Your Wanderer Is So Good Like What??? You Could Literally Tell Me That You Worked For Hoyoverse And I

Yandere Diasomnia Headcanons

TW/CW: Dark content up ahead!! Yandere headcanons means yandere content y’all! Mentions of abuse and violent acts either towards the reader or the character!! Mental instability, gaslighting, manipulation, stalking, possessiveness, obsession, emotional whiplash, etc. (Don’t think I’m missing anything but if I am, please do let me know!)  This is your TW please proceed with caution!!

ALSO FYI!! A minor spoiler warning, it’s during the last paragraph of Lilias Headcanons! It’s slightly mentioned in book 6 but emphasized in book 7!

DISCLAIMER: These are my interpretations of his/her/their persona and none of these is 100% accurate. I don’t condone any of these actions in real life and all of this is purely fictional and should be taken as such! Underage characters will ONLY  be given SFW headcanons, please respect this decision!

As always, banner made by the lovely bestie @herestrish​ thank you for making all of these, you’re literally the best I love you so much! 

Keep reading

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

Title: Cracked [Yandere Scaramouche x Reader]

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

Word count: 1221

notes: yandere, forced marriage, panic attacks

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Look at me,” he says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

After a few moments, he speaks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

scaramouche + "i love you so much, i could look at you for hours and not get bored."

note: yandere

"Is that the excuse you've created to explain your incessant staring?"

He looks down on you, because of course he does--you're sitting at his feet, practically reverent, gazing up at him with a look that twists between expected adoration and something... softer, sweeter, and far less easy for him to grasp.

It's maddening, as you are maddening.

"It's the truth," you say, and this time--bold minx that you are, though you pretend to be everything but--you dare to rest your chin against his thigh. Like a puppy, or an acolyte, placing your head in your better's lap.

Is that not one way to view your situation?

He refuses to give in to what is clearly a ploy for more of his attention. An invitation for his hands to grip your chin and lift it, catching your gaze. A clear desire for him to rub his thumb on your lips and consider pulling you up to press his own against them.

He refuses, for now, because that would be putting the game in your court. And if he does, there's always the chance (however slim, he thinks, seeing the way you stare at him) that you'll let him go in the end.

And that? That is the one thing he cannot abide, and so, here, now, like this--he'll be the one who stays in control.

When he does nothing more than return to the task at hand, reading important missives scattered out on his desk, you pout, huffing out a little sigh with puffed cheeks. Your eyes slide to the floor, dejected and pathetic.

"I didn't tell you to look away," he says, nonchalant, at least in his own mind.

He feels the slightest bit of warmth in his cheeks when he senses that you've turned your gaze back up at him. If he glances down, will he see a glimpse of that something sweet, that something soft? That something that he can't seem to hold in his fingers, something without real solid weight despite the heaviness it creates in his chest?

Maddening. You really are maddening.

---

Requesting again because why not. If your okay with it. but first. YOUVE GROWN SO MUCH AAAA. If you're okay with doing angst maybe a xiao x reader angst. Reader dies on him after a argument on how he don't spend time with the reader. And xiao gets mad and starts saying that there Annoyong and stuff. If your comfortable of course! Thank youu

Too late.

• xiao x reader

Contents ; angst absolutely no comfort because I’m angry, Xiao being kinda mean, i refuse to write uwu smol reader and make them cry from a little yelling but i did make them tear up a little, descriptions of gore, throwing up mentioned,

Notes ; I really love writing strong reader (emotionally) and thank u Lunar! You were my first ask and certainly not the last, if anyone is reading this and planning to request anything, please remember to specify of you'd like yandere or normal (sorry I only write sub yans)

When has it come to this? When did he become so.. distant? Every time you try to spend time with him, he straight up refuses. You know he’s a Yaksha, but certainly he’s got to have some time for himself? The thought of confronting him crosses your mind after he refuses yet another one of the many dinner dates you’ve been planning.

“Xiao.” You quickly grab onto his hand before he could disappear into smoke again, off to do his thing. He jolts a bit when your skin makes contact with his. “Could you listen to me for a second?” You ask gently.

“Make this quick [name]. I have other things to attend to.” One might think he’s irritated from the way his tone sounds, but you’ve grown accustomed to it. His brows furrow and he crosses his arms.

"Lately you’ve been a little too focused on your duties. I understand that it’s part of your life as a Yaksha, but could you maybe hold it off for two or three hours? To spend time with me?" You asked him with a soft smile. Hoping your small smile could maybe trick him into spending more time with you. He looks at you like you've lost your mind for a second and returns to his neutral expression.

"[name], you knew I always protect Liyue day and night, yet you still insisted on forming a relationship with me. You're asking too much from someone like me." He states with an almost annoyed look.

'Too much?' the word repeats in your head. It somehow makes your heart ache. You prepare yourself so your voice doesn't get wobbly.

"Xiao, 'too much'? It's been almost two months since you've actually got some time to spend with me. I'm only asking for two hours of your time. Is that too much for you?" You try to reason with him. But if anything, he looks more annoyed than he already looked. It's clear that he looks like he wants nothing more than to just leave. He sighs heavily.

"If I knew how tiresome you'd be to deal with, I wouldn't have picked you as my partner." He mutters while looking away. He doesn't give you time to react before spitting out something you wished he hadn't said.

"If you keep up this kind of attitude, It's better if you leave me alone." Your eyes start to sting. So that's how he thinks of you? How naive of you to think you might've changed him. You feel stupid.

"Fine then, I won't bother you anymore." You turn away and leave quickly before he can see your teary eyes. Like hell you'll ever let someone see you so vulnerable.

It's not long after you left Wangshuu Inn before you got yourself in trouble.

'Seriously, can nothing go right for me?' You should probably check your fortune now and then to see how your luck's doing.

A ruin hunter. Great.

It's eye lights up and you know you messed up by going in the wrong direction this time.

⋘══════ ∘◦❁◦∘ ══════⋙

After you left not long ago, Xiao got a bad feeling sturring in his stomach. It makes him feel like throwing up. Deciding to look for you, he searced near the Wangshuu Inn. Just in case you were hiding somewhere.

Passing by a small forest, the familiar iron smell of blood hit his nose. Summoning his polearm, he quickly dashes towards the forest. His mind flooding with possibilities of you getting hurt.

What if you called his name but he didn't hear it? What if those pesky treasure horders were threatening you? Why didn't you call-

There you were, with a gaping hole in your stomach. Blood was everywhere, it makes him sick to the bone. Ruin parts were scattered like you were tearing it apart. He wants to throw up. He feels as though a part of him left him as he takes a closer look at your unmoving body. Your vision no longer giving the pulse it usually had. Your bright eyes had no colour and they were so dull. His voice wavers and his hand shakes as he reaches out to you. "[name].. I-I'm here now, nothing can hurt.. you.." Your chest isn't moving the way is used to. Something aches in him. It's all your fault your fault your fault your fault your fault- For the first time in years, he lets a tear roll down his cheeks as his cries were carried by the winds.

Notes and reblogs are very much appreciated <3

don't mind how I went on a hiatus for like 2 months <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.”

---

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

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

best

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

worst

---

Fatalism ⊱⊰ Scaramouche

✤ she/her ✤ words: 9.5k

The oh-so-great Balladeer was a puppet on strings. Despite this, he has a dream to fulfill, and he would do whatever it takes to achieve it—even if it meant forsaking his 'heart'. But pride always comes before the fall. He could never ever write over fatalism.

✤platonic angst :) ✤we're going to break him all over yall

“Awaken.” commanded the Electro Archon as the heavens growled. 

The violet pool within the golden laver swirled, the entwined hands coruscating with a divine spark of Electro. Her command was obeyed, and two pairs of eyes opened at the same time. 

His birth was most unorthodox. Disparate in the sense that he wasn’t born of flesh and blood, but of methods inexplicable to human comprehension—even to him. 

It began with a tranquility like no other, enclosed in a spacious black void in which no other creature lived but his consciousness. But in that cloister of nothingness, he felt safe, he felt a closeness to something he couldn’t pinpoint. The contiguity would be ascertained soon after he heard an obdurate voice calling- ordering him to be roused from slumber. 

So he did. 

And he bore sight to his creator, his mother, the Electro Archon, as she regarded him with a countenance that spoke little of what she felt. Her hand upon his forehead was warm, but her eyes withheld an everlasting winter that bespoke of no potential summers.

She murmured something under her breath before withdrawing her hand and turning her back for a moment. An inauspicious action.

This churn of discomfort was set aside upon recognizing the same warmth somewhere on his limbs and he followed its origin. With a short incline of his head and a twist to the left, he blinked.

There were two sets of long tables, occupied by two figures, him included. His left arm was outstretched to the side, dipped into a gilded laver that contained a liquid tinted with violets that reminded him of his creator’s eyes. It shimmered and emitted a sense of divine power.

But what kept his hand warm in the cold pool was the hand of another. 

Her gaze upon him was a mirror of his own upon hers. She spoke not with her tongue but her [c] eyes, and he too, did the same. They were parallel to one another, distant yet entwined by their fingers that had the same length, down to the fingertips. 

They were both without a name, without a defined personality. Canvases that were white and stark, hoping to be filled with color. Hoping to be a magnum opus. 

He wouldn’t be able to utter anything in that moment, as they were then separated, whisked away by strangers that appeared to be of service to the Electro Archon. He would only see his mother and that girl he reckoned to be his twin sibling later in a privy room, where the tall woman would first come to his sibling, who dipped her head. 

Her figure would close in on itself, glowing [c] until she became nothing but a small accessory floating upon their creator’s palm. It—his sister—had become tinier than his own hand. 

“A pawn piece,” a voice came from the left, and a sly-looking woman with pink hair hummed. “How appropriate for you to liken her to one.”

“But of course,” responded his mother. “If the puppet is to hold the Gnosis, then I must first see if he can handle something in its likeness. She holds at least half of the power, and for that I see no reason not to shape her as a pawn. I surmise it is the only piece in the board untouched by the Heavenly Principles.”

The foxy woman smiled impishly as she concluded. “For though pawns are capable of attaining majesty, they are still expendable.”

“Precisely. Now..”

The Electro Archon came upon him, her violet gaze stormy and steely as she neared the floating ‘pawn piece’ closer to his chest. “May your being be emboldened by that which is meant to be your core; a prototype heart of power.” 

Like congealed water, the piece disappeared through his clothes, into his skin, and into his very being. What previously was a mere accessory took a different shape in his consciousness, and he felt whole.

Complete. It was a feeling like no other. 

Raiden Ei hummed, satisfied at the sight of the spark of life in the puppet’s eyes. “So it has worked.” 

“A good thing, isn’t it?” Yae Miko questioned, her tail swaying leisurely at her back. “But her very case is a pseudo-power half of what is authentic, no?”

“Yes and no.” The little puppet did not understand what they were speaking of, there was only the innate kind of euphoria provided by the comfort of the pawn piece within him—his own heart. It was his twin sibling, his other source of power, if he managed to comprehend the conversation correctly. 

He felt full, like when he first opened his eyes and saw his mother. Felt safe, when he saw that his birth was in synchronicity with his heart. 

So when the hand plunged back into his chest like nothing to retrieve the small pawn, it felt as though he was engulfed in a banquet's inferno. His limbs lit with flames and it was difficult to get a grasp of his environment, mind befuddled, voice lost.

He could barely see the way the priestess scrutinized him as a different item was thrust into his chest. 

It was bigger and weighed much more. It was a heart that thrummed with so much divinity and power that he turned statuesque in its glory. The difference was profound. 

His little heart—his twin, rather—held a peace akin to a nest of comfort, but the heart his mother had newly provided was laden with somber wisdom. He sensed not the presence of the girl who bore only the slight likeness to him, but he felt that of a different one, kind and prudent, yet desolate with life. It was so much that it brought tears to his eyes.

And thus, with a sharp, narrowed look of his creator, the decision was set in stone. 

Not even a fortnight—no, a fortnight was most generous. Not even a week, and they’ve been forsaken.

“I need not a vessel whose gaze was more scrupulous than callous. He isn’t fit for the purpose I built him for.” 

Haunting words.

“And what of the nexus you built with him? Essentially, they are one.”

Sickening truths. 

“... She is a prototype I am not disposed to confine, either.”

Vexing failures. 

Reminders of the reason as to why he had pursued this path. Too many betrayals, too many faux promises, and too little mercy in a world that was filled with naught but the evil end of the spectrum. 

The puppet clicked his tongue as he gazed upon the lacerations on his skin, his clothes torn and tattered, fringed off the hems with licking flames. He stared at the remnants, condemning the beasts inwardly with a series of curses only unfortunate peers ever had the tragedy of knowing. 

“Closer,” he murmured as the mob dispersed, only for another horde to approach. “Closer, and closer..” to greatness. 

The Abyss was even more ruthless than the surface world of Teyvat, yet he found the darkness within it reminiscent of the void that came before his creation. He ignored the sting of his injuries and opted to gird himself with the beckon of power. 

“Don’t push yourself.” the warning was in his head, but it sounded as if the voice came from behind him, always in his shadow. “I can’t have the Doctor poking needles into you as though you’re a labrat again.”

Funny, isn’t that what he was to that man, anyway? Besides, that sort of event happened each time he returned from his expeditions and battles in the Abyss. 

“Kunikuzushi.” the voice was stern. 

“Fine.” 

He always meant to go overboard, that was a metier fit only for someone of his constitution. Fragile and enervated humans couldn’t hold a candle to his sturdiness as a puppet, and it was primarily this facet of his existence that corroborated his mileage to the Fatui.

So, he welcomed it with open arms, for he knew this path, though toilsome and arduous, would pave the road to his fate as a god.

He had forgotten the exact length of his ‘tarry’ in the sinister Abyss, but the darkness was a close companion that he’d known for his whole life. 

In the rare interludes in which there would be no scourge or cataclysm in his stygian ventures in the otherworldly realm, he would rest and allow the extent of his injuries to overwhelm him. Only then would there be an effulgent flicker in the suffocating coat of black, coming upon his will.

His twin sister embodied that light, as she was a creation more mystifying than he was in essence. 

She was—as he recalled his creator called her—his heart, who awoke in his moment of sheer desperation when he tried to ask the Electro Archon for help many centuries ago, and who had been with him ever since. 

Humans were born with one, and he was created with her in a similar aspect, and both their eyes opened at the same time. 

A puppet with a heart.

Kabukimono and Nisemono. 

Kunikuzushi and Kenkoroshi.

Names that undoubtedly would only stockpile on the other as they traversed this path to their shared dream. 

His heart was his main source of power.

Yes, he was strong on his own, but his sister was created from the godly power of Raiden Ei, emboldened by the influence of the Gnosis—the piece that was meant to be his. It meant that his sister was essentially a lesser version of the Gnosis, a facsimile—an imitation.

 

It was a connotation that conjured a frown on her usually blank face, but one that was wiped off with ease whenever Kunikuzushi would remind her that he was a literal puppet created in the likeness of their creator. There was a peculiar comradery in their shared existence as imitations, but that did not void their identities as ‘creatures of their own’. 

Kunikuzushi would receive word from one of Harbingers themselves to return to Snezhnaya sometime later when he would be in one of his seldomly taken respites. The puppet would wordlessly stare at his hand, which was in the grasp of his twin sister, who had taken up a corporeal form to accompany him in the physical realm.

He never failed to assert that it wasn’t needed—for he could literally hear her voice in his head—, but she also never failed to exhort that accompanying him physically was a different kind of company in itself. He disliked how it was a sound reason, so he relented every time. 

This mutually indulgent quietude was infrequently broken by either two, but it was fractured by the ‘pawn’ the second they arrived in Snezhnaya. Personally escorted by a handful of Fatui soldiers upon the Jester’s management following the order to return from the Abyss, she tugged away at his sleeve. 

“Something weighs the wind.”

During times like these, when she would speak in riddles and figures, the puppet would be less than enthused, yet he humored her. It was inexplicable, but his twin always seemed to have some kind of prescience. 

“It doesn’t feel dangerous, though.” Ah, so that meant it was something good. 

Kunikuzushi could not help the snark in his voice as he responded. “I’m disposed to believe that you’re lying in the face of our ‘life’s’ usual pessimism. When has anything remotely good ever come to stay?” 

“This one will, perhaps.”

It was unnecessary to tone down their voices, even though their peers regarded them with puzzlement. Why should they? No one would understand the context of their conversation, anyway. 

The factuality of Kenkoroshi’s presage would be ascertained in a castle bespeckled with the rigidity of snowflakes. Diamond flakes annealed with solemn ‘love’, sharpened as though to appear like icy dirks, yet refined as if they also symbolize frozen tears. 

The loveless motherland of Snezhnaya was a wintery Kingdom he had only come to at least once or twice. Little did he know, as his twin retreated back into the pawn piece in his chest, that he’d later be acclimated to the snow that was as pale and bleak as his perspective of life. 

“You are hereby appointed as the Sixth Harbinger, take upon a new name as Scaramouche, the Balladeer.”

Ah. So that was what the entourage was for. 

The Tsaritsa was with the voice of a daemon, yet the undertone withheld the echo of a lamenting cherub. Time was scant to bother wondering over why—after all, it wasn’t like it was a responsibility or duty of his to answer to the Cryo Archon’s emotions. He was yet to even cross his own quagmires. 

His inauguration as the Sixth Harbinger, the Balladeer, was well-received and esteemed within the Fatui, but he had no doubts that it was because it was mere pleasantries. The rest of the Harbingers could hardly be impressed, but that was his own personal conjecture, for they showed probable facades that probably belied their ennui. 

The celebration lasted a week, and he came to admit the complication in adjusting to the sudden attention brought with the bestowment of a rank he had come to travail over. 

On the eve of its final day, he was ‘alone’ in his personal quarters that were leagues above what he was used to. Or perhaps he should rephrase that and mention that it had been a long time since he had chambers he could call his own, one that supposedly matched the majesty of his identity.

The last time he had something of this splendor, he was still on the watch of the Electro Archon, and that lasted less than five days.

What an irritating reminder. 

“Is this everything you sought for?” as always, Kenkoroshi’s hand was void of any kind of temperature–she was insipid in a literal fashion, and it wasn’t meant to vilify her existence as an imitation. 

For a moment, Kunikuzushi—no, Scaramouche, was quiet.

It had been a long and exhausting week of celebration, no matter the novelty and pride it brought him to be able to reach such a monumental stone in his ‘life’.

He looked down at the hand on his own, finding [not admitting] the gesture comforting. It was a reticent gesture between them, to just hold hands whenever they were alone—it was homage to their ‘birth’, when they awoke to an unknown world.

They had nothing, no knowledge, just the hand of the other and their presence and existence split as two but deemed as one. 

“No.” He answered later, “I wish for what was meant to be mine.”

The Gnosis. 

In a fleeting moment, he sensed her slight tension before it was easily awashed with her usual nonchalance. “... Why do you covet it so much?”

He scoffed. That was a stupid question, why else would he want something that was his in all putative angles of logic and reason? He was solely created for it.

“My purpose—no, my destiny. It was mine, that power.”

“And my power is not enough for you?”

Snezhnayan winters were algid—bone-chilling. Albeit he was far too acclimated to such temperatures and was far from being bothered, he could feel its biting frost on his skin, still. It was something that a measly hearth in the far left of his chambers could ever hope to drub.

Yet the question that she asked sent a chill down his spine. She asked it with the same, monotonous delivery, but for some reason, it sounded much heavier in his conscience. He despised it. 

“Adequate enough.” He deigned to respond, their hands motionlessly entwined, still.  “Enough to last until my birth as a god.”

There was no response. He despised that, as well. 

For the first time that night, he turned to her—only to find her [c] gaze pointed towards the crackling flames of the hearth. He almost heard the crisp sound of burning wood and could almost smell the scent of burning flesh, but that was a memory in the crevices of his mind. Imageries and sounds that forego his mission to be divine. 

“You’ll help me, won’t you, my dear twin.” there wasn’t exactly venom in his voice, just a poignant edge that prompted the [c]-haired pawn to look at him. When she said nothing again, he clicked his tongue. 

“Kenkoroshi.” he admonished. 

Finally, she answered.

“I will.” He could tell that it was genuine, it just took her some time to respond. 

Good. With that, he turned away, and she did as well, though their hands remained connected. It wasn’t sooner when he spoke again, his tone carrying a sense of realization and pride altogether. 

“We’ve to think of a new name for you. I’ve already taken up another. Any grand ideas?” 

Silence. He wasn’t surprised. He was the one that offered to establish themselves with new names each time they decided to leave a piece of unwanted tragedy behind, so it came to perspicuous reason that he was to do the honors again—

“[Name].” in awe, he turned to her. “I’ll go with [Name].”

The astonishment would’ve lasted had she worn an actual expression on her face. He did not give any sort of critique about her chosen name, however. He simply nodded, testing the name on his tongue. 

“Good.” he squeezed her hand. “A new chapter burns bright. One step closer to the finale.”

Their work was cut out as a Harbinger, although, technically speaking—[Name] wasn’t the Harbinger. Missions for the Tsaritsa and her endeavors proceeded without fail, and under those zealous quests, she was aware that the Harbingers had personal assignments of their own. 

It was ostensible in an organization like the Fatui, she knew, that people’s interactions were transactions in their own right. Her twin brother preferred to intuit it the same way, in contrast to her own beliefs. When she told him of this, that she thought that there needn’t be any ulterior motives to causeries, he rolled his eyes.

“I looked at the world similarly once.. Look where that landed us.” he had sardonically quipped, and the conversation ended there.

Still, even with the facts transfixed, the way she conceived things did not change. It was to the chagrin of her sibling, but he did little to dissuade her from thinking otherwise—for she knew that as long as it wasn’t an impediment to his goal, he’d let her do and think as she pleased. 

He was bitter about it, though, later on mumbling that the ‘ginger-head war addict’ must’ve influenced her. He spoke of Tartaglia, the young soldier who somehow found and believed that there could be goodness in a league that founded morally questionable coups and schemes, the pawn noted.

Although she never truly met the youth who eventually came to be promoted as the Eleventh Harbinger face to face—her existence wasn’t broadcasted for the entire organization to know—maybe, she thought, maybe she was influenced a tad.

Or perhaps she always was just meant to be on the spectrum in opposition to her twin. 

It had always been that way since the start of their lonesome ventures and idiosyncrasies about the nation of Inazuma. 

When he had gotten jaded over the betrayals the world had thrown them in, he swore to scrub every trace of emotion that stained him until not even vestiges could be sensed. Yet, here he still was, the one who felt emotions the most. It was not to disregard the fact that she could also feel, but rather, he was just a feelings-kind of puppet and there was nothing wrong with that. 

Scaramouche said that it was because he had her, his heart, so he could feel. 

[Name], ever circumspect, was worried—but she knew it to be true. If he had no heart, if he just had power, then what would he be like? She didn’t want to imagine it.

What, exactly? Didn’t want to imagine him without a heart? Or didn’t want to imagine him with all the power he could ask for? She didn’t know, either, and that in itself was frightening. 

He assured that he would not get rid of her, however, he always did—for they were twins, they were two beings as one. Kabukimono and Kunikuzushi said it himself, and she took comfort in that. 

But a wise man knew better. Someone, a third party guided and led by pragmatism and reason, stated otherwise. 

“While it is true that you were created as an expendable tool, even the most churlish will know that your power is valuable.”

[Name] merely shook her head, her legs swinging absently as she sat on a rather tall, metal table that surely must’ve felt cold to most humans. “I’m not interested in your spiel, sir. Spare me the talk.”

The Doctor was that wise man, Dottore, the Second Harbinger. From the start, he had been fascinated by their existence as one being split in two, and whether he was intrigued by which one if specificity was in context, well, she didn’t know. 

He unnerved her; his wisdom, his tact, and his rationales. 

“Come now, there’s no harm in being honest, is there? The Balladeer isn’t awake.” 

She didn’t like how he somehow knew how to transfix ideas through her head, a feat none other than Kabukimono could do. The former was a formidable man, and she had forgotten how many times she expressed that to the puppet. 

“I would not have furthered this level of strength without Dottore’s pricking needles,” he had told her before. “So just put up with it.”

Kabukimono was powerful with her, but the Doctor unsealed the hidden strength—that was a truth that she could not deny. So, as advised, she tolerated the Sumerian. Her patience was running thin, however. 

The number of Dottore’s laboratories exceeded the amount of fingers a human had. Throughout her time in the Fatui, she had gone to visit them all, and aside from the location of each tool and table, the interior looked ever the same—not to mention the scent of rubbing alcohol and antiseptic. Nowadays, or ever since he had unlocked the full capacity of Kunikuzushi’s powers, it carried the scent of something inexplicable. 

It might’ve come from the odd, violet substances she always saw him inject into her sibling.

“You may try to hide under that expressionless facade, but I know you are just as emotional. Not even he knows that, does he?”

The Doctor’s footsteps reverberated in the silent laboratory, coupled with the clinks and clanks of the tools in the metallic tray beside the equally metallic table. 

She ignored him, opting to regard the place where Kunikuzushi laid to act as some kind of distraction. To Sandrone, it was an inventing table as much as it was a dissecting one. She mentioned that the names differ with purpose, so if she were to account that into the present, then was it something akin to an inventing table??

The Doctor stopped in front of her, and since her line of sight was pointed to the floor, she was staring at his neatly shined footwear. By then, with him up front, she knew there was no use in blocking out whatever he wished to blabber about. 

“It’s precisely the reason why he exploits your power. Because someone who can’t ‘feel’ is therefore less apt to act out on sentimental grounds. They simply obey—like a tool.” 

Ah, if he meant to incite something by means of depreciating—more like likening—her existence to her twin sibling, then it was unlikely to work. From the genesis of it all, she already knew who she was. What she was. It came with innate acceptance, so there was no way she’d ever think of herself as more than that; a tool. 

“Because that is my purpose for living, to be used as his source of power.” 

“Purpose for living or existing? There’s a difference.” Of course, the Doctor always had a rebuttal, and they were eloquent. “Are you truly alive?”

A good question to ruminate over; was she alive? She was, but was she living or existing? 

The answer, albeit unsaid, was reticent between them. She was simply existing because she came to this world as such. Beyond the names and purposes she had been given, there was nothing of her own will. Or at least, nothing that extended beyond her will to serve as a means of power.

There was nothing wrong with that… she liked to believe. 

It was like being a Vision to a Vision-holder. 

The sight of the Doctor’s feet ambling away recaptured her attention, and so, she looked up for once. She glanced at him with his hands at his back, his steps taken leisurely as he wandered about the cold, sterile laboratory. She wished she hadn’t though, for it seemed like he knew whenever someone looked at him, for he tilted his head to meet her eyes with a small, sharp smile. 

“You mention being more than fine with being used, but I doubt that it doesn’t bother you, not when you know of his objective.”

He turned to her and she stiffened.

“You don’t wish to see him be a god, am I correct, [Name]?”

The place grew even colder than it normally was. 

She felt as though she was being adjured and criticized at the same time as the Doctor detoured to traipse back to her location upon the table next to the sleeping figure of the Balladeer. Subconsciously, she scooted closer to the latter, his presence her sanctuary, be it awake or not. 

Her lacking response seemed only to serve as reason for him to continue and oh—

“Because once the Gnosis is fully in his hands, then he will have no use for you anymore. And you don’t want that, no?”

—how she hated it. 

“Be quiet.” she mumbled. 

He did not stop. “As far as I know, the Electro Archon created both of you at the same time; him, in the likeness of your mother, but to be a vessel. And you, in the likeness of a Gnosis, you are his heart…”

“Be quiet.” she demanded, this time transferring her gaze to her sleeping twin brother in dire hopes of the sight of him easing the turmoil in her chest. It was rare that she felt willful acrimony, as more often she was influenced by Kunikuzushi.

But now—now she felt its poignant swath within, which left no room to circumvent the intense emotion. The Doctor knew this, of course, he always knew when anyone’s buttons were pressed, it was in his repertoire of endless moxies. 

“... A heart that he’ll willingly cast aside in favor of reclaiming true divinity.” he whispered close to her ear and she snapped.

“I said be quiet!”

Dottore retreated with a smile as he felt an invisible shockwave cleave through the atmosphere, distorting space itself. His laboratory, which was pristine and kempt a mere second ago was now in complete disarray. Broken test tubes and glass lay scattered, metallic tables and shelves were capsized, and charts and papers were either torn or a mess.  

Tiny zips and zaps of electricity surrounded [Name], ensconced by the power that was created in imitation of a true Gnosis. It flickered and jolted like a shield, warning the Doctor not to take a step further—ah, she was an elaborate picture of power. Her [c] hair floated all around her figure, [c] eyes gone, replaced with stark white. It looked like she could float off the ground at any moment or launch things to her will. 

He understood thoroughly her ability, despite being ‘faux’. It was the power the Balladeer often harnessed.

A power that still held hidden potential. 

“Mother? Sister? There’s no such thing as familial bonds to a pawn and a puppet. It is as you said, you are just an expendable pawn.” he spoke, noticing how in spite of the destruction from her rare outburst, the table Scaramouche was laying on remained untouched.

Oh, how she cared for him. The Doctor grinned. Perfect.

“But I can make you greater than you are now.”

The gradual return of the pawn to her ‘docile’ state cemented his conjecture; he had her hook, line, and sinker.

“What do you mean?”

[Name] was seldom swayed by promises. Compared to Kunikuzushi, she had always been a tad more cynical, but the Second Harbinger was a man of his word despite his devious and unscrupulous manner of handling affairs. She knew he was genuine—and that was what made his offer so tempting that she could not resist asking him to elaborate. 

And he gladly did. 

“I’ve only tapped and tinkered with the gears of your ‘twin brother’, and have unlocked a myriad of possibilities. What if I were to do the same unto you—his main power reserve? In theory, you will become far better than what you are now.”

He was not vigilant, he was far too complacent as he trailed his steps back to her, his towering figure peering down from his mask. 

He snapped his fingers. “You mentioned that taking up a physical form and consciousness demands power from your very being, no? This means that if you seal your consciousness and become a simple pawn piece as you were originally created, then he will be able to use your power as freely as he wishes. Without thresholds.”

Sacrifice her consciousness and physical form to be a raw core of power-?

“You will be enough.” he added. “Don’t you want that?”

She sucked in a breath. “I..”

It was everything she wanted; being enough. To her chagrin, she was reminded of the night of her twin’s inauguration as the Sixth, in those chilly, chilly quarters where she took up a new name. She recalled asking the question she dreaded the most.

“And my power is not enough for you?”

She did not have a heart of her own, but she could easily grasp the emotion she always felt whenever she was with him in the aftermath of his tragedies; dread. Fear. 

“Adequate enough.” his voice was still clear in her mind, “Enough to last until my birth as a god.”

That time, the world blanked out on her—she had so many things to say. So many things to ask. 

When had he become so detached from their inherent bond to the point of saying without hesitance that he would disregard her as soon as his godly form was built? As soon as he was fit to centralize the Gnosis he had taken from their [mother] creator? They had been together for so long it was not even an exaggeration.

For centuries, through the names, there had been no one but her and him. And countless tragedies that shouldn’t be named. 

Wasn’t it she that held him close when they awakened in the domain as he shuddered and cried when they realized that they were abandoned? Wasn’t it she that was with him through thick and thin, holding his delicate hand that refused to leave hers when Katsuragi and Niwa welcomed them in Tatarasuna? Wasn’t it she that accompanied him in the Abyss? 

She, that promised that she would not let their story as twins be as tragic as the supposedly blessed encounters they had with humans.

[Name] had done her part, she had done exceedingly well, she knew. He even told her countless times. So why—why, why, why did he even begin to entertain the idea of casting her aside? It was unfair, it was unacceptable. 

Ah! She was to blame. 

There was bliss in ignorance, and she chose to be willfully ignorant. Ever since the death of the child that succumbed to Tataragami, he burned and charred the ambitions he usually had. She remembered watching the little doll in his likeness turn into ash and couldn’t help but assimilate it to him.

For in a way, he and the little doll were one and the same. 

Except, the little toy doll had no heart of silver, but Kunikuzushi had one; her. 

She had refused to believe it then, but the moment he denounced emotions, he denounced her existence. Sure, it wasn’t her that directly influenced how he felt, because even without her in his chest he could still feel—but in essence, wasn’t that the ability of a heart?

To make one feel? So when he anathematized emotions, he condemned her willfully.

Shared dream?

No, it was but a mere bandaid to swathe over her insecurity.

It was only her dream because it was her twin’s. There was only one thing that they shared—the same fear of abandonment. Kunikuzushi had grown strong, he chose not to consort with humans any longer for they were the progenitors of their angst and pain. It would no longer hurt if he was the one to shut down and do the abandonment. 

Where did that leave her? 

The signs were all present ever since the Doctor and the Jester gave him a place in the Fatui organization, in a land of loveless frost. He was set on obtaining the Gnosis, set on becoming a power of pure and utter authentic divinity like he was meant to be. 

And that path did not include her, because she was a simple imitation with a power that was only half the legitimacy of the Gnosis’ power. 

He sought more, and that ‘more’ was something she could no longer provide—or so she thought. 

“Well, [Name]?” she became aware of where she was at the moment and blinked. 

For once, she was not doubtful nor fearful of the Doctor, she was hopeful. And it was a dangerous thing to feel around the guileful scholar, but at that very second, she did not care. In the face of a promise that would serialize and cement her future with her twin sibling, how could she start to care about anything else?

Power… she needed it to be enough. 

If she was powerful enough, then he would not need to cast her away. 

“I–”

There was shuffling from the other end of the room that prevented her from speaking further. 

“What’s all the racket for?” Kunikuzushi was waking up with that permanent scowl on his face, his eyes briefly glimpsing the mess that was the laboratory. He looked confused, but not enough to warrant his actual concern. “What, an experiment gone wrong?”

“No. The doctor just got clumsy.” [Name] responded stiffly as she turned to walk over to the Sixth Harbinger.

The Doctor nodded, raising his hands. “My hands do get rather shaky sometimes.”

A stupid lie that was. 

Obviously, it did not work on Kunikuzushi, but he remained indifferent. The pawn knew that as long as it had nothing to do with him, then it did not matter. 

She held his arms to steady him as he swung his legs off the table, but he shrugged her off. It was rude at worst and nonchalant at best, but with the pitiful memories fresh in her mind and the fear throbbing in her, it affected her immensely. Her fingers twitched. 

He did not notice as he gruffly said, “I can walk fine on my own.”

He could and he did. He was stronger. During the first line of experiments he was put through, he required her assistance to get by, but he didn’t now. Did he remember, or was she the only one who relived those times? 

Who am I kidding? She thought with a lump in her throat as he passed by her without so much as a second glance. He dares not think about episodes that entail any of his weaknesses. 

He had grown so much during the course of the centuries, and he had developed a zealous attitude that was admirable as it was intimidating. Intimidating and fearful on her side, because she knew she was shackled on borrowed time. 

Wordlessly, she followed after the Sixth Harbinger, her head kept straight despite the weight she felt that tempted her to look down. As she passed by, Dottore’s words were quiet, serving to be heard by no one else but the one who had the need to hear it. 

“Think about my offer, will you?”

She did think about it. In fact, nothing else had been in her mind except for the offer he proposed; a promise of power. Whilst accepting it may not vouch for her stay as her twin’s heart, it presented a chance.

And to her, a chance was all she needed. 

“Kunikuzushi,” she called one day after he had overlooked the progress of building his godly form, Shouki no Kami. She had been in his mind when she spoke, and could not deny the sting of alarm when he regarded her with frustration, demanding what it was she required. 

“Scaramouche.” he corrected. 

She conceded. “Scaramouche.”

He had been rather perturbed the last few days because of the Traveler, but that aside, he was delighted. She could feel him agog with the idea of finally claiming the Gnosis, of finally being dubbed a rightful deity. 

“Must you really seek the Gnosis?” she questioned without tact. No beating around the bush, just a direct question, which surprised him, she knew. 

The puppet stopped in his tracks, the shadows cast by the sunset across the colonnade enshrouding him in its twilit curtain. Over the centuries he had been with his sibling, not once had she asked about their shared dream. He thought nothing of it, but he was oddly irked that she did—perhaps it was because of the Traveler that she did. 

[Name] always was the most acquiescent between them. He wouldn’t be surprised if the Traveler’s spiel about morality had managed to dent her thinking process. 

“What do you think?” he remarked, resuming his steps. “The Gnosis is my objective for the last hundred years. Do you think I’d replace it for anything else when I am one step closer to reaching my goal?”

There was silence in his head. For the last few days, [Name] had been quiet, there was nothing new to that, but her current muteness was unsettling.

The bitterness within him gyrated his thoughts and spun them negatively, but before he could speak, she already beat him to it.

“If I’m powerful enough,” he did not like where that phrase was going. “... if I’m powerful enough, will you not take the Gnosis?” 

A look of incredulity arose from his expression as he proceeded to traipse towards the workshop, the towering gears and turning wheels welcoming his arrival. 

“Do you realize how ridiculous that question is, [Name]? I’ve been created for the Gnosis, it was my destiny to seize.” his words were acerbic and factual, but why would that matter when it was the truth? Besides, [Name] was used to it. There was no need to worry. 

“Besides,” he gruffly stated as the elevator took him up to the next level where his godly form awaited, powered by the Electro Gnosis. “We both know you’re a mere imitation of the Gnosis, your power is only ‘half of what is authentic’, a pseudo-power, if you will. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten that?”

“I haven’t..” her voice was tiny, but it was firm. 

“Good.” 

He huffed as he was brought to the top floor, wherein he was greeted with the mighty mechanical form that he will soon occupy. The Sages that have turned from their pitiful Dendro Archon were already present, alongside the Doctor, who passed a small wave of formality. 

Of course she wouldn’t forget that piece of crucial information, it was the very definition of her being; a tool used for empowerment. 

He began to walk towards his future, but with each step he took, he found it heavy to press on. His eyebrows furrowed and his chest twisted. There was only one explanation for such sensations and he knew what it was and where it was coming from. 

“Where will I go when you acquire the Gnosis?” her next question made it harder to walk forward. “What will happen to me, Kunikuzushi?” 

“Don’t call me that.” he gritted his teeth. 

The Sages and the Doctor were too preoccupied with whatever conversation they were having to notice his balking. Whatever—he preferred it that way. 

His voice low, he proceeded to snap. “And how am I supposed to know? We may be twins, but we’re two different beings. I’m not in charge of delegating what you wish to concern yourself with after I become a god. Do whatever you want.”

His body felt cold. 

“We’re not different,” she protested. “I’m your heart. I’m a part of you.” 

“Then do you support me gaining a new Gnosis?” he asked. “If we are one and the same, then my ideals are yours and so are my dreams. Tell me, do you want me to be a god to fulfill that dream?”

Silence. The world was slow as he waited, unbreathing. 

When the answer came, he was not surprised—not any longer. 

“I still want to stand with you.” 

It was not a direct answer to his question, but given that he had known her for so long, he knew the implication she endeavored to convey through those equivocal words. To this, he laughed sardonically, feeling his chest twist in some kind of bitter acquiescence.

“In other words,” he chuckled. “No, you don’t want me to be a god. You want me to remain shackled to your inadequate power when you know that I seek more?” 

“I can be stronger!” her voice rose in his head and he faltered in genuine surprise. Not once had he ever heard her raise her voice. But that awe gave way for resentment. 

Scaramouche balled his hands into fists, feeling his anger rise and bubble. There was no use in hiding it because this conversation was pointless! From the moment he burned that child’s house down and left everything in the ashes of time, he had made up his mind—he was resolute in becoming a true deity.

They both knew what that implied. 

“Even if you can, you’re just a phony Gnosis.” the words cut and stung, he knew. He was not reviling her in any way because it was the cold, hard truth. “Why else would she create you in the likeness of a measly pawn piece in the chessboard?”

“Even pawns are capable of attaining majesty!” ah, yes, Guji Yae said that herself, that even pawn pieces could be Queens and any other stronger pieces upon reaching theend of the board, but this was no chess game. 

It did not remove in essence, the fact that his twin’s power was not authentic. There was no ‘end of the board’ for her to reach—this was her limit and they both knew that. 

Baring his teeth, the Balladeer trudged on despite the heaviness in his chest weighing him down. He refused to be swayed by a sentimental sibling. Zealous in his steps, he disregarded the growing feel of dread for he knew it was not his emotion, but his twin’s.

It was a sickening feeling and he despised it, so he forwarded with zero hesitation. 

“Quit it. All I hear is my own twin sister refusing to let me achieve the dream I’ve always chased after.” 

He had hoped they would be on the same page—after all, hadn’t it always been the world against them? Them against the world? It left a hollow feeling inside and he swore he felt his eyes burn, but he did not succumb to such a pathetic weakness. He wasn’t a human, nor did he want to be. 

“Our dreams were meant to be shared.” he heard her voice falter. “We were meant to work together.” 

He never thought her to be this sentimental. But he supposed that after that conversation they had a few days ago, she was more inclined to feeling emotions just as he was [forcibly].

The Doctor welcomed him as he stopped in front of them, his hat tipped down to obscure his expression from their prying eyes. He answered his twin sibling sullenly, in a mere whisper. 

“Yeah, I thought so, too.”

“Kabuki—”

The Balladeer thrust his hand in his chest, retrieving the pawn piece—his sister—from the spacious dimension within him. Immediately, her voice ceased to exist in his mind and all was silent. Withdrawing, he looked at the small item in his hand, glowing a faint [c], as if urging, insisting—begging him to return her where she belonged. 

But he could no longer look at it with distant fondness. Now, there was only betrayal. 

I thought so, too. He repeated his own defeated response in his head as the Doctor stepped forward. 

“It’s time, Balladeer.” Dottore smiled. 

The puppet looked up at him, then back at the pawn piece, which he gripped tightly in one hand, as if willing himself to shatter it into pieces—but he did not. He realized that, even with her gone, his chest was hollow. But that did not matter, for he would soon be filled with a power that could void the emptiness inside. 

“I know.” he scowled, pocketing the faux Gnosis as the Sages adjusted the mechanical body, opening the cockpit which held a number of tubes and other small equipment. 

He stepped into it as the familiar aura of the Electro Gnosis captured his attention, glimpsing it just in time before it was inserted in the center piece of the body that bore the insignia of Electro. He looked back as the Doctor spoke, though the latter’s line of sight seemed to be directed elsewhere on his person.

“We will begin the process. Are you prepared?” Dottore smiled placidly. 

What a stupid question. It seemed like he was being bombarded with tons of it today, but no matter, for this coming dawn was to be a divine advent. 

Scaramouche allowed his hand to fall beside him, subtly feeling the figure of the small piece of faux power in his pocket as he answered.

“Of course I am.” 

He was awakened not as the perfidious Sixth Harbinger that had absconded his position, but as a newly born god. It was a dreamless sleep, filled with the thrum of divine power. 

“Do you remember?” Cloaked from within the penumbra of a false sky, two beings stood—not quite human, yet capable of humanity, regardless.

One so refused to act on it, not any longer, at least. And the other remained in the grey.

The wind was howling with the nightly breeze of Sumeru, cold, and chilly, but it affected neither. A voice spoke, sounding blank. “I do not understand the need to tirelessly search for a heart… when you’re already capable of feeling, anyway.”

“Such outdated information, I don’t seek a heart any more.” Cut a voice so sharp the wind stopped. “I’m looking to crush these filthy emotions. You should, too.”

Silence. It wasn’t the uncomfortable kind, but it was tense with acquiescence, a muted clash of perspectives, ones demanding to be forced upon the other. The response came, sounding bland, if not defeated.

“No.”

That was the last proper conversation they had—it was annoying to recall such things, especially during a time when he was battling against the pesky Traveler who knew nothing but to scupper his plans.

He didn’t know why he would recall it now out of all times, as he heaved breath after breath, the power from the tubes slotted into the sockets of his back not enough to cement his victory.

“I don’t think I will.”

So annoying, so, so infuriating everything was. Everything be damned to hell.

He could almost see her stupid blank face in the back of his mind; he knew she would be disappointed, but when was she not? For someone who put emotions on such a pedestal, she knew only how to be dismayed by him. Well, good riddance.

“I quite like feeling.”

Good riddance, indeed,  as the ginormous mechanical figure that housed a supposed god fell to its knees. What a weakling he was, putting himself above others who he deemed unfit for the world; humans who succumbed to desperation like a beggar to a coin.

Yet there he was, the same miserable picture of the puppet he swore to no longer be, hand outstretched towards a Gnosis meant to be his, but arbitrary fate deemed should never be.

The pain of hitting the ground was dull compared to the various other experiments he went through in all the years being a subject to the Doctor’s experiments—and though he thought his own consciousness would pity and leave him be, it did not.

Through the ringing of his ears, he heard Buer usher the damned Traveler elsewhere. And the fact that they did not once acknowledge his pitiful descent only went to show how he truly was a puppet strung along in the grand scheme of a play dolled up by the fate of this accursed world.

“Scaramouche.”

He could not move, no, he did not have the strength and will to move at the moment. His crushing defeat was like a torrent that swallowed him underwater, flooding his being and forcing him to think of nothing but it as he drowned further.

The Doctor’s figure as he hovered over him, like what a scientist would to a specimen, displayed the kind of hierarchy there currently was in the battlefield meant to be the location of his rise as a god.

A failed one.

“It may be difficult to see, what with your pitiful state right now, but you’re far from being average, are you not? So, you are still capable of response. Now tell me.” The man hovered something above his line of sight. “Is this familiar to you?”

He dared not to feel, he swore not to feel—yet he could not help the churn in his empty chest.

A pawn piece. Its homely [c] glow beckoned him to reach out to it, and he did so with a weak, trembling hand as he struggled against the lapse of his consciousness.

It was a reaction out of instinct—to grasp for something that was his, that belonged to him, that was a part of him. 

But then it was whisked away and he swore it felt as though he crashed to the ground for the second time. He disliked the nagging trepidation in the back of his head as he shifted to adjust with all that he could, suddenly deeming the tubes that made him powerful a while ago now heavy, burdened with the reminder of his shameful defeat in a war that he began. 

What on earth did that Harbinger planned to do? How was he able to take her? 

He took her with him in his newly assembled form. 

“Dottore…” his voice was weak and he hated it. “How..”

What was he going to do– what did he plan to-

The Doctor laughed as he stepped away with a flourish, gloved hand allowing the piece to float above his palm as he recounted a time of long ago.

“My word! But I thought you sought the bonafide power from an Archon and not from some prototype!” he grinned, “Didn’t you say… that you have no need for her? You fallen ‘god’?”

He wasn’t going to-

“Dottore-!”

“I’ve given you what you want, is it not only fair for me to take my share?” resumed the victor in this play. 

And that measly reply was all that poor Scaramouche needed to understand what the Doctor intended to do.

The realization seized him like a serpent, and all of a sudden he loathed his nihilistic, pragmatic view that everything to the world was a simple transaction.

Yes, he wanted Dottore to make his dream a reality. But what did that spell in exchange?

[Name]. 

Hearing the puppet’s spasming breaths made Dottore huff. He initially had no plan to further taunt someone who was already so pitiful, but he could not resist the morbid pleasure it brought him; a puppet who was a puppet through and through.

Being a god was none other than a foolish position unfit for the latter in the first place.

The hand that shot to wrap around his ankle prevented him from taking another step, and instead of feeling irked, he was only amused. 

“What desperation…” he commented.

Deciding to take things up a notch for his own entertainment, he bent on a knee over the piteous Scaramouche, the once great Balladeer, who was now in the shambles of his own mechanical body.

He had to commend him, for despite the obvious asthenia, the fire in those violet eyes were never snuffed out.

“You once wished to be a mortal with a heart, so enlighten me. Between the two of us, who is the closest thing to a weak human being now?” he allowed the piece to float closer to the loser, and he could see the natural effect it brought.

The Balladeer’s easing body, the slight serenity in his expression at the thought of being so close to the being he had with him from the very start…

… And the absolute desperation on his face when the Doctor pulled it away.

“Dottore!” ah, that scream of madness as he clawed the ground, breaths heaved between demands. “Do not… even think of laying a hand on her! She’s not yours! She’s—!”

“Yours, then?”

Dottore asked upon the shambled excuse of a god, the floating item in his possession that glowed a faint [c] and resembled a pawn piece in the chessboard being hidden into his coat.

Over his heart, where it throbbed the same color of [c], almost tauntingly.

“No…” he smiled, kicking off the clasp around his boot, and walking away. Leaving the puppet to the isolation he was so used to. “I don’t think you’ve any right to say that anymore.”

Truly, he wished to stay for a moment longer to watch the show of the desperate Balladeer, whose actions at the moment bespoke nothing of the menacing Harbinger he once was. But the desperation and agony of someone who was once just Kabukimono.

But alas! There were things to be done, and places he needed to go.

Agony—the ugly, distasteful twist of his chest was the sole reason for why he wanted to rid his emotions. To be a superior being incapable of it, for feelings were weak.

He no longer desired a heart, so he threw it away.

Yet at that moment, the godforsaken feeling of having let go brought about a pain and denial that no words could ever describe. He was helpless. Again. To the hands of fate and his own failure. Who was he to be mad, when he had been the one to forsake his heart?

It was beyond hypocritical if he were to ask for it back.

Oh, and where was he now? A measly bug on the cold stone floor.

On shaking arms, he attempted to push himself up. With nonexistent strength, he urged himself to move, but it was the very equipment engineered and produced by the Akademiya that reined him back like a literal puppet on strings—and he was soon crashing back to the floor. But he was nothing if not recalcitrant. 

“No- no, don’t-” the consciousness he earlier begged to be taken away was doing its job, and he realized for certain that he would be rid of it.

To his utter desperation.

“Get back here, this isn’t what we agreed on… !”

Deep in the crevices of his mind there resounded the voice so raw with emotions he wished to burn. An ache—a defect in him that he could not, for the artificial life of him, destroy.

His chest hollowed as the Doctor went farther and farther away, carrying with him, the prototype heart he had replaced for the Gnosis.  

Anything but her— no more- don’t take any more from me!

[How bastardous he was, to forsake her but in the end demand that she not be taken away from him? What irony.]

That time, he wanted nothing more but to curse everything and himself as he shook. With fear or anguish, he no longer knew.

The [c] glow he had been acclimated to over the centuries was vanishing, just like he wanted to, but now selfishly wanted to take back. Was it because he failed that he wanted her again? He didn’t know anymore—he was afraid to know. 

Black spots bedecked his vision, the bile of emotions rising into his throat, threatening to spew in hysteria. Words died in his chest and his voice faded, but still, even with his fading consciousness, he dragged his body across the pavement, fixated on the Doctor’s back, who was now walking away.

Far.. far.. away. 

Scaramouche, Kunikuzushi—Kabukimono raged and cried with a hand that could not reach for anything.

Not his goal of transcending into a deity.

Not his mother and creator, the Archon of Inazuma.

With the last of his consciousness and strength, he cried out. “[NAME]!!” 

Not the heart he called his twin sister. 

His hand fell and his consciousness left, leaving him in the swathe of familiar blackness. One that spoke without the company of the one who knew him most. 

It wasn’t fair—this wasn’t fair. 

But alas, perhaps fatalism had written that, even if he was far from being a powerfless human being, he could still do nothing to determine his own fate.

That of which included his desertion of his heart, his defeat, and the grand consequence to a dream he had ambitiously chased for himself. 

a/n: boop. see you post-irminsul, boy.

also, mc's as "kenkoroshi" is made up of the kanji 剣 [ken/sword] and 殺し [koroshi/kill], so whilst kunikuzushi is literally country destroyer, i opted to have mc be named something that implies her nature as a weapon. 偽物 [nisemono], on the other hand, means 'fake'. or in fatalism context, she's a fake/imitation of a Gnosis.

This has been stewing in my mind for,, a year and a half? Finally out of the basement.

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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

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Hello!!!! I really liked the Diluc and Xiao w a teenage reader (not in any weird ways lol it was very nice to read and great plot) If its okay can you continue it, maybe with more characters or just a continuing of the fic w the same characters, purely platonic nothing weird, anything works really!!! I'd just live to see more of it! ♡

Scaramouche + Zhongli with a Teenager!Reader Part 2

Hi, thank you. If you want me to continue a character's part then you can just ask me.

Previous part here. Next part here.

Strictly platonic, mentions of Y/n being abused. Spoilers for Liyue and Inazuma archon quest.

Scaramouche:

You hated the people at home. They did... weird things to you. You felt lost, was a child supposed to go through this stuff? You spent your time in adolescence with them, suffering but still getting through it.

When you grew more and became more self aware, you realized the people at home didn't care for you, they were just using you, punishing you to make you think you were such a bad child. You fell for it, pushing yourself to reach their expectations.

You trusted them, that they would treat you better if you became better. You became the best person you could be for them, but they still treat you the same. Careless, violent, close minded. Only behind closed doors. Those people at home.

Outside, there were much nicer people in a much nicer environment. You weren't sure if you could trust those nice people. Were they just acting nice outside but completely different inside?

You really felt lost. Would you really spend your entire life in paranoia?

Deciding to take a walk, you got pretty lost. It was afternoon, a couple of hours until only the stars would lend you light. You thought about the people who you saw everyday at home. What would it be like if things were different? Is it too late for things to change?

The sky was a little too dark for you to notice a tall man with dark clothes and a mask walk up to you. "Hey, you. You're not supposed to be here." You heard someone with a very intimidating voice.

—

Scaramouche assigned some of his subordinates to be put on patrol for today. He decided it would be good to check up on them, since he hasn't heard anything from them since early morning.

He was walking, seeing if anything suspicious was around the patrolling area. Occasionally, he would spot one of his servants and they would tell Scaramouche what they discovered. It was a pretty normal check up.

The Balladeer was about done. Just two more underlings to meet up with. He spotted one of them in the distance, seeming to get violent with someone. It was probably a drunk adult that trespassed and was disobeying the fatui.

When Scaramouche looked closer, he noticed that you, the trespasser, was still pretty young. If you were just a drunk adult that angered a subordinate, he would leave the two of you be. Scaramouche stopped walking and observed, witnessing every move his subordinate did to you.

Wait. Why would someone, even if it was an angered fatui member, attack a child? He heared your pained whimpers and your pleas to stop. It's like you knew exactly what to say, even though the violent servant was not stopping. He couldn't help but get curious. Did you go through this before?

Well, enough thinking. Scaramouche snapped back to reality when he saw tears threatening to drop from your eyes. He stomped towards you two. The subordinate stopped pushing you around to look at The Balladeer. You looked at him as well, still tense.

"My Lord!" The man in the mask kneeled down, forgetting about you. Scaramouche didn't say anything immediately, which made the subordinate assume his lord was glaring at you.

—

The masked man gripped your wrist, still kneeling, and pulled you down harshly. You thought it was because you needed to kneel down as well. But, before you could, Scaramouche slapped the subordinate's hand away from yours.

"What's the situation here?" Scaramouche asked the man on patrol. "Well, My Lord. I did not see anything out of the ordinary. Not until this person was trespassing on the grounds. So, I had to—" He was interupted by Scaramouche, who sighed loud and quick, hinting for the subordinate to stop.

Scaramouche looked at you. You were standing a bit stiff, with your head down but still looking back at him. You were fidgeting with your hands infront of you, getting ready to be scolded and thrown to the ground. Scaramouche looked back at his subordinate, who was staring back in anticipated and confusion.

"Hm. So, we already know you're stupid. Are you blind as well?" You then found out that this man was way more scary than the masked man. You gulped.

"You can't see?" He gripped your arm. His hand was a bit loose, to not hurt you and hopefully not scare you. You flinched but stayed in place. You didn't want to anger this man, after all. "This human is still developing. Do you know what that means?" Scaramouche glared down at the subordinate, who was now trembling. You also stared at him.

"This is a child." You just stood there, your arm where Scaramouche was holding became even more tense. You had no clue what the two men's intentions were. Will they punish you?

"M-my apoligies, my lord! My mask was a bit foggy today, the darkness did not help either—" "Will you just shut up?" Scaramouche let go of your arm and took a tiny step forward to the kneeling man. "Go back to headquarters. You're done for today," He ordered. "Yes, my lord!"

When the subordinate was out of sight, Scaramouche turned towards you. He examined you, to see if he could recognize you, but that did not work. It seems you were just a lost teenager. "Why are you out here alone? Get back to your family." His voice was still as intimidating, but he wasn't glaring at you like he was to his subordinate.

"...Family?" You whispered. Scaramouche clicked his tongue. "You really don't know, do you?" He crossed his arms. What does this guy mean? You wiped your cheek, where the subordinate once slapped you, as if trying to brush off the pain. "You know, the people at home." Your eyes widened, while his narrowed down at you.

"I—" You tilted your head up at Scaramouche. "I don't want to—" You stuttered, then remembered something. No one cares if you do or don't want to, it doesn't matter because you need to. You looked down at your hands, resting your face to make it blank and waiting for this man to tell you something. Perhaps to give you another order.

"You have something to say? Speak." That was his next order. Did you have something to say? You wanted to cry out, 'Save me, please.' But remembering his attitude towards the masked man, you hesitated.

The man infront of you must have a higher rank, to be able to order people around. It was just like the people at home, and you were the subordinate. "Don't want to talk, huh. Then tell me your address, I'll take you back home." You noticed he didn't ask, he demanded. Or, at least you thought he did. Scaramouche was actually just offering—in his own stubborn way—to take you home.

You knew you had to talk now. You've memorized the address, the one where the people at home stay. So, you'll just say that, and it'll all be easy. Just your neighborhood and house number— "Don't take me home! ...I-I mean—" You failed. Now this guy was going to tell the man that lives at home how bad you were.

Getting ready for a punishment, you slowly looked up at Scaramouche. He has an eyebrow raised as he uncrossed his arms. He was starting to get annoyed by your timidness. ...It kind of reminded him of Kunikuzushi. But, it's not time to dwell on the past.

"The people at home... Will just do the same things the guy with the mask did." You tried to explain your situation. You don't care if you can't trust anyone. It doesn't matter what they will do to you, because your life was already miserable. It can't get worst. You were staring to lose hope.

Scaramouche tried remembering what his subordinate did to you. He remembers that he pulled your hair, swinging his hand around to shake your head. Your reaction was too clutch the sides of your head with your face tensing up. He remembers how he kicked your shins when you were walking too slow. Your reaction to grip your leg while letting out a pained cry. He— didn't want to think about it further. "If your family— The people at home do that, then that's not home. That's just a house, not your home."

You started feeling confused. Then, the feeling of being lost hit you again. "Then, what's my address..."

"Tell me where their address is, the people that hurt you." Scaramouche was glaring, but not directed at you. He was glaring at his thoughts. How could someone do such things to a growing child? During their most important years of development? He'll do whatever he can to make their lives miserable. He'll fire them from their jobs, spread bad rumours, kill them, torture them for hours— He will make them pay.

But, that should come later. Scaramouche needs to take care of you first, since no one else was willing to do so the proper way. He doesn't want a teenager becoming like how he was, wandering around with no purpose. Eventually, the wrong people would take you in.

...Maybe Scaramouche was the wrong person. But, his intentions weren't wrong at all.

Scaramouche wouldn't pull your hair, he would pet your hair. He wouldn't slap your cheek, he would rub it softly, calming you down. He wouldn't push your shoulder harshly, he would wrap his arm around you, gently holding both of your shoulders to guide you, with him by your side.

And if anyone would do something he did not approve of towards you... He'd softly tell you to close your eyes before he would cast eternal hell upon them.

Zhongli:

One time when you were at a very young age, you got in trouble with your family. You did a simple mistake that almost any child would make. Your family grounded you to your room, saying to learn your lesson.

You were pouting in anger, thinking about running away. You were in a pretty normal situation for a child, except for the fact that you actually did run away.

The window was left wide open when you snuck out. After wandering around Liyue harbour, you felt lonely and scared so you went back home. But, instead of going back through your window, you went to another window that shows the dining room.

You crouched and peeked through the glass, straining your ears to hear what your family was saying at the dining table. You soon realized they were talking about you.

They were talking about how dumb you were, how they should've never had you. Your family laughed when one of them made an insulting joke about you. You just stared from the window, eyes getting glossy.

Suddenly, one of your family members said they were going to check up on you. So, they stood up and walked towards your room. You stayed crouching, wondering what they would do if you weren't there.

When said family member came back, they had a smile. You basically had question marks above your head, before they raised a fist in victory and stated how you magically disappeared. "It's like our god has finally lifted a weight off of our shoulders. Now, we can finally live in peace."

You ran away for real after that.

It was hard living as a street kid. But over the few years, you learned how to take care of yourself. You slept out in the open, most likely on a bench. Whenever you saw one of your family members walking by in the street, you were extra careful to not be spotted.

The most important people in your childhood turned out to hate you. So, you thought everyone hated you. It was a stupid thought, but you were a close minded child. That thought stayed with you until you grew became more self aware. So if you ever earned some Mora, you wouldn't spend it. Instead, you would steal whatever you needed.

For one, you wanted to save money for when you were older. Your dream was to move out of Liyue harbor, and live under a different archon's protection. And two, you didn't trust anyone with your Mora. You thought people would take your money and say "Hah, get lost," without giving what you payed for.

You hated Liyue's archon. He was the one who made everyone, especially your family, hate you. He blessed your family with your disappearance, just as they said. You could only hate him as much as he hates you.

It was now present time. Today, you were feeling especially hungry. Why? Because you didn't get the chance to eat anything for a few days. A few days might be a lot, but it was pretty normal for you. Your body was trained to handle this kind of hunger.

You went up to a food stand, staying in place not too close, but not too far to not be noticed. You were observing the types of food they had displayed. Your plan was to choose the food you think was the easiest to steal without getting noticed. Come back during the night, where almost all of the lights were off, and snatch what you wanted.

You wanted to do it now, but there were too many people. You wanted to eat at least a small meal, but you stopped yourself, even though you would probably feel to weak to do it later.

"Are you hungry, little one?" You heard a deep voice say. Your head snapped up, realizing that you were so exhausted that you were about to fall asleep standing up. A tall man with a ponytail was standing before you patiently.

"I can't help but notice you staring at the food here for quite some time. Are you planning on buying a few ingredients for your family?" His voice was so calming, yet intimidating. Like one wrong move and he would look down upon you in disappointment.

Your meals were so small, this tall man considered them ingredients. But, forget that. Did he really think you were buying food for family? You shook your head at his question and he hummed in response. Was he actually disappointed? That you weren't going to help your family? Was he just another person who hated you now?

Deciding that it was the end of your conversation, you looked around the harbour, finding a place nearby to take a nap. You almost completed forgot the man was still here, until he asked you another question.

"Are you looking for something specific? I know the ways around Liyue. Just tell me and I could lead you wherever you want," The same man offered. Your body was facing to the side, but your head turned to look at him.

Wait, does he not hate you? Because he offered... No, he probably does hate you. Maybe he just wants to lead you somewhere quiet to beat you up, since he hates you so much.

He noticed you were hesitant, so his first instinct was to make you trust him. "My name is Zhongli, I work in Wangsheng Funeral Parlor." You faced Zhongli with a neutral stare. You didn't introduce yourself back, instead admitting what you were doing.

"I'm just looking for a good place to enjoy a meal. I already found that food stand over there, so I don't need help," You said with a monotone voice. Zhongli put his hand to his chin and closed his eyes. "Hmm..." When he opened them again, he hit you with another question. "But why settle for a small stand that only sells two types of bread, along with some apples?"

'Only??' You wanted to say. You furrowed your eyebrows. Maybe it's because this man ate way more fancier foods than just a few bites of a sunsettia.

"Look, I'm just a homeless teen that can't afford fancy meals like you. Growing up on your own is hard, even a piece of bread could be considered enough for the day." You wanted this weirdo to stop questioning you. You also wanted someone to talk to about your life... But you haven't spoken to anyone in so long that you didn't know how to keep a good conversation going. Not like anyone would want to converse with you.

"Oh. I see." Zhongli straightened his arms to his side. "Would it be alright if I treat you to a nice restaurant? I'll buy anything you order." His voice sounded a bit softer, in a more hushed tone. But, you shook your head and turned around abruptly... You couldn't even take one step before falling forward and losing consciousness.

—

When you woke up, it took you some time to remember everything.

When you remembered that you passed out, you shot up from your sleeping position. Your body ached a bit, probably because you were laying on wood. You noticed you were sitting on a bench you slept on last night... Was everything that just happened a few minutes ago a dream?

Apperantly not, because the guy from earlier was sitting next to you. "Oh, you're awake. Are you feeling well?" You turned to look at Zhongli, and slowly nodded. "You passed out. It sounded like you hit the ground pretty hard. You must be hungry?" You looked forward and nodded once more before standing up and speed walking away. You decided to ignore Zhongli following close behind. Only a couple of more hours until you can go back to that food stand again. You were so hungry.

You stopped when you heard the sounds of a smooth sizzling fire, and found out there was a huge restaurant next to you. The delightful smell of the salty foods mixed with the sweet desserts, it made you starve. You wanted to cry. Curse this horrible world—no, this horrible archon. How could someone that retired from a divine being still act so cruel?

"Hm? We could go in there if you'd like. You don't have to worry about the Mora," Zhongli, who you forgot about, asked. You bit your lip and looked down. You wanted to scream in agony, you wanted to give up.

Your emotions were getting to you. Thoughts were flooding your mind, you had no control. You started feeling so furious at this man. You tilted your head up at Zhongli—but suddenly your tense face eased up. You noticed a resemblance.

"Mh—..." Your eyes widened at Zhongli. He only raised an eyebrow in confusion. "Morax..?"

Zhongli was taken off guard—did you just call him Morax? You immediately looked back down, a bit embarrassed but still angry. Was he really the god of Liyue? Maybe that's why you're so mad at him. But, it couldn't be, an archon doesn't casually walk around in public, right? But Rex Lapiz retired, so is he just a normal citizen now?

"It's Z— Zhongli," He stuttered, eyebrow twitching with nervousness. You faced him, looking up once again. You then squinted, trying to imagine dragon horns and a tail on him. Oh, he really was Morax.

"Morax!" You half-yelled while your teeth clenched and eyes narrowed Zhongli tried to hush you, worried if other people would overhear. You felt offended by that, shoving him away. "You were such a horrible archon. How dare you!" Tears were threatening to fall.

Zhongli put his hands on your shoulders, leading you both to a quiet area with barely anyone around. You felt too frail to fight back. You felt your stomach eating you up, along with a headache making you want to die.

When you both stopped, you thought Morax was going to walk away, but instead he kneeled down infront of you. "...I apologize. I've always known about your situation, yet I didn't want to be the one to approach you." He started explaining his side of the story.

You wiped your eyes and let him speak. "I... knew about your hatred towards me as an archon, I did not want to bother you." You looked into his eyes. They were a bit sad, heartbroken. "But after realizing that my people would not help you, I felt a sense of betrayal. I had to do something."

"Please, Y/n, let me help. I can't bear the weight of witnessing a child, one of my people, suffer like this." You didn't respond. How could you, when the person who you hated most in your life wanted to help you?

Feeling too hungry to respond, you looked down and lightly clutched your shirt near your stomach. Maybe you should just accept his offer, you could use this to your advantage and eat all the foods and try all the drinks you've been so jealous to have a taste of.

You'd have to thank Morax later. He wants to help you, even though you despised him.

Well, now a certain archon felt protective of you, in a calm yet intimidating way.

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ꜱᴜɴᴅᴀʏ ᴀɴᴅ ᴀᴠᴇɴᴛᴜʀɪɴᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀ ᴛᴇᴇɴ! ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

pairings - sunday & teen! reader / aventurine & teen! reader

content - reader is gender-neutral/not a lot of angst/mainly fluff/sibling or family dynamics/ kind of a found family fic (?)

warnings - none

⋘ ʟᴏᴀᴅɪɴɢ... ⋙

↻ I imagine Sunday meeting you as a bellhop working alongside Misha, another bellhop, who welcomes distant travelers to Penacony  

↺ If you’re a bit clumsy like Misha and accidentally spill some luggage after tripping over a hill in the rug, he’d stumble across your defeated form scattering to pick up the fallen belongings 

↺ He’d offer his assistance in organizing the fallen trolley, assessing if you had gotten hurt when you had tripped

↻ Because Sunday’s many responsibilities are to ensure people are following the rules and regulations during their stay in Penacony, he’d come across you on multiple occasions in the hotel lobby

↺ It seems like you were a fairly new worker, asking your coworkers about certain things and needing some guidance with doing things

↺ However, for the most part, you were an inquisitive and hard worker, Sunday noted

↻ One day, he would find you wandering Golden Hour, looking around at the shops curiously while holding a couple of bags

↺ He had conversed with you a couple of times, having small chats during breaks before the two of you had to return to your duties

↺ Sunday had decided to say hi, asking if you were enjoying some of the few renovations done to the dreamscape

↻ At first, you were startled at his sudden appearance, confused about why he approached you

↺ You would then answer his question, stating that you were enjoying some of the shops that had just opened up since it was your day off

↺ Sunday would give you a recommendation, a place that had recently been buzzing with customers as their food selection was one of the best Golden Hour had to offer

↺ Excitedly, you’d thank him for the tip and bid farewell to him, watching him fade in the distance

↻ When you and Sunday had gotten closer together, he’d kinda adopt you as a younger sibling

↻ On the days the both of you weren’t busy, he’d take you to see some of the events that are happening in Penacony (or different locations that he thinks you would like)

↺ Spending his time with you reminded him of the time he used to spend with Robin when the two of them were younger

↺ Watching you bubble with excitement when you saw something you liked, asking him if it was a good idea to get it reminded him of old times 

↻ One time, you jokingly call him old which made him reevaluate his life a bit (did he really seem that old??)

↺ You grew a bit worried when he didn’t respond, watching him hold his chin in deep thought (he snapped out of it after you shook him a bit)

↻ Sunday would take on the role of an older brother to you, fretting whenever you got injured while working and spoiling you rotten with trinkets he had found

↻ He would feel bad whenever he has to turn you down when he’s busy, promising to find a time when he is free from work to accompany you on what you’ve planned 

↺ If it was a limited-time event, he’d feel especially bad, planning to treat you to something to make up for the lost time (you tell him not to worry but he insists)

↻ Something that became routine for the both of you would be tea time (or going out to a restaurant)

↺ During these sessions, you and Sunday would talk about your week/day, basically spending the time talking and sometimes even gossiping about some of the rumors heard around Penacony

↺ You were careful about rumors that concerned The Family, not wanting to upset Sunday, so you mainly focused on small gossip circling around work

↻ Something that interested you about Sunday was his wings, and when the two of you hung out more, you asked him about them

↺ He explained to you about Halovians and the experiences he had with them (how he had to clean them, take care of them, etc…)

↺ If the two of you are closer enough, he’d allow you to touch them, chuckling as you gaped at them in amazement and wonder

↻ Sometimes when one of you is overworked and exhausted, the other would give a light scolding and have them rest on a nearby lounge chair, giving them a moment of rest 

↺ Sunday would offer you to rest on him, providing you his coat as a blanket and humming you to sleep 

↺ You would lead Sunday to his room, making sure he was resting comfortably after you brewed some tea for him (you’d softly close the door and resume your duties after making sure he was actually sleeping)

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“I will be fine, _____. You do not need to worry about my well-being.” Sunday was seated on his couch in his lounge clothes, arms crossed as he watched you pour water into a kettle. 

Huffing, you turned on the heat and let the water boil, scavenging his cupboards for his tea packets. He couldn’t help but sigh when you ignored his protests, opting to lean against the couch and listen as you worked.

“You haven’t been getting much sleep for the past few days. I know that it’s been busy with the Charmony Festival in full swing, but you need to take care of yourself too, Sunday.” Setting down the finished cup of tea in front of him, you took a seat on a different chair next to him. 

Sunday blew on his tea, the smoke wafting away as he took a sip of the chamomile tea you brewed for him. 

There was a small silence between the both of you. You were fiddling with some of the accessories of your uniform, eyes cast towards the wooden coffee table. On the other hand, Sunday held his cup of tea with both of his hands, feeling the heat of the cup fade to a nice warmth. 

When Sunday had finished his tea, he set it down on the coffee table and relaxed into the soft material of the couch.

“I understand that you are concerned, _____. I promise to take better care of myself but know I will be fine.” Sunday assured you and your worries, opening his eyes to glance at you. You didn’t meet his eyes until you heard him get up from his spot on the couch, feeling a lightweight being put on your head. 

His hand lightly ruffles your hair, moving back to his side. “To ease your worries, I will be going to bed now.” 

You blinked at him before shaking your head. “Thanks, now get to bed old man.” “

I’m not that old, _____...” “Old man.” “Sigh…”

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↻ Aventurine would meet you when you’ve just joined the IPC, becoming your superior and having you run errands or finish up paperwork 

↻ You, being the dedicated worker you are, would spend countless nights finishing projects and studying

↺ You would be so engrossed in reading something that you would accidentally bump into Aventurine from behind, stumbling back with your book falling to the floor 

↺ Massaging your temples, you would see a hand outstretched to you as an offer to help you up (which you graciously took)

↻ When you think back to that time when Aventurine helped you pick yourself up, along with your book, you flush in embarrassment and lightly berate yourself for not watching your surroundings

↻ Working with Aventurine had its perks and flaws, the perks being the pay and the flaws being the tasks and having someone so unpredictable as your boss

↺ You could never tell when Aventurine was joking or not (you found it hard to understand him so you just nodded along to the things he said)

↻ After a few months of working under him, the two of you started bonding over various things

↺ Although you were too young to gamble, you learned a couple tricks that Aventurine had when playing different card games with others (you also learned a few cheat hacks Aventurine does but we won’t talk about that)

↻ Aventurine was able to watch you slowly come out of your shell, becoming more talkative and friendly with him and your coworkers

↺ When he noticed your change in behavior, he was taken aback but was happy to embrace this newfound side of yours (he feels like a dad watching their child make friends)

↻ There is a hint of favoritism that Aventurine has with you, choosing to dote on you by purchasing various souvenirs and trinkets he gathered on his trips (they reminded him of you)

↺ A keychain? Consider it purchased. A snack basket? He already has it on hand. Aventurine spends his money like it’s nothing, especially when it comes to his kid (despite you being a teen, he still calls you ‘kid’ much to your dismay)

↻ Aventurine would definitely gossip with you about work, etc…

↻ Honestly, in a more modern (?) setting, he’d be that proud soccer mom who takes photos of his kid and boasts to the other soccer moms

↺ “You see that little rascal up there? That’s my kid!”

↻ At first, seeing you get along with Aventurine was a surprise to many, even Aventurine himself

↺ He didn’t really have friends, or at least, someone he could freely talk to about anything and everything

↺ He doesn’t really open up to you about his past until later, and even then, he tries not to be too descriptive as he doesn’t want to make you feel bad (but you still do)

↻ When you open up to Aventurine about your struggles, why you joined the IPC, etc.… he’ll see himself a bit in you, making him feel protective of you and this ultimately brings the both of you closer together

↻ Thinking about this dynamic the two of you share, Aventurine wonders if he would make for a good parent, despite the infamous reputation Sigonians have

↺ You’d notice him going quiet here and there as he looks like he’s deep in thought, waiting patiently for him to snap out of it, you’d watch as he resumes the conversation like nothing had happened

↻ If there is a chance you guys get to visit a planet together, especially if it is one that he is familiar with, he’ll give you a tour and take you to some of his favorite spots

↺ If it is one he isn’t familiar with, the two of you would look like lost children who are wandering around looking at popular spots

↻ Honestly, if you had the chance to meet Topaz, she wouldn’t understand how you can tolerate Aventurine’s behavior

↺ Nonetheless, Topaz is happy that her coworker has a connection with someone, finding the small family dynamic adorable (she’d never admit that to Aventurine)

↻ Of course, Aventurine would definitely tease you because you’re younger than him, acting like the annoying big brother he is

↺ “Huh!? Where did my chips go!? Aventurine!” “What~? Don’t look at me, I didn’t touch them.” “You’re such a liar! You have crumbs on your face! What– is that my drink that you’re holding!?” “...No..?” 

↻ Despite everything, you still enjoy spending time with your unexpected friend (and newfound family member)

------

“_____! Look at what I’ve brought~.” Aventurine sang, plopping a huge gift basket on top of your desk. The papers that were stacked fluttered a little, some falling around you onto the ground. 

You were startled at the unexpected gift, looking at all the luxurious gifts and snacks that were neatly displayed in a beautifully woven basket. The red and gold ribbon tying the clear bag at the top finished it nicely, giving it a clean yet expensive look. 

“Aventurine!? Just how much did you buy this for??” You gaped, examining the interior although the lightning made it a bit difficult to see. You could recognize a few items, all being pricey and popular on its original planet. 

“Bah! Don’t worry about it. I couldn’t help but get it since it included some of the things you were talking about before.” The way he was so casual about getting something expensive threw you off, but then again, this was Aventurine. Deciding to shake off the shock, you gave him a grateful smile. 

“Thank you, Aventurine.” “Don’t mention it, kid.” “I’m not a kid, Aventurine! If anything, you act more like one than me!” “Pff, good joke. Now get back to work, kid.” “Ugh.”

------

⋘ ᴄᴏᴍᴘʟᴇᴛᴇ! ⋙

note - hope you guys enjoy this! i had fun writing this lol. there was actually two separate requests for an aventurine and sunday with a teen! reader, so i decided to write them together.

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