Love That Beat Vanity

Lilia wondered if you knew what it meant to be loved by a fae. Did you truly?

To be loved by a fae meant to be worshipped.

To be loved beyond eternity.

To have lasting memories that would never fade.

To be found in all lifetimes until the end of eternity.

Silver and Sebek knew, having grown with faes and learning their culture.

Silver, even as a human, had learned and readily accepted it but he grew with such knowledge.

Sebek had grown knowing such from his mother and grandfather, even his father knew what it meant to be loved by a fae and willingly accepted it.

Lilia watched as you dozed on Malleus’ lap, the prince stroking your hair with a loving gaze upon you.

You, who were loved and cherished by him and Malleus, two powerful faes who made nations tremble at their power.

Lilia knelt by your side, kissing your forehead. His own blessing mixing with Malleus’s, marking you theirs.

Lilia knew that in time you would realize what it meant to be loved by them, maybe you already had.

After all, you loved so gently yet passionately. You loved with your entire self. It was only proper for that love to be returned just as intensely.

He knew you would never come to danger, not with them protecting you: the Dragon and the General of Briar Valley.

You were also protected by the Knights of the Future King of Briar Valley, both of whom considered you family.

You were loved and cherished, and will continue to be so by all you have come to know and will know.

And of course, especially by them.

Tagging @masquerade-of-misery my fellow comrade of this ot3 🫶💚

Ehe, for Scara (brainrot is reaching new heights): “So much snark today. Would a hug shut that mouth of yours up? Or better yet… a kiss?”

"... Reprobate."

Scaramouche glaring at you isn’t a new development. You’d say it’s his default manner of expression; if resting bitch face was on performance-enhancing drugs. You take the archaic insult with ease. It’s not the worst thing he’s called you. Lately, you’ve theorized he must’ve taken to studying offensive language for the sole purpose of flinging verbal venom your way. 

Well, if anything, he should be grateful that you’ve motivated him to expand his vocabulary. You’d say you’re welcome if you didn’t value your well-being. However, today just so happens to be a day where your well-being feels marginally worth defending. 

“I’m not hearing a no.” 

He scoffs, his gaze momentarily leaving your form to appraise the surrounding area. Any unfortunate Fatui goon squad souls that happened to overhear this conversation could expect to be court-martialed... or worse. Seeing how his eye will not stop twitching (how uncomfortable is that?), you’re placing your bets on worse. 

“Have you no sense of shame? Forget it, why am I even bothering to ask when I already know the answer,” he runs his hand through his bangs and sighs. Uh oh. You sense a monologue looming on the horizon. “You can’t expect me to acquiesce to your every annoying whim so easily. If I did, there’d be no end in sight. That boundless imagination of yours is such a pain to deal with. Really, the fact I put up with you at all is—” 

The softness of your lips pressing against his cheek serves to put a premature end to his soliloquy.

Stunned by your boldness, twitching fingers come to rest over where your lips made contact with his now flushed skin, disbelief written all over his face. Considering how powerless you normally are, this shift in authority is a welcome one. Enough so that you don’t mind pushing your bruised pride down if it means watching him unravel like this. 

“You—” he points at you for further emphasis, as if you need help identifying who he might possibly be talking to, “You... ahem... missed.” 

“Huh?” 

Scaramouche is grinning now, ear to ear, his face still red yet his ego too formidable for him to concede so easily. 

“My lips. I demand a proper kiss if you’re going to stick to your conniving ways. Come now, try again. Prove to me that there’s something in this world you can do right.” 

(He looks very proud of himself).

“I mean, I would, but, someone recently told me trading affection for favors is shameless behavior. And, y’know, he might just have a point. I’ll have to seriously reconsider my ways.” 

(He no longer looks very proud of himself). 

"... You couldn’t bother me more if you tried.” 

At this, you smile. “Is that a challenge I hear?” 

Homewrecker, husband-stealer villainess!

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

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

Inspired by @adrianasunderworld in this funny as hell post.

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

— (⁠╬⁠☉⁠д⁠⊙⁠)⁠⊰⁠⊹ฺ

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

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

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

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

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

Wait. Tear streaks?

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

"HOMEWRECKER!"

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

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

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

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

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

Until it clicks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I see no child-"

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

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

"WHAT BABY?!"

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

WHAT A PAIN ...

Scaramouche x child!gn!reader

This is strictly platonic !

TW: mention of human experiment, abuse, occ scara

You were one of dottore's experiments.

It isn't really as fun as he promised. Not to mention you were one of his best ones considering you survived most of his tests from ever since you were 6. You tried to run away before but of course he managed to catch you.

But that doesn't mean you wouldn't do it again.

here you are, running non-stop. Trying your best to not to be seen by any one, but your luck isn't really heavenly..

You ended up bumping into the balladeer, what a good day. "What are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be in dottore's lap?" He questioned. He actually tried not to scare you but his wish wasn't granted seeing that you tried to scoot away from him. "Uhm...I.." you couldn't form a word by the way he was glaring down at you. "P-PLEASE, DON'T BRING ME BACK THERE, I...I DON'T WANNA!" You didn't have a choice. All you could do is beg and whine for him not to take you back. And that caught him off guard, but again, this is dottore were talking about here, who wouldn't? Back to you, Scaramouche didn't actually know what to do. He may seem like a cruel person but he's been in your place before.. "Sigh, come here" huh..? He wasn't going to send you back? You were certainly confused but anything is better than that cruel place. He managed to sneak you in his office. And now you find yourself sitting by his side while he does paperwork, it is boring just to sit there and see him do work, but you'd rather do that then be used as an experiment again. So you just sat there obediently waiting for him to finish. Scaramouche knew that he had to give you back since dottore held more authority over him, but the way you seemed so scared back there just made him do this without thinking and he didn't seem to mind your company that much, oh how he wanted to take you from him. He'll have to try and ask to tsaritsa later... Wait- why is he thinking like that!? You're just a child who ended up in the fatui's grasp, and he just met you! You're really something, maybe it's something you did to him that made him even take you to his office? Like brainwashing? I mean you are one of dottore's "special" experiments, or- "m-mister? Are you alright?.." a quite voice suddenly took him away from his thoughts "hm? What do you mean?" "Well you s-suddenly starting staring at me, so I thought..uhm.." oh, he was too deep in his thoughts to notice he was staring- well glaring at you. "No, it's nothing. I just spaced out, that's all" now you were scared. Was he thinking about making you his experiment? Or maybe you did something wrong? Negative thoughts filled your head that you started shaking more. Scaramouche noticed that something was wrong. "What's with you? Why are.. crying" you didn't even notice that you were infact crying. The harbinger now thinks HE did something wrong. Maybe, he scared you too much? Archons, he can't believe his doing this.. "t-there, there.." he was petting your hair, trying his best to calm you down. If you told someone that the balladeer, the 6th harbinger would be nervous because of a child, they'll be laughing at your face, but here he is. He himself couldn't believe it, him? Nervous? What a joke. It's not really funny now.. You didn't know if it was right to do this but you were too sad to think about your actions. You jumped on his lap and starting cuddling him... You were showing little to no respect to him right now, but he didn't push you away. He continued petting your head for a while until he realized you were asleep. Archons, now he either have to pick you up or wait for you to wake up. He ended up picking you up to the couch in his office for you to sleep more comfortably, but you didn't want to let him go, you were clinging to him like a koala. So, he didn't have a choice but to cuddle you in the couch. What a pain ...

Hello! I hope this was good (⁠〃ﾟ⁠3ﾟ⁠〃⁠) !! Hope you have a good day <33

imagine a child male reader whos siblings w scaramouche and was also abandoned so they only had eachother and encountered many people throughout their lives (fatui, traveler, that little kid who passed away, etc..). i can only imagine the heartbreak everytime scara gets hurt bc of the betrayals throughout ur travels and how the reader is tryibg his best to comfort him since hes still young and doesnt fully grasp the situation theyre both in idkk

srry for being specific i just rlly like sibling stuff 😭😭

𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 - 𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘪

౨ৎ ⋆｡˚ scaramouche x m!brother!reader , angst and fluff , comfort and reverse comfort .

౨ৎ ⋆｡˚ reader and scaramouche slowly age throughout the book, so keep that in mind.

the wanderer and his little brother apart is a sight nome of the seven nations have ever witnessed. wherever one is, the other is trailing behind either with excitement, worry, concern or grumpiness trailing their figures. the wanderer loves his little brother more then anything and everything in this shithole and that has never changed, nor will it ever change.

upon the creation of kunikuzishi, raiden ei (or ‘mother’) had encountered an ‘issue’ that might be solved if he had something instinctual to protect. kunikuzushi was a gentle soul, and while he loved his mother more then life as he knew it, if he was so weak that he could not hold the gnosis then what was all this for?

and so, the creation of the second kunikuzushi was in production.

“(y/n)” she had named you. you loved your name, you loved your mother who gave you your name and most of all, you loved your big brother kunikuzushi. he was your everything, and for awhile raiden ei’s plan had seemed to have succeeded.

kunikuzushi was getting stronger, he was overcoming his sensitivity and his ability to cry at every given scenario. she thought she had finally done it.

until she realised, it was all a massive lie.

she had caught you coddling your teary eyes big brother near the shine, cradling his head against your little chest and combing his hair in hopes his tears would cease. you could sense your mothers presence and you knew if she found out that he was still as vulnerable as the day of your creation, it would have major concequences.

the gods weren’t in your favour, to put it lightly.

wandering the ever so lonely woods of inazuma, you and your brother faced two more instances in which would eventually trigger his switch.

the first? a simple blacksmith that had taken you both in. he was another good soul, cheerful beyond belief and a truly comforting person to be around.

he taught your brother the craft of weaponry. he taught your brother it is okay to be vulnerable at times and for awhile, you truly believed that you had found someone who cared about you enough to love you and your brother for who you truly were.

that dream died alongside his once genuine love for you both, riddled with fear of the both of you.

kunikuzushi’s tears echoed through your ears that night, it was so loud you couldn’t even hear the rain that was ever so loudly crashing against the two of you. his body was small and shrunken, and you didn’t know how you could help. your little mind may be synthetic, but it does not mean that you comprehend things as an adult would.

you only hoped holding your big brother against you and hiding your own tears would comfort him enough to stop crying.

you couldn’t stand his tears, they broke your little heart.

the last was a young boy, only a few years younger then your current mortal state.

raiden ei claimed that to keep kunikuzushi’s guard, she would have your body ever so slightly age, until you would stop abruptly by the time your form would hit 14. this would match up with kunikuzushi as his body would go from the form of an 18-22 year old physique.

this boy was once more, a very loving being. he was full of love and wonder about the world, seeing everything as an opportunity and a blessing.

your little head couldn’t comprehend his views until it was far too late for blessings or miracles.

there, lying lifeless and devoid of emotion, going everything against you knew of the boy he lay.

CLICK

you attempted to grasp your big brothers hand, but you did not see a boy who once more needed comfort, all you could see was pure loathing.

you didn’t see your big brother in that moment. you saw a stranger in the skin of kunikuzushi. his tears were not in need of wiping, in fact no tears were to be wiped at all.

you lost your brother that day, and it would be a long while before you would see him once more.

in a sense, you lost yourself that day as well, you no longer felt that out in your stomach that lingered endlessly. only a cold numbness filled the gaping hole in which a heart should lay wishing your chest.

by the time you had reached the fatui, the both of you were completely different people.

scaramouche was cold and sharped tongued, and as for yourself? you were reserved and shrunken. you had both completed the aging process that ei had implemented for the two of you, and it was as clear as day.

you had gotten ever so slightly taller, your hair a little longer and your frown weighed heavy on your lips.

your big brother was still as short as ever, but his face was no longer chubby and round. he was sharp and cold, a glare that never disappeared unless i’m the presence of one person.

you.

you hated the fatui. you hated how they treated you and your brother. unlike the humans, they didn’t even bother to pretend to care for either of your well-being’s. you were scared of most, not daring to make any form of contact with any of them. there was only one harbinger that ever spoke to you of his own volition.

tartaglia.

an annoying redhead who treated you as if you were his own kin. that alone had scaramouche seething in his seat. who was this filthy mortal and how DARE he treat HIS little brother as his own? this had the balladeer absolutely livid and so for the sake of your dear brother, you did your very best to escape the mortals clutches.

as his time in the fatui progressed, you soon found yourself truly taking on the roll as his little brother. you seemed to be the one who was there for him, never much the other way around.

of course that’s not to say he wasn’t there, it was just normally him who needed you more then you needing him. you were the one with him against your chest, not the other way around, and honestly you never cared too much. he’s you brother, why shouldn’t you be there for him?

you didn’t realise just how sad that fact had made your big brother until it had genuinely switched.

scaramouche, as you now seemed to have to adresse him as, not once even entertained the idea of you becoming a full blown fatui member. you simply sat in his office and kept him company throughout his everyday chores and when he went in missions? you rested in his quarters until he came back.

the fatui knew of your immortality and the fact you were not human, and henceforth never bothered to check in on you, not that you cared much.

the doctor struck fear in you that you couldn’t quite comprehend and columbina was almost too cheery to be trusted. the knave seemed interested in you, however you soon came to understand she ran an orphanage and decided she was only looking for a potential member of the hearth. the rest of them never much interacted with you and you therefore have no good or bad opinion on them, all you knew is that you could only trust yourself and your big brother in this hellhole.

you had lost count on how many days it had been since you escaped the clutches of the fatui, but you couldn’t care less. you were with your big brother and he had you, and that’s all you needed in life.

scaramouche thought different.

he wanted to laugh in the faces of the mortals and god who wronged his brother and himself, to mortify the deities and to have the humans begging at his feet. he wanted absolute power, and he had finally obtained the key item to acquire this dream of his.

had anyone asked you if you feared your brother kunikuzushi, you would have laughed in their face. if someone asked you if you feared your brother scaramouche, even just slightly, you could not give an answer.

you were yet to meet this ‘damned blonde runt’ that your brother so very much despised, however you could only hope in a time like this, she might just be able to save your big brother. he claims she is nothing but a pathetic little worm that he could easily discard by the time he reaches divinity, however you had heard of the deeds she had performed for the other nations of teyvat, and you had a feeling she was going to do the same thing for sumeru.

your feelings were correct.

your big brother was falling, and there wasn’t anything you could do about it. he told you to not interfere by the time lumine came, to stay hidden in order to protect you from exposure. to protect himself from people who would use his little brother to exploit him.

too bad you love him a bit too much to allow him to fall like this. he had just quite literally lost his heart right after gaining it, and the pure horror within his vocal cords as he begged the archon of dendro to spare his heart was heavy on your little ears. you couldn’t take it any longer.

“KUNIKUZUSHI NO” you pleaded, you begged the girls to help your brother, however they just watched as he fell lifelessly. so, as you’ve always done and will continue to do, you ran to him.

he only mumbled a ‘get away from me’ and a ‘what if they see you?’ before he finally fell into unconsciousness, and that was the last straw.

all you felt in your body was a frozen and bitter hatred. you felt disappointed. wasn’t this supposed to be the ever caring saviour of teyvat? the girl who makes friends with the snap of her fingers and fights to protect ALL??

all you saw was a fake, a fraud.

ice shot out from the bottom of your heels, icing the entirety of the floors around the workshop. you were screaming.

the room was slowly icing itself around you as you held your unconscious brother in your arms. the panic was visible in the travellers companions voice, freaking out that they’re trapped in the room and that the ice is closing in, however you could only feel your imaginary heart beating harshly within your chest, pounding on your synthetic rib cage and begging to be released from the clutches of ice growing within it.

the only thing you heard before your body collapsed was a gentle tune, a tune of true harmony.

you awoke to the soft breathing of your brother next to you, seemingly in a blissful rest. instinctively, you raised your body and clutched him tightly, startling him awake. you took in your surroundings before letting him go, him reluctantly sitting up and grasping your shoulder, slouching on you.

in came the little nahida, with a tray of tea and some traditional sumerian snacks on the side.

“you’re finally awake you two! i’ve been waiting for the both of you for ages!” her little singalong voice chimed, puffy cheeks graced with a warm smile. you and kunikuzushi share a glace at eachother, almost in a “what the fuck are we doing here?” kinda look. the young archon took note of your confusion and decided to explain.

“we rescued the both of you from the doctors clutches and have been nursing you back to health! after (y/n) had gained his cryo vision, another vision slowly descended and rested on the chest of the balladeer. the anemo vision seemed to swirl a warm breeze around the both of you as the ice spread as the room started to freeze in on itself. thankfully, i was able to get everyone out uninjured, however we had unfortunately encountered the 2nd fatui harbinger, also known as the doctor. he claimed the fatui had ownership over the both of you and wanted both you and the gnosis, however i bargained that as long as he shut down all his twins, as well as giving us the both of you, he could have both of the gnosis’ i possessed!”

nahida seemed almost too cheery, however you refused to comment on it. all you did was squeeze your bothers free hand as he held you protectively, his guard instinctively high in the presence of a god. smiling softly to yourself for the first time in forever, you rested on the shoulder of your big brother.

you were finally in safe hands.

sumeru’s most notable duo, the young wanderer and (y/n) explore around the lands together, hand in hand. one in his early 20s and the other in his teenage years. though they never seem to age, sumeru does not question it. the elder with a sharp tongue and the younger apologising profusely for his big brothers harsh words. the elder studying in the akedemiya under the request of the lesser lord, and the younger encouraging him to do his best.

the elder keeping his guard up so the younger can finally enjoy his everlasting youth, after giving it up for so many years for the sake of himself. hand in hand, kunikuzushi knew you two would finally be able to rest.

just the two of you, until the end of time. <3

Arlecchino is really THE Yandere platonic, would love for her to be my father-

But how/when do you think is she becoming Yandere ?

As a "father" Arlecchino loves her children, but her love is something that isn't normal. Her love is hard and stern and fiery, but for some of her children, it's the only love they have. So many of them, regardless of the life Arlecchino lives, find themselves attached to her, indebted to her, trapped with her. Many of them, like Lyney and his siblings do genuinely love her, but at least to me, it's more reverence than it is familial love. They love her because she saved them, and now, they have no other choice but to stay with her, but to them it's a sacrifice worth making because they feel as though they owe so much to her.

Anyway, I think she would become obsessed with someone who reminds her of herself in her youth. Someone who is so detached from the rest of the world, someone who is damaged. In a way, I feel like she'd behave like Silco from Arcane, seeing a child who is traumatized and broken, someone she wants to protect from the rest of the world. She takes you in and from the very beginning her relationship with you is different with the rest of her "children." She doesn't send you on missions or even lets you interact with the House of the Hearth at all. She's very protective in a way that is strange to everyone but her.

I don't know this is just first thoughts.

Title: Rotting Divinity.

Pairing: Yandere!Scaramouche x Reader (Genshin).

Word Count: 2.9k.

TW: Reader Is Referred To As A Shrine Maiden But Gender Neutral, Set A Few Years After Dottore Starts Experimenting On Scaramouche, Unhealthy Relationships, Obsessive Behavior, Kidnapping, Themes of Chronic Illness, and Mentions of Human Experimentation.

Scaramouche opened his eyes as the sun set, casting the sky a dull pinkish blue. You were standing above him, a straw basket on your hip and a frown tugging on the corners of your lips.

He let a groan as he hauled himself into a more dignified position, palms planted in the raw dirt and dried grass caught in his hair. One glance was spared to establish that he was no longer in the Doctor’s cramped observation room, all cold stone walls and porcelain tables with leather straps stapled into each corner, before his attention settled on you. “Mortal,” he barked, speaking loudly enough to hear himself over the pain still buzzing in his skull. “Which island is this?”

“Yashiori, near Serpent’s Head,” you muttered, disappointment heavy in your tone. When he clicked his tongue, you went on, your frown deepening. “You ruined my herb garden.”

Had he? He couldn’t remember anything after the Doctor worked those long, tapered needles underneath the skin of his forearms; after an iron mask was forced over his mouth and nose and he began to think his body may tear itself apart before that sadist had the chance to. He wasn’t supposed to be in Serpent’s Head. He wasn’t supposed to be on Yashiro at all. He hadn’t meant to be here, and yet, he’d be thrown in a cage of iron bars and subjected to another round of testing as soon as he trudged back to that dungeon of a facility. Thinking about the feeling of thick, pulsing electricity coursing through his hollow limbs was enough to send a familiar bolt of agony down the length of his spine. It was little more than a phantom, a shadow of the torture it would take to unlock his truepotential, but it was enough to leave him curling into himself involuntarily, glaring at the soil with a hollow type of malice.

He would’ve recovered in a second – less than a second, a moment, a breath – if you hadn’t fallen to your knees at his side, cooing as you pressed the back of your hand into his forehead. “Are you hurt?” If he’d tried to answer, his response would’ve been lost to your fussing, the way you hummed and shook your head as you hauled him to his feet. “Body aches? Migraines? Whatever it is—” An arm was drawn over your shoulders, his weight forcibly rested on you. “—I’m sure I have something for it inside. A place for you to rest, too – however you got here, the journey had to be burdensome.”

He considered protesting. Even in the state he’d been reduced to, it would’ve taken nothing to pry himself away from you, to shatter your ankles underneath his heel and leave you begging for the mercy of the creature you’d tried to pity. He could’ve penned a letter to the Doctor as you bled out in the soil of your own garden, recovered his strength as he took your body apart and fed your remains, piece by piece, to whatever scavengers would have you. He could’ve, if he’d wanted to. He could’ve, but then, he saw what you were wearing.

The sleeves of your kosode were rolled neatly to the elbow, the hems of your pleaded hakama dusted with dirt and grass stains. Unlike the maidens of Watatsumi and the Grand Narukami Shrine, you wore neither red nor blue, but white. Pure, never-ending white.

Scaramouche went limp in your hold, his eyes falling shut as you let out a surprised laugh, doing your best to accommodate his now-dead weight. He could kill you tomorrow, he figured. It was already dusk, and while he didn’t mind traveling at night, he knew the Doctor wouldn’t begin to wonder where he was until the sun rose tomorrow morning. He wasn’t a dog, eager to crawl home and prove his obedience. He could wait until he was called for.

At least, by then, your worrying might’ve done something to dull the burn of the electricity underneath his skin.

~

“So, you’re telling me that this is a waste of time.”

You ignored him with a light hum, a quick movement of your tasseled gohei. Normally, daily rites were something to be performed quickly and efficiently before the unlucky shrine maiden responsible for carrying them out returned to scrubbing floorboards and disturbing fortunes, but in a life as slow as yours, with so little to occupy the many hours of your countless days, even repetitive tasks such as this were given an unnecessarily artistic flourish. Scaramouche might’ve called it indulgent, if he ever decided to be so kind to you.

Currently, you were dancing in front of a dilapidated shrine at the base of the snake’s skull; the paint mostly chipped away and the wood close to rotting. You’d explained, four days after he first allowed you to haul him into your ancient cabin, that you would be responsible for rebuilding it once it inevitably collapsed, an honor only bestowed upon caretakers every few centuries, and he’d told you that you ought to save yourself a few decades and tear it down that day, but you’d only laughed. Most things he said made you laugh.

He'd noticed early on that you were of a weak constitution. Dark bags circled under your eyes despite how often and how deeply you slept, and you seemed unable to carry anything heavier than what could fit in one of your woven baskets. There should’ve been another shrine keeper, if not several. And, if there could only be one, then it shouldn’t have been you.

Still, Scaramouche was glad that you had been chosen, even if you were a bad fit for the position. If it’d been anyone else, he would’ve had to get rid of them days ago, and he was thankful to be spared the effort.

“It’s not,” you said, consciously clipping his choice of words. You finished your rite with a deep bow, then turned to Scaramouche. “Shows of dedication make him happy.”

“He being…” His gaze drifted upward, to the fanged skull. Orobashi no Mikoto – the beast’s name provided by some nameless well of knowledge that seemed to linger in the space between the back of his throat and the pit of his chest. Consciously, the only title Scaramouche had ever thought to put to the serpent was that of ‘festering remains’. “…the fucking corpse?”

“If you keep using that kind of language, you might have to start sleeping outside.” You took up the basket of lavender melons you’d (admittedly, unwisely) left in his care, snatching it away before he could add to the small pile of black seeds stacked on his opposite side. Your hastiness left one of the rounder melons toppling over the well-worn edge, though, and he caught it with a single hand, grinning as he dug his teeth into the ripe flesh and claimed it for himself. You rolled your eyes, but quickly occupied yourself with clearing away yesterday’s fruit from the shrine. “It’s not complicated. We keep him happy, hold our rites and make our sacrifices, and he ensures that my crops grow quickly and the village prospers.” A pause, a smile thrown carelessly over your shoulder. You smiled as easily as you laughed, something that irritated Scaramouche to no end. “If it wasn’t for him, you wouldn’t be recovering half as quickly as you are.”

Right. It was too easy to forget that there was a pretense to his time with you; that he was supposed to be some wayward, ailing traveler with a mysterious condition your charms and cures could only keep at bay. He wasn’t lying to you. All he did was lie back and let you fuss over his nonexistent pulse, the bloodless pallor of his skin, the way his temperature never seemed to rise above that of damp clay. He wasn’t like the Doctor – scheming and underhanded, prone to leading his victims in circles before gifting them with the mercy of a slow death – or the priestess he could only vaguely remember from his first days, all dark eyes and whispers of a merciful death. You liked doting on him, and he didn’t mind keeping his mouth shut.

“Don’t give yourself too much credit.” He dug his teeth into the lavender melon as you gathered your things, sugary juice turning his lips tacky as he went on. “I’ve always been hard to kill.”

You came to stand above him, your smile small and eyes vaguely narrowed. “If you’re feeling that strong,” you started, holding your now-emptied basket in front of you. “Then you shouldn’t mind weeding the garden and fetching water, this afternoon.”

It only took him a moment to think to protest, but you were already gone, stumbling down the mountainside as he hastily pushed himself to his feet. He called your name, but he could already hear your voice – rising above his in one of your obnoxiously repetitive hymns and drowning him out as he chased after you.

~

The villagers welcomed you as sheep welcomed field dogs; from a distance.

Scaramouche trailed behind you as you plodded through the humble village, humming and clutching your basket close to your chest, fiddling nervously with the pure-white material of your sleeves. The crowd parted around you, twin walls of watchful eyes and hushed voices forming well-ahead of your path and collapsing as you strode past them, either unable or unwilling to acknowledge the thick silence that seemed to hang over you like a shroud. Occasionally, you’d stop at a stall or a doorway, handing off bundles of wrapped herbs to gloved and trembling hands, and less often, you’d send him a smile over your shoulder, your tired eyes wrinkling at the corners, as if apologizing that he had to come along for such a dull errand. That was how you described it, when he asked where you went off to every few days. ‘Just a quick errand,’ you’d said, as you tried to convince him to stay behind yet again. When he cited your poor health and his growing concern that he’d find you dead in that garden of yours one day, you didn’t waver. ‘You’ll only be bored if you come. The villagers aren’t very friendly.’

Scaramouche decided, mostly on a whim, that he would burn down this village before he returned to the Doctor. If he had time.

He moved to rush forward, to place himself at your side, but a hand shot out of a narrow alleyway and caught him by the wrist. It was a middle-aged blacksmith, judging by the ash smeared across his cheeks, the thick apron hanging from his neck. Scaramouche was quick to pull out of his filthy grasp, but he spoke regardless, his voice low and rough. “Mind your distance, boy.” A glance towards you, a deep sneer. “Don’t you know who that is?”

Scaramouche glanced over him, fighting the urge to scoff. “Why is no one speaking to the healer?”

“That’s no healer, that’s the shrine maiden.” He said it as if he’d caught Scaramouche attempting to throw himself into a rifthound’s mouth. “They cultivate the serpent’s remains. You’ll be dead in a week if you—”

This time, Scaramouche was the one to reach out, his hand wrapping around the blacksmith’s neck. By instinct, a bolt of pure, searing electro shot from his palm into the man’s neck, leaving him limp and convulsing in Scaramouche’s hold. Scaramouche released him as the last of the aftershocks faded, watching him collapse to the ground before planting his heel on the man’s diaphragm, prepared to shift his weight and crush whatever laid below his foot should the blacksmith say something to displease him.

“I’ll ask again,” he said, slowly, ozone thick in the air. “Why is no one speaking to the healer?”

~

Scaramouche returned to your cabin closer to sunrise than sunset. Somewhere, back in the village that he would see reduced to embers if it was his last act on the face of Teyvat, the charred remains of a blacksmith smoldered at the bottom of a stone well, and he opened the door to your ramshackle home with enough force to tear the rotted piece of wood from its hinges.

You were kneeling beside your work table, grinding dried lavender petals into a fine powder. He closed the space between you in a breath, knocked the pestle from your hand in another, then collapsed beside you. “You’re going to die?”

You eyed the spilled lavender wearily. “Even the archons will fall, eventually.”

He let out a ragged sob, burying his face in the dip of your shoulder. You allowed him to, your arms coming up to wrap loosely around him. You’d always been weak, but now, you seemed as feeble as a morning gale.

He was unable to speak, so you took up the mantle, tracing idle patterns into the base of his spine as you went on. “I know what they tell newcomers, about dead gods and their rot, but it’s not as bad as it sounds. He gifts us with herbs to cure our sick and soothe our elders and in return, someone sacrifices a few years. The villagers might not be able to linger, but they make sure I’m taken care of.” He felt you smile, heard you laugh. “So long as I get to help people, I don’t mind making sacrifices.”

“Other people don’t matter.” It took him longer than he cared to admit to pry himself away from you, to straighten his back and drag a deep breath into his aching lungs. He was thankful, not for the first time, that he couldn’t cry. You would only think him irrational if he fell apart so visibly. “How long do you have?”

Your head lulled to the side, your attention drifting to some indistinguishable point on the far wall. “Only the gods can say what fate has—”

“How long?”

“…another year.” Your tone carried a sort of detached acceptance, as if you couldn’t summon the energy to care. “Maybe two. The last caretaker was very fortunate – he survived half a decade in his position.”

He tried to speak, to scream at you for not telling him sooner, but his voice caught in his throat and you reached up, cupping his face in both hands. Slowly, with a dry chuckle, you leaned forward, resting your forehead against his. The cool porcelain of his skin sapped the warmth from yours, but for once, you didn’t seem to mind his unusual anatomy. “I hope I’ll be able to cure you, before I’m gone.” You were mumbling, now, speaking barely above your breath. “Do you think you’ll be able to stay for a little longer?”

He tried to answer, but you’d fallen asleep on top of him by the time he opened his mouth.

~

He left the next morning, while you were still tucked underneath a small pile of furs and quilts. A letter was penned and sent to the Doctor’s base, a caddy of wildflower seeds purchased from a young girl peddling wares by the side of the road, and he returned to your cabin just as your sleep turned restless. When you rose an hour past noon, he pestered you into taking him to the groove near the shoreline. By the time you returned, chiding him for distracting you from your responsibilities and pointedly ignoring the basket full of fruit at your hip, the sun was low in the sky and masked soldiers had stamped your garden into the ground. Your cabin was in flames and your shrine had been reduced to little more than a pillar of smoke in the distance.

Whatever concern you might’ve held for him was immediately forgotten. Dropping your basket, you moved to run towards the embers of your home, but Scaramouche caught you – one hand on your shoulder, another on your waist. Careful not to break what couldn’t be repaired, he forced you onto your knees, letting you scratch at his wrists as you screamed, the noise anguished and ragged. Masked soldiers gathered in the outskirts of his vision, but he bared his teeth, keeping them at a distance as you thrashed in his steadfast hold. Once he took you somewhere else, somewhere better, you’d be able to calm down.

Once he got you away from your rotting god and your unthankful village, you’d be able to worship something worth your time.

A moment passed, then another. Finally, the Doctor emerged from the crowd, his white coat unmarred by the ash in the air. He regarded you with a grin, then looked to Scaramouche. “This is the filthy toy you’d like to take home?”

It was a foolish question, undeserving of an answer. Scaramouche countered with one of his own. “Can you fix them?”

“Can I save a human being who’s been brought to the brink of death and infected thoroughly with the rot of divine remains?” The Doctor hummed, clicked his tongue. “That depends, little puppet. How much time are you willing to spend on my vivisection table?”

Scaramouche glowered, but he didn’t protest. Rather, he pulled you close – your crying softer, now, your struggling impossibly weak – and held you against his chest as he responded. “Do what you have to. They’ll be staying in my chambers, and you won’t lay a hand on them without my permission, doctor.”

“I do wish you could call me Dottore.” He sighed, shaking his head. His acquiescence was communicated with a dismissive roll of his wrist, a silent order communicated to his lackeys. His soldiers moved to take you up, but he kept you in his arms as he pushed himself back to his feet, letting you cling to and beat against his chest in tandem.

Your voice was hoarse, your shoulders trembling. Tears streamed freely from your eyes, and he allowed himself to wonder how poorly you would take it if he ran his tongue over your cheeks. “You— You monster. Hundreds of people will—"

“You said you wanted to stay with me, right?” His smile wasn’t as soft as yours, as comforting, but he did what he could. You let out another agonized sob, crumbling against him as he let his lips ghost over your forehead, speaking against your skin and above your wordless cries.

“Now, there’ll be nothing in the world capable of taking you away from me.”

get isekai’d into your gacha hell but every time you meet someone who has a soul-crushing heart-wrenching tear-inducing punch in the throat backstory you give them a non contextual hug (ft. 6reeze)

but what if its the other way around and we're the one's carressing scaras hair 😩

maybe in the shared bed, running fingerd through his hair and pressing a soft kiss to his head because you think he's asleep

i know i would develop mad stockholm for yandere scaramouche

I think deep down he would love it because he craves your affection. But he wouldn't admit it. And the idea that (he assumes) you think that he needs or craves this sort of touch is infuriating. He'd probably feign sleep for a bit, then suddenly grap your wrist and snap out: do you think he's some kind of weak child who needs your kisses? Mind your place. In fact, he might just tie your hands to the bed post at night to teach you a lesson.

But y'know, for now. Don't stop.

On the flip side, if you weren't openly affectionate and he knew the thought of being so made you squirm, he'd probably force you to do little things like this just to see your reaction.

INSULT TO INJURY — Platonic Arlecchino & reader

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I do.” 

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

They stared at her, eyes wide.

“Am I understood?”

“Yes, Father.” They said quickly.

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

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

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

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

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