Lilia Wondered If You Knew What It Meant To Be Loved By A Fae. Did You Truly?

"kunikuzushi, if I asked you to kill someone for me, would you do it?"

warnings: offscreen murder, light gore, yandere ish but not really imo, reader is implied to be a kitsune (reader is gender neutral)

@edenialucas, @huboi, @nejibot, @lovediluc, @yumixxn, @teallapril, @midnxght-sweet-time, @barbatosfavouritenun

“What?”

“You’ve ended lives for my sake before,” you say, not lifting your head up, hands focused on stitching the garment on your lap. “would you do it for me again?”

The balladeer puts his quill aside, a smirk on his lips as indigo eyes centre on you. “For my stoic fox to go so far as to demand for this person gone, they must have committed a major transgression against you.”

You made a sound akin to an aggrieved hum, pulling particularly hard on the thread before stabbing it into the fabric. It’s true; one of the things you share with Kunikuzushi is your hatred for humanity. Unlike the harbinger who pours all of his hatred to his lackeys, forcing them to endure the brunt of his cruelty, you’ve always preferred to keep yourself hidden from others. The lesser you have to interact with those phoney people, the better it is for your wellbeing.

There are times when you have no choice in the matter, and you’re reminded of why you despise being around others so much. Normally, you’ll silently wish for them to disappear, praying to nobody for the second you’re able to return to your room. But in this instance, they’ve accidentally ignited your ire: cold and seething and you’re unsatisfied with anything less than hearing news of that person’s dead body strewn atop a bloody icicle on a cliff somewhere deep within the Snezhnayan mountains.

“Won’t you tell me what this person did to offend you?”

“What if I said no?”

“Then I won’t press.”

“...I’m done.” You cut the thread before lifting the shirt up to inspect for any more loose seams or tears. “I’ll hang it up for you to wear tomorrow.”

You fold the shirt on your lap, standing up before pausing. “Kuni, would you do it for me again? For my sake?”

The balladeer regards you with an unrecognisable expression on his face. “How would you like it to be done?”

“Painful and slow,” you say without missing a beat. “I don’t want to witness it. You can tell me how it went.”

Kunikuzushi could only laugh at such a macabre response, nearly to tears before he recollects himself. “I need a name, you know.”

Your steps echoes throughout his office as you walk towards him, bending down to whisper in his ear before leaving a quick peck on his lips.

“I’ll see you tonight.”

—

“(Name), come here.” 

You sit on his lap, snaking your arms around his neck as you nuzzle against him. The harbinger’s voice is gentle as he hums an Inazuman lullaby; one that he usually catches you singing to yourself when you’re alone. He finishes his tune, smiling to himself as he smoothes his palm up and down your back.

“He’s dead.”

You nod. Ah, now that you think about it, that iron scent is especially pungent today.

“I handed him to Dottore. Or whatever was left of him. I don’t even know if his brain is still intact after what I did to him.”

You mutter something intelligible before planting a string of kisses from his collarbone to his jaw. As he strokes your tails — swishing slowly from side to side — he hears a whispered “thank you” and an “I love you” next to his ear, coupled with a quiet purring noise, and he knows that you’ll be sleeping well tonight.

Do Puppets Dream of Electric Sheep?

Yan Scaramouche x F Reader.

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

“What am I to you?” 

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

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

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

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

Furniture clatters in a cacophony of noise. 

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

How do…? You shouldn’t know that!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Is his conscious being tampered with by the gods? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You clap twice and the surroundings shift. 

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

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

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

The mirror shatters.

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

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

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

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

It isn’t. Of course it isn’t. 

What else was he to do? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

All verbal exchanges cease. 

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

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

You pull away from him. 

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

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

You depart with a final threnody.

“Until we meet again, then.” 

…

…

…

Something brushes over his cheek. 

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

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

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

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

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

“What was it about?” 

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

The sarcasm successfully draws your attention elsewhere. 

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

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

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

He gives your pulse a chaste, reverent kiss. 

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

scaramouche + "won't you kiss me already? please, my lord?"

note: yandere, cheekiness, the audacity of it all

"No, no,” he says, voice thin and impatient. “Not like that.” He huffs, and you suddenly remember an old schoolteacher you had, who used to rap student’s palms with a stick when they were displeased. At least lord Scaramouche has no such stick. “You’re saying them like some schoolchild forced to read lines.” 

You, kneeling on a cushion, twist the fabric of your robes in your hand. Not out of anxiety, because you are far past feeling it today, but out of boredom. He’s been at this for far too long. 

“I don’t know how you would like me to say it, my lord.” 

His eyes roll until you’re sure they’ll stick in the back of his head. You’re about to tell him so, when he continues. 

“Are you daft? Say it like you’re in love.” He pauses. “No, more than that. You need to sound enamored. Obsessed.” 

You sigh, dryly, and let the long folds of your sleeves drop in boredom. 

“And why must I do this again?” 

It’s only to Scaramouche that you would ever dare speak so boldly, so casually, lacking the reverence expected of a handmaiden in your station. 

He snorts through his nose. 

“Isn’t it obvious? To show those other imbeciles that I have you. That I’m the one you chose.” He smirks a little, taunting. “Or do you pretend not to notice how they looked at you, before?”

You don’t point out that he chose for you, having petitioned the Tsaritsa to have you transferred to his service. A handmaiden, a servant, a lover--whatever you were to him, exactly. You weren’t sure if it was difficult to tell, or if Scaramouche himself didn’t exactly know. 

Instead, you rise--without being prompted, cheeky thing--and take his unsuspecting hands in yours. His fingers twitch, just enough for you to notice. 

“If you want someone to sound in love, enamored, and obsessed, my lord,” you say, letting a flicker of a smile grace your expression. “Perhaps you should do the talking.” 

Hey dear!

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

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

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

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

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

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

Take care!!!🖤

Title: Best Made Plans [Yandere Scaramouche x Reader]

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

Word Count: 1774

notes: yandere

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, Lord Scaramouche?”

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

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

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

“Why did you join the Fatui?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He does.

And now he knows what he will do with you.

He nods, and offers up a thin smile.

“Something bigger than yourself, huh…”

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

SAGAU SCARAMOUCHE RATES YOUR TASTE IN GENSHIN MEN...

❀ synopsis: you introduce your friend/unofficial sibling to your lover. What could possibly go wrong? everything... pt.2 is here!

❀ pronouns: they/them

Traveler/Aether: 7/10

Enjoy that passing score because that will be your only passing score from here on out. While he does respect the traveler, he wouldn't hesitate to threaten him with another battle if he ever raises his hand on you. Though the threats would be told in private since Scaramouche is what you can call a Tsundere, initially he despises you when the two of you first met and wasn't scared to show it.

You were persistent in at least being his acquaintance, which he thought was foolish for a god like you. Aren't you supposed to be all-knowing? You would know by now that it's hopeless to be his friend. And you would know the reasons why.

But surely enough, you grew to be a stigma in his everyday life. Now he can't go through the day without at least seeing you once. And he loathes that fact. But what can he do? His emotions got the better of him again, he can't bare the thought of losing you and he'd be damned if some blonde with a dull blade is going to hurt you when he's around.

But out of everyone in Teyvat, he tolerates Traveler the most despite being on rocky terms with him. Because he is your first host, and through the traveler, you two met. And that will be the only thing he will thank the traveler for. Every time you greet him with a hug he will be there in the background with arms crossed boring his eyes on the back of their skull. Ahem, excuse me (Y/N), where is his hug? He's here too y'know...

Venti/Barbatos: 3/10

Hopefully, you don't tell the secret of Venti being one of the archons because he despises them. But even with Venti's disguise he still wouldn't like him, why are you dating an alcoholic bard? Don't you know you can do better than this? (It's not like he will approve of it even if you bring a girl/boy straight out of a fairytale) Just like with Aether, he threatens Venti with what will happen if he ever breaks your heart. Venti just laughs off his threats, reassuring him that he wouldn't dream of it.

Scaramouche sulks and mumbles curses under his breath every time he witnesses Venti serenading you in public. His jealousy flares whenever he sees Venti clinging to your arm as he tries to persuade you to move into Monstadt, he would sometimes invade your conversation to tell him that you're already happy living in Sumeru (living with him) and that you won't move in Monstadt.

Venti would catch on quickly that Scaramouche was jealous, and would sometimes find amusement in provoking the child (Because in Venti's eyes, he is one) by kissing you on the cheek when he knows Scaramouche is looking. When the two are alone, Venti would tease him. Saying how he's planning to propose to you and that the both of them should try to get along since he will be your future husband. At those times Scaramouche wanted to murder him right then and there.

Despite the teasing, Venti does try to gain Scaramouche's approval since you and Scaramouche have a bond like siblings. Though I don't see him fully liking Venti, he would learn to tolerate him more as time passes. Scaramouche is protective (possessive even) with you, and has certified abandonment issues. He can never learn to accept that you have other people in your life. Because you're the only person he has left in his life.

Kamisato Ayato: 5/10

He didn't like him before and he doesn't like him now, knowing that he is loyal to Ei. The only thing he likes about him is that he's not always with you, which gives the both of you some time together. But when he is with you he can't help but eyeball him from a distance, observing how he acts towards you.

He knows Ayato is a cunning and unpredictable man, so whenever he approaches you Scaramouche would linger in the background. Though he knows Ayato is a gentleman and wouldn't sink low enough to hit you. So he gives him that. Doesn't mean he won't get jealous though.

On the occasion when Ayato does have time with you, he would stalk and follow the both of you to make sure nothing suspicious happens. Whenever the two of you kiss he has to stop himself from gagging, especially if it's a long and slow kind of kiss. The moment the date is done and Ayato leaves he acts like a 5-year-old wanting to spend time with their oldest sibling.

"You spend more time with him than me..." He would tell you while leaning on your shoulder. Scaramouche, sweetie, they just spoke with you this morning for 5 hours straight what do you mean they spend more time with Ayato-

Tartaglia/Childe: -1/10

He has warned the Fatui to not go make contact with you by any means necessary. And if they did then they would be severely punished. Not only has Childe talked to you, but has the audacity to court you, and you accepted! Don't you know how dangerous he is? He's part of the Fatui!

So is he? W-well he's different ok?! (he's not like other Fatui members✨) At least Scaramouche didn't pretend to be your friend, and he protects you now! So does Childe? He's better than Childe! You don't need him when he's already here with you!

His envy skyrockets after this discovery. What does Tartaglia have that he doesn't? The thought lingers in his head as he surmises what could be the reason for you accepting Childe's love.

But he couldn't find one. He doesn't understand, how can you love him? He scrutinizes Childe every time he approaches you with a bouquet of your favorite flowers, he scoffs at Childe's attempts to get closer to him and ignores him whenever he asks Scaramouche if he can take you out on a date. He will never trust Tartaglia with you. He doesn't care how many times you tell him that you love him. The moment Childe turns his back on you, he wouldn't hold back.

"I'm the clingy one? Pfft! Yeah right, if anything you're the one who- hey! When did I tell you to stop holding my hand?"

LOCKED AND LOADED [Yandere!Wanderer x Reader]

Prompt: The world is about to end. How will you grieve when you're forced to be with a miserable man until the last second? [Dedicated To: @mixed-kester for the Alone Together Event]

Content Tags: yandere!scaramouche "fluff" oneshot (yes, there are no other parts:]), major persona 3 spoilers but you DON’T need to know the game before reading this since everything is explained, improper use of a S.E.E.S evoker /j, Scaramouche is so normal about you, UNRELIABLE NARRATOR, major character death/s–

V. Acceptance.

"Where the hell are you, (Y/n)?"

Standing near what should have been the front doors of his university was a short man with dark purple hair. He leaned precariously against them, his head tilted upward as if the sickly green moon's ominous pull was nothing to be afraid of. Gekkoukan University's nearby dorms– fraternity and sorority houses included– are not usually this silent. Instead of people, coffins were aligned perpendicular to the ground.

The wanderer glanced at his watch with mild interest. He had been waiting for a while now. Your guest hoisted himself up, circling the ground with the tip of his shoe. The baseline of his attitude had always defaulted to irritability and passive-aggressiveness. The vertically aligned hour-and-minute hands do not placate it. The timing itself makes it worse.

It's December 31st, 2009, 12 AM– the Dark Hour.

With a harsh sneer, he pocketed his hands. You usually have the door to the Velvet Room open to him whenever. What's the big deal? Were you seriously THAT mad at him? Really? He didn't do anything to warrant this "pettiness". He had never known silence as much as this moment.

You should've accounted for the hostility that proceeds on the "off-chance" he did arrive early.

His tone darkened, his bloodied hands gripping his S.E.E.S evoker tightly.

"If you don’t show up, I will cleanse the world of human emotion all by myself"

You shook from afar, afraid of how he wouldn't hesitate to make his threat a reality. He had already taken so much– you were beyond mad at him. You were terrified. Wronged. Abused. You didn't want to step into the light. Much worse, step into his shadow.

The worst thing evil can do is to turn you into one of them.

He clutched the bloodied yellow scarf in his hands tightly.

Why did this happen?

How did things END up like this?

IV. Depression.

You took a deep breath and charged forward.

You don't trust [Wanderer] ever since Ryoji told him about the impending apocalypse.

Seldom do you leave the Velvet Room. You weren't hiding in the Velvet room months before the end of the world was imminent. When April had only reached its fourth day, there was nothing you wanted more than to spend time outside. So ignominiously innocent. You did not know who [Wanderer] was and how much effect he would have on your life at the time. You were just tired of the ongoing stream of uneventfulness.

And now here you are, berating the protagonist in full.

"[Wanderer], why is Ryoji missing?! US ATTENDANTS CAN'T FIND TRACK HIM ANYWHERE!!!"

With a fistful of his university uniform, you yanked him by the collar. Your eyes were livid as you reeled your composure. This wasn't what you had in mind when you were "isekai"d into a video game. Out of any game, why did it have to be Persona 3? And out of anyone that could be a protagonist, why did it have to be HIM?!

You thought this would be a grand affair... Whatever they spun in anime back when your reality existed were pure lies. Where are the scenic views? The mountains? The grasslands? This plane of existence you're forced to sit through for eternity was far from the RPG fantasy people would hope for. No closer you could ever be to paradise.

In fact, this man is threatening to ruin said paradise.

[Wanderer] pulled your hands away forcefully. His glare was not that different from yours. "Why do you care about him so much?"

"Oh, I don't know! Maybe it's because his death means forgetting everything?!" You clenched your empty fists. "You know damn well what happens if he dies! You'll lose all the help you can get to stopping the Fall!"

Such a heavy weight on your shoulders but the protagonist doesn't care. This may be a turn-based game– but it wasn't based on you. If it was, you wouldn't be screaming your heart out at him! You wouldn't be an NPC. Hell, you'd probably be a better protagonist than him.

You closed your eyes, took a deep breath, and sighed every stress out of your system.

"Listen—" You rubbed your temple. "You need to start forming bonds. Social links. Support system. Confidants. Whatever you want to call it. You were supposed to have the answer by now as to what life is for."

[Wanderer] remained silent throughout your spiels. His facial expression alone was enough to infer immense disinterest. You were mindlessly doing your job. There will be no tirade or physical aggression that can convince him that you believe in your assertions with full conviction.

"Do you want to see him?"

"Yes! Of course. Knowing you, you're—"

"Tempted to kill him because you think I want the world to end?"

"Obviously."

That's where you're wrong.

A nihilistic man can have other reasons to commit murder.

"But if he's missing, you can forget about him, right?"

"What on earth are you talking about?!"

[Wanderer] turned around. "Meet me later, you know the time."

"I'll show you where Ryoji is."

III. Bargaining.

XX/09/2009

He doesn't recall the time he was brought into this world like you had.

Puppets are malleable. Memories are easy to overwrite when your body is held together by white wood and "khemia". His past evades him.

Maybe it's better this way.

He took you to Chagall Café. Although it was your first time out in a long while, he had no qualms about ignoring your questions. He feigned deafness as you asked about the news, his college life, friends, or anything related to what was happening in 2009. And he even ignored your humble request to buy the cheapest coffee for you. Instead, he bought you a chocolate frappe.

"For Elizabeth's cutest little sibling." He said, sarcastically copying Elizabeth's tone as he sharply handed the drink. "Wouldn't want everyone's darling to get a caffeine addiction."

Thanks, asshat.

Of all his offensive behavior— he really spent more money just to insult you. You shook your head and accepted it. It's the most expensive one on the menu too. What dedication to being a hater. But before you could open your wallet, he shot your payment down.

"Just take it." He smirked. "Look at you, paying me back for treating you poorly. Are you a masochist?"

You immediately shoved your money back in. "You still bought me a free drink, so really, who's the loser here? Prick."

[Wanderer] laughed heartily before he pulled out his battered codal, which had underlined texts for provisions he deemed important. There was a momentary softness in his gaze that disappeared in an instant.

But that's the only conversation he planned on having that evening. He did mention he'll drag you out in his study session so you weren't too shocked by it. Instead, you sat and awkwardly people-watched. The world you came from and this one were identical. You got through your old 2009 just fine— it's just that Tatsumi Port Island was not a real location from your original Japan.

Your memories about the video game Persona aren't very clear since you reincarnated in the game, but the red band [Wanderer] wore on his sleeve affirmed that he is the leader of S.E.E.S. It's nice to know that someone like him has the potential to become a leader.

[Wanderer] appeared wholly immersed in his studies.

…

Maybe he wouldn't notice if you looked around—

…?!

He immediately grabbed your hand. You yelped slightly as you noticed the iron grip he had.

"Where are you going?"

Don't leave him.

He squeezed just a bit more tightly.

"W-What the— I'm just going to the bathroom." You felt a shiver down your spine as you shared his gaze. There's a dull coldness to it you couldn't quite place, as if he had been a witness to injustice, sevenfold.

You quietly sat back down. He still hasn't let go of your hand.

"Good riddance." He muttered.

"If it isn't [Wanderer]!"

You turned around, yanking your hand away.

It's Ryoji.

You stood up, gawking.

"W-Woah, are you okay?" Ryoji asked, hurriedly approaching you. While you were frozen in place, [Wanderer] looked at his empty hand, feeling your warmth escape his fingertips.

G-Good… he's still alive.

You thought [Wanderer] killed him.

[Wanderer] is the wildcard, and that's a terrifying factor to consider. He hasn't shown any interest in humanity. Knowing his past has not increased any hope on your end. Everyone else in his eyes are insignificant insects.

He has the power to end Ryoji.

He has the power to end this world.

Locked and loaded.

Ryoji's eyes softened. "Wait, I think I know a beautiful face like yours from somewhere… You must be [Wanderer]'s attendant, (Y/n), right?"

You blinked.

"Wait, how did you…"

He chuckled, taking and placing a soft kiss on your gloved hands.

"I have my ways." Ryoji winked.

"Don't touch them." [Wanderer] sneered.

Ryoji stood up straight, unfazed by his threatening tone. You took a moment to examine his appearance. He had a lot of white clothing and a big yellow scarf around his neck. Just below his left eye is a mole. On the surface, he appeared quite human, but everyone seated at this table was aware of his true nature.

He is the 13th arcana. The appraiser.

You and [Wanderer] have every right to be wary.

"I'm Ryoji Mochizuki. It's nice to be officially introduced to you, Mx. (Y/n)."

"Ryoji Mochizuki…" You tasted the syllables.

"Oh? Who knew hearing my name from your lips makes it sound so wonderful."

"C-Cut it out, you don't mean that." You said, a little flustered.

[Wanderer]'s gaze fixated on you, stewing in his concoction of envy and misery. His fists were clenched beneath the table, knuckles turning white. With narrowed eyes, he watched as you continued engaging in conversation with Ryoji. His laughter was grating his ears. He couldn't bear the sight of you engaging with another man, especially someone as flirtatious as him.

Ryoji, sensing [Wanderer]'s distress, shot him a casual glance. To top the look, he paired it with a knowing smirk. He made mental notes of the man's clenched jaw and tensed shoulders.

"You seem a little on edge, [Wanderer]. Finals coming up?" He feigned innocence.

"It's December, and I'm not on edge." He scoffed, trying not to make his gritted teeth evident. "Don't you own a calendar? Finals are in March. To think a pea-brain like you managed to transfer to Gekkan…"

"Right, right." Ryoji smiled, closing his eyes. "Then it must be my proposal you're thinking of."

You stiffened; [Wanderer] did not.

"Ryoji—"

"I know, Mx. (Y/n)." He started. "I know you're not too keen on the idea of killing me. My existence is the affirmation of the Fall. None of you— sorry, I forgot (Y/n) is from the Velvet room— I meant none of them will live till Spring… Or perhaps it's more accurate to say they'll forfeit the will to live."

…

"… I-I'm sorry." Ryoji buried his face in his yellow scarf. There's a certain tremble in his voice that truly emphasizes his sorrow. "Just as all living things die, the flow of time cannot be hindered. But there's comfort in killing me. If you do… you won't have to suffer for the coming days."

If [Wanderer] kills Ryoji, Tartarus, the Dark Hour— the burden of everyone's memories will all disappear.

But [Wanderer] can retain his.

He's not originally from this world after all…

However, should he let him live, the rest of S.E.E.S's life will continue until everyone's inevitable demise.

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever."

[Wanderer] rolled his eyes, diverting his eyes back to his notes. "Everyone will die soon, who cares? I've heard your spiel several times already. You need to get more entertaining material."

"[Wanderer]!" You scolded him.

Your eyes widened in disbelief at [Wanderer]'s unwittingly casual jabs at the apocalypse. You wanted to ask him if he was even listening, but the truth will disappoint you. A cold sweat formed on your brow.

Ryoji's smile crooked into a hopeless one.

"You depend on (Y/n) too much."

[Wanderer] froze. "What did you say…?"

"You have a group of people around you, eager to establish a bond— eager to be friends with you. You have met Junpei, Yukari, Mitsuru, Akihiko, Fuuka, and many others– but you don't consider any of them as your friends." Ryoji shook his head. "Instead, you spend your time with just (Y/n). Never anyone else. Just them. To the point that I think it's unhealthy."

"I don't care for humans." He replied immediately.

"You're human too, [Wanderer]." Ryoji shot back. "You're made of blood, bones, and flesh."

[Wanderer] fell silent. What Ryoji said was true, and yet…

"Am I?" He laughed.

The sound was hollow and mechanical. Deprived of genuine mirth. It did not sound forced, yet his eyes were dull.

…

Perhaps he lived as a puppet for so long that the idea of being human has yet to reach him.

Ryoji shifted, uncomfortably glancing between you two. The tension was palpable despite the cafe's peaceful ambiance. Ryoji cleared his throat softly.

"I should leave…" He trailed off, voice slightly wavering. His eyes darted around, scrambling for words to say. "But, um, before I leave, I just want to say again that you need to give it some more thought, [Wanderer]... It's a big deal… Just…"

Ryoji sighed. "Remember to make your choice to spare or kill me by December 31st. I'm glad you're having fun but don't get too distracted with (Y/n). I'll be waiting."

That being said, his footsteps reverberated loudly in the otherwise still room as he turned and headed for the door. He dared to turn back as he grabbed for the doorknob and saw you two sharing a look that he couldn't determine if it was one of contemplation or displeasure. He hurried out and the cafe door shut behind him.

"Happy?" [Wanderer] bitterly asked.

You paused for a moment… then grinned.

"Tsk, what are you laughing at, worm?"

"Nothing, nothing!" You shrugged. "I just thought that for a guy with a stick up his ass, you're cute when you're jealous."

That riled [Wanderer] up in an instant.

You do not know the full extent of his envy's filth.

"I am NOT—" He stopped, realizing how counterproductive it would be. "Whatever. I don't care."

"Uhuh?"

"Shut up and finish your damn chocolate!"

II. Anger.

Before you know it, it's April.

"Seriously, you three, I'm bored as fuck! Can't I just take a stroll outside?" You yelled, waving the heavy persona compendium in the air as your sisters ignored you.

It hasn't been long since you reincarnated, so your right to go outside isn't as liberal. Given the impending threat of an apocalypse, the Velvet Room attendants are especially overprotective.

"(Y/n), dear sibling, watch your mouth! You mustn't let Igor or Nameless hear you speak so vulgarly."

Taking a good look at your new "siblings", you've noticed how almost everyone was present. Margaret sat elegantly on the sofa while Theodore & Elizabeth were doing their best to calm you down. It's almost rare to have all three in one place. The three oldest were busy-bodies who had more eccentric matters they devoted their attention to. Including rapping and dancing, though neither performances are good for your senses.

"If boredom plagues you, then you should try teasing Theodore." Elizabeth yawned. "He's easy pickings."

"Sister!" Theodore pouted. "Shouldn't (Y/n) focus on studying how fusing works? It would be a better use of their time…"

"The day (Y/n)'s new wildcard learns the value of social links might just be the day miserly politicians become generous." Elizabeth shrugged.

You paled, tugging her sleeve. "Oh fuck… Am I screwed?"

She gave you a lopsided smile. "I may be your new sibling but that does not mean I am obliged to resolve your problems, (Y/n). Learn to solve this on your own."

Theodore coughed.

"Please, stop scaring them, sister Elizabeth. It's not their fault this new guest is a cruel arbiter. I fear there will not be a second of groundless joy in store for them…"

"You're not helping me relax either! Motherfucker. Can't you two speak normally?"

"Settle down, all of you."

The four of you stood straight as Igor tilted his chin up. Though you've gotten used to his bloodshot gaze, it had a way of prickling your skin this time around. With his signature smile, he closed his eyes and snapped his fingers.

"Our guest is about to enter."

"W-Wait, RIGHT NOW?!?"

Before you could react, the room transformed into what appeared to be a large elevator. The walls were barred and creaking noises began to subtly make their presence. A floating door materialized, and soon, opened.

Dark purple hair and eyes, short frame, soft face.

"…Hmm?"

You blinked.

"Wait, no way…"

You know him.

Of course, you know him.

"Everyone, meet [Wanderer]."

You decided that you two should reintroduce yourselves and forget that the past ever happened.

For now, you had been gifted with a vital role: being the protagonist's attendant.

According to your Igor, your role is to assist your guest in fusing personas. He had chosen you specifically in advance as you are his "anima/animus figure". Initially, that job was for Elizabeth. However, your beliefs, your intuition, your emotions— they're in perfect tune with [Wanderer]. Igor expects you to facilitate their spiritual and psychological growth and implore them to interact more with others.

Which, based on that alone, sounds like this puppet just hired an unpaid therapist.

"What do you want?"

"Well…"

Since you became [Wanderer]'s attendant, you've started to have thicker skin. He will always make his crankiness known each visit. You're slightly grateful for it, for how else would you know patience otherwise? Though his personality rubs you the wrong way, his strength does have merits you cannot ignore. Even Belladona, the Velvet Room's devout singer, had sung praises for his mettle. There was one line that struck you about her song, something about him being like a puppet with a beating heart unbeknownst to himself…

Which is why you thought you might as well try to see if you could convince him to take you out sometimes.

"What, like a date?" [Wanderer] scoffed then smirked, a light blush on his face. "Are you really that desperate?"

"No, eww—" You rolled your eyes. "I meant it literally. Igor and the others wouldn't let me go outside unless I'm with someone they trust."

He looked away and covered his mouth, his shoulders trembling slightly.

"Like a child?"

"Yeah, yeah, shut the fuck up." You deadpanned, your pride slightly chipped. "Like a child or whatever you want to see it, as long as it gets me out of here. I just want to see the world before it all…"

You paused.

Better not to bring it up. You're not sure if Igor told him yet.

[Wanderer] raised an eyebrow. "What's in it for me?"

You shrugged. "Is money not enough?"

He paused.

…

"You've got to be kidding me— Fine, what else do you want?"

His eyelids lowered, hissing slightly. "Evil expects evil from others, huh? I wasn't trying to think of anything more, but now that I think about it…"

"Oh, great."

"… I can take your request," he pointed at you. "But only if you join me in the library. Anywhere else, especially loud places like clubs, I'll send your ass back."

That's a no-brainer.

"Deal!"

Though you've missed the peculiar sight, [Wanderer] had a small smile on his face as you shook hands. The two of you had become nearly inseparable since then.

Worryingly, he's closer to you than other humans.

The only relationship he needed was with you.

And with what little time this world has left, you hope you could have a last cup of coffee with him…

I. Denial.

Your reality crumbled. What a START.

Your family, friends... all gone. No one was left. You convince yourself you "deserved" this punishment for smoking a life away with dreadful workloads, no matter how untrue it was. When the world burnt down, you were sent into a darkness you had not known before.

The person in charge of your reincarnation process told you that for the next few minutes, you and a selected companion will see your lives flash before your eyes in a void— and it will not necessarily be a comforting sight.

But you woke up relaxed. In an abyss filled with broken mirrors meant to depict your character to pieces, you donned a plain expression. There was not an inch of you that grieved for what was lost. Similarly, you had no care for how you were being transmigrated to another realm. Though you had grown accustomed to this isolation, humanity always struggled with silence. There was ringing on your fingers. When you unclasped your hands, you saw a pointed shard. Curiously, you clenched it. But no matter the tightness of your grip, no blood came out.

Your breath fogged up the glass. You wondered why that Memokeeper told you that you deserve to live on. You thought your life was rather unremarkable.

Makes sense. You thought to yourself. I'd rather pride myself on a boring life with integrity than an ambitious yet fraudulent one.

「Assignments. Commute. Study. Review. Assignments. Commute. Study. Review. Was that all your life was...? Then tell me, little (Y/n), why does the mirror in front of you appear distorted?」

And so, you gazed forward. Your reflection stood tall, larger than your life, and it beckoned you to come closer. This "(Y/n) (L/n)" had the opposite of a Cheshire grin- perhaps a caricature- perhaps an accurate depiction. Wearied of yourself and wearied of the sycophantic students around you. How unhappy are you to see yourself as someone like this? Are these the emotions you wish to be preserved? Is this the memory you want your world to be remembered by?

「These memories must be corrupted. Someone must be tampering with them. I do not think you lived a miserable life.」

I can't answer your questions either. But I think that reflection is who I am, because sometimes...

"I wish I had never been born at all."

Your lips were parted, but no sound came out. You resonated with those words, but they did not come from you. The voice was dark, hopeless, and alone.

When you were being sent off, you thought no one was around to greet you. There was another man. He had short hair and purple eyes- an incredibly rare sight in your world. This man seemed to be gazing at his reflection as well. You needn't know how he saw himself. The emptiness in his eyes did not differ from yours. He, too, was masking isolation as independence with an intense fragility. The dread he inflicted upon you was the closest you've ever gotten to facing your own perceived "weakness".

His memories were a mixbag. Some were filled with domestic bliss, but the anger in his heart triumphed more. He had friends but thought himself betrayed. His heart was constructed through a system of evasions, and he was a specialist in self-deception. This man knew little of emotions but had an abundance of it. It's no wonder he refused to sacrifice the artistry of his vengeance against humanity. You can sympathize with how he could not attach himself to those around him. He was burdened with malicious knowledge. Fakes. Lies. Insincerities. A class of his own.

However, he had a sin you cannot empathize with. A trait you can read that you're certain he had never noticed about himself.

He was a sickeningly beautiful man with a peculiar innocence.

He looked like a man who truly did not live in the real world.

This man did not feel real to you. He felt made-up. Fictional. His aura of flawlessness appalled you. Though you shared the same sentiments, you thought him dimensionless.

Yet this is supposedly your first meeting.

「Is it? Where have you seen him before? Can't you remember, dear (Y/n)?」

No. No, I can't.

「... What a shame. Worry no more, little (Y/n). Close your eyes. When you wake up, you will meet your new reality— new realm— new family.」

You nodded and agreed to a higher existence you did not believe in. Unlike others, you were a little bit more incapable of trusting a living soul. But there's no other choice.

Life is ordinarily far from anyone's control in the first place. Why bother fighting? If following can make her fuck off, it doesn't matter.

Nothing matters.

Wait…

Is that…

Scaramouche?

Before you closed your eyes and accepted your fate, you could've sworn...

He looked at you with a crooked grin.

「Thou art I... And I am thou...

Thou hast established a new bond...

Thou shalt be blessed when creating

Personas of the Universe Arcana..."」

"Hmm. Strange… Is that truly the order of the story?"

A woman stared at you.

Not (Y/n) (L/n).

YOU.

BEHIND.

THE.

SCREEN.

She smiled wryly.

Hate might empower you for a short while, but it comes at the cost of consuming you whole. Should a shard or any surface reflect [Wanderer]'s face, he would understand what he had become. However, it's too late. He had made his choice and stomped away any remorse he could have. When all is said and done, he alone will spread the ashes. He alone will stand. A blank slate.

[Wanderer] spent his life looking for scapegoats and ended up removing his responsibility.

Betrayals?

What a sad, sad puppet.

What a poor excuse to justify an entire apocalypse.

A poor excuse of a man.

"THE ARCANA IS THE MEANS BY WHICH ALL IS REVEALED." She muttered softly. "And you have been reading your story in REVERSE. Perhaps this is the only way this world can attain SALVATION. The chronological order is not a slice of life. You did not have a disagreement and decided to start your relationship over again. Life is far more WICKED."

"Read it again, but from DENIAL to ACCEPTANCE. The proper way to GRIEVE DEATH."

With great reluctance, she took the five cards laid on the table and placed them in an upright position.

"Let's see if you'd rather ACCEPT the truth or live in DENIAL."

Mixed-Kester can now message Wanderer [prior to 12/31/2009]

Ascent to Oblivion part 2 - echoes of regret

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

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

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

Peace was a luxury that Scaramouche could never afford.

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

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

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

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

Scaramouche’s face soured. 

What a disgrace.

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

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

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

He recalls sighing in reply, “I know.”

“But I have to”

Have to, huh?

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

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

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

A stupid move, really. 

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

Asleep . 

For two whole weeks. 

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

…You dumbass.

What’s so special about him anyways?

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

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

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

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

Yet you didn't .

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

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

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

If only you let him fall.

If only you never cared.

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

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

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

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

“Sorry…”

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

“...I’m sorry”

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

A drop of water descends onto your cheek. Huh?

Was it starting to rain?

“...You idiot”

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

And why was his vision blurring?

“Please…”

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

“Please wake up already”

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

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

@strawbeewie,

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

@itzshizuyaxd, @swivi

Taglist for (possible) part 3??

Coming Home [Yandere Scaramouche x Reader]

Title: Coming Home [Yandere Scaramouche x Reader]

Synopsis: You never forgot Kunikuzushi. Nor did you tell anyone about him. He was a secret, and he entrusted you to keep him to yourself. 

Prompt: Scaramouche + “And what you own always comes home to you.” 

Word Count: 4134

Notes: yandere, non-graphic mentions of sex, abuse mentions 

He came into your life like debris blown harshly in an angry storm. Grey skies followed by unsettling stillness, everything out of place. He was something torn up at the roots, forced to go wherever the breeze took him, through winding paths, brushing against trees and debris and landing somewhere worse for wear but eager to reach upwards.

He simply showed up at your doorstep, an eyesore against the ordinary backdrop that was your life, and that was that.

Keep reading

ꜱᴜɴᴅᴀʏ ᴀɴᴅ ᴀᴠᴇɴᴛᴜʀɪɴᴇ ᴀꜱ ᴏʟᴅᴇʀ ꜱɪʙʟɪɴɢꜱ

pairings - older sibling! sunday & reader / older sibling! aventurine & reader

content - reader is gender-neutral/not a lot of angst/mainly fluff/sibling dynamics

warnings - none, besides the occasional swearing

⋘ ʟᴏᴀᴅɪɴɢ... ⋙

↻ Being the head of the Oak Family, he has a lot of responsibilities and is frequently busy attending meetings and managing the Charmony Festival

↻ Despite not having too much free time, he always tries to make room for his younger siblings

↻ If you find yourself needing something, Sunday will always drop what he is doing to help you with whatever it is you need help with ↺ A meeting? He'd excuse himself by saying something family-related requires his immediate attention ↺ Helping guests with their room arrangements? He'd say something urgent had come up and would call over another member of the family to solve the issue

↻ Sunday would be a supportive brother, as seen with Robin, encouraging you to pursue opportunities that would aid you in your career or simply being happy that you are happy with whatever you are doing (as long as it isn’t something questionable, otherwise he’d be concerned and a little stressed) ↺ Something I imagine that could happen if you’re doing a particularly dangerous job (and he hasn’t heard from you) is that he’d pace around in his office, stroking or picking at his wings out of stress ↺ You or Robin would walk in to see feathers scattered around and have to scold him for mistreating his wings, helping him with taking care of his disheveled wings

↻ Speaking of wings, if you have a pair of your own, he’d love to help you take care of them ↺ You know those bird videos where they are helping preen the other’s feathers? He would be exactly like that

↻ Considering Sunday is your older brother, he would be a bit overprotective of you ↻ You would be able to tell just by observing his wings and how they’re puffed up, a smile could be on his face but his wings would try to unconsciously intimidate the person who is making you uncomfortable

↻ If you introduce your older brother to a significant other..he’d be a bit wary at first, slightly interrogating them to observe their actions before coming to a final judgment ↺ Again, his wings would be a dead giveaway to his approval if he’s relaxed and asks you to invite them over to dinner with him and Robin ↺ Otherwise, he’d be tense and would confide in you later about his own thoughts but being respectful of your own opinion (...However, he would try nudging you into a direction if they’re truly not a good person)

↻ As children, if you approached him with something you did that you were proud of (whether it was an artwork or trophy), he’d be swelling with pride and happiness

↺ You would see it being displayed in his office or room later on when you’re older, leading you to nag at him for the embarrassment if other important figures saw them ↺ He would not budge if you asked him to take them down since it makes him smile when he glances at them

-----

“Why do you still have the old drawings I gave you since we were kids!?” Gaping at the messy portrait you made of your siblings, you could feel your face flush with embarrassment when you saw them encased in a nice gold ornate frame.

“Well, I couldn’t just throw them away… It would be quite sad if I threw away something you were so proud of when we were little.” Sunday hummed, arms crossed behind his back while looking up at the artwork. A small pleasant smile graced his face, reminiscing the time you hurried up to him with a slightly crumpled paper in hand.

“But displaying it in your office!? Just how many people came in and saw.. that!?” Pinching the bridge of your nose, you looked down and sighed.

“The value of this artwork is priceless. It is something you cannot replicate the meaning of.” Sunday simply chuckled, coming up behind you and staring back at it. “Looking at it reminds me of how far you’ve come, and to say I am proud of your achievements would be an understatement.”

“You’re so corny, brother.” “I’m glad to know I am fulfilling my duties, dear ____.”

-----

↻ Overall, Sunday is a very caring and doting older brother. ˆˆ

↻ Aventurine as an older brother came as a surprise to a majority of his peers, if not all (perhaps it’s because of his background or personality)

↻ However, he wouldn’t have met his younger sibling until later due to being separated from his family when he was a kid (I’m trying to use some of his lore that we know so far..but it won’t be entirely accurate, apologies!)

↻ This would lead to him being a very doting older brother once he met you and learned that you were blood siblings ↺ He was skeptical at first… Even if he had faint memories of his siblings he didn’t think he would have the chance to come across one of them

↻ It would take a while for Aventurine to be comfortable around you, not because you aren’t someone he can’t really trust, but because he isn’t used to familial bonds and this was something unexpected

↻ He would feel a bit insecure about himself because the expectations of being a good role model for you are now placed on him

↻ When the two of you were more familiar with each other, he would try spending his free time learning about you and what happened when the two of you were separated ↺ It would then transition to lighter topics, such as what is your favorite food? What places have you traveled to? Do you like your career?

↻ Aventurine would try to be a good older brother for you, wanting to be there to support you throughout the rest of your journeys and missions ↺ Whether you are a nameless on the express, a resident of a distant planet, or a traveling merchant, he’d try to keep in contact with you and share updates on what he has been doing

↻ Eventually, Aventurine would open up about his trauma or past to you, about being taken to the IPC, how he became an executive for the Strategic Investment Department, etc… ↺ Being vulnerable in front of others was difficult for him, but you didn’t mock or distrust him, you were willing to open up and find him so he wanted to do the same

↻ After all, his work could be quite lonesome for even someone as eccentric as him so this was a nice change

↻ The time spent getting to know each other would not only bring you two closer together but introduce you to how much of an asshole (affectionate) your older brother could be

↻ Considering that you’re his younger sibling, he’d probably take you around Penacony to gamble or see popular events ↺ When the two of you are playing any game, he’d use his 'older sibling' card to go first which irks you ↺ When he ends up winning the game, you affectionately start slapping/arguing with him, drawing attention to the both of you

↻ Because Aventurine often gains a lot of money from unfortunate players who gamble with him, he’d spend it on stuff that reminds him of you or things that you wanted ↺ You would be shocked and scold him since some of the stuff he bought you was a pretty hefty price, but he just waves you off

↻ Aventurine would tease you a lot, resulting in many (non-serious) arguments which always amused curious bystanders (standard sibling relationship) ↺ The majority of the time these arguments consisted of random topics that popped out of nowhere, leading to a debate

↻ If someone were to taunt and speak lowly of you, especially if it’s because of you being a Sigonian, he’d be incredibly defensive and say things that would have them reevaluating their own values and sense of self (attacking their self-esteem lol)

↻ Aventurine would also treat you to different restaurants, containing different atmospheres and settings but he’d try to stick to what made you feel most comfortable

-----

“Have you ever been here before, Aventurine?” You asked, looking around the cozy restaurant inquisitively. The lights were a soft yellow and the booths had a red velvety cushioning to it, giving the place a welcoming feeling. You wondered where he had heard of this place…

“Well, no not really. I’ve only passed by this place a couple of times while on my way to the casino.” Aventurine spoke, folding the menu and placing it at the end of the table. “..Do you like it?”

“I do! It has a nice atmosphere and the food looks good.” You hummed, skimming through the menu and setting it down once you’ve decided what to order. “Thank you for taking me here, brother.”

Aventurine hummed, twirling his fork between his fingers. A small smile ghosted his face.

“Don’t mention it, ____.”

“... By the way, you’re paying right, Aventurine..?” “Hmmm, I think I left my wallet at home.” “Aventurine!”

-----

↻ He’s an older brother who’s trying his best to be there for you ˆˆ

⋘ ᴄᴏᴍᴘʟᴇᴛᴇ! ⋙

note - hope you guys enjoyed reading (˘◡˘) ! it's been a bit since i wrote something so hopefully this isn't too bad lol.

The Balladeer strives to uphold the illusion of a consensual and healthy relationship at any cost: no traces of toxicity and abuse shall be left out in the open for everyone to see. It is not that the Sixth of the Eleven Fatui Harbingers himself cares about the opinions of his most untrustworthy colleagues or lowlifes under his command – you will be branded a fool for assuming that he is bothered by what others think. He just doesn’t want you to expect a knight in shining armor to come to the rescue once they see how badly he treats you; any hope to leave him by using the conveniently helping hand shall be extinguished akin to a firefly’s light. 

Scaramouche is not against the idea of spilling the impudent insect’s blood (he is more than willing to slay thousands and thousands of them if he feels like it) – he is against the idea of you seriously contemplating someone would gift you a ticket out of this relationship. The risk is minimal, he knows it: among the ranks of Fatui, it’s very unlikely for an ordinary piece of meat such as yourself to catch the attention of both high-ranking members and their subordinates of humble might – yet he will still prefer to terminate any chance of luring in any noble intentions.

He is not afraid of confronting that rare and exceptional idiot who would be brave enough to try to snatch the “maiden” out of the “dragon”’s grasp, oh no – he is afraid of losing his control over you. He must remain the sole pillar of the crumbling temple that is your life; you must rely only on him because who else in this rotten world will waste their time on you? You must realize that while he is an utterly deplorable being, he is your one and only “safe option”; more so than the potential “nice guy” scumbag who will keep up appearances as long as there is a benefit in doing so until the need to stab you in the back arises. With Scaramouche, you will never taste deception and betrayal – he may slap your face hard enough to split your lower lip, but he is at least honest about his methods of silencing your lousy mouth… And he will comfort your injury right away, with just the right amount of tenderness so as to not pollute his “villain” status, and you will be – in a rather paradoxical way – deemed insane for declaring he is handling you roughly because there will be nothing to your skin to indicate there was a laceration in the first place. 

You are not mistaken for presuming that he is no better than those he often accuses of hypocrisy. The Balladeer is just as obsessed with wiping out any evidence of what he is doing to you in private as his brainwashed agents are with covering up their clandestine activities in peaceful lands; he claims he is doing it to avoid unnecessary attention and insists that you will suffer much worse if others develop the idea that beating you is a fun and totally unpunishable thing to do – really, what else will those imbeciles get into their heads if they see their boss making a punching bag out of some peasant-looking woman? They will take the scene as an invitation to the banquet, of course!

By Scaramouche’s decree, therefore, everything about the twisted bond between the two of you must tell of the happiness of a dog kept on a leash by her master and demonstrate the elation of a toy that willingly sold itself to a puppet master. You must always smile and nod at his every statement; must always mind your manners and show no sign of artificiality – in other words, you must behave akin to a wind-up doll, additionally adopting a composure and obedience befitting a seasoned soldier (and definitely not a village wench). In this counterfeit theatre of his, there is no room for sabotage. You must be as perfect as the lead actor of the play and act accordingly, for should you try to dispose of the mask… Well, let’s just say that your extremely modest clothes were not chosen with the purpose of hiding your virtues.

Deliberately or not, though, The Balladeer misses the entire point. Given his cynicism, it’s probably the latter – he is not delusional, he is simply incapable of believing in the goodness and benevolence of people’s hearts. Be they Fatui or of as plain origins as you, his unpleasant experiences persuaded him of the ignorance and selfishness of humankind; in his flawed worldview, no one is going to steal you away from him because you have nothing valuable to give to them (even your body, irreparably scarred and marked by him, has long since lost its initial price). He refuses to acknowledge the presence of chivalry in certain individuals’ souls, for every single two-legged abomination populating this realm is here after the gain, after the thrill of seizing a treasure worthy of their ambitions, and that’s precisely why the “risk is minimal” and not nonexistent; that’s why the performance must go on and only end when you enter his chambers at night. 

Because someone might want to obtain you under the pretense of saving you. Because someone might gift you false wings and then tear them off for shits and giggles. Because someone might ache for the opportunity to spite him, and you would be naïve enough to fall for any trick. 

Suspicions will still be raised and doubts will still emerge, sure. There will be smart ones who shall silently question the masquerade and scrutinize your every move; there will be nosy ones who shall notice the stiffness of the rehearsed lines and catch the glimpse of uneasiness in your eyes, and there will be brazen ones who shall openly interfere with your relationship and pay with their life. Scaramouche doesn’t deny the possibility of this happening – he is too paranoid to be that offensively oblivious. What he does deny, however, is the existence of selfless motive because rectitude is not inherent to any living being.

It is the quality of the dead, after all. It would be in your best interest to trust Scaramouche and embrace his truth… The truth that no such color as “white” is present in Teyvat: it’s all black powder that poorly imitates the crystals of sugar, a chocolate house made of bitter bars. You must understand that if you don’t dance to The Balladeer’s tune, then you shall dance to someone else’s; ‘tis the fate of the cornered mouse who stubbornly chases after the piece of the invisible cheese. There is no escape out of the cats’ den, for no cat grants freedom to its prey – and luckily for you, he is the type of cat who favors his mouse safe and well-fed as long as she dispels his boredom and loneliness.

The final feast shall eventually come. But will you be able to survive the last yet desperate bite of his fangs?