Make Me Your God, I Can Give You Everything

6)Scaramouche

Yandere!Platonic!Scaramouche x Child! Reader

Let me be clear, Scaramouche isn't the worst platonic yandere among the harbingers, but he will treat those yandere who mercilessly trample your mental health, nerves and self-esteem. So...

The danger of this platonic yandere-7/10

Common features:

It is difficult for Scaramouche to define his yandere side, but it seems to me that he is conscious. He knows in advance that you will leave and it's not about escape, but about your mortality. Sooner or later it will happen, because of this, he will try to avoid and ignore your existence. However, the longer he does this, the worse he keeps himself in control.

The first time you meet, he will make you cry on purpose. And, at first, he will be pleased with the result, but then, when he remembers your tear-stained face, he will be, to put it mildly, unpleasant. Honestly, it surprises him. Does he feel sorry for you? It's ridiculous... However, whatever it was, he achieved his goal. Now not only is he trying to avoid you, but you shun him like a fire.

I can imagine that the fatal moment will be when one of your loved ones swings at you and he, arriving in a rage, simply will not be able to restrain himself. He didn't want to have anything to do with you because he didn't want to get attached and see your stupid death, but he wants to watch your suffering even less. In the end, after he deals with the objectionable person, he will just grab you painfully and drag you along, periodically throwing you something like: 'Don't break out', 'Shut up', 'try to hit me/bite me again and I will do the same with you as with (Name the abuser)'.

A special feature:

What makes him truly special among other yandere and even among ordinary people is his ability to learn. And I'm not talking about everyday things now, but about his ability to change his behavior towards you. He needs a lot of time and effort, but the progress he ultimately shows is huge. His grip is no longer as painful as it was in the beginning, his angry words about your weakness and pathetic are more like a grunt or a way to tease you.

BUT don't let that fool you, he's still yandere and if you don't notice it the first time, you'll definitely notice it after he takes you to Dottore and demands to make a potion of immortality for you.

An adorable feature:

He always holds your hand, it doesn't matter where you are, what his mood is and whether you want it. He will hold your hand. In the first days, he will hold out his hand to you and after a few seconds of waiting, he will order you to take it, and if you continue to stand in a stupor, he will simply grab your hand himself. It may be silly and strange for you, but it makes a huge difference for him. To know that you are there, that he has control over the situation, is of great importance to him.

Ascent to Oblivion part 2 - echoes of regret

He wanted you to awaken, yet he’s not sure why. Maybe he wanted answers. A reasonable explanation for your absurd actions.

Notes: Ahhhhh, I'm finally free again! I'm so sorry for not posting for a while, I was busy. Anyways, thank you so much for being patient with me. Part 2 is finally outttt. Also, tried a new writing style? I decided to go for less editing on this one, I want to see if it's better in terms of writing emotions. Thank you for 100 followers btw. You guys are the best <33

Warning: reader is not traveler btw, scara's pov after the battle, slight angst?

Peace was a luxury that Scaramouche could never afford.

How could he, when the treachery was etched in the steps of his past ?

Yet the solitude that submerged the city of Sumeru leaves a bitter taste resting on his tongue. He settled beside a statue of the Greater Lord Rukkhadevata, overlooking the city she once presided over. The region he was supposed to subjugate and bend to his will. 

For once, he’ll be the one exercising control, toying with the strings of his very own marionette play. He’ll devote himself to the role of the puppeteer, finding delight in engineering the people to act according to his words and his words alone. To constrain them to kneel and beg for mercy, manipulating their resolve for his own amusement. 

But alas, it was not meant to be. For he had been defeated by a pesky Traveler and their idiotic companions. 

Scaramouche’s face soured. 

What a disgrace.

His sharp eyes remained its scornful glare at the city. He can not stand staring at the tranquility he yearned to have. The gentle winds that rushed his way seemed to mock him further . It left a lingering caress on his cheek, offering a taste of what he’d been missing for 500 years. He scowls, the hatred evident in his features. A flurry of fallen leaves soon crashed in his direction, dancing away as it avoided him to catch up with the gust of air. One such leaf had landed on your face though, as you lay asleep beside him. He had almost forgotten he brought you here on a whim, despite the Lesser Lord Kusanali’s warnings. 

Their conversation was still fresh in his mind. Having visited you a few times everyday, the Dendro Archon’s attention was caught. She harbored a small smile on her tiny face, her voice warm as usual.

“You don’t have to come here everyday you know?”

He recalls sighing in reply, “I know.”

“But I have to”

Have to, huh?

His answer never really made sense, even to him. He doesn't know why he possessed such a strong obligation to see you. Maybe it had something to do with the turmoil of emotions he was experiencing, raging in his non-existent heart and influencing his thoughts. He wanted you to awaken, yet he’s not sure why.

Maybe he wanted answers. A reasonable explanation for your absurd actions.

Scara still remembers that day. Every single detail. He can’t forget how your body pressed against his, the metallic red a cool contrast to his overheating skin. The way your arms encompassed around him, squeezing him tightly like you were terrified he’d vanish without a trace. He recounts the smash of the debris falling on you, a consequence you suffered for attempting to shield him from danger. 

A stupid move, really. 

He was a puppet, a mere rubble like that was not a threat to his utility. Yet you , with all your mortal characteristics, decided to play hero and shelter him from it. Now look where that got you.

Asleep . 

For two whole weeks. 

Why even bother doing something like that? He wasn’t someone you’d want to save. He had hurt you prior to his fall, yet with no hesitation, you jumped to catch him. 

…You dumbass.

What’s so special about him anyways?

He was nothing more than a discarded puppet, a vessel that was tossed away. A broken doll who's shattered pieces had crumbled to dust, leaving behind a shell of who he once was. 

What part of him was worthy of your adoration? To the point where you disregard your safety just to come to his rescue?

He was insignificant.  A failure . A worthless scrap of metal.

The despairing sobs he vocalized that day served as a reminder that his existence was a mistake. He plummeted to a time in the past when a shed tear sealed his fate to be discarded. He expected you to do the same. 

Yet you didn't .

You didn't abdicate him. You didn't push him away. You simply emboldened your hold and refused to let go. Your touch brought such fervor ardor he had never felt before, a fleeting emotion that loiters within his senses despite the passage of time. Your touch provided him the solace he'd been searching for. But did he even deserve that comfort? 

He eyes your complexion, and his chest burns. What a cruel play by fate, charming the wires of affection out of his grasp and awarding it to you like a trophy.

If only you didn't catch him, then he wouldn't be this troubled.

If only you let him fall.

If only you never cared.

The burn starts to grow, the searing sting tormenting the foundation of his being. His stomach lurches, oh how badly he wants to throw up. Maybe he'll end up vomiting all these useless feelings too.

He wills to change the past, for a preferable outcome in the future. If he never existed, this dilemma would cease to exist. He wouldn’t have to suffer, and you would go on your merry way. Like a parallel line, your paths would never be bound to meet. Maybe then, you wouldn’t be asleep in the first place. Maybe you’d be out there somewhere, roaming Teyvat with the Traveler without the hindrance of his presence.

His existence bordered between pain and fury anyway, and he knew more than anyone how it was certainly a life not worth prevailing. 

With a sigh, Scara narrowed those eyes of his in your direction. How dare you look so peaceful when he's over here, drenched in a scorching passion of self-hatred? The audacity to just remain there, with your pretty eyes closed, and not bother doing anything about it. He huffs, ready to hurl more insults at you. Maybe you’ll wake up from it, returning his jabs as you shoot him a dirty look. And yet… 

“Sorry…”

Something entirely different tumbled out of his mouth. He blinks, barely registering the phrases ripped from his throat. Did he just-

“...I’m sorry”

Why was he apologizing? What was there to apologize for? He wanted to slander you for your interference in his life, not to beg for forgiveness.

A drop of water descends onto your cheek. Huh?

Was it starting to rain?

“...You idiot”

He stops. Has he always sounded like that? Strained… and distressed? 

And why was his vision blurring?

“Please…”

The pang of discomfort bites him without a warning, and it hurts. It hurts so bad. His trembling hands reach out to you. He wants to nuzzle against your arms again, to have you drown out his sorrows in an act of intimacy he’s been longing for.

“Please wake up already”

Taglist: @featuredtofu, @slaylatus, @feikyuu, @yourfavoritefreakyhan, @materialgrowll,

@lxkeeeee, @l4r1n3, @cicil-nema, @alaynac101-blog, @beomtorii2,

@strawbeewie,

@gravy-kfc, @kaeeelie, @pocketdroll, @ladyvelvette, @mmeatt,

@itzshizuyaxd, @swivi

Taglist for (possible) part 3??

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

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

~EL anon

would you like new toys?

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

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

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

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

That title was unfortunately bestowed upon you.

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

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

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

~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Look at me.” Father sighed. 

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

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

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

“Speak up, my child.”

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

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

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

“Y/N.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y-Yes, Father.” You mumbled.

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

~

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

Summary: Dottore had always been impressed and interested in the making of puppets, with Scaramouche at his disposal he could finally dive into the topic and create a prototype of his own..

Pairings: Scaramouche/Balladeer x puppet!reader

Notes/Warnings: Reader is completely gender neutral and has no pronouns beyond "you"! POC friendly! Reader is said to have long indigo hair, but is not physically described beyond that!

When Dottore brought up the idea of creating a puppet as an experiment by following his design Scaramouche had said he didn't care what he did in his free time, but he truly did. Knowing first hand what it was like to be created as an experiment or to satisfy someone's curiousity, it was hard not to care even if he didn't want to. Especially when the Doctor had said that you would be created by "following his design".

It was dysphoric to live in a world full of humans that looked and talked exactly like you, but were so incredibly different from you. Humans who if they found out the truth would betray and fear you - not that he cared about anything like that anymore. But you likely would. You would have to go through that as well, if the Doctor didn't simply dispose of you after he was done tinkering...

Scaramouche had said he didn't care, but would occasionally he would go out of his way to deliver something to his corner at the palace to see his progress. Dottore knew immediately and would always have a smirk on his face when the Balladeer appeared to deliver something. He would love to poke fun at him, but he didn't. He would simply give some insight or details about his progress without acknowledging what they both knew to be true.

The Doctor was successful in creating you and giving you life, while you were made following his design you didn't exactly resemble him. There were some details and personality traits he could connect between you, well more like traits he had when he was still just Kabukimono - but at the same time you were very different from him too. Dottore had clearly had some creative freedom in what he made you look like, but the long indigo hair you had was clearly made to resemble his.

It was eerie looking at you as you reminded him so much of his past. You were always quietly observing everything around you with curious eyes, you tried so desperately to not be a burden to anyone. He hated your doe like eyes that would look his way occasionally, they were filled with so much innocence it was almost disgusting to him. Technically you were still in your infancy, just in a grown body.

In the end Dottore didn't much care for you or even need you. Creating you was a simple act of curiosity - to truly understand this delicate act of creating artificial life. Once his curiosity had been sated, he simply moved onto other things and never thought much of you or your presence beside him or away from him.

It was actually the Tsaritsa that gave you freedom and a name. While she wouldn't involve herself in matters conserning the Harbingers free time or personal life, she made an exception for you. To her you were alive and thus deserved to live like it, with your own room and own name - free to do whatever you wished. But truthfully you didn't know how or what to do with such freedom. Unlike Scaramouche you didn't have a purpose before or after creation, so you didn't have anything to strive for.

You weren't like humans, you couldn't have a normal life where you eventually grow old. You could potentially live till the end of time and it left you hollow. Longing for something you couldn't quite grasp, something like a purpose.

You stood barefoot in the pure white snow, your head tilted upwards towards the grey winter sky. The cold didn't bother you, you couldn't even truly feel it. The snow flakes raining down the sky fell against your face, but didn't melt when landing on your face. After all... you weren't a human. You didn't produce warmth that would cause them to melt away, you couldn't stay out too long to prevent you from being buried in snow. Perhaps it had been a joke, but you still followed the suggestion.

Scaramouche watched from the sidelines as you stood still enjoying the pure snowfall. He didn't know why he didn't just leave to do what he was supposed to, perhaps he was curious. His feelings and relationship with you were complicated to say the least. He wasn't your creator like Ei was his, but he felt some sort of connection to you. He didn't necessarily want to feel connected with you, but he did.

He hated that a small part of him was curious about you, of what you were like. If he could possibly relate to you or if he would form a connection with you if he were to approach you. Even if you were technically his kin, he knew it didn't mean anything as in the end even Ei had betrayed and forsaken him - who was to say you wouldn't do so as well?

You both knew he was there watching you, he often was. You never acknowledged him as he seemed to not want to interact with you. You did know of your connection, you would silently and carefully go through the Doctor's projects and had come across the plans that he used to create you. You longed to connect with him knowing he was possibly the only being you could ever relate to, but he refused to come close to you.

Unbeknownst to you he was actually quite protective of you. He had once heard some fatui members talking about you in a rather provocative way and it didn't sit right with him, he couldn't ignore it no matter how hard he tried. He didn't kill the morons, but he did make sure they'd never utter another word about you or to you. He didn't need to warn anyone else as the word spread around quite quick.

He would face stupid comments from the people he was supposed to acknowledge as colleagues, but he didn't respond to them. The next day he found you standing behind his door with a gentle smile and a nod. He had never seen you smile before, or been this close to you - his chest filled with unexpected warmth from the small interaction... You said nothing before leaving him standing puzzled in his doorway. You didn't need to say anything for him to understand what you meant. That was the beauty of your connection, you could understand each other so easily without the traditional need to say anything.

He later wandered out to the courtyard out of instinct and found you there once again gazing at the sky. This time though, he couldn't help but approach you. He didn't even know why or what he was going to say or do, but he still kept going. His steps caused the snow to crunch beneath his feet, alerting you to him. You curiously turned around to watch as he approached...

A/N: Not proofread lol

Do Puppets Dream of Electric Sheep?

Yan Scaramouche x F Reader.

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

“What am I to you?” 

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

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

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

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

Furniture clatters in a cacophony of noise. 

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

How do…? You shouldn’t know that!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Is his conscious being tampered with by the gods? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You clap twice and the surroundings shift. 

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

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

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

The mirror shatters.

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

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

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

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

It isn’t. Of course it isn’t. 

What else was he to do? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

All verbal exchanges cease. 

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

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

You pull away from him. 

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

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

You depart with a final threnody.

“Until we meet again, then.” 

…

…

…

Something brushes over his cheek. 

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

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

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

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

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

“What was it about?” 

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

The sarcasm successfully draws your attention elsewhere. 

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

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

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

He gives your pulse a chaste, reverent kiss. 

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

HIYYYAAAA

JUST SAW THE FLRITY PROMPTS EVENT!

What do you say about Lilia with "Don't bite your lip, I want to do that."

I would say hgghh💕💖❤️

summary: "don't bite your lip, I want to do that" type of post: short fic characters: lilia additional info: romantic, reader is gender neutral, reader is kinda implied to be yuu but doesn't have to be, not proofread, Lilia is shamelessly flirty thank u a part of this event

There are very few things that still manage to catch Lilia by surprise.

At his age, he's simply running out of new experiences; school, politics, even the wonderful world of the internet have started becoming monotonous and boring, leaving him in a slump.

Perhaps, then, that's why he's taken such an interest in you.

Such an intriguing little creature, he thinks, watching you from the shadows of the Diasomnia lounge.

You'd come by to drop something off for Malleus, the sweet thing that you are, and, once again, Lilia finds himself shamelessly staring.

He knows he shouldn't, but, oh, he truly can't help himself!

He inches closer. Lilia can't help but wonder what sort of noise you'll make when he startles you this time. A gasp? A shout, perhaps? Maybe even a cute little squeak... the thought of that is strangely exciting to him.

Only one way to find out.

He drops out of the shadows, blocking you from the exit just as you turn towards it. "Hello!"

And... Nothing.

You smile. "Ah... hello again, Lilia. Did Malleus tell you I was coming?"

His arms fall to his sides with a pout. Nothing? Nothing at all? You look at him like he has something stuck in his teeth.

"He may have mentioned," Lilia sighs. "You're impossible to tease these days. It's quite disappointing, really."

You smile slightly, much to his bemusement. He hates letting you have the upper hand... "Maybe I've started anticipating your pranks. You'll just need to find some new material,"

New material...? He scoffs. You're not even the least bit concerned about him!

"It used to be so easy to get a rise out of you. Humans change far too fast," he laments.

"Now I'll never get to see that flustered look on your face ever again! Or I'll have to come up with something new to tease you with..."

"Orrrr... you could just not tease me at all?"

He chuckles, shaking his head as if you had just said something ridiculous. "With your precious reactions? Impossible!"

You sigh.

Lilia tuts, tapping his chin as if lost in deep thought. He circles you once, twice, then stops in front of you.

"I can't think of anything," he sighs dramatically. "It'll come to me later... Is that uniform new?"

"Oh, uh..." you mutter, caught off guard by the sudden change in topic. You turn around yourself in a circle. How cute.

"Well, it's the same uniform, but I got my measurements taken at Pomefiore, and they they got me a better fitting one."

"I can tell,"

He hums pleasantly, dragging his eyes over your body. "They did a wonderful job accentuating your features,"

You huff and look away, much to his delight, clearly taken by surprise by his change in tone.

"...Thank you,"

"Fufufu. Don't mention it," Lilia says, eyes narrowing. "You don't get complimented very much, do you?"

"Not regularly,"

"I could surmise as much. Why, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you're almost flustered by little old me. Is that right?"

Hook, line, and sinker. Your eyes widen as you realize that you've walked right into his trap. "Oh, no, no. I'm not. I'm fine!"

"Really? Don't get shy on me, now. I'm beginning to like this even more than scaring you,"

He takes a step forward, drinking in the sight of you, your body's nervous reactions to his teasing. "How cute,"

"Tease," you say, biting the corner of your lip.

You back yourself against the wall of the lounge, to his absolute delight, and he takes that as an invitation to get closer.

"That I am," Lilia admits without a hint of shame. "But don't bite your lip... I want to do that."

That long sought-after squeak finally escapes you, music to his ears, and he leans closer. For a moment, it seems like he's about to close the distance between you... then, at the last second, he pulls back.

He chuckles. "Oh, what fun! I haven't felt so young in ages. But I do have other business to attend to,"

And so, Lilia leaves you stunned, trembling against the wall as he merrily walks off before you seem to come to your senses.

"Vanrouge, you little shit! Get back here!"

A slight giggle escapes him as he starts off running, with you not far behind. He was right; this is much, much more rewarding than scaring you.

Maybe, if you make another one of those cute noises, he'll even let you catch him.

thundersoother

(when lightning strikes, nothing can stop it.)

word count: 233

trigger warning: none

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

part two (send me an ask to be tagged!)

It was long ago when he last stepped in the nation he once called home - the nation that was once supposed to be under his rule.

He remembered admiring the mighty Mount Yougou from afar. Wondering if the pink petals of the sacred sakura tree were as soft as the veil he wore.

The first time he saw it up-close was now, and although the full moon above it made for a glorious sight, he did not come here for the view.

"The time has finally come," his words are haughty in its delivery, overflowing with pride, "I've made you wait long enough, haven't I?"

Only silence followed his words. The figure under the tree remained still, her back to him, as if deaf to all the sounds around her.

Somewhat irked, he called once more, "oh, dear sister, are you angry at me?"

And her answer was voiced, near as cold as her cryo Vision.

"You are not welcome here, Balladeer."

The blue gem glinted coldly, contrasting the searing heat that simmered in his chest. Her body shifted gently like branches against the wind, and he expected her to show the same stoicity she always had; one of the many things that reminded him of their mother.

When she turned, however, her visage showed anything but.

"Not anymore."

The despicable human feeling returned, and he will rid of it no matter the cost.

part two

she-on, 10:57 PM, 12/12/2022

The Tsaritsas and the Harbingers obsession

note -> These HCs are based off of the Pulcinella grandchild AU by @hunnieknight ! (I didnt include Signora cause she is 💀)

paring -> Yandere! Tsaritsa X gn! reader, Yandere! fem! harbingers X gn! reader

warnings -> yandere themed, blood, kidnapping.

content includes -> yandere! characters, obsessive! characters

The Tsaritsa

The first time the Tsaritsas had met you, she knew she was obsessed with you, she found you absolutely adorable

At first her obsession was only platonic, she adored you like a mother would adore a child, but as you grew and reached adulthood, so did her obsession

The Tsaritsas would often tell your grandfather to leave you with her, and while he didnt want to at first he eventually agreed

She would often spend time with you in her garden, the only place where the flowers bloomed, she made sure you knew that your only home is where she is, that that is where you belong, with her

The Tsaritsas wants you to be hers and only hers, but she doesnt mind sharing you with a few of her harbingers

Arlecchino

Arlecchino never had a good relationship with your grandfather, that was one of the reasons why she was suprised that you were his grandchild

Her obsession began when she met you during one of the meetings when your grandfather brought you with him, she knew she had to have you

While she knew that the Tsaritsa already had a unspoken claim on you, that didnt mean she could only have you to herself

Arlecchino would often bring you to the House of the Hearth, and while she May "love" you, she is no afraid of punishing you until you behave

Arlecchino agreed to share you with the Tsaritsa and the other harbingers, tasked to make sure you never escape their grasp

Columbina

Columbinas obsession started the first time she saw you, she found you absolutely adorable and she wants to make you hers

She knew the Tsaritsa and the others already had an obsession with you too, so all of them agreed to share you, which she was pleased with

Columbina would often sing to you to calm you down, especially after every punishment you were given for trying to escape your lovers

She, alongside Sandrone, would dress you in cute outfits and show you off as their precious doll

Columbina would make sure your grandfather doesnt mingle in your affairs, you now belong to the Tsaritsa and the other harbingers

Sandrone

Sandrone is not sure when her obsession started, but she knows she will make you hers, she doesnt care about the Tsaritsas claim on you, you are her perfect doll

She would dress you up and make you into the perfect doll for her and the others, she will make sure you are an obedient little doll just for them~

Sandrone often has one of her robots with you for protection, and to make sure you never escape them

She is the harshest when it comes to punishing you, thats why you always make sure you are obedient for her, because you know she will hurt you

Your poor grandfather has to deal with the fact that he will never see his precious grandchild again, but they could care less about him

Hi! Could I request hcs abt platonic modern AU Childe reacting to roommate/best friend (gn) reader feeling down and how would he try to cheer them up? Thank you!

cheer up, buttercup

summary: after an awful day, you find yourself in a gloomy mood for no reason. luckily for you, your roommate is here to help cheer you up! well, at least they try to! (it’s the thought that counts)

masterlist

pairing: platonic!childe, scaramouche, and la signora  x reader

reader info: gender neutral pronouns (they/them), reader is their roommate and friend, platonic nicknames (buttercup, idiot)

word count: 966 words

genre: modern au, platonic, comfort

format: headcanons

warnings: toxic positivity (if you really squint) from childe, mentions of scara almost “taking care of” whoever made you sad, swearing, scara grabbing reader’s wrist, signora not understanding why you’re sad, reader is just having an “off” day, reader is sad/cries  

a/n: ahhh! my first request! thank you to the lovely soul who sent this in, sorry it’s so late (your patience is appreciated)💖 i got really inspired and felt like adding two other fatui members, so i hope that’s okay! i really hope this is what you wanted, and i apologise if it isn’t 💖

childe has come home late. again.

he cracked the door open slowly, hoping that if you were asleep he wouldn’t wake you up

as he tip toes into the doorway, he hears some muffled sobbing 

childe looks in the direction it came from, and sees you sitting on the couch crying

on the inside, childe is ready to start a fight with whoever or whatever made you sad

but, childe keeps up the act of being a good and caring friend for your sake (and whoever made you sad, theoretically)

he stops sneaking around and sits down on the couch with you, concern  present on his face

he tries to get you to open up, and at some point stops you from wiping away all the tears that fall down your cheeks

childe keeps asking if you’re okay, if something happened when he was away, and if you wanted some water

you only answer one of his questions, and childe quickly goes to the kitchen for a glass

when he does return, you’ve calmed down a bit and taken some deep breaths

once again childe asks if you’re okay and if something happened while he was away

when you do eventually open up, childe just listens and nods. a few times he refrains from commenting and interrupting you, understanding that it’s your turn to speak

after you’re all done talking, childe smiles at you

he suggest going out some lunch and shopping tomorrow, assuring you that’ll he would pay

when you agree, childe breaks out into an ecstatic grin

“Alright! Now, let’s get you ready for bed. I have some big plans for us tomorrow, buttercup. We’re going to have so much fun that you’ll forget all about your worries. I promise.”

[scaramouche and la signora under the cut]

scaramouche was really late coming home, but he didn’t really care at all

you both have horrible sleeping habits, and he just knew you’d still be awake

which was enough for scara to go into a long-winded rant about how shitty his day was

you swore that he could wake up the neighbours with how loud he got

by the time scara finished putting away his coat and boots as he ranted, he finally looked over to you for a reaction

what he saw was something... unexpected

you were... crying? why? what happened? did someone hurt you?

hundreds of thoughts were going through his head, freezing him in place

but he finally snapped out of it when you began to apologise and started to wipe away your tears

scara grabbed your wrist, trying to stop you from covering up your emotions

for once, scara has this human look in his eye 

he sits down next to you and asks- no, demands you tell him who or what hurt you

if you just explain to him that you’re just feeling sad, he’ll calm down 

scara was prepared to send out a few goons after someone, but he stuffs his phone away before you can see that

he’ll hold off from insulting you, as its his natural instinct, and begrudgingly ask if you could talk about it

when scara shuts up, he is a surprisingly good listener. he nods along and does his best not to interrupt

once you finish talking, scara has this fierce look in his eye 

he wishes that you could have talked about this sooner with him, but scara does understand that it’s difficult to do that

he’s not the best at comforting others, and usually just applies what works for him onto others

and luckily for scara, a trip to McDoanld’s at three am in the morning works just as well on you as it does him

“Come on, let’s go, in the car. No, this isn’t a kidnapping, idiot. This is called “me taking care of my friend.” Now if you want McDoanld’s, hop in the car already.”

signora was actually just having some coffee, taking in the silence after a long day of work

then you come sulking past the kitchen doorway, straight to your room

she’s a bit surprised, she didn’t even realise you had come home yet

and something wasn’t right. usually you would at least say hi to her and grab a cup of coffee, but you straight out ignored her

signora is a bit offended, i mean, she was actually going to make you a cup of coffee just now to welcome you home and you just ignored her? how dare you

she stomps over to your room, ready to give you a piece of her mind when she hears sniffling through your door

signora halts, and before she can stop herself she whispers your name

it’s not that signora hates comforting people... but she hates comforting people

but you’re her friend and roommate, she has no choice but to make an exception 

signora leans against the door as she asks you to open up emotionally, taking a large sip of her coffee

while you talk, all she does is nod, hum, and sip. 

she does secretly think to herself that it’s ridiculous that you’re sad without reason. signora tries to help you find a reason, but you just openly admit that you’re just feeling really sad... for no reason

signora doesn’t get it at all, but she tries for you

when you’ve finished, she’s trying to think of something (anything really) that could easily solve your problem and brighten your mood

but nothing comes to her mind that would help you

“Look, I don’t really know how to comfort people. This is kind of hard for me, but I’m more than willing to try and help you. Just...  just tell me what you need and its yours, okay? Great. Now will you please come out and say hi to me, I missed you today!”

thank you for reading 💖 all forms of interaction to my posts are appreciated 💖

By The Fractured Altar.

Yan Scaramouche x F Reader.

Warnings: Yandere themes, unhealthy relationships, codependency dialed up to the MAX setting, and Dottore shows up for a second so sorry about that in advance. Word count: 4.6k.

i.

The first time the Wanderer thinks he’s lost you, he learns that every moment of fear he ever experienced before paled in comparison.

He awakes with a start. Lying beneath a blanket of gleaming stars, his eyes are slow to adjust to the low lighting, the once roaring campfire calmed to a hush. Its surviving embers nearly rival the magnificence of the welkin above in their glow. An empty pail sits beside the concaving wood that once stood so proudly. From this, he assumes he fell asleep before you. You always made it a point to put out the campfire before you both turned in for the night. In the warmer seasons, the Wanderer didn’t mind; it wasn’t until autumn’s chill nipped at his cheeks that he questioned your reasoning.

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