Nothing you should worry about.”

“And who said I'm worrying about you?” their tone was nonchalant; and even though he knew it wasn't ill intended, that was too straightforward.

“Oh.”

[Name] smiled at him before putting their small cup of hot cocoa away. A puppet didn't need to eat to survive, and Scaramouche couldn't understand why they enjoyed eating and drinking the same things almost everyday. Did they really need such a routine?

“You probably already know, but I'm—”

“Going on a trip again.”

They were being so nonchalant today that it made Scaramouche a bit surprised, despite his expression not having changed a bit from its usual neutral complexion. [Name] wasn’t like that, so there was definitely something wrong with them.

“You’re not usually like this, huh?” He raised an eyebrow before kneeling to reach their level.

“I don't know… I don't have a good feeling about you going away this time.”

Scaramouche sat down by their side, fixing his hair before placing his signature hat on. He wanted to find something to tell [Name] to try to relieve their fears, yet couldn’t think of anything motivating and just put his hand on their hair; he had done it many times for it to get repetitive, but this was the only type of affection he knew to comfort them.

‘Okay, I’m ready…’

[Name] finished packing the little stuff they had, mostly trinkets given by Scaramouche. Some stuff like a mask from Inazuma, a flower music box from Fontaine and a Snezhnayan doll. Scaramouche wouldn’t take them with him, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t sneak in his adventure. He would scold them, yet there wasn’t anything he could do about it when they’re already there.

“What are you doing?”

Scaramouche appeared behind them, making [Name] try to hide the bag by throwing it somewhere in the snow.

“Nothing!” They gave Scaramouche a “good kid” smile, hiding completely their mischievous plan from him.

“You already know the safety rules, don’t you?”

“Yeah, I know. ‘Don’t go too far, [Name]!’ and ‘don’t go near people with masks’ and stuff like that…”

He couldn't help but cross his arms in response to their tone. Deep inside, Scaramouche knew he was being a bit too overprotective; yet he didn't want to lose them like he lost the others, though [Name] was immortal just like him and there was no way he would be left alone as the time passed by.

But deep inside of him, a small sparkle of fear was enough to justify his dread. And along with this fear, came the need to protect them. So as long as he lived, [Name] would be safe and happy.

“Exactly. So just stay here and wait until I come back.”

[Name] was already used to being alone as he went on errands for the Tsaritsa, but they always missed him a lot. Though they knew he would just come back as he always did, something was bothering them.

He couldn't take them with him, not when his hands would be dirty with someone's blood; that would only make the only source of kindness left for Scaramouche afraid of him. Having [Name] openly next to him just increased drastically the chance of running into The Doctor along the way. They were the only secret he made sure that no one else knew about — especially Dottore; his worst nightmare is having [Name] end up in The Doctor’s lab.

“Then you'll have to bring me sweets,” they grinned while hugging his leg.

“We'll see how it goes.”

He gave them a weak smile, a rare sight reserved specially for them and no one else. If anyone else saw the Sixth with a genuine smile like that, chances are that they would be found dead by the next day.

His fingers tenderly caressed their head in a comforting manner. Scaramouche didn't want them to feel sad about his departure – though he knew they were already used to being left alone – since he would eventually come back to them.

Scaramouche had passed through three betrayals and, deep inside, he knew they would mark their fourth soon or later. However, he couldn't gather the courage nor the will to abandon them before being abandoned first.

“Can…”

He looked back at [Name] before removing his hand from their head, waiting for what they were going to say.

“C-can you give me a hug before going?”

Their arms tightened around his leg, not letting go of him anytime soon; at least not before he attended to their request. Their actions certainly caught his attention, since they rarely asked for anything other than candies or trinkets from whatever corner of Teyvat he went to.

“...”

Scaramouche looked at them, then elsewhere, and finally decided to take action by kneeling down to hug them. His hugs were uncomfortable since he was not the best at giving them; his hand wrapped around them carefully as he sighed. It didn’t last long, as he soon separated and turned around.

“Goodbye.”

That was what he said before going away, leaving [Name] standing in the snow. But it wouldn’t stay like this, since they would follow him again.

[Name] took their bag, cleaning the snow out of it, and went on their adventure. They hid in the woods before sneaking in a small boat Scaramouche had entered; they didn’t know where it would lead to, and after hours of traveling, the ship arrived somewhere. It didn’t look as if they had reached their final destination, so a camp was going to be built.

‘Hehe, I did it…’

They left after everyone else and put their feet in something that wasn’t snow for the first time. [Name] couldn’t help the big smile plastered on their face, they were too overjoyed to. And their eyes scanned around to look for Scaramouche, but didn’t see anyone.

“Is this what they call green gra—”

“You.”

A deep voice called from behind them, a fatui soldier carrying a gun was what they saw when turning around. A person with a mask, just like Scaramouche had alerted them to be careful of. And like any kid in their situation, [Name] tried to run away only to be grabbed by the hair.

“What are you doing here? This isn't a place for kids.”

They couldn’t see his eyes, but the anger coming from the man made [Name] shiver. A new emotion ran through their veins; was it fear? Dread? No, it was pure horror. And as if analyzing them closely, the soldier quickly lost patience and just threw them away like a sack of potatoes, making [Name] hit a tree very hard.

“Go away before things get worse to you.” He didn’t even look at them before going back to his spot, watching around to see if there was anyone else there.

As [Name] stood up, they noticed something terrible. They thought it was over until they felt something, something missing. Their left arm was lying on the ground; they weren’t just hurt, they were broken.

And in panic, they took their severed arm and ran away into the forest, not caring about anything else around them. Their face was full of tears, making [Name]’s vision blurry as they rushed and tripped on a few stones and roots; But they were too desperate to even trip.

Suddenly, [Name] bumped on something, or someone. As they looked up, they saw a familiar face: Scaramouche! They had finally found him, and he was definitely going to protect them.

As for Scaramouche, his eyes widened when he saw them. His jaw dropped when he saw them holding their arm. “What the hell are you doing here!?”

They flinched at his question, looking down. [Name] was embarrassed from having disobeyed him and ending up like this; but Scaramouche wasn’t mad at them.

He told them to wait for him where they were before going back to get something he could use to heal that terrible wound. And they waited, already having stopped crying.

“Tell me, who the hell hurt you?”

He stared deeply in their eyes, almost begging for an immediate answer from [Name]. But only sobs left the child's mouth as they held their broken arm.

"I'm broken now? Do I have to be thrown away?!”

[Name]’s voice carried a desperate tone that made Scaramouche look down, he couldn’t help the visible frown on his face as he pondered about the options he had. He himself didn't know what to do now; despite being puppets, the two of them had different compositions. What repairs him wouldn't repair them.

The only person Scaramouche knew that had the capacity of fixing [Name] was…

‘The Doctor…’

He pushed the thoughts aside and bandaged their arm, making sure to connect the forearm to the rest with a piece of wood that would be used for the campfire that night. It wasn’t going to magically heal itself, but at least they [Name] wouldn't have to carry a severed arm around.

“You won't be thrown away. Don't even think about it.”

Scaramouche then placed a hand on their shoulder and looked them dead in the eye, making sure they would understand what he was about to say. The silence between the two of them was agonizing; he was waiting for [Name] to say something, anything, that would allow him to make a decision between staying here to coddle them — not that he had much experience at coddling crying children — or going after the culprit and beating the shit out of them.

“But you need to help me here and tell me who did this to you?”

[Name] pouted, tears coming back to their eyes as they tried to wipe it away before telling him the truth.

“A scary man with a mask…”

The description definitely matched someone Scaramouche saw in the troop. Oh, that guy was doomed now; he would make him wish he was dead.

“I’m sorry… I did something wrong and it happened.”

He didn’t like seeing them apologize for something like this, so he just took their right hand and made them follow him. It was silent in the woods, making the atmosphere peaceful.

“There’s a city nearby, let’s get the candies you wanted and then go home.”

Scaramouche was going to make sure they felt better after this. Of course, they had lost an arm and he didn’t know how to fix it without The Doctor, but he wouldn’t risk losing them to him. He wouldn’t be betrayed again.

“You’re not mad at me?”

“No, I would never be mad at you.”

They had both broken promises here; he didn’t protect them from getting hurt, and they didn’t follow his orders to be safe. Though there was nothing he could do now, having a peaceful rest of day was what the both of them needed.

“We have each other, don’t forget that.”

“I won’t…”

And so they marched to somewhere they could be happy for a while. He was definitely going to pay more attention to them from now on, and they ouldn’t be that reckless for their own good. Bad things happened, but they were there for each other, and it wouldn’t change.

Sinking Into Your Arms

Masterlist

Cw!: yandere!Scaramouche, possessive behavior, (brief) drowning/suffocation, abduction, (somewhat) suggestive. Tags: merman scaramouche, modern fantasy au, established relationship, gn!reader, open ending. Summary: Scaramouche has finally gotten tired of waiting in one place for you to come back to him.

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You sighed heavily as you walked along the coast, breathing in the salty breeze. Your parents called you back during your vacation, just to rush you to get married. You weren't even that old! They had been nagging you day by day, even on your regular phone calls. Your parents wouldn't understand that you had been dating someone already, even if he can't quite go to meet them.

Scaramouche swam up to the surface the moment he felt your presence. You were gone for way too long! His eyes lit up at the sight of you wearing the necklace he gave you but acted as if he did not care one bit. "Finally care to come back, pipsqueak?," he huffed while taking out a small bracelet designed to your taste. "It doesn't matter. How long are you going to stay this time?"

You looked at him guiltily. You felt horrible for choosing an inland city, making it even more difficult to meet up. "A week at most…?," you scratch your cheek awkwardly while looking away. A dark expression flashes on his face but disappears just as quickly as it appears.

Everyday for the next week, you go to the seashore, at Scaramouche's request, each time bringing a small snack or gift as an apology for leaving him again so quickly. Your parents don't let up on trying to get you to go on blind dates, however. And with their intensifying efforts, your exhaustion also increases, leading to you pouring out all of your complaints on the final day.

Scaramouche smiles almost innocently, his violet eyes glinting under the sunlight. "I have a solution for you." His hands move to pull you down into a deep kiss, each movement slowly claiming the air in lungs as his. His sharp nails dance on the nape of your neck, pulling you deeper into delirium before pulling you into the sea with him. 

The cold water pulls you right out of your trance and you struggle against his hold desperately. Scaramouche lets go just enough for regret to fill your eyes, diving back in to give you some much needed air. This time, there is no resistance even when he stakes his claim on your lips, your tongue and even your existence as a whole. He whispers into your ear, his voice killing you into a deep slumber…

"News flash: a resident has been reported missing after going to the seaside. It is recommended to keep your family members, especially children, away from the waters as the current has been rather unforgiving…" Your parents cried, aggrieved at your disappearance. There is nothing they wouldn't give to find you again.

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A/N: oh wow this wip was all the way back from april lololol well happy mermay folks!